The Grand Crusade (11 page)

Hlucri brought his right arm back and hurled the half-eaten carcass out into the cavern. Feathers trailed in its wake and floated softly down as the body plummeted into the depths. It missed one of the runoff streams by several yards, but another clutch of frostclaws fell on the body and tore it to pieces in seconds.

Isaura turned to face thesullanciri. She rested her fists on her hips. “Doing that sort of thing is not going to make you very popular around here. I can understand your being hungry, but you can’t just kill things and eat them whenever you wish.”

“Hlucri asks, someone else kills?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Time wasted.”

“What did Nefrai-kesh do to you?”

Thesullancirismiled. “Made Hlucriyourservant.”

That struck her as odd. Nefrai-kesh had always been thesullanciriwho cared the most about her. He brought her gifts and told her of the world, but even so, he had been distant. He hid behind his masks.And now the mask he wears is theskin of this Panqui.

“Well, if you aremyservant, then please, no more needless killing. Some things are raised for food, and some for other work.” She pointed off deeper into the cavern. “That tunnel leads off to mines and foundries. Our smiths might not turn out the fine work of urZrethi or elven metalworkers, but their steel is a match for anything a man has done. If we had silver and gold, I have no doubt our smiths would excel at working it, too.”

Hlucri nodded. “South-riches come soon.”

“Yes, they will.” Isaura again felt she should have been pleased by that prospect, but she was not. The south had yielded crops in abundance before the war, and the new year should bring even more as the conquered lands were farmed. It did strike her as odd that her mother had not yet organized groups to go out and colonize those areas, since the human population would have fled before the armies. It could have been that she intended the armies themselves to turn farmer, but doing that would make them vulnerable to attack.

Hlucri’s suggestion that plunder would be flowing north seemed right, but she was unaware of anything coming back from the south. In fact, the only plunder she knew of were the fragments of the DragonCrown her mother had liberated from Fortress Draconis. Her mother needed them to destroy the Crown and free the dragons, but wouldn’t bringing other things back make sense, too?

Then it struck her: her mother feared the corruption of the south. In Aurolan, where everyone had a purpose and those things they needed, baubles would be nothing but trouble. The glint of gold, the glow of a gem could cause strife as those who coveted such items sought to possess them. The delicate balance that made life in the north possible would be destroyed by the southern wealth.

That explanation made perfect sense to her. Up above, across the valley from the fortress, stood the Conservatory. Neskartu, before his death at Nawal, had taught students from the south how to wield great magicks. They had all been housed in the Conservatory and Isaura though it was so they could concentrate on magick, but the truth of it dawned on her now. They had been isolated so the southern influence could not bleed into the Aurolani population.

Then she looked back into the cavern and realized how hollow that reasoning was.Grichothkaand vylaens were her mother’s subjects. The latter were not stupid at all, but the former were simple creatures who required vylaens to lead them. While a shiny bit of metal might attract a gibberkin’s eye, it would not be more valued if it were gold than silver or just bright copper. The vylaens might see more value in things, but their minds ran to magicks, and their pleasures

were derived from them.

What is my mother doing? Isaura knew the history of the south’s trying to destroy her a generation previous. The Norrington Prophecy certainly posed a threat, but how much of one? Would the southern kings have risen against her if she had not sent troops into their lands? And now, with the Norrington dead, why would she continue a war that the south could not win?

Isaura staggered back a step, then suddenly found herself scooped up in Hlucri’s arms. She wanted to command him to set her down and never touch her again, but the gentleness with which he held her helped counter the empty

feeling she had inside.

/thought I knew my mother, but it seems I do not. Does that mean Iamthe one who will betray her? She shivered.Or has she betrayed herself?

Isaura laid a hand on Hlucri’s shoulder. “You may put me down. Thank you.”

“Your servant.” Thesullanciriset her on her feet, but did not remove his hands until she was steady. “No harm to you.”

She caressed his green-and-black cheek. “I believe you, but there is no one who can stand against she who could do me the most hurt.”

Had she desired to do so, Alexia could have been seated with the Okrans delegation to the Council of Kings. She knew her place was there, and dearly wished to support her grandfather. She would have done exactly that save that the old man appeared even more diminished in the wake of his nation’s liberation. She could not imagine how he clung to life, but while he did, Grand Duchess Tatyana served as his voice in the Council.

Tatyana would not have tolerated Alexia’s joining the Okrans delegation because Alexia insisted that Crow be given a place by her side. Alexia really didn’t think Crow would come to listen, but she had made it known that a seat for him was the condition of her joining her family. Regrets that she and her companions could not be afforded seating were advanced, so Alexia instead sat with the Alcidese faction and no one seemed to attach any import to that shift.

As ministers rose to make preliminary remarks thanking King Fidelius one more time for hosting them, Alyx wished she could have been with Crow and well away from the large chamber. Crow had very much taken to writing his memoirs. While it seemed tiring work, and left his fingers stained with ink, he was happier in doing it than she’d seen in ages. His pleasure brought her pleasure, which made the councils endurable.

Many others in the room looked miserable, with long expressions mocking the bright smiles pictured in the murals. She glanced quickly at Prince Erlestoke. He still wore his black mask, but sat at his father’s right hand. He did not look overjoyed to be there, but listened intently to all that was being said. After the sessions they would meet to brief Resolute and Crow, and Alexia had found Erlestoke’s insights to be sharp and incisive.

The last minister seated himself, and King Fidelius stood at the table strung with Saporicia’s blue-and-red banner. He hugged his right arm across his chest,

clutching at the elbow of his ruined arm. “I have had grave news from the north which I am sorry to have to share with you all. Caledo has fallen. King Bowmar is dead. There is no word from his son, Bowmar, no word of other members of the royal house.”

Alexia’s skin tightened with gooseflesh. Princess Sayce had been left behind at Nawal less than a week before. The army besieging it had been destroyed by a dragon, but the larger army attacking the nation’s capital, Caledo, had its own dragon. The city’s fall was inevitable, but she hoped some of the royal family had survived.Without their leadership

The Saporician monarch’s brown eyes tightened. “Refugees are already streaming over the border. We are organizing the fleeing troops to strengthen my fortresses, but dragonels will sweep them away. The peasantry is being brought along as quickly as possible, but I have neither the space nor the resources to deal with the disaster. They are coming south with nothing but the clothes on their backs. A greater catastrophe than the fall of their nation will occur if we cannot deal with this problem.”

A buzz ran through the council chamber as ministers and their masters bent heads in discussion. Alyx felt certain more people were discussing the portents of Muroso’s collapse than plans to deal with the refugees. As much as she hated that fact, she knew it was natural. Their primary concern would be stopping their own nation’s fall, and putting food in the mouths of Murosan peasants wasn’t going to accomplish much in that regard.

King Augustus rose slowly. “Within the hour orders will be communicated to Yslin to send supply ships here. They will arrive by afternoon tomorrow, good wind and Tagothcha willing. I will send more relief by land, but it will take longer to get here.”

King Scrainwood smiled. “Ships already laden with supplies? Are you prescient, brother, or would this have been enough to feed an army?”

Augustus’ expression darkened. “Is there anyone here who did not anticipate this turn of events? King Fidelius has said he expects his border fortresses to be destroyed. No single nation has been able to stand against the might of Chytrine and, indeed, only in Okrannel, where a coalition force fought, were we successful in opposing her.”

“I meant nothing by that, Augustus, other than a clever play on words.” Scrainwood rose and adjusted his green mask. “I know these are tense times, and I regret that any attempt at levity is met with suspicion. I, too, shall give orders to have supplies sent overland. In two days we should have relief coming from Meredo. Those refugees that enter my nation shall be welcomed, as will any you wish to divert to Oriosa, Fidelius.”

The Saporician king nodded. “You are both gracious. I know, Augustus, you

did not intend to impugn the reputation of Saporician warriors. Your kind offer

of help in fighting Chytrine has been noted, and I will call upon you as needed.“

Augustus would have protested, but Tatyana rose to her feet. She made a

Queen Carus nodded. “I shall order General Adrogans to appear before us to report on the Okrans situation.”

Scrainwood clapped his hands. “Splendid. Now, Grand Duchess, does this ease your nephew’s concerns?”

The old woman nodded. “It pleases him, yes.”

“And you, King Fidelius, will you let Jeranese and Alcidese troops enter your nation to defend it? Would that invitation be extended to the troops of any other nation that wished to aid you?”

The incongruity of Scrainwood’s crafting a compromise left Alexia cold, but not as cold as Fidelius’ reaction to those questions. The Saporician king had never been a big man, but he seemed to shrink a little. To allow foreign troops into his nation was to admit his own troops could not stop Chytrine. That was a reality and everyone in the room knew it, but to concede the point was to admit that his nation was helpless. Just as it could be imagined that Adrogans might never give up Okrannel, it could be imagined that the southern half of Saporicia could fall to Alcida and never be ruled by the Saporician royal house again.

A greater reality impinged as well. By allowing troops to enter Saporicia, Fidelius was letting his nation be chosen as the battleground where Chytrine would be stopped. Whether she was or not, the damage done to Saporicia would be incalculable. Armies on the prowl seldom respected rights or laws, so his allies could do as much damage as Chytrine’s troops. Just the demand for firewood would lay waste to forests that supplied the world’s best shipyards. Villages and towns would cease to exist, and if Chytrine had other, more terrible weapons to deploy, whole swaths of the countryside could be despoiled and remain so for centuries.

Against the threat of certain annihilation those considerations might have paled, but Fidelius would always be haunted by the question ofwhat ifhis troops had held? Could his nation have been saved? Could it have saved itself? Was there a way to avoid the misery the war would bring to his people?

Conflicting emotions played over the king’s face. His lower lip quivered, and he seemed on the verge of giving an answer when Scrainwood’s voice, soft and serpentine, slithered into the chamber.

“You must agree, my brother, for the Norrington is no more.”

That whisper shook Fidelius as if he’d been slammed in the chest with a dragonel ball. “Yes. You are all welcome. Come. Save us all.” His words, delivered quietly—seeming more a prayer than an answer—drifted through the hall like mist.

Even Scrainwood respected the silence that followed. The Oriosan king sat slowly and his face betrayed no feeling. Alexia felt a hollow pang herself as the despair in Fidelius’ voice sank into the hopeless void opened by Scrainwood’s comment. That void closed quickly, however, as sound crept slowly back. Around the chamber crowned heads spoke with military advisors. Heads nodded and shook. Ministers made notes.

One by one, the leaders of the world’s nations rose and pledged troops. Some, from faraway places like Valicia, Malca, and Regorra likely would never make it in time to be of use. Other units, from closer nations that had to worry about Chytrine, were not much storied or tested. Even taking those things into account, however, the forces gathering would be considerable and, properly led, might be enough to stop Chytrine.

Augustus rose. “I thank all of you, my brothers and sisters, for your willingness to send your warriors to shed blood here. Twenty-five years ago we faced this same threat and failed to deal with it bravely or directly. Chytrine’s evil has festered in the world for too long. We must not lose heart this time. She must be stopped. Shewillbe stopped.”

Even Alyx felt her pulse quicken at Augustus’ words. Cheers and applause rang out from all the delegations. Even her grandfather seemed to rouse himself from his stupor to clap twisted hands. That brought a smile to her face, and it would have remained there save for a glance toward King Fidelius.

As all the others celebrated, he scrubbed his good hand over a very pale face. Others might see the tears smeared over his cheeks as being born of relief or joy, but she knew better. He was already mourning those who would die and Alexia bowed her head to join him, silent within the jubilant din.

With the sky cloudless and bright blue, and the sun shining ferociously, it might have been possible for Markus Adrogans to imagine spring had arrived early in Svarskya. The carpet of snow covering the landscape and the frosty air that steamed his breath argued against this, but he had a feeling the winter would lose its grip sooner rather than later. He had made contingency plans to deal with an early spring and would be happy to employ them.