In the House of Five Dragons
39. The Storm
“When we blame fate, we are truly blaming ourselves.”
— Utora Maesus
It was long past midnight. General Castor’s boots rang on the polished marble floors of the broad hallway. The day had been long and the triumphs were hard-won, but were many and grand. The fires were contained. Tomorrow, they would be smothered entirely. The Shatter had promised it. Such prompt and diligent service impressed Emperor Tychon.
Castor was tired to the bone, but nothing short of death would have kept him from these great halls. He stopped before a pair of great pillars, striped in black and gold like bees. Between them, a dozen VEIL knights in bright red armor stood at attention outside closed doors. A high, whistling snore could just be heard beyond.
“Does the emperor sleep peacefully?” Castor asked.
“Hae, general,” answered a knight wearing a captain’s insignia.
“It’s good to be home,” Castor said, half to himself.
The captain leaned in to catch the words. “Hae, General Castor. I thank you for the opportunity. After Legens Mazrem dismissed us, I never thought I’d have the chance again.”
“After what happened today, I need fresh men to safeguard Emperor Tychon. What court did you serve before, captain…?”
“Jaesun, sir,” the knight answered. “I used to serve in the Star Court, but it’s an even greater honor to join you now.”
Castor nodded and waited for the knights to salute him before finally turning away and finishing his circuit of the imperial palace. It was good to be home.
Gaius couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the empty bed that kept him awake. Gaius enjoyed his trysts well enough, but there had certainly been plenty of nights alone.
Was it the reek of smoke, perhaps? No. Try though he might, Gaius could smell no trace of the fires. Unlike his mother, who so loved to look out over Dormaen, his bed chambers were closed off from the grounds. Gaius sat on the edge of his bed, holding his face in his hands. His wet hair dripped water down his back. It itched and tickled its way down his spine.
The plan had seemed like a good one. Get the Erastrasus wheat, restore it. Restore faith in VEIL. What could go wrong? Rikard Mazrem knew more than any man alive about Alterran blood pacts. Gaius rubbed his face until his skin tingled.
His father seemed to break when the cleansing ritual went awry. That should have pleased Gaius, but somehow, it only frightened him. Rikard had been so certain, so confident in their path. To see him shaken like that was a violation of the natural order.
What would happen to VEIL now? That depended upon public reaction to the fires, Gaius supposed. Would the knighthood be disbanded?
Probably not. One day was not enough to undo the building of the Carcaen Empire. But the Mazrems and the Star Court would certainly fall out of favor. Of the two thousand knights who failed to report back, how many lay dead at the feet of those they tried to help? How many would turn to lives of banditry? Or worse? How many would join criminal rings like the infamous House of Five Dragons?
A knock on the door startled Gaius up from his thoughts.
“Hae?” he called.
The door swung open to reveal an earnest-looking young blond man. He wore a plain brown cape over his guardsman’s armor. A short Carcaen woman in an ash-stained blue fostral tabba stood at his side. The pale-haired guard bowed and swept his cape back over one shoulder.
“Forgive my intrusion, Lord Mazrem, but I’m not sure what I’m to do,” he said. “Your father sent me to get a foster.”
Gaius frowned at that. “Why? Isn’t Thainna with him? I swear those two are tied at the ankles.”
The other man’s expression darkened. A yellowed bruise stood out on his jaw and Gaius finally recognized him as the guard Rikard had attacked in the terrestrium weeks before.
“Thainna’s been hurt. Badly, my lord,” said Karl.
“Then what are you babbling at me for? Get on to her,” Gaius barked. He didn’t want to consider what Thainna’s loss would do to Rikard, especially after today’s events.
“I… I tried, my lord. We went to Lord Mazrem’s rooms, but there were… voices inside. Ah… impassioned voices,” Karl explained with a blush.
“So? My father’s bound to be a little tight-wound after today.”
The guardsman’s jaw tightened and his cheeks went redder. “Lady Mazrem is in the city, my lord. She left before noon today to stay with one of the consuls.”
“Has she returned?”
“Not that I know of. The guards at the gates reported no one coming or going other than me. And I… I think the other voice was Thainna’s.”
Gaius blinked. “What?”
“Should we… interrupt them?”
“No. I don’t think so. If Thainna’s well enough to bed my father, then she doesn’t need a foster. She can take care of herself. Let them be. Tomorrow will be hell enough for all.”
“Hae, my lord.”
Karl gave a short bow and left. The foster followed behind, flapping her arms in exasperation. When they were gone, Gaius fell back across his bed and waited for morning to come, but even in the face of the crumbling worlds, dawn could not be hastened.
Rikard and Thainna. Now the worlds truly had run mad. Gaius always thought his father far too honorable to be unfaithful to his wife. Not that Gaius blamed him. Laurael hated Rikard, whether the man knew it or not. Surely he felt her coldness. And Rikard and Thainna complimented one another so well that Gaius was almost surprised it hadn’t happened earlier. Perhaps all they lacked was the opportunity — an emotional night and an empty bed.
Gaius pursed his lips. Where was his mother?
Karl said she left before noon. Laurael Mazrem had always been a prudent woman. When the cleansing went sour, she might have fled the house, away from anyone searching out her husband. But at noon? That was before the pact had even begun, before the fires.
What about the gift she promised me yesterday…?
Folding his arms up behind his head, Gaius stared up at the painted ceiling of his bedroom. He had rarely wasted attention on it, but was sure many of his conquests had studied it quite closely. The fresco depicted an artist’s best guess at his father’s mythic sacrifice at Njorn Pass. It really was hardly the most romantic scene, Gaius supposed, but the choice had been his mother’s, to serve as a constant reminder of the man he was supposed to emulate.
The myth, not the man, Gaius corrected. Laurael despised the real Rikard Mazrem. How much am I really like my father, anyway?
Even after today, there was no one better to succeed Tychon as emperor than Gaius, but how long would that last? Castor had proved himself today and already been rewarded. The Sun Court general had his own family, his own children. What if Castor’s son came into Tychon’s favor? No one seemed to know what had started the fires today — not even Rikard — or if it might happen again.
How low would Rikard drag his family in the name of VEIL’s honor? And Carce’s, Gaius supposed. His father’s plan was not just for VEIL, but for the rest of the empire. His best intentions had led them all to destruction. Burning Dormaen helped no one.
Gaius held his thumb up to the ceiling, blotting out his father’s face and imagining his own in its place. Maybe Rikard’s time was over, after all. What place in the real world was there for legends, anyway? Stories and myths lived in books, to be closed and put away when their time was done.
Aelos Vahn stalked through the darkened, deserted streets of the temple district. The wind alternately blazed with heat and went icy cold with the promise of the coming winter. In the empty doorway of the leaning tower, Aelos side-stepped the dagger and scowled dangerously at the wiry young guardian.
“Get out of my way,” Aelos hissed furiously. “I’m going up.”
He mounted the stairs as fast as his creaking old joints allowed, taking the deeply carpeted steps two at a time. Twenty hidden guards watched him pass, clinging silently to the shadows like cobwebs. Aelos paused in the doriclinium. The pretty slaves were all asleep in their chains.
Aelos squinted through the shadows and then shook his head and moved on, up the tower. Kicking open the final door, he strode into the bare stone room at the top. A slender figure reclined in the Jade Throne, draped in a long robe of black silk. The Crest looked at Aelos.
“It’s late. What do you want?” he asked.
“What did you do to Thainna?” Aelos shouted.
“You heard, then.”
“No thanks to you! A dozen people recognized her staggering through the streets. They did nothing to help her for fear of you!”
“Watch your tone,” the Crest told him coldly. “I made use of Thainna’s friendship with Rikard Mazrem. The bond she forged on my orders.”
“She’s your sister!”
Thain stretched languidly. The thin smile that curled his lips would have been far more natural on a snake than a man. Even through the loose-fitted robe, Aelos could see that his son remained slender as a willow switch. Good food and lavish comforts served as treatment for his sick body, but not a cure. And Thain’s power only fed his sickened mind. Aelos curled his hands into fists.
“It’s bad enough that you hide your rank from her, Thain,” he said. “You make her live in squalor while you feast and bed slaves! Thainna visited you most every day. She saves every acorn to make you Crest in the next Auction! She thinks you can save the House. She adores you, Thain, and you… you beat her!”
“You’re very brave today, Pata,” said Thain. He examined his nails, and then raised his too-bright eyes to his father’s. “It was well enough to let her buy my next term, since you’ve made it so clear that you won’t do it again. But now I need something more important from my sweet sister.”
“You could have killed her,” Aelos shouted at his son. “She may be dying, even now!”
Thain laughed. The sound sent a shudder up Aelos’ spine.
“Then at least I wouldn’t have to return to the fostral,” said the Crest. “It’s dreadfully boring there.”
“You can’t do this anymore, Thain. House agents aren’t good people, but even they don’t deserve what you do to them! And Thainna… Your sister is a good girl. Please, you have to stop this!”
“No, Pata. I am Crest of the House of Five Dragons and I don’t have to do anything.”
Aelos drew himself up, summoning all of the paternal authority he could muster. His dirty tabba smelled of smoke and trash. “You will stop, Thain. You’re only sitting on that throne because I put you there. I embezzled the laurels, I altered the ledgers. Your reign is a lie!”
“A stirring reminder, Pata,” Thain sighed. He yawned theatrically. “I have more important things to consider than your whimpering. Do hurry to the point, if you have one.”
“You’re clever, Thain. Brilliant. I thought you would be a good Crest. Gods, what an idiot I was. You were fourteen years old! Just a boy… I should have known better. You wield your authority like a child with his father’s sword. I’ve held my silence on it, even from your sister.”
Aelos took a long step closer to the Crest’s throne. The single lamp overhead swayed in an invisible draft.
“Step down, Thain, or I’ll tell the entire House how you became their Crest. You have few friends. You rule through fear and you’ve made many enemies. They’ll tear you apart.”
Now Thain sat up, but Aelos noted with a sinking sensation that his son retained his smile.
“You are brave tonight,” Thain said. “Why? Because I bloodied Thainna a little?”
“If you’re asking, you’ll never understand. I love my daughter.”
Thain sat forward on the edge of his throne. Now his smile was gone and his serpentine eyes glittered dangerously. “Don’t you love me, Pata?”
“I love my son. You’ve become a monster. But you don’t have to be, Thain. Give up the Jade Throne. Step down, please!”
The Crest stood up and lifted his sharp chin imperiously. He reached into the close darkness that surrounded his throne like a fortress and pulled. Somewhere in the inky recesses of the high ceiling, a bell toned. Aelos started. The door behind him banged open. Strong arms caught Aelos, yanked him back and then down to his knees. Thain strode forward, composed and confident as a king. Something sharp and heavy came to rest against the back of Aelos’ neck. He twisted to look up at the Talon who held the sword.
“No, wait! Listen to me, the Crest–” Aelos said.
“Enough, Pata,” said Thain. “Do you think you can break my hold so easily? These men are loyal to me, to the House. They belong to me. You all belong to me. I still have a purpose for Thainna, but you’re just a useless old man.”
The sword lifted and then whistled down through the air. Aelos had only a moment to wonder if Thainna would ever know. Could she ever forgive her foolish old father?
There was a strange, flat metallic pain and then Aelos fell into an endless well of starless night.
I will fight.
No, Flickerdim! Stumble shrilled. Don’t leave me here!
The ground under the tree-tower cracked and the whole Uprising listed to the side, threatening to tumble over into the cold emptiness. Another greasy, smeary suspicion lurched and then fell, plunging into the fraying foundation of the Uprising. Where the Shatter impacted, the granite rippled and tore like paper. The colorful, ever-seething roots of the tree-tower suddenly silenced as a filmy white raced out from the crater, freezing everything in its path and covered it in viscous blankness. Flickerdim tasted the air and dipped his long, narrow head. His blind gray eyes gleamed.
They have overtaken the Uprising, he said calmly. As though a wisdom could be anything but coolly collected. Hide here, my young friend. I will fight for as much time as I can.
Flickerdim, no! Don’t die for nothing! What good is time if he’s failed? The fires… VEIL will never make another pact with us!
Perhaps, Flickerdim thought sagely. But Rikard believes in us. We must believe in him. We must fight for every moment.
The starry midnight serpent reared back his head and opened his mouth, screaming forth all of Rikard’s anguished fear in a long, sharp wail. Obsidian fangs sprang up in his mouth like a crop of glassy swords. Flickerdim’s body lengthened, thickened until it was ten times as long as the tallest Terran man and as broad as the branches of the tree-tower. His starlight took on a harder silver sheen, etching a thousand black scales in sterling luminescence. Spines rose from his back like mountain spires, stretched and flexed with a steely slither. Four strong legs grew from his side with feet ending in hooked claws, razor shards of the crescent moon. Deep shadows of terror came together into great webbed wings, like those of a vast bat. Flickerdim’s low keening became a thunderous roar that made all of Alterra recoil in fear.
The great black dragon tensed himself and then swooped down, bellowing tongues of terrible crimson flames. There were embers of burning wheat in those flames, and the red of Fiori hair. So much color was painfully, beautifully bright against the surging blankness tearing at the Uprising. Flickerdim roared and rose higher.
The sky tore open high above and hundreds of formless Shatter fell from the cracks, shooting out at the great black dragon with tangles of icy gray tendrils. Stumble hopped from one foot to the other in distress.
Watch out!
Flickerdim banked into a sharp curve and snared two dozen of the lackluster Shatter in his claws, tearing them free of the others. They shrieked in his grasp as the old wisdom crushed the Shatter into sooty ash that sifted down like dirty snow.
Go, Flicker! Stumble crackled.
The Shatter filled the cold air with brittle silence and flung themselves at Flickerdim by the thousands. More. Flat gray worms, spears of glass that roiled with mist, seething pools of whipping mirages, faceless man-shapes that marched across the emptiness toward the shuddering Uprising.
The black dragon lashed out at them all, tearing the Shatter into dusty, fluttering rags. Flickerdim’s bright, roiling fear-fire filled them with Rikard’s terror. The colorless, biting things darkened into night, filling the silence with their screams. Starlight seared them and the dragon’s roar shook the tree-tower down to its great roots. Stumble clung to the Uprising’s splintered branches and wondered if it would be enough.
Tens of thousands of Shatter feared and fell before Flickerdim. But there were millions more. The nothing filled with more nothing. They dropped from the torn sky and rose from the empty earth. Flickerdim beat his vast wings, churning the air into screams, and vaulted out of the closing army of broken things. But others were quicker. The formless Shatter needed no wings to fly and whipped out after the black dragon, hooking countless barbs of boredom and disinterest into his vast wings. Flickerdim snarled and snapped at them with teeth like ranks of obsidian swords, but the Shatter raced up from the graying, flattening Uprising in uncounted numbers, too many and too fast.
They dragged Flickerdim down, inexorably down. Where the Shatter’s featureless fibers held the black dragon, the scales dulled, losing their polished midnight sheen. They cracked and fell away. Moonglow shone silver through Flickerdim’s wounds, but it was bleeding away. His wings beat, struggling against the alien pull of gravity. An idle comment slashed at the wisdom’s wing, opening a long rent that rippled in the frozen wind.
Flickerdim! Stumble wailed.
The great black dragon looked up at him once, and crashed thunderously to the broken ground.
