Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

Will shook his head adamantly. “There you go, there you both go. Evil is evil. Hurting Hawkins helped Chytrine. Chytrine is evil, so hurting Hawkins was evil. All this being polite doesn’t change that.”

Augustus’ voice took on an edge. “So I was evil in that moment, and can be judged harshly for it? Yes, Will, you have so judged me, but you have judged me no more harshly than I have judged myself. My only solace has come in knowing that my efforts against Chytrine are the best I can muster. I have not compromised in that, and never shall.

“Hawkins may forgive me, or may not. I may be able to set things to rights for him, and I may not. I will , however, accept no compromise in fighting Chytrine. It is by no means a perfect solution, but it is the best solution circumstances permit.”

The thief hesitated for a moment. He wanted to let his outrage at the king’s treatment of his friend override the practicality of the man’s words. I’ll do that, though, it will be as bad as the kings who let fear destroy Hawkins . That realization twisted his guts around and soured his mouth.

Will sighed. “You’re right about fighting Chytrine. Doesn’t mean that what was done to Crow was right.”

“No, it doesn’t, and we will find a way to resolve it. If I have to bankrupt Alcida paying for bards to sing of how Hawkins’ shame was a trap that caught Chytrine, I will.” The king smiled ruefully. “That’s provided we defeat her. If we don’t, those left alive won’t care, and the only songs they will sing will be of misery.”

Kerrigan Reese shivered, and it was not from walking through the cold, snowy streets of Meredo. He found the temperature rather bracing. It helped him clear his head, and clear thinking was what he needed.

He had encountered Magister Syrett Kar almost two weeks earlier, and that morning he’d gotten a summons to the Vilwanese consulate. The document had been politely worded, and the wards sealing it had been carefully worked. More important, they had been cunningly cast by a Magister who clearly had studied for decades at Vilwan. Though Kerrigan could not recognize the spells as having been cast by any of his former tutors, he was pretty certain that he would recognize the person waiting for him.

He’d tried to talk to Will about the message when his friend returned to the Rampant Panther after a visit to see Crow, but the thief had been irascible. Will had asked why the person who sent the note hadn’t just signed it and left off with all sorts of subtle things that didn’t amount to anything but masks to cover evil anyway.

Kerrigan wasn’t certain what Will was talking about, but tried to explain that names have power in the realms of magick. For a wizard to sign his name to something was dangerous. If a wizard told you his true name, it was a sign of great trust since another spellcaster could use his name to craft spells of devastating power against him.

But Will wanted no part of explanations and wandered off to his room. Kerrigan couldn’t find Resolute or Dranae, and Lombo and Qwc would likely listen to him, but he wasn’t certain any insights they provided would be worth much. Lombo, having been deprived of a chance to kill a mage, had taken to hunting through the city for other prey and was off on an expedition and the Spritha just seemed, well, flighty .

Kerrigan found himself trapped between two conflicting notions. Orla had told him to stay away from Vilwan, and he took her request very seriously. She said there were people there who would want to destroy him because they feared his power. He was slowly coming to realize that he did have a lot of power. On Vilwan, while he was being trained, he had been so isolated that he really had no perspective on what he could do. But Magister Syrett’s surprise at his abilities, and the man’s admission that he couldn’t have compelled Kerrigan to do anything, provided Kerrigan with a glimmer of what others might see in him.

While on Vilwan he had been sheltered from a lot of things. Since leaving, however, the litany of events he’d mentioned to Syrett had abraded the aura of security. He’d seen people die and he’d even killed some, though indirectly. He’d lost his mentor and friends and felt pains he’d never had before, both physical and emotional.

Just as important, there had been a shift in how he was treated. While Will still regarded him as a kid sometimes, others had begun to deal with him mostly as an adult. The Draconis Baron had charged him with a secret duty to carry a fragment of the DragonCrown from Fortress Draconis. General Adrogans had given him great responsibilities. Regardless of how he saw himself, they saw him as an adult, and gave him adult tasks to perform.

Though Kerrigan didn’t see himself as an adult, he knew he was fast becoming one. He wasn’t sure if those on Vilwan who feared him did so because he was a child with incredible power or not, but that did seem a distinct possibility. And, if that were so, wouldn’t it be the responsible and adult thing to go to the consulate and let them see he was not the thing they feared?

It would have been, and he knew that. He also knew, however, that course of action was predicated on their being afraid of his immaturity. But what if there was another problem? Could they be afraid that his training had warped him to the point where he would become another Yrulph Kirun? If so, no amount of protestation, no demonstrations, would be sufficient to convince them otherwise. If they were thinking he was insane, or was going to go insane, their fears would force them to lock him away or otherwise neutralize him.

And that is exactly the reason Orla would have warned me away . He shook his head as he wandered along the winding North River Road. The way he’d dealt with Tetther had really been an inventive, mature, and nonlethal manner of employing magick to solve a problem. He was proud of that solution, but could see how others might read it as contemptuous of her and her efforts. Instead of engaging her in a straightforward duel, he’d employed a trick. Since he’d never really been allowed to duel anyone else, he had no idea what the rules were for that sort of thing. But if there were rules, he was pretty sure dumping a load of snow on your enemy wasn’t covered by them.

In acting innocently to preserve a life, he might have proved to his enemies how dangerous he was.

Kerrigan sighed out a plume of vapor. Had Orla not warned him off, he’d not have been having any of those thoughts. He’d have assumed the summons was benign. It very well could be. It might even contain a congratulations from the Grand Magister himself for all he had done so far. In fact, had she not warned him off, he’d probably have brought the DragonCrown fragment with him and given it over to his superiors.

The various motives for the summons swirled and danced through his head like the snow whirling on the wind as he walked. From his right, in the shadow of a building, a child’s voice called for help and he turned to look just in time for a thrown snowball to loom larger in his sight. There was no time for ducking. The surprise was complete, and accompanied by a child’s malicious laughter.

The snowball hit, but Kerrigan felt no shock, no cold, no sting nor pain. A bony plate rose through his flesh, armoring his face with an ivory mask any Oriosan would have envied. The plate’s thick ridges channeled the snow away from his eyes so effectively that he never even blinked.

Which allowed him to see the expression of horror on the child’s face as the snowball exploded against the armor. The boy’s eyes grew wide and the laughter choked off. A second snowball fell from his hands as he turned to run. The boy slipped once, falling facefirst into a snowbank, then scrambled up and ran away.