King's Dragon

  “Is that what you say, then? A man’s no true man who has no beard and is not a churchman?”

  “Well, my dear Fastrada,” said one who had been silent up until now, “that may well be true, but I speak truly when I say the prince is a man like any other. Or so it seemed to me.”

  They all laughed heartily and demanded more details, which she refused to give them.

  Liath slunk across the courtyard, praying she would not be noticed, and sneaked into the stables. No one had disturbed the empty stall; all was as she had left it. She went back outside.

  The mayor’s palace stood on a rise near the eastern bank of the river, itself ringed by a smaller stockade of posts. Climbing the ladder that led to the small parapet, she found herself looking over the city of Gent, the eastern shoreline, and the dark line of the Veser River. The moon was almost at the quarter, waxing; it lent a pale glamour to the night. There were no guards. She supposed those who might once have stood watch here at the palace walls now were out on the city walls. East she saw the fires of the Eika camp stretching both north and south along the river as far as the eye could see. Gent was darker, only a faint gleam of light from the great hall and the distant bobbing torches that marked watchmen on their rounds in the city and guards posted along the city wall. Two dark lines, one east, one west, broke the line of the river: the two bridges that led to the broad island on which lay the city of Gent.

  She was alone.

  She stared up, thinking of Wolfhere’s words. The cluster of stars known as the Crown, toward which the constellation known as the Child reached, had passed out of the sky around the beginning of the year, at the spring equinox. The Lion was fading. Now the Dragon and the Serpent ruled the Houses of Night. The red planet—Jedu, the Angel of War—still shone in the house of the Archer, the bright quester. But soon—within seven days—red Jedu would pass into the house of the Unicorn: ambition joined to will. That foretold a time of advancement, when people with a strong will could take advantage of the power of their will and their clear sense of ambition to get ahead in the world.

  Yet Da had always told her to be skeptical of those astrologia who claimed the ability to foretell the future from the movements and positions of the planets along the fixed sphere of the stars. There was a real power to be had in the knowledge of the heavens, but it was not this. She had long since memorized these teachings—though she did not have the ability to use them herself.

  “The movement of the wandering stars in the heavens is one of the markers by which the magi and mathematici know the lines through which they can draw down power from the heavens to wield on the earth. By this means they may also distinguish those of the daimones of the upper air who, with their greater knowledge of the universe, are most susceptible at any given alignment of the heavens to coercion or persuasion.”

  From below she heard low voices, startling her out of her reverie. Footsteps sounded, moving softly up the ladder to the parapet walk. She retreated into shadows, drew her cloak more tightly around her as if it were also a shadow, transforming her into just one more element of night and stillness and darkness.

  “It was not a debate of my choosing,” said the first as he came up onto the parapet walk and leaned out to look east. It was the prince. She recognized both his voice, which had that odd scrape in it, and his bearing. He was quite tall and had the strong shoulders and confident posture of a man who has trained long and well with weapons.

  With him, to her surprise, was Wolfhere. They spoke with apparent cordiality despite their argument in the barracks earlier. “But it affects you nevertheless. I have heard it said more than once that King Henry refuses to let Sapientia leave on her progress, as is her right should he choose her over Theophanu. She is almost twenty years old.”

  “By which age King Henry had already been named as heir by right of fertility, of which I am the result.” Sanglant’s tone was flat, almost mocking.

  “Then you must speak.”

  “It is not my place to speak. King Henry has counselors. He has companions, men and women of his own age who have their own birthright, their lands and estates.”

  “Surely these great magnates cannot counsel the king without some prejudice toward their own advancement.”

  “Do we not all counsel in such fashion, Lord Wolfhere, not unaware of what would best benefit ourselves? Save for the rare few, who are wise without any selfish intent.”

  “And who are those, in your opinion, Prince Sanglant?”

  “Of them all, I would only trust the cleric, Rosvita of Korvei. She has an elegant bearing that sits well with her affability and benevolence. She is both humble and patient, and she is very learned. All this makes her a wise counselor.”

  He shifted, turning slightly. Liath pressed back farther into the shadows, round wood posts hard against her back. But there was not enough light from moon and stars for them to see her.

  Finally, the prince sighed. “What do you want of me, Wolfhere? Some seek my favor. Others speak ill of me in the hope of turning my father against me. You hint of terrible plots devised by my mother’s people and suggest that I conceal from my father and the rest of you my part in those plots. But I am not book-educated like you are. I cannot puzzle such things out from hints and fragments of words and phrases in languages I cannot read. It is said you were invested as an Eagle the year the elder Arnulf died and left Wendar and Varre to the younger Arnulf and Queen Berengaria. But it is also said of you, my friend, that the year Queen Berengaria died in childbed you were taken into the confidence of those who secretly learn the ways of the magi, the forbidden arts. And that it is for this reason, despite your wisdom and experience, that you do not walk among those who name themselves counselors to King Henry.”

  “An Eagle serves the sovereign by carrying messages and decrees and by observing and reporting back what was seen. Not by giving counsel. We are eyes and ears, Prince Sanglant, nothing more.”

  “And yet you chance to bring the most beautiful young Eagles into your nest, or so I observe.” He sounded as if he meant to provoke the older man.

  Wolfhere did not reply at once. The drums that beat incessantly in the Eika camp changed rhythm, adding a hiccuping beat in the middle of what had been a straight pattern of four.

  Wolfhere spoke so lightly the words resonated like a hammer blow. “Stay away from her, Sanglant. She is not meant for you. Nor are you meant for your father’s throne.”

  Sanglant laughed. “Does anyone expect me to live that long? I am captain of the Dragons, after all. Of all the captains, only Conrad the Dragon served his king for more years than I have so far served mine.”

  “You can influence King Henry’s decision.”

  “Can I?”

  Wolfhere appeared incapable of losing his temper, no matter how annoying Sanglant meant to be. “There is not one soul who moves in the orbit of the king’s progress who cannot see he prefers you to his three legitimate children.”

  “You want me to say I do not want the throne.”

  “I am not alone in this wish. We must settle the affairs of the kingdom before worse catastrophes befall us because the king and his court are not united.”

  Sanglant turned his back on Wolfhere and leaned even farther out over the parapet, as if to catch sight of the distant Eika camp or to reach out and grasp the stars in his hands. But he did not look likely to fall. “I refuse, as I always have and as I always mean to do. You must speak to the king on this matter. I am only the King’s Dragon, his obedient son and servant. As I always have been.”

  “That is your only answer?”

  “That is my only answer.”

  Wolfhere bent slightly at the waist, although Sanglant could not see the gesture. “Then I will leave you to your meditations.” If he was vexed, he did not show it in his posture or his tone.

  “When do you leave?” asked Sanglant.

  “My comrade Hathui even now rides to King Henry with news of the siege. We will abide here a while to see
what happens, and to see if I can search out this intelligence among the Eika you speak of.”

  “You trust my instincts?”

  “I would be a fool not to.”

  “That is praise from you, Wolfhere.” They seemed, more than anything, like two soldiers sparring.

  “As it was meant to be. I bid you good night.”

  “As I fully plan it to be.”

  The intent was unmistakable. Wolfhere moved his head as if looking around the parapet walk, the grounds, and the long roof of the palace. Liath stayed as still as ever, sure she had made no sound. Wolfhere did not notice her. He moved down the ladder and soon even the faint noise of his footsteps was lost to her.

  There was a long moment of silence, except for the distant drums. She prayed Sanglant would move soon.

  Suddenly he said in a low voice, to the empty air: “You’ve been here all along.”

  She did not move, dared not breathe.

  He pushed back from the edge and walked with perfect confidence in the blackness down the walk to the corner, where she hid. Because she could see so well in the dark, she saw him lift a hand and beckon to her to rise. She dared not disobey.

  Standing, coming forward, she halted a safe arm’s length from him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I have keen hearing. Don’t you know what is said of my mother’s people?” His tone was so bitter she suddenly realized that much of what he had said to Wolfhere was born out of a deep resentment she could neither place nor understand. “That they are the spawn of fallen angels, those known as the daimones of the upper air, who mated with human women. That like their unsightly fathers they have the gift of hearing even the unspoken wishes of a man’s heart, and then taunting him with them.”

  “But that isn’t what the blessed Daisan taught,” she blurted out, and was aghast she spoke so freely.

  “What did the blessed Daisan teach?” She could not tell if he spoke with true curiosity or if he was merely humoring her for his own reasons.

  “The prince is a man like any other,” the serving-woman had said. He moved a step forward toward her, and had she been able to, she would have bolted and run away. But she could not.

  Not knowing what else to do, she talked fast. “He taught that elves were born of fire and light. For all things arose out of the four elements, fire and light and wind and water. It is only when darkness rose out of the depths that the universe became tainted with evil. So if elves are tainted by the darkness it is only because all things are that exist in this world. Only in the Chamber of Light has all darkness been burned away by the fiery truth of the gaze of Our Lady and Lord.”

  Because she could see so well in the dark, she saw him blink several times as if at a loss for words. He moved again, coming close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “So. I am to stay away from you, am I?” He bent, as if to kiss her. Thought better of it and instead touched his own lips with a finger as if seal himself and her to silence. “It’s too bad I have always been an obedient son.”

  He left her there, again alone, walked away and descended into the courtyard, vanishing into the night.

  Hugh. Hugh had seen them. Hugh would know.

  Ai, Lady. It wasn’t Hugh she was thinking of. It was desire. She was bitterly ashamed of what stirred in her own heart. What was wrong with her, that such a feeling could come to life in her breast after the winter she had endured?

  Out of a lake has grown an island. The city rises on the island, ringed by seven walls. At the height sits a tower of stone. In that tower are five doors, each locked by the same brass key. But in the door that opens to the north there lies the shade of a secret door that leads to the wilderness. It is bright in the wilderness now, warm and inviting, in those trackless lands where she has thrown away the key. Only she can walk safely there.

  But it is never safe.

  She sank down onto her knees, head bowed and resting in her hands. She must not be tempted.

  The king’s son. Sworn to the Dragons, and forbidden. Caught in the intrigues of the court. It was too dangerous to even think of such a man—as if such a man could ever think of her with an honest heart. She must put all such thoughts away.

  She must stay hidden in every way she could. She must be careful, because she had no one she could trust, no one but Hanna, who was gone from her now, perhaps not even alive—surely not that—and who had no power in the world in any case.

  “Ai, Lady, protect me, your daughter,” she whispered. Yet, as bitter as her shame was, she could not stop thinking about the prince. Desire is like a flame, a torch burning in the night. A traveler in darkness cannot help but be drawn toward it.

  Liath shut her eyes. She saw torches along the walls in her mind’s eye, saw fires burning all along the shore as if they were the temptation that ate away at her heart. Hugh would see them and, seeing, use them to find her.

  In her mind’s eye she put them out. In the wild lands beyond the city she had built in her mind the sun ceased shining. It was, like a cool spring evening, soothing on her frozen heart. She was still safe; she could make herself safe by not feeling.

  On the eastern shore, though she could not see it, fires vanished, snuffed out although there was no onset of rain. Along the walls of Gent a third of the torches blew out, though there was no wind.

  X

  THE SIN OF PRIDE

  1

  FIRES burn, thick smoke rancid with the scent of human fear. He stops, licks the air. In the tangled smell of charred wood, dead men, burning thatch, and dust kicked high by the trampling of many feet, he finds the familiar dry musky scent of his own kind—though it is not marked with the peculiar piquancy of his own litter, his own tribe, his home shore.

  Beyond, the sea surges below a distant headland, soughing up more softly along the strand where the clean wooden boats lie beached. They smell of seawater and barnacles and the good strong scent of oak flavored with ash and willow.

  Shouting and crashing come from the wood beyond. He darts back into a thicket. Some of the soft ones, the humans, are running; their terror and pain are sweet on his tongue, tasted from the air. But he lets them pass. Two are children, carried by a strong mother whose tears smell like the salt of the sea. He senses a new weakness in himself, brought on by his contact with Halane, Son of Henri. He thinks of OldMother, who is already beginning the slow trek up the fjall where she will take her place with the WiseMothers. She speaks of the soft mothers with scorn because they cannot bear litters with the strength and numbers of the RockChildren. But Halane had a mother such as this. He lets them run by untouched before he crawls out from the thicket and starts his descent toward his cousins.

  Will these cousins greet him with peace in their hearts? Or will they set their dogs on him?

  He shrugs off these doubts. OldMother’s scent is strong on him. She promised him much before her joints began to stiffen and she passed the knife of decision to the new YoungMother. Even if these warriors are not true cousins, they will not harm one who bears this sign of favor. Nor will any dogs, of any pack, eat one who has been marked by the scent of an OldMother.

  Still, though, he carries his new weakness with him as he descends through the forest. The weakness rests within him, but he also conceives of the wooden circle which hangs at his chest as the physical sign of that weakness, a tangible reminder. Other humans flee past, but he avoids them. This new weakness has taught him a lesson: The soft ones are not true people, of course, but they are a kind of people. People can talk. It is the lesson the WiseMothers teach. It is what they whispered to him when he was a half-grown pup and dared venture up the mountainside to the sacred place tended by the SwiftDaughters to see whether the WiseMothers would speak to him or else kill him for his presumption.

  “The knife and the tongue are equally strong weapons.”

  The WiseMothers had spoken twice, and he had always remembered.

  “Face your weakness and it can become your strength.”

  He ste
ps out of the wood and into a landscape torn by wind and sea spray. The soft ones’ houses are all burning now. The scent of fire mingles with the pungent smell of sea and sand and shore. The dogs bark, smelling him. Alerted, a Watcher sees him and whistles to question him. He whistles back, sees the sign given for free passage. With new confidence, he strides down to the sea.

  Alain woke, cold and shivering, on the ground. He did not stir. The horrible images of his dream swelled in his mind. He still smelled the sea, and the fire burning. He still heard the screams of children and the grunts of men falling beneath the spears and axes of Eika savages. He still saw the monstrous dogs, their hollow bellies and tireless rage, their yellow eyes shooting off sparks. Always they panted, tongues hanging out, saliva—or worse things—dribbling down their fangs.

  He shuddered and shifted. Rage and Sorrow pressed against him on either side. Their solid presence made him feel safe.

  Unlike the foot soldiers who marched in Lavastine’s train, he now had a decent bed to lie on: the carpet that was always thrown down in front of the entrance to Count Lavastine’s tent. Every night after watering and feeding the other hounds and sending them in to sleep beside their master, Alain bedded down here. Though it was absurd—he had a spear and a knife and was barely trained in either—he thought of himself as protecting the count despite the fact that two guards stood watch at all times. But no one had demanded he move. Most likely no one dared to, not when he moved with hounds always at his side and Count Lavastine remained oblivious to all but his goal of aiding Lady Sabella.

  Rage whimpered and stirred in her sleep. Sorrow was the quieter sleeper, but he would wake instantly if Alain moved. And now, of course, thinking of this, Alain simply had to get up.

  Yesterday Count Lavastine and his army had caught up with Lady Sabella. The impressive retinue Alain had first seen at Lavas Holding almost two months ago was now a formidable army. Rodulf, Duke of Varingia, and a number of counts and lords had joined with Sabella. Lavastine’s arrival with one hundred and twenty more fighting men had been a convenient excuse for celebration. The feasting had lasted long into the night, and Alain had drunk more than he should of the ale passed around to the common soldiers. Indeed, his mouth was dry and sour-tasting, and he had a headache. And he really, really had to urinate.