[Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones (27 page)

I pulled the door open and stepped inside, just missing being brained with a (thankfully empty) chamber pot. Originality aside, chamber pots are heavy enough to make good weapons.

I grabbed it before Garranon's wife could try it again. “Stop it,” I said in a hushed voice.

“I'm the only one who gets to brain Ward tonight,” said Tosten, stepping through the doorway. He bowed to her. “I am Tosten of Hurog, and you must be Garranon's wife.”

“What are you doing?” asked Garranon from the shadows. He didn't sound happy, but he was quiet. I released his wife but kept the chamber pot.

“Rescuing you,” I replied. “You don't think Kariarn's going to let you live, do you?”

Oreg started working on the chains that held Garranon, and I set the chamber pot on the floor.

“I know him,” said Garranon's wife, nodding at me though speaking to her husband. “But who are the other two?”

Garranon, shaking free of his chains, peered first at
Oreg then Tosten. “They're all Hurogs . . . but none that I've met.”

It wasn't rudeness that kept me from making formal introductions; I just couldn't remember Garranon's wife's name, and I couldn't take the shortcut of calling her Lady Buril or Lady Garranon, because Oranstonian custom didn't work that way.

After an awkward moment, I said. “You'll have to introduce me again to your wife, sir. Then I'll make known my kinsmen.”

A brief smile crossed Garranon's face. “May I present my wife, the Lady Allysaian.” There was more affection in his voice than I expected, given the nature of his relationship with the king.

I bowed and waved an arm at my brother. “Lady Allysaian, Lord Garranon, may I present my brother Tosten, your rescuer.”

In the cell amid chamber pots and straw, Allysaian curtseyed, and Tosten bowed. Garranon said incredulously, “He's dead.”

I grinned. “Hurog has a reputation for ghosts, sir. Lady Allysaian, Lord Garranon, may I present my kinsman, Oreg, who is also a wizard.”

“Indeed?” Garranon murmured. “How useful.”

“Now,” I said. “Is there a way out of here, or does Oreg have to see if he can spirit you out?”

“And leave Buril in the hands of the Vorsag?” asked Garranon.

“Not much you can do about it at the moment,” observed Oreg.

The Oranstonian stared at Oreg, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Then he turned his attention back to me. “So you are going with Kariarn. And you rescue us because . . . ?”

“Because it is the right thing to do.”

He laughed, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “I might have believed that of the simpleton you played, but you lie too
well, Lord Wardwick. Kariarn has offered you the same deal he offered my brother. You have seen the results. But you're willing to risk it for Hurog, aren't you?”

Tosten drew in a sharp breath, as if he'd just realized how great a temptation Kariarn had offered me.

I nodded my head, unwilling to take time to argue. “Figure it out for yourself. My brother will take you to where Haverness's daughter's troops are gathered. She'll see to it her father knows about Buril.”

Garranon's eyebrows rose. “Then you go to Hurog. Kariarn breaks in, takes whatever it is that he wants from your keep—”

“Dragon bones,” whispered Oreg.

Garranon continued without pause. “—and your uncle is killed in the battle. You get Hurog.”

Tosten stiffened, looking at me wild-eyed. I guess he'd forgotten about Uncle Duraugh.

It hurt that he could believe I would kill our uncle to get Hurog. But there was a part of me that anticipated my uncle's death. Oh, not that I would kill my uncle, but that he would be killed in some way I could not prevent. The hero (me) returns and triumphs over evil, and Hurog is mine. Mine.

And that's why I didn't bother to defend myself.

Garranon gave me a shadowed look and turned to Tosten. “There's a passage from the next room over.”

 

“IT'S
VERY STRANGE
,”
SAID
Oreg once he'd locked the two of us back in my cell and picked up the chamber pot.

“What is?” I asked.

“The way you've convinced everyone, including yourself, that the two of us can stop Kariarn and his whole army.”

“I don't have to stop his army,” I explained. “All I have to do is get Duraugh to evacuate Hurog rather than fight
for it. All Kariarn wants is the dragon bones. He'll take them and leave Hurog.”

“So you're going to let Kariarn take the bones?” Oreg tapped the chamber pot unhappily on his thigh.

“It's the only way I see for Hurog to survive.”

Oreg stared at me, but in the poor light of the sputtering torches, I couldn't see the expression on his face. In the quiet, I could hear the murmur of voices as several men came up the stairs.

“The chamber pot—hit me,” I said, bending my knees so Oreg could get a good angle. “I can fake unconsciousness, but it's got to be hard enough to raise a bump.”

Oreg stared at the chamber pot. “I could still get you out of here. We could get Beckram and bring an army to defeat Kariarn.”

I straightened. “Buril is only three or four leagues from the sea. With the wizards for communication, Kariarn'll have a fleet at the nearest port waiting for him. Beckram is at Callis. He'll have to travel overland.”

Oreg worked it out for himself. “It'll take him at least a week longer to get to Hurog than it'll take Kariarn.”

I nodded. “Hurog isn't ready for a siege. It won't last a week.”

The guards had gone to Garranon's cell. I could hear them shouting, and I bent down again. “Do it.”

“So the Hurogmeten sacrifices the dragon again,” said Oreg.

I caught a better look at his face as he raised the chamber pot over his head. What I saw there told me that Oreg wasn't unhappy about the opportunity to hit me. As it turned out, I didn't have to fake anything at all.

It always takes me a few days of sailing before I quit trying to jettison last week's dinner.

MY
STOMACH TOLD ME
I was aboard a ship before I opened my eyes to see Bastilla sitting cross-legged on the floor beside my bunk, wearing boy's clothes and looking very much like the woman who had traveled halfway across the Five Kingdoms with me.

She smiled. “Good morning, Ward. How's your head?”

I returned her smile before I remembered what she was. I touched my head gingerly but could find no bump.

“I healed you,” she said. “I'm sorry Tosten was so angry that you chose to follow my master. He gave you quite a concussion. My master thought you should sleep until we reached the sea, so I let you rest.”

“How do you know Tosten was angry?” I'd planned upon that interpretation, but she sounded so certain.

“When I healed you,” she said, patting my knee, “I picked up on your emotions. I felt how much he hurt you.”

Tosten had said she invaded his mind when she healed him. Just how much did she know?

“He doesn't understand what Hurog means to me,” I
said tentatively. Her normalcy so contrasted with the picture of her kissing Kariarn's boots, it was hard to believe it was both the same person.

She nodded her head sympathetically. “He'll come around; he idolizes you. After Duraugh is dead, he can put it behind him.” So she hadn't read me enough to know that Duraugh's death was one of the things I hoped to stop by traveling with Kariarn.

Everyone seemed to think that I could just throw away my uncle's life in order to satisfy my own ambitions. I don't know why I cared what Bastilla thought; maybe it was just confirmation of Tosten's opinion that hurt.

“Does King Kariarn know you tried to kill me?” I asked.

She dropped her head so I couldn't see her expression. “That was very bad of me,” she said. Then she met my gaze and laughed. “Did you think you would get away with flirting with Haverness's cow after refusing me? And you suffered. I saw it on your face when Penrod died.” She sounded like my mother talking about her garden. “Poor Penrod. I had thought to use him to kill your wizard, but the opportunity, with us so close to my master, was difficult to resist. He fought me, though. I don't think I could have gotten him to do more than wound you before he broke the hold, but Tosten made that a moot point, don't you think?” She smiled again at the expression on my face and ran her fingertip around the outside of my ear. “I told you that you'd regret how you treated me. But—” There was a repellent eagerness in her eyes. “—if you tell my master, I'm sure he'll punish me. Speaking of whom, I'd better tell him you have awakened.”

Wordlessly I nodded.

She shut the door behind her, but I couldn't tell if she locked it or not.

Oreg appeared sitting in the same place she'd just been. “He told her to make you comfortable.”

I shivered, and Oreg patted my knee the same way Bastilla had. I jerked away, because I hadn't been able to jerk away from her.

“Did Tosten get away?”

“Yes.” He shifted on the bed, not looking at me. “I'm sorry I hit you so hard.”

I remembered what our last words had been, and why Oreg had been upset. “Oreg, I wouldn't let him take the bones if I could see a way around it.”

He nodded his head, not looking at me. “What are you going to do about Duraugh?”

Tosten, Bastilla, and now Oreg,
I thought. It didn't help that the rocking of the boat had begun to make me nauseated. Thoroughly miserable and wanting to hurt him back, I said, “I'll kill him if Kariarn doesn't take care of it for me. He's the last thing standing between me and Hurog. If I have to sacrifice everyone left at Hurog to regain my birthright, well then, I guess that's what I'll do.” I thought he'd catch the sarcasm, but he left instead.
Even Oreg,
I thought,
even Oreg believes me capable of killing Duraugh.

 

THE
NEXT FEW WEEKS
were grim.

If I went onto the deck, I had to talk with Kariarn with Bastilla always nearby. I had to be very careful not to do anything that would tell her I was not Kariarn's ardent supporter. Bastilla, herself, behaved as if nothing had changed, forcing me to do the same.

I'd grown used to being less guarded, and the old cautions learned from my father's treatment sat upon me like a hair shirt. I don't think I could have done it if I hadn't wanted what Kariarn offered so much. It gave me a truth to blind him with.

Kariarn proved his reputation for charm. He asked me soft-voiced questions and listened while I ranted and
stormed about the idiots around me—the way I'd always wanted to rant about them. I told him of my ambitions and how much Hurog meant to me. I even told him about my father. I talked myself so raw that when I went to my cabin and Oreg's accusing silence, I couldn't bring myself to confront Oreg about his assumptions.

His distrust hurt almost as much as the loss of Hurog. Again. I'd resigned myself to it at Silverfells, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt when Kariarn dangled it in front of me.

I stood near the prow one evening, the setting sun on my left sending red fingers out into the darkening sea. The air was chill on the water and blew my hair away from my face.

“You can't make the ship go faster by willing it,” said Kariarn, approaching me from behind.

Nor could I make it any slower. Last night I'd overheard the Seaford-born sail master say we were making good time.

“I'm getting tired of the food,” I said truthfully.

Oreg wasn't speaking to me except when I demanded it. I wondered bitterly if Oreg would tell some long-distant Hurogmeten about Wardwick, who betrayed dragonkind one final time. But Oreg wasn't without companionship. He'd made friends of the shy trillies who lived in the darkest bowels of the ship: I'd seen one of the gray green, ratlike creatures scamper off his lap when I came into our cabin one evening.

It was shortly after that the food began to suffer from rot, rats, and weevils. My blankets were always damp. Rats got into my trunk and put a hole into every garment I owned. I made Oreg repair them. It might have been just ship's luck, but I suspected Oreg or his trillies, who were fully capable of such mischief and weren't bound by the ring to serve me.

“I've spoken to the shipmaster about his food storage,”
said Kariarn amiably. I gave an inward shudder and silent apology to the poor unfortunate. “I've sent a boat out to the
Sea-Singer
to get some supplies so at least we'll have good food tonight.”

There were six ships, including ours. Two hundred fifty men in each ship except for the
Serpent,
which carried a hundred men, the basilisk, and fifty horses (officers' horses—Pansy had been left behind at Buril). Fourteen hundred men, of which about two-thirds were actually fighting men (the rest being cooks, messengers, smiths, grooms, and the like)—so almost a thousand men and a monster to take Hurog. Duraugh had, at best, one hundred twenty, and he was missing Stala and fifty of the Blue Guard.

I kept my gaze on the sea.

“I've always hated to travel by water,” Kariarn said, setting his arms over the railing and leaning out into the wind.

“You get seasick?” I asked, though I hadn't seen any sign of it in him.

“No more than you.” Kariarn grinned. I smiled back. No one knew about the night I'd spent throwing up. Oreg had helped me dispose of the mess quietly, though I'd had to order him to do it. He'd spared no sympathy on a Hurogmeten who'd betray his own. “It's just—” Kariarn said, “that I hate being dependent on something I can't control.”

I laughed and turned toward him. “Me, too.”

“You look sad, sometimes,” he said. “Bastilla thinks that you worry about your uncle.”

I nodded my head. “Sometimes. But he took Hurog from me.” I met Kariarn's eye. If anyone knew about obsessions, it was he. “I cowered beneath my father's hand, gave up my very identity to keep Hurog. I won't let Duraugh take it from me.”

He touched my arm, then after a moment gave me an affectionate shove. “I can't believe that you don't know
where the dragon bones are.” He'd said similar things before, and I gave him the same excuse as always.

“I'd just found out about them myself a few weeks before Bastilla came. Oreg belonged to my father before me.” And his father before him, but Kariarn didn't need to know that. “My father's mishandling of him has made him all but useless to me. It's taken me a long time to get Oreg to trust me with the secrets of Hurog.”

“So you think there are more secrets?” His response was so idle, so harmless sounding, that I had to go over what I'd said in my head to find what had triggered his oh so very casual interest.

Secrets. Plague it. To a man obsessed with magic, secrets meant magic. I'd never get him out of Hurog if he thought there was something else there, especially since there was nothing else to be found.

I nodded my head and gave him the truth. “My grandfather sold all the important stuff—four suits of dwarvenmade mail, every artifact that his wizards could find touched with magic, most of the valuable tapestries—to get Hurog through two bad seasons half a century ago. But according to the keep's accounts, there were two thousand pieces of silver left over. I know my father had access to them from his notes in the account book. There should be almost twelve hundred left, and they weren't in the regular coffers. I'd bet gems to sweetmeat that Oreg knows where it's stored. That would buy enough sheep to start a fair-sized herd. It's sheep that'll restore prosperity to Hurog, you know,” I confided at my usual pace. The expression of interest on his face became fixed, but I continued anyway. “My father and grandfather tried it with horses, but they are labor intensive. You don't get good money out of them unless they're trained. Sheep, on the other hand. . .” I watched the interest die out of Kariarn's eyes as I waxed enthusiastic about sheep breeding.

• • •

OREG
WAS STANDING IN
my cabin when I pulled my shirt off over my head, though I'd been alone when I grabbed the bottom of it.

“You usually abbreviate what you say so that you don't drive people to drink by how slowly you talk, don't you?” He observed. “Did you notice the grip Kariarn had on his knife while you told him about the difference between Northern Avinhellish sheep and Southern Avinhellish sheep?”

It was the longest speech he'd made to me since I'd awakened aboard ship. It made me wary.

“So what do you have planned next?” I asked in mild tones. This evening had been tiring, and I wasn't in the mood to ignore him anymore. “You could have the trillies rot the rope holding up my hammock so it dumps me on the floor tonight.” I'd abandoned the bed for a hammock because it helped hold the seasickness at bay.

His eyes widened at my words, so I tugged hard on the top of my hammock (as opposed to the bottom, which would only dump me feetfirst) and at the second jerk, the hook holding the hammock to the upper deck pulled out of the beam. It was the wood, not the rope that had rotted.

I pulled my clothing trunk over and used it to stand on while I moved the hook to the next board over without saying a word. When I was satisfied the hook would hold my weight, I moved the chest back to where it had been and sat on it. It was time to negotiate. I needed Oreg if I were to save Hurog, so I couldn't afford to sulk anymore.

“I know you don't want to give the dragon bones to Kariarn, but I don't see any way to prevent it,” I said.

“She was beautiful,” he replied obscurely. “Rose and gold with a voice that made the waves leap to her music. And Seleg killed her for fear of losing Hurog. He wept and sorrowed, then justified his actions. He cursed his family even down to this generation, and he justified it because he didn't want to admit he'd been too frightened that he
would lose Hurog to the invaders to try to stop them without the magic he gained from the dragon's death.” Oreg took a small step away from me. “He'd learned by then what killing the dragon meant. The Hurog bloodline was thick with wizards, but Seleg was the last wizard born to your family until your birth.”

I stared at him, remembering little things he'd told me, things Axiel had told me. “That's what drove the dwarves away, wasn't it? Not that the dragon had been killed. If they'd have known that Seleg killed the dragon, the dwarves would have attacked Hurog, and there's no record of it. But the dragon's death did something to Hurog. Something that made the dwarves grow ill and stunted their magic.” Oreg nodded. I took a deep breath. “That's what caused the mines to quit producing and brought salt creep to the best fields. I've seen the records of the crops that used to come from those fields. We bring in less than half of that on a good year.”

“Yes,” whispered Oreg.

I stood up and began to pace. “It's not just the dwarven kingdoms though, is it? I stood on top of the remains of the temple at Menogue and looked down on Estian. It's shrinking and has been for a long time. It's not just Hurog that's become less than it was, but it's spreading from Hurog.”

“Yes,” whispered Oreg again.

“And the curse on the family isn't just that there are no more Hurog mages. I remember my mother when she was happy, but the longer she stayed at Hurog, the stranger she got. Then there is my father.” I remembered what the Oreg I'd dreamed of had told me about Hurog. I said, “Hurog poisons the people who live there. My grandfather had eight legitimate children of whom only two survived childhood: my father and his brother, who were sent out for fostering at a very young age. Ciarra can't speak, and Tosten was suicidal.” The strain of the voyage was telling on my
temper so that the results of that ancient stupidity made me want to hit something.