Cradle of Darkness Read online

  Mahren put her tunic back on, putting her arms through the vents of the light leather armour. “No to the first. You are but a common peasant.”

  “Hey, who are you — ”

  “But as to the second …”

  Brethis’s eyes widened. “It’s only been a month since we came to know each other, and you are already talking about offspring?”

  “Does the idea appal you?”

  Brethis eased himself to his feet, and Mahren couldn’t help but admire his muscled torso and strong, bronzed arms. He put his hands on his hips. “Well, now you mention it, the thought is not unattractive. A fine brace of blacksmith’s sons to carry on the family business, and a couple of daughters to marry a rich nobleman or two.”

  “For a revolutionary, you project very patriarchal sentiments.”

  Brethis blushed. “I suppose you are right.”

  “We may be authoritarian, but you can’t say the Dragonians are guilty of holding their women back from a leading role.”

  “You know, we could bring our children up in a new way. Let them break free of the mental chains that enslave our people.”

  “I’d still want them to learn the art of vs’ shtak, and even the kirith-a.”

  Brethis looked puzzled.

  “Vs’ shtak is dragon riding and the ancient lore that encompasses everything connected with it. There are few who are ready to take up the sacred mantle, and none who understand the dragon’s language as I do. This is the essence of kirith-a, rare empathy and communication with dragons.”

  “Cuscosian Dragon Riders?” Brethis said. “Who could imagine such a thing?”

  “I dare to imagine,” she replied. Then her visage turned dark. “But there is much that would stand in our way. Perhaps too much.”

  “It’s just outdated rules and customs. Why should we let others dictate to us?”

  “It’s not just that. The Hallows wax black. Have you seen it in the skies? You understand the meaning of this, don’t you?”

  “We’ve been told nothing — other than what the likes of Vanya the bard pass on — and she embellishes things somewhat.”

  “The Black Hallows are no embellishment. I’ve seen what they can do.”

  “Really? Tell me.”

  Mahren rose and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it now, but we must watch our backs. If what I read in our library contains only half the truth, then we can expect great upheaval.”

  “Well, that’s good isn’t it? We need a revolution — at least on this side of the border. We can’t suffer like this any longer. Do I need to describe Etezora’s latest atrocities?”

  She could see Brethis had grown animated again and no amount of soothing would ease his burden. He had things to get off his chest, so she let him speak.

  He continued talking, rapid-fire as he donned his clothes again. “Like I said before, the Brotherhood meet later and I promised we could expect help from the Dragonians.”

  “You did? I hope you didn’t say too much. I’ve only spoken to Sashaim and Aibrator from my own dragon host, and my sister seems to be holding off a direct attack at present. She has agreed to persuade Etezora to attend a summit.”

  Brethis swatted at the air. “A meeting will achieve nothing. In fact you need to be careful you’re not walking into a trap. Have you noticed the mobilisation of troops from the garrisons?”

  “I was curious as to the number of guards on the streets of Hallow’s Creek. Still, it’s one thing to show strength of arms, quite another to make threats while staring down the mouth of a dragon. What is happening with the troops, anyway?”

  “It’s hard to say, but movement of soldiers on this scale usually means only one thing.”

  Mahren’s expression clouded. “Tayem must hear of this. How long since the activity increased?”

  “The day before yesterday. The captains recruit from the striplings of our families too. It is only a matter of time before they come knocking on my family’s door.”

  “What will you do?”

  Brethis’s eyes lit up. “The Brotherhood aim to strike before then, and with the Dragon Rider’s help we can deal a mighty blow to Cuscosa.”

  “You can’t expect too much, Brethis. Tayem would not countenance an all-out attack with dragons — ”

  “I’m not asking for that,” he replied, “simply weapons and guidance. We possess but axes and staves. Properly crafted weapons would be far more useful — and the expertise of true warriors. Our brotherhood can supply the cunning and subtlety of a well-planned attack.”

  “Where?”

  Brethis didn’t answer but glanced through the window at the moon. “We should be away, the brothers meet within a half hour.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “Of course. You can give us weapons and a helping hand, can’t you?”

  Mahren resigned herself. “Yes, I think so. Although if Tayem hears of it, there will be a reckoning.”

  “No one in your royal palace need ever know.”

  “Very well, lead the way, then. But don’t expect me to speak publically. That’s Tayem’s skill, not mine.”

  It was enough for Brethis. He blew out the candle, which had burned low, and they stepped furtively through the night to another rendezvous. On the way, Brethis related his plan to Mahren, and despite a few flaws she became increasingly impressed with its daring and ingenuity.

  No human eye detected their movement through the suburbs and out to the surrounding woods. But a pair of amber feline orbs observed them with curiosity, padding after them languidly.

  A union of Cuscosa and the Donnephon? Thought the off-worlder with amusement. This night has already provided much entertainment, and there is more to come!

  19

  Of fire and blood

  Etezora closed the blinds of her bedroom window more securely, darkening the room but not blotting out the light as completely as she would like. With Sol-Ar’s influence diminished through her actions, she sensed the Hallows infusion decrease in sympathy, and her mood become more reflective. The anticipation that Tayem would soon be humiliated, defeated or completely vanquished filled her with satisfaction; yet this was tinged with a mote of regret. Their relationship had not always been thus. When had the rift occurred? She could point to many incremental incidents, but it would have to be the celebration at the last Feast of Shaptari that marked the turning point.

  She found her mind transported back to that day, and the fateful events that transpired.

  There is an ancient game played in the Eastern lands called Heryx. It consists of coloured tiles of four suits. The object is for a player to build one’s tiles upwards in a connected manner so one gains control of the upper tiers. A skilled strategist will use the foundations built by other players to dominate a given level. But it is a fragile construct that is produced, and a rogue opponent can sabotage a leading player by toppling whole tiers as a result of removing a single tile.

  The Feast of Shaptari exemplified this kind of fragility in a profound way. However, for Etezora, having only just celebrated her thirteenth natum day, these things floated far beyond her sphere of understanding like distant concussions from a far-off volcano. Four kingdoms held together by tentative bonds of commerce and hastily written treaties agreed to this occasion of pomp and pageantry in the interests of diplomacy. However, even a tender shoot like Etezora could detect undercurrents beneath the veneer of pleasantries and etiquette: a ‘bending’ of rules in a wrestling match; favouritism shown in the awarding of trophies or an affront concealed in a flattering compliment at the high table.

  Etezora played with her helping of goat’s cream pie at such a table during the afternoon celebrations. Of late she had little appetite for conventional food; not since she had tasted darastrix rhyaex — the cured dragon meat procured by her brother from illicit sources. If the Dragon Riders knew the Cuscosians farmed dragons in underground pits purely as a source of exotic and expensive meat, then it was certain the
precarious alliance would break down. So far the puritanical Donnephon had not detected this abhorrent practice, yet Etezora had heard Tayem relate how her parents viewed the uncultured Cuscosian appetites. You indulge too much in the sensual pleasures, Tayem had communicated in an overly educated diatribe. Etezora was not quite sure what this meant, but was under no illusion that it was not complimentary.

  That sol, the Donnephon hosted the Shaptari festival. They had spared no expense despite the fact their coffers were all but empty, having been drained by unequal trade agreements and the punitive exactment system enforced by the Cuscosians. They were a warrior breed after all, not well versed in commerce and unable to capitalise on their obvious talents. Their ornate furniture and carvings made from the exotic woods of the Dragon Vale would have commanded a price four times that which Cuscosa offered. If only they were not so inward looking and perhaps sought agreements with other races beyond their borders. In many ways they were victims of their own insularity. Yet these economic shortcomings were not to be an obstacle as far as the Dragonians were concerned. Appearances and one-upmanship had to be maintained above all else.

  Against both their parents’ wishes, Etezora had engineered a place next to her friend, Tayem, at the dining table. In a Cuscosan court dominated by males, to consort with other young girls of like mind was a rare treat. Her unorthodox seating arrangement had been permitted, as Etezora was always able to get her way, despite Eétor’s protestations.

  “I am bored beyond words,” Etezora said to Tayem, “hurry up and finish your pie. You promised to show me the palace grounds, and there will only be tedious speeches for the next hour.”

  Tayem shovelled a large spoonful of pie into her mouth and spoke between every chomp of her jaws. Seemingly, the chance to partake of such hearty food was an occasion oft denied her. “Mother and Father will not be pleased,” she said.

  “They won’t notice,” Etezora replied. “Grown-ups get caught up in these feasts, and the wine is flowing. Come on, we won’t be missed.” She eyed her compatriot, noting with a flush of jealousy how Tayem already had a regal bearing. Her golden locks fell over shoulders already well honed from hour upon hour spent in the company of dragons, tending them and taking to the air on their backs. Unlike the daubed artificiality of Cuscosian make-up that adorned Etezora’s face, the daughter of the Dragon Queen possessed a beauty as natural as a mountain stream. Although the thought had not yet crystallised into conscious thought, she longed for such comeliness, and in that moment Etezora’s envy seemed to focus on the object of Tayem’s devotion. What a waste to commit all your attention on such ungainly and repugnant beasts.

  “Well, if we’re to get away,” Tayem said, “now would be a good time. Look — Mother is rising to speak.”

  They made the most of the moment and stealthily climbed down from their high seats, slipping between folds in the thick velvet curtains behind the high table. As they descended the wooden steps behind the temporary stage, Etezora heard Queen Jezethorn start her opening address.

  “Fellow citizens of the Imperious Crescent …”

  Fellow? Didn’t the high-minded schjek realise that her family were far from friends? Even the name ‘Imperious Crescent’ had been imposed to emphasise Cuscosian dominance. For all their high-minded pretensions, the Dragonians would ever be serfs to the House of Cuscosa.

  She was reeling off well-learned tropes from her father’s pronouncements. It is in this way that young minds are shaped by the incessant inculcation of their upbringing, and the Cuscosians had their own dynastic pretensions. Yet Etezora could not be blamed for this — unlike the actions she was to perpetrate in the next hour.

  The two of them slunk away from the freshly clipped lawns of the palace frontage, giggling at shared imitations of the most pompous characters at the high table. Now, as Queen of Cuscosa, Etezora could reflect how circumstances had removed that carefree joy from them. In fact, as she dwelt on those moments, it dawned on her that she had not laughed with anything approaching that degree of unaffectedness since. These days her laughter was elicited from the glee at seeing others suffer. The seeds of this perverse joy were sown later that day.

  Etezora smelt the reptilian odour even before they laid eyes on the dragon enclosures. She could see by the wonder on Tayem’s face that she revelled in the sight and smell of what she appreciated as magnificent creatures; whereas for Etezora, it was the taste of dragons she savoured most.

  “I’ve wanted to show you the dragon pens for ages,” Tayem said. “The royal mounts are riding the clouds at the moment. They will fly in formation over the palace once the speeches are finished.”

  Etezora nodded, feigning a look of eagerness, all the while harbouring a smouldering resentment towards the wyrms.

  “But the youngsters are penned up still,” Tayem continued. “Come, I’ll show you Quassu. He’s my dragon. You’ll like him.”

  I doubt it.

  “He has this way of winking, as if he’s sharing a joke with you.”

  How delightful.

  The pens were screened from the palace by a line of bachar trees. Constructed as a latticework of willow woven between uprights of living tisthorn trees, even this functional enclosure carried the hallmarks of ornate craftsmanship reminiscent of all Dragonian endeavours. They passed enclosures containing smaller beasts of varying sizes, while Tayem took great pleasure in explaining the taxonomy of the regal reptiles.

  “These dull-coloured ones,” she said, “may not be much to look at, but they are the best flyers and the most teachable. They form the backbone of our host. Here, this one is Jaestrum, my sister’s mount. Already he can fly higher than Mount Gathan and perform the looping manoeuvre.”

  “Doesn’t Mahren fall when he’s upside down?”

  Tayem laughed, the sound having a tinkling quality. “She’s strapped into the dragon harness, so she comes to no harm.”

  “It must be frightening. How is she not terrified?”

  “My sister trusts Jaestrum more than she does a human. She has this way of talking to the dragons — my father tells me she’s a natural kirith-a. Now this bright blue beauty is the daughter of Teshgazzadar from the ayku host. When she flies close to Sol, the light glitters off her scales and blinds the onlooker. Be careful to avert your gaze if she ever flies past.”

  The dragon was laid on its side, sleeping, and Etezora appreciated the handsomeness of the beast despite herself. Yet she couldn’t help visualising the belly, cut into strips and cooked slowly over a charcoal fire. “I heard these wyrms breathe fire,” she said, saliva bursting over her taste buds.

  “Some do,” Tayem said. “This ability is found only amongst the Agnarim.”

  “Do you own any?”

  “Only two, and they are not old enough to have shown signs of the pneuma-fyre.”

  “They are still young?”

  “Ensutharr is two hundred and twenty one sols — our oldest dragon.”

  “And he is young?” Etezora’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “It’s a ‘she’, and dragons live many thousands of sols. I myself have never seen one produce a full gout of flame. Our pygmy breed can sputter a little smoke — but it’s a little like a burp — quite funny to watch! Now here is Ensutharr’s enclosure. Don’t get too close, she’s rather tetchy.”

  Under a thatched canopy, the two girls came upon a deep pit, excavated out of the shale. The bottom was impossible to make out after being in the bright sunshine, but as Etezora’s eyes adapted to the gloom, she detected a serpentine movement in the depths. A shifting in the shadows revealed itself to be the tilting of a gargantuan, elongated head. The aged wyrm blinked a rhombus eye at her, and it was as if it sensed Etezora’s enmity because a deep rumble as of tumbling boulders emanated from its massive chest. The Cuscosian stripling took a step back, holding her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s so …”

  “Magnificent, isn’t she?” Tayem finished Etezora’s sentence.

  Loa
thesome.

  “Oga, her mate is in the next pit. You’ll like him, he’s — ”

  “All of a sudden, I feel a bit faint,” Etezora said. In truth she was close to spewing up the little food she’d eaten. Such was her revulsion of the beast she’d seen. Reflecting on her reaction now, she wondered how this instinctive dislike could have sprung in her. After all, she liked what others would consider more detestable animals such as the salyx. Perhaps, it was the sense of exclusion, the notion she wasn’t part of Tayem’s world, and could never be.

  “Can we go back outside? I don’t know quite what’s come over me.”

  Tayem looked at her with concern, touching her arm, and the gesture warmed Etezora, restoring her sense of companionship and of being wanted. “Of course. Our dragons are a shock when you first lay eyes on them. I will show you something that you will stomach better.”

  She imagines I am frightened of her wyrms? Does she think I am such a trembling flower?

  Tayem clasped her by the hand and led her out the other side of the enclosure to another building. Inside, the temperature was considerably greater, and sweat broke out on Etezora’s skin.

  “It is so hot in here,” she said, wiping her brow.

  “The braziers are kept burning all day and all night.”

  “Why?”

  “The dragon eggs need to be kept warm.”

  “Eggs? Don’t the mothers brood them like a chicken would?”

  “That happens in the wild, but we have need of the dragons continually, so we remove the eggs and place them in these brood boxes.”

  “I’ll wager the mothers are not too happy with that.”

  Tayem sighed. “No, they are not. But they get over it.” She pointed at a series of wooden arks stacked like shelves. “Here they are. Would you like to see them?”

  In truth, Etezora had had her fill of dragons and wished to play a different game where she could engineer a necessary victory over the Dragonian girl. She had held court for too long already, and Etezora was driven to monopolise the situation again.