Kings of the North (70 page)

“Our people are holding, at least,” Garris said.

“I want the Pargunese back in Pargun,” Kieri said. “We can’t just hold—we must push them out.”

“Sir King, there’s a meal ready—”

“Good.”

The Council members looked frightened again. Kieri exerted himself to reassure them: he had not been harmed, he was fine, and though Talgan was undoubtedly facing a difficult night, with more Pargunese coming across the river, the situation was far from hopeless.

“But if they do break through—and this scathefire, whatever it is, can’t be quenched—”

“And where is the Lady?” asked another; several nodded.

Kieri wished he knew the answer to that; she had promised the land would not burn, but where was she?

Harway, on the Tsaian-Lyonyan border

A
patrol of Girdish yeomen challenged the party from Verrakai Steading before they reached Thornhedge Grange. “There’s trouble in Lyonya,” a yeoman said. “It’s them Pargunese again. They’re not sneaking through our fields this time!”

“I’m a Lyonyan ranger,” Arian said, showing her blackwood bow. “I had taken word to Verrakai—the new duke—about some Verrakaien the rangers killed awhile back, and now I must get back. What’s the best way?”

“The border crossing on the road,” the man said. “Anywhere else you’re liable to be killed as a spy.”

“I need to give Duke Verrakai’s message to the Marshal and the Royal Guard,” Gwenno said. “There’s a message to send to the king—”

“He’ll have had word,” the man said. “Commander already sent a courier. But that won’t be the only one, I’ll be bound.”

Harway buzzed like a kicked beehive when they reached it. They passed patrols in the streets as Gwenno led the way; the grange doors were open, and the Marshal stood in the light, giving orders to groups of yeomen. Gwenno paused and gave him Dorrin’s message, then rode on through the town. Torches edged the riverside.

“I must go on,” Arian said, when Gwenno turned up a side street toward the inn Dorrin had specified.

“Tonight? But shouldn’t you rest?”

“I can’t rest now,” Arian said. “The taig would wake me; I need to be in Lyonya, with rangers or—or wherever I’m told to go.”

“We’ll come with you to the border, then,” Gwenno said, and signaled her troop.

Arian had no idea what the border crossing was usually like, but this night it was lit with torches, with troops of both kingdoms alert and determined to stop any spies. On the Tsaian side, only Gwenno’s insistence that Arian had been the guest of Duke Verrakai—that Gwenno knew her personally—got her through to the Lyonyans. There, the guards recognized her part-elven blood and the blackwood bow.

“Yes, yes, you’re one of ours, but why were you in Tsaia?”

“Ranger business,” Arian said. It had been, in a way.

“But you’re a King’s Squire, aren’t you? We have a list—”

“That, too, but this wasn’t Squire business. Where should I go, do you think?”

“Riverwash. They have a regular courier service from Chaya, and someone there will know where you’re most needed. But watch out for Pargunese on the river road.”

“Can you spare a change of horse? I’ve ridden this one all day.”

“Of course. Take your pick.” He waved at the picket line in the wind shadow of a shed.

Arian moved her gear to a sturdy dark bay with no white markings to show at night, gave her horse a quick rubdown, and put him in the shed. Then she mounted and rode away eastward, letting the taig flow through her. Despite the taig’s disturbance, it was a relief to have that connection back.

A chill wind blew from the north, stronger than it had been as they rode toward Harway. This close to the disturbance, she could easily tell what it was. Men setting fires in the dry leaves … men sneaking through the woods. She was a few sandglasses’ ride from Riverwash.

She met one patrol at a little less than half the distance, rangers who knew her name from old times. All they asked was of Tsaia: did the Tsaian king know, would Tsaia come to their aid? Arian told them what little she knew and rode on.

Suddenly light bloomed in the sky ahead and riverward, first a
yellow glow and then white. The north wind strengthened, as if in response. Arian’s skin drew up; the taig’s reaction was instant and violent—pain, terror, anger, all mixed. She legged her horse into a gallop and very soon heard the roar of flames that towered into the night sky. This was not ordinary fire … terrified deer ran toward her along the road; her horse swerved to avoid them.

She felt first warmth, then heat, and reined in as the road angled north to Riverwash: the entire town was ablaze. What had once been buildings glowed and fell in like coals in a fireplace, white at the center. The wind now blew toward the fire, pulled in by its heat, but then came a stronger blast from the north, and the fire bent over and moved south, toward the road … toward her.

Her horse squealed, jigged, tried to whirl. Arian held it firm long enough to be sure there was nothing she could do—the fire was coming fast and would cut her off from the east—she could not cross its path before it arrived. She turned back to the west, the horse in a panicky run.

The taig beat at her, its pain her pain, until she almost felt her own skin crisping in an instant. Grief, too, as she thought of the lives in that town, all gone in a few instants of agony.
Singer of worlds, help us. Adyan Namer
 … she rode between cold and fire, and met the patrol she’d seen before riding cautiously toward her.

“What is that?”

“Scathefire,” Arian said. She looked back. The fire was roaring away south; where they stood they could see the trees silhouetted against it. “The king of Pargun—when he came and King Falkieri met him—warned of a fire weapon he called scathefire. It cannot be quenched with water, he said.”

“What
is
it?” They sounded as frightened as she felt.

“I don’t know. Riverwash is gone—the whole town—burned in a few moments, I would guess. I couldn’t—I can’t imagine how to stop it—and the taig—” She was shaking, hardly able to talk.

“We must go across after it passes,” the patrol leader said. “As soon as it’s cool enough.”

“But someone must warn Tsaia,” another said. “They must know what this fire can do. Harway’s built of wood as much as Riverwash.”

“May it blow back upon those who set it,” said another.

“It is aiming for our king,” Arian said. She imagined the fire as alive, sniffing out the way she and Kieri and the Pargunese king had gone from Riverwash to Chaya.

“Fires do not aim,” the patrol leader said.

“This one does,” Arian said. She could feel it through the taig, the eager questing nose of flame, the long sinuous body of it, spreading but slowly to either side … like a daskdraudigs of flame, almost.

“Almost,” said the man at her side. He was afoot; she had not seen him before, but now saw him more clearly than the darkness should allow. Her mount snorted and backed away so fast, it almost sat on its hocks. A faint odor of hot metal came from him.

“Who are you?” the patrol leader asked. “A Pargunese spy?” He drew his sword.

“Pargun is of no interest to me,” the man said. “Nor is your sword a threat. That fire, however, is. Who set that fire?”

“The Pargunese,” Arian said. “Or some of them. The King of Pargun would not, but his brother would.”

The man looked at her; behind his eyes, flames danced.

“You are a fire-setter,” she said. “Your eyes—”

“But reflect the true fire,” he said. “See?” He moved so the flames were behind him, and his eyes merely glittered in the reflected light.

“I’m sorry,” Arian muttered.

“It is well,” the man said. “Now, I must follow the fire, for reasons that do not concern you, and I must also find who set it. I would have one of you, just one, as my guide and companion. The rest should ride to warn others, as you were planning.”

The patrol leader opened his mouth, but the man’s glance silenced him; the man looked at each in turn and then at Arian. “I choose you. Come.” He walked away east down the road. Arian’s horse shuddered, then took a step forward.

“Arian, you can’t—” the patrol leader started.

“I must,” she said. She wondered why she was so certain of that, but she had no doubt.

When they reached the place where the fire had crossed the road, the man paused, knelt, and put his face to the stones that stood blackened out of ashes. Arian, watching closely, thought she saw his tongue emerge, touch the stone, and glow slightly.

He stood up once more looking north to what had been Riverwash,
where a few yellow fires burned to either side. “Fools,” he said. “They have no idea what they have loosed, or what the cost will be.”

“Do you know what this fire is?” Arian asked.

“Indeed, yes,” the man said. “But it will do you no good to know; it will only frighten you.”

“I am frightened now,” Arian said.

“No,” the man said. “Not truly. Not yet. Tell me what you know of this fire, what the Pargunese king told you.”

“He said it was a weapon, a gift of the Weaver—the Pargunese think of the demon we call Achrya as their benefactor, for she gave them lands the rockfolk had barred to them.”

“The rockfolk had reason,” the man said.

“And there was a hill of some kind … with black rock, I think he said. The rockfolk told them to stay away from it, but Achrya told them they should enter and take what they found.”

“And what did they find?”

“The king did not say, other than unquenchable fire.”

“I wonder if he knew.” The man stopped, turned to look toward the river. Along the fire’s track marched a group of soldiers, pike tips gleaming in the light that the fire still gave. “You should dismount,” he said to Arian. “Your horse will bolt; you might be injured. Take your horse over there—” He pointed some distance away.

Arian did as she was told, aware of a slight compulsion, but it also seemed sensible. If this were a magelord—she hoped not a renegade Verrakai—magic would certainly terrify her horse.

When she looked back, she saw no man but a large lump in the road, like a pile of rocks. Her first thought was daskdraudigs, but daskdraudigs did not have faceted sides … glittering …

Scales, she thought, an instant before the long snout lifted and the great eyes opened. Yellow as fire, bright as fire … the eye on her side of its head lowered a lid for an instant and then focused forward.

She could feel her horse trembling and laid her hand on its neck. “Be easy … it won’t hurt you.” She hoped. The horse quieted, lowering its nose to nudge her.

The soldiers marched nearer; she could hear the tramp of their feet, the jingle of their mail. The dragon shed light and heat, not as hot as the flame but steady; Arian could see back down the scathe-fire’s track to the soldiers.

“Well, now,” the dragon said to them. “I’m afraid you have done me an injury.” Its voice now had no human overtones.

They halted, congealed into a compact mass, pikes askew. The smell of hot metal grew stronger; it was like being in a forge.

“What you want?” their leader said, in the same accent Arian had heard from the Pargunese lords. His shiny breastplate gleamed in the dragon’s light, and a plume waved from his pointed helmet. Arian had to admire his courage, if not his sense.

“Recompense,” the dragon said. “For your discourtesy and your abuse of my hospitality.”

“What—”

“You stole my property. You used my property to call attention to me and my kindred, and our special places. Were you not warned away?”

“No,” the man said. “The Lady Weaver said we could—”

“Your Lady Weaver,” the dragon said, “is but a morsel to season my feast.” Its snout lowered almost to the ground. “Did not the rockfolk forbid your going beyond the great falls?”

“Yes, but what of it? They little folk weren’t using that land.”

“And did they not specifically forbid you to touch any hill with black stone, with a spine in the shape of mine?”

The man laughed. “The shape of yours? Do you think I don’t know you’re a bunch of men in a dragon puppet, like those at winter fairs that come to scare the children? There are no dragons, not in these days. They died out ages ago, before the magelords came north.” He turned to his men. “Come, now: this is no true dragon. Once we stick those pikes in it, you’ll see it’s naught but painted wood and canvas, lit from within by lamps—it will burn like their towns and trees—” He drew his sword and marched forward, followed by his troop.

The dragon did not move; the great eyes closed, its light flickered.

“And don’t think you can escape by running out the tail,” the officer yelled. The men moved more quickly, encouraged … ran up and rammed their pikes into its snout. And clanged on the scales without effect.

“You made a mistake,” the dragon said, opening its eyes again. “Not for the first time.” Tilting back its head, lower jaw still on the ground, the dragon let out a single spurt of flame, white as that burning
in the forest, and the men—all of them—were gone in an instant. It tilted its head toward Arian. “I do not like cruelty,” it said, “but I will not tolerate discourtesy, and I am not fond of stupidity.”