When Dragons Rage
Crow groaned and his body sagged. “Will is dead, and the other Norringtons are in harm’s way.”
“There are two more, father and son.”
“They would never betray Chytrine.” Crow shook his head. “It’s Leigh and his issue that concern the prophecy; his father is no part of it. As for turning Leigh against Chytrine, that might be possible, but he could never stand against his father. No matter how powerful Chytrine is able to make the sullanciri, she cannot cancel out their innate flaws. Nefrai-laysh’s action in the Congress Chamber was pure Leigh. It was one of his fits of pique. What Will said stung him.”
Alyx pressed a finger to Crow’s lips. “Lover—husband—I know your mind is racing off on many paths, but there is one you avoid. Will’s death is a great loss to the world, and the world should mourn. It will mourn. But you, too, must mourn. He’s been as a son to you . . .”
Crow’s lips pressed together into a flat line, and tears welled in his brown eyes. “Not a son. A nephew, perhaps, and another chance with Leigh. My father helped raise Leigh’s father and taught him how to be a great warrior. He helped raise Leigh. And Leigh was my friend and I failed him. I failed him horribly. The sword he possessed—the sword that possessed him—came with a price. Its owner would be invincible, save that in his last battle he would be broken. Leigh was, and I did the breaking.
“But Will was his son, and I could teach him. I could give him the benefit of all the mistakes I’d made, all the mistakes his father had made, and all the things I had learned fighting Chytrine. Through Will, I thought I could atone for the evil I’d done his father and his grandfather.”
She grabbed a handful of his beard and tugged his chin up so she could look him square in the eyes. “And let’s not forget that Will was the world’s only hope and you managed to keep him safe from Chytrine and her minions. You weren’t acting selfishly; you were acting for the world. Had you not found him and had things not moved as they did, Chytrine would have five pieces of the DragonCrown, the dragons would be her allies, and we would all share Will’s fate.”
He nodded quickly, then turned his face upward. Tears rolled down the side of his face. “It hurts, Alexia. It hurts to feel hope die and . . . Worse, when I saw him running, I wanted to shout at him not to do it. But then, I saw the look on his face, and I was so proud of him. He’d gone from a feral child to a man, and made a man’s choice. And I couldn’t stop him; I couldn’t . . .”
As Crow’s voice trailed off into silent repetitions, Alyx slipped her arms around his body and clung to him. She buried her face against his neck and felt tears splashing down onto her cheek. His body shook, wracked with sobs, and she held on all the tighter. She held him until his body ceased jerking and his arms enfolded her, and she held on even past that.
Finally, as Crow sniffed and swiped at tears with his left hand, she kissed his neck, then pulled back. She came up on her left elbow and pressed him onto his back with her body. She slid herself onto his broad chest and settled her shins along his thighs as she took her weight onto elbows and knees.
Her fingers brushed hair back from his face, and thumbs smeared tears before she kissed his cheeks. “Crow, there are two things you have to know. The first is that I love you more than life itself. You did not fail Will, and you have not failed the world.” She lowered her mouth to his and punctuated her comment with a firm kiss.
Alyx’s head came back up and Crow tangled a lock of her white-blonde hair around a finger. “Second, my love, I believe in the prophecy, and you were right about Will. Sayce’s child, Kenleigh, or Nefrai-laysh may now be the Norrington by default. There is one other possibility, however.”
“And that is?”
She smiled. “That what Will has done has actually already fulfilled the prophecy. His death and all the things set in motion by it will make the prophecy come true. What we have to do, then, is to make sure everything comes together, and the threat of Chytrine is ended forever.”
It didn’t really surprise Erlestoke to find Resolute sitting out on one of Vael’s external landings. Though far too small to support one of the grand dragons, the opening was large enough to permit dracomorphs access.
The Oriosan Prince looked at his comrade. “Couldn’t sleep, Resolute?”
The Vorquelf’s head came up. “I have not had a good night’s sleep, Highness, since before your great-grandfather was born. Tonight, though, sleep eludes me completely.”
“We seek the same quarry and it escapes us both.” Erlestoke sighed loudly and glanced at two silhouettes flashing past the sliver of moon. “I envy Perrine and Qwc their ability to fly.”
“They are no more successful at hunting than we are.”
“But perhaps they can stay ahead of despair.” Erlestoke met Resolute’s cold silver stare. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.”
“Last I knew, Highness, I was not of Oriosa, therefore not subject to your commands.”
“I know you’re upset. I can understand . . .”
The Vorquelf rose from the rock upon which he sat. The moon’s cold light sank him into a silhouette save for his silver eyes. “Upset? You understand? You’ll forgive me if I choose not to believe that you understand what I am feeling. I have been without a home for well over a century. You may hate your father, you may have chosen to live apart from your nation, but I do not have that luxury. My family was slain, and my homeland taken from me. All I have ever wanted is to go back, so I could be bound to the land and have a normal life.
“Will was the key to that. When Crow and I found him he was nothing. In his mind ‘right’ meant anything that pleased him, and ‘wrong’ was someone else’s useless sense of morality. His duty was to himself, perhaps to friends, but no further. He, like you, wanted to be king, but his kingdom was a fiveacre slum that spent half the day underwater and awash in sewage.”
Erlestoke shook his head. “That’s not the Will I knew. That’s not the Will who died here today.”
“Exactly. That wasn’t the Will Norrington who died here today. We trained him, we gave him a sense of duty and obligation. At least, we pointed him toward them, and he accepted those burdens. He wasn’t perfect. He had lapses. There were times I wanted to take him back to the Dimandowns and leave him there.”
The prince nodded, keeping his voice low. “But then there were the times he rose above. My brother told me how he faced my father down, and how he accepted the Freemen. I saw how they looked at him, and spoke to him, when they took their leave. He had earned their loyalty. No gutterwhelp could do that.”
Resolute shook his head. “No. None could have and, had he lived, he could have done so much more. It’s over now. The prophecy is broken.”
“Do you think so?” The prince scraped a hand over his jaw. “Perhaps it just needs to be reinterpreted.”
“Oh, it will be.” Resolute pointed east toward Saporicia. “When we arrive in Narriz tomorrow and reveal that the Norrington is dead, it will be reinterpreted by everyone. Some will debate the words in the original Elvish, others will twist phrases and clauses and make up stories about the other candidates to make them fit. Perhaps the Norrington just means someone from the Norrington holdings. And there are other Norrington families in the world. Perhaps a cadet branch. Genealogies will sprout like mushrooms in manure, as anyone who wants to be a hero manufactures himself a Norrington pedigree.”
“Getting rid of them will be a bother, but . . .”
The Vorquelf shook his head violently. “You’ve been at Fortress Draconis too long, Highness. The Draconis Baron kept everyone there focused on Chytrine. When I was a child she took Norvina and Vorquellyn. When you were a child she took Okrannel and tried to destroy Fortress Draconis. The pattern, as Will pointed out, is clear. Now she has Sebcia and soon will have Muroso.”
“And the nations of the world will band together to oppose her.”
Resolute’s barked laugh echoed off Vael’s tall peak. “Tell that to the people of Norvina. Tell that to Vorquelves
like me. The nations of the world use every excuse they can to avoid doing anything so bold. In a grand conspiracy, they broke Tarrant Hawkins, branding him a liar and traitor, when they knew full well that your father was a puling coward and that Hawkins’ message from Chytrine was correct. Just imagine, Highness, what will happen when news spreads through the leaders at Narriz?”
Erlestoke felt a chill run down his spine. “Factions will gather around various Norrington candidates, splitting the effort to oppose Chytrine. Nations that feel vulnerable will form alliances against neighbors, and some will treat for peace with Chytrine. My father will, certainly.”
“And so it is all undone. Even if she is content to wait for another generation, she will not lose. With fertile lands like Sebcia and Muroso, she will harvest food, feed her armies, and they will swell until they become irresistible.” Resolute fixed him with an argent stare. “Your child will never sit on the throne of Oriosa if Chytrine is not stopped now.”
The prince considered for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Then we will have to convince them of that.”
“’Twould be easier to bring Will back to life.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t do it.” Erlestoke started ticking things off on his fingers. “Alexia and I can speak with the politicians and try to convince them. Kerrigan can rally Vilwan to our side. You and Crow can speak with the military folks. Perrine can recruit an army of Gyrkyme. You draw the Vorquelves, and we’ll have dragons: Rymramoch, Vriisureol, and Dravothrak. Even Bok might be useful, and we have the Freemen helping free Sarengul, so we’ll have other urZrethi allies. We could put together a formidable army.”
The Vorquelf’s eyes half closed, and he actually smiled, which Erlestoke did not find exactly comforting. “That plan is not without merit.”
“But its chances of success are minimal?”
“They are, and any little thing could cause its collapse.” Resolute’s smile grew a little. “It will also make a lot of people angry. But given our alternatives, it’s probably the best plan we’ll find.”
Kerrigan hated the expressions of shocked disappointment and betrayal on the others’ faces. “I said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t go with you.’ ”
Erlestoke stared at him. “But we need you. You can show the Vilwanese how to locate fragments of the DragonCrown. You can teach them how to fight Chytrine’s troops.”
The portly mage shook his head. Bok squatted with him at his left side, and Rym Ramoch, in a new scarlet robe, stood on his right. “I have a lot of things to learn here. My master is going to teach me some dracomagick that should help me refine my spells and make them more effective. If I go with you, I won’t be as valuable as I will need to be. I won’t be the ally you’re going to need.”
Crow slipped from Alexia’s side and pulled the mask from his own face. He rested both hands on Kerrigan’s shoulders. “Kerrigan, I don’t doubt that you feel you need to stay here. It makes sense.”
“Thank you.” Kerrigan glanced down, refusing to meet Crow’s stare.
Crow’s right hand came over to his chin and tipped his face up. “But, before we go, before we let you stay here, I want to know the real reason you’re not coming with us.”
Kerrigan opened his mouth for a moment. A denial sat on his tongue, then he shut his mouth. He could feel his jowls quivering. He clenched his jaw lest their quivering make it to his chin and lips, then shake tears from his eyes. He sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and bit it, hoping the pain would keep the tears back, which it did. It let him swallow past the lump choking him, too.
He began in a small voice. “I could have caught the Truestone. I could have caught Will. I could have saved him. I could have slammed Nefrai-laysh through that portal before Lombo got there. I could have saved Orla.”
Crow squeezed his shoulders. “None of that is your fault.”
“No, Crow, not my fault.” Tears began to burn their way down his cheeks. “But I could have prevented it! If I had more training. If I thought faster. And . . .”
The man finished it for him. “And you don’t want to fail us and let us die, too.”
Kerrigan shook his head, unable to speak.
Crow drew him into a strong hug. Kerrigan hesitated, uncomfortable and desperate, then grabbed handfuls of Crow’s tunic and gripped them hard. He hung on tightly as Crow gently stroked his back.
“You listen to me, Kerrigan Reese. I know Orla told you to listen to me and to Resolute. She wanted you to stay with us. She wanted you to learn from us, and as she lay dying, she made you our responsibility. And we kept you with us until we left Caledo. Not because we thought you’d be in danger with the Freemen, but because we knew you would be far better employed with Alexia in Navval.
“And you were. You saved lives. You did things that saved Prince Erlestoke and kept yet another DragonCrown fragment away from Chytrine. You defeated a sullanciri. The great things you did just confirmed what we had known: you are a good man, with a huge heart, and woe be to the enemy that you choose to fight.”
Crow released him and stood back. “So, if you think you need Rymramoch’s training, then you should stay. But when we need you . . .”
Kerrigan nodded. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
Crow looked at the puppet. “You train him well, and keep him safe.”
The puppet cocked its head. “You’ll forgive me if a weaponless man’s threat sounds a bit hollow.”
“I remember where I left my sword. I don’t think you want me coming back for it.”
“No, indeed.” Rymramoch’s puppet bowed to all of them. “Travel safely and well.”
Kerrigan waved as his companions turned and climbed onto Dravothrak’s broad back. The green dragon gave him a little nod, made certain everyone was strapped in, then spread his wings and launched himself skyward. The young mage remained there, watching, until the dragon was but a small, dark speck in the morning sky.
Rym Ramoch’s gloved left hand landed on his right shoulder. “Crow was right. You were right. What you learn here will make you the most powerful mage in the world. We will be able to find the missing fragments of the Dragon Crown and then, ultimately—with Bok’s help—we will find Chytrine herself.”
Kerrigan glanced down at the green urZrethi. “How are you going to help us, my little friend?”
“By sharing with you, Adept Reese, everything I know about her and her ways—which actually is considerable.” The urZrethi smiled as he straightened up and stood, cultured words pouring softly from his mouth. “After all, I am her father.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MICHAEL A. STACKPOLE is an award-winning game designer and author who has gone into hiding for fear of being lynched because of the ending of this book. (Note: if you read this bio before you read the book, you are expressly forbidden from reading the last chapter first. I will know if you do.)
While being sequestered from normal society, he is madly at work on The Grand Crusade, in which all questions will be answered, all issues tackled, and all desires satisfied (unless there’s something that would lead into a really neat sequel).
His website is www.stormwolf.com.
BOOKS BY MICHAEL A. STACKPOLE
The Warrior Trilogy
Warrior: En Garde
Warrior: Riposte
Warrior: Coupé
The Blood of Kerensky Trilogy
Lethal Heritage
Blood Legacy
Lost Destiny
Natural Selection
Assumption of Risk
Bred for War
Malicious Intent
Grave Covenant
Prince of Havoc
Ghost War
The Fiddleback Trilogy
A Gathering Evil
Evil Ascending
Evil Triumphant
Eyes of Silver*
A Hero Born
Wolf and Raven
Once a Hero*
Talion: Revenant*
Star Wars® X-wing Series
/>
Rogue Squadron*
Wedge’s Gamble*
The Krytos Trap*
The Bacta War*
Isard’s Revenge*
Star Wars®: I, Jedi*
Star Wars®: Onslaught
Star Wars®: Ruin
The DragonCrown War Cycle
The Dark Glory War*
Fortress Draconis*
*published by Bantam Books
Be sure not to miss the riveting
conclusion to
The DragonCrown War Cycle
from
Michael A. Stackpole
THE GRAND CRUSADE
Coming in trade paperback in
December 2003
Here’s a special excerpt:
on sale December 2003
T he crisp winter cold penetrated the walls of the villa that King Scrainwood of Oriosa had taken in Narriz. A chill radiated through the varied stones used in the building’s construction. But he felt no draft and, indeed, no winter winds howled outside. Darkness had come with preternatural silence, and Scrainwood could feel portent and power gathering.
Something had happened out there, something at once terrible and yet wonderful. The possibilities raced through his mind, each to be sorted, weighed, then used as a lever to move other bits and pieces of what was the world. All would be to his advantage. Eventually. Although, he ruefully admitted to himself, he and his nation were in a difficult position.
The leaders of the world’s key nations had been summoned to Narriz, the capital of Saporicia, to deal with the threat of conquest by Chytrine’s Aurolani hordes. While the northern Empress’ troops had been thoroughly routed in far Okrannel, their assault south through Sebcia and Muroso had been relentless and powerful. Sebcia had fallen quickly; Muroso was in the process. Sarengul, the urZrethi stronghold north of Oriosa, likewise had been invaded.
His nation looked to be the next in line for conquest, and King Augustus of Alcida had threatened to invade Oriosa from the south, so any battle against Chytrine would be fought well away from his own lands. He’d done that to force Scrainwood’s hand, and Oriosa’s king hated it.