Limits of Power (59 page)

“True. But that does not mean dragons will never return. And you—if you told me that you had touched Dragon himself, I would believe you.”

“Why?” Arcolin asked.

“There's something. Your eyes. The scent—though I can see you have a forge here, it's not forge fire I smell on you, but dragon-fire.”

Arcolin's hand clenched on the dragonhead of the ring he'd put on. “So … tell me what you must. I make no promises.”

One of the men came in then with wine, pitcher, wooden cups, and another with a platter of bread, cheese, and sliced meat. They set them on the table and—at Arcolin's nod—poured the wine. Then they left.

The story Samdal told surprised Arcolin except for Perdal's death: dying by someone's blade in a quarrel over a gambling throw seemed appropriate for what he remembered of his least favorite half-brother.

“He'd gone soft, you see,” Samdal said. “Been too long a prince, waiting … and he was not a man to thrive on idleness. Oh, he went to the fighting circle now and then, but he wouldn't listen to his brothers and he always liked his table.”

And his jug, as Arcolin remembered well. Perdal had been a heavy drinker by the time Arcolin left, though back then he had sweated out much of it in the circle and other active sports.

“And now, my lord, Dragon's come again.”

“What?”

“Yes, my lord. Been seen over the mountains. And Camwyn as well: the dragonfriend with the smell of Dragon on him.”

Camwyn Dragonsfriend, or that shape-shifting Dragon himself? Arcolin motioned for Samdal to go on with his tale.

“There's none of Camwyn's blood to do it but you,” Samdal said. “Dragon's a sign that someone must come, must renew the bond. You'd have made a better prince than Perdal; everyone saw that, even back then. You're a man full grown now, experienced in command and in ruling a domain. And descended from Camwyn himself…”

“But I'm oathsworn elsewhere,” Arcolin said again. “I cannot make bond with the dragon and the people if I break my oath somewhere else.” He said it as if explaining it to Samdal and not to convince himself.

Samdal's expression did not alter. “None there is of the dragon's house. What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” Arcolin said. “And to the gods, I'm sure, and to Camwyn Dragonsfriend, who was no oathbreaker. If—” He clamped his teeth on the rest of that. If they had come to him while he was still Kieri's captain, hands of years ago, if he had asked Kieri's advice, as he so often did, Kieri would have freed him from that oath. Kieri might have told him to go back to Horngard, and then—he would have gone.

To return in triumph: was that not every exile's dream? It had been his once. He would show them; he would prove himself; they would be sorry … and now they were, but now he was not a runaway with no name. Now he carried a title, lands of his own. He had his own bond with a dragon—a different dragon, maybe, though who could tell?

He had to tell Samdal, he realized then. Only a dragon's bond would convince the man. Maybe.

“If,”
Samdal said, picking up Arcolin's last word. “If you were not oathbound to your king?”

“And if I were not already oathbound to a dragon,” Arcolin said. Samdal's jaw dropped; he shut it with a snap and said nothing. “You were right to say I had the smell of dragon on me,” Arcolin went on. “And yes, I have touched tongue to a dragon's tongue—not a statue of a dragon, but a dragon himself. I do not know if it is the same dragon, and the dragon said nothing about my past, or about Horngard.”

“But then—but you
must
be—”

“The dragon came to me in my northern stronghold,” Arcolin said. “It was a matter of—” What could he say, how much could he reveal without risking secrets the dragon did not want known? “A matter of land,” he went on. “It demanded land which I held from the king of Tsaia.”

“Why did it not come to
us
?
We
are the dragons' kin, through Camwyn—”

“I do not know,” Arcolin said. “You know the legends as well as I. We do not question dragons' reasons, do we?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“It came to me because those lands were granted me by my king—part of my domain.” Arcolin skipped over everything about dragonspawn, gnomes, treachery. “And in return it granted me a boon. I asked its aid for one of my sergeants, who had been blinded in an attack by a—” He thought how to say it. Samdal would know nothing of Verrakaien—he hoped. “A demon,” he said finally. He could see the questions clustering in Samdal's gaze and hurried on. “It was then it asked me to touch tongues with it, and I did.”

“Have you seen it since?”

“Once,” Arcolin said. “It came with word my sergeant wanted to retire, and it said it had found him a good place. It said nothing, either time, about my being heir to Horngard's throne, or Horngard's need of me, or that our bond related to that bond.” As Samdal opened his mouth to speak, Arcolin held up his hand to forestall him. “What we know of dragons—what our legends say of dragons—whether this was the same dragon you saw or not—it would have known, it would have told me, if it had been Dragon's Will that I return to Horngard.” He realized, in that moment, a vanished hope hidden deep in his heart when the dragon revealed itself, that it had indeed come with such purpose, but he had not allowed himself to be aware of it then.

And that—that alone—meant he lacked the kingliness he had once believed lay in himself. “And I know it touched tongue with others,” he told Samdal. “With the king of Lyonya and his queen, with my king, Mikeli of Tsaia, and his younger brother, the prince.” The prince …
Camwyn
… that thought flared in his mind. Was that just a coincidence? Or could it mean something more? Where had the Mahieran family come from when they came from the south?

“But you—my lord,
you
are heir to a throne yourself; your king will surely release you, when he knows that. Did he not release your former duke? Then he will release you. You are
our
king. You must be.”

“Should one who takes oaths be one who breaks them? Can an oathbreaker hold oaths and give fealty back where it is given him? I tell you plainly, Samdal, I am not your king. There is a reason the gods placed me where they did.” Samdal's hot eyes did not change expression. Arcolin went on. “This is not resentment, Samdal; this is not anger or pride. It is the truth of who I am: I am a soldier. That is all. I serve my king here, as I serve him in the north; my troops and my body will stand between any southern menace and Tsaia in the north. I will not break my oath, or ask for it to be released.”

“But you must—there is no other—”

“There is always another,” Arcolin said. He turned the ring on his finger so the dragon crest was outward, held it long enough for Samdal to see, then wrestled it off his finger. “You knew I had taken my father's gift, the bastard's ring he gave me in case of any need. I give it to you, to take to the Chancellor of Horngard; I have kept it from dishonor all these years. You will find a true king for Horngard; it is not my task. Though I might suggest some places to look.”

“There are no more of your father's get or your grandfather's…”

“There were the daughters—”

“
Women
cannot be dragons' get—”

“Their sons—”

“I tell you there are none!” Samdal shook his head at the offered ring. “Only you.”

“There is Andressat,” Arcolin said. “He and his family follow Camwyn; he has good sons and grandsons.”

“They are not of Horngard,” Samdal said. “Not of the mountains.”

“Perhaps Horngard is of Andressat, far back,” Arcolin said. “You have the genealogies.”

“Andressat will not do … Has a dragon come to him?”

“Not that I know of. But I know he swears by Camwyn's Claw.”

“He is not a king; I have heard much of him. A fussy old man, a mere count—”

“A man of honor,” Arcolin said sharply. “A man of courage and resource. But if you will not have him, if you want a prince born—” No. He must not say it. His oath to Mikeli surely forbade telling a stranger about the prince. But he could tell Mikeli about it later—and certainly Camwyn was everything Samdal would admire. Brave, rash, enthusiastic, and crazy about dragons, according to Mikeli. Almost in love with dragons, in fact … with one dragon, who had allowed him to fly, however briefly, in the dragon's mouth.

“What? You know of a prince born—someone else of the dragon's line?”

“No,” Arcolin said. Samdal squinted at him as if trying to pierce his reticence. “No,” he said again. “But I think Dragon may have touched more tongues than you know.”

“Your king … has a son?”

“King Mikeli has no sons yet,” Arcolin said.

“Then Kieri Phelan, who is now king—”

“Not yet,” Arcolin said.

“But you are not telling me all you know.”

“I am bound to another realm; do you not understand? I cannot tell you all I know, and I do not know all—be reasonable.”

Samdal twisted the ring on his own finger; with the design upright, Arcolin saw that it was the Chancellor's ring, set with the flame-jewel, flickering reds and yellows.

“You're Chancellor now?”

“Aye. My father died two years agone.”

“You could be Regent, then, until you find another to rule.”

“I've been Regent since last fall,” Samdal said. “I'd rather be Chancellor alone. And I beg you: tell me what it is you are hiding from me.”

“You have no right to demand it,” Arcolin said. “I tell you, I am not the heir, and you and the Council—is there still a Council?” Samdal nodded; Arcolin went on. “You should consult the dragon. Since the direct line has failed, the dragon must approve whomever you choose.”

“How?” Samdal said. “I said a dragon had been seen, not that I have talked to it. Am I to stand on the mountain and call?”

Only if he wanted to be scared out of his wits, Arcolin thought. He wondered then why he himself had not been more frightened—startled, yes, but not terrified.

“No,” he said. “But dragons need not be present to know what you need, I've found. They are not like us—well, that is a foolish statement, but … we are used to dealing with beings that look like us, and that we believe think like us in some form. The other Elders—elves, dwarves, gnomes—have each their own laws and customs and languages, but we can understand them, at least mostly. Dragons are so unlike us that—”

“Excuse me, sir.” That was Burek again. Arcolin scowled; it was unlike Burek to interrupt a conference. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but there is another who claims he must visit you, and immediately.”

“A darkish man with yellow eyes?” Arcolin asked, as the hairs stood up on his neck.

“Yes, sir. He would not give a name.”

Of course. His day needed only another encounter with the dragon … and he doubted the dragon had come to bring word of Stammel. Despite the obvious difficulty, a tickle of amusement rose and quirked the corner of his mouth.

“Show him in,” Arcolin said. And to Samdal, “I believe this visitor may have some interest for you.” Samdal stared, brows contracted, as well he might; Arcolin could hear in his own voice a tone of grim amusement that must be puzzling at best.

In the heat of a southern summer, the man who came in still wore what appeared to be dark leather garments more suited to winter in the north. With him came the faint scent of hot iron Arcolin remembered so well. “Count Arcolin,” he said formally, dipping his head, though in a way that conveyed no humility. Arcolin bowed, silently. Samdal's gaze moved from one to the other; his nostrils flared, and sweat suddenly stood out on his forehead.

“Lord Samdal, Chancellor of Horngard,” Arcolin said, with a wave of his hand. Samdal rose and bowed.

“Ah,” the man said. “Of the House of Dragon, then, I believe?”

Samdal's eyes widened. He nodded silently.

“And, Count Arcolin, I see you have in your hand a dragon ring. Where, may one ask, did you come by that? You were not wearing it when I met you in the north.”

“It was given me by my father,” Arcolin said. “I have not worn it since leaving him, until today, when I was told Samdal awaited me.”

“And you didn't show—” Samdal began, but stopped when the dragon turned to look at him.

“I asked you once if you were wise,” the dragon said to Arcolin. “And you claimed no special wisdom. Yet to be of the House of Dragon and not claim that connection … that was wisdom indeed. As, I perceive, was your choice today to bring that ring from hiding.”

“Sir … Camwyn,” Arcolin said, using the name the dragon had used in Vérella. His heart pounded. What if the dragon insisted he accept the throne? Could he gainsay a dragon? This dragon? He searched for a distracting topic. “If I may ask—what of the sergeant?”

“He is well,” the dragon said. “I do not visit often, you understand, but he seems content and is well liked. He would not wish you to know—”

“I do not ask,” Arcolin said. “Only of his welfare, not his location.”

The dragon bowed, this time. “Such care is worthy of you, Count. But now—this ring—”

No help for it, then. “My father was a king, as I believe you know. The Lord Chancellor here tells me other heirs have died, and so he sought me out. But as you know, I am oathsworn to Mikeli of Tsaia and also have responsibilities to…” His voice trailed away; that lay too near what the dragon might wish kept secret. “I told the Lord Chancellor: I cannot accept this honor.”

“And so the ring is no longer on your finger, and you would give it to this Chancellor to be returned to the treasury of Horngard?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. He stared into the flame-golden eyes, hoping the dragon could not see the division in his heart—still that yearning for recognition, still that plea he must not hear, from the boy's heart eager for a throne for the wrong reasons—and the older, harder determination to do his duty without seeking for what could not be his. That side of him had long given up resentment that he would not be king.