The Dragon Rises Read online

  The Lord

  “My Lord.” Mikkel ducked into the tent with a bow. “Word from the Ulezi. They have sent a messenger ahead. They—” He broke off as he noticed the map for the first time. “You are planning an attack?” His eyes widened when he saw where the markers were clustered.

  “It is the only option,” the Lord said. He stared at his map, at the cluster of markers. “My followers are many, and they are ardent, but they are not trained soldiers. If Luca has the wits to mount a capable defence—”

  Brother Mikkel snorted derisively. “My sources in Nesra’s Keep say the boy is paralyzed. Every way he would move, some advisor or other tells him not to do so. He is angry and paranoid, holing himself up in his tower with a mage.”

  The Lord smirked. “A mage?”

  “Not a true mage.” There was a low undercurrent of satisfaction in Mikkel’s voice. “The rituals of magic that allow for such things as your rebirth, Lord, are carefully guarded secrets. This mage claims that he can make a fire wielder strong enough to beat a dragon.” The side of his mouth twitched with satisfaction. “Clearly, that is impossible.”

  The Lord stared at Mikkel, considering. It was obvious that Mikkel did not understand what he had done when he had called the Lord into this body. Mikkel believed he had done some great working, when in fact he had simply eased the way for the Lord. What Mikkel had truly done was to make the voices of the Lord’s followers strong enough that he could hear them and know the time was right to return.

  Right now, Mikkel was still useful. His sources and his contacts had proven invaluable more than once. He would doubtless prove useful during the actual conquest as well. It would be a trial, given the man’s self-serving nature and his belief in his own superiority, but the Lord would endure it. He was a god. He could endure this and more in his quest to win the world.

  And when he had it, Mikkel would die. The Lord did not wish to spend eternity—or even the tiny, insignificant span of a single human life—listening to Mikkel blather on about his limited grasp of religion and magic.

  There were no rules such as Mikkel believed. The Lord had no innate hatred of magic, and he did not care in the slightest whether people whipped or starved themselves, or whether they prayed in one set of words or another. All he cared about was their adoration…and their weakness. All humans must love him, or they must be too weak to threaten him. Preferably both. That was why he hated Menti. They were always so sure of themselves. They thought they could challenge anyone.

  The Lord returned to his work on the map. “Two ships’ worth of my followers will go to Xantos,” he decreed. “They will avoid the Gold Port, and they will wander through the countryside, bringing stories of my return. Do we have two ships’ worth who can speak the language?”

  “Many in Xantos speak the common tongue,” Mikkel said. He was forever answering questions the Lord had not asked. “As for our followers…. Lord, many of them are uneducated. Still, we will send priests if we must.”

  The Lord nodded. “Send as many as you can. The rest will scatter across Estala, doing the same thing. We will gather our strength from the people.”

  “Lord, is that wise? The goodwill of the people will help you keep your throne, but only conquest will….”

  “I will explain this once,” the Lord said softly. “And only once, Mikkel. Listen carefully. I am no prince. I am no human. I am a god. I am strengthened by the worship of the people. The more who worship me, the more power I will be able to command. Already, I am stronger than the weakling you made me from.”

  He reached out and picked up one of the metal markers and bent it with his thin fingers. The body he inhabited still had not entirely recovered from its illness, and the bones should have creaked when he pressed them against the metal. Neither of those things happened, however. Instead, the metal warped and bent. The Lord felt a feverish strength within himself, drawn from another plane of existence.

  He longed to transform and spring into the air in his dragon form. How much power could he command with a dragon’s already significant talents at his disposal? His fire would burn hotter than any other dragon’s. His claws would be sharper, his jaws would be stronger. If another dragon challenged him, the Lord would triumph.

  Desire filled him at the thought, honey-sweet. He could imagine the battle now, claws raking and the other dragon shrieking its rage. It would challenge him, as all Menti challenged him, but it would fail. It would submit, and he would drink its blood and have complete victory over it.

  Mikkel was staring at him. The man’s skin was greyish, and he was sweating slightly. He was beginning to realise that the man standing before him was not Prince Stefan, but instead a wholly different thing. Was Mikkel regretting his choices? Did he understand that the Lord cared nothing for him and did not need him as Stefan had?

  It did not particularly matter, unless the man took it into his damned fool head to undo the work he had done building the Order of Insight and recruiting followers.

  The Lord smiled at Mikkel. He knew how to play this man. “No other could have seen that Stefan was the proper choice, Mikkel. Only you believed strongly enough to bring these plans to fruition. Only you can claim credit for bringing me back to this earth to rule.”

  Mikkel relaxed somewhat. “My Lord, I am glad to serve.”

  Somewhere, beneath the self-absorption, it was true. Mikkel, like all humans, wanted to be led, to feel the assurance that what they had done was sanctioned by their gods.

  The Lord walked to Mikkel and laid his hand on the man’s cheek.

  “You are the first of my followers,” he said softly, melodiously. Yes, he could smell the man’s desperate worship. It was intoxicating. The Lord sighed with pleasure. “You have given me strength, Mikkel. Your counsel helps me greatly.”

  It did not, but it would not do for the man to wonder if he would be the next sacrifice.

  The Lord smiled and returned to his map. “What word of the Ulezi?” he asked. “You said there had been a messenger when you came in.”

  “Ah.” Mikkel cleared his throat. “Yes. It seems they have captured two dragons. They are bringing them back even now.”

  “Tell me of them.” The Lord slid another marker into place on the map.

  “The message only specified two.” Mikkel shook his head. “Where they were captured, I could not say.”

  “Mmm.” The Lord considered this. “Anything else?”

  “The messenger reported that Prince Luca has mobilised some troops.”

  The Lord turned his head sharply. “You did not think to say that first? Where? Mark it on the map.”

  “It is not for an attack.” But Mikkel still moved to gesture at the area around Nesra’s Keep. “They say he is looking for the Lady Reva Avalon.”

  The Lord searched the memories of this body. The name sounded familiar. He came up with the mental image of a young girl approaching womanhood. She had long black hair and a warrior’s smile.

  “She was once betrothed to Prince Luca,” Brother Mikkel explained. “Then she was married to General Francis Unna. He was a Menti.” His voice was thick with distaste. “When Prince Stefan went to apprehend him, he caused a landslide that killed both himself and many of our troops, apparently so that his wife could escape.” He sounded contemptuous. “A waste. We nearly captured her, but she slipped through our fingers. I wondered what had happened to her. She must have returned to Nesra’s Keep when she heard Luca had returned there. And now she is missing again.”

  The Lord stared at Mikkel as he played the memory in his head. Stefan had watched this girl—Reva, her name was. He had enjoyed her smile, though he had sensed that Reva had found him repulsive, and that had angered him.

  The Lord drank in the memory of her copper skin and the wildness about her. Reva, who had been in Reyalon and then had gone missing once more as the Ulezi returned with their captives. The Lord remembered Stefan’s lust at the thought of the copper dragon, and a suspicion took shape in his head.


  Brother Mikkel was staring back at him.

  “I want you to take the last of my army and get into position,” the Lord said. “I trust you to do so. The attack plans are simple. We will strike at the weakest point, and our target will fall easily. You will not need to move until I have joined you, of course, but it will take some time for our forces to gather once more.”

  The last of their army, forces loyal to King Stefan above Prince Luca, had fled Reyalon and secreted themselves in the countryside. It was essential that Luca not know their plans and be able to track the movements of an army. The Lord’s troops, such as they were—not a large number, not yet—were waiting for his signal.

  “Where will you go, Lord?” Mikkel looked curious.

  “I will remain here,” the Lord said, “to await the Ulezi and their captives. Their strength will be mine before I launch my first attack.”

  In truth, he was not sure what he would do when the Ulezi arrived. There were two captives, the messenger had said. One could easily be disposed of, but if the second was the one he believed it to be, the copper dragon….

  Two dragons were stronger than one, and the Lord wanted to see if he could make her an ally. It was, perhaps, a foolish thought. He told himself that he would not hesitate to kill her if it became necessary. But he would see if he could turn her first. A pair of dragons was the sort of sight that would stir wonder in the hearts of his followers.

  Mikkel nodded, and the Lord saw that Mikkel wanted to stay and see the dragons for himself.

  “I can trust no one else to rally my troops,” the Lord said. He knew that this would catch Mikkel’s attention, and he smiled when the man’s chest swelled with pride. “I will be able to catch up with you easily. Once the other dragons are dead and no threat to me, I will join the troops and make the assault.”

  “At last you will begin to have the power you deserve.” Mikkel eyes shone with pride. “My Lord, every day I thank heaven that you have returned to us. I thank…. As strange as it sounds, I still pray to you.” His face flushed as he said it, and he knelt awkwardly on the ground.

  The Lord knew his role. He came closer to lay a hand on Mikkel’s brow. “I know,” he said. He had not heard Mikkel’s voice in particular, but he heard the whispers of their prayers in his sleep. He heard not only the prayers of thanks, but also the prayers no human would admit to: the prayers for dark things, for death and destruction, for love that was not theirs to have.

  He was the Prince of Truth, however, so he did not revile them for it. Those who admitted what they most wanted were speaking a dark truth, and the Lord drew strength from that as well.

  “What is it you pray for, Mikkel?” The Lord drew the priest up to stand. “Tell me. Tell me what dreams you have had. When all of this is over, what would make you happiest?”

  “A world free of sin,” Mikkel said at once. His voice was thick with hatred. “The Menti flourished in Reyalon. King Davead wanted money more than he wanted their destruction. Oh, the followers of Anios punished the Menti, but it was not enough. They should have been killed. And all others who would profane your world—they must be burned away as well, Lord, in your fire. When the world is pure at last, I will be happy.”

  He really was completely mad. The Lord smiled at him, letting Mikkel see none of his true thoughts. Mikkel was the sort of follower it was good to lose in battle, so that they might serve as a glorious inspiration without infecting others with their madness.

  “You shall have everything you desire and more,” the Lord promised. “Go, bring my troops to the place I have specified. Ready them. I will join you soon.”

  Karine

  After more than a week on the road, with no companions to help her, Karine was desperate. She managed to take water from wells at night, but it was always risky. Sometimes there were dogs or horses that would alert their owners to her presence, and once she had been chased by a devilish goat that had bitten a chunk out of her clothing. Now it was torn and drafty. She knew she resembled a beggar. Worse, she looked vulnerable.

  It was her own weakness that persuaded her to go into the village. If she did not, she would die. She was not sure yet what story she would tell, but she had a rough plan. She would search out a woman and offer to do some work for a bit of bread. She would not ask for shelter or any coin, and the woman might be glad to have the day’s washing done and hung to dry. Karine would even muck out stables if that was what it took, but she was worried that going to an inn might lead her to bad situations.

  Luck was on her side, and outside one of the first houses in the village she saw a woman tending to a vegetable garden. Karine’s mouth watered at the sight of ripe tomatoes, and she had to use all of her self-control not to run to the woman and beg for food then and there.

  “Excuse me,” she said, meek and trembling like a lamb. She hated herself for that. Why could she not be strong, like Reva?

  A little voice whispered to her that she should have stayed at the Gardens of Anios, that she had left there to save her own skin and not for any greater purpose. It would serve her right if she died.

  She ignored the voice.

  The woman looked up, and her unfriendly gaze took in Karine’s pretty face and too-thin form. “What d’ye want, then?”

  “Just work,” Karine said. “Just a day’s work, ma’am, please. I’d not ask something for nothing. I don’t want to be a beggar. I’m stronger than I look. I can feed pigs or muck out stables. I can do the washing. I just need…. I need to eat.” Her chin trembled.

  The woman sat back on her heels. To Karine’s surprise, she did not seem as unfriendly as she had a moment before.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  Karine hesitated, but all of the insults and anger she had felt when she was imprisoned came tumbling out of her. “I was taken and sold as a slave to a rich family. We were shackled at night, and by day we worked until we were near collapse.” She held out her hands. “Look. You can see that I’m a hard worker.” The woman’s eyes widened as she took in Karine’s callused flesh. “I escaped, but I’m afraid they’ll find me.”

  Karine forced herself to wait. She felt bad that she was deceiving this woman. If the woman knew it was the Sisters who had taken her, and that Karine was a Menti, she would not help her.

  Then again, perhaps she would. Perhaps she had a child or a cousin or a sibling who had powers. Karine meant her no harm, in any case. She was not the monster the Order of Insight believed she was. She was just a scared young woman.

  “Come have some food first,” the woman said finally. “It’s porridge, nothing special.”

  Karine’s mouth watered. She was frozen on the spot, wanting the food so much that she could not even make herself move to get it.

  “Come on, then,” the woman said. She seemed to have decided to take Karine under her wing. “I have a sense ye’d not ask unless ye were desperate, and it’s plain to see ye haven’t eaten right in a while. Come eat. I’ll not have you fainting from hunger for the promise of food.”

  Karine smiled as she followed the woman into the house. A plain wooden bowl was set on the table, and a carved spoon, and the woman ladled the porridge in gently. She added some creamy milk and then a pat of butter, an inconceivable luxury for a small family, and nodded at Karine to eat.

  Karine meant to be dignified, but as soon as the food touched her lips, she could not stop herself. She gulped it down and followed it with a cup of water the woman had given her. Her stomach was full to bursting and she put a hand over it, willing herself not to vomit.

  “Sit easy, now,” the woman said. “There’s more, but not yet. You’ll be sick, and that’ll help no one. Come find me when you can walk again.” Then she left Karine and went back to her garden.

  Karine wanted to cry in relief, but she knew that if she started crying, she would not stop. She stood up as soon as the pain in her stomach eased and went outside to help the woman in the garden.

  They worked in silen
ce. After so much time in the Gardens of Anios, Karine knew how to tend to vegetables and herbs. She could tell weeds from other plants, and she pruned back leaves quickly and efficiently. The work she was doing reminded her so strongly of the Gardens that she caught herself looking over her shoulder for Sisters with whips—but there was no one there, of course.

  She watched her companion as well. The woman was clearly old enough to have had several children. Her hair had once been a pale golden brown, not unlike Karine’s own, but it had grey in it now. Nonetheless, the years had only made her more handsome instead of breaking her. The lines at her mouth and eyes said she smiled more than she frowned, and she moved in a strong, no-nonsense way that put Karine at ease.

  It was midday when a young man came through the gate. Karine and the woman were working on the washing by then, and Karine had been given an apple from one of the trees behind the house.

  The man was clearly this woman’s son. He was young, and gangly in a way that said he was not done growing. He looked like he had more in the way of arms and legs than he knew what to do with.

  His brown eyes took in Karine, and he smiled at his mother. “Another stray taken in, Mama?”

  “They always find their way to me,” his mother said with a laugh. “This is Karine. Karine, this is my son, Daniel.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Daniel.” Karine ducked her head.

  “We might as well eat,” the woman said. “Come on, now. Yes, you. You’re doing enough work to warrant more than just a bowl of porridge, girl. Don’t be stupid. You are stronger than you look,” she added.

  They went to sit in the shadowy house again, and Karine relaxed as the woman and her son spoke of the village. Their little cottage was on the outer edge, but they seemed to know everything. Daniel worked in the inn. As the town was close to Reyalon, he heard about much that was happening throughout Estala.

  He seemed to be holding something back, however, and finally he said, “Strange customers today. Came in with a horse that hates ’em. All hooded and cloaked, won’t go into the tavern to eat. And James said he heard a sound from inside the cart like someone was crying. But he was too scared to look inside, what with them standing about.”