Blood Of Ambrose Part 16

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

HEROES AND VILLAINS.

ne evening Steng awoke from a nap to find a message from his true master lying in the fireplace of his apartment. They often appeared there, in his own peculiar handwriting, after he had been sleeping. The message said simply, A dragon has been seen in the woods north of the city. Warn Urdhven: it is a sending of the Amhrosii. There was no signature, of course: none was needed.

He scrolled up the message and stuck it into a fold of his tunic. Hurrying through the corridors, he found Lord Protector Urdhven consulting with Vost over a large stone table covered with maps in the room that had formerly been the Emperor's council chamber.

"My Lord Urdhven," Steng said without preliminary, "a dragon has been seen in the woods between the city and the Whitethorn Range."

"Old news, Steng," Vost crowed vengefully. "We've been plotting the dragon's progress from Anhi with these maps, and the intelligence collected by my men."

"Hm. Perhaps if you deployed a great many of your men the aggregate intelligence might amount to something significant."

While Vost was working this out, Steng continued, "But I don't suppose Vost's men have told you that the dragon is a sending of the Ambrosii."

"It is?" Urdhven was eager to believe it. "How do you know? Can you be sure?" Vost gazed at him woundedly.

Since Vost was not looking at him for the moment, Steng made an arcane gesture and said, "Very sure."

"Oh." Urdhven's enthusiasm cooled. "Excellent. But you have nothing we can announce as proof?"

"Not yet. Is proof needed?"

"We can hope so. Look here, Steng, the dragons left the Blackthorns some months ago and savaged a number of Anhikh cities. Among them have been named Menebacikhukh and Sekntepaphonokhai."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Knock off the jaded witticisms and look at the map! Menebacikhukh and Sekntepaphonokhai are due east of Invarna, which is just on our side of the Anhikh border. Now Invarna is the one town in the empire we are fairly sure has been struck by the dragons."

"I heard a circ.u.mstantial rumor that Sarkunden had been taken."

"No, that's just a rumor. I'm in daily communication with the garrison there."

"With respect, Lord Urdhven, you miss my point. If we have circ.u.mstantial rumors about Sarkunden which we know are false, are we not in danger of being taken in by rumors about places where our information is less current? Why do we think Invarna has been taken, not to mention-those Anhikh places?"

"We never know much about what goes on in Anhi. But no one has heard from Invarna in months."

"Eh, Lord Urdhven, when does one ever hear from Invarna?"

"Look at the pattern, man! From Menebacikhukh to Sekntepaphonokhai, from Sekntepaphonokhai to Invarna, from Invarna to here. The dragons are headed due west to the Gap of Lone-they must plan some sort of action against the Wardlands."

Steng was genuinely dismayed. "Death and Justice! I hope you're wrong!"

"Oh?" Urdhven's voice was oily and dangerous.

"Yes indeed. If the dragons attempt an invasion of the Wardlands, the Graith of Guardians is likely to meet them in force before they cross the border. That would mean a war between the dragons and the powers of the Wardlands in our territory. There might be nothing left alive between the Grartan Range and the Inner Sea!"

"Nonsense, Steng. No one has that kind of power."

"Eh, Lord Urdhven, those-who-know fear the Wardlands. Well, we can do nothing about that, if it is so. But, remember, the unnamed tells us that the dragon north of the city is a sending of the Ambrosii."

"Exactly!" Urdhven said. "Perhaps a rogue dragon drawn off from the herd-"

"The guile, my lord. We say 'guile of dragons'-like a pride of lions, or a murder of crows."

Urdhven's glance showed that he was thinking of murder of a different sort, and Steng fell silent. "The Ambrosii have skills we know nothing of," the Lord Protector continued, "and ancient ties to the dragons of the Blackthorn Range. They may have managed to draw off a rogue dragon from the herd to spread terror and death in the city."

"For what purpose, my Lord Protector?"

"To discredit my rule. To weaken the city against an a.s.sault from outside. Sheer malice."

Steng reserved his true opinion and said, "Three excellent reasons, Lord Urdhven. I am well answered. Then you hope to defeat the dragon and gain credit from it, as the city's defender?"

Urdhven seemed to relax a little: his loyal poisoner was again performing as expected. "Yes. What do you think of the plan?"

"I hope you never have a chance to put it into practice, my Lord Protector. The city is perpetually in danger of burning down as it is, without a dragon putting down in the Great Market. But I think that a set of patrols within the city would do a great deal of good-a dragon watch, as it were. People are very near panic with all these rumors."

"We could design a special banner for the dragon watch," Vost broke in. "That way people would know at a glance of the Protector's care for them."

"Hm. Not bad," Steng conceded grudgingly. "Really an excellent idea. These dragon rumors may ultimately be to the Protector's advantage. The Ambrosii are an invisible menace, as long as they remain in hiding, but everyone can understand the threat of a dragon, and the need of a strong leader to oppose it."

"The ultimate benefit will accrue if I can kill the dragon myself," Urdhven said coolly. "I want all the help you can give me-ointments, spells, advice."

"Eh, my lord, I know very little about dragons."

"Then find out. One of my ancestors killed a dragon once, if the songs don't lie. In any case, dragons have been killed. Find out how, and by whom. What they did, I can do."

Steng took this as a dismissal, bowed low, and turned away. As he went back to his chamber he found he felt a new touch of admiration for Urdhven. To face a dragon took some nerve-whatever you said about the Lord Protector, he was not deficient in courage. He was right about the political advantage, too-it was amazing what slime people would swallow when it was offered them by a hero. But Steng still hoped it would never happen: the thought of fire abroad in the city terrified him.

The crisis that Urdhven longed for and Steng feared came five days later. Toward evening, a red-gold dragon appeared in the north and swooped over the watch at the Lonegate of Ambrose. Then it followed the line of the wall south and west, as word of the dragon's advent spread through the palace and the city.

Urdhven's plans were ready. Virtually all the Protector's Men in Ambrose were ordered into the streets as Dragon Watchmen-Urdhven didn't want any of the politically doubtful City Legion gaining any glory from this fight against the dragon. The City Legion could stay behind to watch the walls and keep Ambrose from looters-he was tolerably sure there was no external military force near enough to threaten the city. He himself took Vost and the trembling Steng and rode posthaste for the Great Market. It was centrally located, so that he could ride from there to any part of the city where the dragon came to ground. And it was not unlikely the dragon would choose to land there: it was the most open place in the city, and around it was the greatest concentration of wealth, not excluding the treasure rooms of Ambrose itself.

Urdhven's guess was a good one (in fact, it was Steng's), but it was not at the Great Market that the dragon first set down in the city.

Genjandro had always hated politics. He had wanted one thing out of life: to make so much money that he would be immune from the pus.h.i.+ng and shoving of the pettily powerful. And he had been well on his way when he had somehow been drafted into the cause of the little King. Then one thing followed another, and now he was about to set fire to a large fortune in Kaenish rugs-his biggest warehouse on the west side of the city.

"Irreplaceable!" he muttered. "Not just the money-works of art! Gone up in smoke! All for a deranged plan that hasn't half a halting chance at success. Madness!"

But this was merely reflex. He was not really a merchant anymore, or even a civilian. He was a soldier in the war against the Lord Protector. He would grumble and he would do as he was told. And when he died, whether it was soon or late, he wouldn't have to tell himself, There was nothing I could do! The oppressor was too strong! To h.e.l.l with that. He would do what he could do. He would do all that three men could do. He would fight the oppressor in any way possible, even if he didn't understand it. What Urdhven was, what he would do to Genjandro's city and Genjandro's people, that Genjandro did understand.

The dragon pa.s.sed overhead, its birdlike shadow outlined in the red light of sunset on the building next door. The shadow appeared again, facing the other way, and slowly settled down, merging with the shadow of the warehouse itself. A faint sc.r.a.ping (if that) was all that told Genjandro a dragon had landed on his roof.

Genjandro hesitated. He could not quite believe this was happening, and belief was not helped when he saw the dragon's red serpentine head appear in the window. The face was tilted sideways, and the dragon's face was split by what appeared to be a grin.

The dragon was there-and he was not. Genjandro saw the red-gold serpentine scales, the bloodred fiery eyes, heard the heavy breathing, smelled the venomous smoke. And he knew he could not be seeing what he was seeing.

"Which one are you?" he whispered. "Which one is controlling the illusion? How ... ? How ...

Then he heard, or thought he heard, a caw. Suddenly it was all very funny. He snickered as he plunged the torch into several stacks of rugs. The dragon roared obligingly and withdrew its serpentine head. Genjandro went on spreading fire through his warehouse and then ran down into the street screaming.

"The dragon!" he shrieked. "The dragon burned my warehouse! Help! Call the Dragon Watch! The dragon is in the city!"

Moments later the street was full of screaming people and Genjandro's work was done. He stayed to fight the fire and spread rumors in the crowd. But when the fire was out and the crowd turned to looting, Genjandro fled from the ruined warehouse. By then the sky was full of storm clouds, drawing a premature curtain of dusk across the city. There was a red glow over the high crooked horizon to the east.

Meanwhile the Lord Protector, Vost, and Steng had reached the Great Market and were waiting there with three cohorts of Protector's Men, luminous in their new uniforms as Dragon Watchmen.

Urdhven was filled with a feeling of supreme confidence. This, he knew somehow, was his hour, when none could defeat him.

He wore heavy plate armor, and his charger, too, was armored. The metal was treated with a sticky bloodlike stuff that Steng said would resist fire. "But," he had said, "I can find nothing which will protect you from the dragon's venom, so I warn you to avoid the beast's breath at all costs."

Urdhven had grunted. "Have you no better advice than that?"

"Yes," Steng had replied. "I should bait him-tempt him to expel fire at you and then retreat."

"Why?"

"Because whatever the source for a dragon's fire and venom, it cannot be inexhaustible. There must be at least a moment when it will be exhausted, as you or I would be if we expelled our lungs without replenis.h.i.+ng them. That will be the moment for you to turn and attack."

"Excellent, Steng-really excellent," Urdhven had approved. "So I'll do in fact. I'll remember you for this."

"And I you, my Lord," Steng had replied, with unfeigned admiration. Remembering this, Urdhven's heart swelled with pride. It would be all right. He would defeat the dragon and save the city. He would be the kind of ruler the empire had not seen in centuries, the founder of a new dynasty, Urdhven the Great....

The sky above was dark with storm clouds; Urdhven looked up and saw the dragon soar into view, breathtakingly beautiful, red-gold against blueblack, his destiny incarnate.

"Land! Land!" Urdhven whispered intently, and the dragon, almost as if it had heard, wheeled in the air and settled down in the middle of the Great Market.

"Vost!" Urdhven cried. "Leave it to me! If I fall, you will attack with the Dragon Watchmen. Afterward, do as Steng will advise you. Do you hear me?"

"I hear and will obey, my lord," cried Vost, and raised his sword in salute, his eyes wide with admiration.

Urdhven spurred his heavy steed to a lumbering gallop, das.h.i.+ng before the front line of the Dragon Watchmen. As one they raised their swords and shouted his name. He raised his hand in acknowledgement, then wheeled aside to face the dragon.

It sat there on all fours, its wings folded back, regarding him with a fixed gaping look-almost like a grin. He drew his sword and flourished it, shouting a challenge, then charged straight at the beast.

It reared up, lifting its wings forward and aloft, then back again as it inhaled a mighty breath. At the last moment Urdhven jerked the reins and swerved his horse aside, swinging back in a long curving path toward the place where he had begun his charge. A storm of red obscuring light followed him, but never reached him, as the dragon roared.

When the dragon ceased roaring and the tide of red light receded, he sheathed his sword and swung his steed about, unsheathing his lance and setting it at rest. Then he charged directly at the dragon, positioning the spear for a deathblow in the narrow scaly chest.

With terrible clarity, he saw the dragon rear up again, throwing its wings aloft and forward and then back as it inhaled. He had left it too longretreated too far. The dragon would roar again before he could strike. But the dragon would die, too-momentum would carry him on and he would pierce the dragon's heart. At worst, his cohorts of armed men standing by would be able to finish off the wounded dragon.

True, he would be dead, but at that transcendent moment it hardly mattered. He would die for the empire he had killed so many to rule, and perhaps one day men still might refer to him as Urdhven the Great....

The dragon roared, and all Urdhven's thoughts drowned in the red light. He knew only the need to ride forward, to strike, to kill the beast that was killing him. He didn't even feel any heat.

But there was no shock of contact, only a strange tearing sound and his horse stumbled. He fell into darkness and the sense of inexplicable failure.

When he lifted his head he saw that he and his horse were tangled in a huge swath of scarlet silk. Near at hand he saw his spear, still protruding from the rent it had made in the great silken shape that was collapsing as he watched. And from the tear were pouring black birds--dozens of crows, hundreds of them, thousands, murder upon murder of crows....

Where is my dragon? he almost cried aloud, like a plaintive child whose favorite toy has been taken away, but just then he realized: this was his dragon. This silken puppet moved by crows, gilded with illusory magic that was now dispelled, this was his dragon.

He knew now exactly what had happened, exactly how he had been tricked by those d.a.m.ned Ambrosii and his own hopes. He knew what he must do, before it was too late. But he took a moment to mourn his boyish dreams of heroism. He would never be able to indulge them again; he would always remember this time when they had played him false. A man who had murdered his sister and his liege lord to gain power had no business to be dreaming of heroism, anyway. Perhaps he would never be Urdhven the Great, the people's hero. Perhaps he would be Urdhven the Terrible. At any rate, he would be Urdhven I, Emperor of this d.a.m.ned empire, if he had to wade in blood to do it. And this defeat was in a way an opportunity, for now, after all these months, he knew just where his enemies were.

Sullenly he got to his feet. His charger seemed to have broken its leg when it fell, so he killed it with his sword. Then he walked over to where Steng and Vost awaited him, their faces carefully expressionless.

"Get down, Steng!" he shouted impatiently. "I need your horse. We ride to Ambrose, as fast as may be."

The poisoner dismounted, and the Protector ascended to his saddle. "Tell the Companions of Mercy I will need them," Urdhven commanded Steng. "Any Dragon Watch-any Protector's Men you see, send them to me at the City Gate of Ambrose." He rode away without waiting for a reply, and Vost and the other soldiers followed him out of the Great Market.

The captains of the City Legion were gathered, with many of their men, in the audience hall of Ambrose. They had all received anonymous messages to a.s.semble there at this hour and day, and they had all been forbidden by the Protector to engage in the fight against the dragon. Some were absent. A few had taken to the street to fight the dragon, their sense of duty overriding their (obviously politically motivated) orders. Others had declined to appear, fearing this anonymous summons was an invitation to another purge, like the one that had left most of the loyal servants of Ambrose dead. This possibility was on the minds of those who had chosen to appear as well: all of them bore arms and armor. They would not be purged without a fight.

They waited in vain for the Protector. But presently one of his henchmen appeared, fully armored, in the hated black surcoat with its red lion rampant.

A rumble of dissatisfaction arose from the a.s.sembled soldiers. The arrogance of it! One Protector's Man, in battle-scarred armor and a dirty surcoat, to address the pride of the City Legion!

The Protector's Man was arrogant indeed, speaking to no one, swaggering up the long hall to the dais and the imperial throne. Then he sat down on the throne itself and drew his sword, putting it across his knees like a sovereign about to deliver the high justice.

There was a shout of protest, and some of the Legionaries leaped forward to pull the Protector's Man off the throne. But before they could reach him he took off his helmet and tossed it down the long hallway. And what they saw then caused all the soldiers to grow silent and still.

"Come on, then!" Ambrosia shouted, her iron-gray hair settling about her shoulders. "Haul me down and hail me about, and when the Protector returns from his dragon hunt, as he will do shortly, he'll reward you as richly as he can. He might even let you transfer to his new guards-you, too, might wear this proud uniform!" And she tore the surcoat with her left hand and cast it down on the stairs of the dais.

There was silence in the hall. Ambrosia waited and waited, and finally she smiled. "You're lacking in ambition, that's your problem," she said confidingly. "You still think your oath has meaning-that loyalty and honor can have any use or purpose in the bright new tomorrow our Protector promises us. What fools you are! You stand there gaping, when any one of you could make your fortune by climbing this dais and striking off my head!"

Another long pause. None of the Legionaries spoke or moved; they hardly breathed.

"Or is it the other way around?" Ambrosia asked quietly (yet somehow the words went to every corner of the room). "Is it the others, so swift to shake off their allegiance, so ready to follow a kin-slaying traitor, is it they who are the fools? Fools to oppose me, certainly. I won't pretend to know every one of you, but every one of you here knows me. It was I and my brother who went to the edge of the world to defy the Sunkillers. It was I who stemmed the tide of the Khroi at the Battle of Sarkunden. It was I who carried the banner of Uthar into the breach at Vakhnhal. You remember how I led the troops of this empire to victory again and again. Uthar my consort is gone, but I remain, the greatest general and leader of armed cohorts since the old time. Those who threaten me or my descendants, the rightful emperors of Ontil, will go down in death and defeat. So it has always been and so it will be today.

"I come to you for one reason and one reason alone. You have watched this thing, this crawling traitor, this Urdhven, with as much disgust as I. You have not joined with him-or you would not wear the Legion's sacred emblem-but neither have you opposed him. I tell you this: you must do one or the other now. Tear off your surcoat and humbly supplicate Lord Urdhven to be one of his men, or do your d.a.m.n job and protect the King of the Two Cities from a murdering usurper."

She reached into her mail s.h.i.+rt and drew forth a rumpled sheet of parchment with a red seal.

"This is my appointment, by the lawful King of the Two Cities and the lord of Ambrose, to act as his regent. Those who choose to stand with me and renew their oath to the King may take up in the new Royal Legion the same rank they held in the City Legion. Those who choose to do otherwise may crawl out of here, on their bellies or however seems suitable, but they must expect no mercy from me or any of the King's loyal ministers should we ever meet again."

She stood and, lifting her sword aloft, began to chant the words of the Legion's oath. As one, the a.s.sembled soldiers drew their swords and echoed her. The thunder of their voices reached down to the riverside dungeons, to the empty guardhouse at the City Gate, to a secret chamber high above the city where Morlock lay dreaming of being a dragon.

The King and Wyrth heard them as they sat beside Morlock in the hidden pa.s.sages of Ambrose.

"What does it mean?" Lathmar asked breathlessly.

"They're either slaughtering the Lady Ambrosia or taking the oath with her," Wyrtheorn replied, shrugging. "Sounds too organized to be the murder of just one person, but they say the Legion is very well drilled. You know: 'Company A: advance. Kill! Company B: advance. Kill! Company C-"'