A Sword for a Dragon (14 page)

This mood was dissipated swiftly on his return to his position, where Dragoneer Hatlin spoke sharply at him about overstaying permission to be away from the unit. Relkin tried to explain, but he soon saw that Hatlin didn’t believe a word so he gave up and lapsed into silence. Hatlin left.

Bazil was full of questions. Who was the lady in the carriage?

“A princess,” he grunted. “And she offered me the job of driving her coach and living a pampered life. But I said I could not accept since I had to take care of two dragons.”

“Hah, so you thought you would be fertilizing royal eggs at night eh?”

“And why not? Am I not from the village of Quosh?”

“Fertilizing the eggs is all you have thought about for half a year now. Maybe dragonboy have to leave legion and find a mate.”

Relkin laughed. “Doesn’t bear thinking about does it, not compared to taking care of a pair of cranky dragons.”

“Hmmf. Purple Green has not complained about his feet for long time now.”

“A miracle of planning.”

Bazil’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Good thinking with the sandals, I agree. Sometimes dragonboy do good.”

“They’re coming,” said a voice to their right. It was Mono. Chektor stood on his hind legs and craned his neck.

“Boy is right. They come.”

Relkin climbed up onto Bazil’s shoulder and gazed out into the west.

Coming across the small fields, pressing through the palm groves was a vast mass of figures, all clad in black robes. Above their heads waved banners on which a golden serpent writhed across a black background.

To the horizon, the land was darkened with the enemy horde. A great mass of horsemen moved out from behind some palms to the left. Drums were thudding, and a shrill ululation from a hundred thousand throats filled the air. Even the ground began to shake under the weight of the approaching horde.

Dragoneer Hatlin was on their front calling out orders.

“Fall in!” was the cry throughout the regiments. “Prepare to receive the enemy.”

Dragons and dragonboys hustled into position. Huge swords came out of the shoulder scabbards, and big helmets were strapped on. Boys slid arrows into their Cunfshon crossbows.

As the Sephisti horde emerged onto open ground under the serpent banner, so the air of crisis in the emperor’s own tent rose to a fever pitch.

At the inner entrance, golden horns suddenly blew to announce the emperor’s arrival. A small man weighed down by his troubles, the emperor wore a simple tunic of gold cloth and sandals of gold thread studded with emeralds.

The court stirred and rose to its collective feet. On the right were ranked the viziers, the monstekirs, the stekirs, and other nobles of the great fertile land. On the left were the eunuchs of the civil service and the high priest of Auros and the high priestess of Gingo-La.

In the center was the light wooden throne that was used by emperors of Ourdh on military campaigns. Around the throne were the inner circle: his sister Biruma, who was by title the Duchess of Patwa; then the high vizier, old Jiji Vokosong the Montzoon of Baharad; and last and least, General Knazud, commander of the Imperial Army.

Besides these three, set off a little distance was another, his aunt Haruma, the only one he could truly trust for she had no power of her own, no life outside his protection. Haruma was clad very simply, especially in comparison to the other three by the throne. She wore a simple green cloak and few jewels, all emeralds as befitted a member of the Shogemessar family.

The others, especially the general in his gold-plated armor, were blinding in their magnificence. The Duchess of Patwa wore a necklace of huge, square-cut emeralds, five gold chains, solid gold bracelets on both forearms, and rings on every digit studded with diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires—but no rubies, never a single ruby, garnet, or any reddish stone.

No member of the Shogemessar family would ever wear a ruby, of course, since rubies were the jewel of the old south dynasties from the province of Dzebei. The Shogemessar dynasty hailed from the eastern province of Patwara, where the Sunusolo, a tributary of the Oon, ran forth from the Malgun Mountains. Emeralds had been found from early times in the river gravels.

The high vizier, the Montzoon of Baharad, was closely allied to the Shogemessar family and thus wore many emeralds, especially the huge Star of Baharad, which glinted on his turban. He wore a yellow silk robe and scarlet platform shoes that elevated him half a foot into the air. The shoes, a hereditary perk of high viziership required that the high vizier be physically carried from place to place since walking was almost impossible.

The emperor, Banwi Shogemessar, took his place on the simple throne. A figure in simple grey robes, the Chamberlain Vixed, approached from the line of eunuchs on the left.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.” The eunuchs prostrated themselves while singing the “Glory, Glory, Glory,” as was prescribed in court protocol.

The emperor clapped his hands.

“Stop that groveling. The enemy is attacking! At any moment we may be in flight. There’s no time for it.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Vixed, bowing low and signaling the other eunuchs to rise from their knees.

Banwi Shogemessar, Fedafer of the well-watered land, lord of Heaven and Earth, golden emperor of ancient Ourdh, sat there trembling. In part, it was induced by fear, or rather total abject terror, and in part, it was caused by rage, over the bad advice he had been given by his advisers.

He was trying to keep his temper under control, and it was very difficult. His hands wanted to fly up and dart around on their own. He badly wanted to shout and scream.

The ground was shaking underneath them as the enemy tramped forward. If the enemy won, or rather, when they won, he knew what they would do to him.

That very morning, he had been told it all once again by the rooster’s head that popped out of his breakfast egg and addressed him in fluent Ourdhi. He would be taken to the pit of Sephis and given to the reborn god.

“Brother, you seem pale.” Biruma was leaning in toward him, her long nose seeming even more predatory than normal.

“Sister, we’re trapped here by a hundred thousand religious fanatics who want my blood. Or worse.” He glared at Penitem, the high priest of Auros.

The sight of the high priest brought the rage to the surface.

“Priest! It’s your damned fault. You fools, you told me it was impossible, that the old god was dead. And like an idiot I believed you. Ravens talking to me from the window? ‘Just black magic, Your majesty, don’t be worried.’ The dreams with the serpent? Take dream bane at sleep time, Majesty. Pay it no heed, there are just some very good magicians in Dzu. They will overreach and be torn down shortly, there is nothing to fear.‘ Well, damn you, there is plenty to fear now!”

Penitem, high priest of Auros, shifted uncomfortably in his place. It was true enough, he and his staff had done a perfectly miserable job of advising the emperor. They had simply not believed it possible. Under the rationalism of Auros, when all the worlds were measured correctly and justice was enthroned, it was impossible for there to be any other gods, only the so>called “goddess” of Gingo-La. To the Auroans, the worshipers of Gingo-La were really atavists, pagans worshiping the older pantheon of gods and mother goddesses. The priests of Auros maintained an amused contempt for all the rituals of the priestesses, and as for the doings in other lands, such things were either the work of black magic or simply laughable.

But now they had been driven to consider things they had previously thought impossible.

“We have consulted with the witches of the eastern Isles. They inform us that the so-called god Sephis is not a true god but is a high demon brought here from its own hellish plane of existence to reestablish the old cult of the serpent and to bring down the empire.”

“To what purpose, man,” snapped Banwi leaning closer.

“To enable the Makers of imps to buy women freely on our markets and breed them in the pens of Axoxo under the Doom of the White Bones Mountains.”

“Yes, yes,” said Banwi ill-temperedly. “So you’ve said before. But that wasn’t what you said when we could still have done something about this. Now we’re trapped here and we have to give battle and we may well lose. Our army is rife with defeatism and treason.”

General Knazud struggled with his feelings. The Patwari gangs infested the supply system for the army, corruption was monstrous. The army suffered from shortages of everything.

“Sire, may I say something.”

“Silence, General, do not speak. I can use my eyes. Our forces are riddled with fear, no, terror. They have heard that the old god is alive once more, and that in the end all the followers of Auros will go before the old god and be enslaved by its eyes. Any who resist will be slain.”

The thunder of the enemy drums was getting very loud. Banwi turned anguished eyes to his aunt. She alone knew what had happened at breakfast. She alone of all these people could he trust.

“Aunt, what am I to do?” He wailed.

Haruma smiled and bent the knee slightly.

“My lord, you must resist the enemy, for he can be defeated.”

“My army is weakened by fear. The men will break and run.”

“Trust the Argonathi general and his troops, they will stand and fight.”

“But there are so few of them. They will be overwhelmed. The Sephisti come in a horde ten times their number.”

“The Argonathi troops are the better. They have then-own cavalry, and they have dragons. You will see.”

“I will see a lot more of what I saw this morning…” He turned away from Haruma in sudden anger.

What did she want from him? To give away his rule to the witches of the East? To allow them to penetrate Ourdhi society and overthrow the ancient order and elevate the status of women? He could not allow that. He could not trust these foreigners with their alien thoughts.

He banged his fist on the wooden arm of the throne. It was barely audible with the thunder of drumming outside.

“Somebody tell me something good…” he said plaintively. “I need some good news and I need it now…”

The grand vizier nodded and mumbled. General Knazud spoke up. “We have been joined by the other Argonathi legion. There are now two of them. They are positioned close by, in the center of our line.”

Banwi scowled and turned away.

His sister caught his eye.

“Beloved Brother, the Princess Zettila has also just arrived. She requests an audience.”

Zettila was back. Banwi stood up. Here was something at least to divert him.

“We grant this request. Show her to my tent.”

General Knazud’s face fell. Haruma groaned inwardly. Sister Biruma wore a gloating look of triumph.

There was a sudden commotion at the entrance. A guard put his head in and spoke to one of the chamberlain’s staff. Word was passed forward swiftly.

“A messenger, lord, from the Argonath general.”

Banwi waved for the messenger to be let in.

A young captain, with a dashing look to him, came forward and proffered a small scroll to the chamberlain, who conveyed it to the emperor.

“Translate,” said Banwi, after a glance at the barbarous scrawlings in Argonathi Verio.

Old Vixed was fluent in Verio, as with many other tongues.

“Your Majesty, Banwi Shogemessar, Emperor of Ourdh, Fedafer of Fedafers, Light of the East, Fire of the North, He Who Rules the Reed Plains and terrifies the Teetol… etc. etc. greetings from General Hektor, who is pleased to announce that his legions are in position and ready to receive the enemy, who is in sight.”

“Yes? That’s all?”

“That is all, Your Majesty.”

“Good grief, well, tell the barbarian that we are very pleased, and we expect them to die like heroes.”

Vixed nodded, told the captain that the emperor was most pleased to welcome them to the field of heroic battle, and that he expected the heroes of Argonath to fight well.

Abruptly, the emperor rose from the throne, ending the audience. The golden horns blew, and everyone either bowed low or bent the knee, except young Captain Kesepton who merely bobbed his head, ducked out, and raced to his horse.

The emperor went directly to his tent, ignoring the sound of battle. Inside his tent, a vista of gold, red, and purple silks, with white upholstered furnitures, he threw himself onto a soft settee.

The Princess Zettila was waiting for him, kneeling submissively with her head to the ground. He snapped his fingers.

She looked up.

“I have learned much, my lord. There are spies in your very household.”

“Again! Damn Vixed, I told him to purge.”

“Vixed is no longer capable of staying Biruma. She has some information about him, something that she is blackmailing him with.”

Banwi sucked in a breath.

“You have proof of this?”

“No, Your Majesty, alas that is impossible. But I have a source, a very good source.”

He bent his head and indicated that she was to whisper only in his ear.

“What does Lopitoli intend?” he whispered harshly, barely able to contain the rage that the merest mention of his mother’s name brought on.

“She has placed Zanizaru in Ourdh. You are to be poisoned when you next dine in Kwa. The arrangements are all in place.”

“Biruma?”

“Yes. She will doctor your wine when you are not looking. She has a poison from Lopitoli that perfectly mimics the effects of a heart seizure. You will fall to the floor clutching at your chest, barely able to breathe. You will expire there, and no one will be able to point at Lopitoli. Then Zanizaru will be proclaimed and anointed.”

“What counterstroke do you recommend?”

“Go at once to the city, take Zanizaru and cut off his head. Show Lopitoli that her plots are penetrated. She will withdraw from the city for months, perhaps a whole year. In that time, you can regain control over the Shogemessar family finances. Then she will be helpless, for you can cut her out of your will.”

Banwi chuckled.

“Ah, I like it. However, there is the problem of the Sephisti. What are we to do about them?”