Lords of the Sky (92 page)

I felt a measure of relief at that, but also a sadness, for I thought some part of his humanity was gone away; and I feared some part of mine must follow, for I had known that glorious sharing in the naked power of the dragons and wondered if I should go down that same path.

I “heard” Rwyan ask,
What of Tezdal?

And Bellek answer,
He’ll do his duty. Wait.

I could not be certain what followed then—a transportation of messages between the dragons that I’d not yet the subtlety of control to properly understand. I knew only that Bellek communicated with the dragons and Tezdal woke as if from drunken sleep.

He raised his head and wiped his eyes, and Peliane’s proud head rose higher, and he said,
The dozijan of Ahn-khem is not the only stronghold.

Bellek said,
No. But the others shall not oppose us.

Tezdal said,
Then the Attul-ki are gone?

Bellek said,
Many of them. Some live still, but there shall be no great magicks sent against us. Neither the Great Coming sent against Dharbek. That dream is ended.

There was a long silence as we circled over Ahn-khem. It was a sorry silence, for all we’d done what we planned to do; or most of it. I wondered why I felt no sense of success or triumph, but only empty, a chagrin that scattered ashes on my soul.

Then Tezdal said,
The Khe’anjiwha resides in his citadel, at Khejimar. Best we go there to present our terms.

His voice was brittle, like a wire drawn too tight.

Rwyan said,
Then do we go there, and settle this matter?

And as he’d done before, as we approached his homeland and his honor’s heart, Tezdal drove Peliane onward in a great rush of wingbeats, as if he’d outfly his destiny. Or hurry to meet it. I knew not which, only that I must ride Deburah after him and be with him, for I think I loved him no less
than she, or Rwyan, or Urt. I surely know that I felt afraid of what I heard in his voice and saw in his eyes.

We came to Khejimar as the sun sank westward. It was Kherbryn built in wood, only the walls that surrounded the city and the Khe’anjiwha’s palace showing any stone. It was a vast sprawling place, the half spread up the sides of a precipitous valley, the rest layering down in wide terraces to the banks of the river that gushed through floodgates and mill-races to the broad stream below. It was all stone-walled, intricate lines of blue and red bricks rising in complex folds about the wooden houses inside to meet the dark gray granite of the palace. That stood aloof over the city, all towers and curving arches. I saw gardens and wide streets, fountains fed by the spilling river water. Mostly I saw wide eyes and gaping mouths as we swept in, adragonback, out of the sun.

There were archers on the ramparts, and they loosed shafts at us. Dragons fell upon the bowmen. Deburah laughed at them, and I laughed at them. How could arrows hurt us? We were the Lords of the Sky: we imposed our will on pain of death.

Power corrupts: I must remember that.
What we did, we did in honest desire for peace; or so I hoped. But I could not deny that feeling: it was too wild, too exciting. It was too powerful as we came down over the ramparts of Khejimar, the taste of the slain Attul-ki yet strong in our mouths, to deliver our terms to the Khe’anjiwha.

They came out to meet us: the Great Lord of all Ahn-feshang, with his retinue behind him. He seemed of Tezdal’s age and wore armor, so that I could not properly read his eyes or face, and around him stood several hundred Kho’rabi knights with swords drawn ready and axes lifted. Behind them were a score of the black-robed sorcerers of the Attul-ki; and behind them, pike-bearers and archers. More along the battlements—those the dragons had not taken in revenge of the shafts fired.

It was not so large a yard as Bellek’s Dragoncastle, which was to our advantage, for it meant that the dragons settling all about dominated the beetle-armored Kho’rabi. And there were riven bodies strewn in bloody pieces about the ramparts that made our point to horrid excess. But still I thought that these were folk not easily given to defeat, but
more likely to fight unto death, in honor of their dream. In honor only.

I must admire such courage: our dragons stood all around us, and likely word had come of what we’d done to the Attul-ki and the dozijan, but still the Khe’anjiwha faced us in full battle armor, with his palace guard behind, and seemed entirely prepared to defy us.

I looked to Deburah, standing at my back, and knew her readiness to fight. From Kathanria I felt Bellek’s eagerness:
End it now! Slay them!

From Urt:
No! Save we must

From Rwyan:
We came to speak of peace. Shall we not do that? Hold back, until we’ve no other choice.

From Tezdal only dismay and horror.

Aloud, I said to him, “You must act the spokesman, my friend, for we’ve not such command of your language.”

He nodded. His face was a mask held in place by effort of will. A pulse throbbed on his temple. He fell to his knees, bowing until his forehead touched the flags. For long moments he remained thus, then the Khe’anjiwha barked an order, for all the world as if it was he who commanded here and not we Dragonmasters. Tezdal rose.

The Khe’anjiwha spoke again, and a man came forward to unlatch his helm, remove the casque, and step back. I had surmised correctly: he was no older than Tezdal, perhaps even a little younger. His face was handsome in the Ahnish way, all planes and angles, with black eyes that studied Tezdal and we others with a mixture of interest and annoyance. Certainly there was no fear there. His hair was oiled and bound back from his face, and there seemed no softness about him. I feared this should prove harder bargaining than with Taerl.

He said, in a voice no softer than his expression, “So those rumors were true—you did not die.”

Tezdal swallowed and would have fallen again to his knees had the Khe’anjiwha not motioned he remain standing. He shook his head and said, “No, Great Lord, my boat was destroyed, but this woman”—he gestured at Rwyan—“saved me.”

The Khe’anjiwha favored Rwyan with a lingering inspection. “The Dhar mage,” he said, “yes. And this is the one named Daviot?”

I met his gaze and answered him as best I could in his own language, “I am Daviot, Great Lord.”

I had the pleasure of seeing his eyes narrow at that. He said, “You speak the tongue of Ahn-feshang?”

I ducked my head and told him, “Tezdal has tutored me, Great Lord. Are we to build a new world, I think we must all learn new languages.”

He said, “Your accent is atrocious. But it intrigues me that you’d understand our tongue. Are you not come to impose yours on us?”

I shook my head. “No, Great Lord. We do not come to conquer—no more than we’ve conquered Dharbek or Ur-Dharbek. We come to speak of peace.”

He laughed then, and I realized that I understood these people hardly at all. There was genuine amusement in his laughter, and the hardness quit his face a moment as he threw back his head, guffawing like any common soldier. Behind him, his retinue sent back polite echoes.

He swept a gauntleted hand in the direction of the dragons and said, “You come astride these creatures across the Kheryn-veyhn to ravage my armada, to sunder the dozijan of the Attul-ki and slaughter my priests, and you tell me you come peaceful?”

I found it hard to understand all this, and Tezdal must interpret for me. When he had, I said, “Great Lord, forgive me, but your language is not yet easy to my tongue. Might Tezdal speak for us? He is one of our number, and one with our enterprise.”

The Khe’anjiwha studied me in silence. Then he looked at Tezdal again, and his eyes grew again cold. He said, “Tezdal Kashijan does not exist. Tezdal Kashijan died when his skyboat fell. His death led his wife down the Way of Honor. More—when word came from our allies that a Kho’rabi knight chose to live as friend to the Dhar, Tezdal Kashijan’s father took the Way, and his mother, for they could neither live with such dishonor.”

I heard Tezdal wail then, and when I turned, he was on his knees, his hands locked about his head. Urt went to him and knelt beside him, holding him. I saw the dragons stir restless and felt their growing anger. I feared new slaughter should commence, and all our dreams fall down in bloody
ruin. I went to Tezdal’s side and bent my knee that I might speak soft and urgent in his ear.

I said. “Tezdal, listen to me! I am sorry, but set your grief aside for now.
You must!
Lest the dragons take offense, and the Khe’anjiwha be slain, and all we’ve planned collapse. You must play your part, or none of this has any meaning.”

He said, “You do not understand.”

I said, “No, but I’d learn. I’d learn about you Ahn and know you well as I do my own people. What else has this been for? Do you fail us now, then all the lives spent are wasted and we are only traitors to our dream. Shall you let that happen?”

He said again, “You do not understand. I am a traitor.”

Rwyan drew closer then and dropped to her knees before Tezdal and set her hands upon his cheeks, lifting his fallen face so that she “looked” directly into his eyes as she said, “Tezdal, I’ll not hear you name yourself thus. Do you heed me, for this hangs on a knife’s edge now. Do we not understand one another, then it shall surely come to fighting. The dragons will attack, and your people will fight. And those Attul-ki will look to destroy me first, for we are all sorcerers, and I shall be the first target of their power.”

He shook his head and answered, “No,” and it was a cry from the depths of a lost soul.

Rwyan said, “Then make this Great Lord of yours understand what we intend, that there be no further bloodshed.”

Tezdal closed his eyes and groaned. Rwyan bent closer, touching her lips to his, and whispered something I could not hear, nor ever asked what. I saw Tezdal sigh, and wipe his moistened cheeks, and climb wearily to his feet. In faltering Ahn (she’d never my facility with language) Rwyan said, “Great Lord, as Daviot tells you—we’ve not such understanding of your tongue that we are able to clearly explain—we need Tezdal as spokesman. Shall you allow that?”

The Khe’anjiwha met her blind green gaze and then let his own travel past to survey the dragons. A fatalistic smile played upon his thin lips. “Have I a choice?”

Rwyan said, “Yes, Great Lord. Do you refuse to listen, then we shall go away.”

Now those proud features displayed surprise, that rapidly swallowed by disbelief. “What do you tell me, lady? That
you’d come here to wreck my people’s dream and go away? That you’d defeat all the might of Ahn-feshang and not take the spoils? You’d go away? No more than that? No tribute paid, no lands taken? Only go away?”

Tezdal translated this, and I answered for us all, “Yes. We do not come to conquer; only to speak of peace.”

The Khe’anjiwha frowned, for the first time disconcerted. Then he said slowly, “This is not easy.”

I said, “No. Peace is always harder than war. War is simple: slay your enemy. It is much harder to name him friend and learn to live with him. But it may be done.”

The Khe’anjiwha stroked his shaven chin. His skin was very smooth. I was minded of my stubble and my doubtlessly unkempt appearance. Also, my stomach began to complain: we had not eaten in a long time.

The Khe’anjiwha granted me a small smile and turned to confer with his retinue. Then he said, “Tezdal Kashijan is dead, but I shall allow this gijan to speak on your behalf.”

I did not know what that term meant, but it was redolent of contempt. Tezdal shuddered like a hound cowed by a ferocious master. The dragons, in subtler ways than mine, understood, and began to shift angrily, readying to attack.

I looked to Bellek and said, “Hold them back!”

And Bellek chuckled and answered me, “They’re yours now, Daviot. Yours and Rwyan’s, and Urt’s and Tezdal’s. You hold them back.”

And we did. We bade them be still, for we spoke with men, who lacked the knowledge of dragons and saw only their own desires, not the greater concerns of the world and the places between, and could not think as dragons do. And somewhat to my surprise, they obeyed us and settled. So that we might—through the gijan, Tezdal—deliver our terms to the Khe’anjiwha and tell him what we’d do, and how the new world should be ordered under the wing shadows of the new Lords of the Sky.

W
e spoke with the Great Lord of Ahn-feshang, the Khe’anjiwha, in that courtyard with our dragons perched all around like harbingers of dreadful retribution, and he listened to us.

We told him—through Tezdal—what we’d done in Ur-Dharbek and in Dharbek. He was not easy of convincing, but the dragons stood emblems of our power, and he was pragmatic in defeat. We sat in his Council chamber, with dragons menacing on the balconies outside, their great-jawed, fanged faces peering in to remind him of our wrath. And he listened. I suppose he had little other choice, save the reaving of his land; and already that dream he’d shared with Tezdal was gone: the skyboats and the braver of the Attul-ki were gone, and so he’d not much more hope of the Conquest.

So perhaps only because of that, he listened, and we told him of our peace, and of the consequences did he argue it. As we did, the dragons filled the paneled chamber with their meaty breath and watched, alert, for sign of danger. And the Khe’anjiwha knew that, and knew that we could slay him, and all his armies, surely as the Lord Protector Taerl had known that irrevocable fact.