Dragons of a Lost Star

8 Balancing Accounts

Five days after Beryl’s attack on the Citadel of Light, five days after the fall of the shield in Silvanesti and five days after the first ranks of Beryl’s army crossed the border into the realm of Qualinesti, Lord Targonne sat at his desk going over the reports that had been flooding in from various parts of the continent of Ansalon.

Targonne found the report from Malys pleasing, at first. The enormous red dragon Malystryx, the dragon whom everyone acknowledged to be the true ruler of Ansalon, had taken the news of her cousin Beryl’s aggression far better than Targonne had dared hope. Malys had ranted and raved, to be sure, but in the end she had stated that any move by Beryl to annex lands beyond Qualinesti would be viewed as a most serious affront to Malys and would be dealt with summarily.

The more Targonne thought about it, however, the more he began to have second thoughts. Malystryx had been too accommodating. She had received the news too calmly. He had the feeling that the giant red was plotting something and that whatever she was plotting would be catastrophic. For the moment, however, she was keeping to her lair, apparently content to let him deal with the situation. That, he fully intended to do.

According to reports, Beryl had demolished the Citadel of Light, crushing the crystal domes in a fit of pique because, according to his agents, who had been on the scene and who had witnessed the destruction firsthand, she had not been able to locate the magical artifact that had been the reason for this misguided attack. The loss of life on the island might have been incalculable but for the fact that before she razed the buildings, Beryl had sent down squadrons of draconians to search for the artifact and the wizard who wielded it.

The delay provided time for the inhabitants to flee to safety inland. Targonne’s agents, who had been attending the citadel in disguise, hoping to discover why their healing spells were going awry, had been among those who had fled to safety and were thus able to send back their reports. Beryl had departed early on in the battle, leaving her reds to finish the destruction for her. The draconians had gone after the refugees but had been fought off by the forces of the Solamnic Knights and some fierce tribal warriors who dwelt in the island’s interior. The draconians had sustained heavy casualties.

Targonne, who did not like draconians, counted this as no great loss.

“Next report,” he said to his aide.

The aide drew out a sheet of vellum. “A message from Marshal Medan, my lord. The Marshal apologizes for the delay in responding to your orders but says that your messenger met with a most unfortunate accident. He was flying to Qualinost when the griffon on which he was riding suddenly went berserk and attacked him. He was able to deliver his message, but he died of his injuries shortly thereafter. The Marshal states that he will comply fully with your orders and hand over the elven city of Qualinost to the dragon Beryl, along with the Queen Mother, both of whom he holds prisoner. The Marshal has disbanded the elven Senate, arrested the senators and the Heads of House. He was going to arrest the elven king, Gilthas, but the young man was smuggled out of the city and is now in hiding. The Marshal reports that Beryl’s army is encountering attacks from elven forces and that these are slowing the army’s march but otherwise doing little damage.”

“That is good news, if it’s true,” Targonne said, frowning. “I have never quite trusted Medan. He was one of Ariakan’s favorites, the main reason he was put in charge of Qualinesti. There were those stories Beryl put out that he had grown more elf than human, raising flowers and playing the lute.”

“Thus far, he appears to have the situation under control, my lord,” said the aide, glancing back over the neatly written page.

Targonne grunted. “We will see. Send a message to the great green bitch that she can have Qualinost and that I trust she will leave it intact and unspoiled. Include an account of the revenues we collected from Qualinost last year. That should convince her.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the aide, making a note.

“Anything new to report from Sanction?” Targonne asked in a resigned tone that indicated he would be shocked if there were.

The walled city of Sanction, located on the western shores of New Sea, controlled the only ports on New Sea for that part of Ansalon. During the War of the Lance, the city had been a stronghold of the dragon highlords, but it was now controlled by a mysterious and powerful wizard known as Hogan Bight. Thought to be acting independently, Bight had been wooed by the Dark Knights of Neraka, in hopes that he would ally with them and make the ports of Sanction available to them. Knowing that Bight was also being wooed by the Solamnics, the Dark Knights had laid siege to Sanction in order to hasten Bight’s decision-making process. The siege had dragged on for long months now. The Solamnics had attempted to break it, but they had been routed by this very Mina who had now taken Silvanesti. Targonne supposed he should be grateful to Mina for having saved the day for him. He would have been a damn sight more grateful to her if he’d actually ordered her to do it.

“Sanction is still under siege, my lord,” said the aide, after a moment’s shuffle to the bottom of the pile. “The commanders complain they do not have enough men to take the city. They maintain that if General Dogah’s forces had been allowed to march to Sanction instead of being diverted to Silvanesti, the city would now be in their hands.”

“And I’m a gully dwarf,” Targonne said with a snort. “Once Silvanesti is secure, we will deal with Sanction.”

“Regarding Silvanesti, my lord.” The aide returned to the top of the pile and extracted a sheet of paper. “I have here the report from the interrogation of the elven prisoners. The three—two males and a female—are members of what is known as the ‘kirath’, a sort of border patrol, I believe.”

He handed over the report. Immediately after hearing of the fall of Silvanesti, Targonne had ordered Dogah’s troops to capture several elves alive and have them transported back to Jelek for interrogation. Targonne scanned the report briefly. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment, then came together in a frown. He could not believe what he was reading and started over at the beginning to see if he’d missed something.

Lifting his head, Targonne stared at his aide. “Have you read this?” he demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” said the aide.

“The Mina girl is mad! Absolutely mad! Worse than that, I don’t think she’s even on our side! Healing the elves! She is healing the bloody elves!”

“So it would appear, my lord,” said the aide.

Targonne picked up the paper to read aloud, “ ‘She has now a cult of young elven followers, who stand outside the palace where she has taken up residence, chanting her name.’ And this. ‘She has seduced the elven king Silvanoshei, who was publicly heard to say he is going to marry her. This news reportedly has greatly angered his mother, Alhana Starbreeze, who attempted to persuade her son to flee Silvanesti in advance of the arrival of the Dark Knights. Silvanoshei is said to be besotted with this Mina and refuses to leave her side.’ “

Targonne threw down the report in anger. “This cannot go on. Mina is a threat, a danger. She must be stopped.”

“That may prove difficult, my lord,” said his aide. “You will see in Dogah’s report that he approves and admires everything she does. He is infatuated by her. His men are loyal to her, as are her own. You will note that Dogah now signs his report, ‘In the name of the One God.’ “

“This Mina has bewitched them. Once she is gone and her spell is broken, they will return to their senses. But how to get rid of her? That is the problem. I don’t want Dogah’s forces turning on me. . . .”

Targonne picked up the report again, reread it. This time, he began to smile. He laid the report down, sat back, went over the plan in his mind. The numbers, he thought, added up nicely.

“Are the elven prisoners still alive?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, my lord. It was thought you might have further need of them.”

“You said there was a female among them?”

“One, my lord.”

“Excellent. I have no further use for the males. Dispatch them in whatever way the executioner finds amusing. Have the female brought here to me. I will need a quill and ink—see to it that it’s squeezed from berries or however the elves make it. And a scroll-case of elven design and manufacture.”

“I believe there are some in the treasury room, my lord.”

“Bring the least valuable. Finally, I want this.” Targonne drew a diagram, handed it to the aide.

“Yes, my lord,” the aide said, after a moment’s perusal. “It will have to be specially made.”

“Of course. Elven design. Emphasize that. And,” Targonne added,

“keep the cost to a minimum.”

“Of course, my lord,” said the aide.

“Once I have planted my instructions in the elf’s mind, she is to be returned to Silvanesti and dropped off near the city of Silvanost. Have one of the messengers ready to depart this night.”

“I understand, my lord,” said the aide.

“One more thing,” Targonne added, “I will be making a trip to Silvanesti myself sometime within the fortnight. I’m not sure when, so see to it that arrangements are made for me to leave whenever I have to.”

“Why would you go there, my lord?” his aide asked, startled.

“Protocol will require my attendance at the funeral,” Targonne replied.