Throne of Dragons

One man came at him, charging with a blade ready in his hand. Godwin stepped in to meet him, shield raised…

And that was when a second man, dressed in scraps of armor that had obviously been stolen from dead men, stepped in close, jabbing a knife into Godwin’s side.

“King Ravin thought you would come for your daughter,” he whispered. “So he told me to be ready.”

Godwin didn’t answer, but turned, lifting the man bodily. The king hauled him over his head, and then flung him, over the edge, into the river with the others. Even as he was doing it, Twell cut down the one who had come from the front. Godwin turned to congratulate the knight, then found himself falling, caught only because Sir Twell was there to interpose himself.

Godwin felt something throbbing in his side, the world closing in around him. He couldn’t move then, couldn’t speak, couldn’t blink. The knife… there had been something on the knife…

“The king!” Sir Twell called out. “The king has fallen!”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Greave had never been more grateful than when the Serpentine finally drew to a halt outside Astare, the ship bumping up against a narrow quay a little way from the city. Only a few other boats sat in the harbor, mostly fishing vessels and an occasional small merchant cog. The Northern Kingdom was not a place that valued the sea; having seen its dangers, Greave was starting to understand why.

“We’re here,” Aurelle breathed beside him. “We’re actually here.”

She sounded worried by that, as if certain that things wouldn’t be so easy, or as if some other problem was about to loom. Greave couldn’t blame her for that, after everything that had happened. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Everything will be all right,” he promised her.

“Because you will stand and protect me against whatever dangers this part of your father’s kingdom holds?” Aurelle asked.

“I would,” Greave said. “In a heartbeat.”

The briefest look of surprise crossed Aurelle’s face, there and gone again in a flash. She must have known after the attack by the darkmaw that he would risk himself for her, but then, this was a cruel world. Maybe it was hard to believe that someone like Greave could stand against danger. He was hardly his brother Rodry, to kill any who threatened his love.

His love… when had he started thinking of Aurelle as that? Long enough ago that Greave couldn’t even remember when he’d started.

“I am so grateful that you came with me,” he said, holding onto Aurelle tightly. “It means more than I can say that you would choose to be by my side.”

“Where else would I be?” Aurelle asked. “This… this is where I’m meant to be.”

Again, Greave felt his heart swell with love he hadn’t known was possible until he met her. He looked up at the city, which sat at the top of a path from this small harbor, reached by flights of steps that wound their way up, moving back and forth. From here, he could see gray granite walls around some of the city, the spires of towers poking up above like the fingers of some gigantic stone hand. One of them would be the library.

“We need to hurry,” Greave said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can find a cure for Nerra.”

He had to believe that there was such a thing hidden away there; that his sister could be helped. He grabbed his belongings and stepped down from the ship. Instantly, the world seemed to sway. Aurelle tumbled against him, but seemed to catch herself with perfect grace.

“What is this?” she asked.

“The writer Yarrin suggests that our bodies become accustomed to the movement of ships,” Greave said, “so that on land again, it seems to be moving for several minutes. He posits the idea of a fluid filled sac in the inner ear that…” It occurred to him that he was lecturing her. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to stop,” Aurelle said. “Being interested in the world is part of what makes you who you are.”

They set off together, arm in arm only partly for the stability it provided, making their way up the long staircase that led to the city. Eventually, Astare stood before them. Some of it had sprawled beyond its walls, in the way of cities, low wooden houses spread out in a scattering along the sides of roads leading south and east, shops and workshops spread out among them so that the exterior of the walls seemed busier than the interior. There was only so far that the outer city could spread though, because hills stood around it in a second kind of wall, cut through by passes.

Greave’s attention was on the inner city and its towers, though. They stretched up into the heavens, built from gray stone and capped with red terracotta roofs. Each seemed so elegant, so finely constructed, clearly belonging to a scholar of the House of Scholars, or to those who employed them. One would be the great library, it had to be.

He strode to the gate between the outer city and the inner. It was open, but the difference between the two was clear. Outside, the roads were dirt, the houses low and mud stained. Inside, every road was cobbled, every house constructed as if to some master plan that had been set out for the whole, fitting together in neat grids and squares clustered around open, green spaces. It was beautiful and orderly at once, a contrast to the river cut chaos of Royalsport.

“Move along,” a guard at the gate said.

“This is your prince, Prince Greave,” Aurelle replied.

The guard looked at Greave, paused, and then laughed. “Of course he is. And I’m the king himself.”

It occurred to Greave that after his time at sea, he probably didn’t look as refined as he had. His clothes were salt stained, and his hair disheveled. Aurelle looked as though she might argue with the guard, but Greave put a hand on her arm.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We don’t want them barring us from entry.”

For a second, Greave thought that she might argue anyway, but she seemed to catch his worried expression and relent.

“Which way to the Great Library?” Greave asked.

The guard laughed again. “Your servants didn’t tell you, ‘your highness’? Just go to the main square. The tower is right at the center of the city.”

Greave hurried into the city as the guard stepped back. Aurelle caught his arm.

“Can we at least find an inn first?” she asked. “If even the guards think that you’re some vagrant, what will the House of Scholars do?”

“I…” Greave wanted to act, wanted to save his sister from her illness now, but he knew Aurelle was right. It was late afternoon, and they’d just gotten off the boat. They needed to rest.

They took a room at a small inn that seemed to be almost perfectly round and made of dark stone, constructed as if as a technical exercise by architects of the House of Scholars. The innkeeper looked at them as if they might rob the place until Greave put money down on the bar for a room, food, a bath. Aurelle led him up the stairs of the place laughing, and if she stumbled against him this time as they reached their room, it had nothing to do with her sea legs.

***

In the morning, Greave made himself as presentable as he could, digging out a fresh shirt, tunic, and hose of dark silk and velvet, shaving with a borrowed razor and tying back hair that had by now become too long. Aurelle looked as perfect as always, picking out a dress of burgundy and pale cotton that seemed like a dark reflection of her hair. That, she wore in a caul today, while her hands were covered in gloves of red kid leather.

“We need to go find the library,” Greave said when they were ready. “It has to be here.”

“If it’s just a matter of going to the square, we could wait a little longer,” Aurelle said.

Greave shook his head. “There’s no time to waste, not when Nerra is…”

The worst part was that he didn’t know what Nerra was now. With the scale sickness, she could be just as he had last seen her, or twisted into an inhuman form by now in a sudden change. She could be dead. No, Greave wouldn’t think like that. He would be strong. He would solve this problem.

They set out for the city’s main square, hope filling Greave with images of what it would be like. There would be a tower rising over all of it, precisely at the heart of the city. There would be scholars in dark robes going back and forth, debating the latest knowledge. There would be people looking on in awe…

There wasn’t any of that. What he saw instead made Greave want to shout in frustration.

A tower did indeed stand at the heart of the city’s main square, but it was no taller than his waist. It was perfectly carved, even down to tiny windows of stained glass that sat in its dark stone walls. It stood in the middle of a circle of stone a dozen feet across, perhaps a little more. In that circle was a miniature representation of each of the buildings of the inner city, marked with their purpose. The sphere of the inn they had stayed in was there, as were the other towers. The central tower had “Library of Astare” on it, along with another legend below, in runes Greave recognized as belonging to the time of dragons. More symbols stood around the city, the words for knowledge in a dozen languages, spaced out by dividers that looked like the progress of the sun and moon.

He stood there, and he stared. Then he fell to his knees, tears falling from his eyes in a way he was sure they never would have from either of his brothers’.

Aurelle held him. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s just a cruel joke.”

“It’s not all right,” Greave said. “I came here to save my sister, and now all I have to show for it is this.” He swept a hand at it all, wishing that he could break it all apart. He walked away, his head in his hands, feeling tricked, feeling broken.