Dragon Blood

9—WARDWICK

I awoke in a black mood. Yesterday it had all seemed so unreal, but this morning I remembered bleakly all of the humiliations of my captivity. I didn't remember everything clearly, mostly bits and pieces, but that was enough. I remembered losing control of my body in every possible way, remembered pleading with Jade Eyes both to stop and not to stop. I felt filthy and used.

Tisala slept backward on the chair, her arms folded over the back with her chin resting upon her forearms. I didn't want her to see me, somehow certain that what I'd done under Jade Eyes's hands would be written upon my flesh.

Quietly I pulled on the covers until they cloaked my miserable self. If I'd had a knife at hand, I'd have slit my own throat.

The door opened and Oreg, whose light footsteps were unmistakable, came in.

"All right, Tisala," he said. "Time for a changing of the guard. There's a bed with your name on it on the other side of the wall."

"Ouch," she said, and I heard the legs of the chair shift on the wooden floor. "Though mind you, anyone who falls asleep on guard-duty deserves to be stiff."

"Go sleep," Oreg said, and I heard from his tone that he was fond of her. "I told you I slept just across the hall, you didn't need to stay here."

"Yes, I did," she said, yawning. "He watched over me under similar circumstances."

He waited where he was until she'd shuffled out and the door shut behind her.

"All right, Ward," he said. "Time to wake up and face the day."

I took a deep breath and pulled the covers down. "Good morning," I said, trying to sound normal.

Oreg sat on the foot of the bed. "How did you sleep?"

I opened my mouth to lie and tell him I was well-rested when I remembered that at least one of the nightmares I'd had was important. "The Tamerlain was here—I don't know if I told you her part in all of this. Yesterday is a bit of a blur."

Oreg nodded. "You told all of us that she cleared your head so you could think and throw Jakoven's plans to the wolves. It was a near thing, though. I talked to the guardsman who was watching so he could summon your uncle's men if they were needed. Even as it was, he said that but for your uncle's hold on Tosten, he'd have gone for the king right there and then."

"Well," I said, not wanting to think how close I had come to getting my entire family beheaded for treason. "She visited me last night and told me that Aethervon had a gift of true dreaming for me—out of gratitude for cleansing the land, I think she said. I dreamt the king was looking for a boy, my father's son out of a Hurog-bred whore. The boy's mother is dead, but the boy would be Hurog-born from both parents."

"Can you find him?" Oreg asked.

I shook my head. "I just saw the king's part in this. I need to see the boy before I can find him with magic." An increasingly familiar feeling of weakness crept over me. "Ah, gods," I whispered before my body began to try to shake itself apart.

An extremely unpleasant interval followed. Oreg held me until it was over, then efficiently removed me to the chair, burned my clothes and the sheets, and cleaned the room. He stepped out and returned—in clean clothes, as I had managed to dirty him, too—with sheets and clothes for me. He made the bed as I dressed.

"Efficient," I said, sitting stiffly on the bed.

"You think you are the only Hurog whose body rebelled from the poisons pumped through it?" he said. "If I weren't efficient after all these years, it would be a shame. Most of them even chose to indulge in vice. Go to sleep, Ward. Duraugh has to write orders for Beckram to take to Iftahar's seneschal, so we're not leaving until later this morning. I'll have a talk with Tisala about your newest foundling. As it happens, she has a lot of contacts in Estian. If there's a young Hurog out in the streets, she'll find him."

He left and I lay back in the bed, feeling even worse than I had when I awoke. As I stared at the ceiling, Tosten opened the door, his battered lap harp in one hand.

He gave me a measuring glance. "You look worse than you did yesterday. Oreg told me you needed cheering up—and I was to come and make myself useful."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

"I see he was right." Tosten nodded. "You need to hear The Ballad of Hurog's Dragon, which is even now making itself popular in the taverns of Estian."

He pulled up Tisala's chair, settled himself in it, and began to play a song that purported itself to be a story a Shavig armsman was telling to a Tallvenish audience at an inn. That it was one of Tosten's own compositions was obvious to me. I knew my brother's music.

About halfway through I surged to my feet in disbelief. "He did what?"

Tosten stopped playing. "Oreg was really worried about you, Ward. It wasn't his fault. None of the horses got hurt, and he did that thing that makes people look away from him. I bet there weren't half a dozen of the men who really got a good look at him."

"And you're singing about this in the taverns? No one is supposed to know about our dragon."

"Oh," he said. "We've done something about that. It was Tisala's suggestion, actually, and I've refined upon it a bit. Listen to the rest."

The pair of Shavigmen used their tale to lure a Tallvenish nobleman (who sounded a lot like several of Jakoven's cronies) away from his fellows and out into the woods. Whereupon the Shavigmen stripped and bound him. They gathered his possessions and clothing and took them back to the inn with a note warning him to leave a certain Shavig heiress alone or they'd spread the story of his humiliation far and wide.

I sank back onto the bed with a laugh. "Catchy tune."

Tosten looked pleased. "I thought so. I've heard several other minstrels play it—or a version of it."

"No one will ever admit to believing there are dragons at Hurog after hearing that," I said.

"That was mostly the point," agreed Tosten. "Feeling better?"

"Mostly," I said. "Thanks, Tosten."

I had one more shaking fit that afternoon, though it wasn't nearly as bad. Or wouldn't have been if I hadn't been on top of Feather halfway up the steep trail to Menogue. I didn't stay on top, and for a moment I thought someone was going to force poor Feather to fall on me as they tried to move her away on the precipitous slope and she slipped.

So I recovered lying directly under Feather's belly.

"Damn," I said with feeling as I rolled carefully out from under my horse. "Good girl, that's a love. Not your fault." When I was through soothing her abused pride, I remounted with Tosten's help and didn't protest as Oreg and Tosten left their mounts for others to lead and walked on either side of me.

As Feather labored up the trail, I thought that if the king's army wanted to chase us up the steep-sided, flat-topped hill (that the flatlander Tallvenish called a mountain), he was welcome to do so. Any army that climbed up to the top wasn't going to be in fighting shape when they got there.

As the Tamerlain had told me, there were a few of Aethervon's followers camped on the site of the old ruined temple. They welcomed us as we arrived on the top as if they had expected our coming.

I slept most of rest of the day. Oreg discovered several reasons he couldn't possibly rescue Kellen until the following night. Unsaid was his conviction that I needed to rest at least another day before setting off for Hurog.

When the sun rose after the first night we spent on Menogue, I ate breakfast with the two young men and the old woman who were the new followers of Aethervon, and set out exploring. There was nothing else to do until darkness fell, and lying about gave me too much time to dwell upon the Asylum.

My feet took me toward the ruins of the old temple grounds. It was a path I'd walked before, and I could see the differences that the new priests had wrought in the landscape. Grass had been trimmed and flowers planted, but the wooden hut that served Menogue as its new temple was overshadowed still by the ruined walls that rose up to hide it from the sun. The crude wood structure paled in contrast to the ancient artisans' skillful carving. Some of the fallen blocks had been cleared away, leaving patches of raw earth where the stone had lain since they fell two centuries before. Strange how Oreg made me think of two centuries as recent.

I sat down in the shade of the old ruins and shivered. It would probably be snowing in the mountains of Shavig by now. Closing my eyes, I felt outward as Oreg had taught me at Hurog. I wanted to see if the magic here was as I remembered it. I reached out, touched the morning-cold walls of the old temple, and found what I sought.

It was ancient, this magic, and, unlike Hurog's, it held memories. I saw things for which I had no explanation, battles and great victories or defeats, but many more small memories, a man holding a black stone in his hand and flinging it to crack against the bark of a tree, a woman laughing as she ate a ripe fruit. My mouth salivated and I knew the fruit was tart and juicy. Tattoos bisected my wrists and I hated them bitterly for the symbol of thievery that they were—though part of me was certain that I'd never heard of anywhere that tattooed thieves. These were the memories of the people who tended this temple in times past and shaped the magic here with the help of Aethervon, binding the magic until it would protect His temple unless Aethervon himself restrained it—as he had when it had been overrun. It was this part of the magic of Menogue that reminded me of the oily black magic that had oozed out of Farsonsbane. It had been magic without direction, yet strong and aware.

I pulled my hand away from the wall and realized that the shadow I'd sat in was gone—as was the darkness the Asylum had laid upon me. For the first time since I left Hurog, I felt at peace.

"Oreg was by a while ago," Tisala said. She was reclining on one of the massive stones that had formed the arch of the dome. Close enough to keep watch, I thought, but not so close that she'd disturb me. "He said you were 'daydreaming, and to get him if you didn't wake up by noon." She glanced at the sun straight over our heads. "He also told me to ask you if you learned anything."

I nodded my head slowly. "I learned that sitting still all morning is not a good idea—give me a hand, would you?"

She grinned and came over to pull me to my feet. I let her work at it a while before I stood, groaning as my joints protested.

"Getting old," she pronounced with a shake of her head. "I could hear your back pop."

I laughed, and it felt good. Kissing her felt better. When I pulled back, her eyes were dark and her breathing quick.

I bent back down until my forehead rested against her hair, warm from the sun, and sweet-smelling. When I stepped back, she stared at me fiercely, as a falcon measures its prey.

"I am older than you," she said. "I am too tall, too strong, too used to having my own way. I am Oranstonian, born and bred to secretly despise Northlanders as much as we fear the Vorsag. I am scarred and plain. My nose is too big."

I waited, but that seemed to be all she had to say. "My father tried to kill me off and on until he died—that makes a person old before his time. I am taller than you, stronger, and used to getting my own way. But the trees are taller yet, and in strengths that surpass that of thew and bone, we are well-matched, I think. I'm Shavig born and bred, which makes me arrogant enough to laugh when Oranstonians try to make fun of my big horses and yellow hair. I'll match you scar for scar with some left over." I hesitated for effect, fighting to hide my exultant feelings because if I laughed I wouldn't get said the things I needed to. "So, let's see" — I ran a finger lightly over her lips—"that leaves only your last two complaints. Tisala, don't you know that there is such beauty in you that leaves men trembling? It is not the beauty of a flower in the king's gardens, but that of a tigress with sharp fangs and—"

She laughed suddenly. "Whiskers?"

I smiled. "If your nose were any smaller, it would be too small." Then I kissed her sharp, arrogant nose. "Will you marry me?"

I pulled away to look into her eyes, but she kept them closed.

She shook her head slowly. "No. You rescue people, Ward." She opened her eyes hoping, I think, to convince me of her earnestness. "You rescued me. It's natural for us to feel this connection—but it's not real. One day you'll look up and see me, and wonder where the woman who needed your protection went. Men don't marry women like me, Ward."

I started to open my mouth to argue with her, when several things occurred to me. The first was that words were not going to convince her that what I felt was real. Only time would do that. The second was that she felt something, too—both her words and her response to my kiss told me that much. Knowing she cared gave me the hope to be patient

So I smiled at her and started back for camp. Unless she told me to leave her alone, I would pursue her unto the ends of the earth.

Kellen's man Rosem had the look of a soldier about him. Something in the way that he stood spoke of long hours in ranks and parade rests. Stala wasn't big on fancy marching, but I knew what the results looked like. He was wary of me, and unhappy at having to trust someone else to rescue Kellen: very unhappy at how we were going about it.

"Why does he have to go off alone—why can't he work the magic here?"

I shrugged, not about to tell him that Oreg intended to fly to the Asylum under the cover of night and take a good look at what spells were put on Kellen's cell. "For," as he'd said to me, "Kellen is too rich a prize to leave out with the common discards. They'll have other safeguards about him even though he's not in the wizard's wing."

"Oreg knows what he's doing, Rosem," said Tisala patiently for the third or fourth time. "Trust him."

"Do I have a choice?" he said finally. The edge of desperation clung to his tones.

"No," said Duraugh. "But Hurogs pay their debts."

"The Hurogmeten got himself out," replied Rosem.

Duraugh shrugged. "Maybe so, but you risked a lot to help us—we can do no less."

The atmosphere of Menogue after dark didn't help, I thought. If we'd been back at camp with the men, the familiar noise and bustle would have drowned out Rosem's realization that he was standing on a place reputed to be haunted. No good Tallven would have been caught dead on Menogue after dark—unless he was awaiting the rescue of his liege lord by a pack of wild-eyed Northmen.

It affected everyone. Duraugh had been careful to lean up against a tree so that nothing could sneak up behind him. Tosten stared off into the darkness of the woods as if he expected to see something there. Tisala played with the hilt of her sword.

I closed my eyes and took up a more comfortable perch on the waist-high boulder I'd found to sit on. If something out there meant harm to us, the Tamerlain who was curled up, unseen, behind me would give warning.

A wind came suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to make the aspen saplings clatter together. Tosten half drew his sword and turned to face the wind, but when I put my hand on his elbow, he slid the blade back into its sheath.

"It's Oreg," I said. If Rosem thought the wind was magic—well, dragon wings are magic, too.

The wind died abruptly and Oreg walked out of the trees in human form. "Ward, you have to come with me."

He could have meant a dozen different places, a meadow where he'd brought Kellen or drawn up a spell he needed me to help power, but my gorge rose in my throat because I knew. He wanted me to come to the Asylum.

After so long in his cell, Kellen was unlikely to trust strangers. He needed to see someone he knew.

Rosem would have done—but that would have meant trusting him with Hurog's secret. And I wasn't ready for the world to realize that there were dragons still.

Tisala could do it, but I needed to face my fears.

"Very well," I said, hoping my voice didn't tremble.

"Where are you going?" asked Rosem, sharp distrust raising his voice half an octave.

"To help Oreg," I said, and strode after Oreg into the trees.

When we'd covered a sufficient distance to hide what we did, Oreg transformed himself into the dragon. The darkness hid him, but even in my fear I felt the familiar sense of awe that a creature so beautiful still walked the earth.

"Up," he whispered like the rustling of the yellow and red leaves of the autumn trees.

I had only ridden dragon-back twice before. It seemed a highly personal thing, so I never asked, only went when he offered. With the adrenaline of the knowledge of where we were going adding to the excitement of such a ride, I was afraid I was going to be sick.

I set my hand against Oreg's cool and surprisingly soft neck scales and swarmed up his shoulder, carefully avoiding the delicate skin of his wings. After I'd settled into the narrow grove between neck and wing, Oreg gathered himself and launched into the air.

I'd never flown at night, and the yawning darkness below worried me more than seeing tiny dots of buildings and patchworked fields had. There was something unsettling about darkness, and I was glad when we reached the city.

The first time Oreg'd taken me flying, I'd asked him about someone seeing us. He'd said that no one sees a dragon unless the dragon wants to be seen. The guards at the city gates didn't look up as we flew above them.

Estian glowed with a thousand torches as we approached. Seen from above, the confusing twists of the main streets spiraling away from the palace took on a pattern. I could see where streets had been closed off in ages past or new ones opened, but the original layout of the streets had circled a place not far from the current castle where there was an open market now.

I could see the low stone walls of the market, where children perched to eat their meat pies or baked apples in the daytime. From above the pattern of the walls looked like a three-towered keep, and I wondered how long ago it had been brought down.

Oreg swooped suddenly and brought us to ground just behind the Asylum in a small park that belonged to a wealthy merchant's house. I slipped off his back and he regained his own form.

"I'll have to transport us in," he said.

I nodded. He stepped behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. Hurog magic, dragon magic flooded me and blocked my senses from everything but its presence. When I could see again, we were in a cell in the Asylum. The smell of the place raised the hair on the back of my neck, so I concentrated on other things.

A cold crystal magelight hung suspended from the ceiling, too far away for the cell's occupant to reach it and cover the light to give himself some privacy. Guards could look through the slit in the door at any time and see the whole small cell. Abruptly I recalled that the laboratory had been lit the same way.

"Ward?" said Kellen, seated on the bench.

I turned away from the door and dropped to my knee. Oreg, I noticed, remained standing. "My lord."

Kellen came to his feet and strode over to me. I bit my lip to keep from voicing my dismay—I've seen healthier people die from starvation.

"So they did get you out."

I could hear nothing in his voice, but I wondered how it would feel to be caged for a decade and then released. A man who'd been a prisoner for so long would know how to hide fear very well, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it.

"Yes, my lord. And we have come here to free you as we should have a long time ago."

He waved away my apologies and began to pace, muttering to himself. Each moment brought the chances of drawing the attention of the guard, but I said nothing.

Finally he turned to Oreg and said, "From what Rosem told me, you must be the wizard Oreg. Can you destroy this board?" He waved his hand to the board that served him as a bench—and a gameboard. "I don't want to leave it behind."

Oreg nodded and walked over to the bench. With his knife he cut a sliver of wood and held it in his hand. He closed his fist and then wiped the dust out of his palm while the bench crumbled into a dark gray mulch.

Kellen stared at the mess as if the crude board had meant a lot to him. His breathing was heavy and I could see the pulse pounded in his throat. "I'm ready."

"I can't take you the way we came in," said Oreg. "Transporting people is nigh impossible if the person I'm carrying doesn't trust me."

"So what do you suggest?" I asked, rising to my feet since Kellen wasn't paying attention to me anymore.

"Flying." Oreg waved an arm at the stone wall between us and the outside. I could feel him draw on the fear that the Asylum's captives had impregnated in the walls. Oreg took the wordless desire of every prisoner and gave it form as the wall popped and the great stones fell to the ground below.

It was a good thing Kellen's cell was on the highest floor, I thought, looking over the edge to the ground below, otherwise Oreg might have collapsed the whole building.

The hole in the wall was more than large enough for a dragon, though Oreg had had to take out the wall next to us as well. Either the other cell was empty or its occupant had been crushed by falling stone. I gave it a closer look and felt relieved that there was no straw on the floor.

I turned back to say something to Kellen, but he was crouched in a corner as far from the broken wall as he could get. I looked at Oreg, but he shook his head and gestured for me.

My old stable master had never liked keeping horses in stalls for longer than a day or two. He told me once of a horse he'd seen who'd been kept in its stall from the moment it was born until it was ready to be trained for riding. It had taken four men to drag the horse out of its stall.

The rockfall had been loud; someone was bound to come here soon to check on Kellen.

There wasn't time to coax Kellen out. I remembered how unsettling I'd found the darkness below Oreg's wings, and I used my knife to rip a strip from the bottom of my shirt.

"Shh," I said, wrapping my makeshift blindfold around Kellen's eyes. "It's just the shock of it. Let my dragon and me get you out of here to safety and you'll be fine."

Oreg took his cue and shifted into dragon form. I heard the noises of guards in the hallways, doubtless drawn there by the sound of falling stones.

As it did with horses, the blindfold steadied Kellen. He didn't say anything when I told him of the dragon. I think he was concentrating too hard on surviving his rescue to be concerned about legendary creatures.

With my guidance, Kellen scrambled onto Oreg's back. I sat behind him to hold him on. Oreg shuffled awkwardly to the edge of the room and launched.

I thought we were going to have to land, but three quick wing-strokes had us aloft.

As we neared Menogue, I said, "Oreg, can you take us somewhere for Kellen to recover a bit before we meet with the others?"

Oreg dipped his wings in answer. He took us to the far side of Menogue and landed in a small clearing where long-ago people had encased a small pond in stone. The clearing was surrounded by trees and lit by the full moon.

I took the blindfold off Kellen and slid down Oreg's shoulder to the ground. After a brief hesitation, Kellen followed. When we were safely dismounted, Oreg curled up and laid his great head on the ground, looking as harmless as he could.

"So Hurog has dragons," Kellen said. He was stiff with stress, but was clinging with his fingertips to sanity—I knew how that felt.

"One," I agreed.

"Where is your mage?"

I gestured to the dragon. "He is not full-blooded dragon. He tells me he's equally comfortable in either guise."

Kellen nodded slowly and gestured to the pond. "Is it safe to wash in this?"

"Yes," said the Tamerlain from the opposite side of the pool. "Welcome to Menogue, Kellen Tallven."

Kellen looked at her, then at the dragon, and abruptly laughed.

"I'm no dream," she said, catching the edge of hysteria in his merriment. "I have been here serving the kings of Tallven for a long time. The world has changed since you were bound in stone, Tallven, though most people don't know it yet. Dragons fly, the old gods stir, and mages grow in power because an old wrong has been righted."

The expression on Kellen's face was oddly blank, despite his earlier laughter.

"Go away, Tamerlain," I said, staring worriedly at Kellen. "Time enough for this later." The Tamerlain shot me an amused look and disappeared with a needlessly theatrical crack of sound. "Let's wash the stink of that place off our skins and eat before we start thinking further ahead. Oreg?"

The dragon head lifted and Oreg looked at me mildly.

"Go tell the others Kellen is safe and bring his man here—only his man—with clean clothes, please. Take enough time for us to bathe." If Kellen felt like I had, it would take a while before he felt clean. I'd only been in the building for a few minutes this time, but I felt as though the smell of that place clung to me.

Oreg stood up, yawned, and shook himself before resuming his human form. "Sounds like a good idea." He bowed his head to Kellen once, a gesture of respect he didn't make often, and retired into the trees.

Kellen made no move to go into the water, just stood staring at me as if he didn't know what to do. Or as if he didn't trust me. I don't suppose being locked in a cell by my own brother would have made me very trusting, either.

"Rosem's coming soon," I said. "You can wait for him if you want—but I'm not." I pulled off my clothes and walked into the pool.

It was not cold, as the water in such a pool should have been, but lukewarm. I felt no particular welling of magic here, so it must have been fed by underground hot springs. In the dark it was hard to tell how deep it was going to be, but I needn't have worried, for the drop-off was gentle when it came. I swam away from Kellen, letting him decide to follow or not. After a few minutes there was a splash from that end of the pool, so I supposed he had.

When I heard nothing more I swam back to Kellen.

He stood waist-deep in the warm water and trembled.

"Do you know," he said, watching his shaking fingers, "I hated Aethervon as much as ever I hated my brother for locking me away in the Asylum. If it hadn't been for the vision Aethervon gifted Jakoven's mage with, my brother would have just killed me."

He was ready to break, and maybe he needed to pour out what he was feeling to someone. But if he broke now, he might not be able to put himself back together again. Wait, I wanted to urge him, wait until a little time has made you something more than a boy who has no more past than a cell in the dark. I wished for Beckram's clever tongue, but had to make do with my own.

"I'm pretty ambivalent on Aethervon, myself," I said, ignoring the agitated state Kellen was in. "Last time I was here, he took over my sister without so much as a by-your-leave or 'excuse me, and used her to babble prophecy that was not even very helpful."

"If I had told you more, you wouldn't have done as you were needed to," said a soft, sexless voice.

I looked around and noticed the old woman who was one of Aethervon's people, sitting on a rock—but I had no doubt that the voice belonged to a god rather than an old woman.

"So why did you say anything at all?" I asked.

"Because my prophecy was not unsought." As before, the voice changed from moment to moment. "I am sworn, so long as mankind seek me here, to tell them somewhat of the future."

"Who sought prophecy and gave you a chance to meddle in my business?" I asked.

The old woman's mouth smiled, though her eyes remained blank. "Meddle? I suppose that is as good a word as any." The sound of the young girl's voice in the old woman's mouth made the hair on the back of my neck rise. "Your dragon worried that you were not as he believed. He asked for my wisdom and then flinched at the cost. I gave you the opportunity to break through the barriers that had been placed between you and your magic."

I was Shavigborn and served no gods but Siphern, He whose justice ruled the Northlands. Though Aethervon was being helpful now, I didn't like Him.

My lip curled. "You used Oreg's wishes to punish him. He asked for reassurance and you took my sister, whom he was sworn to protect, forcing him to endure the pain of his broken oath. Oreg had enough pain, you didn't need to give him more."

"It reminded him who he was—your slave and not your master."

"Oreg belongs to no one," I snapped. "And never should have."

The god's voice was a deep rumble, larger than the old woman. He sounded irritated. "Oreg is yours as much as Hurog is yours. If he had not been reminded of it, your will would have bowed before his as the sapling bows before an ancient wind, and the evil that twisted the world would yet remain."

"You play games with people's lives," I said, remembering my sister's eyes, blank like the old woman's, and Oreg writhing on the ground at the base of the stone wall she'd stood upon. "You forget that they are fragile."

The god laughed, soft as thistledown in the night, and answered me with the rich velvet of a whore's trained voice. "Fragile does not describe you, Guardian of the Dragon. Thrice forged in fire you are and the stronger for it—as is the king who shall be. As the boy he was, he had no chance of outfacing his brother. But with the strength of his forging at Jakoven's hands, he shall carve a path through the bodies of his foes—or shatter like a blade that has been hardened too much."

The woman got up and bowed shallowly, as Stala taught me to bow to my opponents. Then she turned and disappeared into the foliage.

I swore and then turned to Kellen. "Do you see what I mean? Siphern save me from the whims of Tallvenish gods."

Kellen gave me a wry smile touched with real amusement. "I don't feel strong," he said. "But, unlike you, I'm not in the habit of arguing with the gods. So I'll wash up and see if I feel better in the morning."

That's it, I thought. Give yourself time to reinvent yourself. And if that fails, do it again. Just like I had.

Just as I was.

Resolutely I pushed back the sick, formless fear that welled up from my time in the Asylum.

"My lord," I said. "I'd appreciate it if you would keep my dragon a secret for now. Hurog's already had one power-mad man attack us hoping to find dragon bones—no telling what they would do to find a real dragon."

Kellen raised an eyebrow, but nodded. When he had scrubbed as well as he could, he put his head low in the water and began swimming. I kept a watchful eye on him because he was in no condition to do much, but he stopped after one lap when Rosem and Oreg, carrying clothes and toweling, entered the clearing.

I dried quickly and dressed, leaving Kellen with his man. It looked as though they had a lot to talk about. Menogue wasn't so big that they'd have trouble finding the rest of us when they were ready.

Late as it was, there were few people sleeping at camp. The story of what we were attempting had traveled through our men and sponsored a great deal of discussion, though no dissent. King Jakoven was not much liked among our men since Erdrick had died at his hands. My own capture, it seemed, had cemented the feeling.

When I approached the central fire where Duraugh was holding court, Tisala brought me a cup of tea. She ran her eye over me as if to make sure I wasn't missing any parts, and then strode back to the fire without saying a word.

Kellen and Rosem came not long after I did. Dressed and clean, Kellen looked better, but my uncle made sure that he had a wooden platter of travel bread and cheese as soon as he sat down.

"So you think Hurog is the best place to store me?" Kellen asked. Obviously Rosem hadn't wasted any time when I'd left them.

My uncle nodded. "Even if Jakoven knows that we're the ones who got you out, he'll expect us to take you to my own Iftahar or to one of the Oranstonian lords who are supporting your uncle."

"I've seen to it that Alizon knows where we take you," Rosem said. "He'll probably be there before us."

Kellen's eyebrows lowered as he stared at Rosem. "I may go to Hurog, Rosem. Indeed, it sounds as if, for the moment, that would be for the best. But if I go, it is not because I have been taken there." The frightened prisoner shaking in the water had given way to a man who had been raised as royalty.

Forged indeed, I thought, pleased.

"There are problems with Hurog," said Tosten. "You ought to know that the keep is in the process of being rebuilt. If the king discovers where you are, the walls will not hold him out."

Or at least the gates won't, I thought, remembering how little time it had taken Jakoven's men to open them.

Suddenly Kellen smiled. "I have to admit that part of the reason I'm inclined to go to Hurog is to see it for myself." He turned to me. "Rosem kept me informed about things, and I heard much of what happened when you brought the walls down on the Vorsag."

"If we can manage it," said Duraugh slowly, "we can pull a lot of the lords of Shavig behind your standard while you are at Hurog. If the Hurogmeten follows you, they will as well."

"You assume I want the throne, then?" Kellen said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Everyone froze—even Tisala, who'd been staying out of the conversation by sipping her tea, halted mid-sip.

"No," I replied sharply, when it appeared no one else would. "We assume that you will do as you were born to do: protect your people as Jakoven has failed to do. But if your time in the Asylum has rendered you unfit to rule, I would rather you stop now than continue what your brother has begun."

Oreg stared into the night, smiling at nothing.

Rosem put his hand on his sword and would have stepped between us had not Kellen put a hand on Rosem's shoulder. "Peace, old friend, he's right." Kellen nodded respectfully to me. "Locked up in a cell," he said, "it's too easy to forget what I have been fighting for. I want everyone here to understand what that means, though. Rather than injustice, there will be war. Civil war. Brother fighting against brother." He gave an elegant hand movement that asked us to include himself in his last statement. "The ties that bind us together might be ruined forever, leaving the Five Kingdoms broken before her enemy's sword. And, from what Alizon's letters and messages have told me, we probably will not win. Make certain before we start what cannot be undone that Jakoven's sins are such that they are worth the cost you will pay."

I shrugged my shoulders and said before my uncle could speak, "Jakoven has declared war upon Hurog and we must fight. With your banner before us, we have hope of winning; otherwise we fail. I would rather fight a war for my rightful king than a war for survival. But for Lord Duraugh, Tosten, Beckram, my sister, myself, or any who have the blood of Hurog strongly in their veins, we have no choice." I opened my mouth to tell them why, but Oreg got there first. Just as well, because my slow tongue was making my audience restless.

"The cost of doing nothing may be higher yet. Jakoven seeks to bring upon us a cataclysm as bad or worse than the one that destroyed the first empire." Oreg's voice was full of the mysteries of the ages. He could do that when he wanted to, pull the cloak of his years around him until the weight of time beat upon his audience like a mallet. "He has been trying to pull the secrets of the Imperial mages out, and he dabbles in things he knows nothing about. Farsonsbane destroyed civilization on this continent until the people deserted their cities for the wastelands. For nine and a half centuries the Bane was hidden, but Jakoven has found it again. If he lives long enough to unlock its secrets, we'll wish the Vorsag had invaded and sold us all as slaves."

Oh good, I thought, glancing around at the faces reflected in the firelight They really needed something more to be frightened of.

"He doesn't know how to use it yet," I said. "But he's convinced that the answer lies in the blood of Hurog. So you see that it is not some notion that you are the rightful king that sways Hurog to your support. Nothing so tenuous as honor or the belief in a cause. Hurog fights for survival—which makes us your staunchest supporters."

Kellen smiled at me. "Your sword will cut my enemies as well as any zealot's. I just wish I had a hundred more lords with cause to fear Jakoven."

"Ward can bring you most of Shavig and a fair portion of Oranstone," offered my uncle with unfounded confidence.

Kellen looked at Duraugh with interest. I looked at him with disbelief.

"Shavigmen have long memories," Duraugh said. "They fought against Oranstone in the Rebellion because Fen, Ward's father, fought. Most of them will fight shoulder to shoulder with Ward because he is the Hurogmeten—and because no Shavigman worth his salt ever turned down a good fight."

"Myth," I contradicted Duraugh flatly. It was dangerous to allow Kellen to believe that. "Shavigmen are men like anyone else. They fight when they have to and are not about to follow a callow boy blindly. You've been to the same Shavig council meetings I have."

Tosten smiled blindingly and laughed. "When you hear respectful tones from a Shavig lord, it's time to run," he quoted smugly. "Ward, don't you know you've given Shavig a hero for the first time since old Seleg died and the dragons died with him."

"Hero?" I choked. "If Orviden calls me a puppy one more time, I just might bite him."

Kellen stared at me for a moment. "The council meets, I believe, next month. Can you get them all together sooner?"

"You are well-informed," said my uncle approvingly. "But my son Beckram and Ward's sister, Ciarra, just had a new baby girl, the first of her generation. Reason enough to hold an informal celebration at Hurog."

"Fine," I said. "To celebrate my niece's birth I'll see to it that the lords of Shavig attend. If they understand what Jakoven holds, they'll see that they have no choice."

Rosem said, "Alizon has the support of most of Oranstone—but they are tired of warfare there. Things are better since the Vorsag were driven out, but there are still many Oranstonian lords who have very little power over their own lands."

"Avinhelle is behind Jakoven," said Tisala. "But there are a few men I believe will support Kellen where they haven't supported Alizon." She turned to Kellen. "Remember, we haven't told them that we intend to put you on the throne rather than Alizon, yet. Seaford will split, I think, from what my people have overheard. And there are several powerful Oranstonian lords who are making noises of support for Alizon, but may not support Kellen."

Kellen raised his cup to me and said, "May we all outlive this year." Soberly cups were raised and drunk.

I dreamt I was back at the Asylum that night, but fortunately I woke up before I woke anyone else. The camp was quiet when I got up and went for a walk.

When I got to the broken wall that looked out over Estian, Tisala was already there.

"What keeps you up so late?" I asked, careful to keep my face in the deeper shadow so she couldn't see the remnants of my nightmare there.

She glanced at me, and then returned her gaze to the city below us. She shook her head. "Have you ever felt like you've stepped into someone else's story?"

"No," I said, intrigued. "Whose story have you stumbled into?"

"I'm not sure right now. Kellen's? Oreg's? Yours?" She looked at her hands where they lay on a broken stone block, capable hands that could wield a sword with rare skill.

But she wasn't seeing what I did. She was looking at her left hand. The scarring was bad—even in the dim light of stars and moon I could see that.

I took her hand in mine; it was damp and tasted salty when I kissed it. I didn't think she'd been sitting in the dark sweating.

"It took something away, didn't it," I said to her tear-wet hand. "I didn't really understand before."

"What did? What didn't you understand?" she asked, trying to get her hand back.

I held on tighter. "Being strapped down while someone hurts you. Being helpless. Even out of the walls of that cell, I'm not free of the Asylum—any more than the torturer's death freed you of his tormenting."

She stopped struggling and stared at my face. Finally she reached up and touched my cheek, tracing the path of my tears, invisible in the darkness.

After a moment she turned back to look at the lights.

"It makes you feel filthy and small," I said, then laughed painfully. "I'm not used to feeling small."

"And guilty," she whispered. "As if you should have been able to stop it like the hero in one of Tosten's songs."

Her damaged hand gripped mine and the strength of that grasp was a testimony to Oreg's healing skills. Together we watched the night and felt a little better for each other's company.

When I slept at last, I dreamt I was small with dirty hands and ragged clothes. Hunger spurred me to dig through the trash that covered the cobbled alleyway, hoping that there was some scrap of dry bread that the rats and wild dogs had left behind. I was so intent on my quest that I didn't hear them until a large hand grasped the back of my neck.

They dragged me kicking and screaming before a harsh-faced man who said, "Purple eyes. This is the one."

I awoke in the early hours of the morning and used the dream to find my brother.