Dragon Sacrifice (The First Realm Book 3) (14 page)

Everything swirled and weaved and braided together. Intricate was an understatement. The doors were works of art. Heavy works of art. It was many seconds before we were able to enter.

It was dark and smoky inside. There were no windows, no light except what the long central hearth gave off. A bit of gloom is no problem for Northlanders, however. Our eyes reflected what light there was, making us look like cats in the night. Cruix threw off his hood and blinked. He was using his own elven Sight.

King Garvel sat upon his throne, playing a board game with another man. He looked up as we approached.

“Ah, Ardel. You have returned!” he said.

“Father,” Ardel said.

The king got up to embrace him. Both were large, powerful men. Both wore their hair in thick braids. The older had grey hair, a grizzled moustache, and many more scars, but clearly they were father and son.

“I’ve missed you,” King Garvel said. “You had me worried.”

“Father, I’ve only been gone a few days.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go out hunting,” the king said. “Odin knows, it’s not the safest thing you could be doing.”

Ardel broke away to look him in the eye. “Yes, but when is safe the same as fun?”

Orvar stepped forward, arms wide. “Father. I also have returned.”

“Yes, well, that’s good,” the king said, patting him on the shoulder. Orvar let his arms droop.

“Now, is there some reason we’re speaking Elvish?” King Garvel asked.

“We have visitors, Father,” Ardel said, motioning toward us. “Envoys from the elf prince.”

“Welcome!” the king said. “But who’s this? Heronimo?”

“I’m honoured you remember me, sir,” I said.

“You were my son’s childhood friend. Of course I remember you! You bloodied each other’s noses practically every day.”

“Kids’ stuff,” Ardel said. “I never could beat you at swordplay. Did you avenge your parents?”

“I did,” I said. “Couldn’t have done it without all that practice.”

“I see you’ve made something of yourself,” King Garvel said. “A warrior as richly-dressed as yourself would have at least a hundred followers.”

“You are too kind,” I said. “In truth, I have no followers. But I have the honour of bodyguarding

Prince Veneanar, heir to the throne of Alfheim.”

“And who is this?” asked the king. “Be you an elf, sir?”

“I am Cruix, a dragon in the guise of an elf.”

King Garvel’s eyebrows went up. “The last dragon?”

“As far as I know. Since my awakening, I have not heard of any other dragon.”

“That must be very lonely,” King Garvel said. “Do you play board games? Do you know chess, pachisi, or draughts? How about backgammon or hnefatafl? I have heard that dragons were accomplished players.”

“I am young, for a dragon. But I have some small skill in chess.”

“Good!” King Garvel said. “Maybe I can give Brand a rest. I’m afraid I take up too much of his time.”

“Hardly, my lord,” said the man called Brand. He bearded, but the sides of his head were clean-shaven.

“Brand is better known as Jarl Nordensson, and one of my best generals.”

“I haven’t needed to be a general in years,” Brand said. “These days I’m just a family man.”

A little boy ran past and into Brand’s arms.

“And here’s the little imp who made it possible!” Brand said, picking him up. “He’s a big one, isn’t he? Haakon is turning three this week.”

“My axe is my buddy,” the boy said. He carried a little wooden hatchet. “Are you a real dragon?”

“I am,” Cruix said.

“Can you please show me your true form?”

Shapeshifting is very painful for Cruix, so I was surprised when he smiled. “If I have the chance,

I will.”

“Yay!”

Chapter 13

The doors to our apartments were solid oak and built to take a battering. The guards strained to open them. Faces red, shoulders tense, feet digging for traction, the hinges creaked and the door shuddered open. It was many seconds before we were able to enter.

“Haven’t you people heard of door handles?” Cruix said.

He stepped inside. “My God, Heronimo, this room is decorated like how you dress.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” I said.

There were tapestries and bear rugs. There were fine tables and chairs. The pieces were heavy, solid, and covered in fine detail. Scenes from the sagas played out in relief: gods against frost giants, heroes against elves, berserkers fighting from ship to ship. A well-decorated room indeed.

For light there were oil lamps and for warmth there were bed slaves.

“What are those?” Cruix said. The slaves knelt beside the pelt-covered bed.

“Our attendants,” I said. “We get two each. They’ll groom us, dress us, and of course sleep with us.”

The dragon squeaked. “All in the same bed?!”

“There’s more than enough room.”

“Will I offend if I refuse?”

I laughed. “Just use them as bed warmers. The nights can be very cold.”

He shivered. “My kind don’t like skin contact. Scales and spines are not made for snuggling.”

“Well, these are,” I said. The slaves hadn’t moved or even glanced our way. They were well-trained and beautiful. They wore jewels and silk, and little else.

“This is uncomfortable on several levels.” Cruix had his arms crossed.

I handed my cloak to one of the girls, who rose to her feet. I looked at her—she avoided my eyes—and I decided I wouldn’t be having her that night. It was not my practice to take slave girls against their will, and I said so.

“That’s very noble of you,” Cruix said. “And yet, you have no problem using her body as a glorified hot-water bottle.”

“Nights in the Northlands are cold,” I said. “Would you rather I kicked her out of bed?”

“We’re skirting the real issue here, which is slavery.”

“What of it?” I asked. “The strong must inevitably rule. And if you are not strong, you should place yourself under the protection of someone who is. Is this not how the world works?”

“Hmph.” Cruix looked around. “I see a basin, but no other sanitary facilities.”

“We passed the bathhouse on our way,” I said. “If you need to do something else, the pig toilets are thataway.”

“Pig toilets?”

Waking up was most pleasant. I was the middle spoon in a five-person spooning session. Cruix wasn’t in the bed, so it was just me and the girls.

I raised my head. Cruix was stretched out on a bench, sealed in what looked like a dwarven sleeping bag. As I watched, he frowned and opened an eye.

“Good morning,” I said.

“For you, maybe.”

I slapped a girl on the rump to get her to move, but it was still some minutes before I could get up to use the chamber pot.

“
Aahh
, that’s better. Been a while since I drank so much.”

“Put some clothes on, you ape,” Cruix said. “Where were you last night?”

“Drinking with Ardel. You didn’t look like you wanted to be around people.”

“I had just found out what a pig toilet was. Let’s change the subject. What’s on the itinerary?”

“
This
was on the itinerary?” Cruix asked.

We sat on a parade float, an ornate wagon pulled by dozens and dozens of slaves. They were dressed for the occasion, but you always knew thralls. It was their collars and close-cropped hair.

Even slave girls wore their hair short and uncovered.

A band went before us, beating the air with drum and pipe. Young women followed and scattered coins and flowers. Behind us ambled an honour guard. Heroes all, they dazzled in their armour and their jewelry.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” I said. “The king has declared a week of celebration!”

“Just for us?” Cruix said. “Mina prepared the way, I know, but I didn’t think they’d go this far.”

“Ardel wasn’t always a prince,” I said. “His father wasn’t always a king. King Garvel used to be just one jarl among many. But through strength and clever alliance he expanded his jarldom and made Heorot the greatest city in the Northlands.”

Cruix was silent. The float went on, rolling quietly down the wood-block road. The rest of the way wasn’t so quiet, what with the band playing, the people cheering, and the honour guard drunkenly singing.

“Can’t say I like the idea of a unified Northlands,” Cruix said. “But from what I can see, they have a ways to go. Does this look like a people accustomed to being organized?”

I looked back. The honour guard didn’t march so much as stroll. Some were openly drinking.

There was no shortage of refreshment—I saw bottles and pitchers and entire kegs in the crowd.

Trays of food passed around. You had but to hold out your hand and it would be filled with foaming tankard or heaping plate. A fine custom, but it did nothing for the honour guard’s marching. I’d seen more precision in elven militia.

Ahead of us, one of the young women paused from scattering flower petals to lift up her top. The cheering intensified. The band played well enough, but members would occasionally step to the side or else flick something off their boots. It’s a bad idea to follow the cavalry.

And then there were the cover-ups. From time to time the parade would round a corner and I would see… nothing. Just tall wooden fences. They were everywhere in Heorot. They covered a house here, a viewpoint there. Sometimes entire neighbourhoods were walled up and whitewashed.

“Heronimo, answer me something. Do I look an idiot? Are my brains leaking out my ears?”

“Of course not!” I said.

“Then do I look like a tourist? Am I holding a guidebook and a sketchpad?
Why am I getting the idiot tourist treatment?
”

He swept a hand out. “They’ve covered up a good thirty percent of this city.”

The crowd cheered. Cruix turned the sweep of his hand into a wave. “Thirty percent! What are they hiding?”

The procession would stop at every market square for a performance. Among the songs, speeches, and dances were short plays from legend.