In the House of Five Dragons
33. Calling
“History happens in a moment. Years, decades can pass unnoticed between. And then, in an instant, the whole world changes.”
— From After Njorn Pass, by Alexander Ferro
“Do you have any idea what we’re all doing here?” asked another Moon Court knight.
Marus shrugged and grinned at him. “Not a bit of one. Bloody hell, when was the last time all three courts gathered?”
It was the other knight’s turn to shrug. He had no answer. That was fine with Marus. He didn’t need an answer yet. The wonder of seeing all VEIL in one place was enough to permanently pin the grin to his face.
The Star Court yard was full of men, crowded with thousands of knights in a mix of black, red and blue armor. The courtyard was never meant to hold so many, but most of the knights didn’t seem to mind the close pack of their brothers. Hundreds of them had left when Rikard offered them the chance, but more stayed, curious about what was to come.
The crowd would not be still. Every breath was tense with anticipation. No one knew what their strange, famous legens planned. A restless murmur rose and fell by the moment, speculating and then remarking on the pointlessness of doing so. Rikard Mazrem was nothing if not unpredictable.
Just before noon, General Hern appeared on one of the high half-moon balconies, accompanied by a pair of templars scribbling on boards. A shout rose from the assembled knights. Hern raised one of his hands and bellowed something in reply, but Marus could not hear him.
“What did he say?”
“I have no idea,” Marus answered.
The man who had asked was a few years younger than Marus and wore Sun Court red. Struck by a sudden impulse, Marus extended his hand.
“Marus Gallard. Did General Castor tell you what all of this is about?”
The other knight took Marus’ hand and introduced himself as Ashus Vorrenum, but then shook his head. “No, he didn’t say.”
“Nothing at all?” Marus had to lean close and shout to make himself heard over the throng of other knights, all probably asking much the same.
“General Castor spoke to us briefly before we left the Sun Court this morning,” Ashus said loudly. His volume could not mask a hitching note of hesitation.
“What did he say?”
“He warned us that the legens would ask something dangerous of us.”
“Shut up, Ashus,” said another Sun knight.
He thumped his brother knight on the shoulder, making Ashus stumble heavily against Marus. Ashus scowled at the other Sun knight and pushed away a few yards through the crowd. Marus kept pace. Ashus muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” Marus asked.
“Nothing, sir.”
Marus considered pressing the younger knight, but decided against it. The crowd of knights suddenly went still and rigid around them. Marus looked at the balcony General Hern had occupied a few minutes before. One by one, then hundreds and then thousands, the knights took up the chant.
“Mazrem! Mazrem! Mazrem!”
Marus and Ashus joined in, raising their right hands to join thousands of others. Golden bloodcaps shone across the courtyard like a field of tiny suns. High on the balcony, Rikard Mazrem held up his own hand and then swept it down, signaling for silence.
For only the second time that Marus had ever seen — not that he had met the great man many times, he admitted to himself — Rikard wore full armor to match that of the sea of knights below. It looked to be a modern suit, jet black and marked by the shiny silver insignia of the Star Court. The Fiori foster fidgeted beside him in her sky-colored tabba, uncomfortable in front of the vast crowd. The generals of the three courts stood behind Legens Mazrem. From his vantage point, Marus could read very little in their expressions, but he thought that Castor and Hern looked unhappy. The knowledge gave him a secret, guilty little thrill.
You got pretty comfortable in the easy old ways, didn’t you? Let’s see what you think of a proper leader.
A sixth figure stepped out onto the balcony, a man who looked so much like Rikard that Marus had to squint at him for a long moment before he recognized the legens’ son, Gaius Mazrem. Some time passed before the knights managed to quiet themselves.
“Brothers!” the legens called out.
Another roaring cheer and Rikard had to wait before continuing.
“Brothers, you bring pride and grace to Carce! You have endured what no men have before. You have let me into your very hearts and thoughts and do you know what I found there? Corrupt men, hae, that have been sent on to new lives outside VEIL. But I found honor, too. Strong men with pure spirits!”
Another rumbling thunderclap of applause and shouts greeted the new legens’ pronouncement and thousands of knights basked in his pride. Marus tried but couldn’t manage to school his own grin into something more sober and professional.
“This is the face we must show to Dormaen, to all the empire.” Rikard’s voice echoed across the courtyard. “We remember our honor and we must be certain that they do! We must write this moment into the book of history in the only ink befitting VEIL knights. In blood!”
“What do you want of us, Mazrem?” cried a man at the front. A hundred other knights echoed the question. “Tell us our orders!”
“I call upon you to remember your origins, my brothers,” Rikard said. “Before we of the Verita et Illumina Lansinos were warriors, we were scholars. Men of fine Carcaen tradition in service to both worlds. We served our nation and we will serve her again!”
“We will serve!” shouted the knights.
“The grain harvest from Erastrasus is blighted. It molders even now in the Lyceum vaults, waiting to be burned. Five hundred tons of wheat and millet. Dormaen has grown large and without that harvest, tens of thousands of her citizens will starve!”
Marus nodded. Next to him, Ashus did the same. Everyone had heard the rumors, though few knights had concerned themselves much over it. VEIL was powerful and hungry soldiers were even more dangerous than bored ones. They would be among the last to go without. It was terrible news, but what could anyone do?
“With your help and that of the Alterra, I will cleanse the Erastrasus grain,” Rikard announced.
Marus, Ashus and a dozen other nearby knights gasped. Whispers rippled through the crowd of knights. Rikard Mazrem raised his hand again for quiet.
“The cost will be high, brothers,” he said. “But it will be well paid to keep Carcaen citizens from going hungry. I call for knights to draw their blood beside me, to make your sacrifice before the gods and Alterra for Carce! We can recover what has been lost. None but VEIL can do this, brothers. It falls to us! Our duty, our privilege. With this act, we give to Terra and Alterra, the worlds that are mother and father to us all! Who stands with me?”
Marus was the first to raise his fist. “Hae, legens!”
“Hae, legens!” cried Ashus.
“Hae!” bellowed the knights. “Hae! Hae!”
But not all of them, Marus noted. Beneath their crested helms, hundreds of faces had gone as white as milk. Many of these wore red armor. The Sun knight who had chastised Ashus kept his hands firmly at his side. Did Rikard know their fear? Did he feel it? The extent of the legens’ strange powers were still a mystery to those under his command.
Marus couldn’t waste worry on the frightened knights. The loss was theirs. The chance to be a part of something great, finally! After twenty years of wondering why he bothered getting out of bed in the morning, why he had ever joined VEIL… Now thousands of men held fists in the air, pledging blood, memory and their very spirits to Rikard Mazrem. To Dormaen, to Carce and to the Alterra.
“Hae!” Marus shouted again.
I see, I see! The tower leaves shone silvery clarion with elation. All of them rang and shivered in the brazen typhoon. Stumble ducked his stone-feathered head and danced a ridiculous little jig on his short, stripy legs. I hear them. I feel their thoughts like moonlight. Can you clasp it? He’s bringing them back to us!
Stumble hopped underways along the great white branch and then nipped excitedly at Flickerdim’s stormy tailtip. Something far below them rippled softly, like a parent’s affection. Stumble fluttered down through the branches to see.
A doorway? The shape was glassy and indistinct, but it arched at the foot of the Uprising, drawn and bowed like a wilting tree but growing stronger with each breath. The emptiness inside the door swam with wispy colors, scents and sounds that bled out, running over the threadbare swell of the fading Uprising like an upended bucket of paint.
A Terran door! Just like in Mask, back when I was only a childish question! Stumble thought.
Flickerdim blinked opaque eyes and tasted the air with his smoky tongue. The door — once so familiar, now as rare as truths — seemed to strengthen everything around it. The Uprising sang with verdant tones and the tree-tower danced, swaying in the unknown wind. Even the storm overhead was darker, burning staccato with flashes of rowan. The blank rents of the Shatter across the sky swirled suddenly, snaking over the Uprising and stabbed down toward the tree-tower like the shadows of swords.
The Shatter see it, too, Flickerdim said. They are attacking.
“The emperor isn’t going to like this,” Gaius said when they had gone inside.
The room pounded with the chanting cheers of the knights outside, even with the doors closed and heavy drapes pulled shut. It was like being inside a drum, Gaius thought. Rikard lingered just inside, eyes half shut and basking in the praise of his men.
No, that’s not fair, Gaius thought reluctantly. He doesn’t care about the praise. He’s glad to see them happy and inspired.
Not everyone was so pleased. Muscles rippled in Castor’s jaw and the Sun Court general clenched his teeth so hard that Gaius was sure they would crack. He looked like he was trying to eat his own tongue. Nikas Hern detached himself from the other court generals and cleared his throat a couple of times until Rikard’s eyes fluttered open and focused.
Thainna smirked and General Castor shot her a withering look. The red-haired foster stopped laughing and looked up at Rikard. The pair held each other’s gaze for a silent moment, and then Rikard turned to Hern.
“Hae?” he asked.
“Gaius is right,” Hern said without missing a beat. “Emperor Tychon isn’t likely to receive news of your decision very well.”
“Why not? We only want to help his people. Even if that’s not enough for him, cleansing that grain shipment will probably keep them from rioting when winter comes.”
“Both true,” Gaius said. “But Tychon doesn’t care what happens beyond the gates of his palace, Father. Whether Carce flourishes or fails, Tychon doesn’t mind so long as the wine and women flow.”
A long table of polished hywood ran the length of the room, lined on either side with high-backed chairs. General Hern sat on one and crossed his arms. Unlike the other knights, Hern still wore his standard blue saela rather than his full armor.
“I would not have put it that way,” he said.
“I know,” retorted Gaius. “You bend like a reed, general.”
“And float like one when the drink’s running high,” Saul Darius added with a chuckle. He nodded to the other generals. “Hae, you worry too much, ladies. The emperor will see reason. Rik assured Tychon that he has no designs on the throne.”
“Words are cheap,” Hern said.
“Then why are you so rich, old friend, since they seem to be your trade?” Darius countered.
The Moon Court general scowled at him. “An invested salary and the emperor’s generosity, Saul. Same as you. Same as all of us.”
Gaius looked at his father. Rikard was distracted again. He and Thainna looked at each other as though engaged in some silent, private conversation. Perhaps they were. Did the endless bickering bore Rikard? If so, Gaius could hardly blame him.
“Rik?” Saul snapped his fingers for his friend’s attention. When the young legens tore his eyes away from Thainna’s, Saul laughed. “Your wife is going to whip you if you stare at that Fiori girl much harder, Rik.”
“Enough,” Rikard said, but Gaius thought he looked flushed. “I heard you, Nikas, but my words still linger… they are true. I meant them. I don’t want the empire, only for its people to prosper and its knights to remember their duties.”
Hern tapped his capped forefinger on the bright-polished table. “Mark me, Emperor Tychon will fight you. He will find some guise for his complaint. Are you certain you want to do this?”
“I am,” said Rikard evenly. “We must prove our worth to Dormaen and ourselves.”
Hern sighed. “Hae, legens.”
“Will you join me in this pact, brothers?”
The generals looked at each other, eyes wide with surprise. Saul shook himself all over like a wet dog and nodded to Rikard.
“Hae. I’m with you, of course,” he said. “Can’t think what your Alterran friends might want with anything between my ears, but they’re welcome to it. Cleansing the grain is a good idea, as you say, and I’m too fat and too lazy to weather a winter riot. I’ll bleed with you, Rik.”
Hern and Castor were pale and silent. Rikard waited a moment, and then nodded to the two generals. “It’s a hard thing that I ask. Take your time in considering.”
“Thank you, legens,” Hern said with a bow.
The clamor outside had finally begun to die down and Castor cocked his head toward the balcony door. “It’s time to return our men to their own courts, Legens Mazrem. They’ll have preparations to make, I’m certain. If you’ll excuse us…”
“Hae, go. They will have questions,” Rikard said.
The generals saluted and departed, leaving Gaius alone with his father and the foster. Rikard watched the door swing shut behind the other men and sighed heavily. A moment later, he smiled and took up Hern’s seat at the table. He brought his eyes up to Gaius, apparently cheered. The man changed moods like clothes.
“It went well, don’t you think? I had hoped for a few hundred volunteers, but there must have been thousands today!” Pleased, Rikard slapped his palm against the tabletop. “Our brothers are not as faint-hearted as you thought, Thainna. They’re good men. They need only the chance to be so.”
Gaius expected the Fiori girl to bristle, but she smiled back at Rikard.
“You were right,” Thainna told him. “I hope they’re so eager when the time comes to actually scribe their blood.”
“Have faith. They will.”
Thainna laughed. “They would follow you right into Alterra if you ordered it.”
“What about my son?” Rikard asked. The question was hesitant, almost shy, as though he were not the most powerful, privileged man in the entire world. “Gaius, you haven’t said very much. What do you think?”
Gaius sat down opposite his father and didn’t offer up an immediate reply. Rikard had shared his plan the night before and wanted his son to approve, to help. It made Gaius feel strangely powerful, a sensation largely lost to him since Rikard’s return. But he couldn’t enjoy it long.
I don’t want power over him, not like this. It’s not right. Whatever else is wrong with him, my father is unfailingly noble. Perhaps that is one of his failings. It’s not right that he should need approval of this stupid, selfless decision from… from someone like me.
Gaius rested his chin in his hands and regarded Rikard across the table. It was like looking into some kind of magical mirror. Gaius saw all of his own familiar features, even the raven-black hair that his mother dyed. But Rikard wore it all so differently. His face was handsome and chiseled, the face of a man other men admired and followed to their benefit. A nobleman in the truest sense. He was respected not by virtue of birth, but by spirit and sword.
His sword is still in my house. He’s never asked for it. He’s never needed it.
Gaius’ eyes wandered to the door. Only Saul had promised his blood to Rikard’s pact. The Star Court general was a good man, but with all the wit of a stone. Hern would not decide until he knew where Emperor Tychon stood. Coward. And Castor… Could his ridiculously stiff-necked sense of honor win out over his hatred for Rikard?
What good was it to disdain such men when Gaius himself was no better? He looked at his father again. Rikard met his gaze with an open eagerness, a raw need that jarringly reminded Gaius that the great hero was still such a young man.
Sometimes. At others, he seems as old as the sky.
“I think Emperor Tychon will fight you every step of the way,” said Gaius slowly. “But I think it’s a good idea.”
“Will you stand with me?”
Gaius took a deep, steadying breath. “Hae… hae, I’m with you, Father.”
Rikard jumped to his feet and vaulted over the table. It couldn’t have been easy in his armor, but the legens hardly seemed hindered at all, or else too elated to notice. He seized Gaius’ hand and pulled his son up into an embrace that clattered like a sack of nails as their armor came together. Rikard kissed his cheek.
Gaius saw tears in his father’s eyes. He coughed uncomfortably and thumped Rikard’s back a couple of times.
“Hae, enough,” Gaius said. “I don’t even know if your grand pact will ever happen. There’s still Tychon to deal with.”
Emperor Tychon waited. His toes curled in their soft doeskin slippers, itching to pace nervously. Stirred by her emperor’s agitation, the girl kneeling beside his throne fidgeted uncomfortably. Or perhaps it was the cool marble floor against her bare backside. Tychon ran his fingers through her golden hair, down the side of her neck and over her delicate collarbone. Was there time…?
A sudden breeze made the gauzy curtains billow like smoke. Tychon looked up at the open door.
“General Cadmus Castor of the Sun Court of VEIL,” the herald announced.
A pair of knights in steel-studded black armor stood at the tall doors, gilded and emblazoned with the lion and laurel. They saluted as the tall, thin Sun Court general strode into the room. He had changed his blood-red armor for a fine silk saela of the same color. Castor bowed deeply and waited until the emperor gestured him forward.
“We are pleased that you came to us so promptly, general,” said Tychon. He gestured to a doe-eyed girl, who came forward and filled the emperor’s glass from a crystal decanter.
“Imperial Majesty, I am–” Castor began, but Tychon interrupted him.
“What is Rikard doing? Calling VEIL together, casting out the rot? He’s securing and strengthening VEIL. Now he’s asking for the entire Erastrasus grain shipment. What does he want with it?”
“The legens has a plan to purify it, Majesty,” said Castor. His chin was raised and his back as straight as a column. “He’s called for volunteers to join him in an Alterran pact to do so.”
“How many have come forward?”
“The commanders are still taking proper numbers, but about six thousand, Imperial Majesty. Perhaps seven. More than half of VEIL.”
Tychon closed his eyes and touched his fingertip to the sapphire crown on his brow.
“Seven thousand men?” he asked. “Seven thousand of Carce’s knights to bleed together to the Alterra. Why is that, Castor? No one in VEIL makes pacts with those ghosts anymore. But his men would bleed themselves to death if Rikard Mazrem asks.”
Castor looked as though he wanted to say something. A vein pulsed in the general’s temple like an angry serpent. Tychon took a lingering sip of his wine. It was sultry and musky, with a hint of apple or something similarly sweet. A little young for his taste.
Tychon took the decanter from his serving girl and tossed it at Castor. The herald gasped quietly. The knight caught it deftly, spilling only a few drops onto the polished white floor.
“Not my year,” Tychon said. “Have a drink, general.”
After a pause, Castor nodded. He took a glass from a polished table nearby and poured.
“Pressed too late in the year. They should know better,” he said after taking a sip.
The emperor set his cup aside and nodded. “You’re a man of refined taste.”
“I lived here in the palace before the war, when the Sun Court still served as your guard, Majesty. I learned admiration for fine things and the power needed to acquire them.”
“You must miss it, General Castor.”
“I do. Forgive me, Majesty, but there is a great deal to do before executing Legens Mazrem’s pact. How may I serve you?”
“While we appreciate his gesture, we believe it ill-advised,” Tychon said. “It has been thirty years since a major Alterran pact. Who knows what will happen? Legens Mazrem may spread the grain blight to the remaining storehouses. What then? So many unpracticed hands at blood pacts… What sort of Alterran mischief might they invite into Dormaen? Please thank Legens Mazrem for his continued heroics on behalf of the Carcaen Empire, but let him know that by imperial command, he is forbidden to make any alterations to the Erastrasus grain. The risk is too great.”
Castor’s jaw tightened. “With all respect, Majesty, there is no danger. Not to anyone except the knights–”
“Carry my decision to your legens,” Tychon said.
Castor bowed deeply. The Star knights pulled the doors open for him and saluted again as the general passed. When Castor was gone, Tychon waved the herald out of the room and pulled the golden-haired girl into his lap. But even her soft skin and youthful vigor could not entirely distract Tychon from the problem at hand.
Rikard Mazrem would fight his emperor’s decision. He was the hero of Carce and soon he would be their savior. Why else build up VEIL except to challenge the throne? The man had no gratitude. Tychon had given Rikard more than anyone ever dared ask.
Even if Gaius were right, that his father had no desire to rule, it wouldn’t be long until even Rikard could not stop the tide of his own popularity. The people would take matters into their own hands. They would call for him… no, they would all demand that Rikard Mazrem take the throne. Tychon tightened his fingers in the girl’s pale curls until she whimpered in pain.
This is all mine. I will not let it go easily, the emperor swore.
