Doom of the Dragon (25 page)

“If this is the worst these wizards can do, you have very little to fear,” said Aelon, reading his thoughts. “I will put an end to the storms. I would have done so sooner, but, as I said, I have been busy.”

“Tell me Skylan Ivorson is dead and my world will be sunshine,” said Raegar.

He had hoped to get on her good side, but his well-meaning words had the opposite effect.

“He lives,” she said, adding coldly, “because I let him. He is sailing to the land of the Stormlords, bringing with him four of the spiritbones—”

“Four?” Raegar sucked in a startled breath. “The last time we spoke, he had only three. Now he has four—”

“And he is coming here to get the fifth and we will stop him and destroy him,” said Aelon. “Have you talked to that traitor Stormlord? Baldev?”

Raegar realized that she was no longer disposed to talk about Skylan and that he would pursue the subject at his own risk. He had to take a moment to bring his mind around to this new topic.

“I did not hear from him before I left,” said Raegar. “I expected a letter—”

“Letter!” Aelon snorted. “He will come in person. He wants to make a deal. You will agree.”

“A deal for what?” Raegar was suspicious.

“Just do as I tell you!” Aelon said angrily.

A particularly violent gust of wind hit the ship. Raegar staggered. He could hear a loud cracking sound, a thud, and shouts and cries. With Aelon in a bad mood, he hadn't been going to mention this again, but he didn't have a choice.

“Revered Aelon, we need to reach the realm of the Stormlords in all possible haste. These storms—”

“And so you are back to complaining about the weather!” Aelon glared at him. “I have said I would fix it!”

Rebuffed, Raegar stood in silence.

Aelon seemed to relent, for she walked over to him, her thin silk gown rustling against her bare skin, her fragrance filling his nostrils. She ran her hand over the ceremonial breastplate, tracing with a finger the decorative serpents done in gold.

“Quit sulking,” she said. “You look jowly when you pout. Today your child will be born. A strong and healthy son.”

“My son! This day!” Raegar gasped. “Will all be well?”

“I promised Treia an easy delivery,” said Aelon. “You will name the child Aelonis. And now I must leave.” She added cuttingly, “I have to attend to the weather.”

Raegar felt the sting of her sarcasm, but he was too happy to care. He would teach the boy to fight in battle as a Vindrasi, not a Sinarian. Phalanxes and spears were all very well, but to be a true warrior, a man needed to learn how to take his place in the shield wall, stand shoulder to shoulder with his comrades, test his courage in the face of death.

Going to his sea chest, Raegar opened it and took out a child-size shield and wooden sword. He was six when his father had first taught him to use a sword. He remembered those times he had spent with his father and he imagined teaching his own son.

“You hold your shield like this, Aelonis,” Raegar said. “See how it guards your left arm and the sword arm of your comrade? You will stand in the front line in the place of honor—”

“Ahem!” said a voice coming from right behind him.

Raegar dropped the shield, drew his own sword, and whipped around to find a stranger in his cabin, watching him with a faintly derisive smile on his lips. Raegar glanced at the door. It remained closed. He had not heard anyone enter.

“What the devil—” Raegar raised his sword and shoved it at the stranger's face. “Who are you?”

The stranger's smile increased. He touched the sword's tip, moving it aside.

“I am Baldev,” said the stranger. “Lord of the Storm. You must be Raegar. I was told you were a barbarian. I came to talk. Put down your weapon.”

Baldev looked about, saw a chair, and settled himself uninvited. Raegar lowered the sword, but kept hold of it.

“How did you get on board my ship, let alone into my cabin?” Raegar asked, glowering.

“I would explain the magical technique, but I doubt a man with your mental capacity would understand,” Baldev replied. “My time is limited. Shall we proceed with our business?”

Raegar regarded him grimly, longing to wipe that supercilious smile off the man's face with the back of his hand. Unfortunately, he needed this arrogant bastard, and so he swallowed his anger and sat down in the chair behind his desk. He noticed, as he did so, that the rain had stopped and the wind was dying down.

He eyed Baldev and wondered how to begin. The wizard gave him no help. He was slender, appeared to be about forty, with long, sleek dark hair, large dark eyes, and a fine-boned, elegant face. Dressed in sumptuous sky-blue robes, he sat perfectly at his ease.

Raegar came straight to the point, hoping to send his unwelcome guest on his way.

“I have information that you Stormlords have the fifth spiritbone of the Vektia in your possession,” said Raegar. “Is that true?”

“I believe we have one of them,” Baldev replied offhandedly. “Whether it is the fifth, the third or the first I really couldn't say. Does it matter?”

Baldev was making sport of him and Raegar had to clench his fists beneath the desk to keep from jamming one of them down the wizard's throat.

“It is a trifling thing, but I have need of it,” Raegar stated. “I want you to bring it to me. That should be an easy task for one with such wondrous powers. In payment, you can name your price: gold, jewels…”

“I have no need for such things,” said Baldev scornfully. “I have named my price to Aelon and he has agreed. I want to be king, ruler of my people.”

Raegar's jaw dropped. He gaped at the man. “She agreed to what?”

“
She?
” Baldev raised an eyebrow. “Ah, of course, the Faceless God would come to you in female form. Quite the temptress, or so I would imagine. I gather Aelon failed to mention our bargain.”

Raegar struggled to compose himself. “Perhaps because she never made it.”

Baldev gave a disdainful smile.

“Let me reduce this to simple terms even you can understand. You cannot succeed without me. The only way for your army to enter the city is for me to provide you with access to the stormhold. I presume you know what the stormhold is? The gateway to the city?”

“I have read the reports of my priests,” Raegar growled.

“You can read? Will wonders never cease,” said Baldev. “Then you know you cannot enter the city without going through the stormhold. My price for this access is the kingship of Tsa Kerestra and Tsa Terestra.”

“You! King! Impossible!” Raegar retorted.

“Then so is the likelihood you will enter the city or acquire this so-called spiritbone,” said Baldev. “You have heard my price and your god has agreed to it.”

He rose to his feet. “I will be in touch.”

He vanished without a word. Raegar stared at the empty air where the wizard had been, then turned back to his desk. He found Aelon sitting in his chair.

She gave him a charming smile. “You are angry.”

“You promised that bastard he would be king!” said Raegar, his voice shaking.

Aelon shrugged. “You need him. As for my promise…”

They were interrupted by excited voices outside his door, calling for him.

“Her Imperial Majesty is in labor!”

Raegar forgot about Aelon, forgot about the wizard. Flinging open the door, he found two priests—High Priest Benignus and his assistant, waiting there, eager to tell their news.

“Get out of my way,” said Raegar. “I want to see her.”

Shoving the priests aside, he strode down the narrow hall to Treia's cabin and was about to enter when a frightful scream brought him to a halt.

The door to cabin opened and one of the midwives came out carrying a bowl of bloodstained water, which she threw into one of the slop buckets. Raegar had fought in the shield wall without a qualm of fear, but that scream and the sight of the bloody water unmanned him. He broke out in a chill sweat.

“Is my wife … is everything…” Raegar swallowed.

“All is proceeding well, Your Imperial Majesty,” said the midwife. “In truth, I've never seen a labor progress so fast.”

She hurried back inside and shut the door. Raegar stood in the hall, not knowing what to do with himself. The smell of the blood was making him queasy. The two priests hovered near him, saying something about praying to Aelon. Then came the sound of a baby's wail.

Raegar took a breath so deep he made himself dizzy and had to brace himself against a bulkhead. The baby continued to cry. After a time, the door opened again and the midwife stepped out carrying the baby wrapped in a blanket of royal purple.

“You have a son, Your Majesty,” said the midwife.

She drew aside the blanket to let Raegar see the naked infant as proof the child was male. He looked down at a wrinkled, red-faced infant with black hair.

Raegar took hold of one of the tiny clenched fists.

“My son is ready to take on the world,” said Raegar proudly.

By custom, he had to take the child in his hands to acknowledge the baby as his own. Raegar did not hesitate.

“Let me hold my son!”

The midwife wrapped up the baby in the blanket and handed the child to him. Raegar cradled his son, marveling that he was so small and so perfect. He quickly handed the child back to the midwife, fearing he might break it.

“How is my wife?” Raegar remembered to ask.

“Her Imperial Majesty is quite well,” replied the midwife. “She has asked to see you.”

Raegar recalled the sound of that scream and he hesitated. But the priests and the midwives were both watching him and he braced himself and walked into the cabin.

Treia was sitting up in bed. She did not even look at Raegar. Her gaze fixed on her child.

“Bring my son to me,” she said, holding out her arms.

Raegar remained standing near the cabin door. The midwives were cleaning up, but the odor of blood and bodily fluids was foul. He fidgeted, wanting to leave.

Treia put the baby to her breast. Raegar had hired a wet nurse, but Treia had refused to allow any other woman to touch her son. She gazed down on the child lovingly.

“I thought we could name him Vagal, which means ‘bold warrior'—”

“His name is Aelonis,” said Raegar.

Treia raised her head, staring at him, slightly squinting with her nearsighted eyes. High Priest Benignus expressed his approval of this honor to their god. The midwives said it was a lovely name. Raegar knew Treia wouldn't like it.

Ever since they had married, she had been jealous of Aelon, believing Raegar was more devoted to his god than his wife. Lately her jealousy seemed to have moderated. Aelon had told Raegar that she had visited Treia and that his wife was now devoted to the god. Raegar saw in a moment that Treia's devotion had limits.

But perhaps not her devotion to another god.

Treia made a bargain with Hevis, God of Lies and Deceit. She promised to sacrifice someone she loved … Hevis will not forget.…

Raegar had not wanted to believe Aylaen, but her words had stayed with him. He heard them again and again, especially in the middle of a sleepless night. Now, seeing Treia's pale face and the glitter of fury in her eyes, Raegar believed.

He watched his precious son suckle at the breast of a murderer and he longed to snatch his child away. He fought the impulse. No one would believe him, not even Aelon. Treia was the Empress of Oran, his wife, the mother of the crown prince. He could get rid of her, by accusing her of worshipping heathen gods, but he needed proof.

Raegar manufactured a smile. “I see that you are tired, my love. I will leave you to rest. I am needed on deck.”

He walked out, leaving the door open, and summoned one of the midwives.

“I am worried about my son,” he told her. “Babies often fall ill and die after birth. Keep near him at all times. He is a prince, heir to the empire.”

The midwife assured him that his son was healthy, but promised that she would. Somewhat reassured, Raegar went on deck to cheers from the crew and his men.

He drew in a deep breath of fresh air and realized that the sun was shining, the weather clear. The wind blew strongly, pushing his ship southward to glory.

And he had a son.

 

CHAPTER

21

Treia lay in her bed, exhausted, but blissfully happy. She had never known such joy. The midwife had wanted to put the child in his cradle to allow Treia to rest, but she had sent the midwife away and held her son in her arms long after he had fallen asleep.

She loved him fiercely, as she had never before loved anyone, not even Raegar, and she had loved him with a passion that she had feared might kill her. Treia had been nearsighted since a young age and thus everything in the cabin she looked on was a blur—except her son. She could see him clearly, perfect in every detail.

“Vagal, my darling, my sweet,” she murmured, running her fingers through the crisp black ringlets of his hair, gently, so as not to wake him. “Bold warrior. That is your name. Not Aelonis.”

Her lip curled in disdain.

“On the other hand,” said a voice, “with a name like Aelonis, the boy would soon learn how to use his fists.”

Treia gasped and clutched her child close. “Who is there?”

She squinted, trying to see, but the room had been darkened and she could not see clearly. She was aware of a presence, someone stealthily moving about.

“Midwife? Is that you?” Treia asked, nettled. “I told you I no longer needed you. I don't care what my husband says.”

An oil lamp on a table where she took her meals suddenly burst into flame. Two eyes, bright with reflected fire, gazed at her from the darkness. Treia recognized those eyes.

“Hevis!” Treia whispered, choked by terror.

God of Lies and Deceit. His hallmark was fire.