King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“This is certainly grave news, but what am I to tell the people of Gent? Given enough time, the Eika army outside will burn and batter down Gent’s bridges, and when they have done that, they will have free passage up the Veser whether we will it or no. If they sail far enough up the Veser, then it will scarcely matter what the Lady Sabella demands, since the heart of Wendar itself will be at risk.”

“You would counsel your father to consider this the greater threat? But always in other years, Prince Sanglant, the Eika have raided and left, content with whatever gold and slaves they could carry away in their ships.”

The prince glanced out the window, although only rain and the timbered roof of the mayor’s palace were visible. Distantly, Liath heard drums. “This is not ‘other years.’ This is not a raid. Already the envoy for the Eika general has refused Mayor Werner’s offer of ten chests of gold and one hundred slaves as payment for them to leave.”

Wolfhere chuckled suddenly. “I hear two things in your words I can scarcely credit. One is that a man sits as mayor in a city. The other is that the Eika have a general. They are bandits, nothing more, with perhaps a captain to lead each ship, if we can even dignify their packs with such a word. More like the strongest beast who keeps the others obedient by threat of claw and teeth.”

Sanglant turned his head to look directly at Liath. She squirmed, horribly uncomfortable; his eyes were so bright and his features so strange and sharp. He examined her with obvious curiosity for so long that she felt the stares of his men, behind her, on her back, as if they, too, wanted to know what interested their captain. For so long that Wolfhere finally glanced over to see what the prince was looking at.

What crossed Wolfhere’s expression Liath had never expected to see: He was angry.

Sanglant smiled slowly at her, perhaps with invitation. When he smiled, he had a sudden bright charm, so powerful she felt herself blush. Beside her, Manfred muttered something inaudible under his breath. Sanglant grunted, almost laughing, as if in response. Then, with a shrug and a stretch of his shoulders, he looked back at Wolfhere. The older man’s expression was now entirely bland.

“Mayor Werner is an interesting man, overly fond of his family’s riches. Is it not said Our Lord judges the worth of his earthly sons by the measure of their generosity to their companions and to the poor? So King Henry would say. Werner’s mother was mayor of the town before him, and he was her only surviving son. And, it is said, always her favorite, though certainly the staff of authority should have gone to one of her daughters, his half sisters.” He said these words with a trace of bitterness, and yet he also seemed to be laughing at himself. “So far the people of Gent have found no reason to be displeased with his stewardship and thus throw him out in favor of a woman whose authority is, as you say, more likely to receive Our Lady’s Blessing. As for the other—” He put out a hand, and the woman handed him his helmet, now bright, the gold face of the dragon like cold fire burning on the hard surface of iron. As he spoke, serious now, he ran his hands over the helmet, tracing the delicate gold work with long, dark fingers.

“There is an intelligence out there which directs these Eika. I have felt it. It knows of me just as I know of it, and we are bent, each of us, on the other’s destruction.”

“A human man, do you think?”

“I think not. And who better than I to know, my friend. Is that not right?”

Wolfhere bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“But whether it is an Eika unlike in mind and craft to the others, or some different creature entirely, I cannot say. I have fought King Henry’s wars for eight years now, since I came of age and was given my Dragons to be captain of. As is my birthright, the child born to prove the man worthy of the throne of Wendar.” His tone was as cold as a stinging winter’s wind. “But the others were ordinary wars, raids by the Quman horsemen, Duke Conrad’s rebellion, Lady Sabella’s revolt, which I saw the end of.”

“Her first revolt,” said Wolfhere quietly.

“Rumors do not a revolt make,” said Sanglant, equally quietly, then raised a hand to forestall Wolfhere’s comment. “But I trust your judgment in these matters, Wolfhere, if you say she is again fomenting rebellion against the king. You have served the throne of Wendar faithfully. Or so I have always heard.”

“As have you,” said Wolfhere, baring his teeth. “Or so I have always heard.”

There was a hiss, an intake of breath, from those of the Dragons close enough to hear the comment. But Sanglant smiled his charming smile, tossed the chess piece carved into the likeness of a King’s Dragon up toward the rafters, then grabbed it out of the air as it fell. The movement made the helm roll off his lap, and the scar-jawed woman caught it before it struck the floor.

The prince opened his hand and displayed the chess piece. Its ivory gleam, oiled from much handling, set off the bronze tone of his skin. Half human, Liath thought, and then was ashamed of herself: Was she not also different from the rest, with her skin always burned so brown? But at least slaves who worked all day in the fields were burned as brown as she was at summer’s end, if they were not burned to blisters. And Da had told her of people living in lands far to the south, where the sun was hotter and brighter, who had skin burned darker even than hers. Was it then better to be fully human but a slave or a heathen, rather than a half-human prince who could never be fully trusted?

I have already been a slave. She wrung her fingers through each other. Her back prickled, as if thinking of those days meant Hugh was watching her. He is watching me. Like the intelligence that waited, out among the Eika, dueling with Prince Sanglant, so Liath knew Hugh waited, always aware of her no matter how far away she might be from him. He waited only until she came again into his grasp.

I am still a slave, because I fear him. Tears burned her eyes and she ducked her head down so no one would see. But Manfred’s hand brushed her leg, as if to reassure her. She swallowed, gathered courage, and looked up. No one seemed to have noticed her lapse.

“Like this chess piece,” said Sanglant, “I exist only to be moved by another man’s hand.”

Wolfhere smiled thinly. He looked very old, suddenly, as he lifted the piece out of the prince’s hand. “You are young to be so old in wisdom, Sanglant.”

crossed Wolfhere’s expression Liath had never expected to see: He was angry.

Sanglant smiled slowly at her, perhaps with invitation. When he smiled, he had a sudden bright charm, so powerful she felt herself blush. Beside her, Manfred muttered something inaudible under his breath. Sanglant grunted, almost laughing, as if in response. Then, with a shrug and a stretch of his shoulders, he looked back at Wolfhere. The older man’s expression was now entirely bland.

“Mayor Werner is an interesting man, overly fond of his family’s riches. Is it not said Our Lord judges the worth of his earthly sons by the measure of their generosity to their companions and to the poor? So King Henry would say. Werner’s mother was mayor of the town before him, and he was her only surviving son. And, it is said, always her favorite, though certainly the staff of authority should have gone to one of her daughters, his half sisters.” He said these words with a trace of bitterness, and yet he also seemed to be laughing at himself. “So far the people of Gent have found no reason to be displeased with his stewardship and thus throw him out in favor of a woman whose authority is, as you say, more likely to receive Our Lady’s Blessing. As for the other—” He put out a hand, and the woman handed him his helmet, now bright, the gold face of the dragon like cold fire burning on the hard surface of iron. As he spoke, serious now, he ran his hands over the helmet, tracing the delicate gold work with long, dark fingers.

“There is an intelligence out there which directs these Eika. I have felt it. It knows of me just as I know of it, and we are bent, each of us, on the other’s destruction.”

“A human man, do you think?”

“I think not. And who better than I to know, my friend. Is that not right?”

Wolfhere bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“But whether it is an Eika unlike in mind and craft to the others, or some different creature entirely, I cannot say. I have fought King Henry’s wars for eight years now, since I came of age and was given my Dragons to be captain of. As is my birthright, the child born to prove the man worthy of the throne of Wendar.” His tone was as cold as a stinging winter’s wind. “But the others were ordinary wars, raids by the Quman horsemen, Duke Conrad’s rebellion, Lady Sabella’s revolt, which I saw the end of.”