Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III (80 page)

A final blow ended the battle. Spectators applauded as the pawn stumbled backward, not only stepping out of bounds but also falling on his back. It was as clean a victory as any. Clean and without any bloodshed. Toos was aware that some of his guests would have liked to have seen blood, but that was not the point of the game. Anyone exhibiting more than a little fondness for what little blood was spilled was not invited back for quite some time. Most learned from that. To earn the regent’s disfavor was something few desired.

Kyl was considering his next move. Toos leaned forward and whispered, “Beware Andrean’s bishops. He likes to put them into play fairly quickly. Likely when he does, he’ll go for your knight using both of them.”

A slight nod was all he received in response from the young drake. Kyl already understood just how unorthodox the baron’s playing was and appreciated his host’s guidance. However, how the drake chose to counter the move was entirely up to the emperor-to-be himself.

With his part done for now, the tall, narrow regent studied the assembled guests. Still nothing out of the ordinary, but the same sense of uneasiness that had allowed him to survive decades of mercenary work insisted that something was amiss. Kyl glanced at the Green Dragon, who stood off to one side with the draconian sentries. The Dragon King had them spread out and ready for immediate action. There had been room enough for them behind the heir, but the Dragon King had insisted that they would be of more use out in the open, where they could better watch over the entire area. As it was, the two bodyguards who always accompanied Kyl stood behind both the heir and the regent. Toos, who was a good judge of warriors, thought they looked capable enough, if somewhat distant.
But then, they’re drakes, aren’t they, Toos? You know them only from across the battlefield, not from the same side.
It was strange to have drakes at his back, but the regent’s own bodyguards also stood behind the master of Penacles and his guest. Toos had the utmost confidence in his own soldiers; they had ways of dealing quickly with treacherous drakes.

And Toos had a few tricks of his own.

A disturbance near the entrance caught his attention. He turned to see Grath and Benjin Traske. The scholar tried to hide it, but it was clear to the trained eye of the former mercenary that he was upset about something. Even if Traske’s face and form had not indicated anxiety, Grath’s own evident nervousness was enough to garner the regent’s concern.

Time passed, the game went on, and still nothing happened. Toos wondered whether the danger was all in his mind, but whenever he looked around, he felt somehow vindicated in his beliefs. Grath, the Green Dragon, Traske . . . wherever he looked, the regent found faces whose concern matched his own. It was as if they were all waiting for something to happen, something that
should
have happened by this time.

Kyl hissed. The wary general shifted his gaze immediately to the heir, but the drake’s reaction was at the loss of a valuable piece and not because of any danger. Kyl glanced his way. “If hisss championsss can defeat my king, I am lossst!”

Pulling his thoughts back to the game, Toos saw that his royal guest’s summation was correct. Andrean had two men, a knight and a rook, in position. Another rook stood nearby. All the baron had to do was give the command, and that piece would put the drake’s king into checkmate. Kyl’s man would then have to fight each piece until he had either defeated all three or had fallen to one of them. Sizing the soldiers up, Toos was willing to give the heir’s man one, maybe two combats, but fatigue would prevent him from salvaging the game for his player.

Kyl’s king carried shield and mace and knew well the advantages and disadvantages of each. As Baron Andrean commanded his second rook forward, the champion readied himself. Under the rules that Toos had formulated, Andrean could choose any of the three with which to begin. Kyl’s man had already positioned himself so as to face the knight. Toos nodded; it was the same opponent that he would have chosen. To the regent’s amused surprise, however, Kyl’s adversary chose instead to use his first rook, the least of his three champions. There were a few murmurs in the crowd, but most did not comprehend what Andrean was doing. The regent did, and the knowledge brought the shadow of a smile to his foxlike features. Andrean, very much the politician, was giving his opponent as much aid as he possibly could. The game was already his, but if Kyl’s man could defeat at least one rival, then so much the better for the heir’s showing. The closer the game appeared to be, the better the dragon heir would feel.

Weapons clanged as the rook took on the king. Champions were ofttimes given the option of choosing their own weapons, and so this was a battle of mace against scepter, the latter in reality simply a more elaborate mace. Both men struck hard at the shields, each hoping to knock the other’s defense away or at least open a hole. People cheered, and not a few bets were placed on the outcome. As an old soldier, Toos had no qualms about betting as long as it was kept under certain limitations. Now and then he liked to make a bet himself. The years had given him a practiced eye when it came to the art of war.

The rook tried to get his mace under the king’s shield in order to lift the latter away, but the drake’s champion turned the trick against the younger soldier, pushing down with his full mass. The rook’s grip loosened on the mace as the weapon was pulled down. Wasting no precious time, the king struck with his own weapon, almost getting around the other’s shield. His opponent struggled to free his mace even as the king attacked again, but the elder champion would not permit that. Changing tactics, Kyl’s man suddenly turned his assault from the rook’s shield to the imprisoned mace, bringing his scepter down on it.

Several people gasped, thinking that the king intended to crush the hand of his opponent, a move that Toos would have condemned. The general, however, understood what the champion was doing. As the mace came down, the rook, obviously stunned by what he thought was happening, pulled his hand back as if bitten. The mace continued to come down, but midway it suddenly shifted. Instead of striking where his adversary’s hand would have been, the king brought his scepter down on the upper shaft of the other mace. Had the rook realized that his hand had never been in danger, he could have used that moment to seize the wrist of Kyl’s champion and possibly balance out the odds. As it was, the rook was now weaponless. The king knocked the loose mace far away and wasted no time pressing his attack. The bout ended but seconds later, to the sounds of great cheering.

Kyl was hissing, but Toos recognized his reaction as one of extreme pleasure. The heir had half-risen out of his chair, the better to view the battle. As Andrean’s knight stepped forward, the young drake rose more. A slight frown escaped the regent; he hoped that the heir was not given to bloodlust like some drakes. Toos looked around for Grath and discovered that neither he nor the scholar had moved from the doorway. Unlike Kyl, the younger drake still appeared more apprehensive than anything else. He was glad to see that Kyl’s brother, at least, was not given to bloodlust, but he also wondered what worried Grath so. When the opportunity presented itself, the general intended to talk to the lad about it. Perhaps doing so would clear up some of his own mysterious anxieties.

“Thisss one will be much clossser!” remarked the dragon heir to his host.

Forcing himself back into the game, Toos agreed. “You must be prepared to accept it if your champion loses, Lord Kyl. The knight’s very skilled.”

“I am prepared, General. I do not give up hope jussst yet, though. If I lossse, I lossse; if victory isss sssalvaged, ssso much the better.”

The statement pleased Toos, more because of the way it was said. Kyl’s tone indicated he meant every word.
Perhaps I’ve misjudged him. He might be more level-headed than I thought.

His attention was again diverted, this time by the Green Dragon, who signaled to Grath and Benjin Traske to join him. The Dragon King had a goblet in one hand, though, and when he shifted position, the better for those he was signaling to see him, the hand with the goblet bumped against one of his guards.

The goblet slipped from his hand, its contents spilling on the floor. The draconian soldiers nearest to him converged on the fallen cup.

Snapping his fingers, the regent summoned one of his own men. The man saluted and waited for orders. Toos pointed at the huddled figures. “Get someone over there now. His Lordship might need something to clean himself off with. Make certain not a spot remains and give the Dragon King whatever other aid he desires.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kyl, still standing, had not noticed what was happening. His own attention was fixed on the two combatants. Toos blinked. He could not even recall the beginning of the bout, but the drake’s champion and Vergoth’s man had obviously already been at it for several seconds. The skill of the knight was already telling, however, for Kyl’s king was beginning to lose ground. The general scratched his long, narrow chin. He had expected better of the king, but that was the way of the game. The soldiers who took part did not play the same way twice. One time, they might seem unstoppable; other days, they might fall after only a few blows. It was part of what made his variation on the game of chess a much more interesting one in his opinion.

The sense of danger again pervaded his being. Yet, surveying the scene, Toos could find nothing amiss. Servants had not yet reached the Dragon King, who, surrounded by his own soldiers, was virtually invisible. Grath and the scholar were wending their way toward the lord of Dagora, but they appeared to be safe. What could—

As it had happened so many times in the past, he saw what was to be. No one, not even the Gryphon, truly understood the workings of the former mercenary’s limited yet potent magic. Toos himself did not, for he had never met another in whom the power had so focused itself in one direction. Had he been asked to transport himself from one end of the arena to another, the regent would have been unable to comply. Had he been asked to levitate a sword, even that would have been beyond him. Yet, despite this seeming lack of skill, he had one of the most unusual gifts of sorcery, one that had saved his life time and time again.

He had heard of only one mage skilled in prophecy: Yalak of the Dragon Masters, who had once created a crystal egg that could show images of possible future events. Knowing prophecy had not prevented Yalak from being murdered by Azran Bedlam, however, which was why Toos had always been careful to cultivate his ability and had shared its full secrets with no one, not even the Gryphon. He had always felt guilty about that, but what was done was done.

The image came at its own chosen time, just like all the others. He had only time to gasp at its implications and marvel at the audacity of the one behind it before he became aware that the true event was
just
taking place.

It began with the striking of the two champions’ weapons against one another. The mace of Kyl’s king was knocked from the warrior’s hand and, before the startled eyes of the many, flew almost unerringly toward the astounded heir. As it neared, however, it was clear to most that it would fall short. Kyl took a step back, but did not otherwise protect himself from the misshaped projectile.

Only Toos knew that the true threat was only now coming into play. Leaping toward the drake, he cried, “Get down!”

The former mercenary reached Kyl just as the draconian guards stirred to life. Perhaps they had not heard his cry, or perhaps they felt that it was their duty to protect their master, not his. Toos only knew that he had barely thrust the dragon heir to the floor when a massive, armored figure shoved him aside, causing the general to spin in a half circle.

Something hard and swift thudded against his back.

He thought at first that the mace had somehow managed to fly over the arena wall, but then a fierce pain wracked the general’s chest and it was all he could do to keep from collapsing there and then. Grimacing, the regent forced open his eyes, which he could not recall closing, and peered down. To his surprise, Toos saw no sign of the wound that should have been there. Then, as his legs began to buckle, it occurred to him that the entry point had to have been from the back. The bolt, or whatever the assassin had used, had not quite pierced him all the way through.

The world spun around. Toos fell to his knees, which did nothing to alleviate the agony. Around him he knew that there was panic. Someone called out to him, but it was as if they were receding even as they spoke.

He knew he was dying. For once, his magic-wrought ability to outmaneuver his foes had worked against him. He
had
beaten the assassin, for Kyl must certainly still live, but it had
not
been the general’s intention to make himself the new target.

Sloppy,
Toos thought.
Been away from the field too long. Shouldn’t have listened to those jackanapes! Next maneuver, I go out with the men . . . get myself back in shape. . . .

Things grew hazy. Someone was in front of him. Toos tried to focus. The figure coalesced into that of the Gryphon, but that was nonsense, the regent knew. The Gryphon was with the Bedlams.

He chuckled, which caused him to shake as renewed pain coursed through him. Toos tried to speak to the imaginary Gryphon, but all that escaped his lips was blood. Putting one last great effort into his attempt at speech, he told the apparition, “It’s . . . yours again . . .”

Toos closed his eyes, knowing that the meaning of his words would be clear. After so many years of trying, he had
finally
found a way to force his old commander to reassume the throne. It was the Gryphon who had made Penacles what it was. Toos had simply been its caretaker while the lionbird recovered from his great labors. Now, however, the regent’s work was done. It was time to move on.

A sound caught his attention. Horns. He had little trouble recognizing the notes; it was the call to arms of his old company, the one in which he had first followed his commander.