Realm of Dragons

“They will be dead like the others,” Ravin said. “My seers tell me as much.”

That angered him. When he commanded men to do a thing, he expected them to find a way to succeed. With the current ones, he had ordered their families taken as an incentive to go and come back with news. He would have to have them sold now, or just killed.

“What else?” he demanded.

“My king…” A man moved forward, obviously a merchant by the look of him. He fell to his knees. “I beg your aid. A nobleman has taken goods from my carts without payment, claiming that they are his by right, yet I have the papers to show that they are mine.”

Ravin quirked an eyebrow. It took bravery to come to him with something like this, given what the penalties could be for wasting his time. Still, let no one say that he was not a fair and even generous ruler.

“You will bring these papers to my chancellor,” he ordered. “If all is as you say, your goods will be returned, and the noble will pay on top of that.”

“You are the wisest of rulers,” the merchant said.

“However,” Ravin said, “I will also be sending word to the noble. If your goods fall within his legitimate taxes, the rest of what you own will be taken as an example.”

He saw the merchant swallow, and wondered if he would be so foolish as to say something then.

“Of… of course, your majesty,” the man said, starting to crawl backward. “Thank you.”

Ravin sighed and looked around at the men and women there. He wondered how many of them understood what it was truly like to sit where he was. They all had their schemes and their plans, which was why he had so many guards and spies, his sorcerers and his quiet men, yet did any of them think about what it would be like if they actually succeeded? Did they understand that there was no point where it ended, that every day meant dealing with the problems of a kingdom, trying to gain more, be more, to pay for the rest of it? Of course they didn’t.

Instead, they came to him, one by one, with their problems. Guards brought in prisoners and Ravin ordered some sacrificed to the gods, some sent to the arena to fight and die, some sold, some maimed for their crimes. A couple he even let go, teary-eyed and grateful for his justice, because it was important for a king to be just.

Eventually, a figure staggered in. He was so ragged and rough looking that Ravin’s guards started toward him, and it took even the king a moment to recognize the form of his emissary to the northern lands.

“Let him through,” Ravin said, and although he didn’t raise his voice, it still carried over the rest of the sounds of the hall. His dead architects had seen to that as well.

The man came forward, staggered slightly, and then managed to execute a perfect bow in spite of how unsteady he was.

“Your majesty, I bring grave news.”

“My generous offer to the north has been rejected, I take it?” Ravin guessed.

“It has, my king,” the emissary said. “I also regret to inform you that I was attacked by Rodry, the son of King Godwin of the North. He slew my guards in cold blood, and then… humiliated me in the way that you see now.”

King Ravin stood and went to the man, seeing the fear there in him. Did he truly believe that his king would do him harm?

“You have been through much, my friend,” he said, placing a hand on the emissary’s shoulder. “Not as much as I had hoped, but perhaps enough.”

“My king?” the emissary said.

King Ravin smiled. “It is well known that Godwin’s son has no control. I had expected that he would cut you down for the things I offered. Still, he slew your men, and that is something.”

He looked around the hall. “From this moment, we are at war with the North. Attacks will be made to bring it to heel.”

“Your majesty,” the admiral of his fleet said. “How are we to do this when the river…”

King Ravin nodded, and three of his quiet men stepped out of the crowd, their knives flashing. The figures were masked so that none could guess at their true names, or seek to bribe them. The admiral fell with a gurgling sound, while around him, others stepped back, hoping they would not be next.

“I have long felt that you have not been trying your utmost,” Ravin said to the dying man. “Again and again, your fleets have failed. I suspect that your successor will be more motivated to succeed.”

He returned his attention to the room. “As we speak, soldiers are finding their way across the bridges in small groups, ready to strike. Quiet men will kill their nobles and take those they hold dear. Desperate men from the arena will be given the chance to throw themselves across the bridges and take them. At the same time, my fleets will strike its coast. Will no one ask me how?”

None dared, of course, so Ravin had to answer a question that wasn’t asked.

“We will not sail directly north,” he said. “We will head east first, where the current will not snatch us.”

He heard the murmurs as people started to understand what he meant.

“For too long, we have been held back by thoughts of peace and neutrality, by the idea of places that should be held only by the gods,” he said. “The time for such things is over. We will act, and we will reunite the kingdom as it should be.”

“But how?” the emissary asked, and King Ravin smiled again, because once more the man had done something useful. It almost made him glad the man wasn’t dead.

“That part is simple,” he said. “We will take a staging post from which to strike, and attack our foes from there. We will encircle them and overwhelm them, because they believe that no one would dare to do what we will do.”

He went back to his throne and tore off the purple robes, revealing scale armor underneath. Ravin drew his sword and pointed up, to the spot on the map that hung to the east of the two kingdoms.

“Prepare ships,” he commanded. “For soon, we will take the Isle of Leveros.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Training with the Knights of the Spur was one of the hardest things Erin had done. Her blade crashed against the shield of her current opponent, a knight named Persh, and he bludgeoned into her with his shoulder. She barely twisted aside from the blow, coming up with her spear ready for the next attack.

That was when Commander Harr hit her from the side, striking her with the flat of his sword. Erin wheeled toward him, anger rising, but he was already sheathing it.

“I don’t need to worry about attacks from someone who has already died,” he said.

“But that wasn’t—”

“If you say ‘fair’ I’ll have you run laps of the walls,” the commander warned.

Erin almost said it anyway, just for the sake of the defiance. Somehow though she reined in the urge. She took the cover for her spear, ready to make it a staff once more.

“So I’m supposed to watch out for random old men attacking me,” she shot back at him. A part of her was hoping to goad him, just to have the chance to fight with him again. He hadn’t sparred with her since she’d arrived, and he was clearly the best of them. It was… frustrating.

Commander Harr didn’t rise to the barbs in her words. Instead, he considered her levelly.

“You should be aware that I have sent a message to your father, explaining that you are here.”

“But…” Erin didn’t know what to say to that. She should have seen it coming; these were her father’s knights, after all.

“I have also explained that you have passed our test, and are therefore here to train with us,” the commander said. “Frankly, if you wish to stay, you will need to do far better.”

“How am I supposed to do better?” Erin demanded.

“Your sword masters have obviously taught you well, but here in the Spur we do not train to fight duels. We train for battle, where anything is fair.”

“Like this?” Erin asked, and lunged at the commander. For a moment, she thought that her lunge was fast enough to get through, but Commander Harr twisted aside, letting the blow scrape from his armor. He pushed her, sending Erin stumbling.