DragonCrown Saga - The Grand Crusade Part 3

"Me? Don't be foolish. I know my limitations." Scrainwood shot him a sidelong glance. "You don't know yours, when it comes to politics at least. And your brother, wherever he is, knows nothing of his-which are considerable."

The prince allowed himself a smile. "I've seen him, you know."

"Your brother?"

"Yes."

"Where?Where?"

In the face of his father's near apoplexy, Erlestoke sipped more wine. "In Sarengul. He'd come from Meredo with the Norrington. He's one of the Oriosa Freemen."

Scrainwood poured himself a swallow of wine and tossed it off quickly. "He always was lucky, though his runs always ended badly. As will this one."

Erlestoke shook his head and set his cup down on the table. "I don't think so. He was more himself-hisoldself, before our mother died-than I have seen in a long time. He'd lost weight, gained scars, but, more importantly, he has gained respect."

"Fah. Sycophants mewing over him because they thought his b.u.t.tocks would be filling the throne." The king wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Once they saw you were around, they doubtless abandoned him."

"You are wrong." Erlestoke almost added the wordFatherto his comment, but the man standing before him didn't seem fatherly or even sympathetic. Concern for Linchmere, or pride or amazement Erlestoke could have understood, but dismissive contempt was not the sort of thing a father should have for a child who, however late in life, had found his place.

"You spoke to me, Highness, of not knowing my limitations. Politics you may understand well, but not the politics of a military company in the field. Men rise and fall on merit because all the t.i.tles and money back home mean nothing on the battlefield. Though Linchmere is traveling under an a.s.sumed name, the men know who he is. Because of you there was no love for him, and he'd not helped his cause while still in Oriosa by being a useless fop. And Linchmere may be naive enough to believe the men do not know who he is, but the simple fact is that they like him and respect him for things he has done. He's not a great warrior, but he has heart and determination."

"Determination?" Scrainwood broke the word into each of its syllables, stretching it, layering increasing disbelief on each successive one. "That boy never stuck with anything in his entire life."

Erlestoke's head came up. "He stuck with you, didn't he?" The king gaped at him for a moment, then turned back to the fire. "Well, then, fighting in Sarengul may be Linchmere's opportunity. I suppose that halfwit of a Norrington was with him?"

"Will's half brother? Yes, Linchmere pointed him out to me. They are fast friends."

"That's good. It builds more loyalty to the throne. It is a complication, though, having a Norrington in Sarengul." The king shrugged. "I foresaw it, though, and have summoned his little brother here from Meredo. It will be important to haveourNorrington here."

"Will is dead. There is no other Norrington."

"Now you are the one who is wrong, my son." Scrainwood waved an offhand in the general direction of the Council Chamber. "Virtually every king, queen, and lordling with pretensions will have a Norrington or claim to be one. If only I could claim that your mother slept with Kenwick Norrington. I could, I suppose, and point to your survival on the journey south as evidence of your being the Norrington."

Erlestoke stared at him speechless.

The king shook his head. "No, that would be too transparent a stratagem. Much better to go with the real Norrington."

"I don't understand you." Erlestoke raked fingers back through long brown hair. "A horde of Aurolani troops are rolling over Muroso, on their way here, and you are contemplating games of power and influence? They will not stop her army."

"No, my son, they won't, but they will give us the troops necessary to do it. You don't seem to understand how stupid some of these people are. They were willing to commit troops and pledge support because the Norrington prophecy guaranteed them a victory. Now they don't know. They are prepared to panic. They will be out of control, and you know precisely where they will fall. Oriosa, which they never would have thought of attacking for fear of angering the Norrington, now is the nation that lost the Norrington. You did not save him, and you are an Oriosan. Crow, G.o.ds rot him, is an Oriosan and he did not save him. I did nothing to protect him. They will pour into our nation unless distracted by some other bait. Fighting over who the true Norrington is will occupy them, and support for their candidates can be bought by regiments."

As much as he hated it, Erlestoke had to admit that his father had a point. The nations that were not on the front lines needed to exact a price for the use of their troops and supplies. They would have to be coaxed into giving until the security of their own nations could be threatened, and if the people felt insecure, revolts could topple dynasties. With gold and offers of power, strikes bysullanciri, Chytrine could wreak havoc on the alliance raised against her.

"Will there be enough troops to stop Chytrine?"

The king snorted. "I would not know. As you have pointed out, my knowledge of armies is deficient. I am mostly concerned for preserving Oriosa. Either Chytrine will a.s.sault our nation, or others will pull it apart. One solution, of course, is for you to lead an army to crush Chytrine."

That stopped the prince short. "What did you just say?"

The king held his hands out to the fire, then rubbed them together. "I believe you heard me. You could raise Oriosa against Chytrine. We would be invincible, with your skill and the determination of our people. You purge our nation of Aurolani forces-I know where all of them are-then you proceed against her. Would you want that command?"

Erlestoke stopped and considered for a moment. An army of Oriosans would be a formidable force indeed. He a.s.sumed the nation could provide three regiments of well-trained soldiers, and twice that of irregulars. That would give him nearly ten thousand troops, which would be more than enough to deal Chytrine a crushing blow, especially when delivered to her flank and trapping her army in Muroso and Saporicia.

In his mind's eye he could see the force, see it arrayed in battalion after battalion. Stout infantry in the center of his formation, with heavy and light cavalry on the flanks. At a word, trumpets would blare and the troops would advance. They would join in combat in some summer field, driving the Aurolani troops before them.

He found the image appealing enough that he almost agreed to his father's offer. Something in the older man's smile, however, and the slow ease with which he warmed his hands, warned Erlestoke from being so accepting. He blinked a couple of times, then smiled and remembered something from the Congress of Dragons.

"I would agree, Father, but you would find my price very costly. Still, if you meet it..."

The king turned his head and studied his son for a moment. "And your price is what? My abdication?

You wish to possess the crown?"

"No, Highness, just part of it." Erlestoke smiled. "I wish to possess the fragment of the DragonCrown you have under your control."

He expected his request to trigger another flash of fury, but Scrainwood actually appeared to be considering it seriously. While others might have taken heart in this, the prince did not. He suspected it was a sign he'd blundered into a trap his father had long since laid out for him.

"I would do anything for my nation, Erlestoke. Many will contend I have done too much. If you wanted to be king, that I could accept, because I know you would use every means at your disposal to guarantee the safety of Oriosa. I believe you would do this now. My possession of that fragment-which only King Augustus knows of-is my last guarantee for our nation's safety. If a plan is presented to invade Oriosa, I will threaten to deliver that fragment to Chytrine."

"You couldn't."

"If it were the only way to save my nation, I would." The king turned to face his son. "Fortunately, it is notthe only way. In fact, you have it within your means to guarantee our safety forever, and in exchange, the ruby fragment will be yours."

"Name your bargain."

Scrainwood's voice dropped to a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Give me the secret of firedirt and dragonels."

"What?"

"Come now, you have spent years at Fortress Draconis. You have commanded dragonel batteries. You use a draconnette. If we had those tools and firedirt, no nation would dare attack us."

"I can't."

"Of course you can. You were loyal to the Draconis Baron, I understand that. He was of the opinion that the secret of firedirt would be used irresponsibly, but these are dire times." The king's voice dropped even lower. "Rumors have it that in Svarskya, Jeranese General Markus Adrogans captured dragonels and a factory for making firedirt. The secret is already in the hands of one nation, a nation that is imperially minded and has a grand leader. If you do not give me the secret, once we defeat Chytrine, we will face a new and even more dangerous menace."

The news about Adrogans was disturbing, but Erlestoke shunted it away. "I cannot give you the secret because I do not know it."

"What? Did the Draconis Baron not trust you? He was jealous of you, wasn't he? He kept the secret to himself because he knew, someday, you would supplant him."

"No, Father, he did not mistrust me. He trusted me further than you ever have." Erlestoke shrugged. "He wanted me to learn, but I put it off for a variety of reasons. The order to teach me was never given, and none of those who know the secret will reveal it unless so ordered by the Draconis Baron."

The king's hands clenched down into tiny b.a.l.l.s of bone. "You are a fool. The greatest secret in the world, and you put off learning it."

"As you put off preparing to oppose Chytrine?"

The hands opened slowly as a little laugh rolled from his father's throat. "If that was a mistake, you are compounding it. Your nation will die because of it."

"I'll do my best to see that doesn't happen. One thing, however, Father."

"Yes?"

"I want that fragment of the DragonCrown. We cannot chance Chytrine getting it."

His father's nostrils flared in a sneer. "It is safe. She will not have it." He paused. "Unless you think I would give it to her."

"It doesn't matter what I think, Father. I just know I won't give it to her." Scrainwood shook his head.

"It is safe. I will not be giving it to you."

"And if I feel the need to come get it?"

The king's eyes tightened. "You would rise against me? You would raise an army against me?"

"It would not take much, as those loyal to you are not great in number. Most are like Marsham, and a stern look will mortally wound him."

"I should have seen it. Yes, of course." Scrainwood pointed a quivering finger at him. "Take arms against me and you will rue the day you were born. I will not be done out of my nation. You think I cannot fight, but you are wrong."

The king turned and stormed from the room, leaving the door open behind him. Erlestoke stared after him, then sat back down at the table. He picked up the sword and the stone and shook his head.

"Not nearly sharp enough."

ltimately, Erlestoke found sharpening his weapons to be unsatisfying in the wake of his father's visit. The visit left him unsettled because of the variety VJ of pictures it painted for him. While he liked the idea of leading an Oriosan army to smash Chytrine, his father left no question that it would have to be a rebel army. No matter how often Erlestoke would deny wanting the throne, his father would always see him as desiring it.

The vices of the father become the frame through which he views his children. Erlestoke shook his head.

Even if hehadknown the secret of firedirt, he'd never have entrusted it to his father.Oriosa would be better off a memory than to give my father that sort of power. His bargaining was a sham to see if I had the secret-he never could bring himself to trust me.

Like it or not, when leading troops into Oriosa he would have two enemies. Not only would he be fighting Chytrine's forces, but loyalists supporting his father as well. The thought of shedding Oriosan blood in a civil war was not one he wanted to entertain.

His rejection of it led him to darker thoughts, however. If his father could use a fragment of the DragonCrown as a bargaining chip to gain knowledge of firedirt from his son, how would he use it with Chytrine? She might agree to the deal Erlestoke had rejected. In fact, in terms of strategy, it would make perfect sense for Chytrine to arm Oriosa with dragonels and firedirt. The weapons would be useless if the supply of firedirt were cut off, which she could do at any time. Until that point, however, any army marching into Oriosa would get mauled, which was to her benefit.

Just how far his father had gone into the enemycamp Erlestokecould not tell. He'd always had the impression that the king's alliance with Chytrine was informal and quite pa.s.sive. His father had gathered a great deal of information about the Aurolani troops in his realm and, in an effort to placate old friends like King Augustus of Alcida, had even made some of that information available. Indeed, he had offered to let Erlestoke know where to strike to rid Oriosa of Chytrine's troops.

This indicated he had not gone over to the Aurolani side completely. And his bargaining for firedirt further suggested that the king was uneasy with Chytrine and did not trust her. He could also be playing both ends against the middle,and doubtless was.And it is being played forhisbenefit, not that of Oriosa, I am certain.

Erlestoke harbored few illusions about his father and what he was capable of doing, but he also knew the man tended toward pa.s.sive, subtle manipulations instead of outright action. He actually had subjected Crow to a trial instead of having him murdered outright. While part of that might have been a desire to see Crow humiliated and broken, the simple fact was that his father was not the sort to resort to murder.

While he knew that many people detested him, he did not want to give them proof of perfidy.

Many people openly a.s.sumed that he'd had his wife, Queen Morandus, murdered. Erlestoke had been sixteen when Nefrai-kesh slew his grandmother and two years later was sent off to Fortress Draconis for the first time, to live with his aunt and the Draconis Baron. His mother would come visit and there, with Ryhope, seemed to find peace. She greatly enjoyed sailing in a small boat and often would spend hours on end laughing, with the wind in her hair and the spray bright on her face.

Erlestoke was not with her on the day she vanished, but he had accompanied her many times before, manning the tiller himself, so the story of how she died rang true. She had been sitting in the bow as the boat sailed along under a light breeze and trailed her left hand in the warm water. Queen Morandus had been singing and while the tillerman did not recognize the song, he said she sounded happy.

One moment she was there, and then the next she flew from the boat, as if yanked out by her hand.

There had been no time for a scream, just the abrupt ending of the song. The tillerman brought the boat about immediately and furled the sail. He searched the area, using an oar to keep circling where she went down, but he saw no bubbles, no body, neither cloth nor blood. Those who knew theCrescent Seasaid it was possible an emperor shark had taken her, perhaps attracted by the gold glint of her wedding ring, but many common folk a.s.sumed the tillerman had blood on his hands and the ring in his pocket.

Her death had hurt Erlestoke greatly, but more so had been his father's indifference to her fate. The prince had wanted to return to Oriosa with an urn of ocean water to memorialize her, but his father refused to allow him to do so. Scrainwood had said he wanted to stay as far away from the sea as possible, and certainly wasn't going to allow a bit of it in his realm, no matter the reason.

The prince also knew that his brother had been deeply affected by their mother's death. Thougn ne w^ v Linchmere didn't pay a visit to Fortress Draconis for five years. When ne ui>. come, he spent much of his time morbidly staring out to sea, but refused to see the boat his mother had loved, much less chance a ride in it. Erlestoke understood the latter fear, but not the former. Each year, on the anniversary of his mother's death, he made an offering to Tagothcha, theweirunof the sea, to induce him to take good care of his mother's mortal remains. The boat was something she loved, so he made certain it was kept in good repair and found himself idly wondering what had become of it now that Fortress Draconis had fallen.

These thoughts and more cluttered Erlestoke's mind as he donned cold-weather gear, wrapped a scarf around his face, and left the palace. Any Oriosan would have recognized him as a countryman, but likely would not have made him out to be the prince, since his mask was black and relatively unadorned. He wore it in honor of the Freemen fighting in Sarengul and it felt better on his face than his life mask ever had.

Into the snowy streets of Narriz he wandered, intent on losing himself. It was not a difficult task, as the city had grown up organically and haphazardly. Cow paths and goat tracks became meandering roads with buildings hulking on each side. Snow covered everything, but had been churned into brown mush by wagon wheels and hooves, with more dung than dirt to it. He did his best to avoid the big puddles, though the oilskin cloak he wore warded him well against the wet and filth.

He knew enough not to wander down to the docks, for they were a land unto themselves. Erlestoke feared no man in a fair fight, but in the realm of seamen, a landsman like him would never be in a fair fight.

He laughed at the idea that some drunken sailor and his crew mates might accomplish what Chytrine's gib-berers, dracomorphs,kryalniri, and dragons had not, but also knew that such things would amuse the G.o.ds, so they might just happen.

He kept to the middle city, back away from the docks, newer than the coastal portion of the town, but older than the estates of merchantmen who had grown wealthy from trade. Though he was a prince, he'd spent much of his adult life among soldiers; therefore, he felt at home among those who were not n.o.bility.

His wandering took him to a large tavern that advertised itself as the Galloping Stallion-and he noted that the signs at the north and west entrances chose different ways to spell that name, neither of them correct. Traffic appeared brisk, and smoke rose from two chimneys, so he entered and took three steps down to the main floor, ducking his head so as not to b.u.mp a rafter as he went.

Across the crowded room was a second set of stairs that switched-back to a second floor. People coming in through the north entrance headed for that and up. They looked to be family groups, or slightly better dressed and moneyed than the harder bitten crowd down below.

Erlestoke chose to remain on the lower floor, which had shadows enough to grant him the anonymity he craved.

He headed off along the left wall, bearing for the huge hearth in the north wall. To his right, past a tangle of tables, lay the bar, which filled the center of the floor. Benches lined much of the walls, and decorations, such as they were, featured bits of tack, odd animal skins, odder bones, and at least one vylaen head. At least, in the half-light, that's what he made it out to be, but it could have been the head of a bear cub, albeit a strange one, with sharpened ears and a bone spur piercing the right one.

Before he got too far, he felt an iron grip banding his left arm above the elbow. His right hand jerked toward the floor, and the hilt of a dagger he had sheathed on his forearm filled it. He turned to face the person who had grabbed him, using his body to shield the dagger from sight, should its sudden employment be needed.

Resolute's eyes half lidded. "The way you got the knife is good, but had I desired one in your kidney, you'd be thrashing on the floor right now."

"Following me, Resolute?"

The Vorquelf shook his head, then waved his left hand at a small round table in a corner. Though the tavern was crowded, with men standing and crouching here and there, the round table had four stools available, and one half-drunk ale in a wooden tankard at the spot nearest the corner itself. "I have been here a while, but if you are going to be so careless, perhaps Ishouldbe following you."

"May I join you?"

"Please."

Erlestoke waited for Resolute to take his place again, then took the seat to the Vorquelf's right, which let him rest his back against a wall. He kept his voice low. "Why am I careless?"

"Multiple reasons. Your blood makes you a target for those who thought you were dead and had planned accordingly."

The prince smiled and waved at a barmaid. He pointed to Resolute's ale and she nodded. "You must be joking. Cabot Marsham is the only person who could dream of succeeding my father were my brother and I dead, and my father would never leave the kingdom in his hands. Moreover, the man would not dare strike at me."

"No, but those who back him might. You know he is weak and can be manipulated. If he were not, your father would not keep him on. While here, Marsham has met with representatives of various n.o.ble houses. Those who covet power might have been planning your father's downfall, and your presence means their puppet would no longer be center stage."

The Vorquelf frowned at him. "Why are you looking at me strangely?"

Erlestoke sat back and cleared his throat as the barmaid set his ale down. He tossed her a silver coin and she s.n.a.t.c.hed it up quickly. He sipped the ale, then understood why so little of Resolute's had been drunk.

"I guess what surprises me, Resolute, is your interest in Oriosan politics. Your history being what it is, I'd not thought you interested in much more than your homeland's liberation."

Resolute's face sank into a grimace and he drank some ale. That did nothing to lighten his expression.

He glanced at the prince and nodded. "There was a time, Highness, when this was true, but the sword I wear has changed that. Will gave it to me. It is an ancient elven blade named Syverce. It comes from a homeland that no longer exists and is a blade of great consequence. Because it accepts me I know I have a greater duty than just the liberation of my homeland. The scourge that is Chytrine must be ended, and having you writhing in a pool of blood with an a.s.sa.s.sin's knife in your back will be a great comfort to the enemy." The Oriosan marveled that Resolute's broad shoulders remained square despite the obvious pressure he felt himself under. "It's not really Oriosan a.s.sa.s.sins you are worried about, is it? Do you think Chytrine has agents here?"