Throne of Dragons

He kept climbing until he reached the top of the tower. There, the stairs gave way to a broad room, with another set of stairs leading up from it. This room was filled with accoutrements that seemed to point to Master Grey’s profession: brass instruments and glass vials set on tables, books arranged on shelves, held in place by goblets or alchemist’s tools, or, in one case, a skull set with jewels.

A table stood to one side, covered in charts and papers as if Master Grey had been trying to work something out. There were maps, of the Northern Kingdom, the Southern Kingdom, and another landmass that could only be Sarrass. There were marks on some of the maps: intersecting lines that seemed to indicate an attempt to narrow something down. A pendulum with a golden chain sat atop one of the maps.

All of it suggested that Master Grey was working on something Devin didn’t understand, but that was hardly a revelation. He needed information instead, needed to know what was going on. Devin started to search the books on the wall, hoping that there might be some clue hidden there.

Most were indecipherable. They held diagrams that made no sense, or notes in languages Devin had never even seen, let alone knowing how to read them. There were other notes, written in a hand that had to be Master Grey’s, but they talked about experiments or the qualities of substances, the value of powdered pearl set against a bezoar, the usefulness of gold in outlining runes…

Devin headed up the next set of stairs, finding a room that was almost bare in comparison to the one below. There was a bed in there, carved from slats of wood that seemed so old they were almost fossilized. The rest of it was blank, with white daubed walls that would have been plain, except that someone had inscribed mark after mark in red, purple, and gold.

There was a trunk there, again with no lock, as with the door. Just as with the door though, something rose up in Devin as he touched it, and the slats of the box seemed to move in response, sliding back like the petals of a flower unfolding.

There were objects within: a set of robes, a ring of gold, a ring made from polished wood, a glass globe held in a hand that seemed to have been carved from stone. There was a book, too, bound in leather that had been stained with what looked like blood, but also with something a deep, azure blue. It was so thick that Devin could barely contain it in one hand.

Devin opened the covers, and found Master Grey’s writing within. There were more notes of the kind that he’d seen below, but there were also private things, personal notes on everything from the feelings of the king to the progress of a project that seemed to consume much of his thoughts. It was a diary of sorts, mixed with a notebook, and Devin found himself flicking back through it, trying to understand why the magus had gone to him, had sought him out.

Every second that he stood there, his heart pounded. Devin didn’t know where Master Grey had gone, which meant he didn’t know how long it might be before he returned. He was only too aware that he had no excuse if the other man appeared there, and he didn’t want to think about all the things that a magus might be able to do to those who angered him.

He needed to know though. Any danger was worth the risk.

Devin kept looking back through the journal, until finally, he found a single entry that made his breath catch.

I have located a boy born on the night that the dragons flew, one who was not killed. There are signs that he may have power; signs that he might be the new magus that the kingdom, the world, needs as the dragons come and the nations fall into blood. He may change the course of all of this. The weapon will be the first test, and the rest will follow. He must be the one. Already, I can feel my days growing shorter…

Devin stared at that. He’d known that he had magic, but this… it hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know what to think, the enormity of it too great, the weight of it settling on him. Master Grey made it sound as if Devin were his replacement, not just his student. More than that, he made it sound as if a terrible threat was coming, and Devin… somehow he was supposed to be the one to save them.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The hunting lodge was like a small fortress in itself, so that Rodry found himself looking at it the way he might have a castle he was about to lay siege to. He needed to find a way in, needed to find a way to get to his sister, needed to get her out of there.

The difficult part was that all of the same elements that served to make the lodge work for hunting made it defensible too. It had rings of ditches around it, probably there to keep game in place for hunters, but they would slow horses just as easily. It had wooden towers from which to spot deer or stranger beasts and shoot them, but those would let soldiers fire down at attackers just as well. The stone walls might serve to keep guests warm, but they would keep enemies out, too.

Then there were the soldiers there. They camped at the edge of the hunting grounds, at least a small regiment of them, clearly preparing for war. There were spearmen there and archers, knights and swordsmen, all in a camp flying King Ravin’s colors, surrounded by wooden stakes.

“Please tell me that there’s a plan,” Kay said, with obvious nervousness.

“They’ll have taken Lenore to the lodge,” Rodry guessed. He could see horses tied up outside it. “We ride up like we belong there. We wear King Ravin’s colors so that the soldiers think it’s their own returning from ambushing us, and hope that gets us inside.”

“That’s why you had us take the tunics and flags?” Kay guessed.

Rodry nodded. He’d planned for this. He didn’t say how fragile that plan was, how easily someone might recognize them by all the ways in which their forces clearly weren’t the ones that had set out to intercept his. He didn’t say that, in any other circumstances, he would hold off, find a different plan, do this another way.

There was no other way; his sister was in danger.

So he pulled on the red of King Ravin’s forces, set off in the direction of the lodge, and tried to pretend that all was well. He and the others were far enough from the encampment that they wouldn’t be able to make out individual faces, just the red that proclaimed them to be on the same side. He saw one of the soldiers wave, and ignored it, kept riding.

There were two guardsmen by the doors to the hunting lodge, and the closer Rodry and the others got, the more concerned they looked. A hundred yards off, and they looked surprised that so many men would be coming at the lodge. Fifty, and they were shouting, trying to ready their weapons.

Rodry hit the first of them even as he stepped forward, ordering Rodry to halt. His sword swept down, all but cutting the man in half. Beside him, the sergeant lanced a spear through the chest of the second.

“Go, your highness,” the man said. “We’ll hold the way for you.”

There was no time for hesitation now, no time for thought. Rodry leapt down from his horse, Kay, Seris and his other friends following in his wake while the soldiers from Vars’s regiment spread out around the entrance to the hunting lodge, ready to hold it against any who came.

Rodry stepped up to the hunting lodge’s door and kicked it with one booted foot. It was barred, but it was only wood, and not truly designed to hold back a determined attacker. On the second kick, it splintered. On the third, it gave way, letting Rodry and his friends pour into a hallway lined with wooden panels, and hung with the trophy heads of creatures killed there for King Ravin’s sport. Rodry saw deer and bear, wolf and stranger things, like the skull of a beast with three horns and wicked teeth, or a bull-like creature that seemed strangely human in its expression. There were doors on every side, obviously leading to the various rooms of the lodge. A broad teak staircase headed up toward a second floor hung with the hides of creatures. There were statues there to King Ravin’s greatness, while the far wall was painted with a scene of him hunting a beast that towered over him.

Rodry had no time to take in the details, though, because an enemy was already running at him, short sword in hand.

The man lunged for Rodry, and Rodry managed to turn out of the way, battering his foe against the wall hard enough to crack the wainscoting. He saw Kay finish him, but Rodry was already moving on.

“Lenore! Lenore, where are you?”

Another foe came at Rodry, and this time he felt a spear skitter from his armor. He hacked back at the man’s legs, bringing him down.

“Lenore!”

“Rodry!”

A single shout came from somewhere above, cut off as if a hand had been hastily placed over Lenore’s mouth. Or as if something worse had happened.

More foes came out of the doors at ground level, rushing forward in a mass as they started to recover from the shock of being attacked so suddenly. Rodry’s friends met them with steel, but he pressed forward, shouldering a man aside, battering away a blow from another. He had to get to Lenore. A man stood ahead of him on the stairs and Rodry lanced the point of his sword through a gap in his foe’s armor, ignoring the impact as a mace slammed into his side. He threw the enemy down into the melee below, saw the body slam into Seris’s opponent to knock him back.

Rodry continued up the stairs, to a landing lined with wooden doors. He kicked one, then the next, searching for Lenore, determined to get to her. The last of them opened before he could kick it, and he stumbled forward into a bedroom where the windows were covered with barred slats. One of the Quiet Men was there waiting for him: a woman who slipped a strangling cord around his throat. Across the room, a man held Lenore, one arm around her throat, a sword in his other hand.

Rodry knew he could deal with the woman easily, because all he had to do was reverse his sword, but the moment he did that, the man would be free to strike at Lenore. Even as he thought about it, the strangling rope was tightening about his throat, cutting off his air, making it hard to even think.

He did two things simultaneously: he threw his sword, flinging it point first, and he threw himself backward, throwing himself and his attacker into the wall. He felt his full weight, along with the hardness of his armor, slam into his foe, smashing the breath out of her, loosening her grip even as it sent them both down to the floor. At the same time, he saw his sword plunge into the skull of the man there, bringing him down, sending him toppling backward.

Lenore cried out as he fell away from her, but she reacted faster than Rodry could have hoped. She grabbed for the man’s weapon, snatching it up and throwing it in Rodry’s direction. Rodry’s air-starved brain grabbed for it, and his fingers closed around the hilt. He slammed the short sword backward, hearing the woman gasp as it went into her, feeling the strangling rope finally give way on his neck.

Rodry scrambled clear of her, back to his feet, rushing over to his sister and hugging her close.

“Rodry!” Lenore said.

“Lenore, are you safe, did they hurt you?” Rodry asked.

“I…” Lenore stood there. “They…” She shook her head. “Are they dead?”

She grabbed for the sword sticking from the man’s skull and pulled it clear. The woman was still moving, but only for a moment, because Lenore brought that sword down sharply, hacking into her neck once, then again.

Rodry took the sword from her as gently as she could.

“We need to go,” he said. “We need to get home.”

“Home?” Lenore said, as if the very idea were hard to take in.

“Come on,” Rodry said. “Stay close to me.”

He led the way from the room, Lenore following in his wake. The battle was still raging, and even as he watched, Rodry saw a blade plunge into Seris’s stomach, his friend striking back with an axe as he fell to bring down one of King Ravin’s soldiers. Rodry cut down the next man to step into that space, cutting his way forward through the violence.