Stone Dragon (The First Realm) (19 page)

“Somebody’s been hitting the weights,” Dinendal said. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I’m Veryan. I’ve been waiting to take down a smug bastard like you.” He flexed his arms and the veins popped. “I’ve been lifting and running for years. Nobody can match my strength and stamina!”

“I hope you’ve put as much time into your bladework, or this will be short.”

Veryan grinned. He drew his weapons, a short sword and buckler. “Captain, I will beat your arse and wipe that smile off your face!”

“Not with the same hand, I hope. Just attack already.”

Veryan charged. He was shockingly fast. The captain didn’t move at all. At the last moment he blinked away and Veryan slammed into the fence. The crowd laughed. Dinendal had reappeared in the center of the arena. He still hadn’t drawn his swords.

“Are we fighting for points?”

Veryan roared and came in swinging, but each time found only air. Dinendal teleported effortlessly from each attack, sometimes reappearing
behind
the sword stroke so it seemed to have passed through him. The crowd gasped. Plenty of elves could teleport, but few could do it so precisely or so often. Veryan tried to get the captain with the backswing but Dinendal got behind Veryan and tapped on his shoulder.

“HYAA!” Veryan said, turning and striking at once. The sudden inrush of air told him the captain had blinked away again.

A sweating Veryan raised his guard and stepped forward. He made a half-hearted swing—and was shocked when steel met steel. Dinendal had drawn a sword and parried Veryan’s blade.

“Well, this
is
a swordfight,” the captain said. He drew his other sword and widened his stance. “No more teleports!”

He unleashed a dazzling attack, a flurry of slashes and cuts that pushed Veryan back and made the crowd gasp. Dinendal’s twin sabers flashed and weaved. No one could see an opening in his defense. Veryan fought desperately, trying to regain the initiative. He led with his buckler, the small shield like a metal fist. The blow would have ended the fight, but Dinendal sidestepped and kicked him in the head. Then the captain flicked out a sword and caught his arm.

“I have first blood,” he said.

Veryan stumbled back. The captain was playing with him and he knew it. He decided to taunt the man. “You should be in the royal guard!” he said, grinning. “So why aren’t you?”

“I like where I am,” Dinendal said.

“Maybe you’re as common as mud!” Veryan said, and a sword hilt hit him in the temple and he crashed to his knees. It was all he could do not to pass out. Dazed, he cried out as his weapons were slapped away and another pommel cracked two ribs. The air rushed from his lungs and he fell on his face, gasping. A booted heel broke his back and a kick broke his jaw. Veryan saw his teeth on the sand and then he blacked out.

“Healers here!” Dinendal said.

“Damn,” the sergeant said. “That’s going to take all night to repair.”

“He’ll live,” the captain said, accepting a cup of water. He scanned the crowd and saw that the guardsmen had gone pale. “Who’s next?” he called out.

Chapter 21

“Those were the shortest officer trials in decades,” the sergeant said as the crowd dispersed. “Did you have to be so thorough?”

Dinendal sipped something stronger than water. “There’s always next year. It’s not like we’re at war.”

“Can I have your autograph, Dinny?”

“Sure, I—
Roddy?!
”

I hugged my childhood friend. It might have been strange for Heronimo and Mina to see me embrace such a brutal swordsman, but I’d grown up with Dinendal. We’d bloodied each other’s noses often enough that I had no fear of him.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “So you finally tore yourself from your studies?”

“Yes, finally,” I said. “I’ve come home.”

I stepped away and motioned to my companions. “This is Mina and Heronimo. I couldn’t have gotten here without them.”

“Roddy always did make interesting friends.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you adventurers, by any chance?”

“We are,” Heronimo said. “I am searching for the man who killed my parents. Like you, he is a dual-wielder of great skill. I have trained twenty years to meet him as equals.”

“A worthy cause. And you, my dear? Are you also seeking vengeance?”

Mina looked a little awestruck—Dinendal was handsome, even for an elf. “Actually, I was just bored.”

Dinendal laughed. “Well, and who hasn’t wished for more excitement?”

We swept out of the citadel and into the city, talking the whole time.

Corinthe much resembled Drystone in design and beauty. Like the capital, the northernmost elven city had wide roads, spacious walkways, and graceful street lamps. There was one main difference, however:

“Angrod, it’s snowing, isn’t it?” Mina asked. The flakes were drifting down. “Then why don’t I see any of it on the ground?”

She crouched. The streets were paved with red tiles. Whenever a snowflake touched one, it began to melt. She looked up at the roofs—they too were covered in red tiles. Downspouts conveyed the meltwater to the gutters.

“It’s as if it were merely raining,” she said.

“That would be the vinyrral tiles,” I said. “They stay the same temperature as long as they’re connected. Go ahead, touch one.”

Mina pulled off a glove and touched a line of tiles. “It’s hot!” she said.

“The tile network stretches deep underground, where the earth is molten. In the summer they reroute the circuit to tiles at the bottom of the sea, so Corinthe is comfortable year-round.”

“Amazing!” Mina said.

“We aren’t like you dwarves, who don’t notice the weather underground,” said Dinendal. “Neither are we like you humans, who don’t notice the weather at all.”

We walked past a park where two sets of tiles had been places so that some parts were grass and others sparkling snow. We paused to watch children make a snowman. When it was complete they carried it to a heated lawn to watch it slump.

“I’m melting! Melting!” said a young elf.

“Oh, what a world, what a world!” said another. “You’ve KILLED MEEE.”

“Kids and their games,” Dinendal said. “Takes me back.”

We passed through the Old Quarter, which enjoyed trade with the northern human cities and the nearby capran capital. I’d always wondered how close Zith’ra was, but I’d never imagined the two cities were on top of one another.

Though I had recently passed through similar streets, it was still good to see my fellow elves. They shopped for furs and enjoyed themselves in the wine houses and pubs. It was the beginning of winter but many windows boasted flowers in vinyrral planters.

“It’s good to be home,” I said.

“You’re not there yet,” Dinendal said, and it was a few minutes before we arrived at my ancestral house.

* * *

All the mansions in the Palace Quarter were impressive, but Veneanar Castle trumped them all. It had a moat, for one thing—a vast reflecting lake over which it seemed to float. Next to
that
, all the other homes seemed too small and close together.

“You live in a castle?” Heronimo asked.

“Grew up in one,” I said. “The castle itself is one of the oldest buildings in Corinthe.”

“I can make out stonework,” Mina said. “I thought elves didn’t use masonry.”

“It was built by the earliest elves. They hadn’t mastered magic and the crystal laminate was added later. All this land was ours before it was the Palace Quarter.”

We walked down the bridge to the gatehouse, where I called out, “Uncle Erumaren! Auntie Marilla! I’m ho-oome!”

Something stirred, and then an ancient elf peered down from the parapet. “Why, it’s Master Angrod! Come and see, Marilla!”

An equally ancient woman stuck her head between two merlons. She goggled at us. “Why, so it is! Welcome home! Welcome!”

They bustled down the stairs. They raised the first portcullis and opened the massive main gate, which swung soundlessly inward.

“It’s good to see you again, young master!”

“Thank you, uncle,” I said, shaking his hand. “I see you’ve kept the gates well-oiled.”

“But of course,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.”

He led us into the passage. Aunt Marilla dashed forward to embrace me. “Oh, Master Angrod, I thought I’d never see you again!”

I hugged her. “I always said I’d come home, and I have. These are my friends.”

We made our introductions and the caretakers raised the second portcullis. We walked into the castle courtyard.

It was like walking into a field. Grass grew thickly between the paving stones. There were flowers, and field mice, and a hawk that preyed on the field mice. It nested in one of the trees. That’s right,
trees
. They stood in the southwest corner, a little grove where the guards had once drilled.

“We kept your rooms like they used to be, milord,” said Uncle Erumaren, “but as per your orders the rest of the castle is untouched.”

“I didn’t want to overwork you,” I said. “It took a small army to maintain this place. The dusting alone was a full-time job.”

“Will you be staying long?”

“As long as I can,” I said. My two retainers didn’t catch the note of sadness—they started talking among themselves.

“Is there enough food and drink in the buttery? The young master will require fine wines and meats!”

“I haven’t gone shopping yet!”

I handed them my purse. “Please buy whatever you need with this,” I said. “I will go and inspect my chambers.”

“Ooh, he’s acting all lordly,” Dinendal said. “Did living in Drystone do that? Was it all the fish?”

“Are you related?” Mina asked.

Dinendal smiled. “We grew up in this same castle. As for being related, I wouldn’t know—I never had any relatives. Angrod’s aunt took me in as a baby and made me the stable boy.”

“I’m sorry.” Mina said.

“Don’t be. I learned a lot about horses.”

I walked into the household apartments, which were just as I remembered. Lots of heavy furniture, red velvet, and marble busts. Loads of gilt-frame paintings and weapons on the walls. Apparently my ancestors never wanted to be more than a few feet from a mace or battle-axe. In a pinch, you could use the sculptures in a fight.

“I like the décor,” Heronimo said. “Very cozy.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Mina said. “It’s like this place never knew a woman’s touch.”

“Actually, these used to be Aunt Arcalima’s apartments. She sure loved her heirlooms.”

We wandered the rambling old place. Much effort had gone into making it livable but there was no disguising its original warlike purpose. The only natural light was from arrow-slits. The chandeliers hung from murder holes.

“Those are
massive
light fixtures,” Mina said.

“They’re designed to drop onto intruders,” I said. “That’s why the spikes.”

“Oh,” she said. She and Heronimo took a few steps to the side.

“You can see why I wanted to get away,” I said. “House Veneanar has always produced administrators and military leaders. Laid-back types like me, not really.”

“And yet you have returned,” Dinendal said.

“A man ought to die at home, in his own bed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You seem healthy from where I’m standing.”

“You might want to sit down.”

We found the main hall and sat at the long table, where I once again recounted the events leading to that moment. We’d found my aunt’s liquor stash and were enjoying ice wine, a Corinthe specialty. It tasted like candy.

“So this dragon is going to take over your body and erase your mind like a blackboard? And you’re going to let him?”

“Pretty much. I can’t do anything to threaten him.” I described how Cruix was like a spreading infection. “As it is, he’s content to let the process happen gradually. He says it’s inevitable and I believe him. Fighting would only shorten my remaining time.”

“What can we do?”

“Just stay out of his way. He only wants to go into the wilderness, away from humanoid civilization.”

“How much longer—?” Mina asked.

I took a sip of wine. “Days.”

Uncle and Auntie arrived with a huge roast ham, a wheel of Corinthan cheese, and loaves of good white bread. The ham dripped with maple syrup and the cheese was fresh and strong.

“My favorite foods,” I said. “Uncle, Auntie, please join us.”

“We wouldn’t presume,” Uncle said. “Marilla and I have our own dinner waiting at the gatehouse. Please don’t hesitate to ring.” And they bowed out of the great hall.

“There go some perfect house elves,” said Dinendal, shaking his head. “And to think I almost became a butler.”

“Instead you became a swordsman, and a good one,” Heronimo said.

“They didn’t make it easy. My first and second choices were royal guardsman and combat mage, but you need a pedigree for either of those. As a foundling, I had to make do with the city guard.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I said.

“The regular army calls us weak-end soldiers.” Dinendal took a drink. “They also call us the Teatime Army, because we’re always home in time for tea.”

He took another drink. “The royal guard gets better pay and better equipment. Anybody with the tiniest bit of pull signs up with them. The city guard, meanwhile, is full of the old and the weak. The shabby and the shoddy. We’re the dregs
under
the barrel.”

“But you’re one of the best swordsmen I’ve ever seen!” Heronimo said.

“Too right I am,” Dinendal said. “Unfortunately, people think I have halfling blood. It’s in the ears, see? Not quite as pointy.”

I looked at my friend. His clothes fit him so well they had to be tailored. Expensive, but not obviously so, which made them even more valuable. “You seem to do okay,” I said.

“I find side jobs. I still wouldn’t have a regular job if ancient law didn’t call for a militia.”

“How did you learn your skills?” Heronimo asked.

“I was Angrod’s sparring partner. Took it much more seriously than he did, let me tell you. Later I met as many masters as I could. I learned a trick here, a technique there. I never had a proper teacher, but studied constantly.”