Return of the Guardian-King

  Well, why not follow it? He was in the middle of the desert, without water, with no idea where he was going. The bird could see what he could not, might even have already found an oasis. In fact, its presence probably meant he was near to one—or else the edge of the dunes—for even a bird blown off course would not likely be blown that far into the desert. It just might lead him out of the desert. Or at the very least to a source of water.

  And so he turned in the direction it had flown and followed it. Every now and then he saw it circling overhead, a tiny white mote, almost indistinguishable from the overcast that hid the sky. It circled and then flew off again, always in the same direction. He doubted it was thinking anything of him, for he knew pigeons often circled when they were trying to get their bearings. But he made his way through the dunes, feeling a rebirth of hope, half expecting at any moment to round a dune and see a cluster of palms around the inviting gleam of water.

  Instead he stepped out between two dunes to find a sandy expanse at the midst of which stood the vast ruin of an ancient, mist-hung city. Domes and spires and rectangular buildings peeked tantalizingly above a massive outer wall in which a wide gateway stood atop a broad entrance ramp. A pair of pillars surmounted by winged dragons flanked the opening. Gold gleamed in places on their wings, and overhead the mist hung so low it brushed the building tops.

  The pigeon flew another circle over his head, then flapped straight for the city, gliding in under the arch and disappearing.

  He stood where he was, staring gape-jawed. Might this be the fabled dragon city of Chena’ag Tor? The one no man had seen and lived to tell about? The one legend said held the treasures of a thousand years of dragon thievery, and their coveted secrets of time and eternity?

  At first he didn’t even want to approach the place, but curiosity got the best of him and he crossed the sandy flat to the base of the ramp. The height of the walls was immense. Had anyone suggested walls could soar that high, he would have laughed at them. The gateway, which had looked almost normal from a distance, was enlarged in proportion to the walls—wide enough to admit twenty horses abreast and as tall as the Grand Kirikhal in Fannath Rill, the tallest building Abramm had ever seen.

  Again he stood and stared, and only gradually began to wonder if he was meant to go inside. He had no doubt he’d been brought here. He just wasn’t sure who had brought him. Yes, he’d been asking for Eidon’s guidance all along, and had believed, at least some of the time, that he had received it. Had the pigeon been part of that guidance?

  If so, it had flown before him into the city, which seemed a strong indication he was supposed to follow it. He knew that sometimes Eidon deliberately led his people into situations they did not understand for reasons they could not comprehend, precisely so they would have the opportunity to trust him for who he was.

  “My Lord Eidon, you know my uncertainty. If this is not the way you would have me go, make it evident. I do not mistrust you, only my ability to understand what you would have me to do.”

  Barely had his words died away than a bright luminescence ribboned out from his feet, up the ramp and past the gargantuan statues. It lay there, bright and clear for only a moment, then faded away.

  Well, that was clear enough.

  But as he started walking, a tremendous roar echoed out of the city, so loud it shook little bits of sand off the dragons on their pillars. He stopped, listening to its dying echoes, all the hairs on his body standing upright. Whatever that was, it was big. And all he had was a staff. Did he really want to go inside this city? A city of dragons . . . That one had sounded far bigger than little Tapheina. . . .

  He drew a long, deep breath and let it out, then started up the ramp.

  It felt more like jumping off a cliff.

  Maddie jerked awake, heart pounding. The bedchamber lay silent and dark around her, the kelistar on the bed table having gone out. She had dreamt of the desert again, of the form lying prostrate in the storm, slowly being covered with sand. This time it hadn’t been Abramm’s form she’d seen there, but her own.

  She smelled the dust again now. Always the dust. She couldn’t seem to rid herself of it. Just like the dreams, which returned almost every night. At first it had been Abramm, then a couple of times now she’d found Ronesca, faceup instead of down, eyes wide and full of darkness. Once she’d even discovered little Simon, grown to manhood. The last few days, though, every time she’d stumbled over the body, she’d known it was her own. The shock of it always awakened her.

  Looking into Tiris’s amber had been the stupidest thing she had ever done. Especially when Tiris wasn’t there to help explain away what she had seen. And he wasn’t, still occupied with whatever had arisen at his villa in Ropolis. Now, over a month later, she was paying dearly for her mistake.

  Repeatedly she reminded herself that the amber wasn’t something Eidon had sent and that what it had shown her might not even be real. Or not the whole picture . . . or . . . It was all visions and imagination, things seen with the mind and heart, not flesh and blood and bone she could feel. Certainly it was no proof he was dead. No proof at all!

  Yet, ever since that night, something vital had gone out of her. Whatever spark of belief and confidence and hope she’d nurtured in her heart had died, and she’d been unable to resurrect it. Now she felt cut loose and floating, all she’d thought she knew and understood brought into question, her confidence in Eidon’s goodness deeply rattled.

  To have believed so completely and to be so wrong . . . If Abramm was never to return, why had Eidon allowed her to be with him that night after Abby’s birth? Or had he no more to do with that than with the amber? Maybe it really was just a hallucination born of the combined stresses of her pain and grief—and the spore and what all the midwives agreed was a tooclose brush with death.

  She lay there, staring at the folds of the bed canopy above her, listening to Jeyanne’s slow, soft breathing, the girl asleep on her pallet nearby. Silence pressed around them, broken by the occasional creak of the palace’s walls and the distant murmur of voices. She wondered if rhu’ema lurked in the shadows above her, watching her and laughing as she unraveled. Laughing as she realized the pointless futility of her life.

  What did she do that was of any value? Who cared about another ballad when the last one had turned out to be such a farce? Her children still welcomed her presence, especially little Abby, with her blond curls, blue eyes, and ready smile. But they had their nurses. . . . The only thing she seemed to do besides visit them these days was counsel Ronesca. And that sure wasn’t worth anything.

  Day after day, the queen would ask what to do, and Maddie would advise her to send a party south to rescue Leyton and to refuse outright to meet with the Esurhites, who had already asked for audience. Ronesca would listen intently, nod as if she agreed, and the next day they’d repeat the conversation as if it had never happened.

  Just yesterday, Maddie learned for the first time that the emissaries not only hadn’t been refused, they’d been allowed to travel all the way to Fannath Rill and were due to arrive at the palace shortly. Ronesca had even had the gall to suggest Maddie sit in on the negotiations, which the latter refused in an outpouring of righteous indignation. The outburst had provoked the queen to wrath of her own, and she’d dismissed Maddie out of hand.

  The First Daughter had left angry, frustrated, and feeling more alive than she had in weeks. But it faded swiftly, and soon the crushing apathy was back. All the world, it seemed, was crumbling to pieces around her. . . .

  The awareness of men talking quietly in the next room intruded again into her thoughts, and she recognized Trap’s voice among them. Released from prison as Ronesca had promised, he’d been happy to take the position of captain of the First Daughter’s guard, a position he considered himself imminently more suited for than finance secretary. Especially since Garival was doing such a superb job in the latter position. Now a soft knock preceded the door’s opening. “Your Highness?” Trap asked from outsi
de the bedroom. “Your Highness, the queen requires your presence. Are you awake?”

  Maddie frowned and sat up. “The queen? What time is it?”

  “A little after the third hour, ma’am.”

  “She’s summoning me at the third hour?” Maddie pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed as Jeyanne stirred on her pallet. “I told her I would not be part of the negotiations.”

  “The negotiations have concluded, ma’am. The Esurhites left several hours ago.”

  Maddie froze there on the bedside, gripped by sudden hope. She’d expected they’d all be haggling for days. “Did she send them away without treating with them, after all?”

  “I don’t think so, milady. She met with them privately for several hours. Her, Minirth, and her closest advisors. The meeting concluded around midnight, and the Shadow lovers left immediately. They did not seem displeased.” He fell silent, and she thought he would say more, but he did not.

  “And now she’s summoned me,” Maddie said, sighing. “Very well.”

  Trap closed the door. Jeyanne, having awakened fully by now and grasping the situation at once, went to the wardrobe. She returned with an undershift, which she laid on the bed, then stood ready to help Maddie take off her bedgown. But for a moment the First Daughter sat there, shaken with a sudden surge of anger that she should be dragged out of her bed in the middle of the night to endure another of Ronesca’s rambling and pointless conversations. It was like some bizarre form of torture.

  As usual, the outrage died as quickly as it flared, and suddenly she didn’t care. If Ronesca wanted to talk, let her talk. If she wanted Maddie to give advice she wouldn’t heed, Maddie would give it. What difference did it make, anyway?

  Heaving a sigh, she stood and let Jeyanne remove her bedgown. Half an hour later she was ushered into the queen’s private audience chamber.

  Ronesca awaited her alone, seated before the fire and dressed in a thick robe of wool and velvet, though the room was quite warm and very dark. She held a cup of tea in her hands, an empty saucer on the table beside her. She did not look well: Shadows cupped her eyes and sweat sheened her pale skin.

  Maddie curtsied, and Ronesca received her greeting, waving her into the chair beside her.

  When she said nothing, Maddie ventured, “So you’ve concluded your negotiations?”

  “Concluded and sent them off, thank Eidon. I could hardly bear to have them here at all.”

  “Well, we agree on that, at least,” Maddie murmured. “I’m surprised they didn’t demand you put them up.”

  “They wished to return to their commander.”

  “With your concessions?” Maddie asked.

  “With my offer.”

  “Your offer?”

  “I had no choice, Madeleine.” Ronesca sipped her tea. “They have my husband and my sons.”

  Maddie sighed but said nothing.

  Ronesca looked at her sharply. “You would turn them away even if the captured king in question was your husband?” The queen set her cup on its saucer. “You can’t even accept the fact he’s been dead for well over a year and you think I believe you would, of your own choice, give him over to our enemies to torture?”

  Maddie shook her head. “The only thing they can be trusted to do is not return Leyton and your sons. At least not alive. And as Leyton has no virgin daughters for Belthre’gar’s harem, you have nothing to offer them that they might want. They’ll surely put him in their games—your sons, as well. They probably already have.”

  “Which is why I must act swiftly in this. And as it turns out, I do have something they want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A man who betrayed them and came to hide among us.”

  “Would he not be considered an ally?”

  Ronesca ignored the question. “He was a great general who betrayed his command, allowing the Draesians to break through some line. . . .” She waved a dismissive hand. “I couldn’t follow the details. It doesn’t matter. Besides throwing the battle, he took a large amount of gold and other valuables— jewels, religious treasures, and the like—from the imperial coffers and museums. Belthre’gar has sworn to see him pay. They want him back.”

  “And they came to you asking for this?”

  “Not at all. They didn’t even know he was here.”

  “And he is, in fact, still here?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “We have him in irons already.” Ronesca smiled. “Held in secret, of course.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Oh, Maddie, my dear. Surely you’ve guessed by now. What other foreigner has a mysterious past, uncertain origins, a vast fortune, and a villa full of treasure?”

  “Light’s grace, Ronesca! You’ve arrested Draek Tiris?”

  “Well, apparently his real name is something else. We’ll be taking him down to Peregris to make the exchange in a few days. They will meet us on that little island offshore. With the funny trees.” She paused. “I’d like you to come with me.”

  Maddie could not keep her dismay from showing.

  “I know it’s a hardship, but . . .” Ronesca put a slender hand to her brow and sighed. “You know how tired I am. How badly I feel. . . . People are coming at me constantly. High Kohal Minirth. Minister Freyaz. The generals. Now I have the Esurhites, as well. And I try to listen to them, but sometimes I just know I’m not really thinking right.” She dropped her forehead into her hand. It was several moments before Maddie realized she was weeping. “I want Leyton home and in command. I never wanted to be a queen without a king—when I’m the one who has to make all the decisions. And I want my boys back.” Her voice broke apart, and for a moment she wept openly. Finally she lifted her tear-streaked face to Maddie. “Surely you must understand the horror of fearing they might die. . . . You must know what I’m feeling and how awful it is.”

  Maddie shuddered with sympathy, remembering well how awful it was.

  “I know we’ve had our differences,” the queen said softly. “That I’ve not always treated you as graciously as I should have. I always thought it was for your own good, what Eidon would have me do, even if you didn’t understand or appreciate it. I just hope you can put your resentments behind you. We both serve and love Tersius. And . . . he has made me queen. And right now the queen has desperate need of the First Daughter.”

  Maddie frowned at her, still reluctant but moved by her apparent sincerity and her obvious need. “I’ll come,” she said finally, “but only if I can take Trap and the rest of my guards with me. And have your permission to hire more to protect my boys while I’m gone.”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.”

  “Very well, then,” Maddie said. “I’ll go with you to Peregris.”

  Trap was going to have a fit.

  CHAPTER

  23

  The oblong-shaped island at the mouth of the Ankrill on which Tiris ul Sadek was to be exchanged for the king of Chesedh was small and uninhabited— once the property of a wealthy Ophiran, it was now the residence only of seabirds. Trap stood on its north side, hands on his hips as he gazed around. Before him the ragged remains of the Ophiran’s villa jutted up from the wind-tossed, late-summer grasses. A grove of olive trees encircled the flat, sheared off and stretched out in grotesque, gnarled forms from the prevailing winds that came downriver. Winds that rushed around him now, tossing his cloak and sifting through the short whiskers of his beard, reminding him how close to the river’s mouth this site was and that while those winds might habitually keep the island and river free of Shadow, it wouldn’t matter much with the coming exchange set to occur after moonset.

  The exchanging parties would come in from opposite sides—Esurhites landing on the beach beyond the trees to the south, Chesedhans tying up to the small boat dock on the north. He walked now across the flat, through the deformed trees on the Esurhites’ south side, and out onto the sloping beach. To his left a rough spine of dark rock rose out of the sand and plunged into the wat
er some ways out, forming a natural harbor. To his right, two men in a rowboat bobbed in the sea at the base of the twenty-foot-high rock cliff that thrust up from the island’s riverside end.

  The men would be Brookes and Whartel, whom he’d instructed to row around the cliff. Clearly it was doable, an observation Brookes confirmed a few minutes later when he joined Trap on the beach. “No problem at all, sir,” he said.

  “You think you could do it in a ship’s longboat with a crew of six?”

  Brookes shaded his eyes as he looked back toward the head rock, wind tossing locks of his blond hair about a broad forehead. “I don’t see why not.”

  Trap nodded, then turned his gaze toward the bank of mist lowering on the southern sea, far too close for comfort.

  Again Brookes spoke Trap’s thoughts. “The whole poxed, Shadow-loving navy could be out there for all we know.”

  “It probably is.” This whole affair reeked of deception. He hated every bit of it. The Esurhites weren’t giving anything back. Not the king, and not the queen’s sons. Leastways not alive. And in just a few hours they would have the only two surviving contenders for the Chesedhan crown standing on this one island. Oh yes, the Chesedhan navy would be standing at anchor not far away, ready to move should anything go amiss. But that was small comfort. Whatever plans he devised to ensure Maddie’s safety had to rely solely upon himself and the men he’d brought with him. Thank Eidon, Maddie had talked Ronesca into allowing him more than six.

  He turned to his subordinates. “Here’s what we’ll do.” The two men listened attentively as he explained.

  When he was done, Brookes frowned. “We’ll be sorely outnumbered, sir. What if things don’t go down as we expect?”