Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

“She knows.”

“You don’t lie well enough for me to believe you. If she knew, she’d not want to travel with me.”

The true king watched her closely. “You know, however, so will you take her into combat with you?”

“And risk losing the child? Yes, but only to get Sayce away from you.” Alexia raked her clawed fingers back through her hair. “King Scrainwood and now you. Is it the masks that encourage duplicity, or something else? I don’t understand this and I don’t want to. You complain about others playing political games and not helping you, but you do the same thing; and you play them with a young man who came north to save your nation. He’s the young man who quite possibly can save your nation.”

Before anyone else could reply, one of the signal-mages came over and placed a number of unit designators at the edge of the map, in Sarengul. One indicated the presence of Aurolani troops in the urZrethi stronghold. That did not exactly surprise Alexia, since she had supposed that the strike on Bokagul could only have been undertaken if Sarengul had been neutralized by conquest or alliance.

The mage placed another marker down, a small one with nothing to indicate nationality.

“Pardon my interruption, my liege, but this information was relayed from Alcida. A small group of people from Fortress Draconis have reached Sarengul and report the Aurolani have invaded it. Details are spare, but parts of Sarengul fell two weeks ago. The refugees are working south, but do not know what they will find or if they will make it through.”

King Bowmar nodded. “Have a message relayed to them that they are to head here to Caledo if they make it through.”

“Yes, Highness.”

The elder Bowmar looked at Alexia. “The situation is yet more dire with the confirmation that Sarengul is gone. Chytrine need fear nothing on her march south, so her entire might is focused here. I do not regret any steps I have taken to protect my nation.”

Alexia let her voice grow cold. “But you were a party to the discounting of Tarrant’s story after the last war, weren’t you? What did you do with the time you bought your nation?”

The elder king hesitated and the crown prince stared at him, stunned. “You knew, Father, that Chytrine would be coming?”

“It was conjecture.”

The crown prince shook his head. “You can’t lie to me; I have your memories of that time. You knew it was wrong, you knew she would come, and yet you did nothing!”

The king’s shoulders sagged. “I hope, my son, that you will be wiser than I was.”

The crown prince nodded. “I had better be, or the future—secured by a Norrington heir or not—will be short and bloody.”

Alexia snorted. “It’s likely to be short and bloody anyway.”

Crown Prince Bowmar gave her a solemn look. “Then let it be their blood and their time. I will make sure you are kept informed of my activities. I am sure my sister will be safe with you.”

“I shall do the same, and I shall keep her safe.” Alexia glared at the king. “Not for the sake of your future, but for Will’s. What you have done is bad. Let us just hope it does not become something worse.”

King Bowmar looked up. “I fail to see bad or worse.”

Alexia shook her head. “You were thinking to create another Norrington to have in case this one isn’t the Norrington. But what if your grandson, by dint of his blood, now is the Norrington of prophecy? You’ve stripped Will of his import, of any power he might have had. As the Norrington, he might have been able to accomplish great things out there. Now, who knows? No matter what, Will Norrington will be doing everything he can for you. If your action has worked against him, you and your nation will pay dearly for your betrayal of Will.”

For Kerrigan Reese, the whole idea of a purification ritual being practiced by wizards seemed more theological than thaumaturgical. He could understand folks wanting to cleanse themselves before they went to worship a god, but Kerrigan felt no connections to any particular deity. None had claimed wizards, and wizards had not been inclined to adopt any deity. It did occur to him that Yrulph Kirun might have been trying to ascend to the level of a god at one point in time; but even had he succeeded, Kerrigan doubted he would have had much of a following.

When you can daily play with the stuff of miracles, the gods somehow become superfluous.

In the week he’d been in Caledo, he had come to modify that initial opinion of the ritual. Prince Murfin had showed him how to do it—clearly skeptical that anyone from Vilwan would see value in it. Kerrigan, who was well used to learning from all manner of tutors, listened to the instructions carefully and followed them exactly.

And he had repeated the ritual each morning for the last five days. Heading down into the chamber beneath the palace the day he was to ride out with Princess Alexia and her force toward Nawal, he felt the need for the ritual especially keenly. While he had never felt cleansed , he did draw a certain amount of calm from it.

In a small alcove he stripped himself naked and looked down. Because of his girth he’d never been comfortable naked. While he’d not had much contact with others his own age as he grew up on Vilwan, he could still hear sniggers and laughs when he wandered past. No one dared confront him directly, since they knew enough about his power to be afraid, but children still will be cruel to those who are different. Never having a chance to befriend them or change their minds, he had lived with his shame.

And to console himself, he ate.

He smiled to himself. He had learned, very early on, that his tutors would spend a lot of time with him, including at meals. He would be indulged in whatever he desired as far as food was concerned, since it would be used to reward him, or its withholding to punish him. By learning what his mentors wanted, he could reward them for rewarding him by selecting that sort of food, all the while enjoying it himself. Food became power for him, and his girth became a reason he needed more food.

Fat also gave his enemies an obvious target. Kerrigan had inured himself to criticism about his size—at least he hid the pain from his face, so no one outside could see they stung him. Such an obvious target satisfied most folks, however, so they did not probe any deeper for other vulnerabilities—ones with which he had not come to grips.

He ran his hands down his chest and confirmed again that some hair was growing in on it. He wasn’t going to be as furry as Crow or Dranae, but no longer would he be as bare as a baby. While on Vilwan he had continually been treated as a child, but once away, once traveling with others, he had been accorded more adult status. And my body agrees .

Hair growing in on his chest was not the only change. He had indeed lost weight. He couldn’t tell how much, but he did know he was smaller. By no means could he see his toes all the time, but he did catch glimpses of them a lot more often, and the belt on his trousers had been tightened a couple of notches.

Kerrigan moved from the alcove into the first of the ritual stations. The Caledo Academy, he had noticed, was fond of blending things in their spells and rituals. He knelt in a small box roughly a yard by a yard, and six inches deep. The sand and ash it contained crunched ever so slightly as he dropped to his knees. He scraped up huge handfuls of the gritty black mixture—the ash and sand representing the elements of earth and fire —and began to scrub it over his body. It packed dark beneath his fingernails and stained his flesh a light grey. He worked it into his hair and all over his body, dusting what he couldn’t reach and working it into what he could until his skin tingled.