Fortress Draconis (20 page)

The young thief studied Resolute’s face, and tried to memorize the tone of his voice. He’d not heard its like in all his time with Resolute, save, perhaps, back at the caves. Resolute had only shown him the finely honed edge of his personality. Dranae seemed to reach him differently, and it took Will a moment to recognize the difference.I challenge, he seeks knowledge.

Dranae shrugged his massive shoulders. “Your telling of the natural order I have heard before. I think, though, the Panqui find dragonhaunts a good place to live because not too many men willingly come to them. This thick forest suits them.”

“Have you seen one?” Will looked around, seeking to spot anything at all in the shadows. “I think I saw one as a child, in a cage, in the Dim.”

Crow shook his head. “That was a man in a costume. Panqui are big, very big—at least the males are. Huge.”

“You’ve killed one?”

Resolute laughed. “I’ve never gotten close enough to kill one, nor has Crow in my time with him.”

“This is not something I regret, either.” Crow smiled easily. “That’s because they’ve got fangs as long as your fingers, and their hands have these nasty hooked claws they can retract. Worst of all, they have these bony plates in their skin, running from turtle-green to gold, depending on what, I don’t know. Those plates will stop an arrow and probably an ax. On their faces, throat, joints, they have this black, leathery flesh. Their thick tail is very strong. They’re not stupid beasts, either, and sail the Crescent Sea as pirates.”

Will hunched his shoulders and kept looking around. “And we are not on the main road, why?”

The others laughed aloud. Resolute shook his head. “Boy, didn’t you listen? They’re not stupid. If we are being watched, they can see there is no advantage in attacking us. Besides, during the summer, they move to the coast. It’s only in winter they move inland. We’re probably safe.”

“Really?” Will looked to the others for confirmation. Crow nodded. Dranae did as well, then smiled before snorting a quick laugh.

Will’s eyes tightened. “You’re all having a joke on me.”

The dark-haired man shook his head in denial. “In your reaction I guess we’re all remembering being your age, or younger, shivering to tales of Panqui and gibberers. The smiles and the laughs, they’re not for you, but us at your age/;

“I believe that of you two, but not Resolute.” Will shot him a sidelong glance. “He was never my age.”

“Wrong, boy. At your age I was never so innocent.” Resolute gave Will the hint of a smile. “Let’s hope your growing out of it doesn’t hurt you as much as it did me.”

Three days into their trek they could no longer move on game trails since everything converged at one point or another with the main road into Sanges. The quickest way to get to Fortress Draconis, it had been decided, would be to get a ship to sail north. If none could be had in Sanges, they knew they could sail up to Narriz and find a suitable vessel there. Narriz, the capital of Saporicia, even offered the option of an elven embassy that Resolute thought might allow him to travel to Loquellyn and get a ship there.

Sanges spread out along the steep hillsides of a river valley. The river flowed down to the sea, ending in a waterfall that split the harbor in the middle. Piers jutted like the staves of a broken barrel into the harbor, and each one had several ships moored to it. More ships lay at anchor in the harbor. Even though Yslin had been a much bigger city, Will couldn’t remember having seen so many ships in the harbor at one time.

The main road into the city cut back and forth across the hillside south of the river, though numerous bridges did cross it. Tiled roofs and thick walls kept the summer heat at bay. Each building had been painted primarily the color of old bones, but bright and gay images of animals and flowers had been woven into paintings to decorate windows and doorways. As they descended toward the harbor, the buildings became older and more dingy, though nothing reached the dark, mildewed state of the Dimandowns.

They found an inn and were able to obtain rooms easily, including stable space for their horses. Once they’d secured their belongings in the room, they headed down to the docks. Will didn’t find the seaport section of Sanges all that different from Yslin, save that the city was smaller and there were no balloons floating high overhead to let merchants see their ships coming in, nor were there cable-baskets moving people above the streets. The lack of these signs of sophistication let Will feel superior to the rustic inhabitants, putting some spring in his step.

Resolute and Crow seemed to know their way around the town. They sought the office of a trading company and asked directions. Cutting back through an alley, heading away from the sea, they entered a courtyard. A building across the way apparently was their destination, because Crow pointed at the wooden sign creaking in the breeze over the door. That there was a crowd of men between them and the door didn’t seem to bother him at all.

Four men in red-and-gold uniforms, three of them bearing pikes, came around the crowd and converged on the travelers. The unarmed man, a plump specimen with little enough hair that it could have been easily finger-raked by a half-handed man, unscrolled a piece of parchment as the pikemen moved to hem them in. His voice came a little high, but he shouted loudly to reinforce his authority.

“By order of King Fidelius, all sailors will report to their ships forthwith. Those who are without berth will report to the Grand Pier for assignment to ships. All men of good health and five and ten years, but not more than three score, will take up arms in service of Saporicia. The defense of your nation demands this sacrifice.”

He lowered the parchment. “Get in with the others.”

Resolute slowly shook his head. “Your order does not apply to me. I am not a sailor, I am not of your nation, I am not a man, and I am older than three-score years. Begone.”

The bureaucrat’s brow furrowed above dark eyes. “You look young to me, elf, but no matter. Your companions here, they fit the bill, they’re going.”

The Vorquelf dropped a hand to the hilt of his sword. “They are with me, and likewise exempt.”

The man glanced again at the parchment. “Doesn’t say that here. I don’t want trouble, but…”

“If you don’t want trouble, go away.”

The little man nodded to the pikemen, but none of them seemed eager to engage Resolute. The crowd of sailors the four men had been gathering up began to spread out and grumble. A couple of men picked up stones, and Will followed their example. Tension filled the air with curses, and the bureaucrat began to sweat.

Before violence could erupt, a slender man moved through the sailors. He looked unremarkable to Will, save that he wore a blue mask that covered him from cheekbones to hairline. The mask marked him as being from one of three nations where wearing a mask was an honor. It had all sorts of marks on it and the sailors fell silent as he strode in the bureaucrat’s direction. “A minute, Warden, these are my men.”

The bureaucrat turned and posted his fists on his hips. “Captain Dunhill, your ship already has a full complement of sailors. You told me as much.”

“Indeed I did, Cirris, but I counted among them these men here, for I anticipated their arrival.” Dunhill stepped forward and offered his hand to Crow. “Good to see you again, Captain Crow. And, Resolute, you’ve not changed. And these two, these are the ones you told me about, who want a life at sea?”

Crow nodded quickly. “Yes, Will is my nephew, and Dranae is a distant cousin. We apologize for being late, but travel’s not been safe of late.”

Warden Cirris, having rolled his parchment into a tight tube, tapped it against Dunhill’s shoulder. “You should have given me their names. This is highly irregular, Captain.”

Dunhill’s nostrils flared.“More irregular than having every man in the city press-ganged, Warden?” The man tapped a small symbol painted on his mask below his right eye. “When you have earned this mark, Warden, it means you are given responsibility for your crew.All responsibility for it. What I choose to tell you or not to tell you is up to me. These people have reported to me, which is the same as reporting to their ship. You are done here, go away.”

The ship’s captain turned and waved them on after him. “Come into the office where we can speak.”

Will followed in line, letting the stone tumble from his fingers so that it smacked the warden’s toes. The fat man yelped, then began hopping on one foot. Hastily thrown stones by the crowd of sailors kept him dancing. Even the pikemen laughed and the tension in the courtyard evaporated.

Dunhill led them into the office of a trading company, past tables where scribes were looking at sheets, comparing them to other sheets and scribbling things down on yet third sheets. The skritching of quill on paper set Will’s skin to crawling, but that sound faded as he followed Dunhill up a back set of stairs to a larger room that clearly served as a dormitory for sailors waiting for their ships to head out. The captain waved them to a rectangular table set with benches down each side.

“Youare Crow, aren’t you? I mean, Resolute I couldn’t forget, but you’ve changed a bit.”

Crow nodded and sat. “It’s been ten years. I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

“How could I forget? You came to me at Yslin with a pass signed by Rounce Playfair himself, telling me to do all I could to render you aid. And then the two of you wanted me to sail north and put you ashore in the Ghost March.” Dunhill shook his head. “I wondered if you’d made it back, and assumed you had. Somehow I didn’t think they would get you.”

“They didn’t. We were fortunate.” Crow looked around. “Billets here are empty, and the harbor is full. What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need worry about. I can have the people below fix you up with passes that will let you go wherever you need to go. TheSeafarer is sailing at midnight, so give me your word that you’ll report in time for duty, or I’ll be forced to sail without you.”

Resolute rested both elbows on the table. “That’s good of you, but that’s not what he asked.”

Dunhill smiled. “I know. It’s insane, really, but reports have come in that Chytrine reached an accord with Vionna. Together they have organized the Wruona pirates into a cohesive force. Chytrine’s reinforced them with her own ships. They’re heading south.”

Crow nodded. “Hence the king’s order to ship everyone up to Narriz to defend the capital.”

The captain laughed lightly. “Nowthat would make sense, but that’s not where we’re going. No. We’re sailing west, to Vilwan.”

Resolute blinked. “Vilwan?”

“That’s right.” Dunhill shrugged. “For reasons known only to her, Chytrine thinks she can destroy the stronghold of the greatest mages of our age. We’re going to stop her.”

At a narrow window in a high tower on Vilwan, Kerrigan Reese shielded his eyes against the rising sun. Only a quarter of its disk had risen above the horizon, but that was enough to display dozens of little black shapes bobbing on the sea, sailing toward Vilwan. The sight of such a large flotilla was unprecedented in his seventeen years of life, and he was quite certain the like of it had never been seen before that, either.

He turned from the slit window and held a finger out, visually tracking it along the spines of the books shelved floor to ceiling in his living chamber. He spied a fat volume, whispered a word, and crooked his index finger. The book slid off the shelf and floated smoothly and fluidly through the air. It came to his hand easily, but the second it touched his palm, the spell broke, and Kerrigan had to scramble to get his other hand under the book.

Even when he did that, the volume’s weight threw him off balance. He stooped to catch the book, stepping forward quickly. He caught the hem of his white sleeping gown under his foot, shifted, and went down hard on his left knee. He gasped with shock and pain as the robe abraded his flesh. Hugging the book to his chest, he sagged helplessly to his left side, but kept the book from hitting the ground.

Angrily he kicked his foot free of the gown, and heard a tearing sound in the process. Rolling onto his back and lifting his feet—a task the rotund mage managed not terribly well and could not sustain for long—he saw the hem had torn out. Worse yet, a red splotch stained the gown at his left knee. The moment he saw blood, he could feel the pain in his knee intensify, and his lower lip started trembling.

He shook himself, which sent quivers running through his thick body. Kerrigan refused to cry, telling himself it was nothing, just a scrape. The fact was, though, that ithurt. He wanted to pull his knee closer to his face to look at it, but he couldn’t with the book on his belly.

Kerrigan set the book on the floor reverently, blowing away invisible dust motes before he put it down. He pulled his knee up as far as he could and gingerly slipped the gown up over it. Breath hissed through teeth on intake, then he grabbed his thigh and pulled harder to get his knee closer to his face. His round belly hindered this attempt, but he still got a good look at the scrape across his knee, which bled a little, and mostly oozed a clear fluid.

He waved fat fingers at it, hoping the fluid would congeal in the air. Struggling up into a sitting position, he kept his knee bent and exposed. He glanced at the bloody stain on the gown, then at the torn hem, and shrugged. Kerrigan was pretty sure the gown could neither be cleaned nor repaired and, as such, would never be allowed back into his wardrobe.

That thought calmed him, so he pulled the fat book into his lap and flipped through the pages. A bold and onate scrawl—which differed here and there as other hands had inscribed things down through the centuries— covered half the pages of the book. Illustrations and diagrams also appeared, but they were few and crudely incomplete when compared with similar designs in the grimoires lining the shelves.

Kerrigan reached the point where the blank pages began, and leafed back several before he began reading. The book he held was a history of Vilwan, and was linked to the grand history housed in Vilwan’s library. As witharcan-slata, a bond had been magickally forged between this book and that one. As pages were added by the Magister Historian of Vilwan, they appeared in Kerrigan’s copy of the book.