The Grand Crusade (6 page)

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 assault 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 assumed 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 isnotthe 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 hoarse 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 balls 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 passive. 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 passive, 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 assumed 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 assumed 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 gibberers, dracomorphs,kryalniri, and dragons had not, but also knew that such things would amuse the gods, 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 nobility.

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 bump a rafter as he

went.

Across the crowded room was a second set of stairs that switched-back to a