“Are we sure we can keep the battle contained to that one area?” Nicos replied.
“With respect, Majesty,” Luthen said, “I’m worried about that too. There have already been fires tonight. We’re lucky they didn’t spread.”
The spectacle of the two perpetual rivals taking the same side ratcheted Tchazzar’s nerves even tighter. It made him feel even more like every one of his servants truly was a traitor or else so useless that he might as well be.
“Men can betray a king and get away with it,” he said, “but not a god. There has to be a reckoning.”
“I understand,” Nicos said, “but does it have to be here and now? All the armies are camped together. If one tries to fight another, there’ll be scant hope of directing the conflict. It will be chaos, pure and simple.”
“Especially with the Akanulans still camped there too,” Luthen said.
Tchazzar lifted his tail and lashed it down on the rooftop. The shock sent the courtiers staggering. “I ordered them gone!”
Hasos came forward. “With respect, Majesty, they’re an army. They can’t just pick up and go in an instant.”
“And it’s conceivable they found… cause for concern in what Your Majesty recently said to Zan-akar Zeraez,” Nicos said. “If hostilities suddenly erupt, who knows which way they’ll jump?”
“I hope they do fight us!” Tchazzar spit. “By the Hells, let’s take the uncertainty out of the matter and attack them too! We can have our war after all, with Akanul. We’ll butcher Magnol and his army tonight, then march north unopposed. I’ll be perched on Arathane’s throne before Highharvestide.”
Everyone just gaped at him. It would be so easy to burn away all their stupid faces. So easy.
“Do you think we don’t have the strength to fight the mercenaries and the genasi at once?” he asked. “I’m the Red Dragon of Chessenta! I have sufficient strength all by myself. But even if I didn’t, help is on the way. Alasklerbanbastos and several lesser dragons are coming.”
He expected the news to hearten the humans. Instead, they looked more dumbfounded than before.
Finally Kassur Jedea said, “Majesty, I served the Great Bone Wyrm my whole life until you cast him down. My father and grandfather served him. I know him and whatever he told you, you can’t trust him.”
“Even if you could,” Nicos said, “the destruction that several dragons could cause fighting through the city, blasting away with their breath…” He spread his hands.
“By all the stars,” Tchazzar said, “is there no one who believes in me?”
“I do!” Halonya cried. Her vestments flapping, she stamped out of the crowd of courtiers then whirled around to face them in a clatter of amulets and beads. “And shame on all of you for doubting! Who cares who dies in the fighting or if the entire city falls? Our master will resurrect the fallen and build a new Luthcheq, a new empire, pure and holy, where those who serve the one true god will live in joy forever!”
“Exactly!” Tchazzar roared. “So no more quibbling! Go and ready my troops for battle!”
Hasos had hated it when Tchazzar loomed over them all in dragon form, flames licking from his jaws and his yellow eyes blazing almost as brightly. But he was glad that the war hero apparently meant to remain in that shape for the duration of the crisis. As a wyrm, he was too huge to follow his servants downstairs into the interior of the fortress.
Thus, Hasos felt free to stand still for a moment, even though he knew he should be scurrying off to prepare for battle like everyone else. Indeed, as one of highest-ranking officers in the red dragon’s army, he should be scurrying faster. But his thoughts were whirling, and he needed to sort them out.
The first one that came clear was the familiar wish to be back home in Soolabax attending to the mundane business of his baronial court. But wanting couldn’t make it so, so he struggled to sort out his duty instead.
On the surface, it seemed clear enough. He’d sworn an oath of fealty to the sovereign who was both Chessenta’s greatest hero and, according to many, a god. But he’d sworn a vow of knighthood too that obliged him to defend the realm and the people, not just the throne. What was he supposed to do when one pledge clashed with the other?
Wait, he thought. Do just enough to satisfy Tchazzar’s requirements and hope things sort themselves out.
But no, curse it, no. He’d been a cautious man his entire life, and it had served him pretty well. But it wouldn’t anymore, not when he and the entire realm were running out of time.
He roused himself, then gave a start when he noticed Kassur Jedea loitering several paces away. Although perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. Tchazzar had carried the skinny, graying king of Threskel away from his homeland as a trophy of sorts. Unlike Hasos, the monarch didn’t have any urgent responsibilities.
“You look troubled,” Kassur said, coming closer and fingering the round, gold medallion he wore on a chain. A goldsmith had engraved little sigils around the rim. Hasos didn’t recognize any of them, and their odd, vaguely disquieting shapes served to remind him that his companion wasn’t just a king but some sort of sorcerer as well.
“Somewhat,” Hasos said.
“I certainly am,” Kassur said. “I kneeled to another overlord besides Alasklerbanbastos. The lich was gone, and I had no choice. But still, it’s not something he’ll forgive.”
“And you believe Tchazzar won’t protect you?”
“Does it seem to you that he’s greatly concerned about any of his human vassals at present? If not, then perhaps it’s time for said vassals to consider protecting themselves.”
“I’m not a traitor,” Hasos said. Indeed, the mere thought of being called such a thing was sickening. To a true follower of the code of chivalry, there was no fouler insult.
Except, perhaps, for coward.
“If I thought you anything other than a brave and decent man,” Kassur said, “I wouldn’t confide in you in a time of need.”
“I’m not,” Hasos insisted, and only belatedly realized that he was talking more to himself than to the king. He drew a long, steadying breath. “And I don’t understand more than a fraction of what’s going on here tonight or, really, for the past few months. But I do think we Chessentans need to stop dancing to any dragon’s tune before the creatures dance us right off a cliff. And I may know how to stop the music. Will you help me?”
The older man nodded. “If I can.”
Next Hasos collected ten of his most loyal retainers. They were good men, but he would have hesitated to take them into a fight with spellcasters without a magus or priest of his own. Fortunately he didn’t have to for this fight.
When they reached the narrows steps that descended to the dungeon, Kassur drew a bronze wand from his sleeve. It was as thin as a straw and scarcely gleamed in the gloom, yet paradoxically it hurt the eye to look directly at it, as if it were reflecting the light of the noonday sun. The Threskelan flicked it back and forth then led his companions down to a door that proved to be unlocked, although that likely hadn’t been the case a moment before.
The turnkeys jerked in surprise when the company stalked in. But they didn’t snatch for their weapons because they recognized Hasos.
Still, that didn’t mean it was safe to leave them behind. “We’re freeing Shala Karanok,” Hasos told them. “You can help, you can let us lock you in a cell, or you can resist and die.”
The two men looked at each other. Then the heavier one, a fellow with a drooping mustache and a round, stubbly chin, growled an obscenity. “We’ll help, my lord,” he said. “It’s not right down here. It hasn’t been for a while.”
Hasos could tell that from the stink and the echoing moans, and he felt a pang of shame to think just how many “traitors” and “blasphemers” were locked away in those vaults. Still, all but one would have to wait a while longer. He gestured for the turnkeys to lead the way.
They did, to another descending staircase. “I don’t know what’s down there, Lord,” the stout turnkey whispered. “I mean, I know the layout, but not anything the wyrmkeepers have done.”
“Tell me the layout,” Hasos replied.
“It’s a ring, basically.”
