Dragon Heart (28 page)

Directly below him, the boar was looking back. Its enormous head tipped up, its damp snout twitching at the air, smelling Jeon. A deep rut of a scar crossed its snout like a new mouth. It pawed at the tree with one trotter, and then stood up against the tree, snuffling. Jeon drew the bow, and aimed at that old wound, only a few feet below him.

The arrow sank in to the feathers. The boar bellowed, and its tusks sliced the air just below Jeon's feet. The pig's hindquarters gave way and it struggled to push itself up again. With a long sigh, it fell over on its side.

Jeon went cautiously down, the tree groaning under his weight and sagging farther. The first thing he did was pick up his dropped arrows. The boar lay crumpled on the ground, its forked hooves still treading at the air. It was only a pig, after all. Jeon said, “That's how to do it, Luka.” He felt a loose satisfaction, all over like a glow, and a sudden urge to piss. The vial shone at him from the grass, and he picked it up, and put it carefully into his belt pouch, went to his horse, and rode back to Castle Ocean.

*   *   *

Oto had decided it was better to count everything. That way he knew if anything changed. Coming down the steps to his chamber, he said the numbers under his breath. When he stopped, just for a moment, an uneasiness swept over him and he stepped back down again, counted, “Fourteen,” and went on.

Where the door to Broga's chapel had been, which had been sealed up, the stones were falling out.

“You did a bad job of that,” Oto said. “Make it stand.”

The new sergeant said, “My lord, I live to obey.”

“I will review the troops this afternoon, in the gate yard.” They were walking across the round antechamber to the great hall.

The sunlight was pouring in across the terrace, hot and bright as molten metal. The sergeant paced along beside him, and Oto gave him orders, making a neat stack of words, dividing the day into work. “You will assign new guards, especially outside my chamber—”

Oto's eyes came to the high seat, on the side of the room, behind the black table. He stopped. Luka was sitting on the high seat.

Oto caught his breath, every hair stirring up. Luka was staring at him, not in anger: more puzzled, as if he was trying to remember who Oto was.

“My lord,” the sergeant said, puzzled.

Oto jerked his attention back to the soldier. “Do you not see—” He flung his arm out, pointing, toward the high seat.

Luka was gone. Oto flexed his arm back to his chest. The sergeant was watching him sideways. “My lord?”

“I'm sorry. My brother's death. So distraught.” Oto put his hand to his face and shook his head. “I shall go back to my chamber and pray for him.” He turned his back on the high seat. He would never come into this hall again. “But first, come, and we shall set the day's watches.”

*   *   *

The soldiers filed steadily in and out of Oto's chamber, saluted, took orders, and went out, and then more came, and he did this awhile. It was the same men who came in, over and over, but he pretended not, and gave them each detailed instructions, and sent them off. Whether they did what he commanded he did not see, or even care, so long as they took his orders.

Jeon came in. He had been gone, somewhere, his jacket dusty, his feet shod in riding boots. Oto remembered what Broga had said, that the boy conspired. Oto did not believe this; Mervaly had thought him something of a fool.

Now he had more pressing matters. He said, “I saw your brother.”

Jeon stood there, in the middle of the room, and showed no surprise. “Luka. Yes. You will.”

“Will he—does he—I did not kill him. I am innocent of his blood.”

Jeon smiled. “Don't mind about him. They do no harm. They aren't much interested in us.”

“I see your sister. The little one.”

“Tirza.” Jeon's smile widened. “Well, my lord, you are keen sighted.”

“Broga. My brother.” Oto came a step closer. Broga, for some reason, he dreaded most of all. “Will I—will he—come back?”

The boy shook his head. “No. Didn't you bury him in the land? No. The dirt gives up nothing.”

“Aha,” Oto said, and straightened, his hands at his sides. A sense of triumph filled him. He had forced valuable knowledge from the boy. A knock sounded on the door. “Wait!” Oto shouted. To Jeon, he said, “Can I not … drive them away? Some exorcism?”

“My lord, you are safe. Especially here.” Jeon waved his hand at this room, with its walls of cut stone. The knock sounded again.

“My lord,” came muffled through the door. “My lord—”

“Well, then, come in!” Oto shouted.

The new sergeant came in; he was more a snap-and-polish man than the old one had been, but he seemed to get less done. He did everything, though, with many flourishes, which Oto liked. Now the sergeant whirled his arm up in a broad salute.

“Glory to the Empire! My lord, there are ships coming in. Imperial ships. They're approaching the bay now; they've sent for pilots.”

“The fleet,” Oto said. “The fleet, at last.”

He felt everything in him go slack; he had not realized until now how tight and close he was holding himself. He resisted the impulse to fling his arms into the air and cheer. Beaming, he nodded to Jeon. “Now we shall have troops. And arms. See? I told you the Empire would not forget us.” He rushed to the door. “Come; we shall greet them.” He pounded off down the stairs, free again.

*   *   *

Jeon stood planted where he was. He had forgotten about the fleet. Now Oto had another army, bigger, probably better. The sea had betrayed Jeon; after all his work and planning, it was washing him off his feet. He thought, despairingly, he might not be able to do this.

Oto called, “Prince Jeon!”

Numbly he followed.

*   *   *

Tirza walked down into the town; from the buildings along the cliff, a steady stream of the people was crowding toward the beach, where already half the town stood watching the mouth of the bay. She saw the flutter of a banner: Oto was there at the water's edge. She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking south toward the bay's entrance.

In between the tip of the Jawbone and the far beach, the thing was coming in. She had seen this before, the flat bulky front below the naked mast, the up and down of the oars on either side. Some deep memory rolled ominously in her stomach. A shout went up from the crowd. Everybody loved when a ship came.

She saw Aken the butcher's broad, tall back, down in the middle of a clump of watching people, and went up behind him. The galley was sliding in through the channel. Its red and blue awnings fluttered; men in striped doublets lined its sides, shoulder to shoulder, holding pikes, dozens of men. The galley's painted sides reflected on the water, and it stroked out onto the deep water of the harbor, hauled around bow to the beach, and with a clatter of chains and a splash lowered its anchor.

A little cheer went up along the beach, from Oto's soldiers and some of the townspeople. Next to Tirza, Aken did not cheer. He stood with his thumbs hooked on the strings of his apron, his face set.

She stared at him, putting all her mind into this, until at last he turned to her. His whiskered face was harsh. “What do you want, girl?” He spread his hands. Blood splattered his apron and blood encrusted his fingernails. “What do you think I can do?”

She went closer, half his height, looking straight up into his face, and poked him in the chest, scowling. She kept her lips together, for fear of barking at him. She pointed at the ship, now lowering a small boat over the side. She jabbed Aken again and drew her finger across her neck. Beyond Aken, Trollo was watching them.

Aken grunted at her. He gave a glance around, and frowned down at her. “Go away, girl. There's nothing left. Luka brought me back from the massacre in the mountains. I would have given my life for him. But he's gone and there's nothing left.” Aken turned his back on her. Trollo met her gaze a moment, and looked away.

She went to Lumilla, the brewster, who was standing nearer to the cypress tree among a bunch of other women. Lumilla gave a little shake of her head.

“What is this, Tirza? What do you think we ought to do? Look, there—another ship.” Lumilla pointed down the bay. Another great wooden whale was rowing up toward the entrance. “What could we do against such as these?”

”Luka would have told you,” Tirza burst out.

At the angry gush of noise the brewster recoiled, raising a hand between them. “Go,” she said. “Who can talk to you? Get Jeon. Send Jeon to talk to me.” She turned, and walked back into the shelter of the other women.

Tirza stood where she was. The second galley was even more splendid than the first, painted and gilded, its deck packed with armed men, even in the cages on the masts, armed men. She went on down toward the banner flopping and curling on its staff, looking for her brother, and found him there, where Oto sat his horse among his men on foot, Jeon standing at his stirrup, looking small.

*   *   *

Amillee lingered a moment, her eyes on Tirza. She felt sorry for the scrawny little creature, with her hair like wild rust, her animal voice, now the last, almost, of her family.

Up there on its crag loomed Castle Ocean. Amillee thought of Luka, and what he had said to her. But he was dead, and no one was taking his place.

Her mother came to her. “I think,” she said, “we are about to make some money.” She slapped Amillee on the arm. “Help me bring out a keg.”

Amillee said, “That's all you think about. I hate these people.” She stared down toward the galleys, messengers from another world, where maybe they did things differently from here.

“Then don't help me,” Lumilla said stiffly, and went on up the beach. Amillee folded her arms over her chest, waiting to see what happened next.

*   *   *

“Two ships,” Oto said under his breath. “Two ships.”

Jeon glanced at him and turned back to the galleys. He wondered if he had lost the whole game now. If he had ever had a chance. He had forgotten how splendid an Imperial galley was, even these, battered from their passage, their paint worn. Lined up along the gunwales were a hundred men, heavily armed, against whom he had no force. He turned to look back toward the mouth of the bay, wondering if there were more coming, but out beyond the jagged tip of the Jawbone was only the dark blue sea beneath the pale blue sky.

From the nearer of the two big galleys a flat barge lowered down. A man as gaudy as the ship sat in the prow; four oars to a side, the crew rowed in toward Oto's banner. As it approached, the crowd on the beach gathered closer. The barge rammed into the beach halfway through the surf and its oarsmen leapt out and pulled it up to dry land. The officer stepped off and strode up toward Oto.

“My lord.” A stout man in a red coat, gold buttons, gold strings of braid over the shoulders, his face leathery from the sun. He stopped before Oto and bowed.

“Glory to the Empire. Admiral Lord Count Unbard ip Stencop brings you the greetings of your Emperor!”

All around, the soldiers called out, “Glory! Glory!”

Oto did not bow. On the horse, he towered over everybody, which Jeon thought was the point. Oto said, “Is this is all? Two ships? We were promised a great fleet.”

“Well, we are both disappointed, as I expected King Erdhart.” The rolling voice clipped off the words. “I had five ships, several nights ago. We were attacked.”

Jeon had been staring glumly at the ships; at this news, he took a step backward, startled. A buzz went up all around the crowd. Oto gave a quick look over his shoulder.

“We should go somewhere to talk. Do you have dispatches for me, Stencop?”

The admiral glanced over his shoulder; an officer stood there, who came forward with a leather case. He gave this to Stencop, who handed it up to Oto. Oto tucked it under his arm.

“We shall go to the castle, and there confer.”

“I must settle my men,” Stencop said.

“You have officers to do that,” Oto said. “Follow me now.”

He turned to Jeon. “You stay here. Learn a little.” Oto turned his horse and rode off, and Stencop, with a frown, strode after him.

Jeon drifted off down the beach a little. He wanted to know what had happened to Stencop, but what Jeon saw before him he could not leave. The two ships were anchored close enough to see the men clambering over them; they had lowered another barge. Some bulk of wood cluttered the deck of the near ship. Jeon saw the soldier Marwin nearby and went to him.

“What's going on?”

Marwin was smiling across his whole face. “We've got it now, boy. They've brought us some kickers.”

Jeon looked back toward the ship. “What?”

“On the deck there. Imperial War-bird Bomb-launchers. We call them kickers. Those are the Empire, right there. Wherever we put them, we rule.”

Jeon grunted. “They were attacked. Something beat them.” But left them their weapons. Nothing went perfectly.

Marwin shrugged. “Just a minor setback.” His eyes slid toward the banner. “The Empire is here now.”

Jeon pulled on his chin; his beard was growing out, and he liked the feel of it under his fingers. Something warm touched his side. He started. But it was Tirza, wrapping her fingers around his, leaning on him. He slid an arm around her and hugged her. He wondered if Tirza had known about the fleet coming here or if the ships had simply fallen in the way of whatever it was out there. Now here the barges were beaching and he went over to watch them unload the weapons that were the Empire.

*   *   *

Oto knew Stencop by sight and by name, and did not like him; their families were rivals at court. His appearance here was a goad from Oto's uncle: “I have other men.” Oto led the admiral into the castle and up the stairs to his chamber, the while counting under his breath. He did not let himself be drawn to notice the loose stones scattered on the chapel landing. Under his arm, the dispatch case felt like burning lead.