Dragon Stones (21 page)

She looked over as the door to Torrant's chambers opened and the prince entered.  He came and went as he pleased, as if Tolaria's room were his own; she almost preferred Tomari's quick temper to Torrant's casual over-familiarity.

"Good evening, Tolaria," he said.  "I am here to invite you to a demonstration in the north garden."

"A demonstration of what?"

He smiled.  "It's a surprise."

She looked away.  "I'm afraid I must decline," she said.  "I am comfortable here in my chair, and as you can see I have not finished my supper."

"Ah," Torrant said.  "When I called it an invitation, I was merely being diplomatic.  Your presence is required."

Of course it was.  She sighed, stood, and followed him out the door.  He led her through the quiet halls of the castle, accompanied by a pair of guards who kept a discreet distance and, even farther back, Wyst; the girl slunk along behind, like a dog that knew it was somewhere it didn't belong.

They soon left the better-lit parts of the castle, passing into cold and gloomy corridors that smelled like dust and forgotten furniture.  Candelabra had been placed at intervals on stands that clearly didn't belong there, providing dim, flickery illumination; darkness pooled in the spots where the incessant drafts had blown out the flames.

"Where are you taking me?" Tolaria said.  "I hope you don't intend to give me this entire wing of the keep; I should hate to have to keep it clean."

"The north garden sees little use these days," Torrant said.  "It will do nicely for what Qalor intends to show us."

"Oh, I finally meet your mysterious alchemist tonight?"

"Indeed.  You will see strange sights this evening, him not least among them."

They came to the head of a narrow flight of stairs, curving down and to the right, following the castle wall.  Turning to their retinue, Torrant said:  "You will wait here."  The guards nodded and took up positions on either side of the opening; Wyst, lurking some distance back, skulked and glimmered like a ghost.

Torrant took Tolaria's arm and they descended the steps.  A door at the bottom stood propped open by some rubble.  They went out into a small courtyard that faced the mountains.  A number of braziers had been erected around the perimeter of the area, lending it a ruddy illumination, filling the air with a greasy tang.  A towering platform stood in the center of an overgrown flowerbed, the mishmash of boards and planks haphazardly nailed together, as if by a child in a hurry.  Steam or some other vapor drifted from within the structure.  In front of it, a number of large, flat stones had been laid, crushing the weeds.

A few soldiers stood here, along with Tomari, who stood with a man she hadn't seen before.  Torrant brought her to them.  Tomari gazed at her coldly, then looked away; evidently he still hadn't forgiven her for rebuffing their advances.  The other man, an older fellow wearing thick, soft-looking violet robes trimmed with faded gold stitching, stood half a head taller than either prince.  He looked down at her imperiously.

"You must be Qalor," she said.

Tomari made a choking noise and brought his hand to his lips, covering a grin.

"Hardly," the man said.

"Tolaria, this is our father, Lord Dunshandrin."  Torrant nudged her and, in a whisper, added:  "You might wish to bow."

Lord Dunshandrin?  Aside from a superficial resemblance, this man looked nothing like the frail, sickly creature she had seen on her first day in the castle.  "I most certainly would bow, were I being presented to Lord Dunshandrin as he sat in his chair in his great hall," she said after a moment.  "However, under the present circumstances, I will instead look him in the eye and praise his miraculous recovery."

Dunshandrin glared down at her, then looked at Tomari.  "I see that you were not exaggerating about this one," he said.

"No."

"Your sickness was a ruse," Tolaria said, "to lure me here.  You wanted a pet oracle.  How did you fake the signs of illness so well?"

"The signs are not faked," Dunshandrin said.

"We found a man who looks somewhat like father, and exposed him to fever victims in the almshouse until he took ill," Torrant said.

"We have a most excellent physician endeavoring to keep the poor soul alive," Tomari added.

"I don't understand," Tolaria said.  "You have me here now.  Why keep up the charade?"

"I think you will find that I am making a gradual recovery," Lord Dunshandrin said.  "Soon I will be well enough to appear at my court.  By the time Barbareth sues for peace, I will be quite recovered enough to parley with its King."

"Enough about such matters."  Torrant eyed the ramshackle tower.  "We are here for a demonstration.  Where is Qalor?"

"He is still making ready," Tomari said.  "Apparently, if he botches this, we could all be killed."

"A hefty responsibility," Torrant said.

Dunshandrin grunted and then, in a strong voice, called:  "Qalor!  We are tired of waiting out here in the cold!  Show us what your new device can do!"

Tolaria saw movement between the loose boards of the tower; then a large man emerged and shambled over to the royal group.  Although he towered over Dunshandrin and his sons, he had a unhealthy air about him; he was nearly bald, with hair growing in tuft-like patches, and his grimy face was pocked with small lesions that glistened in the firelight.  He wore a long apron that may once have been white, but was now stained in a variety of bilious colors and exudates.  He carried a small, thick-looking leather sack, holding it away from himself at the end of a pole, as if he didn't want it to touch his body.  Qalor gently set the sack down in the grass.  "Lieges," he said, sounding out of breath.  "My lady."

"Qalor, this is Tolaria," Torrant said.

"Ah yes," Qalor said.  He wiped his right hand on the filthy apron, then extended it to her.  "The oracle.  A pleasure."

"All mine, I'm sure," Tolaria said, shrinking from the proffered hand.  The alchemist's teeth were dark and rotting, and his mouth stank of infection.

"Never mind the girl," Dunshandrin said.  "Show us your device, and prove that we have not been chasing shadows."

"Of course, my liege."  Picking up the sack again, he raised it for them to see.  "This is a smaller example of what the eagles will carry into battle."  He squinted at it.  "Much smaller.  It contains a box with two chambers, each holding a powdered form of one type of crystal.  A third chamber holds a chemical of my own devising that will act as a catalyst upon the powders.  I used minute amounts; more than a little would be dangerous for my lieges and their distinguished guest."

Tolaria supposed that meant her.

"Yes, yes," Dunshandrin said, impatient.  "You've explained your design to us before.  Now show us how it works."

Qalor nodded and returned to the tower.  Tolaria watched the apparatus wobble back and forth, apparently as he climbed a ladder or stair within; one of the boards fell off, then another, and she began to worry that the entire structure would collapse and crush them.  Eventually, though, Qalor emerged onto a platform, twenty feet above where they stood.  He brought his sack to the very edge and held it out in the empty space above the flagstones.  "Observe, now, what happens when I release the device!"

He let go of the pole.

The bag fell.

Tolaria gasped and shielded her eyes as a burst of smoke and flame erupted from the point of impact, momentarily lighting up the night.  A fireball rose into the air, curled in on itself, and disappeared, becoming a cloud of black vapor that drifted slowly away.  Where the sack had landed, the rock was cracked and blackened.  Some of the boards of the tower had ignited.  Qalor had evidently been prepared for this, however; attendants rushed over with buckets of water and doused the flames.

"As you can see," Qalor called, "even a tiny device is quite destructive."

"Indeed," Dunshandrin murmured.

The alchemist turned and disappeared into the platform, which once again began to shiver as he climbed back down.  He soon reemerged from the opening in the side, and came back to where they stood.  "Of course, the eagles will carry much larger devices," he said.  "Their destructive power will be an order of magnitude greater."

This was the second time Qalor had mentioned eagles; Tolaria wondered what he meant by it.  Did he have a flock of trained raptors ready to fly over Barbareth, dropping explosive packages?  How much weight could such a bird carry?

"Even a small squadron will be able to destroy a city and burn out large sections of enemy forces," Tomari said eagerly.  "A larger force could devastate an entire region!"

"Need we go so far?" Torrant said.  "We don't want to rule a wasteland.  The threat of destruction may serve us as well as destruction itself."

"Would it?" Lord Dunshandrin said.  "I wonder.  The threat will be dismissed if our ability to carry it out has not been demonstrated."

"What do you have in mind, Father?" Tomari said.

"Astilan."  Lord Dunshandrin looked at Qalor, standing some distance away, like a creature that had dragged itself out of the grave and was contemplating whether or not to attack.  "How soon can the eagles be made ready?"

"A new generation is almost fully grown," the alchemist said.  "Their strength and endurance continues to increase, so they will no longer need to stop and rest so often, and they will not tire so quickly."

"But how soon can we put them into play?"

Qalor scratched his chin, thinking; he inadvertently dislodged one of his scabs.  Pale fluid began to leak from the wound, but he did not seem to notice.  "The grooms have been training them to the saddle since they were small, my lord, so once they are of a size they will be ready for your riders.  I would say that it is now only a matter of days."

"And the crystals?  They will be ready as well?"

"They are growing in the solution I prepared; no further expeditions will be required."

"Very good," Dunshandrin said.  "You have done well."

Qalor made several rapid, shallow bows.  "Thank you, my Lord," he said.  "Thank you."

Dunshandrin turned to Tolaria.  "So, young oracle, what do you think of our plans?"

"I think you're mad," she said.  "The lot of you."

The blow caught her off guard; one moment Dunshandrin was glaring at her, and the next she lay on the ground at his feet, looking up at him, her cheek burning and her head ringing.

"My sons may tolerate such talk from you," he said.  "I will not.  When you speak to me it will be with the respect I am due."

Her mouth tasted like blood.  "The respect you are due as a man who fakes illness in order to lure and imprison an oracle?" she said.  "Or the respect you are due as a man who would invade another kingdom for no reason other than avarice?  Or perhaps the respect you are due as a man who strikes a woman half his size?  Please, my lord, tell me which type of respect you feel you most deserve, and I will show it to you."

He stared down at her, and for a moment she thought he might kick her or haul her to her feet in order to knock her down again; but then he began to laugh.  "I will either kill this wench, or marry her off to one of my sons," he announced.  "We shall see which!"

She almost said she would rather be die than be wed to either of the princes, but held her tongue; she had a suspicion that if she asked Dunshandrin to kill her, he might oblige.

There had been a delay in getting the prison wagon ready, a broken axle or some such problem; and so Pyodor Ponn spent a cold, uncomfortable night locked in the stocks at Execution Square, under the steely gaze of a town sentry.  By the time the fifth person hit him with rotten vegetables—a number more had thrown, but missed—he was beginning to wish T'Sian would, indeed, assume her dragon form and burn the city to the ground.  But she had apparently abandoned him; she didn't come to the square, not even to taunt him or ask him absurd questions about human punishments.

Early in the morning, before the sun had risen over the mountains, a black carriage pulled up alongside the wooden fence.  Two guards rode on the front bench, one serving as the driver, the other as a lookout; two more sat on top of the boxlike compartment that housed the prisoners.  The sentry released Ponn from the stocks and hustled him along to the wagon, loading him into the windowless chamber in the back.  Parillon was already inside, chained by his ankle to an iron ring in the floor.  One of the king's men secured Ponn in a similar fashion, then shut and bolted the door, leaving them in utter darkness.

"Hello, Ponn," Parillon said.

"Hello, Parillon."  The wagon lurched into motion, swaying and creaking along the rough streets.  "I notice they didn't put
you
in the stocks."

"I bribed Apperand to let me spend the night at home.  Don't be upset, Ponn.  I didn't know they had you, or I would've bought you a night of bed rest as well, before our journey."

"He would have taken your money and put me in the stocks anyway," Ponn said.  "I angered him by suggesting that he was involved in our business."

"As, of course, he was.  Miserable cur.  Well, you may be pleased to know that his residence burned during the night."