The Dragons of Argonath (36 page)

They retook their seats and toasted Faltus Wexenne, and then Porteous Glaves. More ale was brought out. Faltus Wexenne had taken hold of the situation. Wexenne had shown himself to be in charge. All were suddenly aware that the great landraut of Champery was also becoming the leader of the rebellion.

Subtle recastings of alliance were already taking place as others in the Aubinan hierarchy reacted to Faltus Wexenne's elevation. Porteous Glaves, for instance, felt it very acutely. His own position had diminished considerably since his imprisonment in Marneri. Much of his own property had been sequestered by the crown. Some had been sold to pay creditors from his previous campaigns. Porteous had once been in the running for leadership. Now he was reduced to the role of a bit player. His star was fading now that he was no longer rotting in a Marneri jail cell.

"Tell me the rest of your story," Wexenne bid the messenger. Wexenne was struggling with the urge to scream from frustration. How could they have been defeated when they so outnumbered the Marneri forces?

"Well, sir, it is not as bad as all that. We took some losses. They surprised us with an overnight march, and the dragons exacted a toll."

"Dragons! Damnable worms!"

Aubinas had not been dragon friendly in a long time. The magnates preferred to send their corn to market rather than to feed it to ungainly great dragons with appetites beyond restraint.

"Where's the heavy cavalry now that we need them?"

"That's it, send in a charge with the lance; that'll take care of dragons."

The messenger looked around at them and noted that none of these well-fed men looked askance at these words. Did they understand what they were asking for?

Wexenne finally turned back to the messenger.

"Well, did they stop them with the charge?"

"No, sir. The cavalry was out of contact all night. They attacked later, but they did not get through, so I don't know what happened. Later they rode into Posila. General Neth took overall command."

"Posila!" snarled Gann. "We should be carving our way into the Marneri peninsula by now!"

With a glare at Gann, Faltus Wexenne moved quickly to emphasize the positive.

"We can hold Posila. Even against the dragons."

Inside, Faltus Wexenne was boiling with rage. These damned generals couldn't organize a drunken brawl in a tavern full of farmers. If you wanted anything done, you had to do it yourself! Setting his shoulders, he got down to working the group's emotions and boosting their morale. At the same time he announced new measures they should take. They needed to raise more men and prepare for a longer war.

Faltus Wexenne had already given up on the thought of the knockout blow and early, easy victory.

Melkert heard Wexenne speak and marveled at how cool the big man seemed. He also wondered just how well their improvised cavalry force under General Neth would handle trained battledragons.

"How many?" he said at last.

"How many what?" said Faltus Wexenne.

"How many dragons?"

They turned to the messenger. He shrugged.

"There are different stories. Some say many, others around ten."

"One squadron! That's all they have?" Melkert felt his confidence return.

Faltus Wexenne was nodding to himself.

"If they have only a single squadron, they could be overwhelmed."

"A sudden attack by overwhelming force!" said Gann, his spirits suddenly revived.

"Absolutely," said Melkert.

"Use poison spears; that will do the trick!"

They fed eagerly on this crumb of consolation.

Faltus Wexenne adjourned the meeting and withdrew to his private office with just Glaves and Salva Gann.

Unavoidably somber, they took seats around the table.

Faltus Wexenne refused to be downcast.

"We face a grave situation, my friends, but it is not unmanageable."

"Indeed," Glaves broke in. "We shall lure them on and then destroy them in the heart of Nellin."

"The heart of Nellin?" exclaimed Gann. "We cannot allow that. The looting of Nellin would be a tragedy." Gann's own lands were in the central parts of Nellin.

"I'm sorry, old friend," said Glaves. "But the enemy will be sure to invade our lands. We shall have to see great sacrifices. Some of us have already given everything for the cause."

Knowing the truth about Porteous's sacrifices, Gann sputtered at this.

Wexenne drove his fist into his palm.

"Glaves is right. We will draw the enemy on—let them get deep into Nellin. Meanwhile we shall try a thrust of a different sort. Not every stroke need be on the field of battle, am I right?"

"Of course," said Glaves, who was sobering up by this point.

"But Nellin? Must we sacrifice Nellin?"

"Not by choice, dear Salva, not by choice. But wherever the enemy decides to aim his blow, that's where we shall trap him, all right?"

Gann nodded, reluctant still.

"Good. We have special work to do. You know what I keep in the cellar here, do you not? I shall want you two to accompany me tonight when I visit our great friend."

Both Gann and Glaves looked up with sudden hard looks. Both had heard the tantalizing stories concerning this mysterious "great friend" of Aubinas. He was of some ancient elvish kind, they said, and glowed all over with a mysterious blue light. Some had even likened him to the Demon Lord Mach Ingbok.

"I have heard that he is a great wizard," said Gann, trying to impress Wexenne with the extent of his information.

"He is no wizard, my friend. Do not mistake this lord for some mannish sorcerer, for he is not of that limited breed. He is a being with a boundless sense of what is best for the world, and he is determined to bring it about. Aubinas is his chosen cause."

They were visibly torn by indecision. Fear competed with desire to see this "lord," so described.

The fear was especially strong in Porteous's eyes.

Wexenne felt little but contempt. Porteous had always been a vain, timid soul. It had taken a great deal of goading to drive him into the military service. Porteous had failed as a soldier, but in the process had recreated himself as the martyr of Aubinas and so had been useful to the cause, after all. Still, Faltus Wexenne judged that Porteous would not be missed overmuch.

"Come on," he snorted. "You two are such great lions for our rebellion, such captains of war, don't tell me you're afraid of meeting our guest?"

Salva Gann and Porteous harrumphed together.

"I have no fear of the supernatural," said Glaves. "We saw enough of that in Ourdh."

"And I have yet to see anything that I would mistake as the supernatural," sniffed Gann. "It's all bunkum. I'll be glad to show you how the tricks are done!"

"Good. Then, let us take up a lamp and visit him."

Show you how the tricks are done
! Faltus Wexenne looked forward to seeing that!

They used a servants' stairway to descend to the kitchen level. The light here was dim, and it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the sepulchral gloom. They turned toward the center of the house, passing storerooms and wine cellars. Then they passed through a heavy door and down some steps to another door, which opened with the key carried by Faltus Wexenne. They stepped into an even murkier space. A strange, sour smell pervaded the dead air. The space was very large.

"Where are we going?" said Glaves nervously.

"Do not make any sudden movements," said Faltus Wexenne.

They were not alone. Even as the door closed behind them, huge shapes shifted out of the darkness and approached. Glaves felt the breath solidify in his throat. They were as tall as trolls, and carried swords and shields.

"What are these things?" said a trembling Gann.

"Bewks, of course. Have you never met a bewk?" Wexenne toyed with them. He had removed a gem from his purse and raised it so that its glitter winked off the big, lucent eyes of the pig-faced monsters. They slid back into the shadows.

"Splendid creatures. Our guest bred them up from pigs. They're quite intelligent 'tis said, and can wield sword."

Glaves was dry-mouthed. To think that troll-like monsters were living right underneath Deer Lodge was somehow earthshaking. It was the last thing he would have expected. His heart was beating rather more strongly than he would have liked. There were at least five of the things, and they seemed almost as big as dragons.

"Come, my friends. Let us proceed."

They stepped past the lurking monsters and went down another passageway to a heavy, iron door. Porteous was glad to have left the brutes behind. Wexenne knocked loudly. They waited in silence for half a minute, and then the door opened with a loud squeal. A pair of human guards, grim-faced men in steel helmets, regarded them with a level gaze. Faltus Wexenne lofted the gem once more and let its glitter be seen. The men nodded gravely and stood back. Wexenne entered and encouraged the others to follow.

Past these men was a final passage and then an open door. A soft green light bathed the passage and filled the room beyond. Tables, cabinets, tall-backed chairs, the green lamp hanging from the ceiling, all these things were glimpsed.

Then a tall figure, glowing at its extremities, arose from behind a huge desk that was covered in small cabinets, retorts, and other scientific equipment. As it stood up, the elvish features seemed to dissolve and refix themselves in more manlike fashion. Gone were the long skin folds that marked the eyes of elves and made them seem slanted. Gone were the long ears and the thin-lipped, perfect mouth. Instead they were met by a man, a tall, powerfully built man with pale silver hair, level features, a straight nose and a hard, square jaw.

This figure wore a simple black tunic and slippers of gold cloth. On its fingers glowed rings of power, two on each hand. The eyes met theirs, and each of them felt the power in that stern gaze. They were in the presence of a being of great strength, a person of vast importance.

"Welcome," said the guest in a deep, powerful voice. "I'm afraid these are cramped quarters. You must take seats where you find them." He gestured to the scattered chairs, set at different tables. Each table hosted a special experiment in its cabinets.

They found chairs while their host in this strange lair resumed his seat at the main desk. He was occupied with inscribing results on a scroll.

"I beg your pardon, dear friends, but I must just finish here. It won't take but a moment."

His quill scratched upon the parchment while Wexenne, Gann, and Glaves found chairs and turned them to face the desk. The green light gave the room an eerie appearance and turned the faces of Faltus and Salva into grey masks. Oddly the flesh of the guest did not turn grey under this light, but instead radiated a brighter hue altogether.

Porteous examined the room, and his eye lit on a cabinet nearby. The glass door revealed a pale, monkeylike animal inside, clearly starving. Its ribs stood out, the face was sunken. Then with a nearly physical shock, Glaves realized that the creature was actually a boy, perhaps no more than ten years old, but now very close to death.

With a slight shudder he shifted his gaze. There was a pig in another cage, covered in enormous red boils. He shuddered again. What strange pursuits were these?

He looked back to the first cabinet. The boy's eyes were vacant. He was already too far gone. Porteous decided there was no profit in making a fuss about this. He glanced over at Faltus. He didn't seem to be bothered.

Porteous was suddenly stricken by another thought.

There were a dozen cabinets in the room of that size, and several more that were smaller. His gaze flicked here and there around the room. He could only see into a few of them, but he spotted another child. A young girl, who sat helplessly on a stool, her head held to the back of the cabinet by a chain around her neck.

Porteous Glaves felt the hair lift along the back of his own neck. In his inner heart he knew himself to be a useless, work-shy fraud, but he had never done anything truly evil; indeed, he had never imagined evil such as this. He had mutinied, and they had killed innocent men and women when they took over the
Nutbrown
, but that was just murder. This was something else again.

He glanced at Gann, but Salva Gann seemed oblivious of anything except the massive man, or shape shifter, or elf, or whatever it was that sat at the desk writing with a short-cut quill on parchment sheets stacked inches deep before him.

The scratching ceased. The parchment was added to the stack. A book was closed, and the quill placed in a holder.

"And now, dear sirs." The great head inclined to them, and they felt the interest in those powerful eyes fall full on them. They were lined up like schoolboys before the headmaster. Glaves felt the room fill with overtones of dominance, and wriggled uncomfortably. The great one held them all for a moment in his grip, and then he relaxed the field.

"So, Faltus Wexenne, what can I do for you?"

Wexenne was the least affected. He had met with the Dominator before, and he was one of that rare group of men who were able to resist his spells and intimidations.

"Ah, yes, the purpose of our visit!" Wexenne rubbed his hands together. "Well, in fact, great one, I should ask you what it is I could do for you. You do us enormous honor with your mere presence here in my humble manse. As it is, I wish I could provide you with more spacious accommodations, but you insisted on absolute secrecy."

"Yes, secrecy, a sore subject, Faltus, a very sore subject."

Secrecy had not lasted long. Servants' whispers had spread to the village.

"I apologize my friend, but to keep such as yourself a complete secret is beyond the abilities of mortal men. Tongues will wag, unless I cut them all out."

"Yes, perhaps that's what should have been done."

Faltus shifted uncomfortably. "Surely you jest?"

"Mmmm."

The big head turned, and the eyes fell full on Porteous Glaves, who quivered visibly as their eyes locked.

"This is the newly released Porteous Glaves," said Wexenne, gesturing proudly. "A man in search of his mission!"