When Dragons Rage Page 2

  “Crow knew my father, then?”

  “They were well acquainted, for a time. Hawkins impressed your father with his honesty and courage.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You knew my father?”

  “I never had the pleasure of embracing him and calling him brother, but I did know him and certainly knew of him. He was a good man, and he would be inordinately proud of you.” The Black grinned again. “But we can reminisce about your father another time, because it was your concern over Crow that brought you here.”

  His comment brought her up short. “Can you read my mind?”

  He shrugged. “As you get more practice here, you will become more comfortable. I am not really reading your mind; there are just some things you are thinking rather loudly. For example, you are correct in supposing that Crow should not be executed for the crimes he was accused of so long ago. You will think of a plan to rescue him, though I urge caution in executing anything that would put you on the wrong side of authority. You are a princess, albeit of a nation still occupied by Aurolani forces, but you can use your station.”

  She smiled. “Even though I’d rather just break him out of the root cellar where he’s being held and disappear?”

  “I like the direct approach as much as you do, but that’s a plan that will label you nothing more than a strong arm with a sword. You will need a different plan: one to confuse your enemies and keep them off balance.”

  “Chytrine will not care.”

  “It wasn’t of her that I was speaking.” The Black gave her a golden-eyed stare. “Chytrine is not the only one who desires power in the south. As you become powerful, others will find reason to oppose you. They are a cautious lot, however, and the more you given them to think about, the slower they act.”

  “And now you’ve given me something to think about.” She smiled, hearing in the Black’s words something Crow had told her back in Yslin. “Yes. I think I have a plan to save Crow. All I need to do is . . .”

  The Black held a hand up. “Don’t say anything, or you will be unable to mention it in the physical world. If what I glean in flashes from your thoughts is at all accurate, however, this plan will do as much to confuse your enemies as it will to save Crow—both of which I applaud heartily.”

  “Thank you. And, belatedly, thank you for the warning about the theft of the Jeranese fragment of the DragonCrown. If you had said nothing, Chytrine would now have it.”

  The Black shook his head. “No thanks are required. Telling you was all I could do. You did the hard work, and all the praise is deservedly yours. And now you will save Crow, for which I shall also be grateful. Go now, daughter, and do what you must. The world requires it.”

  The Black gestured, and a wave of dizziness washed over Alexia. She blacked out for a moment, then reappeared in her bed, the din of the tavern’s common room buzzing up through the wooden floor. The plan she’d formulated had crystallized in her mind. Throwing back the blanket, she swung her long legs from the bed and began tugging her boots on.

  “Crow, you’ve spent a lifetime saving other folks. Starting now, that investment gets paid back.”

  CHAPTER 2

  W ill Norrington paced the floor at the foot of the bed, shooting venomous glances at the powerfully built Vorquelf leaning back against the headboard. “They’re going to kill Crow. How can you just sit there? Some friend you are.”

  Resolute blinked once, slowly, then regarded the youth with a cold, argent gaze. “Choose your words carefully, boy.”

  A shiver ran down Will’s spine, but the hot fury racing through him didn’t let that chill get far. “Are you going to kill me because of what I’m saying?”

  “No.” The single word came husky and low, more growled than spoken. Because he was of elven stock, Resolute had long limbs. And, were he standing, the brush of white hair that ran in a stripe over his skull would have touched the ceiling. Moreover, the Vorquelf lacked the slender build of most elves. His arms rippled with muscle, and the flesh sheathing them was amply decorated with arcane tattoos. Scars likewise crisscrossed his skin, with thick knots standing out on his knuckles.

  The Vorquelf’s eyes tightened. “You should choose your words carefully, because you’ll be eating them if you continue. Out with what you’re really thinking.”

  Will, who was Resolute’s physical antithesis—being small, slender, and relatively unmarked in his youth, with grey eyes and brown hair—planted his fists on his hips and frowned. “I am saying what I think. I think we should go out there, pull Crow out of that turnip-bin they’re keeping him in, and get away from here.”

  “Really?” The Vorquelf’s silver eyes had no whites, no pupils, so Will couldn’t be sure when he was being stared at or not. “Let us play with your scenario, shall we? Not with the obvious things, though.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as having no place to go. Such as being outnumbered by the troops on hand.”

  “Local militia. We could slip past them and spirit Crow away, and you know it.”

  Resolute did allow a faint flicker of a smile to flash over his face for a heartbeat. “Regardless, they would come after us.”

  “So we kill them.”

  “Really?” The Vorquelf’s expression tightened. “For what?”

  “They are going to kill Crow. Did you miss that when Call Mably met us out on the road? They think Crow was this Hawkins, and he’s under a death sentence. They’ll take him to Meredo, King Scrainwood will pretend to listen to him, and then he’ll kill him. It’s wrong!”

  “Why?”

  Will’s eyes widened. “Because Crow isn’t Hawkins. He isn’t the Traitor, and there’s no way we can let them take him. If some of them have to die because they’re too stupid to see the truth, well, sometimes stupidity is a fatal disease.”

  “It is, at that. I’d be careful, though.”

  Something in Resolute’s tone sliced into Will’s outrage. “What is it?”

  The Vorquelf arched an eyebrow. “All your posturing is built on your belief that they have mistaken Crow for Hawkins.”

  “They have.”

  Resolute shook his head. “No, they haven’t. Crow was Hawkins.”

  Will’s jaw dropped and he hunched forward, grabbing the foot of the bed. He felt as if he’d been gut-punched, for no breath could come. He knew from the Vorquelf’s voice that there was no deception, no hidden meaning in those words—and try as he might, he could find no way to twist them.

  But that’s impossible! Everyone knew the story of the Traitor, the one who betrayed the world’s heroes to Chytrine. In songs he had become Squab, always conniving and craven, always defeated. It was common knowledge that the real Hawkins had killed himself in shame over what he had done.

  “No, it can’t be. Not Crow.” Will looked up and caught Resolute’s unwavering gaze. A lump rose in his throat and tears began to leak from his eyes. Crying? No, no, no. He covered his face with one hand and slammed his right fist down on the bed. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”

  Resolute kept his voice even. “You’re smarter than that, boy. Think, boy, think the way I know you can.”

  The youth looked up and swiped at his tears. “What’s there to think, Resolute? Crow can’t be Hawkins. Hawkins was a coward and a schemer. Crow isn’t.”

  “You were there, Will. Crow gave himself over without a fight.”

  “Sure, sure, but he did that to protect the rest of us. He’s like that, trusting the mistake would be straightened out.” Will smiled, nodding. “He’s too trusting, and you know it.”

  “Yes, he is. So was Hawkins.” The Vorquelf drew his knees up and rested his arms on them. “That was why Hawkins had to die.”

  Will leaned heavily on the foot of the bed and shook his head. “I don’t believe it. How could Crow be Hawkins?”

  “Because he was too trusting. The basic story is true. Hawkins accompanied Lord Norrington, your grandfather, and Leigh Norrington, your father, on the last war against Chy
trine. That was a quarter century ago. Along the way your father found a terrible sword, Temmer. It made him invincible in battle, though not invulnerable. The price the wielder paid was that he would lose his last battle.

  “That last battle came at Fortress Draconis. Chytrine had one ancient sullanciri—an undead hoargoun. You saw some of the frost giants at Svoin, though this one had been dead long before I was born. It used fear the way a skunk uses stink. The warriors who faced it broke and ran, your father among them. Only two men stood to oppose it.”

  Will looked up. “At that interior gate?”

  Resolute nodded solemnly. “Your father had run, and Scrainwood with him. Hawkins ran, too, but his fear was for your father. He found him, took Temmer from him, and slew the sullanciri.”

  “Really?” The young thief frowned. “I never heard that.”

  “Those who were there knew it, but many had been so fear-mad they seldom wanted to think about that whole battle.”

  “You said two men stood against it. The other was Princess Alexia’s father, wasn’t it?”

  The Vorquelf nodded. “You saw the plaza at Fortress Draconis. You saw where he died. Hawkins couldn’t save him, but he saved many others. Because of that, he was selected to go north with your grandfather and King Augustus, to chase after Chytrine’s retreating army. When Chytrine split off from the army, Hawkins was allowed to join the band heading after her.”

  “Of course; he had Temmer.”

  “No. Temmer was shattered killing the sullanciri.” The Vorquelf’s head turned toward the sword with the keystone pommel. “That is Tsamoc, and the sword Hawkins carried as he went after Chytrine.”

  Will nodded. He’d seen Crow use the sword in battle. It had a glowing, opalescent gem set in the blade’s forte. The sword had enough magick in it to kill a sullanciri on the battlefield of Svoin, though Princess Alexia had been using it at the time.

  “That band of heroes knew they were off on a suicide mission, but they went anyway. Only it turned out to be worse than that, for Chytrine trapped them. She slew some, hurt others badly, but turned all to her will. She made them into her new sullanciri, since the old ones had been slain. And she tortured Hawkins, physically and mentally. She offered to make him her consort, to give him all of the Southlands if he would lead her troops.

  “Hawkins refused and survived her attempt to kill him. He came south and reported to the crowned heads what Chytrine had told him: that the children of that day would never live to see their own children mature. She vowed to invade again, and everyone knew her threat was a potent one.”

  Will frowned. “But if things are as you say, then Hawkins did nothing wrong. Why does Scrainwood want him dead?”

  “Scrainwood’s hatred for Hawkins runs deep. Scrainwood wanted Temmer for himself. He wanted to be a hero, but instead he proved a coward. Hawkins knew it. But, more importantly, the kings and queens faced a problem. Okrannel had fallen to Chytrine, and that scared a lot of people. They knew that if Chytrine’s threats were made common knowledge, there would be panic. People would revolt. The safety people craved would mean their sons and daughters would be sent off to die fighting for Okrannel. It was the same reasoning they have used when they refuse to liberate my homeland, Vorquellyn. Hawkins had to be destroyed so he would never be believed.”

  Resolute’s chin came up. “In Yslin, in Fortress Gryps, Hawkins’ father stripped him of his mask. His father told him he had no son named Tarrant. It wasn’t quite then that Crow was born, but that was surely when Hawkins died. We Vorquelves took him in, because we know what it is to be without a home. And we knew Hawkins couldn’t be the person they said he was.”

  Resolute smiled, his eyes narrowing at the same time. “Not long after I met Hawkins, he vowed he’d see Vorquellyn liberated in his lifetime. Just as Oracle knew you were part of a prophecy, part of the web of events that would lead to Vorquellyn’s redemption, so we knew Hawkins was part of it, too. Because of that, we knew the rumors had to be false.”

  Will blinked. “You’re telling me all this, and yet you’re not helping me to free him? Fat lot of good his execution will do your island’s redemption.”

  Resolute shook his head fiercely. “You’re missing it, boy; think. For over two decades Crow never set foot in Oriosa. Why? Because we knew, at some point, someone would let the truth slip. Vorquelven minstrels started the Squab songs. They started the rumor that Hawkins had killed himself, and people believed it because they thought a traitor ought to have the decency to kill himself in shame. Later, the same minstrels started the Kedyn’s Crow songs—all of them true, mind you. Despite all that, though, we knew that coming to Oriosa would be too risky.”

  “Why did he do it, then?”

  “You can answer that question.”

  Will closed his eyes and concentrated. Crow had spent a quarter century fighting Chytrine. He had searched the world for Will, knowing he was the last of the Norrington bloodline, which was prophesied to destroy Chytrine. He’d fought to destroy her troops and to keep her from obtaining a fragment of the DragonCrown. And, coming south, they’d killed another sullanciri and returned Princess Ryhope and her children to Oriosa.

  The thief opened his eyes again. “Crow felt that getting here, delivering Ryhope, was worth the risk of his life?”

  “Ryhope? You were more important, Will. You are the Norrington.”

  Will rolled his eyes. “That’s beside the point. We can’t let Crow rot in that pit they’ve got him in.”

  “We won’t, but breaking in and pulling him out isn’t going to work, either. You can be smart, Will, so use your head.”

  “I am. Getting him out of jail here will be easier than in Meredo.”

  Resolute shook his head. “Think more deeply. Crow’s freedom will be won by something other than a sword.”

  Will shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Maybe, but sticking a blade into someone like Call Mably would be fun.”

  “And cause more trouble than it would prevent.” The Vorquelf stretched out again. “Think of a solution that would work for a shadow, not a blade.”

  The youth sighed mightily. “You’re no help at all.”

  “When you have a plan that will work, I will help.”

  “The help I need is in making a plan.” Will frowned. “So until then, you’re going to do nothing?”

  “No, I’m going to sleep.” Resolute yawned. “Not the whole time it will take you to come up with a plan, however. I doubt I need much more than a week’s sleep.”

  The thief stuck his tongue out at the elf. “Well, I’m going down to the common room for inspiration.”

  Before Will could reach the door, Resolute called out. “Don’t forget your mask.”

  Will stiffened, then pulled it from the peg on the wall. The simple mask of green leather had an orphan’s notch cut beneath the right eyehole. The Oriosan king’s seal had branded the mask above and between the eyes. Will pulled it on. The leather felt cool on his face. As he knotted it, he made sure to catch a strand of hair in the knot, to make the mask a part of him.

  He turned and opened his hands. “Satisfied?”

  “For now.”

  Will slipped from the room and down the short corridor, passing Alexia’s room on the right and Kerrigan’s on the left. He found it annoying that both of them had retired for the evening; he would have thought that they wanted to free Crow as badly as he did. His irritation passed, however, when he thought about what Resolute had forced him to consider.

  Maybe they’re working on their own plans. Will smiled as he began to descend the stairs. Alexia could figure out a way to free Crow. Kerrigan, well, Will wasn’t all that certain about the magicker, but Kerrigan had shown some spine on the retreat, so anything was possible.

  Will’s descent carried him into the inn’s small common room and, for a moment, the familiar din of tavern chaos made him smile. Then, slowly, the noise died as people turned to look at him. Most of them wore masks, save for a bunch of pig farmers
back in the cold-corner. While the masks hid much of their expressions, Will did see some eyes widen, then smiles begin to blossom.

  Applause erupted spontaneously, then one corpulent man who seemed to have gained a pound around his middle for every hair he had lost from his crown, stood and waved Will forward. “My friends, this is Will Norrington—the Norrington. He’s the one who will destroy Chytrine. He led Princess Ryhope right here to our town. Even more importantly, he’s the one who finally delivered the Traitor to justice.”

  Will’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no, that’s not it at all.”

  The man’s smile grew, his rosy cheeks piling up around the corners of his mouth. “See, and modest, too! A true Oriosan hero.”

  The applause grew and the insanity of it hit Will in increasing waves. These people had it all wrong about Crow. More importantly, they were ignoring the fact that he was there because Chytrine had crushed Fortress Draconis and before spring she could be sacking Tolsin.

  The joy on their faces stopped him from wanting to yell at them. These people knew full well how he had come to be there. To dwell on that, however—to think about their homes being burned, their children slain, their town and their nation vanishing—would drive them insane. They were taking joy in a small victory, a small act of defiance, because it gave them hope.

  My presence gives them hope.

  Will shivered. A quarter century ago the rulers of the world had destroyed Hawkins to preserve hope for their people. Now these people would raise Will up as a symbol of hope. He had done nothing and would be exalted, whereas Crow, who had done so much, had been vilified.

  The bald man took Will by the arm and led him to a table. “An ale for our hero. Please, Lord Norrington, sit, sit. Join us.”

  Will sat mechanically, staring at the sloshing wooden mug of ale that appeared before him.

  His host called to the minstrel by the fire. “Songbird, play us something good.” The man hesitated for a moment, then slapped Will on the back. “Sing to us of Squab. You’d be liking that, wouldn’t you, m’lord?”