Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

“But there, in the Southlands… Oh, Isaura, you would not believe it. They think they can harness rivers, diverting water into fields. They build dikes to steal land from the sea, then wonder why the sea shatters the dikes and reclaims its property. And then their cities…”

Chytrine shook her head slowly. “Our people reside in caverns, in living rock. We find a space within which to exist, but in the south they use rock to wall away space, to make it smaller. They are so afraid of the world that they encyst themselves in these festering artificial caverns. Here, when something dies, it is harvested, rendered, every bit of it used for the common good. Our nightsoil is collected and feeds our gardens. Nothing is wasted, but there, they pour their chamber pots in the streets. Dead animals lie in the gutter and vermin crawl about, fighting over corpses and worse, getting into storage houses, eating until they are corpulent. And if they are found out and killed, are they eaten? No, just discarded in the streets to feed a new generation of pests.”

The Aurolani Empress’ eyes blazed. “I have insulated you from that, daughter, for it causes my stomach to churn. I hate telling you of it, and I would shield you forever from it, but circumstances will not permit this.”

“Why? What is happening, Mother?”

“Many things, Isaura, many things.” Chytrine reached into one sleeve of her gown and produced a green-and-gold gem set in gold. With a flick of her free hand, the empress summoned a small table, which flew across the room and tottered for a moment beside her. As it settled, she placed the stone on it.

Isaura recognized the first fragment of the DragonCrown that had been liberated from Svarskya before her birth. Her mother had possessed it since then, and wore it on occasion. Isaura had always liked the stone because of the play of colors through it. There were times, when she was just a child, that she had imagined the stone winking at her like some jeweled eye.

Chytrine’s hand again emerged from the sleeve and held a yellow stone. The fire’s light created a luminous cross that shifted through the gem’s face. Chytrine set it down on the table, then brushed her fingertips over it.

“That one is from Draconis, Mother?”

“Yes, it is the first we recovered. We found its duplicate and used that to trace the original. We also found a duplicate of the ruby and it led us to this.”

Chytrine’s right hand dipped into the left sleeve and produced a gold-bound ruby that, at first glance, appeared to match the others in terms of workmanship and setting. It even radiated power, though on a more muted scale than the other two. Still, had she not been looking for the differences, Isaura was uncertain she would have noticed them with a casual examination.

She held a hand out. “May I?”

“Yes, Isaura, this is the puzzle I want you to help me with.” Chytrine gave her the ruby, then looked down and stroked her fingers over the yellow stone. “Tell me what you think of it.”

Isaura let both hands enfold the stone, then clutched it to her bosom. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. She forced away the sound of the fire and any sense of its heat. She willfully isolated her mind from all physical sensations and focused on the stone. Isaura felt resistance at first, then suddenly blasted past it.

“Oh!” She gasped aloud and recoiled, her hands opening. The stone dropped toward the floor, but before it could hit, a wave of sorcery caught it up and lifted it into the air again.

Isaura immediately dropped to her knees. “Forgive me, Mother.”

“Child, I am the one who needs forgiveness. I did not warn you.” Chytrine gestured fluidly and the ruby floated to the table. “What did you feel?”

Isaura concentrated. “Several magicks, Mother. It is linked to the True-stone, and strongly. There is a spell there that would take any magick seeking the stone and convert it into energy that feeds the link. It is as if tugging on a string here rings a bell further away. This decoy would call all the more loudly when searchers neared the Truestone.”

Chytrine smiled. “Yes, that spell was quite interesting and rather unexpected. And of the magick that created the fragment?”

The young woman frowned. “That is difficult to get a sense of. It is a very complex spell, because the duplicate really does carry with it some of the resonance of the original. It combines elements from four different themes of magick, but that’s not the most interesting thing. It seems constructed along the lines of a human spell, but there are elven and urZrethi elements in it. What is it?”

Chytrine shook her head. “I do not know, save that it indicates that the Southlands have a new champion, or the potential for one. It would be too much to hope he had been slain at Draconis. He is out there, I can feel it.”

Isaura glanced up, her eyes widening with horror. “Is it the Norrington, Mother?”

The Aurolani Empress arched an eyebrow. “What brings the Norrington to mind, daughter?”

“Only my concern for you. Nefrai-laysh said he had seen the Norrington, and that you had sent Myrall’mara to destroy him. I know you do not want me to worry about you, but I do. I cannot help it. I fear for you because of him.”

Chytrine strode to her and raised a hand to caress Isaura’s cheek. “Pet, you need not worry. This Norrington is but a pup. He will come to see reason as his father and grandfather did before him. There is danger, however. I need someone I can trust to help me deal with it. You, Isaura, shall be my agent.”

“Yes, Mother.” The girl’s face blossomed with a smile. “I won’t fail you. Whatever you need done, I shall do it.”

Chytrine took Isaura’s hands in her own. “I know you will, child. You must listen very carefully. You know there is a chance that events will cost me my life. Yrulph Kirun knew as much and groomed me to carry his mission forward. I must prepare against that eventuality, so I will send you south, that you may see the conditions there for yourself. You will know what I have told you is true.”

“I already know that, Mother. I know it in my heart and mind.”

“Isaura, dearest, you know better than to assume that untested ice is strong. And though you accept every word I have said about the south, what you see will make the urgency of my mission that much more clear to you.” Chytrine nodded slowly and gave her hands a squeeze. “Soon enough, daughter, you shall repair to the south and see for yourself. Once you are finished there, I shall have more work for you. With your willing aid, this coming winter shall be the Southlands’ last.”

Will didn’t even turn to look back toward the fire as the stick snapped. “Couldn’t sleep, Kerrigan?” The other’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, the stick cracking told you someone was here. None of the others would have stepped on it, would they?”

A tiny part of Will wanted to reply, “No, you stone-footed oaf,” but he withheld that comment. He shrugged and pointed to a moss-saddled portion t of the log he sat on. “Only me, but that’s because I’m the only person less suited to being in the woods than you. Resolute’s worked hard to learn me things, but not all of it takes.“

Kerrigan sat and pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders. “You don’t have to humor me, Will.”

“I wasn’t.”

The jowly mage nodded. “You are a thief. Stepping on something like a stick would alert householders, so you would have learned long ago not to do I that. Moreover, I’ve seen you in the woods, but I’ve not heard you.”

The thief couldn’t suppress his smile as he glanced at Kerrigan. Off to the left, twenty yards back, the fire around which Princess Alexia’s bodyguards slept blazed merrily. At the southern end of that circle, a tent had been pitched to provide the married couple some privacy. A stake had been driven into the ground in front of it, and twin chains that led to anklets snaked in through the flaps. Beyond it, another twenty yards on, lay the Tolsin camp-fire, with Mably and his men positioned between the prisoner and the horses.