“Kit! Cary!” Sandr said, pulling Charlit Soon along behind him by the sleeve. “Charlit’s got the best idea ever. We’ve got to do this!”
Marcus and Kit exchanged a look and stepped forward. At the base of the great perch, Charlit was smiling, her eyes bright and a little glassy. Her cheeks were red with wind burn, the same as all of them. Cary crossed her arms and nodded to her.
“I was just thinking that, with the cart gone, we’d be practicing the things we can play from the ground,” Charlit Soon said. “And it struck me that Inys has never seen any of them. He’s probably never even heard of PennyPenny or Orcus the Demon King or any of them.”
“It would be like performing for the greatest king in the history of the world!” Sandr said. “We could do The Prisoner’s Gate. Or Allaren Mankiller—”
“We can’t do Mankiller without the props,” Cary said. “But maybe PennyPenny and the Three Wives of Stollbourne?”
“Kit could be the third wife!” Charlit Soon said, laughter bubbling out of with the words.
Kit’s smile was warm and gentle. “I suppose I could at that,” he said.
“What’re you talking about down there?” Hornet called from the upper tier. “Are you making jokes about us?”
“No,” Sandr called. “We’re going to put on a performance. Get down here and help, you lazy bastard!”
Marcus stepped away from the gabble and excitement, back to the edge of the hall. The sun had set now, and the mountains seemed crafted from distance and mist and the deepening gray-blue of night. The snowfield glowed. The players’ voices rose and fell behind him, giddy and pleased and happy because they were a people who traded in that. He traded in violence, and had his whole life. He didn’t see that changing now.
Far off and low between two peaks, something glowed for a moment. Smaller than a spark, but red amid the blue-lit world. A brief flame, here, and then gone. Marcus squinted. His eyes hurt from the dryness and his head still ached. In the growing gloom, it was hard to be sure that the little flame had been dragonfire, but before long, there was a little knot of moving darkness in the direction the spark had been. And then, barely visible, the great wings, and then Inys rose up from the night, the corpse of a ram in his hind claw. Marcus stepped back as the dragon landed, dropping its kill onto the floor. The thin grooves that had wicked away the snowmelt were just as effective with blood.
“I can dress that for you if you’d like,” Marcus said, nodding toward the dead animal.
“I have eaten all I care to,” the dragon said, its voice half exhaustion and half disdain. “This is to take care of my tools.”
“Inys! Inys!” Charlit Soon called from the perch. “Come see what we’ve made for you!”
The dragon lumbered away toward the perch, leaving bloody claw marks behind. Marcus drew a work knife from his belt and took the dead ram by its horns while the players arrayed themselves inside and Cary began declaiming. The dragon watched with an amused expression, licking the blood from its talons.
“You know, little sheep,” Marcus said, as he prepared to skin and clean it. “I really don’t see how this ends well.”
Geder
My God,” Aster said. “They’re beautiful.”
The warehouse had been cleaned out to make room for the devices. Old stone rose to rafters of whole trees, and clerestory windows spilled light across the ceiling. Geder’s personal guard had taken their positions at the doors and behind him, protecting him in case of attack, but even they glanced at the massive weapons of war. The metal had been burnished until it seemed to have some deep, hidden light glowing through it. They stood taller than men and promised violence.
“We made some adjustments to the design, my lord,” Honnen Pyre, the Jasuru armorer, said. He was deferential, but Geder heard the pride in his voice. “The harpoon spears from your books are a fine start, but if you see here, we fit them on a ballista. More power to hit something higher up in the air, we thought.”
“Yes,” Geder said, stepping up on the device. It was even more amazing than the drawings had been. The ancient plans had made the machines seem spare and elegant. A marvel only of the mind. Made real, made larger, given form and weight, they were almost like looking at the carapace of a beetle or a gigantic wasp. A human invention for the defeat and destruction of dragons. Geder put his hand against the steel, almost expecting to feel the machine breathing.
“And the reel there,” the Jasuru said. “Keeps some of the tension for pulling the rope up and through. Now, it’s a queen’s own bear to reset the device. Those that fire her will want to make a solid hit the first time.”
“It’s brilliant,” Geder said.
Pyre swelled with pride. “I’ve got a cousin that worked with the whale hunters up in Hallskar. Thought of some of the things he’d said and modified them. The way the base turns to help the men aim quick is a Hallskari thing.”
Geder stepped down. “Show me the rest.”
The geared arbalests with their spinning blades were smaller than he’d expected. Small enough for a three-person team to carry and operate one in the field. Now that Geder saw the device in person, he felt he had a better sense of how they would work in battle. The smith sent one of the flat, round blades up into the rafters, where it stuck fast.
“Can I try?” Aster asked tentatively.
“Can he?” Geder asked the Jasuru. “Is it safe?”
“Safe enough, my lord,” he said. “Come right here, Prince Aster, sir. I’ll show you how to work the tension bar.”
Geder stood back, watching. He was always astounded to see how much Aster had grown and changed in only a few years. Pulling back the bar and fitting a round blade into its seat, he looked old enough almost to be a soldier. Likely there were boys his age in the field. Not royal blood, of course, but of Aster’s age. When he loosed the blades, they flew up spinning and sank deep into the wood ceiling. Geder clapped with delight. It was like seeing a cunning man’s show. Better, even, because it wasn’t magic.
“How many can we make, and how quickly?” Geder asked.
“This is as many as we’ve got now,” the smith said. “I could get twice this with the supplies I’ve got and got coming. But it won’t be fast.”
Geder nodded. “Do that, then. Start now. And we’ll need to break these down and put them on carts going south. Do you have men to go with them? I don’t want Jorey’s men trying to figure out how to put this all back together without a guide.”
“I’ve got an apprentice boy I thought I’d send with them. He’s smart enough for putting it all where it goes, but he busted his shoulder a year back and can’t swing a hammer to save his life. Not much use to me here. Maybe good for something out there.”
“Well, he’s with the campaign now,” Geder said with a grin. “Have these ready by morning. We have to get them to the south quickly. We don’t know when the enemy might attack.”
“If they don’t do it soon, they’d best not do it at all,” Pyre said. And then a moment later, with a sense of awe that Geder felt himself, “God damn, my lord. We’re killing dragons.”
Jorey’s reports had been coming back every few days since he’d arrived in Elassae. The troops, he’d said, were in a mild kind of disarray. That was fair. Geder had executed Lord Ternigan months ago, and apart from the ongoing siege at Kiaria—which Jorey said showed no signs of breaking—they’d had no clear idea what was going to come next. Many of them had hoped that they’d be brought back to Camnipol and the disband called. The priests were invaluable in keeping the army focused and disciplined. That was a very good thing. Geder had ready any number of histories that talked about what happened when armies rebelled against their commanders. Once the Timzinae plotters were all caught, Geder would bring home the armies and throw the largest triumph the world had ever seen. He owed the men that much, and more.
Back at the Kingspire, he went to the map room and walked across the little hills and mountains between the miniature Kiaria and Porte
Oliva. Ten tiny ships sat on the blue sand that was the ocean. One flag marked Cithrin’s city, and another midway between Orsen and Bellin showed where the army had been camped when Jorey had sent his last report. Fit into a room in the Kingspire, it looked so close.
The weapons would have to move quickly to catch up to the army. But armies moved slowly compared to couriers and small forces. And Jorey would be even slower once he reached Bellin and entered the long pass through the mountains, and the weapons carts didn’t have to track down to Orsen. They could cross the Dry Wastes and save hundreds of miles. He chuckled and hugged himself. It was all going to work. They were going to win.
He wanted to share his happiness with someone, and spent almost an hour looking for Basrahip, who was locked away with his priests in some sort of ritual, or Aster, who was out on a ride through the countryside with Lord Caot’s daughter and a few other young people of the court. His own father was still at Rivenhalm, late as always to come to court, even now that his own son was Lord Regent. And then, there was almost no one. It always surprised Geder to realize how few people were really his friends. They knew him as Lord Regent and hero of the realm, but that wasn’t the same as having a friend to talk with, and letters to Jorey didn’t seem quite the right thing either.
But there was his wife. Sabiha. Geder called for his palanquin and ordered the slaves to carry him to Lord Skestinin’s manor. Maybe a cup of tea with Sabiha as a little celebration. He liked Sabiha. He hoped that she liked him too. He’d ask her sometime when Basrahip was around… only that seemed rude, and he didn’t want to make her feel awkward.
As soon as he reached the manor, he had the sense that something was wrong. The footmen at the front of the house seemed agitated, and the door slave chained by the entry looked grey about the face as if ill. When he told the slave he’d come to see Sabiha, the man almost reared back. Another servant showed him and his guards to a withdrawing room at the back of the house. Geder haunted the windows, peeking out at the gardens as if there, hidden among the boughs, might be some explanation of why the house felt so tense.
When the door opened, the woman who came in was not Sabiha.
Lady Skestinin’s smile was almost a grimace. She held her body straight and stiff, and Geder had the sense that had he been anyone else, she would not have agreed to see him. He rose to his feet, tugged between embarrassment at having made a social misstep and alarm at the woman’s appearance.
“Lord Regent,” she said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Lady Skestinin. I was… I’m sorry, I should have sent ahead. It was a casual visit. I was thinking I would call on Sabiha.”
“Ah, I am afraid she is feeling a bit under the weather. The baby is at a delicate point.”
Geder glanced reflexively to the back of the room, but Basrahip wasn’t there. He didn’t know if Lady Skestinin was telling the truth or not. He couldn’t think why she would deceive him, but he couldn’t shake the sense that something more was happening.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need for you to apologize, Lord Regent. Perhaps I could have a courier sent when she is more herself? Or if there is something I can do to be of service?”
“No, that’s fine. I was only stopping by on a whim. Casual. Between friends.”
“Of course,” Lady Skestinin said, her hands clasped tightly before her like a singer about to begin a performance. Geder nodded, unsure what to say. He wished Basrahip were with him.
“I’ll just… I’ll just see myself out,” Geder said.
“Do let me walk with you,” she said. From the drawing room to the door, neither said anything. Geder bowed a bit when he left her at the door, but he didn’t know what words to say, and she didn’t offer any. He walked down the steps to his palanquin slowly, his brow furrowed. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton ticking. Something was bothering him, but he didn’t know what it could be. It wasn’t as though Lady Skestinin had been rude to him. If anything, by arriving uninvited and unannounced, he’d been the rude one. Except it hardly seemed to be a serious offense. Friends stopped by to visit with each other all the time. And he was the Lord Regent, after all. And Sabiha could at least have sent a note instead of her mother…
He paused with one foot in the palanquin and looked back. The footmen stood with a formal stiffness. The door slave sat, his head bent and his hand on his chain. Something wasn’t right. Geder motioned to the captain of his guard.
“I’m going back,” he said. “I need to see Sabiha.”
“My lord,” the captain said and gestured for the others to follow them.
The door slave’s smile was tight and anxious as Geder walked back up the steps.
“I need to see Sabiha Kalliam,” Geder said.
“I will call for Lady Skestinin again, my lord, if you—”
“No. No, I need to see Sabiha,” Geder said, his tone growing harder. “Why can’t I just see her?”
“She is… she is with the cunning man, my lord.”
“Oh,” Geder said. And then a moment later, dread blooming in his chest. “Why?”
The solarium was filled with light. Darkness might have been better. Sabiha Kalliam lay on the cunning man’s table. Her sweat-soaked nightgown clung to her, and her face was the color of clay. The swollen arch of her belly looked huge, but Geder hadn’t spent enough time around women in the last days of their pregnancies to know if it was alarming or normal. Everything else about her seemed like a sign of panic, so maybe it was too large somehow. He couldn’t imagine that it could be too small. The cunning man stood with his hands over her belly, his thin fingers glowing with something that was not quite light. He was an old Firstblood man with scars on his face and arms and white hair that swept up and back from his temples like he was always facing into a stiff wind.
Geder must have gasped, because Sabiha turned her head toward him. Her eyes were glassy and flat. When she saw him, there was no flicker of recognition. Geder’s heart thudded in his chest and he stepped forward like he was moving into a nightmare. Sabiha’s eyes tracked him, but he didn’t have the sense that she saw him. Not really.
The cunning man slumped, put his hands on the table, and looked up. Sweat dripped off him like he’d sprinted through the whole city. He nodded to Geder and spoke between gasps.
“Lord Regent. How can I. Help you?”
“I came to see Sabiha,” Geder said, his voice small. It struck him how inane the statement was. “Is she… all right?”
“I will not lie to you. She is not well,” the cunning man said. “And the baby within her is struggling.”
“It’s because of the first one,” Lady Skestinin said from behind him. Geder turned to her. The older woman’s face was a blank. All emotion was gone from it but a deep terror. “She had the first baby. The wrong one. And it’s poisoned her.”
“No,” Geder said. “That’s not right. It doesn’t work that way. I mean… does it?”
“I cannot speak to what happened before,” the cunning man said. “For now, I am doing everything that can be done.”
“No,” Geder said. “No, you aren’t. We can do more. We’ll do more. Captain! Get Basrahip. And my cunning man. All the physicians.”
“Your personal physicians?” the captain asked.
“Yes,” Geder said. “Why are you still here?”
The captain nodded once so deeply it was almost a bow, then turned and ran from the room. Geder took Sabiha’s hand. It was cold and damp.
“It’s fate,” Lady Skestinin said, her voice breaking on the words. “It’s the punishment that’s come for the first one. It is the price of her sins.” A tear dropped from Sabiha’s eye, tracking back to her hairline.
“No,” Geder said. “It isn’t. It’s just she’s sick and needs help.”
“She was unchaste,” Lady Skestinin said, tears flowing down her cheeks. “My poor baby’s going to die because she was unchaste.”
“What are you
talking about?” Geder snapped. “People are unchaste all the time. This doesn’t happen to them. Guard! See Lady Skestinin to her drawing room. Get her some… I don’t know. Wine. Read poetry to her.”
“My lord, our duty is to guard you.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what your duty is. I tell you. I tell you what your duty is. You do as I say.”
“Lord Regent,” the cunning man said. “It might be better not to shout.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Sabiha, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be loud.”
Behind them, Lady Skestinin’s cries and wails receded. Sabiha blinked slowly, her eyelids clicking audibly when they opened. Geder was still holding her hand. The cunning man’s smile was exahsuted. “My thanks, Lord Regent.”
“How long has she been like that?”
“Lady Kalliam or Lady Skestinin, do you mean? The young lady became ill last evening. I have been here since they called me. The older lady… well. Grief makes the best of us mad.”
“No no no,” Geder said, fear rising in him, clutching at his chest. “No grief. This is Jorey’s baby. This is Sabiha. There can’t be grief.”
“As you say, my lord,” the cunning man said, then spread his hands across her belly and closed his eyes. The not-light began flickering again. Geder squatted beside the table, holding her hand because it was all he could do.
It felt like hours before his physicians arrived. There were four of them, two Firstblood women who looked as if they could be mother and daughter, a Yemmu man with his tusks carved in intricate patterns, and a Kurtadam man so ancient and stooped his pelt was grey with a few strands of rust red still showing here and there. They came through the doorway behind Geder, nodded to him, and turned to Sabiha. Her eyes seemed a little less distant now, but she still hadn’t spoken. The Yemmu man gently pulled the original cunning man aside, and began a rough-syllabled chant of his own. The older woman took a silver box from her waist, opened it, and began drawing white symbols on Sabiha’s forehead and hands. The smell of honey and marigolds filled the room.