Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Owen made a note. Despite hearing some words differently, and having slightly different emotional attachments to the story, the three of them had seen the same thing. The Norghaest had built an empire on magick, employing it to inflict cruelty on the Shedashee and each other. When it seemed they were invincible and at the height of their power, however, dragons came and destroyed their cities.

Even having seen Mugwump did not prepare Owen for the advent of the dragons. Not a one of them that attacked-and the sky had been blackened with them-was anything less than double Mugwump’s size. Many were quite larger, and where the Prince’s dragon had smooth scales almost like a snake’s skin, the larger dragons had thick, heavier scales with ridges that ended in horny protrusions. They fell on the Norghaest as falcons on varmints, devouring them greedily. With long claws, the winged beasts tore open Norghaest towers and rent the earth to pursue them into the undercities. The carnage would have been unimaginable, but Owen had been at Anvil Lake, and had already seen the visions of bloody orgies the Norghaest staged to entertain themselves.

The dragons’ assault drove the Golden People underground, deep underground, like termites. As the visions progressed and they witnessed the Norghaest trying to reestablish their cities, the Norghaest changed. The golden hue drained from their flesh leaving the pale grey of a mushroom. Black hair became white, and many of them lost it completely-the men, anyway, for none of the subsequent visions provided sight of the women.

Kamiskwa drank from a gourd, then lowered it. “The visions showed the patterns: first comes the earthquake. That is them opening the gates to their cities below. They send scouts to see if dragons are about. Then the next year, or the year after, they colonize the surface. If those colonies survive, they emerge in all their glory to re-create their empire.”

Nathaniel smiled. “Well, now, I done counted four times the Shedashee did some de-colonization. Only once did they get to that emerging. Shedashee hurt them bad, and dragons finished them.”

“But, brother, there were more Shedashee then than there are now, and we only have one dragon, a small dragon.”

Owen looked up from his journal. “The dragons came from the west, didn’t they?”

“’Peared that way to me.” Nathaniel shrugged. “Don’t quite know what to make of that, but I reckon Prince Vlad will. I reckon he ought to be learning what we saw sooner rather than later.”

Owen’s journal snapped shut. “We can get a full day’s travel in today, be halfway to Grand Falls.”

“I cannot go.”

The two Mystrians looked at Kamiskwa. Nathaniel frowned. “All this coming from you will carry more weight.”

“Agreed, but what I saw is not for the Prince.” Kamiskwa knitted his fingers together. “The Shedashee need to be reminded of the Noragah. They must remember a time when we united to fight them. My father will already have sent runners to the other nations in the Confederation. They will confer and I must be here to tell them what I have seen…”

He held out his left forearm and poked a jagged claw wound with a thumb. “They will all inspect the wound. Scars will not do. And when they believe, they will send runners. The Shedashee will gather and fight the Noragah.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Well, then, I’ll be there with you to fight ’em.”

Kamiskwa shook his head. “You say that, my friend, but you will have other responsibilities.”

“You’re forgetting that your niece and nephews is my children.”

“And they are of the tribe, too; so we shall take care of them.” Kamiskwa smiled. “I do not say this to hurt you, nor because I doubt that Magehawk would be welcome at my side. It is because I fear that without your people to fight as our allies, we cannot turn the Noragah. And if there are no more dragons in the west, all of the world will be as was Piety.”

Reluctant though they were to leave Kamiskwa behind, Owen, Fire, and Nathaniel headed south from Saint Luke, making for the Benjamin River right below Grand Falls. They traveled relatively lightly, having abandoned all but two of the dire wolf pelts to the Altashee. Each man wore new clothing, his tattered and tainted clothes having been given to the women to be washed and repaired or burned.

Ezekiel Fire, because he had not been bitten or scratched by the demons, had not been forced through any cleansing ritual. He’d been treated as a guest and honored by Msitazi on the second night. He’d told the Altashee his favorite stories from the Scriptures, and had reported that the audience was more attentive and appreciative than most he had preached to.

By and large they were not given to much conversation as they made the trip back toward Temperance. Below the falls they found a large canoe and started down river. Owen, in the bow, had an unobstructed view of the countryside. The days had grown longer as they traveled, the green grasses tall, and the tree canopy shaded much of the river the first two days. The utter lack of destruction along the Benjamin contrasted with the devastation along the Snake.

Try as he might, Owen could not help but add details from the visions to the landscape. A soft rolling hill became a mound upon which had once stood a Norghaest outpost. He could imagine tunnels running beneath the landscape everywhere. Though he and Nathaniel did not talk about it, when they made camp, they chose to sleep atop large, flat rocks so Rufus couldn’t come up from the earth and, to further frustrate him, they did not stop at camping sites that he might know about.

It was, therefore, with great pleasure that they came around the curve of the river and saw the Prince’s dock. Owen picked up his paddle and pointed, then waved it high.

A little girl stopped and waved back.

Nathaniel laughed from the aft. “Your little one done sprung up some, hain’t she?”

“Three months we’ve been gone.” Owen dug in with his paddle. “Almost home.”

Nathaniel started paddling too. Miranda ran from the dock, then returned with the Prince. He, in turn, managed to catch hold of Prince Richard before the toddler ran off the end. With the boy in one arm, the Prince waved.

As they came to the dock Owen caught sight of his wife, Becca Green, and Princess Gisella sitting in the great house’s shade, sipping tea. Ian Rathfield, wearing Norillian clothes, save for a cast on his left leg, sat a bit apart from them in conversation with Bishop Bumble. Count von Metternin came to the dock to help secure the canoe. Both he and the Prince wore pants and shirts of Mystrian manufacture, and could have easily been taken for hired help in the employ of those up by the house.

Once the canoe had been tied off, Owen bounded out and scooped his daughter up. Miranda squealed. Tipping his hat back, Owen kissed her, then she pushed his face away.

“Papa, you have whiskers.”

“I do, child, but not for long.” He shifted her weight to his left arm, then offered the Prince his right hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Highness. You remember Ezekiel Fire.”

Vlad nodded. “I do.” He nodded to the Steward and Nathaniel, then looked at Owen again. “You’re missing two companions.”

“Makepeace elected to stay in Plentiful to help after the flood.” Owen lowered his voice as he saw Bishop Bumble marching down the lawn. “And Kamiskwa remained in Saint Luke to speak with the Shedashee. We can explain…”

“Please forgive me, gentlemen, Highness, but I do believe I spy my old friend, Ephraim Fox.”

Fire’s smiled died, and he seemed to shrink a bit. “Othniel Bumble, the years have been kind.”

“They have.” The fat man clasped his hands over his belly. “And now a sad duty, my friend. As bishop of the Archdiocese of Temperance Bay, I place you under arrest. You will, forthwith, be placed on trial for heresy. When convicted, you will burn.”