Throne of Dragons

To his surprise, Master Grey shook his head. “This is not to bring magic into this, but to contain it when you use it.”

“And how do I do that?” Devin said.

Even Master Grey’s smile was enigmatic, impossible to decipher fully. “You already know what summoning magic feels like. You just need to guide it into the metal as you work.”

“And how do I do that?” Devin repeated.

“You will learn,” Master Grey assured him. He gestured to the forge. “You will need to, because star metal will not respond just to heat or the hammer.”

Devin looked over to where the star metal ore sat waiting by the smelter. He walked over to it, touching it, feeling the sensation of something running from him to it; something he couldn’t place, still didn’t fully understand.

“It responds to you,” Master Grey said. He moved to stand by the wall. “Now you need to control that response. Magic is dangerous. My spells will contain it, but were you to get this badly wrong… the metal might consume you.”

“Consume me?” Devin repeated. Iron and steel felt a long way away, suddenly.

“The metal soaks in magic. It needs it to shape it, but pour too much in, and you might lose yourself,” Master Grey said. “Find your magic, boy. Channel it; use it to shape the metal as you work it. Start the smelter.”

Devin wanted to argue, but this was the task that had been set for him. He needed to do this if he was going to earn his place within the castle. He needed to hand the sword to the king… or to Rodry. Either way, he would need to craft it first.

He built up the fire for the smelter, wood first, then charcoal, pumping the bellows, building the heat. He watched the flames, waiting for them to be the correct color to tell him that they were hot enough.

“More than heat, boy,” Master Grey reminded him.

Devin reached inside himself, trying to find the power that had come out so readily in the valley. It had responded to the metal, so Devin touched a piece of the ore, concentrating on that feeling. He could feel it, he could feel it. He tried to push that feeling into the smelter, into the flames…

He barely threw himself flat in time as flames leapt from it, scorching past him in a way that brought back the vision he’d had of the dragon. Even as he struck the flagstones of the floor, Devin saw the protections Master Grey had woven flare into life to absorb the unleashed power.

“I…” Devin stood on unsteady legs. “I can’t do this.”

“You can, and you will. Patience.”

Devin wasn’t feeling patient right then, especially not when he could hear the sounds of people shouting in the castle beyond, almost as loud as if the place were under attack.

“What is going on out there?” Devin asked.

“That is not relevant to your part in this,” Master Grey said.

“I want to know,” Devin said. He stood back. “What are you keeping from me?”

“There are many things I know that you do not,” Master Grey pointed out.

Devin started toward the door. “I’ll find out myself.”

“Princess Lenore has been taken by King Ravin’s men,” Master Grey said, in tones that held sympathy, but of a detached kind, as if none of this truly touched him. “Prince Rodry has already ridden to rescue her, while her father is gathering men to march on the bridges to the south.”

Devin felt as though his heart had stopped in his chest in that instant. Lenore was in danger? Just the thought of it was enough to make him want to go rushing after her, ready to save her. He didn’t know where the feeling came from, but it was there, and he knew that he couldn’t stand by while she was in danger.

“I need to go join the king’s forces,” he said, starting for the door again.

Master Grey moved in front of him. “And do what?”

“I could… I could help fight to get her back.”

“And do you think there aren’t enough men rushing to do that?” Master Grey replied. “Prince Rodry has his… friends. The king has his knights and his guards. You can do nothing by going with them except bring death upon yourself.”

He made it sound as certain as a stone falling from a cliff.

“What do you care?” Devin demanded.

“I care because you are too important to throw away like this. The boy born on the dragon moon? The one from the prophecy? No, this is your role: to learn, to grow into your magic, to forge the sword.”

Devin started toward the door again, but Master Grey raised a hand.

“Do you think that the king will not leave you behind if I ask it?” he said. He nodded to the smelter. “Now, you have a task to perform. Gently this time.”

Devin wanted to argue more, but he knew it would do no good. He wanted to help save Lenore, but Master Grey was frustratingly, impossibly right. He couldn’t add anything to the men already riding to the rescue, couldn’t be the noble warrior who saved her. This was all he could do.

He went back to the smelter, ready to try again. He could feel the frustration inside him, and not just at this. He had so many questions, and Master Grey would never answer any of them.

He would find a way to get answers though, to everything.

CHAPTER FIVE

Prince Greave was not used to ships in anything but the theoretical sense. Oh, he had read parts of Samir’s On Navigation and Hussard’s Around the Coasts in preparation for the voyage, but neither of them had prepared him for the reality of a violently bucking sea, a crew of sailors who more or less ignored him, and a sky that seemed just one step short of a storm.

The Serpentine was a large, three-masted ship, high sided and curved so that it was like a sword cutting through the waves. Small boats sat at the side, lashed up against railings. The sailors were tough-looking men in loose, rough clothes that let them move smoothly around the ship’s rigging. They were tough and weathered, nothing like Greave, and they looked at his smooth skin and almost feminine looks with contempt.

Only the thought of Nerra, and what they were going to do to help her, made any of this worthwhile. This was the fastest way to Astare and the great library that lay there. It was the only way to get to a place where he might find a cure for the scale sickness quickly enough. Even then… even then, Greave was worried that he might be too late.

“Is this… normal?” Aurelle asked beside him.

“Starting to wish that you hadn’t come?” Greave asked.

She shook her head. “You are here, and so I will be here.”

She made it seem utterly natural, yet Greave couldn’t imagine another woman following him here, onto the rough seas that had claimed so many lives, on a boat that could be torn apart if it strayed too close to the tearing currents near the banks of the Slate. No other woman had wanted to, but Aurelle was more than just another woman.

“You look queasy,” Aurelle said.

Greave dreaded to think how he must look then. Ordinarily, he was slender, with almost feminine features, hair falling in soft waves, features locked in an expression that might have seemed like an artist’s perfect inspiration for sadness. Now, his hair was matted with sea salt, and he had the first beginnings of a dark beard dotting his chin. His wasn’t a face that could take a beard, even when he wasn’t half green with seasickness.

As for Aurelle… she was perfect.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, although she was, her skin alabaster, her cheekbones and lips merely the brightest stars among a constellation of perfect features. Her body… Greave could write poems about her, especially since she was no longer dressed in a courtly gown, but in traveling clothes of gray and silver tunic, corset and britches.

None of that was as important as the fact that she was here, with him, on the best route they could find to Astare’s great library. She’d come with him on this hunt to find a cure for the scale sickness when no one else would have, searching to help Nerra, getting on the boat with him willingly, if not entirely happily.

“We couldn’t have ridden there?” she asked.