The Dragon of Despair (72 page)

Violet nodded approvingly.

“That could well be the case, and such rumors would spread to his peers among the working classes—common clerks are not members of the sodalities—faster than among their betters. However, this does not answer all our problems. My embassy had been troubled before any word of Citrine’s disappearance could have been known.”

Derian looked disappointed.

“I guess I’m wrong then. Kind of you to listen to my wanderings.”

Violet smiled.

As Elise had nothing to add, she studied the titles of various books Ambassador Redbriar was removing from her shelves, all of which proved to be guides to etiquette and language.

“I hadn’t realized there were so many,” Elise said, picking up one, “and so varied.”

“There are more than these,” Violet said, moving over to her desk and pulling out a clean sheet of paper. “These are simply my favorites. I am rather surprised that you didn’t translate your letter yourself. Your command of the language is good.”

“Better spoken than in composition,” Elise admitted promptly. “Though I do well enough with the written material when I have dictionaries to hand.”

They waited while Ambassador Redbriar made both her translation and her copy. Elise found herself a fairly simply written textbook that proved to contain stories that were almost familiar, for many of them had been adapted into Wendee’s beloved plays. Derian amused himself with a book relating local history and legends, translated and annotated for the foreigner by none other than their host.

“All done but the direction,” Ambassador Redbriar announced some time later. “To whom do you wish this sent? Consolor Melina herself?”

Elise frowned.

“It would be too easy for her to ignore it,” she said. “This must become a public matter. Who do you recommend? The Dragon Speaker, perhaps?”

“Once perhaps,” Violet said slowly, “but these days…Apheros has not seemed himself, and as we have discussed, his policies seem so closely linked to those of Consolor Melina. If you wish the information to become public, then I would suggest Xarxius.”

“The Dragon’s Claw?” Elise asked.

“That’s right,” Ambassador Redbriar said. “Such would be quite within proper etiquette. Xarxius is in charge of foreign trade and this could be seen—especially in a slaveholding state—as a matter of goods misappropriated.”

Elise choked slightly at the concept, but she couldn’t disagree. Derian, too, was nodding, clearly pleased to have Xarxius brought into the matter.

“Xarxius, then,” Elise said.

She bent over the letters the ambassador had finished dusting with sand, scanned them, and found them accurate to a fault.

“Beautiful,” she said, speaking louder than she meant in her admiration.

Derian was looking over Elise’s shoulder—though, of course, the New Kelvinese script meant nothing to him.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “I’ve been reading your book, ma’am, and it’s wonderful. Where could I get a copy? I like to take one home to my family.”

The ambassador surprised them all by flushing with pleasure.

“I have a few spares,” Violet said, “and would be pleased to make a gift of one to the king’s newest counselor.”

Elise and Derian left the embassy after witnessing the packet containing the letter and its copy being handed to a messenger. Hours had passed and the streets were much quieter than when they had arrived. Even so, Elise thought she could feel hundreds of pairs of angry eyes watching them from the shadows. Despite herself, she shivered.

NORTHWEST WAS NOT THE ONLY
Beast agitating for going after the humans during the several days the settlers continued their rooting in the earth to retrieve bones and dead bodies. In some cases, the settlers consigned these bodies to fires, then inexplicably shifted wood from ash and carefully packed up the ash.

“They’ve been bitten by rabid squirrels!” Northwest exclaimed during one particularly odd interlude involving the hauling of boxes of bones to one of the wagons and lots of wailing on the part of the humans. “We would be doing their own kind a favor by slaughtering them, for surely the madness is contagious. Look how even some of those new come here are dripping water from their eyes and howling like the rest.”

A bear rose on his hind legs to get a clearer look and dropped heavily down again, waggling his heavy head in consternation.

“They do seem out of their wits,” he agreed. “I can understand digging up dead meat. The maggots and worms are sweet and flavorful, but they’re burning the ripest carcasses. Madness indeed!”

“And it would be so simple,” hissed a young puma, sleek in her young strength and half-mad herself from the proximity of easy hunting in the form of the well-fed horses. “Drop from above and a quick bite—even a whack from a paw would be enough. These two-legs are so frail.”

Elation beat her wings in frantic disapproval.

“I tell you, they are not mad—not as two-legs go—and you might find their hides tougher and their teeth sharper than you imagine. Those newcomers are rated great killers among their own kind.”

Her protest alone wouldn’t have been enough, but Shining Coat and Rip, supported by an old raven and a more temperate puma, reminded the others that the greater will of the Beasts was not to move against the humans—at least not at this time and in this place.

The bear alone had the seniority to disagree—at least on the part of his own people—but was by nature a calm creature unless angered. Moreover, he was not at all certain that dining on meat from clearly mad creatures would be healthy, and argued against the attack on the grounds that the Beasts might become infected.

“We have enough to contend with,” he grumbled, “fattening for winter, without having our eyes run with water and our throats fill with meaningless howls.”

So the humans were permitted to depart unharmed, never realizing how close they had come to not departing at all. When their long line of wagons and burdened beasts had crossed the gap and made the descent far enough that all the Beasts were sure they were well and truly gone there was much celebrating.

Watch would be kept on the keep being constructed to guard the gap, but as a good deal of time must pass before the wooden structure now being erected could be fully replaced by a more impregnable one of stone, the Beasts felt content that their territory was their own again, unthreatened by two-legged presence.

Elation was among those delegated to watch the remaining humans, a task she was flattered to accept but for one thing.

“We should send word to Firekeeper,” she said, decisive in her awareness of her new importance as an expert on humanity. “She will be worrying lest the promise made to her by King Tedric not be kept.”

Shining Coat looked up from the punishing tongue-lashing she was giving to an overadventurous pup, and considered.

“Falcon, your wisdom shames me,” she replied. “Little Two-legs was my pup for many seasons, and I have seen the changes in her since she went among the humans. You are right. She will worry.”

Rip added, “Let the wolves handle the matter—at least to a point. We can howl the news north in relays. Our people venture farther east in the lands to which Firekeeper has gone because there are mountains to hide our traces. It should be easy enough to contact one of the wingéd folk who nest in that area.”

“I can give you a sign from the Mothers that will assure cooperation from all in that region,” Elation said, delighted with this plan. Wings were good when distance must be traveled in person, but wolf howls were even faster than flight. “I learned them when Bee Biter was being counseled before he accompanied Firekeeper north.”

“Good then.” Shining Coat let the puppy go, ignoring the indignant growls that asserted its summer maturity. “We can start the calls tonight. They will ripple through the rocky reaches. Firekeeper will know before many more sunsets that faith has been kept—on both sides of the mountain.”

THE SUN HAD JUST FILLED THE MORNING SKY
when Bee Biter came to where Blind Seer and Firekeeper were wrestling in the hayloft of the stable.

“News!” the little kestrel shrieked.

“Of Citrine?” Firekeeper asked, rolling over and brushing straw from her hair.

“No,” squawked Bee Biter, somewhat annoyed, “from home!”

“Even better,” Firekeeper said. “Tell!”

“Three days ago, the humans in New Bardenville left. West of the Iron Mountains is ours again, but for a small flock left to act as watchers against their own kind in the gap—and those watchers are watched carefully lest they become too bold and forget their place.”

Firekeeper and Blind Seer howled their pleasure—completely outraging the much put-upon horses and bringing Derian from the kitchen at a run.

“What are you up to?” Derian shouted angrily, soothing Roanne as best he could. Being who he was, his best was enough.

“News from home,” Firekeeper said, somewhat contritely. “New Bardenville is no more. King Tedric has kept his promise.”

“Did you ever doubt him?” Derian asked, moving among the rest of the horses and assuring them that mad wolves were not about to eat them.

“Until the prey is dead, the hunt may fail,” Firekeeper said stiffly, not wanting to confess just how much she had worried, and how heavy her heart had been.

Blind Seer asked Bee Biter,
“Was anyone killed in this hunting?”

Firekeeper froze, her joy trembling like an icicle in the wind.

“No,”
Bee Biter replied.
“The report does not go into details, but does say that two-legs and Beasts never met in open conflict. Rather, more two-legs came and took the other flock away.”

Firekeeper felt herself melt and knew from Derian’s expression that he was aware of her distraction, if not the cause.

“And no one was hurt or killed in the breaking of New Bardenville,” she explained. “Not human, not Beast.”

“That’s good news,” Derian said sincerely, “good enough that I can forgive you for upsetting the horses—and the neighbors. How’d the news get to you so quickly?”

“Wolf howls and falcon wings,” Firekeeper answered, her expression smug. “When the Beasts choose they are terribly strong.”

Only afterward did she regret her boast, for Derian went away very thoughtful and looking less happy than he had just a moment before.

BY THE TENTH DAY
of Hummingbird Moon, Lord Polr was certain that he would be able to get all the New Bardenville members safely away. They were over the mountains and already dissolving from a community into smaller groups looking toward their own advantage.

He wrote King Tedric:

Although the delay needed to deal with the settlement’s dead was regrettable, I think it was for the best. The settlers departed with some dignity. They hope Your Majesty will accept the remains of the dead of the first Bardenville for respectable burial. The decision is, as I most humbly assert, your own and no other’s, but I think acceptance of their request would go far toward bringing them back into the fold.

We also brought away their own dead, most of them victims of the illness and accidents such a venture must be prone to, but some killed in rather sinister circumstances. This last I would prefer to report to you in person, when I have had more of an opportunity to collect information from as many of the settlers as possible and so to construct a complete picture.