I shouted, “We’d speak with the Lord Protector, Taerl; and with the regent, Jareth. There need not be more bloodshed.”
The frightened Changed sprang back, and a moment later a commur appeared. His plaid was immaculate, his armor polished. He’d not seen battle yet, but still his sword was steady in his hand, and his voice was firm as the steel. At his back the archers held their crossbows leveled on my chest. I felt a great desire to be elsewhere.
The commur demanded, “Who are you to ask this?”
I could not see his face behind his helmet, only his eyes, but they were indignant. I studied him a moment and saw that his plaid was not Kherbryn’s but that of Mardbrecht: Jareth’s man.
I heard Bellek say, “Let the dragons have him.”
And Rwyan, “No! We come to parley, not to slay.”
I said again, “We’d speak with the Lord Protector.”
The commur eyed me past the bars of his helm. I saw his gaze move on to the awful beasts surrounding me, to those upon the walls and those in the sky above. It is difficult to read the body language of an armored man, but under his pauldrons I thought I saw his shoulders droop a fraction. I said, “We need fight no more. But do you choose it, then these dragons will tear Kherbryn apart. Do you doubt they can do that?”
His eyes gave me answer first, and then his voice: “No. Do you wait here?”
I said, “A while.”
He ducked his head and turned away. The archers remained. I could see their faces clear. I could see the terror there. I applauded their courage, for none ran or lowered their weapons.
We waited in that yard baked hot by the magic of the Attul-ki, and I had time to see what that had wrought. I saw dead plants and dried fountains, wilted vines and withered trees. There was an aura of despair, of sun-dried hope; flagstones were cracked, weeds climbing up, even they yellow and enervated. The dragons luxuriated in the heat. I shed my furs and still felt sweat mask my body.
Then horns sounded and a herald appeared. His hair was lank, and droplets of perspiration trickled down his face. His tabard was stained, but his voice was loud: “The regent Jareth grants you audience. Do you follow me?”
I said-it seemed I was for the moment appointed spokesman-“No. Do you bring the Lord Protector Taerl and the regent here.”
I did not envy him. He swallowed hard and stared harder at the dragons, then ducked his head and said, “I shall convey your message.”
I said, “Do that. And also, that if they fail to appear before”-I glanced up and found a bull perched atop the wreckage of a pergola-“before the sun touches that dragon’s head, I shall send him and all his kin to find them.”
Power corrupts: I enjoyed the paling of the herald’s face. I heard Bellek chuckling as the luckless fellow went scuttling away. I was still aware of the crossbows aimed at my chest. I did my best not to stare at them.
Then Taerl and Jareth appeared.
The Lord Protector, for all he was not that much younger than I, seemed an innocent child. He wore a soldier’s armor, but not easily. He seemed, clumsy in the steel, and the sword belted on his waist seemed somehow an embarrassment, awkward and more likely to trip him than be drawn. He carried his helm under his arm, so I could see his face clear. It was a young bland face, unlined for all it was creased in worry. His hair was fair and long, as I’d heard Gahan’s was, and his eyes were large and blue, opening in naked wonder as he surveyed the dragons. I liked that: that he showed not terror, but wonder.
Jareth was a different matter. He was tall and thin, wide-shouldered under armor more resplendent than the Lord Protector’s, all gleaming silver plate and gold-etched rococo. He wore such a helm as aeldors wear, but grander: crested with a rolling comb and decorations at the temples in resemblance of eagles’ wings. It had a visor shaped in facsimile of a lion’s snarling face, lifted up so that I could see his own arrogant visage. That held no wonder but only spiteful anger, as if he found our dragonish intrusion tiresome. His nose was thin, the nostrils flaring as he scented the air-which, I must admit, was noisome with the stench of spilled blood and dragons’ breath (and be I honest, the emptying of their bowels). But still I thought he had no right to assume that arrogance. I looked at his eyes and found them cold and dismissive. I liked him not at all.
From Deburah I felt a surge of anger: she felt my distaste and sent it back, augmented by her own. I felt a great desire to draw my blade and cut this strutting charlatan down.
Rwyan said (aware of that unspoken conversation betwixt dragons and Dragonmasters), “Easy, Daviot! No more bloodshed, eh?”
I said silently, knowing it should be sent back to her, No; save he force us to it.
I looked at his arrogant face and almost I hoped he should.
He said, “I am Jareth, regent of Dharbek. What do you ask of me?”
I said, “Nothing. I’d speak with the Lord Protector of Dharbek.”
Jareth’s nostrils flared afresh at that, and I saw clear the outrage burning in his eyes. I held his gaze and prayed he’d not be so foolish as to order his archers open fire, not unleash the slaughter that should inevitably follow. Taerl seemed embarrassed. He shifted inside his armor and dragged his gaze from the dragons to me. I looked past him and saw that the archers were now augmented with sorcerers. There were nine of them.
Inside my head Rwyan told me, They are Adepts, Daviot I doubt I can defeat them all
I gave her back, All well, you’ll not need to. But ward yourself.
And you, she asked. Shall you survive?
I looked at the sorcerers and the archers and wondered if I should. But I had no choice anymore; no other way to go than forward. So I looked the Lord Protector in the eye and told him, “I’d speak with you, Lord Taerl; with you alone. About the future.”
Jareth said, “I speak for the Lord Protector. Have you demands, put them to me.”
I sent a message to Deburah then, and she came strutting forward across the yard, letting her wings loft idly and her jaws drop wide. She halted at my back, looking over my head. She spread her wings, and the regent sprang back.
Power corrupts, but its usage can be most enjoyable. Certainly, I enjoyed the sight of Jareth sprawling, armored buttocks over head, across the flags as I took Taerl’s arm-I think that had I not, he would have stood marveling at the dragons until we quit Kherbryn-and took him a little way aside.
I heard someone shout an order then, and Taerl turned and raised a placatory hand and called, “No harm! Hold your fire!”
That was the moment I decided he might be a suitable successor to his father.
I decided!
And who was I to pick and choose from the nobility of Dharbek who should rule and who should not? But then again, why should I not? I thought Jareth was not fit, and I knew from all my wanderings that I was not alone in that notion. I knew that good decent folk-aeldors like Sarun, and more besides-shared that feeling. So why should I not express it?
Especially when I had dragons to enforce my opinion.
I told the Lord Protector of our design; all of it. All we planned and all we’d do. Rwyan came to join me and then Urt and Tezdal. Bellek stayed back, more accustomed now to communion with the dragons than with Truemen. And as well he did, for Jareth must have sensed the drift of our talk and looked to protect his own interests.
I cannot be sure.
All I know for sure is that I heard Bellek shout and Deburah shrill a warning, and I looked back in time to see crossbow bolts glitter in the sun as they hurtled toward us.
I had no thought for Taerl then: only for Rwyan-I threw myself at her bodily, driving her down onto the flagstones of the yard. She screamed, and as we fell I smelled the vomit that discolored her leathers. I had no thought but that bolts might hit her, and I could protect her with my body.
I did not see Tezdal fling the Lord Protector down, nor Urt cover Taerl’s body with his own.
I did see Deburah and Kathanria snarl and take Jareth between their jaws. And then Anryale and Peliane contest the prey. I did see the archers loose useless bolts that only bounced off the hard hides of the dragons. I did see Jareth’s ravaged body torn in pieces, and the archers die under the talons and the fangs of the vengeful dragons. I did hear Bellek laugh.
Then it was over. There was only a horrid smearing of blood and mangled flesh strewn across the palace yard, sad relics of ambitious men. None others looked to oppose us further, but only stood, awed.
Urt and Tezdal helped the Lord Protector Taerl to his feet. He was shaken. His face was white as he surveyed the yard. He said, “What would you have me do?”
I said, “Build a new world. It’s begun in Ur-Dharbek now, and soon we shall carry it to Ahn-feshang.”
Taerl said, “Tell me.”