The Dragon of Despair (53 page)

“Thendulla Lypella, however, was built over caverns, some of which were cut—depending on whether you are being metaphoric or literal—by the presence of dragons in early days or by latent volcanic action.”

Columi stopped speaking and looked quizzically at Toriovico.

“I could not restrict the area further without bringing in apprentices to do some field research and I thought I should consult you first, given what else they might learn.”

Toriovico asked mechanically, his mind still whirling through a wide variety of possibilities, “And that is?”

“That your lady wife is prowling the bowels of Thendulla Lypella—searching for who knows what.”

For a moment, Toriovico thought about denying that Melina had been the wearer of the garment. Indeed, he felt an almost physical compulsion to protect her name and honor from any scandal at all. However, he was suddenly weary and shocked. Columi’s report matched too well with Melina’s sudden interest in old tomes, many of them faithfully copied histories and records from before the Founders’ departure.

Toriovico knew—though Melina did not—how the First Healed One had carefully made certain these records were distorted and twisted. Still, there was some truth left in them. The First Healed One could not do otherwise given how many New Kelvinese had survived the Burning Times and knew the truth.

Instead of denying, feeling far older than the old man, Toriovico looked at Columi and said: “Tell me about this new faction.”

Columi looked suddenly unhappy, as if he regretted his earlier impulse, but he did not resist.

“It is evident to me that the newest faction in court is no faction at all in that it does not agitate to displace Apheros or any Prime. Indeed, as you yourself noticed, the Dragon Speaker has not been so secure for years.

“However, to one who watches from the outside, it seems to me that there is a new motive power nonetheless. There is talk of trade with Waterland—of granting enormous concessions that we never would have given before.”

Toriovico heard himself speaking without conscious volition.

“But we must. It is terribly important. You may not know this, but Waterland has offered magical artifacts in return for merely commercial concessions—and they’ve offered a good rate on slaves and a possible harbor…”

Torio stopped speaking, feeling oddly as if he’d wound down, like one of the string spinner toys made for holidays.

“So you agree?” Columi asked, a suggestion of doubt in his voice, though Torio wasn’t certain whether the doubt was at his own wisdom for speaking or at Toriovico’s belief in what he’d just said.

Torio decided to reply to the latter.

“I don’t entirely agree,” he said. “Indeed, I insisted that we check into the authenticity of these artifacts. However, Melina says there are advantages and I must agree.”

“‘Melina says,’” Columi repeated and his voice was tight. “Honored One, surely you don’t need me to spell this out further. Melina is the heart and soul of this new faction. She has strengthened Apheros’s power but only because he is unable to do other than what she wishes. There are others within the Primes—ones who would normally be obstructive and cantankerous if for no other reason than the joy of it—who are now amiable companions.”

Toriovico nodded, though his head was pounding as if a drummer beat upon it. He thought of Dimiria, of the Defeatists, so suddenly placid.

“Think!” Columi pleaded. “Think on what she is doing…and wonder why on top of it all Consolor Melina has taken to prowling beneath the ancient towers of Thendulla Lypella.”

“
I DON’T RECALL
this being a toll road last year,” Derian commented after they were waved through yet another checkpoint.

“It wasn’t,” Peace replied making certain they were well out of earshot of any other traveler. “You and your friends should be honored. The change is due to you.”

“Us?”

Peace pulled a weary, thin-lipped smile.

“You recall your departure from Dragon’s Breath last year?”

“Of course.”

“As I understand it—and you must understand that my information is secondhand,” Peace looked momentarily sad, “your ability to avoid those sent out to search for you was much discussed, as was Baron Endbrook’s similar departure somewhat earlier that season. There was great unhappiness over the ease with which the two groups of foreigners had departed when those involved in the national interest were hoping to speak with them.”

Derian remembered that freezing journey with a shiver.

“Getting away wasn’t easy,” he protested. “You know that. If the weather hadn’t been so horrible—and without Firekeeper’s help finding food and shelter—I doubt we would have made it to the border.”

“So it may be,” Peace said with a noncommittal shrug. “I was too discommoded to remember much of that journey. In any case, as I understand it, it was universally agreed that the Sword of Kelvin Turnpike, at least within a few days of the capital, needed to be guarded. Such installations as the guard post we just passed cost money.”

Derian nodded. “I’d say so. The horses I saw in the corral were superlative, bred for speed.”

“Better to catch us with, what?” Edlin commented with interest.

“Something like that,” Peace agreed. “An ingenious member of some committee came up with the idea that the guards might as well collect tolls to cover the expense. After all, travelers of all kinds benefit from the greater security on the roads and the guards need to be kept alert. Indeed, this road began as a toll road—a thing that is recalled in its name. My people are always quick to return to tradition.”

Derian shook his head. There were toll roads in Hawk Haven, mostly roads that crossed private estates, but they weren’t either common or popular. He didn’t imagine the case would be otherwise here. The New Kelvinese were weird, but they weren’t crazy. Then Edlin’s words came home to him.

“I just hope,” Derian said, the thought making him quite uncomfortable, “that we don’t need to work a quick departure this time.”

“I doubt,” Peace agreed, “such would be nearly as easy. I wonder if it would be possible at all.”

POLR SHIELD HAD
a tremendous amount to prove. His brother Newell had been a traitor—an assassin who had tried to kill the king. His sister Melina had been exiled for plotting with the Isles against Hawk Haven and Bright Bay.

Polr didn’t know the precise details of what Melina had done. Those were being kept very, very quiet, but his brother Tab’s expression when he had returned from meeting with King Tedric had been eloquent. Young Jet Shield, now officially head of what had been his mother’s household, had looked shocked.

No, Tab wouldn’t say what the king had confided in him, and Jet was acting as if he’d forgotten he ever had a mother. Then again, Polr wasn’t inclined to probe. He really didn’t want to hear the details. Melina’s flight into New Kelvin and her recent marriage to the king of that very weird land seemed to confirm her guilt.

Two traitors out of the Shield family would be enough even if the pair’s deeds had been stretched out over the history of the kingdom. Two within a year was a shame the family might never live down, not even—or maybe because of—their descent from the near kin of Queen Zorana the Great herself.

The Shields knew better than anyone, maybe better even than the Eagles, Zorana’s own immediate descendants, that Zorana Shield hadn’t been quite the upright and stainless ruler everyone portrayed her as these days. You’d think that the story of how she won the castle now known as Eagle’s Nest would be hint enough, but no one seemed to take it.

Polr had thought about what hints other people might take from recent actions, though. He knew that if his family didn’t straighten up and do something notable then they were destined to be looked at slantwise by everyone. There’d been a rumor going around the House that when Sapphire ascended to the throne she was planning to displace Tab’s heir and put one of her siblings in as duke or duchess. They were Shields, after all, merely a cadet branch.

It wouldn’t be like the current House was being displaced, just shuffled around a bit.

So Polr felt that the honor of his house and continued dominance of his immediate line rested on his shoulders as he rode out on this mission for the king. He suspected that King Tedric knew just badly House Gyrfalcon needed to prove itself. Polr just hoped that the whole escapade wasn’t meant to provide yet another example of his family’s disgrace. It would be so easy, after all, to send him on a task in which he was destined to fail.

Polr resolved to succeed and studied the situation to find his best advantage. He and his immediate band had camped outside of New Bardenville for several days now, and if Lord Polr Shield was certain of one thing it was that Ewen Brooks was an odd one.

Commoner-born Ewen might be, but he didn’t act it. From the records Polr had been invited to inspect before leaving Eagle’s Nest, he knew that Ewen was a miller’s son, nothing more. Ewen carried himself like he thought he was king or at least the mayor of some great city rather than an unofficial leader of a settlement whose proudest boast was a collection of half-built cabins.

Ewen had all but ordered them to camp outside the palisade—this when he should have been falling all over himself to welcome a noble to stay beneath his roof.

He’d told them where there was a stream with good water, but when Polr had offered to pay a few of the settlers to carry water and help with camp chores—a friendly gesture, he’d thought, given that they’d all be heading back east, where a few Gyrfalcon tokens could go a long way toward helping the former settlers set up housekeeping again—Ewen hadn’t only refused to send anyone, he’d seemed insulted.

At his royal briefing, Polr had been warned to expect some resistance on the part of the settlers. That was the reason for the seven-day waiting period, to give them a chance to adjust to the idea of leaving. However, Polr hadn’t seriously thought they’d resist, not once they had a chance to mull over what they were up against. He’d thought resistance even less likely after he’d gotten a look at the interior of their rude fortification.

Though the settlers had cleared a good bit of land around the palisade, they hadn’t come close to getting rid of all the trees surrounding them. Numerous sturdy oaks and maples offered safe vantage points from which Polr and his scouts could inspect the interior of the palisade.

New Bardenville appeared to consist of a dozen or so structures grouped around a central square. One log longhouse looked quite solid—Polr would have bet anything that it had been the settlers’ first fort, before the exterior wall was built. The other sides of the square were flanked with a mixture of tents and log cabins. A couple of the cabins weren’t even roofed yet, relying on canvas tops, doubtlessly scavenged from former tents.

The settlers kept goats and hens, a few dogs and cats, but there were no horses or mules, and only a few cows. This was odd, because Derian Counselor had reported precise numbers and types of livestock present in the settlement and there had definitely been more domestic animals than they could now account for.

The size of the population seemed about what had been reported, but the balance had shifted. Polr saw no one who matched the description of Ewen’s wife, Dawn—a person who he had been told might be convinced to be on the side of reason if some within the settlement chose to resist the king’s will. A few other town leaders seemed to be missing as well.

Then there was the matter of the fields outside the walls. Derian Counselor’s report had described tended areas prepared for a variety of grains and other staples. The open fields were there, the plow ridges still discernible, but there were no crops. The only gardens were comparatively small patches within the palisade.

So the settlers had met trouble, possibly from deer or rabbits, which—so said one of Polr’s soldiers with the relish of a man who had escaped a farmer’s life—could strip a field of young crops overnight. The settlers had to be short of food, perhaps of other necessities. If they were hoping for supplies from the east they now knew they weren’t coming.

So why didn’t Ewen make arrangements for his people’s departure? Why didn’t he invite Polr and his troops in so they could lend a hand? Surely he didn’t mean to fight.