The Hungering Flame (13 page)

The dragon bowed its head, shutting its golden eyes. The rider lifted his hands high and cried out in a voice that trembled with arcane power,
“
Desaerath velu’teirawe nohk atherel!
”

Garrett felt a pulse of power as though someone punched him in the chest. At the same moment, the stones of the fountain in the courtyard cracked with a loud retort. People screamed as the antlered head of the carven stag broke free and fell with a splash into the pool below. Garrett looked down to see cool water rushing over the toes of his boots, spilling from the cracked rim of the fountain pool.

“
Dasaerath velu’vendaugre nohk branaa!
”
the rider shouted, and the dragon shrieked out a cry full of rage and sorrow that shook the city walls.

Garrett clamped his hands over his ears, unable to look away from the dragon’s terrible face. Tears of molten fire streamed from its eyes as it shook its head from side to side, roaring as though in mortal agony.

The prince staggered against the wall, his knees buckling beneath him. Even the broad-shouldered Sir Baelan slumped with one gloved hand over his face, the other braced against stone.

The dragon’s roar died away into a rattling hiss, but the silence that followed now filled with cries of terror. Cabre yelled, pulling his hands away from the wall. They were covered in blood. The look of horror on the prince’s face mirrored that of everyone else in the courtyard. Garrett’s stomach lurched at something half-remembered, a thing he had thought only a grim fantasy, a false memory of the day his own city had died.

From the ground below, dark beads of red dew formed on the paving stones and trickled up the walls toward the sky, defying the rule of nature. Every stone now glistened with blood, drawn by dark magic to stain the silver city red.

Cabre’s face twisted in disbelief and terror as he stared down at his bloody hands. Garrett seized him by the tunic and shook him.

“
It’s only magic!
”
Garrett shouted,
“
It’s just a spell!
”

Cabre looked at him, uncomprehending.

Garrett pulled hard, dragging the prince to the edge of the broken fountain.
“
Just wash it off!
”
Garrett said,
“
Wash your hands.
”

Prince Cabre fell to his knees in the spilling water and thrust his hands down into the churning pool, scrubbing them frantically. Others nearby did the same, until the water ran pink.

“
Come, Sire!
”
Sir Baelan shouted, grasping the prince by his shoulder. He drew back his hand at once, staring down at the bloody handprint on the shoulder of Cabre’s tunic.

Cabre took no notice of the stain but rose to his feet, dragging Garrett with him. The prince looked around at his people. They screamed and wept and buried their faces in their hands and cried out to him for help. Cabre’s eyes grew hopeless and desperate.
“
My father...
”
he said.

“
Come, Sire,
”
Sir Baelan said, and the prince followed with Garrett at his heel.

They looked up once more as the dragon barked out three short, guttural
roars
. The dragon rider cried out again,
“
Embrace the light of Malleatus and be cleansed. Purify your hearts and receive glory eternal. Defy this destiny, turn your back on the light, and you will be purged from history.
”

The dragon released its grip on the tower and fell away, catching itself in the air with a beat of its great wings. It climbed skyward, lashing out with its long tail to knock the top from the white tower. It flew away toward the
E
ast, even as the tower crumbled and crashed into the buildings below.

They ran through the streets of Braedshal, rushing past red-stained walls and terrified faces. Soon a contingent of blue-liveried knights closed protectively on either side, running with them as the prince followed Sir Baelan into the keep.

Once through the doors of the castle keep, a semblance of calm and normalcy returned. The prince and the knights slackened their pace to a dignified jog. Servants scurried to make way, kneeling hastily on sight of the prince. Garrett took in what he could of the castle hall, tapestries and torches and long oaken tables set with polished silver. Then they were in a long, dimly lit corridor, and next up a narrow spiral staircase that echoed with the jingling of mail hauberks.

“
Your father’s in the war hall,
”
Sir Baelan said as they reached the upper landing and started down a short corridor lined with doors,
“
Be wary. His mood has grown dark of late.
”

“
Thank you, Baelan,
”
Prince Cabre said,
“
I bring news that I hope will cheer him.
”

“
I hope you’re right. What of your friend?
”
Baelan asked,
“
Shall I take him to quarters?
”

“
He’s with me,
”
Cabre said,
“
My father would speak with him as well.
”

Garrett
went suddenly cold at the prospect of speaking with the king. He
started to protest, but held his tongue. Cenick had trusted him to see this through.

They paused before a heavy door, flanked by two large men in polished mail armor. Each guardsman wore a s
word
on his hip and leaned a hooked poleax in the crook of his arm.

“
Prince Cabre to see the King,
”
Sir Baelan said,
“
He has a... guest as well.
”

The guardsmen’s eyes fell on Garrett, and he cringed inwardly at their hard looks.
“
Weapons,
”
one of the men said.

“
Of course,
”
Cabre answered, drawing his longsword from its scabbard and passing it to Sir Baelan. He looked at Garrett who hastily pulled the dagger from his own belt and handed it over to the big knight.
Baelan
eyed the curved Neshite blade critically but said nothing.

“
Oh,
”
Garrett said, unslinging his shoulder bag and handing it to the knight,
“
this too.
”

Sir Baelan hefted the leather satchel, giving a puzzled look as the essence flask within sloshed heavily. Garrett opened his mouth to explain, but thought better of it and remained silent.

“
Thank you, Sire,
”
one of
the guardsm
e
n said with a slight bow. The two men reached at once and pulled open the double doors, admitting them within.

Garrett followed the prince into the dark, low-ceilinged chamber beyond. Sir Baelan and the two guardsmen waited outside, closing the door behind the visitors.

The only light came from a tallow-lamp chandelier, hanging above a broad, circular table, the center of which was a bowl-like depression, filled with white sand. Little hills and valleys formed a miniature landscape in the sand, and wooden blocks, painted in red and blue, lay, half-buried in the sandy mounds. Above it all leaned three old men, all looking at the newcomers, their faces lined and humorless. All three wore chainmail shirts, belted at the waist with broad leather belts. Only the centermost man wore a sword and on his brow, a crown of hammered steel.

“
My wayward son returns!
”
the king said, straightening his back as he stepped away from the table, his face falling into shadow. The king’s face bore some resemblance to Cabre’s youthful features, but seemed more a rough and imperfect carving by an unskilled artist who had failed to capture the graceful lines of the son’s face. His short beard, shot with gray, hardened the edges of his jaw and leant a terrible weight to his stern expression.

“
Father, forgive my absence,
”
Cabre said, falling to one knee,
“
I bring glad news.
”

Garrett hastily threw himself to his knees beside the prince on the floor, bowing his head low. He looked up to see a flash of rage in the King’s eyes.

“
What have you brought into my presence?
”
the king demanded.

“
Father, this is Garrett, a Gloaran emissary,
”
Cabre said, a faint trembling in his voice,
“
Garrett, this is my father, King Haerad of Astorra.
”

“
A pleasure to...
”
Garrett managed to say before he was cut off.

“
Leave us!
”
King Haerad said.

The two advisors hastened to leave, their mail shirts jingling as they trotted past Garrett and the prince toward the door.

Once the door had closed again, the king spoke,
“
Stand up... both of you!
”

Prince Cabre and Garrett got to their feet.

“
What are you playing at, boy?
”
King Haerad shouted.

“
Father...
”
Prince Cabre began.

“
Where are your knights?
”
Haerad demanded.

Cabre hung his head.
“
Dead, Sire.
”

King Haerad snatched a blue wooden block from the rim of the table and hurled it to the floor, splintering it.
“
What did you hope to accomplish by this madness?
”

“
Father, I...
”

“
This is what you bring me in place of good men?
”
the king leveled his finger at Garrett,
“
They died for this?
”

Garrett trembled, unable to speak or hold the king’s gaze.

“
We need help!
”
Cabre said,
“
I found...
”

“
How dare you!
”
Haerad shouted. The king closed the distance to his son in three strides and backhanded the boy across the face so hard that the sound of it echoed through the dark chamber.

Cabre reeled, clutching his bleeding face with his hands. Haerad turned on Garrett, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“
Who are you? What do you hope to gain from this?
”
Haerad growled.

Garrett’s voice shook when he spoke,
“
Forgive me, King... Sire,
”
he stammered,
“
My people want... we need your help.
”

A sneer curled Haerad’s lip.
“
The Chadiri burn out your hives, and desperately you look for salvation anywhere you can. Maggot-lovers. The world will be a better place when you’re gone.
”

“
He saved my life!
”
Cabre shouted, his fingertips still touching his broken lip.

King Haerad looked at his son with disgust, and turned away.
“
Pawn,
”
he muttered,
“
You let yourself become a pawn in another man’s game.
”

“
Father...
”

“
Get out of my sight!
”
Haerad shouted.

Cabre faced his father, his eyes burning.
“
No, father,
”
he said,
“
too many good men died for this. You
will
hear me.
”

King Haerad turned slowly, his eyes cold and hard.

“
This boy,
”
Cabre said, his voice low and steady
“
is the page of the general of the Gloaran armies. I met with the general personally. He wished to extend a challenge to you.
”

King Haerad’s eyes flashed.
“
A challenge?
”

Prince Cabre loosened the flap of his belt pouch and drew out Cenick’s runed dagger.
“
He has challenged you to a grand hunt,
”
Cabre said, a hint of a smile on his bloodied lip,
“
The general means to kill more Chadiri than you by solstice. He says that, if you win, he will...
”