"What do you mean?"
"He . . ." Gavril shook his head. "It adds nothing to the tale, because my father did encourage my friendship with Tyrus. Or, I should say, he encouraged . . . No matter. The point is that we remained friends, and so the emperor was like an uncle to me. He was very kind to me, and always had time for me, and I greatly admired him and often wished . . ."
"Often wished what?" she prompted when he trailed off.
"My relationship with my father was not easy. I envied Tyrus's with the emperor. It was the difference between being a bastard to a man with four legitimate heirs and being the only child. My father said that someday I would be glad of his harshness, because Tyrus could never be more than he was, and I could. I did not care. I would have gladly shared my father's attentions with a dozen brothers, if I could be as free as Tyrus."
"Tyrus is not free."
"I know. His burden is different but no less. A child doesn't see that. Later, my view of the emperor changed. I was confused for a long time. No one truly explained what my father had done, and people thought him either a martyr or a monster. I was still friends with the son of the man who had sentenced my father to exile, and the emperor himself was as kind to me as ever, as if nothing had changed. But then I grew up, and I heard how my father had been betrayed by his best friend, how the emperor exiled him on false charges because he feared my father's power. I heard that from my uncles and in the streets. Then Tyrus went away to the Okamis and I was moved into the barrack for training. That separation also meant a separation from the emperor himself, and my opinions on the man changed. My view of his actions changed."
"He became the enemy," she said softly.
Gavril nodded. "Time tempered my memories of my father, too, and all around me I heard what a great man he was, and how any rumor of his ruthlessness or cruelty or, yes, madness was from his enemies, who spread lies for the emperor. Even my opinion of Tyrus altered. I was . . . more influenced by others than I like to admit. I felt alone and . . ."
He cleared his throat. "That is no excuse. The fact is that it was simple for me to believe we had grown apart and the fault was more Tyrus's than mine, and that if he continued trying to renew our friendship, he had an ulterior motive."
"Tyrus never has ulterior motives."
"I know, and I know it does not speak well of me to admit I thought him guilty of that. It was easier to believe I had avoided a trap than that I'd lost a friend, which I now know I had. I now know many things. About Tyrus, about myself, about my father, and about the emperor. But it is the last that concerns you. What do I think of the emperor?"
He took a deep breath. "I am almost certain we face no hero's welcome. Jiro Tatsu is not the kindly uncle I once believed him to be. Nor is he the monster I later thought. He is the emperor, and all that entails. He must put us into the dungeons, exactly as these men expect. If he makes any other move, his enemies will pounce, and the empire will be further split. It will not be comfortable nor pleasant, but it will be safe. We will be there for appearances only, and only until he can find some reason to free us."
"But then we cannot go to your father's camp."
"No."
"Which is a problem."
Gavril exhaled and stretched his legs. "It is."
"Because not only does it mean I can't spy on him, but when he discovers we've been taken, it gives him more fodder for his cause--his only son and an imperial Keeper thrown into the dungeons."
"Yes."
"How will this affect his next move?"
Gavril looked over and frowned.
"You said he is planning a major move. I'm presuming now you can tell me what it is."
"I would, if I knew. My father realized . . . he did not have my full devotion. I was simply too poor an actor, as I'm certain you saw. I could not feign the degree of filial loyalty he expected. I led him to believe it was simply because we'd been too long apart--he was a stranger to me--but he took care not to tell me anything of a sensitive nature. I know only that he was mobilizing troops and that he had some grand move in mind."
"Martial or sorcery?"
"I . . . I would like to say that, given the mobilization of troops, it was the former." He looked at her. "But I fear it was not."
EIGHT
At midday, the wagon stopped, and they were escorted out to a spot where Moria was expected to relieve herself.
"It's been nearly a day since I drank water," she said. "I have none to spare."
The bandit leader grunted and handed Moria a small bag, which she opened to find dried meat and fruit. She gave it back.
"I'm not hungry."
"Your rumbling stomach says otherwise." The leader took out a piece of meat and bit off a chunk. "There? It's not poisoned."
"I would prefer water."
He motioned to Moria's guard, who took out his own waterskin and passed it over.
She took a gulp of the water. The leader passed her the bag of food again. She accepted a piece of meat and chewed on it.
"Have you ever heard the story of King Hokkai?" the leader asked. Moria stopped chewing, and he laughed. "Ah, you have. Good King Hokkai, who invited all his enemies to a banquet. Then, in a show of good faith, he sampled from every plate before they dined. His enemies dug in, and one by one, fell foaming and convulsing to their deaths, the king having built up an immunity to the poison over the moons proceeding the meal."
His gaze moved to Gavril, judging his reaction. When Gavril gave none, the leader laughed and said, "Eat, girl. I jest."
Moria still hesitated, much to the leader's amusement.
"It's one set of rations between you," the bandit said. "Give the boy some."
"Do I have to?" she asked.
The man smiled. "No, you do not. It's entirely your choice."
Moria took another long draught of the water. "Then no. He gave me nothing after he captured me. He needs nothing now."
"Perhaps a sip of water?" the leader said. "The day grows hot, and if he's to survive the journey . . ."
"Is that necessary?"
The bandit chuckled and elbowed Gavril. "Did you hear her?"
"I'm well aware of the Keeper's opinion on my continued existence, and her hope of seeing it end soon, preferably at the point of her dagger."
"Seems you survived the night together just fine."
Gavril gave him a baleful look. "Does it appear as if I slept? I would ask that when we resume our journey, she walks behind the wagon so I may get some sleep."
"You'll sleep well soon. I hear the emperor's dungeons are very quiet . . . in between the screams of the tortured."
Another called the leader, hailing him as "Toman." The leader walked off. Moria glanced about. They were still surrounded by a half-dozen bandits, eating and drinking and resting yet keeping an eye on them.
"I could not--" she began, whispering without looking Gavril's way.
"I know. Well played."
"You do need to drink. Perhaps if I soak dried fruit and conceal it--"
"No."
"But you must--"
"They'll not let me die. Spare no thought for me. Nor will I for you. That is safest."
Moria moved a few steps away and crouched to finish her meal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gavril glance over, and a couple of the bandits laughed.
"You might beg her for a scrap," Toman said as he returned.
"I need none," Gavril said stiffly.
"Good. Because you'll get none except from her. Now let's talk about your father."
"I'd rather not."
"Oh, but you should be so proud of him. It takes a strong man to survive the Forest of the Dead. And then to come back and wreak vengeance by murdering hundreds of innocents? The actions of an honorable warrior."
"Whatever the warrior code might say, my father realizes it is impossible to fight treachery with honorable deeds. He was betrayed by the empire itself. If citizens must fall in his war, then they ought to consider the choices they ma
de, supporting a monster on the imperial throne and allowing a hero to be exiled."
"Pretty speech, boy."
"I do not make pretty speeches. Only plain ones, ringing with truth."
The advantage to an impassive demeanor, Moria reflected, was that one was not expected to infuse any speech with passion or even emotion. Gavril spoke the words with monotone conviction, and the bandit leader studied him for any sign of dissembling, but Moria knew he'd find none.
"Your father is no hero," Toman said finally.
"That is your opinion. I trust you will see the error of it before he takes the imperial throne. Otherwise . . ." Gavril met the leader's gaze with a cold stare. "You will regret it, as will every citizen who stands between us and--"
The bandit's slap rang through the quiet, the blow hard enough to make Gavril stumble back.
"Apologies, my lord," Toman said. "I had to make you stop. You were talking madness."
"You asked me to speak of my father."
"Let's change the subject. Your mother."
Now there was a slight stiffening in Gavril's back before he composed himself and said, "What about my mother?"
"Where is she?"
Silence.
Toman continued. "I had much time to think, riding through the night, and I realized my gift to the emperor is incomplete. He will reward me handsomely for you two but . . ." He shrugged. "There is a limit to what gold can buy, and there are things I want that I cannot purchase. I have wives. Three. Not that they know there are three of them, of course," he said with a smile. "More important are my eight children. What they need most is a better life than a bandit can provide. I want a pardon for my crimes and land for my families."
Gavril lowered his voice. "Which I can guarantee you will receive if you return me to my father."
"Your father has neither land nor pardon to offer."
"He will."
"No, he will not, and I would sooner see my children put to the blade than take a copper from that traitor." Toman stepped closer to Gavril. "And if I may offer a word of advice, boy? You would do well to look deep into your heart and reconsider your loyalty to him before we reach the city gates."
"My loyalty to my father is absolute."
"For now. Wait until they're slicing into you--a thousand times. Do you know what that's like?"
"I'm certain I'll find out if I'm captured."
"Brave words for a child. Perhaps I ought to do you a favor and torture you myself. Give you time to change your story before the experts take over."
"I have no story to change."
"But you could. Show the emperor that you have seen the error of your ways, recant, and throw yourself on his mercy."
Gavril's eyes narrowed. "And how would that help you?"
"As I said, I have children. I am a father and you are a boy. Perhaps I fear you've been led astray."
"I may be young, but I am not a child, foolish enough to be led astray by my father, nor to be tricked by you."
"It's no trick, boy. I know the torture methods the emperor employs--intimately--and I am suggesting you may wish to avoid learning of them yourself. There is a way you can do so that will benefit us both. Tell me where to find your mother."
The bandit leader got his reaction then. An honest one, too great for Gavril to conceal.
"You plan . . ." Gavril could not finish.
"Some argue today that our laws are too lenient. They long for the old days, when crime was almost unheard of, those past ages where to commit one meant the lives of your entire family were forfeit. Personally, I'm quite glad that is no longer a possibility, but still, in matters where the crime is treason? The emperor was too lenient when he exiled Alvar Kitsune. Not only did he leave you and your mother alive, but he allowed your family to retain their caste, their wealth, their social standing . . . look where it got him."
"My mother played no role in my father's escape."
"But you did. Your uncles did. Your family turned the emperor's mercy against him and used the wealth they retained to raise an army. The only way to punish that? Retract his mercy. All traces of his mercy. Annihilate you and your mother and your uncles and their wives and their children and wipe the Kitsunes from the empire. That is what the emperor wishes now. I will help him achieve his revenge."
Gavril's jaw worked, but he said only, "My mother did not even know my father was alive."
"She does now."
"I presume so, but he has not seen her. He had her taken from the imperial city and put into safekeeping before this began. I do not know where she is."
Toman peered at him. "Are you saying your father does not trust you? That he has reason to doubt your filial loyalty?"
"No, it is my maternal loyalty that concerns him. He knows I worry about my mother, and he knows that it would be unsafe for me to contact her. So he has given me no way of doing so. For both our sakes."
"Hmm, well, I was going to suggest that it would help your cause if you willingly turned her over, but I can see that's not likely to happen. Perhaps, then, I can appeal to your maternal concern myself. There are others searching for your mother, hoping to win a reward from the emperor. He would not require her to be returned alive. If you are certain she played no role in your treason, perhaps it is best if you allow her to be returned--with you--to the imperial city, where she can plead her innocence to the emperor."
Gavril's cold gaze met Toman's. "Even if I agreed, as I said, I do not know where to find her."
Toman nodded slowly and paced in front of the two of them, as if thinking of a new tactic. Then the bandit grabbed Moria, wrenching her around so fast that she didn't have time to react before his dagger was pressed against her throat.
"Are you certain, boy?" The bandit leader pushed the blade edge into Moria's neck and pain sliced through her, hot blood dripping. "Perhaps you wish to rethink that. And rethink your affection for the Keeper."
"I do not need to rethink either," Gavril said, his words chill and brittle. "I cannot tell you what I do not know. I could tell you a lie, to save the Keeper's life, but her death means only that I do not have to share the wagon or the rations. Or worry about falling asleep and waking with her hands around my throat. If the emperor would be satisfied with her corpse, then that is your choice."
Toman shifted his weight, the blade digging in, and Moria gasped. Gavril tensed, as if ready to react, the movement so slight the bandit seemed not to notice.
"You're quite certain you don't know?" the man said.
"I am entirely certain."
"Then you have a point, even if you may regret inadvertently making it." The bandit leader threw Moria aside. "The people will not be satisfied with your whore's corpse. You are stuck with her for the duration of the journey." He motioned for the others to take them to the wagon. "And there's no need to tell me where your mother is." Toman grinned over his shoulder. "I already know."
NINE
He's mad. That was Ashyn's first thought when Edwyn told her she had the power to wake dragons. There was no such thing as dragons . . .
Nor shadow stalkers. Nor death worms. Nor thunder hawks. Truly, Ashyn, you are correct, as you have always been. Such things exist only in your imagination. Like that dragon skull you see before you.
She imagined her sister's voice. Not mocking--simply light and teasing as she rolled her eyes and sauntered away. And for one moment, picturing Moria, Ashyn wanted to lunge after her, to grab her cloak and pull her back.
I'm as mad as he is.
No, simply lonely. So very lonely and unsettled and incomplete without her sister.
Are you well, Moria? Are you safe? Did Gavril look after you? Has Tyrus found you? Are you reunited with him and with Daigo?
"Ashyn?" Edwyn said.
She looked at him, and she didn't see madness in his eyes. She saw calm resolve and strength of purpose. She glanced at the dragon skull. Proof that he was not mad, at least not in believing there had been dragons once.
She looked up at the skull. "How would I wake . . . ?"
His laugh startled her. He reached to squeeze her shoulder. "Sorry, child. I'm not laughing at you, but at myself. I truly ought to have explained more before I blurted that, but this is such a moment for me, the culmination of both a life's work and sixteen summers of grief and longing. It is fate, of course. A gift from the goddess, whatever she might be. I spent my life with these empty relics." He waved at the skull. "Preserving them and the memory of them for our people. And then my own daughter bears children who could waken the dragons? If that is not the work of a beneficent goddess, I do not know what is. Reunited with my granddaughter, who is also the young woman who can make my greatest dream a reality, at a time when the empire needs it most?"
He shook his head. "But that is not straightening out this matter at all, is it? You'll have to excuse me. I'm overexcited and overwhelmed, and my thoughts can be a jumble even at the best of times."
She knew what that was like. Moria's thoughts seemed to run in a linear path, clear and decisive and leading straight to action. Ashyn's were more like a spiderweb, with infinite possibilities, and she could get lost in them.
"Let me start with the simplest answer to your question," he said. "When we reach our destination, you will not be asked to transform bones to flesh. We have a sleeping dragon. A mother and two young offspring."
"Sleeping dragons?"
"Asleep for almost an age now. That was the custom. A dragon is not an easy creature to control. When our people had no further use for them, those with your power would put them to sleep, and then wake them when needed. But there had not been Northern twins with your ability born in so many generations that people forgot it was even possible, forgot the dragons altogether. Fortunately, some of us did not, and we cared for them. Then you were born and we knew they could be wakened, but they ought not to be. Not yet. Just as I knew I could have my daughter's children back, but I ought not to interfere. Not until the dragons needed to rise. Until the empire needed them."
"Which is now. Because of Alvar."
He smiled. "Because of Alvar. So, Ashyn, are you ready to wake dragons?"
To Edwyn's confusion and dismay, Ashyn did not rush to say yes, of course, and when can we leave? It was thrilling, to be sure. To wake dragons? To see a living one? Beyond her dreams. But at the moment Ashyn had more prosaic concerns.