Dragon King The

by R. A. Salvatore

  “No penalty,” Luthien replied without the slightest hesitation. “They were defending their homes and their kin, so they believed.” He paused, letting the surprised murmurs quiet. “We are not your enemy,” he declared. “This much I have told you before.”

  As one, the crowd swung about to regard Keyes, who stood nodding.

  “Pipery is free,” Luthien went on. “And out of the war. Your gates are open, north and south, and you shall not hinder our passage, or the continuing line that shall come down from Eriador. Nor shall you deny any boats we put on the river from safe travel past your docks.”

  The murmurs began again, and were quickly silenced by Luthien’s booming voice. “But we ask nothing of you,” he explained. “What you give to us, you give of your own free will.”

  “Thieves!” one man yelled, leaping to his feet and pushing to the center of the open aisle. “Thieves and murderers!” he proclaimed, slowly stalking toward Luthien.

  He stopped short when Bellick dan Burso entered, to stand at Luthien’s side. “We are not your enemies,” the dwarf king declared, and the blood spattered upon him could not diminish the splendor of his crafted armor, nor the dust covering him steal the flames of his fiery beard. But the sympathy that was in his heart could not diminish the intensity of his stern gaze.

  Bellick let that gaze linger all about the room, then settled it on Luthien, who nodded for the dwarf to continue. “We are not your enemies unless you make of us your enemies,” Bellick promised grimly. “Then know that Pipery will be sacked, burned to the ground!”

  Not a person in the room doubted the imposing dwarf’s promise.

  Bellick pulled two large pouches from a cord on his back. “Your grain money,” he explained, tossing them to the floor at the feet of the deflated rabble-rouser. “Taken from cyclopians fleeing Pipery. Taken from your King Greensparrow’s cyclopians as they left Pipery to its doom. Decide then who are your enemies and who are your allies.”

  “Or decide nothing,” Luthien added. “And remain neutral. We ask nothing of you, save that your swords are not again lifted against us.”

  He looked down at Bellick, and the dwarf up at him. “We will tend our wounded,” Bellick announced, “and clear our dead from the field, that they do not lie beside the rotting cyclopians. And then we shall leave.” The dwarf and Luthien turned to go, but were stopped by the call of Solomon Keyes.

  “You may bring your wounded in here,” the priest offered, “and I shall prepare your dead for burial, as I prepare the human dead of Pipery.”

  Luthien turned to him, somewhat surprised.

  “My God and your God,” Keyes asked, “are they not one and the same?”

  Luthien nodded, managed a thin smile, and walked from the chapel.

  FOR THE CAUSE OF JUSTICE

  Bellick dan Burso was not ignorant of the many angry and suspicious gazes that settled over him as he walked with an entourage of bodyguards through Pipery’s narrow streets. Luthien held illusions of friendship with all the common folk of Avon, and one day that might come to pass, but Bellick knew better than to hope for such allies so soon after battle. Aside from the cyclopians who had been slaughtered, more than a few of Pipery’s human soldiers had been killed as well, and a fair number of families in the village now had a dead relative because of the invading Eriadorans.

  Such a greeting rarely led to friendship.

  Still, there were others in the town who managed a smile and a nod as the honorable dwarf king passed, and when Bellick arrived at the front steps to the chapel house, he found his own soldiers, set in place to guard over the Eriadoran and dwarvish wounded, relaxing on the stairs, enjoying food and drink with a handful of Pipery’s citizens. The dwarven soldiers fumbled all over themselves, trying to get up, but the king waved his hand absently. No need for formalities now, not with the army preparing once more for a long and arduous march.

  Bellick walked into the chapel, leaving his escorts on the front steps with the others. As the dwarf expected, he found Luthien inside, crouched near one of the pews, talking quietly with a wounded man.

  “Brandon of Felling Downs,” Luthien explained when Bellick joined them.

  The dwarf nodded deferentially, taking note that the man had lost an arm. He seemed comfortable enough, though, on the pew, which had been converted into three end-to-end beds.

  Bellick looked all around. “Which are ours and which of Pipery?” he asked.

  “All mixed together,” said Luthien.

  The dwarf turned a sly look on the young Bedwyr. “Your doing?”

  “I’ll take a bit of the credit,” Luthien replied. “But it was Solomon Keyes who assigned the cots.”

  Bellick snorted and started away. “Partners in crime,” he said quietly.

  Three rows down, Bellick came upon a pew of four beds, all holding dwarfs. One lay out straight, but the other three were sitting, throwing dice and chatting easily. Their smiles came wide indeed when Bellick addressed them; one even shoved the sleeping dwarf.

  “Let him rest,” Bellick bade them, then to the others, “We’re putting out this day, south along the river. Any of you fit to join in?”

  All four moved to rise, but Bellick could see that none were ready for the road. “Keep your seats,” the dwarf king instructed. He told the healthiest of the bunch that he was in charge. “We’ll be running supplies through here,” he explained. “Keep them watched, and come along when the four of you are ready.

  “When you are ready!” Bellick reiterated more forcefully, noting the hopeful expressions that came over his eager warriors. “And not a moment before!”

  Bellick moved on then, inspecting each cot, stopping to say a short prayer over those most seriously wounded, offering encouraging words to the others. He had just completed his rounds, telling Luthien not to tarry too long, when he was met at the chapel door by Solomon Keyes.

  The young priest wiped his dirty hands and held one out to the dwarf king.

  Bellick took it, but turned it over instead of shaking it, taking note of the mud on the fingers. “You’ve been burying the dead,” the dwarf stated.

  “I have set others to the task,” Keyes replied. “I have been offering final prayers, consecrating the sites.”

  “What of the one-eyes?” the dwarf asked, a hint of a challenge in his gruff voice. “Have you any prayers for them?”

  “We built a communal pyre,” Keyes replied indignantly, “and burned them. And I did pray for their souls.”

  Bellick’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  “I prayed that they would learn the error of their ways in the afterlife, and that they would find redemption.”

  “You’re fond of them, are you?”

  Now it was Keyes who gave a very dwarvish snort. “I hold no fondness for the ways of cyclopians,” he replied. “But that does not mean that I hate the individual one-eyes.”

  “Perhaps some things are worth hating,” offered Luthien, coming to join the pair.

  “Perhaps I have no hate in my heart,” Keyes replied easily.

  “They beat you up good,” Bellick reminded him. Keyes merely shrugged.

  Luthien studied the man for a long moment and found that he was a bit jealous. He admired Keyes, not only for finding the courage to trust in the Eriadorans, but for holding such a generous heart.

  “You are marching this day?” Keyes asked Bellick. “Surely your soldiers are weary from the fight, and the sun will set in a mere two hours.”

  “We’ve got no time to be tired,” Bellick replied. “The road ahead is long, and every moment we waste gives Greensparrow more time to set his defenses.”

  “I will be ready to go in twenty minutes,” said Keyes unexpectedly. Both Luthien and Bellick stared at him wide-eyed.

  “You shall encounter many villages lining the road to Warchester,” the priest explained. “Many in Pipery have kinfolk there. We do not want them killed.”

  “I thought you were to help with the wounded,” said Luthien. />
  “I have enough people, trusted people, set in place to care for the wounded here,” Keyes replied. “I, and a select handful of others, see our place in the march with King Bellick.” He looked to the south. “I will save more lives out there than in here.”

  It took Bellick a few minutes to sort out the unexpected news, but the dwarf soon agreed. If Keyes could help weaken the defenses of the other villages half as much as he had done in Pipery, the road to Warchester would be swift and without great cost.

  Luthien’s elation was even greater, for he saw not only the tactical advantage of having such emissaries, but the moral one as well. With the Pipery spokesmen along, the number of deaths on both sides was sure to be reduced.

  The young Bedwyr’s optimism was guarded, though. He didn’t really know how much influence Keyes might command away from Pipery. He also realized that no matter how swift and easy the march, it would stall at Warchester, a great and fortified city, its defenses complete with its own wizard-duke.

  Where, Luthien wondered again, was Brind’Amour?

  Though she was completely drained by using the powerful spell she had spent so long in perfecting, Deanna Wellworth did not sleep for the rest of that night on the plateau. She sat beside the fire, which Brind’Amour enhanced with some minor magics, though he, too, was obviously exhausted. Deanna cradled Mystigal’s head on her lap, watching Brind’Amour as he gradually drifted off to sleep.

  What had she begun? Deanna had set events into motion that were now above her control; had gone against her king and mentor in a conspiracy that could not be hidden and could not be reversed. Even if she killed Brind’Amour this night—and the thought crossed her mind more than once—she would not be able to hide the truth from Greensparrow. Because of her, three more of Greensparrow’s dukes were gone: one dead, the other two, Mystigal and Resmore, broken.

  Deanna tried not to focus too tightly on the events of this night. In truth, it was but a logical continuation of the course she had started upon when she had used Taknapotin against Resmore in the mountains. Greensparrow would make contact with the banished demon, if he hadn’t already, and he would learn the truth of Deanna Wellworth, and of Ashannon McLenny. In those courageous earlier decisions, Deanna’s course had been set, and this night was as much about her own survival as it was about helping Brind’Amour.

  The old wizard awakened soon after the first slanting rays of dawn touched his face.

  “He will live, I believe,” Deanna said, indicating Mystigal, who was still unconscious.

  “But his magic is no more,” Brind’Amour replied, ending with a profound yawn. “The cord of magic within him has snapped.”

  “As with Duke Resmore?”

  Brind’Amour chuckled, amazed at how perceptive this Deanna could be. His smile did not last very long, though, as he considered what he feared might be potential trouble. “What of the duke of Eornfast?” he asked bluntly.

  “His business here was finished, and so he left,” Deanna answered simply.

  There was much more to it than that, Brind’Amour believed—and feared. Ashannon’s demeanor had been aloof, almost icy. The duke of Eornfast had apparently gone along with Deanna’s ploy, but was it because he agreed with her decision, or did he simply have no choice? Or even worse, Brind’Amour had to fear, did he have ulterior motives?

  The old wizard’s doubt showed clearly on his wrinkled face.

  “Trust in Ashannon McLenny,” Deanna begged. “He is a difficult one at times, but he holds no love for any who might claim rulership over his beloved Baranduine, be it Greensparrow or Brind’Amour.”

  “I never made such a claim,” Brind’Amour was quick to respond.

  “But shall you if your war goes well?”

  Brind’Amour had to work hard to try and see things from Deanna’s desperate point of view, in order to avoid insult at the remark. “Never have I claimed rulership over Avon!” he insisted. “Nor has any of Eriador at any time. When Bruce MacDonald ruled Eriador united, and had a disorganized Avon at his bidding, he never claimed anything but friendship to his kin from Baranduine.”

  “It is irrelevant anyway,” Deanna said quietly. “All that matters is what Ashannon believes.”

  “And what does he believe?”

  Deanna shrugged. “He agreed to banish his demon,” she said with confidence, “and he has done so. And this was as much his plan as it was mine own. He has been a friend for many years.”

  “But would it not be in his interest to see Greensparrow weakened?” Brind’Amour reasoned. “The more difficult the war for Avon’s king, the more easily Baranduine might slip from his grasp.”

  Again Deanna only shrugged. “We will have our answers soon enough,” she said. “Now I must get back to Mannington to make my report to Greensparrow.”

  Brind’Amour looked skeptically at Mystigal, wondering what Deanna might be thinking to do with the broken wizard.

  “I should like it if you would accompany me,” Deanna said.

  Brind’Amour’s surprise was genuine.

  “There is much we need to discuss,” the duchess went on.

  “Planning for the time after Greensparrow?”

  Deanna chuckled. “We have much to do before we can ever hope for that,” she replied. “For now, there are things you must know, and proof I must offer of my integrity in this matter.”

  Brind’Amour didn’t disagree. For all he knew, this entire situation was some sort of an elaborate ruse designed to entice him into the confidence of conspirators who cared nothing for Eriador. He gave a long look to the towering mountains, wondering what progress Luthien and Bellick had made, wondering if Pipery had yet fallen.

  Then he rose and stretched, and he and Deanna worked together, joining their strength to open a magical tunnel to the south.

  Just a short while later, Mystigal was resting comfortably on a bed in Deanna’s private quarters, while Deanna took Brind’Amour to meet the living proof that she had turned against Greensparrow.

  Selna seemed more than a little surprised to see her lady and the bushy-bearded man who accompanied her, and her jaw dropped low when Deanna introduced the stranger as the king of Eriador.

  “Greensparrow was the savior of Avon,” Deanna explained to Brind’Amour. “So it has been said for more than twenty years.”

  “Do not do this, my Lady,” Selna begged, but when she looked into Deanna’s eyes, she saw no compassion there.

  “Tell King Brind’Amour the truth, dear Selna,” Deanna said, her voice dripping with threat. “Else I will have to make you admit things as I did before.”

  Brind’Amour did not miss the blanch that came over the older woman. He put a hand on Deanna’s shoulder. “Pray tell me, dear Lady Wellworth, what was it that you did to this handmaid?”

  “When I banished Taknapotin, my demon, I knew that one of Greensparrow’s informants had been removed from my court,” Deanna explained. “But only one. Thus did I visit dear Selna here.”

  “It is not delicate to use magic in such a way,” Brind’Amour remarked, recalling his own magical exertions over Duke Resmore.

  “Not pleasant,” Deanna agreed. She looked directly at Selna. “But I shall do it again, as often as necessary.”

  Selna was trembling visibly. “It was Greensparrow,” she blurted suddenly. “He killed them; he killed them all! That night! Oh, my Lady, why do you keep forcing me to remember that horrible night?”

  “Greensparrow murdered my entire family,” Deanna said, her voice strangely devoid of emotion.

  “All but one,” Brind’Amour remarked.

  “I was kept alive only because Greensparrow feared that he would not be accepted as king,” Deanna explained. She looked to Selna, motioning for the woman to elaborate.

  “Though she was but a child, Greensparrow meant to put Deanna on the throne if necessary,” the handmaid admitted, lowering her gaze, for she could not look Deanna in the eye. “He would control her every action, of course, and then, when
she came of age, he would marry her.”

  Brind’Amour was indeed surprised that the plan to conquer Avon had been so very devious, and had worked out so perfectly neatly. Again the wizard thought of that past time and the decision for the brotherhood to disband and go to their deserved rest.

  “It never came to that, of course,” Deanna added, “for the people of Avon exalted in Greensparrow. They begged him to hold their kingdom together.”

  “Then why was Deanna allowed to live?” Brind’Amour asked, directing his question to Selna. He saw something here between the woman and Deanna, something that Deanna, in her outrage upon learning the truth, might be overlooking.

  “Ashannon McLenny of Eornfast,” Deanna answered sternly. “He took personal interest in me, even willingly entered Greensparrow’s court as a duke and accepted a demonic familiar, like all of Greensparrow’s wizard-dukes—save Cresis the cyclopian of Carlisle, who is too stupid to deal with such fiendish creatures. Ashannon was a wizard in his own right, and a friend of my father’s. While he abhorred the thought of dealing with Greensparrow, he had learned that Baranduine would be Greensparrow’s next target, and he had not the forces to resist.”

  Everything was falling into place for Brind’Amour now. He understood the cool demeanor of Ashannon McLenny, the fire of Deanna, and something else, a player here whom Deanna did not fully appreciate.

  “And how did Ashannon McLenny learn of the coming invasion?” the wizard asked.

  Deanna shrugged—then gasped in surprise when Selna answered, “I told him.”

  Deanna’s shocked expression made the older woman squirm. “I betrayed my dear Avon,” she admitted openly. “But I had to, my Lady! Oh, I feared Greensparrow, and what he might do to you. I knew that I had to protect you until the events became a thing of the past, until you were no more a threat to Greensparrow.”

  Brind’Amour’s snicker stopped the woman short, and turned both sets of eyes upon him. “No threat, indeed!” the wizard laughed.

  Deanna managed a smile at that, but Selna, torn beyond reason, did not. Brind’Amour understood Selna fully now; she was the ultimate peacemaker, the wrinkle-smoother, and that could be a dangerous thing to her allies in times of political intrigue. Selna had betrayed Greensparrow to Ashannon, and would now betray Deanna to Greensparrow if given the opportunity, because in her heart she only wanted things nice and neat, peaceful and orderly. Selna would do whatever she thought best to end conflicts and intrigue, but while that was admirable, the success of such a course depended upon the mercy of kings, a trait Brind’Amour knew to be scarce indeed among the noble-born. In short, Selna was a fool, an unwitting lackey, though her heart was not black with ambition. In looking at Deanna, and measuring her stern demeanor toward the woman, it occurred to Brind’Amour that Selna had probably already spied upon Deanna for Greensparrow on other occasions, and that Deanna knew about it. Thus, Selna was no more a threat, Brind’Amour realized, not with Deanna so near and so watchful.