Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

Not that he can suffer any more than he already is.

Shade felt an unexpected pang of pity. True, the man was a Dhargot and had probably visited this same agonizing death on others, but his cries rang out in the encroaching night, piteous and shrill—a warning to any who dared defy their prince.

The same prince I intend to ask for help.
Shade straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped out from hiding. He approached with open hands raised. The sentries spotted him at once. The one with the spear leveled it at Shade’s chest while the other fumbled to retrieve a crossbow.

“No need for that,” Shade said in Common-tongue. “I am a friend of Dhargoth… and of your prince.” Hiding the fresh surge of exhaustion it caused, he summoned violet tongues of wytchfire, letting them course along his arms before sending them away. Both sentries backed up, awed. Shade was glad the one had not loaded the crossbow yet, or else he might have shot him by accident.

“My name is Shade, champion of Fadarah, the one you call the Sorcerer-General. I have drank the Red Emperor’s wine and shed more blood than both of you combined, times ten. If you have any sense, you’ll lower those weapons and take me to your prince.
Now.
”

The sentries exchanged glances. The weapons came down. Both men kneeled.

“Your excellency,” one said.

“Great one,” said the other, “we will take you to see Prince Ziraari.”

Shade resisted the impulse to order them back onto their feet, marveling that they would bow before a creature they probably mistrusted and would like to kill, if only for the challenge.

“Good. Be quick about it. The prince and I have urgent business to discuss.”

The sentries exchanged a quick, hushed word. Then the one with the spear said, “Avaaji will take you to the prince, Excellency. I must keep my post.”

Avaaji bowed. “It will be my honor.” He fit his foot into the stirrup and spanned his crossbow before loading a bolt. Then he gestured for Shade to walk in front of him.

Biting back a smirk, Shade shook his head. “After
you
, sentry.”

Avaaji blinked. “Pardon, Excellency, but I must protect you. These lands are dangerous, full of Lochurite berserkers and Noshan raiders. It’s a quarter mile to the prince’s tent. If anything harms you, the prince will see I end up like this one!” He hooked his thumb at the weeping man on the stake beside him.

“Oh, I think this one can watch our backs just fine.” Shade forced a smile and nodded at the other sentry.

The sentry with the spear did not return the gesture. “Please let Avaaji protect you, Excellency. It’s our duty and honor to do so.” He tightened his grip on his spear.

Shade forced a smile. “As you wish.” He took a step. As he was passing Avaaji, he drew his sword, spun around, and flicked his blade over the sentry’s throat. Avaaji’s eyes widened. A gurgle passed his startled lips.

Shade felt a familiar exhilaration within him at the sight of blood. He thought of all those Humans he’d killed years ago to avenge the death of a Shel’ai friend. He thought of all the Humans he’d killed since. Shaking off a rush of bloodlust, he reached out and slapped the crossbow before Avaaji could fire it. The arrow flew by and vanished in the darkness.

The other sentry howled. Shade cursed at the noise. Using Avaaji as a shield, grasping the man by a necklace of dried ears that hung around his neck, Shade raised one hand, fingers splayed. Wytchfire burst forth, catching the other sentry full in the chest, bearing him down.

Shoving a dying Avaaji to the ground, Shade approached the other sentry, scanning for reinforcements. He half expected to see a squad of Dhargots charging toward him. Instead, he saw only darkening, snowy fields.

They probably just thought it was the impaled man screaming.

At that moment, though, the impaled man had fallen silent. Shade wondered if he’d died or was merely stunned by what he’d seen. Shade could not see his face in the darkness as he attended to more pressing matters.

The sentry he’d struck with wytchfire had been badly burned but was not dead. The man fumbled for his spear. Shade stepped on his hand and knelt, pressing the edge of his bloody sword to the man’s neck.

“You meant to kill me. Why?”

The sentry’s painted eyes swam with fear and pain. “The prince gave orders. Kill any sorcerer on sight. He said that himself.”

So much for our alliance.

“You said it’s a half mile to the camp?”

The man tried to look at his own scorched chest to inspect the wound, but Shade pressed with his sword, forcing the man to meet his gaze. The sentry nodded. “Half mile. Lots of guards, though. Palisades and traps, too. I can show you the way, if you use that fancy magic to heal me!”

Shade scanned his surroundings again. “Thank you. But I can manage.” He dragged his sword across the sentry’s throat then wiped it on the man’s sleeve before sheathing it. He heard a whimper from the impaled man. Shade straightened, took a deep breath, and let it go. His breath fogged in the air.

That was too close. This isn’t going to work. I should just get out of here.

He picked up the fallen sentry’s spear and turned in the direction of the camp. As he passed the impaled man, he thrust the spear up under the man’s ribs, as high as it would go, and left it there. He thought he heard the man gasp
thank you
before he died.

Shade shuddered, wishing he had not left his cloak behind.

A night breeze blew a fresh misting of snowfall into Shade’s face as he crept toward the camp. He stopped often to crouch behind a tree and listen for sentries, using his magic to heighten his senses. Twice, exhaustion made him retch. Still, he avoided two more sentries before he almost ran straight into a third. Cursing himself, Shade pressed his fingertips to the man’s forehead just as the Dhargot’s eyes widened and he fumbled for a sword. In his weakened state, Shade could produce only a single jolt of magic straight into the Dhargot’s brain: enough to merely render the man unconscious. Shade caught the man’s body and lowered it quietly to the snowy ground. He hesitated.

If I don’t kill him, he’ll wake up in less than an hour. Or else he’ll be discovered before that. Then again, if I can’t convince Ziraari to help us, I’m never getting out of here alive, anyway.

Shade decided to let him live. He crept on. He was close enough to the camp that the reek of charred meat and filth overwhelmed him. The cold made him curse his own foolishness for discarding his cloak instead of simply turning it inside out to conceal the sigil of greatwolves. Dismissing the magic that heightened his senses, he continued until he spotted a great sea of campfires ringed by a trench and a palisade. He heard more drinking and the protests of savaged women. He touched his sword hilt again.

Despite the foul merriment within the camp, plenty of guards strolled about, armed and armored. A few crude bridges that led over the trench and through gaps in the palisade were heavily patrolled and lit by torches. He considered trying to crawl through the trench and climb the palisade then reminded himself that the trench was probably full of caltrops. The wooden stakes of the palisade glistened in the torchlight, probably smeared with animal fat to make them more difficult to climb.

Shade crouched behind a tree to consider his options. If he’d had time to rest and recover his strength, he might have used his magic to confuse one or two sentries, but that was impossible in his current state. And he had no hope of fighting his way in.

He considered giving up. Then he remembered the sentry he’d incapacitated earlier. He doubled back and found the man still unconscious. Careful to watch for other sentries, Shade stripped off the man’s armor. He fumbled wearily with the buckles and straps, unaccustomed to handling armor—let alone armor that was too big for him. Moments later, though, he figured he made a passable Dhargot. He ungirded his own sword and took the Dhargot’s weapons. He took the Dhargot’s helmet, which was uncomfortable and too big for him, but at least it covered his tapered ears.

So long as nobody looks too closely and sees the color of my eyes, I should be fine.

He returned to the palisade. This time, he forced himself to walk out in the open. He tried to lumber, approximating a Human’s gait. He waved lazily to the sentries as he approached. They hardly acknowledged him. Shade crossed the crude bridge and passed through the gap in the palisade. His heart leapt into his throat, but he forced himself not to slow down or grip his weapon.

“See anything out there?”

Shade turned to the speaker, glad it wasn’t an officer. “Just what I left in the snow. Still out there if you want it, though it’s probably frozen by now.”

The Dhargot laughed and waved him on. Shade quickened his pace, grateful he’d been around Humans enough to emulate their accent. He passed a campfire, beside which two men were drinking wine while a third had his way with a naked, dirt-covered woman. The woman’s eyes were without spark, as though she’d long since given up. One of the men offered Shade some wine. Shade forced himself to smile as he waved them off. As he passed, the woman’s eyes met his. If she noticed their violet color, she gave no indication.

Fighting back pity, Shade made his way through a stinking sea of tents toward the center of the camp. Though he was careful to keep his eyes down in order to avoid eye contact, it was impossible to miss all the standards jammed into the ground. Most depicted the Dhargothi sigil of a dragon impaled on a bloody spear, but others, also done in black and crimson, showed a flexing naked warrior with an enormous phallus. He concealed a sneer.

Ziraari the Potent, indeed.

When he reached a tent thrice the size of the others, wreathed by its own trench and palisade, he knew he’d reached his destination. He circled the tent slowly, pretending to be bound for elsewhere. He counted ten guards—too many to kill. He doubted he could bluff his way in, either.

Cursing, he returned to searching the camp. Soon, he found another tent that was bigger than the others but still smaller than Ziraari’s, with a gaudy standard showing the impaled dragon planted beside a tent flap sewn with brass toggles. Only two guards stood outside.

An officer. A general, maybe.

Nodding, he searched the camp a third time before he found what he needed: a cart heaped with sacks of grain. The cart had already been fixed to a mule but abandoned, as though the driver had wandered off and gotten drunk. Shade climbed into the cart as casually as he could, grateful for the chance to sit, and drove the cart back toward the second large tent. He stopped the cart at the rear of the tent. Luckily, the guards either did not hear him or did not care. Still, he wandered off, in case anybody else happened to be looking.

He waited at least a quarter of an hour then circled back. Using the cart as a shield to block what he was doing, he crouched, drew his sword, and cut his way into the tent. He stepped in, sword drawn. His Shel’ai senses allowed him to see as well as an animal. He spotted a single sleeping Dhargot inside the dark tent. The man was snoring, probably drunk. Shade approached him stealthily, covered his mouth, and cut his throat. The man’s eyes widened.

Sheathing his sword, Shade looked at his hands, shaking in the dark. Then he washed off the blood using a nearby water basin and searched the tent for the dead man’s armor. When he found it, he removed his borrowed armor as quietly as he could and donned the officer’s armor. It looked more impressive but was also more complex, with a frustrating overabundance of buckles. He guessed the general often had extra help. When he thought he had it right, Shade threw a black silk cape over his shoulders and fixed the dragon-shaped clasp beneath his throat.

The general’s helmet was an equally extravagant thing with a high, sharp crest exploding into a weave of black-and-crimson plumes and precious stones lining the nose-guard. The helmet reeked of sweat, but he put it on anyway. Then he slipped out the slash in the tent, back into the camp.

Ziraari’s tent was well lit and smelled of lamp oil and strong wine. A bear of a man, naked and muscular, the prince stood before a table, studying a stack of reports. He did not look up as Shade entered. The guards had not challenged him, but they were still just one shout away. Careful to keep his eyes low, Shade approached the Dhargothi prince, bowed, and removed his helmet. He waited until Ziraari looked up.