Eastward Dragons (3 page)

“Five, perhaps six guild representatives. The rune scribes are trying to leverage their way into the expedition, but the King has insisted that direct knowledge of magical technology be restricted on the expedition, which is why we will explicitly not be traveling with any representatives from the New Tower. My contacts within the palace inform me that we may even have a Warden traveling with us on the expedition, with the explicit mission of preventing any knowledge of Commonwealth dream magic from being transmitted to the Dragon Lords.”

“Do we know whether the Dreaming phenomenon extends to the forgotten east?” Oppen asked.

“It would not be called the forgotten east if we knew explicitly what to expect, now would it?”

“I mean only…”

“You mean only that you wish to know the unknowable. This is not a matter of diplomacy, Counselor Ralva. There are no intermediate gray regions of what we may or may now know. All that we know about the eastern lands is that they worship dragons, which no credible living soul can claim to have seen in generations, and that all paths by land or sea have been closed for nearly as long.”

“Forgive my ignorance, Lord Erdenech, but what closed those trade paths?” Havil said.
 

Biho turned his attention away from the beleaguered translator, whose expression remained completely composed, and said, “The sea routes were frequently pillaged by drakes throughout the fifth and sixth century. As the guilds consolidated power, sometime around the six hundred and fiftieth year, it was determined that the best course of action would be to cease wasting good ships on that particular route, especially after the disaster of Bloodfire Bay.”

“Which was?” Havil prompted.

“Twenty-three ships lost in a single day when the waters of Bloodfire ignited around them. This was back in 673. Scarce a dozen crewmen escaped and swam safely to land. Fewer still reached friendly aid and succeeded in returning to the Commonwealth.”

“And what of the overland routes?”

“I believe that I can be of some service in that regard,” Jarom said. He sat up as straight as he could and looked up at the other men, ignoring the sour look that crossed Biho’s face as he did so. “The ancient overland route between the Commonwealth and the Dragon Kingdoms was, and I imagine will be for us, an arduous journey that required to cooperation of numerous peoples and kingdoms. The first of these challenges is to be found in high mountains that comprise the eastern border of the Commonwealth. The only way past the mountains is to travel thousands of leagues north, to be permitted access to one of the dwarven roads that carve up from the base of the mountains to their heights, or to use the great water lift at the Rainbow Falls.”

“And that is the route which you will follow,” Biho declared, seizing the opportunity to wrench the narrative back from Jarom. “Among your expedition will be Tracha Runsen. There is no better man for the job of repairing ancient runic and mechanical devices. Entirely loyal to the king, so he will be in charge of all magical devices on the expedition.”

“A wise choice, his family has been in the business for generations,” Havil said, nodding.

“Precisely. If any man can repair the water lift, it is Tracha.”

“So we are to take the water route then?” Havil asked.

“Yes. That is the recommendation of your guide.”

“I was about to ask about him when you opened the conference to our companions.” Oppen spread his hands in an inquiring gesture and said, “When will we have the opportunity to meet with the man you call our guide? This whole expedition has been assembled with great rapidity and the overwhelming support of the throne, but I do question the degree to which we have been kept separated from the man who supposedly inspired the entire effort.”

Biho sat back in his ornately carved chair and rubbed a hand over his wide, smoothly shaved jaw. For the first time that morning, the others saw a sign of trouble narrowing his eyes as he hesitated, then said, “He is still being interviewed by the royal guards.”

“Interviewed?” Oppen scoffed. “We all know what that means. How is he to guide us on a perilous expedition in less than a month’s time if he is in a weakened condition? For that matter, why would he?”

Biho cleared his throat and tried to clear from his mind the image of when he had last seen the guide. It was not a scene that he wished to witness again. “That is a matter for the court. Our responsibility lies in ensuring the trade profitability of this expedition. Now,” he leaned down and pulled a large ledger from a drawer in the side of his desk and set it on the desktop before him, “I believe we have matters of provisioning to discuss.”

⫛

The manacles fell from Rajin’s wrists, but he did not move his arms. He waited, eyes fixed upon the guard who held the chains as he stepped backward and began gathering the links into a ponderous loop around his left arm. Their eyes met and the guard, a veteran of the palace guard who had stood shoulder to shoulder with King Berech during the assault on the New Tower, felt a chill of fear run down his spine.

“Thank you,” Rajin whispered. “I will never forget this.”

The guard swallowed hard, suddenly grateful for the dreamforged breastplate that he wore. He backed away from Rajin, turned to bow to the king, then hurriedly strode from the room to return the manacles to the dungeon keeper.

Rajin looked down at his wrists, where his skin had been chafed and bled of all color by the accursed manacles. He could not blame the castle guard for chaining him, but to use manacles laced with
nihilim
was a cruelty that he had presumed unconscionable, even for the Commonwealth.

“Rajin bloodcursed, you have been delivered from your bonds, in accordance with the agreement you reached with our secretary,” King Berech said, rising from his gilded throne. The king was a man in the prime of his life, with thick black hair that would have burst into untamed curls were it not held back at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. He wore a short beard and, in memory of his youth spent training with the royal guard, he scorned the lavish robes of his predecessors in favor of a finely embroidered doublet worn loose at the neck to reveal the fine links of dream forged chain mail beneath.

King Berech rested a fingertip on the pommel of his sword, which always hung from the arm of his throne when he sat in state, and said, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Rajin glanced down at his bruised body, bloodied wrists, and soiled shorts, then raised an eyebrow as he looked to the king and said, “I would not reject a new set of clothing, seeing as those which I wore when I arrived have been confiscated or destroyed in the course of your… most gentle treatment of my person.”

A faint chorus of chuckles arose from those members of the advisory council who were seated in the row behind a long table to Rajin’s left. He glanced to the men and smiled to see them cowering behind the embroidered tablecloth and piles of sweetmeats and fruit, like wizened soldiers cowering behind a battlement.
 

Rajin flashed them his most terrifying grin. “I would also request that my sword be returned to me, as I may have need of it soon.” One of the councilors, a balding man who Rajin vaguely recalled as being responsible for the royal bank, spluttered and made to rise from his seat.

“Sit down, Gatha. The prisoner will not harm you,” King Berech said, waving at the councilor. “As for you, we will require that you stop agitating our councilors and guards. You are still a condemned man, Rajin, and whatever benefit the Commonwealth gains from your services, we will always regret that you escaped from justice under our father’s reign.”

Rajin shrugged his scarred shoulders and replied, “I was better at running than King Tybald’s men were at chasing. Perhaps if your rule were stronger you would not fear my woodland friends so much. Perhaps you would dispense this so called justice to me.”

King Berech’s fingers tightened around the grip of the sword and he pulled his lips into a tight line. These were the moments that drew the line between being a king and a soldier, he reminded himself. Out on the borderlands, away from all of these cursed advisors and the complexities of court and guild politics, he would have sliced this cursed heretic’s head from his body and damned the consequences, but as king it was necessary to do what was best for the realm. “The palace guard will escort you to a more comfortable room and see that you are fed and clothed, Va-Rajin. Please refrain from murdering anyone while you are in the city.”

Rajin smiled and bowed to the king, then turned and bowed to the advisory council. “I am in your service, worthy merchants.”

At a nod from the king, the doors of the audience chamber split open. Five guards stepped forward from the walls and formed a box around Rajin. The group strode from the chamber and through the halls of the palace until they reached the guest quarters that had been set aside for Rajin. There he was permitted to enter the room alone, though two of the armored guards remained outside the door.

As the group departed the audience chamber, King Berech shook his head in exasperation and settled back into his throne. Once the doors had closed, the advisors erupted from their chairs in a clamor of questions and demands. Hands waved. Goblets trembled in the hands of the aged men, spilling dark wine upon the tablecloth.

The king raised his left hand and looked down at his council. “What else would you have me do? You saw the marks on him with your own eyes.”

The royal financial advisor, who was indeed the same man who Rajin had so intimidated, stared down the others, who returned to their seats muttering. He leaned forward, his palms resting on the tabletop as he said, “Your majesty, I must speak to the wisdom of your actions. Yes, the heretic is dangerous and yes, I and my companions did react poorly to his threats just a few moments ago, but he is a danger that we must risk. As we all know, he has been free to rome the world and insinuate himself into the graces of other nations for nearly a decade. He is our best hope for securing safe passage for the expedition across the lands of the wild east.”

“But justice has not been served!” cried Partho ZyBrin, the council’s legal scholar.

“You know better than anyone that ‘justice’ is a malleable term, Di-Partho,” Gatha said.

“But to make him the lynchpin of such an important expedition!”

“Did any of you even look at him?” King Berech cried. “Did you not see the marks of an elfkin upon his skin? They still held strong, throughout his interrogation. They are real, or as real as any man or dwarf can ascertain. I trust you know what those sigils mean.”

As one, the advisors bowed their heads in mute acknowledgement, for they had all seen the subtle, shifting patterns of green and blue writhing beneath the skin of Rajin’s side.
 

“We are decided then. The expedition shall go forward within a fortnight, with the heretic as its guide,” the king said, rising and lifting his sword from the arm of the throne. He latched the scabbard to his belt, turned away from the council table, and strode from the room without another word.

⫛

The edges of the balance gate swirled with white mist, cut through with a continually shifting rainbow of colors thrown by countless branches of ever-forking lighting, as if the rim of the gateway were formed from a living ring of shattered crystal. Within the ring of the balance gate, one could see the wavering image of a different place, as through looking through a rippling sheet of poorly crafted glass.
 

The gateway crackled, filling the air with a scent like burning metal, then the image shivered and Neasa stepped through.

She shivered, more from surprise than cold, and glanced about her. It was disconcerting to stand in the stronghold of Greenwatch Tower one moment and then, with nothing more than a single step, to find oneself in the capital, surrounded by the shimmering, crackling maws of more than a dozen balance gateways. Here, Neasa knew, was the beating heart of the Commonwealth military. From this room messages, supplies, and troops could be shifted between the farthest reaches of the Commonwealth, wherever gateways had been erected by rune mages. That was the theory, at least.
 

“Welcome to Tal Albahi, soldier,” said the elderly clerk who sat at a desk in the center of the large, round room. He stood and waved towards a scale that rested beside his desk and was large enough to hold a handcart. “Stand on the scale. We need to get the measure of you.”

Neasa said nothing, but strode over to the scale and dropped her bag to the stone floor beside it.

“No. Everything you carried must be weighed with you. I don’t expect that a soldier would understand the dynamics of balance gate travel, even if you’re important enough to merit an individual trip through the portal. The transfer papers indicate that you will not be returning through the gateway in the foreseeable future, so I need to get an exact measure of how much weight you carried through so we can correct the imbalance.”

Neasa shrugged, feigning indifference, shouldered her bag, and stepped onto the scale. It was of a variety that she had never before seen, with long strings of runes glowing up the length of a pole sunk into the floor beside the platform and no sign of balance weights, springs, or levers. As she stood at the center of the iron platform, the runes on the pole shifted and she recognized several of them as listing a number.
 

“Thank you, soldier. Now you can step over here and I’ll give you your transfer orders,” the clerk chirped as he scratched an entry into one of the many ledgers that lay upon his desk.

“How will you be balancing the gateway?” Neasa asked. She pointed at the scale. “I have read of runic scales, but never seen one myself. It seems like a lot of effort just to balance the gates.”

The clerk’s eyes widened in surprise. It was uncommon enough for individuals to be authorized for a one-way journey through the balance gates. For one to make such a journey and have even a rudimentary understanding of the powers at play, well, that was a true wonder to the old man. “Generally speaking you would be correct, but we are not speaking of a single balance gate being used for an emergency retreat. Look around you, soldier. We have over a dozen fully open balance gates in this chamber, and many more that are currently holding in their reduced state because we do not anticipate any need for them today. If the anima imbalance in all of these gates were to grow too strong, the results might be catastrophic.”