Dragon Lord (30 page)

The village awakened and began to stir to life before they reached the first cottage. By the time they’d cantered into the market square, adults and children and beasts seemed to throng the narrow, cobbled streets.

They slowed their mounts, holding them to a walk as they threaded their way through the emerging foot traffic. A hum of excitement began to build around them, almost imperceptible at first, like the electric charge that filled the air as a storm gathered.

“It is him! The Emperor!
Pater-Draken
--Father Dragon. Our dragon lord! He is the image of his father! I saw him once. I know it is him. It
is
him!”

Audric glanced at Simon as the whispers of awe drifted around them, became more pronounced--louder and louder as excitement as contagious as a virulent virus moved from person to person.

He seemed oblivious at first, distant, caught up in his own thoughts. Abruptly, though, his
naybst
took exception to a child that darted through the growing crowd of gawkers and let out a series of angry clicks and then a roar as it balked and tried to rear. Simon’s hand tightened automatically on the reins, drawing the beast’s head down to its chest, his knees digging into its shoulders. The
naybst
sidled, but quieted almost instantly. When Simon’s attention moved from the beast to the people around him again, he smiled, no more than a faint curling of his lips, and nodded--that regal nod he seemed completely unconscious of, probably
was
unconscious of.

“Emperor Pater-Draken!” someone exclaimed.

Almost as one, every man, woman, and child within sight of them dropped to their knees in reverence, some sobbing or wailing loudly, others laughing with nervous excitement, still others calling out welcomes. “Emperor! Emperor! The gods bless us! He has returned! He has returned! The gods are smiling upon us!”

Simon sent Audric a disconcerted look, color darkening his cheeks.

Audric shrugged. Almost reluctantly, he grinned.

A group of men emerged from a hostel near the center of the town. They stood rigid for some moments and finally dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, bringing one arm across their chests in salute.

Simon’s party came to a halt and dismounted.

As he approached the men, they rose. “Emperor Pater-Draken!” the eldest man exclaimed, grinning broadly as Simon caught his shoulders and embraced him briefly.

“Dill my old friend!” Simon said. “You are looking well!”

Dilligen Valedraken studied Simon’s face searchingly. “Very well, Sire. Better than ever to see your ugly face among us again!”

Simon chuckled. “We came with all haste--and great secrecy,” he murmured wryly.

There were chuckles from the men surrounding them. Dill Valedraken laughed uproariously. “They know their
true
emperor, Dragon Lord. You could have worn a mask and hood and they would
still
have known you. In any case, it matters not--not now,” he added, sobering.

Simon nodded and they all turned and entered the building the men who’d greeted them had emerged from. Striding through the common room, the party gathered in a large, private chamber beyond.

Gathering around the large, round table that sat in the center of the room, they exchanged pleasantries and reminisced as the barmaids scurried back and forth bringing spirits and platters of food. When they’d withdrawn at last, everyone present fell silent.

Smiles vanished and faces grew taut.

“We have spies everywhere,” Dill announced grimly.

Simon studied him in silence for several moments. “The gathering of such an army was bound to attract notice,” he said coolly.

“Aye!” Dill agreed, “But it should not have done so as quickly as it did. We used the greatest discretion, I assure you. We have staggered the recruiting and gathering with great care--no parties larger than a dozen in any one place at any time. And even if that had begun to attract notice, it
still
would not explain how Jaelen knew that we would gather here to attack. The southern border is the least accessible. If he had had no knowledge of our plans, he would have amassed his army along the other borders.

“Beyond that, Draken Fortress has stood empty since your exile. Jaelen prefers the pretty little confection that he had designed and built for himself at Reamestone.

“I tell you he was expecting us even before we’d begun gathering our forces.”

Pushing his plate away with disinterest, Simon settled an elbow on the table and supported his chin in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the men around the table. “And you have ferreted none out?”

“A round dozen in my own camp alone,” Dill said with disgust. “We got nothing out of them before they died. Either they knew nothing or they were more terrified of Jaelen than my best torturers, and I am thinking they knew nothing.”

Simon transferred his gaze to Ravenwing, listened to his report, and then Montdragon’s, moving around the table clockwise until he reached Nimets, the young Duke of Sardovf.

When he’d heard them out, he rose. “I have a yearning for a bath and a bed. We will meet here again this eve and go over the final details of the attack and determine what, if any, alterations should be made.”

Dill rose, as well. “By your leave, Sire, I will show you the chambers we had prepared for you.”

Simon nodded, sent his own men a significant glance, which they correctly interpreted to mean that they were to stay put, and he and Dill left the room together.

“You are off your food,” Dill commented as they ascended the stairs, sending Simon a speculative glance. “I can assure you it did not reach the table without a taster.”

Simon shrugged. “I never doubted it. I have grown unaccustomed to the food here, however.”

Dill looked taken aback. “You did not leave with many, but you had servants, surely? Could they not be trained to prepare a decent draconian dish?”

Simon averted his gaze, ignoring the tightening in his belly at the inadvertent reminder of Raina. “They are not magicians and as impossible as it may seem to grasp, we did not think to load stores of ‘decent’ draconian herbs, spices, vegetation, or meat. I had Tedra, and there is no better cook on all of Drack, but she can not work miracles. There were a thousand subtle and not so subtle differences in taste, but I grew accustomed and now, I think, it will take time to reacquaint myself with my native foods.”

Dill studied him curiously. “I had not thought of that. They are much like us, though?”

Simon grimaced. “Aye, but like the food--subtle and not so subtle differences. Naturally, we chose a world as close to our own Drack as possible, peopled with beings much like us, but, by and large, they are smaller folk--less robust. The physical differences should not have been too notable, and yet we discovered quickly enough that we could not walk among them without drawing far more attention than we were comfortable with. They are … very curious of strangers. Beyond the size, our eyes are not at all the same and seemed to distress them far more than their strange eyes disturbed us.

He frowned as Dill paused before a door situated about halfway down the corridor and opened it, stepping back with a slight bow for him to enter. Simon scanned the room as he did so, relaxing slightly when he saw the room was empty and moving further inside to settle in a comfortable chair.

“It has been many years,” he murmured as Dill took the chair across from him at the wave of his hand, “and either my memory is faulty or I had miscalculated how … enthusiastic my homecoming would be. I will say nothing about their prematurely hailing me as Emperor--perhaps
their
memories are faulty and they do not recall that I was never crowned. But the folk did not used to grovel on the ground. What was all that nonsense upon our arrival?”

Dill expelled a harsh breath of disgust. “Need you ask? Jaelen. He requires
proper
humility of his subjects. Anyone in his presence whose head is above the level of his knee--if they are common folk--or above the level of his waist--if they are nobles--will find themselves without one.”

Simon’s lips tightened.

“As for the weeping, and wailing, and shouts of joy--that was purely for you. They do not let out a peep, you may be certain, when Jaelen passes, not only because they hate him as enthusiastically as they love you, but also because they are terrified of drawing his notice.”

Simon nodded. “It is no wonder our plans are no secret,” he said dryly. “I begin to think there is no one who did not know and anticipate our arrival.”

Dill shrugged. “The commoners have a nose for these things, but you may be absolutely certain that, whatever they may have culled from watchfulness, they would never betray you. Some slimy bastard of a spy has infiltrated us. I swear to you on my father’s soul that no one, with the exception of the courier, whom I trust completely, had full knowledge of the plan save Montdragon, Ravenwing, Sardovf, and I. And I can not believe that it was any one of them, and I know gods bedamned well that it was not I!”

Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is done now and not worth weeping over. We will simply have to do the best we can with what we have to work with.”

Dill frowned. “You do not think that it would be best to march ‘round Schalome and attack from another vantage?”

Simon shook his head. “I have considered that, but we will certainly have no better element of surprise and we can not dismiss the effects that it would have on the men. They would be weary from the forced march, and dispirited, very likely--neither situation, of which, would be to our benefit.”

Dill was silent for several moments. “We heard word that you had diverted to Maiden Prime on your way home ….?”

“Aye. I spoke with their minister at length.”

“And?”

“They have agreed to remain neutral.”

“That is so very helpful of them,” Dill retorted with disgust.

Simon smiled faintly. “I accomplished what I set out to do. It is all that I was interested in--making certain that they would not intervene on Jaelen’s behalf.”

Dill sent him a startled glance. “I had not thought about that. You did not detect any sign that they have chosen to side with him?”

“They are lovers of peace. They will never interfere unless they feel that it is necessary to keep peace. In this instance, they are no happier with Jaelen’s rule that we are. I have their blessing to--remove him from power, but they prefer to merely observe and allow us to make our own mistakes, and clean up our own mess.”

Dill nodded, but he still seemed unhappy. “It would have evened the odds for us a bit if they had been willing to furnish us with some of their weapons,” he growled irritably. “I will not complain overmuch--for I far prefer our own weapons, crude as
they
might consider them, but in this instance ….”

“In this instance, we will triumph with draconian might,” Simon said coolly.

Again, Dill nodded. “The gods have always favored you, Simon Pater-Draken.”

Simon smiled thinly. “Let us hope they do not favor me as they have in the past,” he said dryly.

Chapter Eighteen

Raina stared at the two men who’d entered her cell, keeping her expression as carefully blank as possible. She recognized one of the two as the man who’d examined her with such malicious glee when she’d first woken, though, and it took an effort to stifle the shivers that kept trying to creep up her backbone.

His manner of dress was almost absurdly elaborate. Although he wore trousers and a shirt and boots, much like everyone else, his boots were not black, but bright red and topped with a cuff of fur. Bright gold tassels swung from the top, as well, and a colorful design had been stitched into the leather all over. His trousers were gold. Made of some glossy material, an elaborate design followed the outer seams from knee to waist--a sort of trailing vine with buds and blossoms. There was an obscene bulge in his crotch that she would’ve been willing to bet had been formed from some sort of hard cup-like devise, maybe something like sports figures would wear to protect their genitals. But she doubted that was the purpose. The purpose seemed to be to make him
appear
to have monstrous genitals.

The shirt he wore was of a paler gold color, but seemed to be made of the same glossy material as the pants. It was open to the waist, displaying pale skin completely devoid of any hair and an expanse of chest that, while still fairly impressive, seemed soft.

He had a definite paunch--not big, but a soft bulge instead of a flat belly, as if he was fond of foods that tended to collect around the waist--either that or he just didn’t get much exercise. She guessed both. He just seemed like the sort of man to overindulge himself.

“You are Petra-Draken’s whore?” the second man, obviously brought as an interpreter, demanded for the second time.

Raina merely stared at the man, trying to decide if they were just trying to get a rise out of her or if they expected her to answer that. They couldn’t be in any doubt that she’d been Simon’s bedmate for months--not considering who it was that had taken her. “Is that supposed to be a question?” she asked finally.

The other man flung a string of furious words at her.

“The emperor will not tolerate your insolence, wench!” the translator snarled. “Answer the question!”

Fear pricked at her, but Raina pursed her lips in irritation. “I didn’t understand the fucking question.”

Prissy the emperor might be, but he moved like lightening and struck like a rattlesnake, backhanding her across the face so hard her head jerked sideways and she rolled off the cot and onto the floor. Raina spat out the blood that filled her mouth from her cut lip and struggled to stop her brain from reeling.

“You carry Petra-Draken’s bastard, yes?”

The shock receded, allowing pain to wash over her. Ignoring the throbbing, she pushed herself up to look at them, wondering if she would be better off to ignore her pride and rebelliousness and blubber and cringe instead. She could. She’d never had a problem using whatever worked. It went against the grain, though. “I don’t know who the fuck Petra-Draken is,” she muttered, “but I’ll have you to know I’m
not
pregnant! I can’t help if I’m fat, can I?”