Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

“I will deal with Marsham.”

“Or I shall.”

Scrainwood’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded. “And likely would do me a favor in doing so. Gapes, take the ambassador to your chambers; do what must be done.”

Svoinyk looked at Alyx imploringly, but she just nodded. “Go. You know what we want.”

“Yes, Highness.” Svoinyk left in Gapes’ wake.

Scrainwood sat back in his throne, then steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms. “It might appear I have underestimated you.”

“You’re not convinced?”

The Oriosan King slowly smiled. “My remark about your being of the weaker sex stung, didn’t it?”

The sly tone of his voice would have surprised her, had not Crow told her in midnight whispers about Scrainwood and his actions on the first Norrington campaign. Crow’s right, the man thinks he is smarter by half than anyone else .

Alyx lifted her chin. “I did take offense, yes.”

“But you held your tongue. That was good.” Scrainwood gestured toward the far end of the room, whence the two men had recently exited. “That earned you your victory, though it was effort spent needlessly. This alleged marriage is to protect Hawkins. You needn’t have resorted to trickery. You could have come to me. Accommodations could have been made.“

“I don’t believe you, Highness.” She regarded him coldly. “I believe Crow would have been slain attempting to escape from Call Mably somewhere on the road to the capital. It would have denied you a public execution, which would be difficult to engineer in any regard, since he saved your sister’s life by leading her from Fortress Draconis.”

“That is a point with merit, though no orders were issued to have Crow slain.”

“Not by you, but I would be more than willing to bet Cabot Marsham would have managed to get word to Mably in time.”

Scrainwood smiled much too easily. “Your concern for Crow is almost enough to make me believe you do love him. How can you love a man like that?”

“He is a good man. He is brave, loyal, and selfless.” Alyx frowned. “Why do you hate him so? Because he slapped you? Because he denied you a sword and a place in history? You know what happened to Leigh Norrington. You were there. I only know it from the songs, but I know enough of songs to know the tragedy was true, though details are lost. Would you truly have wanted that?”

The king’s voice sank into a growl. “Are you Okrans all intent on scourging me with history? It was a different time then, different demands.”

“I’ve fought Chytrine. I’ve slain sullanciri . I know what you knew then.”

“No, no , you don’t. I never grew up under the threat of Chytrine. She was a monster from the past. She was something used to frighten children. Her minions, the vylaens and gibberers and frostclaws, they were real enough, but rare—so rare that they seemed things lost from an ancient time when we found them roaming our lands. We were unprepared for the threat thrust upon us.”

And you found yourself wanting . Alyx shivered. The man she saw before her had grown bitter and afraid through the decades, but she also knew he had been weak before his generation ever went out to fight Chytrine. She remembered the message his son Erlestoke had asked her to deliver to him, and knew it had been born in a boy’s view of his father—before Hawkins had earned Scrainwood’s ire.

“By the gods, is that it, then?” Alyx began to pace back and forth before the throne. “You, the prince of the realm, are thrust into a conflict for which you are not prepared, and here come Bosleigh Norrington and Tarrant Hawkins and Kenwick Norrington, an obscure march lord of your realm. They’ve found gibberers. They’ve found a magic sword. There is a prophecy concerning them. Your nation is at the forefront of the effort to save the world and defeat Chytrine, and you are not part of it. You go along, of course, but you shy from the work, hiding behind your status as the crown prince.“

“No!” Scrainwood rose quickly, his fists balled, his protestation echoing through the hall. He looked as if he would attack her. His eyes blazed beneath his mask, then he coughed and his eyes tightened.

He sat back down. “I am not now as I was then. It was a different world, and I had been raised to deal with that world. Alliances, secrets, trade… These things I knew and could master. It had been a century since the last invasion, and with each year we allowed ourselves to believe Chytrine had died or lost interest. I knew I had nothing to fear, and then the world changed. My rightful role was usurped and I was shamed by some marcher-stripling.

“But in the death of the heroes, I read the future, Princess. I was back in my realm of alliances and secrets, politics and trade. I was in the world of power, and I could see what would happen if word of Chytrine’s survival, of Chytrine’s threat to the world, were known. Upheaval. Refugees fleeing. What happened to Okrannel happening on a grand scale. I made the others see it. I was truly the one who saved the world, because the mere threat of Chytrine would have destroyed it.”

Alyx shook her head. The logic worked, but it was predicated on a complete disregard for reality. A man who could not rise to the challenge on the battlefield shifted everything onto an arena where he was the master. He had convinced himself—perhaps not wrongly—that he had saved the world. The problem was that he had saved it only for a time—the time Chytrine had granted him. Her return threatened everything, and the truth about Crow and his delivering her warning revealed Scrainwood’s efforts to have been corrupt.

A spark of fury flashed through her, and Scrainwood toyed with his ring. Alyx recalled having been told the ring had an enchantment that picked up the hostile intent of those near him. She smiled. He’d not intuited that his remark made me angry; the ring warned him of my anger. The snake .

She kept her voice calm and even. “There is something you have to understand, Highness. You were not ready for the things thrust upon you a generation ago. I am . Crow is very important to Chytrine’s defeat, and if you thought about it, you would see that clearly. But since I doubt you will think clearly on it, I shall give you something else to think about.”

“A threat, Princess?”

“No, not a threat.” She kept her face impassive. “When last I saw your son at Fortress Draconis, Erlestoke asked me to pass on to you a message. He asked me to tell you that, for the sake of your nation, you shouldn’t live your whole life as a coward.”

The words shook him, but not as strongly as she would have hoped. “There was a time he viewed me as a hero.”

“So, perhaps, what you want to think on is whether or not you can have him see you that way again.”

Scrainwood shook his head. “He’s dead. What he thinks does not matter.”

“If that is what you think, then you truly are in luck.” She nodded to him once. “Against the threat we face, if you are a coward, your nation will perish.

There will be no one left to think on you at all.“

I’m dead . Erlestoke harbored no illusions about his chances for survival. For over a month the remnants of the Fortress Draconis garrison had fought running battles with the Aurolani horde. Control of the ruins varied depending upon the time of day. The invaders held sway during daylight and the defenders at night. Sporadic reports of draconette shots and the screams of the wounded filled the darkness as ragged bands of defenders ambushed their enemies.

Erlestoke knew that their strikes at the Aurolani troops were little more than flea bites. The most they could do was pick off patrols, destroy supplies, and otherwise make the occupation of the fortress unpleasant. By day the defenders hid in the warrens beneath the city, and repeated attempts by Chytrine’s troops to flush them out had ended badly for the Aurolani.