Threads of Amarion Page 14

  Still, there were some who seemed happy to see him in charge. Lady Mae’lith gave him a warm smile and an inclination of her head. Lord Vullieth watched him with what Mershayn imagined as encouragement, though no emotions ever really crossed that man’s face.

  And Lord Baerst suddenly seemed friendly. He bowed at the waist. “Your Majesty,” he said in his rumbling voice, without a trace of sarcasm. Stavark turned his haunted gaze up from Mirolah. Bands did not look away from the window.

  “I called you all here to discuss a threat to the kingdom,” Mershayn continued.

  “What needs to be said?” Baerst asked. “Corialis Port is gone. And where do you think the dragons will turn next? Teni’sia, that’s where. North Fort is between Corialis Port and here, and there are a handful of villages, but I doubt those monsters will even bother with them.”

  “I find it difficult to believe,” Lord Balis said, his high-pitched voice cutting the air like swords screeching against one another.

  “Perhaps you should visit poor Kye’fala in the infirmary then. Burning is believing, as they say.” He winked.

  Mershayn opened his mouth, but he didn’t know how to respond to that crass comment. He glanced at Bands. Her brow had wrinkled at Baerst’s insensitivity, but she continued to stare at the night sky.

  “I am willing to concede there was a fire,” Lord Giri’Mar said, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “But Lord Balis is correct. Dragons are stories,”

  “Damn near burned my beard off!” Baerst protested.

  “How close were the flames, I wonder?” Giri’Mar asked in a flat tone.

  “And what are you implying, my lord?” Baerst growled.

  “Implying? Nothing. I’ll state it outright. The rest of your escort is dead or dying, my lord, but you are unhurt. The only way you could have escaped that fire is if you started the fire yourself, or if you are a coward who ran while they stood their ground.”

  Baerst’s face went beet-red, and he spluttered.

  “We aren’t here to point fingers, Lord Giri’Mar,” Mershayn interjected. “Lord Baerst is right. The dragons are coming. We must meet this threat, and I ask for your counsel.” He focused his attention on Giri’Mar. “Many new and strange things have happened this past month. GodSpill has returned to the lands and with it, many changes. Is a dragon so hard to believe?”

  “I acknowledge your Wave-altered...oddities with their strange eyes,” Lord Balis said, flicking a finger at Mirolah and Silasa. “But that does not mean there are dragons in the world.”

  Mershayn clenched his teeth and tried not to explode at this lord who, in conjunction with Lord Balis and Lord Bordi’lis, had wanted to cage all the Wave-altered and either experiment on them or kill them outright. One of the first things Mershayn did as king was release all of the Wave-altered. Giri’Mar and Balis had hated him from that moment forward. It was said Lord Bordi’lis had foamed at the mouth.

  “There are no dragons in the world,” Giri’Mar growled through his bristly black beard, which seemed to stick straight out from his face. “Tales from legends. Nothing more.”

  “I, too, have never seen a dragon,” Mershayn said, striving to stay calm. “But they exist.” He glanced at Bands, who still had not joined the conversation. “This was something we surmised even before Lord Baerst went north. That he returns with stories of dragons is not unexpected.”

  “You sent me, knowing the beasts were up there?” Baerst blasted, stunned.

  Mershayn shook his head. “I sent you north to scout possible threats. When I did, I was of the same mind as Lord Giri’Mar. I did not believe in dragons. But I believe in them now.”

  “I do not, Your Majesty,” Giri’Mar said. “When your half brother sat the throne, there were rumors of many things. Monsters in the forests. Monsters in the deep of the Inland Ocean. Threadweavers rising like the tales from long ago. Yet all I have seen are aberrations. Ugly dogs. People with strange aspects, yes, but nothing like the legends tell. These are dangerous freaks, Your Majesty. They must be contained as such. But I refuse to believe in dragons and unicorns simply because the drunk Lord Baerst says it is so.”

  “I understand your reluctance,” Mershayn said. “But in fact, threadweavers have returned. And if there are creatures like that,” he gestured at Mirolah’s monstrous skin dog, “then we might believe in dragons and unicorns as well. And threadweavers, well... There are two threadweavers in this room right now.”

  Giri’Mar leaned back, eyes narrowing. Bordi’lis’s fat cheeks turned red as his fearful gaze flicked from Silasa to Mirolah to Bands to Stavark, then started over.

  Giri’Mar was cooler about it, but his gaze came to rest on Stavark. “The boy with the silver hair?”

  “No,” Mershayn said. “Lady Bands and Lady Mirolah.”

  “Prove it to me,” Giri’Mar said gruffly. “Turn Lord Baerst into a rat.”

  Baerst roared indignantly.

  Mershayn held up a hand. “We’re not turning anyone into anything.” He looked to Bands for help, but she was still ignoring the lot of them, staring out the window. A little reluctantly, Mershayn turned to face Mirolah’s swirling eyes, which were still focused on him.

  “Lady Mirolah,” he said softly. “Might I ask you for a small demonstration, simply to put this argument to rest?”

  “Shall I turn Lord Baerst into a rat?” she asked without a trace of humor.

  “Now wait a minute!” Lord Baerst roared.

  Mershayn held up a placating hand before Mirolah could answer. “I don’t believe that would be very constructive. Perhaps something else? Something to convince Lord Giri’Mar?”

  Mirolah turned to Giri’Mar. He returned the gaze, and some of his cool haughtiness melted away under her unearthly stare. He squinted like he was looking into the sun.

  With a groaning sound, a flagstone pulled away from the floor. It rose three feet into the air and floated toward Giri’Mar. He gripped the armrests of his chair tightly, but did not flee. Rock cracked and dust drifted to the floor. The flagstone turned lazily in the air as chunks broke and fell away. Once the bulk had been reduced, the remaining stone began to spin lazily, then spun faster and faster, shedding chips of stone.

  The spin slowed and stopped. A wide, short-stemmed grail, engraved with the coat of arms Baerst had been studying, floated toward Giri’Mar. It hovered above his lap for a moment, then dropped.

  Giri’Mar jumped, barely catching the grail before it tumbled to the floor. He took a long moment, staring at it in astonishment, then he flicked a glance to Mirolah. Finally, his gaze went to Mershayn. Giri’Mar swallowed. “I will concede the point,” he said in a barely audible voice. His breath came fast, but otherwise, Mershayn thought he remained remarkably composed.

  “There are dragons, my lord. Best believe it,” Mershayn said.

  The nobles all looked shaken. Mershayn felt the same way the night Silasa had pulled him out of the dungeons, like a man who had swum in the ocean his entire life and suddenly realized there were giant sharks just beneath him.

  “Now that we all believe the same things are possible, I think we should listen to Lord Baerst’s tale. The news he brings will occupy much of our time in the near future.” Mershayn inclined his head toward Baerst, then sat in one of the fourteen chairs encircling the table.

  “I wish I had more to report than I do,” Baerst said, raising his hands and letting them fall at his sides. He let out a breath and tugged at his beard. “We sailed into North Fort on the first night. Everything was well there, so we continued on. The next day, we sailed into Corialis Port. Again, all was well. We stopped at a dockside inn for some rest and a tankard or two.” He raised his tankard and took a drink. “That night, the city exploded.”

  “Please be specific,” Mershayn said.

  “Two dragons flew in. The beasts burned everything. We started by trying to fight. My escort drew their swords, but how do you fence with something that flies over your head? Swords are useless, and we had
only four bows among us, so we pulled them. We even hit one of the bastards as it flew over...” He paused at that word, looked at Mershayn. “No offense, Your Majesty.”

  Mershayn had long ago learned that the more he reacted to people calling him “bastard” the worse it was for him. Best to let such things pass. “Please continue, Lord Baerst.”

  “Well, we might as well have thrown a pebble at it. The arrow bounced off the scales. O’ course, the dragon took offense to it and turned its breath on my archers. Burned three of them to nothing. I’m not kidding. To nothing. There were no bones left or anything. The rest of us retreated to the docks, thinking that being near the water would be best when dealing with fire. Didn’t matter. We fired again with our last bow, and the dragon breathed on us again. This time, I managed to save only one of my people. The rest died in fire. I knew then I had to retreat and warn the kingdom. I stole a rowboat, dumped poor Kye’fala into it, and swam next to it, submerged in the water and moving as quickly as I could. Luckily, the dragons didn’t seem interested in one little rowboat heading out to open water.” Baerst cleared his throat and took another drink. “Luck was with us. Kaylan’s Star and her crew witnessed the entire horrifying slaughter, and they came for us. They are to be commended for their courage. Instead of fleeing, which would have been the sane thing to do, they sailed toward Corialis Port and took us on board. Captain Lyndyr and her men are the only reason I’m standing here now.”

  “And how did you escape injury?” Lord Balis inquired in his high-pitched voice.

  “Thalius was looking out for me. That’s all it could be,” Baerst said.

  Balis raised an eyebrow.

  “If you could provide a little more detail, Lord Baerst,” Mershayn said. “You understand. We might need to fight dragons in the very near future. I am interested as to how you remained unburnt.”

  “Fight ’em? Hah! I hope you’ve got a plan, because I’ll tell you this, cold steel doesn’t work. Arrows don’t work. Might as well throw sticks at ’em.”

  Baerst paused, picked up his tankard and frowned into the empty bottom, set it back down.

  “Why didn’t they fly out and burn the ships that escaped?” Vullieth asked. “To something that flies, it could only have been a few moments to do so.”

  “How should I know? Now I think on it, I didn’t see either of them fly over the ocean. Not once. They looped about the city several times, but always over the plains or mountains.”

  “Dragons do not fly over water.” Bands spoke up for the first time, but still faced the window. “The waters of the True Ocean are deadly to them, so not only do they avoid touching those waters, but they avoid flying over them. They also avoid the Inland Ocean out of habit, though its waters are not deadly to them. Dragons have their own superstitions.”

  “And how would you know?” Baerst asked.

  She turned around and finally looked at the assemblage with those emerald green eyes. “I know a few things about dragons,” she said.

  “You have studied dragons then, I take it?” Balis asked.

  “For many years. Yes.”

  “And you’ve seen these creatures as well?” Giri’Mar asked.

  “Many times.”

  “Then how do we kill them?” Giri’Mar demanded.

  Bands drew a breath, keeping her calm gaze on them. “If we are to fight dragons, we will need many things. The first is weapons that can hurt them. As Lord Baerst says, normal steel is useless. Their scales are bound with threadweavings that will turn normal weapons.”

  “Threadweavings?” Giri’Mar said.

  “Constructs fueled by GodSpill. It makes their scales supernaturally tough,” she replied. “Imagine these enhanced dragon scales as three suits of plate armor. You would have to pin a dragon down and hammer a spike into their scales to get through. A slice will do nothing.”

  “Then how?” Baerst asked. “How do we fight them? You’re saying we need new weapons?”

  “No, Lord Baerst. We will need old weapons.”

  18

  Mershayn

  The council adjourned after Bands talked about the need for enchanted weapons from the bygone age of threadweavers. That was the next step, to secure those weapons, and she said she would handle that part.

  As Bands and Mershayn had discussed earlier, Mershayn turned to the assemblage.

  “I have come to you for counsel. Does anyone have any at this moment?”

  The room fell silent. Bands had predicted this would happen. Only Baerst had any experience with dragons. How could you counsel about something you didn’t understand?

  Giri’Mar cleared his throat. He seemed as taken aback by the information as anyone else, but his usually angry face looked thoughtful. “There are two catapults on the Northern Walk, Your Majesty. And on the western wall. I think we can repurpose them to shoot at the sky, rather than at the base of their respective walls. There are also the parts of several others in the lower levels of the castle. Queen Tyndiria had them dismantled barely a year ago, once the threat of the Sunriders was gone. We could reassemble them in locations that might best brunt an attack from the air.”

  Mershayn pointed at the squat, muscular lord. “That is the kind of thinking I need. Thank you, Lord Giri’Mar. If you would please lead a group to reassemble those catapults.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “We will need more guards for the city,” Lord Balis said in his high voice. “If the dragons are coming here, every man, woman, and child will need to fight. Lord Bordi’lis is excellent at training.”

  Balis and Bordi’lis were two of Sym’s staunchest allies. Mershayn didn’t like the idea of allowing Bordi’lis to create his own militia. That could go wrong in so many ways, but Balis wasn’t wrong. Everyone needed to be in this battle, because they’d all be dead if they failed to repel the dragons. He turned to Bordi’lis.

  “Would you be willing to assist conscription and training?”

  Bordi’lis’s sour face turned to Mershayn. “I won’t work with any of the creatures distorted by the Wave.” He flicked a gaze full of contempt at Bands.

  “I wouldn’t dream of saddling you with more than you could handle, my lord,” Mershayn said. “Lady Mae’lith is renowned for her sword skill and training expertise. She will lead this task with you.”

  Bordi’lis’s lips pressed together so hard they turned white. Lady Mae’lith hated Sym and his associates. There were whispers that her husband, Lord Grimbresht, had not died naturally, but rather had been assassinated because of his vocal opposition to Lord Sym and his agenda.

  Checks and balances were handy.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Bordi’lis said coldly.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Lady Mae’lith said with genuine pleasure in her voice.

  Mershayn commanded that the rest of the nobles prepare their houses for war. Battle could come in a week. It could come in a matter of hours. They should make preparations immediately.

  The nobles left the room urgently, one at a time. Lady Ari’cyiane gave Mershayn a venomous scowl as she passed him, but her husband stopped and clasped Mershayn’s forearm in a strong handshake. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture said volumes.

  “Thank you, Lord Vullieth.”

  The tall lord nodded and left.

  Silasa followed Sym to make sure he returned to his handlers without any detours. Stavark waited for a moment, then also left quietly. Mirolah watched Mershayn, then went to the window where Bands had been standing, and jumped out.

  Mershayn reflexively reached for her before he remembered that a step out a window was no more dangerous for Mirolah than walking across the floor. Sniff got to his feet and bounded after his mistress into the wide expanse of the night.

  Mershayn went to the window and watched them both float gently down to the snowy slopes below, then turned away.

  Bands stood by the table where the nobles had assembled, her hand on the polished wood. “That went well,” she said.
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  “For a while, I thought you weren’t going to say anything,” he remarked. “You’re the expert here, you know.”

  “Your nobles don’t need to see me whispering in your ear. You’re the king. They should look to you.”

  “But I look to you.”

  She paused, as though such a thing was distasteful to her. “We have been lucky to have this past week,” she said, shifting the subject. “It’s a gift. Avakketh doesn’t know Medophae is gone, and I suspect that is the only reason we’ve had this precious week. If Avakketh knew Medophae was gone, he would have hammered Teni’sia already and not just made a feint at Corialis Port.”

  “That was a feint?” Mershayn asked, chilled. An entire city had been destroyed.

  “I believe he’s trying to draw Medophae out, which means Avakketh may have a plan for containing him.”

  “Why not just attack directly?”

  “Fighting Medophae one-on-one puts Avakketh in the most danger. Avakketh suspects he could overcome Medophae—and he’s probably right—but he doesn’t know it for certain. There is too much chance, and all gods hate leaving things to chance except Tarithalius. The fact is that Oedandus killed Dervon through Medophae. And if he could do it once, why couldn’t he do it twice? But if Avakketh can pinpoint Medophae’s location, then he can either attack elsewhere, reducing the human population without having to face Medophae, or he can set a trap for Medophae.”

  “Is Medophae really that important?”

  “He is the only way this fight ends with us still alive. Humans fighting dragons is nearly impossible. At best, we can bloody them and buy time. But when Avakketh comes south, we will lose unless Medophae fights him. We can’t beat a god. Not me. Not you. Not all the humans in Amarion. Even Tarithalius would lose against Avakketh.”

  “Tarithalius? The god of humans Tarithalius?” Mershayn asked breathlessly.

  Bands nodded. “Avakketh is the most powerful god still alive. Tarithalius is probably the least powerful.”

  “But then how can Medophae kill Avakketh?”