Dragons of War (8 page)

It was all monstrously unfair. Death he had long ago accepted as the risk you took in his line of work. That and hideous maiming. Many dragonboys ended as beggars lacking a limb in the alleys of the ennead cities of the Argonath. He knew he risked such a future. But somehow he had just never imagined that he would die at the end of a rope. It was so ignominious. Death in battle yes, that was possible anytime. He'd envisaged his own death in a thousand ways, but being hanged in front of the regiment as an example to others had never occurred to him. His spirits sank to frigid depths and congealed there.

In this mood he eventually fell asleep and lay there snoring gently, dreaming of monstrous serpents, gods with no names left in human tongue, terrors from beyond the world. Anything but courtrooms and military tribunals.

While Relkin tossed and turned in uneasy sleep, tormented by vague terrors, there were others, far away, who would have understood his dreams only too well and who also faced the uncertain future torn by apprehension, their hearts beset by fear.

Far, far to the east, far beyond even the city of Marneri, hundreds of miles across the sea, where stretched the Isles of Cunfshon, these dream-seers, witches of the highest order of their art, and accidental friends of a dragonboy who seemed destined to hang, were gathering to present their viewpoints to the Imperial Council of the Empire of the Rose. They were aware that they approached a deadly nexus in time, a crucial sticking point, a crisis that would test the very limits of the strength of the empire. They were aware also that the majority of the council were not in agreement with them.

They met alone on the top turret of the Tower of Swallows, which dominated the land around it. Two women of indeterminate age, but vastly dissimilar appearance. The one short, slender, grey-haired and grey-robed, and seemingly utterly indistinguished, a perfectly ordinary woman of about fifty years. The other tall, beautiful, glittering in black and silver garb, her black hair pulled back and gathered behind her head in a net laced with gemstones, her costume decorated with silvered skulls of mice. And yet, while they appeared as mistress and mere servant, they were equals and both more than five hundred years old.

"Sister, it is good to see you in the flesh once more. You seem to be taking to it again," said she of humble appearance.

"Thank you, Lessis, Since my adventures last summer, I have found it necessary to accept your suggestions and attend the council meetings. The threat here on Ryetelth is too great. We approach the great crisis foretold by the mystic long ago."

"As always, Ribela, you are accurate in every detail. But I am afraid that the council is of a timid temperament at this moment. They will not listen to me, I'm afraid. Perhaps I have done a poor job of preparing them for it. I came late to the task; it took me many months to recover my strength."

"You were gravely wounded, my dear."

"And you saved me. I thank you, Sister." Both of them understood the grim irony in Lessis's voice. Both of them had contemplated the blissful escape that death would bring. Their lives had been overlong already.

"The problem is that it comes too soon after the campaign in Ourdh. The losses are still being felt in all the cities."

"And our loss of intelligence from beyond the White Bones continues?"

Lessis shrugged wearily. Verily, the burdens of the world seemed to rest on this one set of narrow shoulders.

"Semelia's disaster continues to wreak havoc for us in that theater. They have taken our network in Axoxo. None or our agents survived. We lost everything in the Tetralobe." She paused and became thoughtful.

"However, we did learn that work had begun on an enormous enlargement of the breeding pens in Axoxo."

"And from Ourdh?"

"Estimates have not changed much in the past month. About twenty thousand women of childbearing age were taken. They have completely disappeared, along with all the cows from the west side of the river Oon. Not a cow to be found for a hundred miles in any direction."

"An enormous breeding program."

"They would have more than one hundred thousand imp by now, perhaps twice that. I cannot guess at the quantity of troll."

"Exactly. The emperor must listen."

"I pray that he will. I am sure that the sight of yourself, attending in person, will concentrate his attention."

"Of course," said the lady in black, the very Queen of Mice, with utmost assurance. "You know, Sister Lessis, that were you to present a more imposing face to the world, you might not have this kind of difficulty so often. Men cannot see beyond the trappings of authority and power. You test them too forcefully."

"Sister Ribela, I take your point. However, I'm just hopeless at such things and must continue as I am."

Ribela nodded, sensing the resolve and strength that lay behind Lessis's outward humility. "I have been saying the same things to you for far too long, Sister. And always I come away knowing I have been bested."

"Sister Ribela, I have nothing of your personal force, and I do not seek it. Perhaps my absence of ambition in those things disturbs you."

Ribela allowed a tiny smile to crack the mask of her face. "Perhaps."

They strolled the tower in silence, communing with the view, organizing their thoughts. Beneath them were arrayed the lesser towers, halls, and walls of Andiquant, a small city purposely built to administer the empire and perched above the waters of the great harbor of Cunfshon. Far across the harbor glittered the lights of the city of Cunfshon itself. The night breeze was cool and helped Lessis to calm her thoughts as she prepared for the council meeting.

After a few minutes, they repaired to the door and began the descent to the council chamber.

There were two capital cities in the Isles of Cunfshon, separated by no more than the tidal passage of the gentle river Susa. On the northern bank lay the ancient city of Cunfshon with its white stone walls and towers. In the harbor reach of the Susa lay a mass of shipping, local craft by the dozen, three-masted ocean ships, luggers, brigs, schooners, and dominating the rest a handful of the white ships of Cunfshon, great three- and four-masted clippers, the fastest ships on all the oceans of Ryetelth.

On the southern side of the river, sitting up on slightly higher ground, stood the second city, the city of Andiquant, the administrative capital of the Empire of the Rose. Walls of dark grey granite topped by mighty towers and outworks betrayed the defensive concerns of the empire. Andiquant had been built as a piece, an administrative capital for the young empire when it had outgrown the institutions of Cunfshon.

The need for defensive strength, even here on the Isle of Cunfshon, was a raw tribute to the great power of the enemy that dominated the continent Ianta. The Masters of Padmasa were that ruling power, and their reach was long and their strength most terrible.

The building of Andiquant, completed in twenty years, had been the second direct challenge to the power in Padmasa. The first had been the founding of the cities of the Argonath. With the strength of the isles behind them, the descendants of the exiles of Veronath the Golden returned to the Argonath littoral and began the reconquest of their ancient land. Success attended their enterprise and eventually even the demon lord, Mach Ingbok, was thrown down and his great place, Dugguth, was taken and destroyed. The Argonath arose to cast a silver-steel light across the mountains where once the gold of Veronath had gleamed. The Ennead cities bloomed and grew apace. Colonies were set in ancient Kenor, now returned to wilderness after centuries of abandonment to savagery. The Empire of the Rose stretched out the hand of friendship to other nations of the world Ryetelth, and with the commercial power of the shipping of Cunfshon behind that friendship, the empire had become well respected in the world.

In recent years the enemy had received two sharp defeats in the eastern region of Ianta. First, in the north, the Doom of Tummuz Orgmeen had fallen. Then in the south, in ancient Ourdh, the Masters had received another sharp check with the destruction of the demon Sephis.

The city of Andiquant knew better than to rejoice overmuch. The power in Padmasa was immeasurably great. The Masters had achieved the status of a high piece upon the sphere board of destiny. In Ourdh, the Sinni had even been forced to intervene from a higher plane to assist in holding them back. Repercussions from such a thing were still echoing through the higher levels of being.

One thing was sure, the Dark Masters would not leave the challenge unmet. A response was certain. It was only a matter of time.

In the lovely blue room halfway up the Tower of Swallows, which rose from the Imperial fortress and dominated the Susa estuary and Cunfshon harbor, the Imperial Council was called to meet.

The full council consisted of the emperor, the heads of the various departments of the Imperial Effort, seven in total, plus two administrators from Andiquant's bureaucracy. Finally an admiral and a general were present on behalf of the fleets and legions.

The current emperor was Pascal Iturgio Densen Asturi, a powerfully built, vigorous man in late-middle years. His hair was streaked with grey, but his beard was still black. His eyes burned with intelligence and passion. He was the seventeenth of the Asturi line, and he was one of the best, as far as the Great Witches were concerned. The Asturi had been remarkable, a stable imperial line over six hundred years. One reason for that stability was the attention paid to it by the Great Witches. Thus were they known as the "gardeners of the Asturi" by those who understood their role. The Emperor Pascal was an example of the very best in the Asturi lineage: active, widely interested in the world, with great powers of concentration and the ability to endure long meetings. The Great Witches had been well pleased with him.

Among the heads of the various departments of the Effort were several of these Great Witches, including Sausann and Valembre, who represented the temple hierarchy, a constant, conservative presence in the affairs of Andiquant. From the Office of Unusual Insight were Lessis of Valmes and Ribela of Defwode, although this last had not attended meetings in human form for more than a century, until the year before when her presence had become essential. These two brought reports from the secret world of spy networks and struggles in other realms of being.

The remaining members of the council were technical advisers. Master Garsk of the Imperial Bureaucracy was invaluable in planning and carrying out any major initiative. Kelfel of the police function was crucial to counter-intelligence matters, for the great enemy maintained enormous networks of spies and informers, even on the Isles of Cunfshon.

Then came the military, old Admiral Cranx and General Hektor, now recovered from the poisoning he'd received in Ourdh the previous year.

Cranx had sat on the council for twenty-five years and was coming to the end of his time. Still, behind the white beard and the long white mane of hair there beat a keen intelligence with a wide understanding of the oceans and the shipping upon them.

General Hektor was new to the council, having been brought to the isles just when his predecessor General Elgore was dying. He would always walk with a limp to remind him of the damage done by a subtle Ourdhi poison. His mind was fully recovered, however, and gave the council an invaluable view of the conditions in Kenor and among the legions.

This was the council, all except for its final member, there was also the mystic, Reshawr, a withered goblin squatting on a tall square stone at the end of the table facing the emperor. Reshawr's eyes were shut. He had not spoken in a decade, but his gentle, wise presence was always there.

Lessis and Ribela were the last to enter the chamber. As they did so, the emperor looked up and forced a smile.

"We are complete then. Please be seated."

"Welcome, Lessis," said Sausann, "Ribela," the heads nodded. Ribela managed a brief, frosty smile. Lessis a warmer one and a word or two with several other members.

When they were seated around the oval table, the emperor began speaking.

"The main issue before us today is the final composition of the trade fleet that will take our ambassadors and our goods to the nations of Czardha."

The emperor was eager to see the great fleet on its way. This expedition had been his dream for many years. It was an ambitious concept, to attempt long-range diplomacy with the nations of Czardha. Both they and the Empire of the Rose were faced with a common enemy, the great power in Padmasa. To be more effective in their resistance to it, it was necessary for them to coordinate their efforts. Pascal had seen the truth of this as a young man, studying the geography and history of the world. Now his dream was close to realization.

"Your Majesty?" It was Petruda of Wolaf, chief administrative officer of the budget and the council representative on the Shipping Committee; a short, heavyset woman, clearly excited by her role in the great expedition to Czardha.

Emperor Pascal nodded for her to speak.

"The Shipping Committee recommends that six white ships will be sent. With the white ships we shall send three frigates. Admiral Cranx has an additional recommendation, I believe."

Eyes switched to the ramrod straight figure of the admiral, who cleared his throat carefully before speaking.

"In the councils of the fleet, it was suggested that we should also send a couple of sloops. The smaller craft are often invaluable in fleet operations, and the cost will be negligible compared to that of sending six white ships."

Bureaucrat Garsk raised his pudgy hand. "For six great ships, we shall have to find crews of two hundred apiece. Twelve hundred full-pay crew for a year, or more. Even getting all the paperwork and interviewing done will take us months."

The emperor chuckled mightily. "Trust the good Garsk to bring us all down to earth at once. Well, my good fellow, you and your clerks shall have to work around the clock, for the fleet must sail by Fundament if they are to make passage of the Cape of Storms before the bad weather begins."