Flamecaster

  “This way.” Von and Strangward led the way aft, and Lila did her best to map out the layout of the ship in her mind.

  “How many crew does it require to sail her?” she asked.

  “With a good crew, six or eight’s enough to handle her,” Von said. “If you need gunners, boarding parties, and galley staff, it’ll be more. Here we are.”

  By now they’d reached amidships. They gathered around, while Von and Strangward unlatched a hatch and wrestled it open. Strangward peered into the opening, then nodded, as if satisfied. “It’s down here,” he said. Grabbing up a lantern, he unrolled a rope ladder over the edge. Lila heard the plop as it hit bottom.

  When he went to climb down, Von gripped his arm. “My lord,” he said in a low, worried voice. “Please. Let me go.”

  “Nonsense,” Strangward said. “You’d likely get stuck in the hatch.” When Von didn’t release him he said, “Let go, Von. I’ll be fine.”

  Von let go and the emissary disappeared down the ladder.

  “Are you coming?” Strangward called up when he’d apparently reached bottom.

  They looked at one another. Nobody seemed eager to be first. Lila peered over the edge, into the hold.

  The emissary stood below, looking up at her, hands on hips. He’d set the lantern on a table, illuminating the entire space. And, next to him, on the floor, lay a dragon.

  “Blood of the martyrs,” Lila breathed. Stepping over the edge of the hatch, she turned, gripped the ladder, and began to descend.

  “This is the weapon we promised your king,” Strangward said when Lila stood beside him. “The most powerful predator of the natural world.”

  It was smaller than Lila would have expected a dragon to be, armored with jeweled scales that glittered in the lamplight. Its eyes shown brilliantly, set on either side of a handsome face—eyes that seemed familiar, almost human. It had stubby horns on its head, and wicked claws on all four feet. One wing was folded tightly against its back, while the other drooped, like a tent with broken poles. It appeared to be torn in places.

  Lila studied the beast with mingled fascination and fear. Razor-sharp spines marched down its back, all the way to the end of its tail. Its tail was coiled around it, occupying most of the floor space. Flame trickled from its nostrils. It wore a heavy collar around its neck, engraved with runes. It was connected to a heavy chain, bolted into the wall.

  It looked up at Lila with a spark of interest, then seemed to dismiss her and rested its head on its claws again.

  The space was entirely lined with brick and tile, which was blackened in spots, like the lining of a malfunctioning furnace. A pile of half-eaten rabbit carcasses lay in one corner, and the entire hold smelled of rum and sick and rotten meat.

  Botetort was the next down the ladder, followed closely by Destin. When the thane spotted the dragon, he took a quick step back and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Is . . . is that what I think it is?”

  “That depends on what you think it is,” Strangward said.

  Lila couldn’t help liking the emissary’s style. Whether she’d keep liking him remained to be seen.

  Destin stared at the beast with disbelief. “That—that’s a Carthian sun dragon,” he said, shooting a look at Strangward. “Isn’t it?”

  Strangward nodded.

  “But . . . it is my understanding that dragons are not real,” Botetort said.

  Strangward looked from the dragon to Botetort. “I assure you, this dragon is absolutely real. Touch it if you like.”

  Botetort made no move to do so. “It smells vile down here,” he said. “Like a piss-pot in a bawdy house. Do dragons always stink like that?”

  “We were anchored crossways in the current and I think it’s a little seasick,” Strangward said. “It’s been closed up down here since we sailed.”

  Botetort nudged a washtub with his foot. “It smells like rum. Is that what it drinks?”

  “Rum keeps it calm,” Strangward said. “It seems to like it.”

  “I suppose that would put a fire in its belly,” Botetort said. “Do dragons really breathe flame, like the legends say?”

  Strangward rocked his hand. “Sometimes.”

  Lila squatted in front of the dragon. Its eyes were glazed, its breath coming fast.

  “I wouldn’t get too close,” Strangward said sharply.

  “It’s not trained?”

  “This one is not quite training size,” Strangward said. “But once you begin, they catch on quickly.”

  Lila looked from Strangward to the dragon. This emissary’s more nervous than he lets on. It’s like he’s not entirely sure what this dragon might do. Is it because it’s a young dragon, and untrained? Or are they always that unpredictable?

  “How old is it?” Destin asked.

  “I’d say six months to a year. I don’t know for sure, since it was captured in the wild. But they grow fast. It’s nearly doubled in size since we sailed. We had to bring a young one. It would be impossible to transport a full-grown dragon.”

  “Why? How large can they get?”

  “Double the length of this ship.”

  “Truly? They get that big?” Botetort’s eyes gleamed.

  Before long, this dragon will be too big to get through the hatch, Lila thought. Even now, it would be tight.

  “Is it a male or female?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Strangward said. “Dragons are like some people—it’s difficult to tell without close examination.”

  “How long has it been locked in the hold?” Destin asked. “Shouldn’t it get some fresh air?”

  “The ship is made of wood, Lieutenant. Would you give a dragon the run of a wooden ship?” Strangward patted the tile wall with the flat of his hand. “If our deal goes forward, it will have plenty of room to roam here in the wetlands.”

  “I’m trying to imagine how dragons could be used in warfare,” Botetort said, rubbing his chin.

  “Here’s an example,” Strangward said. “One problem you have in fighting the northern forces is that the mountains are a formidable barrier. Another problem is the distance you must travel to get to the enemy. A full-grown dragon could fly over the mountains, destroy a city, and be back in Ardenscourt in time for supper. It would no longer be necessary for you to send your soldiers north, year after year.”

  The thane looked from the dragon to Strangward. “You have seen this with your own eyes?”

  “Where I come from, the sight of a dragon will send any army fleeing for their lives,” Strangward said. He turned toward the ladder. “It’s crowded down here. If everyone’s had a look, perhaps we could continue this conversation back on shore.” He hurried all of them back up on deck. Von seemed visibly relieved when Strangward emerged from the hold.

  Back in the palace, they reassembled in the presence chamber so that they could make their reports to the king. Lila noticed that Ash lurked nearby. When he heard about the dragon, he abandoned all pretense and moved in closer.

  “Have you used them for reconnaissance work?” Montaigne asked Strangward.

  “They can see long distances, and in the dark, so even the young ones would be suitable for that sort of thing,” Strangward said.

  “Can they understand orders?” the king asked. “Can they tell the difference between enemies and allies?”

  “Dragons are the most intelligent creatures I have ever encountered,” Strangward said. “They are much brighter than most people I meet.” He smiled a feral smile. “I have no doubt that they could make that distinction.”

  Lila thought of the collar the dragon wore in the hold. It faintly resembled the flashcraft collars used here in the south. “Can dragons be controlled using collars, in the way that mages can?”

  “With dragons,” Strangward said, “it’s more a matter of knowing how to train them.”

  Something about the way he said it reminded Lila of a barker at the fair.

  Maybe the king thought so, too, because he motioned to Destin.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “can you verify the truth of what the emissary is saying?”

  Destin licked his lips. “Your Majesty,” he said, “as a diplomat, Commander Strangward is protected by a certain—”

  “No worries, Lieutenant,” Strangward broke in. “Truly. I don’t mind.” Smiling, he extended his hands toward the spymaster.

  Destin took a breath, released it, then took hold of the emissary’s hands. He looked straight into the diplomat’s face. “Are you telling the truth, Commander Strangward?”

  “Always, Lieutenant Karn,” Strangward said. “Or, at least, as often as possible.”

  “Do you mean harm to the king, or the empire?”

  “No,” Strangward said.

  “Is this dragon as powerful as you say it is?” Destin whispered.

  “If anything, I have underestimated its potential.”

  “Can they carry soldiers? Or supplies?” Botetort asked.

  “I’ve not seen that,” Strangward said, “but they are certainly strong enough. I suppose you would need some sort of harness. Or a saddle.”

  Botetort turned to Lila. “Would you be able to procure something suitable? Clan-made, perhaps? Something that combines the control of a collar with the practicality of a saddle?”

  “I could . . . look into it,” Lila said reluctantly. “Though, since my sources have had no experience with dragons, I imagine that it would take time to work up a design.”

  Destin turned to the king. “Was there anything else you wanted me to ask, Your Majesty?”

  “No, Lieutenant,” Montaigne said. “I am satisfied.”

  Destin held on to Strangward’s hands a moment longer, then released his hold and stepped back.

  But Lila wasn’t done. She took a quick breath, knowing she had to tread lightly. “I am concerned about the health of the dragon we saw today,” she said. “It seemed . . . listless.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ash sit up straighter.

  “Dragons eat large meals, and then sleep for long periods in between,” Strangward said. “The dragon you saw made a fresh kill immediately before we sailed. He will get progressively more . . . lively.”

  “What do dragons typically prey on?” Lila asked.

  “They are meat eaters, so they’ll eat pretty much anything large enough to catch their interest.”

  “Including people?” she persisted.

  “They have been known to eat people, yes,” Strangward said.

  “Would you be able to supply more dragons, if we needed them?” Botetort asked.

  “I know where to find large numbers of dragons,” Strangward said. “More than you’ll ever need.”

  There were nods all around. This is too easy, Lila thought.

  Strangward must have sensed that, too, because now he moved to close the deal. “So. Here is what I propose. We will leave the dragon with you, and take the girl back to the Northern Islands with us. If the empress determines that she is the girl she is looking for, our armies will arrive in time for the marching season in the north. If you find the dragon to be useful, we can make arrangements to supply more.”

  Montaigne shook his head. “I’m sorry. That is not acceptable to us.”

  Strangward went perfectly still. “It’s not acceptable? In what way, Your Majesty?”

  “We were promised an army for the girl,” Montaigne said, “and we do not intend to give her up until we get one. We’ve given you the opportunity to examine the girl and determine if she is the one you are looking for. If you believe she is, inform the empress and return with the army, and we will make the trade. If you are interested in establishing trade in dragons, I suggest that you leave the dragon here so that we can evaluate its potential usefulness to us.”

  Strangward gazed at the king for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “So. The dragon and the diamonds stay with you and we leave empty-handed? That hardly seems fair.”

  “You’ve learned a lesson, then—one you should have mastered long before now,” Montaigne said. “Life isn’t fair.”

  “I’ll make a note of that, Your Majesty,” Strangward said, his jaw tight. “I am certain this lesson will be of great use to me going forward. In truth, I have little interest in establishing a trade in dragons. I’ll report your requirements to Celestine and we will see what she decides.” He inclined his head slightly. “Gentlemen. And lady. Thank you for your time.”

  With that, the delegation from the Empress in the East walked out, leaving behind their last vestige of protocol.

  “Arrogant savage,” Montaigne said.

  Lila glanced at Ash. His eyes were closed, his face slack with relief. Lila frowned. Was he relieved that Arden would not have a dragon at its disposal? Wasn’t a dragon preferable to an army? Or was he just happy with the delay?

  “Your Majesty,” Botetort protested, “a girl for a dragon? It seems to me that there is little risk to us in such an agreement. The empire is swarming with women, but with a dragon we could fly all the way to Fellsmarch and burn the wolf bitch to a crisp.” Clearly, Botetort envisioned himself as just the hero to do that.

  “I have examined the girl,” Destin said, “and I have not been able to identify any qualities that would match the value of a—”

  “Enough!” Montaigne stood, trembling with rage. “I have made my decision. We may not see the girl as valuable, but the empress clearly does, and that is all that matters. I will not allow a shipload of unwashed pirates to conduct a bait and switch. When the empress sends me an army, we will do business, and not before.”

  36

  STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

  When Ash left the royal apartments, he headed straight for the stables. Though he was officially working full-time in the healing halls, he found that sometimes hard physical labor was the only treatment for the anger and frustration that accumulated at court. And right now he needed that sort of relief.

  Grabbing up a pitchfork, he proceeded to pitch dirty hay out of the nearest stall and into the aisle, not particularly careful about where it landed. He mucked out a half dozen stalls, until the muscles in his shoulders and arms burned, and he was soaked in sweat.

  All the while, his mind boiled like a mud spring. What could the empress of a faraway island realm possibly want with Jenna? All of the possibilities seemed bad. Besides, any Ardenine alliance with a realm known for powerful magic spelled bad news for the Fells.

  “I thought you were out of the stables,” someone said behind him.

  Ash knew without turning around that it was Lila.

  “Every now and then, I get in the mood to shovel horseshit. You’re welcome to help.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “No. You want to talk. There’s a difference.”

  “This thing—this agreement—can’t go forward.”

  “Maybe it won’t,” Ash said, digging into the dirty hay. “You heard the king. Maybe he and the empress will never come to terms. Which is fine by me.”

  “I think they will, eventually. Unless something happens to stop it.”

  Ash finally turned around to face her, leaning on his pitchfork. “What do you care? There’s money to be made either way. Dragon harnesses, specialized clothing for dragon riders, dog collars for Carthian mages—the possibilities are endless.”

  “The last thing we need is another army mixing in,” Lila said. “The situation is bad enough as it is.”

  “We? I don’t know whose side you’re on, but I’m pretty sure it’s not mine. How do you think all those collars, talismans, and amulets are going to be used?” Ash’s voice rose. “I’m not interested in getting involved with any of your schemes.”

  “Shhh,” Lila said, looking around. “I don’t think you want to share that with the entire stable yard.”

  “We’re done here, anyway,” Ash said, resuming his forking. “Now why don’t you just go about your business, and I’ll go about mine. That was our agreement, remember?”

  “You’r
e wrong about me,” Lila said. “I’ve not been straight with you, and that’s why we need to talk—someplace we won’t be overheard.”

  Something about the way Lila said this caught Ash’s ear—and made him turn around again. She looked and sounded serious as plague. It was like the smooth-talking, hard-drinking, unscrupulous slacker he knew had been swapped out for somebody else.

  “All right,” he said. “We can go into the tack room. Nobody will be in there this time of day. But I’m warning you—you’d better not be wasting my time.”

  As Ash had expected, the tack room was deserted. Rolley would be at dinner, and it was too dark to be out riding this late at night at this time of year. Ash hung the lantern from one of the saddle racks and sat down on a trunk, arms folded, prepared for smoke and mirrors.

  Lila settled onto the bench that centered the room, raked her hand through her cap of curls, and squared her shoulders. “First off,” she said, “my name is not Lila Barrowhill. It’s Lila Byrne. Amon Byrne is my father.”

  As usual, Lila’s first move set Ash reeling like he’d been clubbed over the head. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. Amon Byrne was the captain of the queen’s Gray Wolf guard. The queen of the Fells, that is. His mother.

  “Close your mouth, sul’Han,” Lila said, sounding more like herself. “You look like a beached fish.”

  He scrambled for something to say. “I know Byrne’s a widower, but I don’t recall any children except for Simon.”

  “Simon was the oldest, then my brother Silva,” Lila said. “My mother died in childbirth with me. Simon stayed on with our da, and me and Silva went to live with my mother’s relatives in the Southern Islands.”

  When Ash took a closer look, he could see that it was possible. Captain Byrne’s wife had been a Southern Islander, with dark skin and curly hair. Lila had inherited that, but her eyes were gray like her father’s. Ash had guessed she was a mixed blood, but it had never occurred to him that it was this particular mix.

  “I guess you could say that this apple fell pretty far from the tree,” Lila said with a crooked smile. “I never saw much of my da until I went to live with some cousins in Baston Bay when I was ten. They were smugglers, though they called themselves traders, and they had ships that ran up and down the coast. My da would visit my aunt Lydia in Chalk Cliffs sometimes, and I’d take a ship up and see him. Not often; I was kind of mad at him, to tell you the truth.”