Thirteen

In which there is a flashback, and Daer's plan does not go to plan.

Dawncaster burst into the prince’s chambers, out of breath, and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a desperate cry when she saw a bodies lying limply on the floor. Too late. God help her, she was too late.

“Daystar?” she called frantically, running to the nearest body. She didn’t recognize the man - he was masked and dressed in dark clothing, and the other was Houndwalker, the Damantian ambassador. He lay on the floor limply, and she saw no outer sign of a wound on him, but she could find no pulse on him.

Dawncaster glanced up at the large bed and saw the covers twisted and slight marks of blood across the sheets.

“Princess Emberlace?” she ran into the other room, flicking on the energy light and scanning the room quickly. The bed had not been slept in, but the wardrobe doors hung open, and clothes were strewn on the floor. Dawncaster turned back to the other room and saw the wardrobe there in similar condition.

Daystar’s nightshirt drew her attention. It lay in a heap on the floor, covered in blood, with a cut across the waist of it. She dropped the garment with a strangled cry, trying not to imagine the wound that would have been under that shirt. That much blood suggested a near-fatal stab wound to the gut.

So why wasn’t Daystar here? The Damantian ambassador was dead but still warm, and even the assassin lying on the floor hadn’t gone entirely cold yet. If Daystar was wounded and they were hiding him, why would they stop to remove his shirt?.

She turned back to the bed and shifted through the sheets. If Daystar had been stabbed on the bed in his sleep, there would be more blood here, either from the attack itself, perhaps Emberlace to staunch up the flow of blood, or from when Daystar was moved from the bed.

The guards outside, dead. Dawncaster eyed the door. Two assassins in here, dead. Daystar must have fought, then. So there would be blood on the floor. He and Emberlace had run afterwords, so it was likely that the blood on the shirt wasn’t Daystar’s, and that thought reassured her.

But the Damantian ambassador? She poked at the man’s limp body until it rolled over, looking for any sign of a blow and found nothing. How was Ravenglen involved in this?

Even as the thought of him, the baron himself strode into the room, surveying it with an uneducated arrogance she did not like.

“Talia, darling, are you-” he cut off abruptly as he saw Dawncaster.

“Where is Emberlace?” he demanded immediately.

“I’ve no idea,” Dawncaster replied, watching the baron cautiously. “She’s not in any of the rooms near here.”

“I suppose the prince is dead, then?” Ravenglen inquired.

Dawncaster drew back at the casual note in his voice and glanced down at the bloody shirt.

“I’ve no idea,” she said again. “I haven’t seen him either.”

He advanced on her suddenly with such rage in his face that Dawncaster’s stomach dropped as she drew away.

“Where have they gone?” he growled, bearing down on her, teeth grinding.

“I’ve no idea,” Dawncaster told him, her voice carefully steady.

He struck her across the face, and she lifted a hand to her stinging cheek. The look in the baron’s eyes suggested he expected her to be cowed, and she drew herself up, lifting her chin indignantly.

“How dare you interrogate me like a common criminal,” she snapped, seething. “I came here because I heard that something might happen to the prince tonight, and I thought to warn him. It appears my warning was not needed, but I am surprised the prince’s father-in-law is so callous towards his daughter’s husband, seeing as it appears he was nearly killed.”

“Daystar was in the way,” Ravenglen spat. “I did what I had to do to remove him. The king is already dead, and so long as Daystar does not return, it matters not to me.”

Dawncaster stared at him, carefully veiling her emotions behind her quiet, imperious face, the expression long practiced. Daystar dead, wounded, disinherited and running? She knew the court well enough. If they let him live, they would shame him first, ensure he could never return to his position. She was fond of the prince, hoped to be his queen one day. Ravenglen’s plan was clear enough now: marry Emberlace to the prince, kill what was left of the royal family, leaving her as queen - a queen he could control. She knew there was more to the annex. What was the difficulty in giving up a kingdom when you knew another would fall in your lap within a few months.

If Emberlace did take the throne, Dawncaster swore she would make that - woman’s - life hell.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said softly to the baron as she swept past him, eager to be free of the room. The barons were desperate for war. Few knew it, but Dawncaster’s own father had not been fit to rule for nigh on two years. He stayed sequestered, Dawncaster the de facto leader of her barony. She alone of the baronies stood openly against the war with the dragons. Fairisle wanted to support her, but feared blockade by its neighbors. That left Daystar as her best - and most powerful - ally. He was the voice of reason among the barons. How long had his steady had held the barons in check? And the young man didn’t even know his power. He thought the barons deferred to Felstar, but Felstar was nothing compared to Daystar. His knowledge of them, his control of them, the way he’d remained neutral, balancing them against each other.

The barons did not know it, Dawncaster thought, clutching nervously at her skirt, but without Daystar, they would destroy themselves. Their armies would attack the dragons, and they would be destroyed.

If the kingdom was to survive, it would need a new leader waiting in the wings, someone to step in as soon as the baron’s campaign failed and sweep up the power, parlay with the dragons and appease their wroth, and stabilize the kingdom under one force of power. Dawncaster hastened back to Far Haven Tower and began organizing her people.

***

Loud cries from beyond the camp drew Jonathan and Daer’s attention, and they turned to see a bedraggled party of servants and nobles limping into the camp from the direction of the burning castle. Clothes singed, covered in soot, they leaned on each other in fearful desperation.

“You must take us to Ebon Reach!” one of the noblemen gasped, grabbing Barning by the front of his robes. “These creatures have all gone mad! The king must do something!”

The castle began to collapse in on itself, rumbling loudly as it caved slowly towards the ground, the earth trembling as the stones shuddered against it. Several of the surviving women screamed, and the dragons swept low overhead, buffeting the caravan with the wind of their wings.

They made room for the refugees around the fire, and Daer joined them, helping Emberlace with the bandages as they treated cuts and burns. The wind bore the scent of the burning castle towards them, and a haze of smoke and dust gathered in the air, smelling of fire and death. Most of the nobles remained too shocked to speak, and those who did muttered wrathfully, clenching their fists and swearing vengeance. Only five had escaped, along with a slightly larger number of frightened house servants, who clung together, staring at the carnage with wide eyes. Barning assured them all that they were headed for Ebon Reach already; they would get there safely.

The nobles complained loudly at having to lie on the ground to sleep, and Daer was a long time into the first watch before they quieted. Emberlace sat beside him, back to the fire, staring out into the night, where the castles burned like stars on the ground across the distant landscape.

“That’s no warning attack,” Daer muttered.

Emberlace glanced at him out of the side of her eye and turned back to her silent contemplation of the night.

“Are we back to not speaking?” he asked a little bitterly.

“No.” The word seemed forced out of her. “It’s just a habit.”

“Do I know you?”

She turned to face him, face half-lit by the fire. “I hope so.”

“I’m not sure,” Daer admitted. “We haven’t really known each other long, and you’ve changed a lot since I met you. How-” he winced painfully, “how much of it was an act?”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you acted, like you were in love with me. Was all that just to get close to me, lull me into a false sense of security?”

“Only at first.”

“So it was,” Daer sighed, dropping his face into his hands.

“No,” Emberlace protested. “I thought I would have to pretend, but…it wasn’t long before it was honest.” She put a hand on his arm, gripping his sleeve when he looked away from her. “I really did fall for you, and from the first week, I don’t think I could have laid a finger on you to hurt you.”

He let her tug him closer and leaned his head against hers. “I just don’t know if you are the person I thought I knew.”

“Is anyone? You weren’t who I thought I would meet. I don’t see that we have to come apart because someone wasn’t what we expected.”

Daer turned and looked into her earnest eyes, once against struck by her strength and adaptability. “You know, for being raised in a tower, you turned out very well.”

Emberlace’s eyes darkened, and she looked away. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“You’re managing.”

“Managing?” Emberlace coughed a laugh. “I fell in love with my target, and ran away with him, and then you lose your mind and go into some almost-vegetable state for two days, and now we’re sellswords in the middle of a spice caravan headed back to the the worst possible place for us to be. Managing? I’m in shock, Daystar. I’m not sure I’ve really felt much of anything since we left Ebon Reach. And we can’t go back.”

“There’s no where else to go, not with the dragons attacking like this.”

“I can’t go back,” Emberlace shook her head frantically, pulling back away from him and standing to walk a little ways away, hugging herself.

“You’re afraid of your father?” Daer asked.

“I’m terrified. If he sees me, recognizes me…I can’t go back. I’d die before I went back to a life like that.”

Daer stood and gently put his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

“What can you do, Daystar? What can you really do? Can you stop my father from taking me back?”

“I’ll protect you, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Daer stepped back, hurt by her sharp tone. “You think I’d just let him take you back, knowing the way he’s treated you?”

“You’d try to stop him, I know, and he’d kill you. Do you really want me to bear that?”

“Emberlace, he’s not going to find you again.”

“He always finds me.” Her eyes were hunted, and she flinched when he tried to touch her again. “I just want to walk away from all of it and never see it again.” Tears brimmed up in her eyes. “I’m sick of trying to be strong. All I want anymore is to have a moment of weakness that isn’t exploited.”

“We’re royalty. Or were. We don’t get those kinds of benefits.”

“We could leave.” Emberlace looked at him hopefully. “We could ride away, and no one would know where we’d gone or where to find us, and we could find some sort of new life to live, far away from all of…this.”

“Where would we go?” Daer asked, gesturing weakly. “What would we do? Do we really have anything that we could start a new life with?”

“I just don’t want to die all over again,” Emberlace whispered.

“You won’t. Do you think it will go any better with me if the barons find me there? We’ll stay hidden, out of sight. No one will find us, and as soon as this is all over, we can find somewhere else to go, alright?”

“Why not just go now?”

Daer sighed. “Because the kingdom could potentially become a very bad place very quickly, and whether I want to be found or not, I have some information that could be helpful.”

“So you’re going to make sure that we’re found,” Emberlace said, a little bitterly.

“No, I’m going to make sure that what I know is found. I’ll see if I can find someone who knows what to do with the information I stored on the writerpads, or at least sneak them into a place where they can be found.”

“Then we go?”

“As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go.”

Emberlace slipped into his arms, leaning against him, and Daer hugged her back warmly, knowing they were only delaying all of the difficulties. Emberlace was right; Ebon Reach was a dangerous place for them right now, but then so was the rest of the kingdom. He would take a short time in Ebon Reach to transfer his data back into an accessible place in the library and forge some kind of history and new identity for them. Then they could vanish into the kingdom, unknown, and unlocked for.

***

The road to Ebon Reach was clogged with people. Nobles and guild masters trudged afoot with the few peasants, eating the same dirt that billowed through the air and settled in hair and clothing. The people working in the fields watched them go casually, for all appearances unconcerned by the plight of the refugees, though they sometimes came to the roadside to offer water.

Daer leaned on the pommel of his saddle as the horse trudged placidly along the road and watched the impassive reactions of the local farmers. He could hardly blame them for their unfeeling reaction - after all, for them, the loss of nobles meant nothing more than fewer taxes to pay.

A shout from up ahead halted the column, and the people shuffled and pushed against each other as the train ground to a halt. Daer stood up in his stirrups, trying to see through the dust, and reined his horse out away from the road.

Somewhere up ahead, horsemen blocked the road, and Daer pulled his horse back into the column. Whoever was stopping the column probably had some kind of authority from Ebon Reach, and he had no desire to encounter such people. Slipping out of the saddle, he took his horse by the bridle and bit and wove his way through the press of people to find Emberlace.

“What’s happening?” she asked, leaning down off her horse.

“Someone’s stopped the column. They’re probably trying to get some idea of who is here so that the city can prepare for the influx of people.”

Emberlace nodded and dismounted herself, the two of them putting their horses between themselves and the edge of the column and keeping their heads down as riders flanked the road.

“There they are!”

Daer looked around and saw two riders headed for him. Panic stirred in his gut, and he quickly put his head down, pulling his horse back with him while he tried to get away while seeming to make room for the riders.

They headed straight for him anyway, leaving him with no place to go in the press of bodies. Daer tried pushing Emberlace out of sight, but the side of a wagon was in the way, and she was left hanging onto his arm, staring at the riders that now surrounded them. Daer tucked his head down over Emberlace, holding her close so that she could hide her face in his cloak, both of them hoping they looked innocuous.

“What’s your name?” one of the riders demanded, poking against Daer’s shoulder with his lance.

“Daer, sir,” Daer replied, still trying to keep his face hidden.

The rider came closer, his horse casting a shadow over them, and grabbed Daer by the hair, yanking his head up and tilting his face back.

“It’s them,” the rider said shortly, letting go.

Daer dropped and scrambled away under the wagon, Emberlace close behind him. They came up on the other side and began pushing their way through the people, ignoring the indignant cries. Daer grabbed Emberlace’s hand and glanced over his shoulder, seeing the riders clearing the crowd easily before them as they chased the couple.

They reached the edge of the road and broke into a full run, hooves thundering behind them as the riders inevitably caught up. As the horses pulled in front of them, Daer skidded to a halt, drawing his sword. The riders wordlessly surrounded them, lances leveled, and Daer let his sword drop slowly, realizing there was no escape. Emberlace pressed back against him, and he drew her protectively close, finding the captain of the riders and glaring at him.

“What do you mean by this,” he demanded. “We were released by the Lord Baron of Deepnight himself.”

None of the riders spoke to him; one dismounted, unwinding a rope. Daer lifted his sword again, and Emberlace tensed.

“You will not take us without a fight.”

The tip of a lance pricked at the back of his neck, and Daer froze, eyes still on the man with the rope.

“If you want to live, you will cooperate,” the captain of the riders told him grimly.

Emberlace looked up at him in fear, and Daer hung his head, brushing his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry. We should have run when you suggested it.”

“Keep that in mind the next time we get the chance to run,” she told him softly, eying the rider approaching them.

“Where are you taking us?” Daer asked. “And on whose orders?”

“To Ebon Reach, by the order of King Ravenglen.”

Emberlace let out a soft, frightened sound and slumped against Daystar before turning viciously and slamming past the riders, light on her feet, dodging easily until she was outside of the circle and fleeing again, back toward the road and the crowd where she could lose herself among the people, or make it to the river.

Two riders broke off from the group and ran her down. Daer winced as one brought the hilt of his sword down on her head and caught her before she fell, yanking her up over the saddle bow, where she hung limply, hair spilling towards the ground. Daer moved towards her, and the riders grabbed him, pulling his arms behind his back and tying them there as he struggled.

“Let her go!”

“She’s not hurt, boy,” the captain growled. “You’ll be with her when she wakes up. Now be calm, unless you want a blow to the head yourself?”

Daer yanked against the men holding him again, suddenly angry, the sight of a limp and unconscious Emberlace raising a fury in him to resist. “Can’t you just let us go in peace?” he demanded angrily.

A sharp blow to the head was his only reply, and the world went blurry, then black.

Twelve

In which the dragons attack again

In the morning, they were picked up by a spice merchant from Grimstone named Barning. He was an easy spoken man with a lilt to his voice, one who turned words around lightly as Jonathan negotiated their contract. This, Daer was able to follow. Though the terms themselves were nothing he was familiar with, the methods were, and he saw when the merchant relaxed and settled back into comfortable bargaining when he found that Jonathan was keen match for him. They argued distance and difficulty against the value of the goods being carried. Barning talked the difficulty down, the ease of the journey, that he really only preferred to get security as a precaution, while Jonathan touted the dangers of the spice trade and listed off all the worst attacks he had seen.

The difficulty finally established, as well as the loss Barning would experience were his goods taken, the two men moved to the value of the sellswords themselves. Daer bristled at first at Barning’s scorn, then realized the merchant was simply talking them down just like anything else he would buy. Jonathan protested their skill, experience, and adaptability - Daer and Emberlace were cultured as well, recently from Ebon Reach, and could be taken as guards into any castle without offending the lord with their backwards mannerisms. Daer spoke up here, carefully putting forth his knowledge of the baronies and their trading preferences under the guise of his employment under Prince Daystar. Barning perked up a little at this, though he still loudly bemoaned Daer and Lacy’s inexperience.

A few hours of wrangling later, Jonathan finally got a final price out of the merchant and began the somewhat shorter argument of when they would be paid. Jonathan demanded the full price now, and Barning settled down on the other side of the argument, saying they would get it when the goods were seen safe through Grimstone. He ended up getting a quarter of their pay up front - an arrangement he was not altogether happy with - but Barning was a shrewd man and used to getting his own way with light ease.

Lacy managed not to wince as she stepped up into her saddle, though her mounting was awkward, and Daer saw Barning’s eyes on them and knew the merchant suspected they were not all the claimed to be. He made a good show of mounting without the stirrups and swinging his horse lightly around with his knees to make up for it, and the merchant shook his head and continued on to his place in the caravan.

Long wagons strung out along the road, pulled by steady-moving but slow oxen. Horses moved the goods more quickly, but drew bandits looking for mounts. The drivers walked along the road beside the animals, kicking up and eating dust as they went. The traders themselves traveled in small gypsy-style wagons driven by servants or apprentices, well out of the sun. The four sellswords strung themselves out along the column, Jonathan taking the lead to scout ahead, Bess in the rear, and Daer and Lacy towards the center. Their positions allowed them to range away from the blinding clouds of dust and watch the road on either side for any sign of bandits.

This close to the city, it was unlikely they would be hit. The area was well populated and well controlled, and the concentration of nobles estates too close for bandits to be tolerated here. Daer continued scanning, just to get in the habit of it, but suspected they would not see any kind of action until they passed the boarders of Deepnight, probably two days from now or more, depending on if Barning stopped at the next castle.

***

They reached Star Frost Castle as the shadows lengthened towards sunset. It was built from the local granite, mined from the nearby mountains, and towered in sparkling gray over the landscape. A chill crept into the air here close to the mountains, and the harvest was drawing on. Daer could see the peasants working in the fields around the towering stone structure and reined in to look up at the pennants streaming from the towers, bearing the sigils of the nobles staying there. He recognized them all, but saw none belonging to nobles who might recognize him too easily and breathed a sigh of relief. The caravan circled their wagons and set up camp while Daer and the others fanned out through the area, ensuring it was secure. They would keep watch through the night, changing out at four hour intervals.

The air seemed to crackle and Daer’s heart began pounding double-quick, leaping at his throat until he forcefully calmed it, settling back in his saddle and breathing deeply. His stomach wriggled, and a tingling ran down his arms to the tips of his fingers and back. Lacy seemed similarly effected - she squirmed in her saddle and rubbed her arms - but no one else seemed upset.

“Have you seen anything?” Daer finally asked Jonathan, pacing his horse up next to the other.

Jonathan shook his head. “All quiet. You look jumpy.”

“I have a funny feeling,” Daer admitted.

“Take the first watch, then. Give you some time to confirm it or spend it out.”

Daer nodded, but somehow didn’t feel as if this feeling was one that could be ‘spent out’ just by waiting to get more tired. A dark pit opened up inside of him, and he suddenly felt both irrepressibly excited and terribly afraid. Lacy grabbed his hands and twined her fingers through his, and they sat close together, unconsciously swaying with the vibrations pounding through them. Daer tried desperately to place the feeling - somehow it was familiar - and rubbed his head, pushing his mind back over his memories.

The transmitting floor. He’d felt something like this while on the transmitting floor, especially if he touched a live cube. But this feeling was far more intense, far more demanding, than anything he felt down in the depths under the castle. He’d always though everyone felt that way down there, but what if they didn’t?

Daer pushed the thought out of his mind and made an effort to settle down, tucking himself up cross legged and eating ravenously, hungry from a full day of riding. Lacy moved stiffly again, though she hid it well, and he was glad to see that the bruises on her neck and face were faded enough not to be particularly noticed.

Night came early this close to the mountains, wrapping its dusky shadows around the castle and caravan as the sun sunk down, gently drawing the light along with it. The campfire surged and sparked up into the indigo sky, and Daystar’s heart quivered violently again.

It came to him easily, like something he’d known all his life, and the feeling lifted and soared, and he fought the urge to throw back his head and yell to the heavens with the sparking fire. The tingling flew down his arms and danced in his fingers, spreading warmth all through him until the darkness opened up again and swallowed it all.

“The dragons are coming,” he whispered hoarsely.

Everyone stared at him, though Lacy’s gaze was different, as if she’d come to the same thought in the same moment and wondered if he’d read her mind.

“They’re coming,” Daer repeated, gripping his knees and breathing deeply to control the quivery tingling still hustling through his blood.

The teamsters started to contradict him, and then they heard thunder in the mountains.

“You see a storm coming in?” one of the men asked Jonathan, who shook his head.

“Nothing,” the sellsword replied. “Doesn’t feel like a storm.”

The rumbling and cracking continued, drawing closer until the hair on the back of Dar’s neck stood up and the thunder cleared and turned to wingbeats.

Shadows passed over the camp, blocking out the stars, and an awful roaring shook the ground under their feet. The oxen tossed their heads and bellowed loudly, and the teamsters dropped their food bowls, swearing furiously as they ran to bring the big animals under control before they stampeded. The horses screamed and dragged at their picket lines, and Daer and the others ran for their mounts, pulling them in and trying to calm their wild trembling.

Daer looked over his shoulder to see the first fireball strike the castle. The night slowly lit as the building began to burn, and they could see the dragons in the firelight, sweeping close, shattering the stone with their tails, rolling away from the huge arrows sent in their direction. A tower leaned and tumbled downward with an awful rending sound, and they heard it shatter across the stone below, bringing down whatever stood below it.

The ease with which the castle tumbled drained all the tingling excitement out of Daystar. He saw three, perhaps four dragons soaring around the battered castle, unaffected by the arrows sent at them by its desperate inhabitants. A small party on foot broke from the gates and fled towards the small village, and the dragons let them go, focused on the destruction of the castle itself, and not its people.

Another warning, Daer realized. The barons were likely behaving aggressively - they would have called for their armies by now - and this was clearly another attack meant to discourage an invasion of the Cinderstrand. The barons would not understand it, Daer thought with sinking heart. This action would only make them more angry, more eager for war, and they would attack an enemy they could not defeat.

“Would you look at that,” a teamster breathed in horror.

Daer turned away from the destruction of the castle and saw other pinpoints of light spread out across the country below them. Other castles, he realized as he matched the country to the map in his head, all of them burning. The moon was rising, and he could see the dragons sweeping through the sky around their targets.

Barning came out of his caravan to watch the spectacle in silence. They could see the road they intended to travel from here, and the destruction wrought along it. The caravan leader rubbed his chin and waved Jonathan over. Daer trailed behind him, hoping to catch some of the merchant’s thoughts.

“I think we’ll turn around in the morning,” Barning said quietly. “And head for Ebon Reach.”

“Ebon Reach?” Jonathan said in surprise. “I would think that would be the dragon’s next target, if they’re angry and invading.”

Barning grunted. “The nobles will head for the capitol, and we must as well. This country won’t be safe with these castles destroyed. The reports of raiding parties has me worried as well. I’ve heard too many of them. So many, so widespread,” the merchant shook his head, “it’s more than is reasonable.”

“There are always bandits,” Jonathan replied.

“You were captured and interrogated,” Barning replied, glancing at the tall sellsword, who raised an eyebrow at the merchant.

“I’ve heard the stories about you,” Barning explained. “You don’t find it odd that someone up north wanted to know about the Drageklek?”

Jonathan folded his arms and settled back, deep in thought. “Bess and I didn’t think of much else but escaping, but there was someone in that castle riled up to invade and conquer Upper Vale.”

Daer and Barning stared at him. “And you told no one?” Barning demanded in amazement.

“We were focused on escaping at the time, and that particular chapter of our existence isn’t one we like to revisit often. Besides, we figured the Northmarch would hold them.”

“What would be easier,” Daystar mused aloud, drawing the startled attention of the other two. “Invading a kingdom in a full frontal assault along a border they were prepared to defend, or invading slowly with your men disguised as common bandits, sustaining themselves like common bandits, and given no more thought than common bandits? If you could get the dragons on your side, the land would be yours for the taking.”

“The armies of Northmarch and Eastmarch would be marching to Ebon Reach as we speak,” Barning said. “The barons would prepare from there for the invasion of the Cinderstrand. By the time a large enough invasion reached the capitol, they would have massed a force large enough to hold it off.”

“Provided that they don’t invade the Cinderstrand first and destroy their own force,” Daystar countered.

“All the more reason for us to get there quickly,” Barning replied. “Jonathan can tell them of what he saw.”

“The barons won’t listen,” Daystar sighed. “They have one thought in mind, and one thought only: energy. Anything else is of little concern to them.”

“They may think differently now that the dragons are attacking them,” Barning said reasonably. “In any case, Ebon Reach is the safest place for us to be at the moment.”

For you perhaps, Daystar thought. I am the supposed-to-be-dead prince, now stripped of my rank and title. They wouldn’t mind humiliating me further if they got the chance.

Or you could knock some sense into them.

Daer scoffed at the thought, wondering how the barons would react if he walked in and tried to claim the throne for himself again. Laugh him out of the room, they would, and probably have the guards beat him and throw him out of the castle. He would keep a low profile in the city, and hope to go unnoticed.

Barning withdrew to his caravan, and Jonathan caught Daer by the arm and pulled him aside into the shadows.

“Will you be safe?” he demanded quietly. “You make it sound like the barons are out to get you.”

“I doubt they’ll be looking for me,” Daer whispered back, “and won’t take much notice of a commoner. If I keep my head down, no one will recognize me.”

Eleven

In which Daer sits in an inn and gets in touch with the opinions of the common people

They stayed the night with the Sister and returned to the nearest village in the morning, a small place in the foothills called Westhill. Despite its size, it was the last village on the borders of Deepnight before the trading caravans passed up into the mountains of the Cinderstrand. The inn there was as large as those in the city of Ebon Reach, a towering place called The Horse and Quail. A horse with a quail perched on its head pranced across the sign hanging from the porch. The three story establishment had two long wings and a large common room full of colorful travelers.

Daystar and Emberlace hung close behind Bess and Jonathan, uncertain of how to behave. The room was dim - Daystar could see where energy lights used to hang, now removed in favor of flickering lanterns. Even a place this large would no longer be receiving an energy stipend. Merchants in warm, heavy clothes sat clustered around tables, playing cards and sharing stories, and the members of their train who could afford it mingled with each other. They saw a few people like Bess and Daystar, some lingering close to merchants, others lounging around the room, apparently seeking employment. Emberlace fidgeted her hands - she was used to leaning on Daystar’s arm whenever they were entering a room in public. It was strange to enter a room essentially unnoticed, though the feeling was not unpleasant.

The other sellswords in the room seemed the most interested, sizing up their competition, though some remained friendly. Jonathan avoided the rougher, more hostile types and found a table with scraggly, weatherbeaten man dressed in stained furs and buckskins. Despite his appearance and his smell, he looked friendly, and Daystar sat down awkwardly, trying to look like he belonged here and knowing he was failing miserably.

“You traveled the passes?” Jonathan asked the man, flapping a hand at a young woman with a tray.

A servant? Daystar wondered. Oh, yes. A tavern maiden. Not guild. The gesture must have meant something - fetch drinks - but then it didn’t look like any gesture he ever used for asking for a drink.

“Some bit,” the scraggly man allowed, nodding his head. “You headed up there?”

“Wondering who might be still going up.”

The man hummed, smiling appreciatively when the maid returned with five tankards. Daystar sniffed at his before he drank it, trying to be discreet while still checking for alcohol. He’d heard that the stuff the peasants drank could take off the roof of your mouth - nobles never let anything so strong pass their lips.

Whatever was in his tankard appeared to be benign, and he sipped at it, trying to identify the flavor. It had a warm, homey taste, lightly spiced with a small bite to it, enough to wake him up a little. Ginger? He tried to discern the conversation between Jonathan and the man across from him, finally getting from the exchange that the man was a guide for those caravans winding their way over the mountains.

“They were building a road up the cliffs further west,” the man commented, “ ‘fore the dragons hit the operation.”

“How bad were the attacks?” Daystar inquired.

The man glanced at him. “Whole road face out from what I hear. Took out in rock slides. Couldn’t clear it, even if you tried - whole road’s broken off. Smaller trails too. Don’t leave much open for traveling over the mountains no more.”

Upper Vale had little access to the sea or to other kingdoms through the west. Far Haven had their only port, and the other paths to the mountains and most of the Cinderstrand were blocked away by high and terrible cliffs. The southern border of the kingdom was cut off from the sea by the Fel-land, a long, wide waste of magical creatures, swamps, and terrors that kept those who lived even on the edge of it inside well-walled villages after dark. The Wanderstep River cut one of two available passes up into the Cinderstrand, and the trade caravans had to follow the northern boarder of Deepnight all the way to the passes in Damantia to reach the western kingdoms. Bandits roved the border and along the roads - the spices alone carried by the caravans were valuable enough for banditry to be a profitable business.

“Getting too close to the end of the year,” the man admitted. “Season’s nearly over, folks don’t want to get stuck up there. They’ll be coming down quick and heading out, though - I doubt you’ll have to ask around much.”

Jonathan nodded and lounged back in his seat, and Daystar wished he could look that relaxed. He carefully made himself slump in imitation of those around him, leaning his elbows on the table with the voice of his tutor screeching indignantly in his ears. Back straight, elbows off the table! Do you want to look like a peasant?

Yes, Master Fairspeech. Go away and let me look ignoble. Daystar attempted to slide into the mind of his new identity. How was Daer different? He slumped, obviously, and put his elbows on the table. He should be confident, though. Daystar straightened himself slightly. He might not know exactly what a sellsword did, but it involved guarding things and fighting bandits, and that he could do. In the rest, he’d have to follow Jonathan’s lead.

The idea of someone outranking him hit Daystar hard, but it awakened more of his curiosity than his hubris. What was it like, being a follower of someone rather than a leader, letting someone else make the decisions? He supposed he was about to find out.

Daystar - Daer - he carefully corrected himself - put his arm around Lacy, who sat next to him, equally uncomfortable. He would have to focus on thinking of himself by the lowname Emberlace - Lacy - had suggested. If his name kept popping up in different places, the likelyhood was that some of the barons might seek him out, just to make his life more wretched than it already was. If he vanished into the vast peasant population of Upper Vale, the likelihood was that they would never even notice him, even if they rode right past him on the street. He certainly never noticed people. They weren’t beneath his notice - he’d never been so unkind as to ignore someone attempting to address him directly - but by and large, they all ignored each other. There was no reason to take notice of peasants. All the better for him, he realized. The barons had left him with a gift of anonymity, and he still had the brain to use it.

“Your riding coming more easily?” he murmured to Lacy.

She nodded, though he noticed she still shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Her muscles must ache from the pace they had ridden over the past week, and he wondered if that would raise any puzzlement among those who hired them. The last thing they needed was unwanted questions about who they were and where they came from.

They needed a plausible back story to adapt to this new life.

The scraggly man rose from the table, thanking Jonathan for the drink, and slouched off to mingle with a set of other guides who resembled him enough that they might have all been brothers. Daer leaned over towards Jonathan.

“How to we get hired?” he whispered.

Jonathan smiled, leaning over the table to speak softly with him. “The merchants might not look like it, but they’re scoping out the available sellswords at the moment. They’re hire in the morning when they’ve had the chance to watch us and ask some questions.”

“So me mingle?” Daystar whispered back, a little panicked at the thought.

“Just with our own,” Bess replied. “And any merchants who come to talk with us.”

Lacy was well in the habit of being comfortably quiet and opted not to speak at all through the course of the day. They loitered around the inn, catching up on the news, and Daystar slowly began compiling information.

Since the energy rationing had started, the barons received a ever decreasing stipend, and they had ceased the old tradition of parceling out the energy they were provided with to the people below them. In the old days, when energy was plentiful, even the lowliest serf had stipend enough to keep their house warmed and lit all the year round, but now the nobility kept the energy to themselves, knowing it was finite, and from what Daystar could tell, squandered it in extravagance, using it as a bargaining piece among the lesser nobles until the use of energy became a status symbol.

By and large not surprising, but most surprising was the lack of security along the roads. Each baron was responsible for the upkeep and guarding of their roads, which included controlling the vagabonds who lurked along it, robbing travelers. As noble houses slowly fell from status, growing too poor to maintain their place in society, an ever increasing number turned to crime rather than a trade to support themselves, the barons were giving less and less attention to controlling it.

The merchants grumbled loudly over this, some proposing they go to Ebon Reach to petition to King Felstar for a decree, or perhaps roads maintained and protected by the crown, while those who knew more recent news shook their heads and announced that King Felstar was dead, and the very men who had gotten them into this situation now held the throne. The only option left was to travel with security. A caravan who could put up a fight was less likely to be attacked at all, and if they were, they had a better chance of saving their goods.

“Happened quick,” Daer admitted to the caravaners around them, trying to mimic the lower dialect. “Dead of night, they told me. That new baron, Ravenglen, organized it, but I don’t think he’ll stay in power long.”

“Why not?” a man in bright red inquired.

Daer shrugged offhandedly. “Think they’d let a new one like that order them around when Deepnight and South Plain been bickering over the throne for so long?”

Grunts of agreement came from the gathered men and women. “Can’t see as Runedoor would stand for it, or Fairisle either,” the man in red admitted.

“What could they do?” Daer asked rhetorically. “Throw books at the rest of ‘em? South Plain cuts off Fairisle, they’ll starve.”

The listeners hummed in resigned agreement, and Daer drew back to listen quietly, wondering why no one had ever thought to put agents among the people to gauge their opinions of the kingdom’s policies. The barons were quickly dropping in popularity, but everyone seemed to accept their presence with stoicism. Bad rulers, good rulers, so long as they let you live, it didn’t matter. They joked about Dependents - those who still used energy, Daer discerned at last - and boasted of the length of time they’d been operating without it.

Daer sunk in to thought as he listened. Apparently his plan to get the guilds to ration energy or change their trades had been short-sighted, at least in the sense that the guilds were already working on such endeavors. The common people and the caravaners had adjusted years ago, the guilds were connected enough with the people to have begun adjusting themselves, and only the nobility clung to the former lifestyle, here referred to as extravagant. These people had a sort of pride in their poor conditions, and boasted of the difficulties they had endured and overcome.

“Pretty soon, we won’t need no energy,” a merchant’s apprentice in bright blue said proudly, putting his feet up on the table. “And we’ll be the better off for it.”

“What about the rumor of a war with the dragons?” another piped up.

“Let ‘em war,” the young merchant’s apprentice scoffed. “You think we’ll fight for them? No, if they want to fight the dragons, let ‘em do it themselves.”

“Can’t say no if you’re conscripted,” someone put in.

“Can say no until I am. Can’t fight much with an army that don’t want to.”

“And what happens if you don’t fight?” a woman demanded. “We lose the war. Then what?”

“Can’t see as dragons would be worse than the nobles we got.”

The woman subsided, chuckling. “I suppose if they had a trouble with the trading, they would have hit a caravan by now.”

“They burned down two cities.”

“Noble’s cities. Villages weren’t hit, fields either,” a young woman in flamboyant yellow corrected. “Didn’t lose many of our people. And if we had, who would care? Hawkstream’s been raided for months, and nobody’s done nothing. Slavers, they say.”

“I ain’t seen no slavers in the Cinderstrand.”

“You wouldn’t. They go up north.”

“North’s barbarians anyway.”

“Northmarch ain’t stopping them parties, and neither is Hawkstream.” An old man waved his finger at them all. “Nobody says a peep until a couple of castle compounds get burned, and then it’s all ‘fight the dragons, kill the dragons’, but a few peasants enslaved by raiders? Don’t see nothing, don’t say nothing, don’t hear nothing.” He leaned back in the chair. “Let the dragons take ‘em, I say. We live as part of the land, and the land don’t leave.”

A mutter of assent rounded the room, and Daer and Lacy made sure to toast the thought as well. Daer listened in amazement at the harsh criticism, and thought of what the barons would do to these people if they heard of it. But then, when would they hear of it? The nobles kept themselves aloof, and the guild’s sympathies were with the peasants, since no self-respecting nobleman or woman would apprentice themselves to a guild, leaving all the industries in common hands.

“You’ve been to Ebon Reach lately, then?” someone asked him.

Daer looked up at the merchant in green and burgundy robes and nodded.

“How is the city adjusting to new rule?”

“I don’t know,” Daer admitted. “We left the night the king was assassinated.”

“Strange time to leave,” the merchant hedged, eying him narrowly.

“I worked for the prince,” Daer improvised quickly. “He hired me to track down some information for him. I didn’t know if the barons might target me and didn’t want to take the risk.”

“What did he want?” the merchant asked curiously.

“Something about a Drageklek,” Daer replied, being sure to stumble over the name a little. “He was obsessed with it, thought it might bring about a peaceful resolution between us and the dragons.”

He let the information hang, curious to see how the people here would react to it.

“Heard a few stories that mention the name,” the merchant’s apprentice in blue commented. “Dragon tamers, according to the westerners.”

“Crying shame they killed the prince,” the women who had spoken earlier said, staring into her drink. “Only nobleman I heard of as had some good sense.”

“Don’t care much for royalty, but that one? I think I might have followed that one.”

Daer’s heart warmed with amazement at the murmur of assent that rounded the room. Solemnly, like a eulogy, the gathered people recited stories they’d heard, things Daystar had done for them, barons he’d held back from oppressing their people - often, Daer was stunned to realize - without even knowing he was doing so. From the people’s recitation here, the barons were terrified of him, fearful he would strip them of their power, reduce them to mere cronies, and govern the nation as an absolute and unchallenged monarch.

His fate was not because they did not fear him. They’d done to him what they feared he would do to them, and expected them to have their reaction to it. Daer wondered faintly what would happen if he stood up right now and claimed to be Prince Daystar. Everyone would disbelieve him, he figured, but in the instance that he could prove it, he suspected these people would support him - or at least go so far as to not stop him.

Ten

In which Daystar and Emberlace pick up some companions and visit a mysterious woman

“A sellsword?” Emberlace said weakly, after the suggestion had sunk in. “I…” she trailed off, uncertain, sinking down on the bed beside Daystar. “I think I want to wait until he wakes up and I could ask him,” she admitted.

Daystar continued to sit, staring at nothing, but he was awake, and Emberlace could only hope he was aware.

“Who are you?” she asked, realizing she knew less about the strangers than they knew about her and backtracking quickly, cursing her upset state that let her reveal information so quickly and emotionally.

“Jonathan and Bess,” the young man replied, gesturing to himself and the young woman. “Originally from the Barony of Hawkstream.”

“And what was your trouble? Who were you mistaken for?”

Jonathan shook his head and sat down on the edge of the straw mattress across from Daystar and Emberlace. “We don’t know. We were taken abruptly from the fields near our village over a year ago and imprisoned in a castle north of Northmarch Barony. There, we were interrogated for some weeks for information on the Drageklek.”

Daystar’s head snapped up, and his eyes fixed on Jonathan, a spark coming into them. Jonathan started at the sudden movement and stared back. “That mean something to you?”

“What did they know?” Daystar asked distantly.

Jonathan shrugged. “Probably little more than we did, which was nothing.”

Daystar drooped again, and Emberlace nudged at him, hoping for him to rouse again, but he only swayed with the movement, vanishing again into whatever dark place he’d chosen to inhabit at the time.

“They really thought we knew something.” Jonathan stared at the wall behind them without really seeing it, hands clasped around one knee, rocking absently back and forth. “And when we realized they wouldn’t let us go, we… let ourselves go. Bess killed the first, I killed the second, and we ran, snuck out of the castle, and headed south. We found our village.” His gaze fell. “Or what was left of it. Burned to the ground.”

“Destruction?” Daystar asked again in that distant voice.

“What?”

“Destruction.” His voice was a little clearer this time. “How was the destruction? Widespread? Just that spot?”

“Just that spot. Each house burned individually.”

“The fields?”

“Untouched.”

“Not dragons.” He subsided again, rocking back and forth now as he stared distantly at the wall behind Jonathan, who looked at him curiously.

“Does he know something about the Drageklek?” Bess asked, puzzled.

“Dragonhatched.” Daystar’s voice broke the silence again, and they all stared at him. “Drageklek. Old word. Dragonhatched.”

They waited for him to elaborate, but he slumped again, despite Emberlace’s encouragement to continue speaking with them, and after a moment, Jonathan continued.

“Whoever it was who captured us didn’t want to let us leave easily. The hunters found us down the road from our village, and we stopped them.”

“Not dragons.” Daystar’s gaze finally snapped to Jonathan. “Not dragons? Burned village.”

“Yes,” Jonathan said carefully. “The village was burned.

“Hawkstream?”

Emberlace’s heart lifted. He was listening, in some way.

Daystar looked completely bewildered. “Hawkstream. No dragons. Who attacked you?”

“We don’t know.”

“No attacks.”

“No attacks?” Emberlace asked. “They just said-”

“No attacks. Lord Baron of Hawkstream said nothing.” He looked apologetic. “Not to say that you weren’t attacked, but we heard nothing of it. No one saw anything, no one heard anything. And an entire village wiped out and no one reports it? Doesn’t that strike you as very odd?”

“No one reported anything?” Bess said in a shocked voice.

“We heard nothing. I could-” his eyes turned off again, and he sunk back down. Emberlace sighed and rubbed his shoulder, watching him descend into silence again. The peculiarity of the situation must have awakened his interest long enough to hold him thinking about Jonathan and Bess as if he were still their prince. His offer would have been to check the records, see if anything had been overlooked, maybe speak with the baron and see if he had covered anything up or dismissed a report from one of his outlying villages. But without his position, he had none of these options, and the darkness had fallen back onto him. She sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to them. “You knew the people?”

“We knew them well,” Bess said quietly. “Our friends, our family. I suppose we can understand where Daystar is at the moment. We went into a state like that when it finally hit us you know. Our minds wandering, feeling lost. Wondering what we would do with ourselves. Where we would go in the world. But we found new skills and kept going.” She looked a Daystar for a long moment, then commented, “You should take him to the Sister.”

“The Sister?” Emberlace asked. “What can she do?”

Bess lifted her hands uncertainly. “She might be able to help. I’ve heard she has a knack for people with troubled minds.”

***

A week later, Bess stood in the foothills of the Cinderstrand, the wind tugging at her cloak and snapping it beside her. The Great Cathedral sat tall on the knees of the mountains, covered in moss and overgrown with trees. All the glass had long since shattered from the windows, leaving only the frames, and the towering, pointed spires dwarfed her. Jonathan’s head barely reached the top of the great stone foundations, and the building seemed to be a mountain in and of itself.
Lacy climbed painfully down from her horse. The former noblewoman was not used to riding, and Bess felt her legs twinge empathetically, remembering her first few weeks learning to ride. Lacy’s pain roused Daer from his self-imposed stupor, and he caught her gently, bearing her up while she walked out the worst of the soreness. Lacy’s care seemed the only thing standing between Daer and oblivion, and Bess flicked her gaze away from the former prince, unimpressed. She knew what it was to loose everything, and such an event warranted sorrow, but Daer’s despair went beyond what she thought reasonable. Lacy was clearly the stronger of the two, and it was for her sake that they had brought Daer here.
A stream ran out of the door, and they followed the bank of it into the cathedral, staring up in awe at the towering ceiling above, held up with rows of graceful, pointed arches. The walls to the side seemed mostly made of tall windows, and light poured in from every direction. The stream emptied itself into the cathedral from the windows at the far end, cascading over rubble to pool deeply at the center of the nave and burble happily out the entrance. Ferns and wildflowers coated the soft, mossy floor, though the broken paving peeked through in some places, sparkling white in the sunlight.
“It’s no good, Emberlace,” Daer muttered quietly. “Whatever information she has, it’s not like I can take it to the barons. They’re bent on war.”

The Sister appeared from the foliage like a ghost, and the travelers jumped. Daystar stared at the woman. Her gaze looked straight into him, and he felt uncomfortable, as if she was reading his mind, sorting through what was there, and finding it interesting. He could not put a finger on her age - she was not young, but neither was she old, though he could see long years behind her eyes. Her dark hair smoothed back into a loose bun, and she dressed simply in a long, hooded robe of dark blue, a thick strip of leather tied around her waist for a belt. The Sister stepped past his companions and caught his face gently in her hands, looking deep into his eyes.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked Emberlace softly.
“Three days.”
Three days? Daystar grappled back, trying to organize the time that had passed since they fled from Ebon Reach. It felt like an eternity, and he could place no precise sequence of events. Somewhere, they’d joined two people, sellswords, and he did not feel threatened by them anymore. Emberlace would be safe and not alone.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emberlace asked.
“That I shall learn presently,” the Sister replied, letting go of Daystar’s face. “Rest yourselves here; he and I must go further up and talk.”
Daystar let the Sister take his hand and lead him up around the edge of a pool while the other three fell back. Normally, he thought vaguely, he would have been disturbed to be separated so abruptly from his companions, but this place seemed to be void of fear. They wove back between pillars under a canopy of climbing ivy until they reached a small alcove occupied only by the remains of a broken statue.
“Now,” said the Sister, gesturing for him to sit and settling across from him, “What has caused you to loose hope?”
“My name is Daystar, and I am the only son of King Felstar.”
The Sister’s gaze sharpened, and she took a quick breath, hands clenching on her knees.
“Three…four…several days ago, the barons took control of the Kingdom of Upper Vale. They killed my father and attempted to kill me - I was saved by my wife. We fled Ebon Reach, but were caught two hours after sunrise.” He looked down at the grassy floor between his feet. “Rather than kill us, the baron leading the party stripped us of our nobility and let us go.”
“Then you owe your wife more than to despair completely over the loss of a title,” the Sister intoned sternly.
“It’s not the title,” Daystar replied, shaking his head and twisting his hands. “Well, it is the title, but not the title as in…the title.” He sputtered off for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t the fate of not being Prince Daystar that had him so upset, it was the fate of not being Prince Daystar. He rubbed his face, wondering how to explain the problem in a way that made sense. “I’m not angry that I’ve lost my rank, Sister,” he said at last. “It’s that I don’t have my rank anymore. I was born and raised to be the prince of the land. To rule it. And that’s all I know how to do. I can’t do what I know how to do anymore. I can’t influence people anymore. I can’t keep the kingdom from falling anymore. The barons want to war with the dragons, and I can’t stop them anymore. Who knows how many lives it will cost; I know the most about it, and I am the most powerless to keep them from doing anything.”
“Why do you say you know the most about the dragons?” the Sister asked him curiously.
“Well,” Daystar replied, “I’ve researched it for some time, and found that Drageklek means Dragonhatched. That’s more than we knew before, a step toward negotiation rather than war.”
“You believe in a peaceful resolution?” the Sister inquired.
“I believe in fighting a war that we can win,” Daystar told her. “And we can’t win a war with the dragons. If we anger them any more than we have, they will simply cease to tolerate our presence. We cannot hold back the entire might of the Cinderstrand.”
The Sister leaned back, hands resting lightly on her knees. “You bemoan your loss of powerful problem-solving ability, then, not the shame of loosing your rank?”
“I’m used to being prince. Being able to do things that meant something.”
“You have not lost your purpose entirely,” the Sister smiled. “You came seeking information that would allow you to treat with the dragons, and I shall give you some, though it may not seem like it.
“You should know, that King Felstar and his wife were barren. They had no children for so long as they lived, though they loved you as their own, and told no one of your origin.”
Daystar stared at her, not understanding, though it seemed impossible that she could be lying to him.
“I only know this because I found you in my cathedral and took you to the king and queen to be raised as their own child, a security for the royal family.”
“I’m not,” Daystar fumbled. “Who were my parents?”
The Sister shrugged. “I truly have no idea, Daystar.”
“They abandoned me.”
“I do no think so. The way I found you… it implied they were forced to leave you for some reason, and only left you here because they believed you would be safer.”
Daystar reeled with the information, and the void in his mind rose up again, threatening to consume him. The Sister leaned forward and put a hand on his knee, giving him a focal point and letting him pull out of the darkness again.
“Will the barons succeed in their attempt on the Cinderstrand?”
“No.” Daystar looked down into the floor as if he might stare straight through it. “And who knows how many people will die.”
“Whatever customs your court holds, you were still the prince for a long time. People there know and respect you. And even if they cannot see reason now, it may be that they will remember your voice in the years to come, when their endeavors have failed and they are left open to the full rage of the Cinderstrand. When that happens, you will need to be there, perhaps to step into your place again.”
“I would never be accepted, not after this.”
“Do not be so certain. Much can change, even in a few days, I think you know this now. In a few months, when the barons are faced with all the hardship you bore up under for so long, who can tell? I do not think Providence is finished with you.”
Daystar looked up at her, sitting calmly, her eyes full of light and some sort of secret knowledge hidden behind them.
“And what would Providence have to do with it?”
“Many have tried to foil Providence, and none have succeeded in it. What is meant to happen will happen, and certain things cannot be undone or avoided.”
“I was fated to be disinherited, then?” he asked her.
“The means are not set in stone, Daystar. Only the end. We may control how we come to a place, and from time to time, the places we come to. If this kingdom is meant to fall, nothing you attempt will prevent it, but if it is meant to stand, I think you will find some part in it. You do not carry your knowledge for nothing.” The sister’s eyes grew stern. “And do not allow it to waste away in that mind of yours. Even if you must store it, keep it with you always. You may have need of it someday.”
She spoke with the authority of a Mediator, and Daystar decided that she must be a Fervent of some sort, though he didn’t know if they had orders.
“Does Providence have anything to tell me?” he wondered curiously. He avoided the Mediators - they struck a wrong chord with him somehow - and had never consulted one for guidance. Not that many people did.
The Sister’s eyes twinkled gently. “That is between you and Providence.”
Certainly a Fervent, then.
“I cannot tell you what intentions Providence has for you specifically, Daystar, but I can tell you we are meant to live as best we can. You are traveling with the sell swords?”
“I guess. Emberlace made the arrangements,” he admitted. “I was hardly in a state to think straight.”
“Such an occupation will keep you traveling, and you have skills that would tend toward it. The opportunity has been placed in your path, and it is my advice to you that you take it. Whether you take my advice, Daystar, is entirely up to you, but I also advise you to push against the darkness in your mind. It will only consume you if you let it remain. Further than that I will not say.”
“You said you would give me something that would help me treat with the dragons?” he prompted hesitantly.
“I believe I have,” the Sister replied mysteriously. “I told you it would not make sense now. You cannot be told everything. Some things you must find out for yourself, and I think this is one of them. You will have opportunity to learn more of your past and your future.”
Daystar stood suddenly. “You know more than you are telling me.”
“Most do,” the Sister replied impassively.
“Why not tell me now? If the barons go to war with the Cinderstrand, hundreds, thousands will die. Two cities have been attacked already. I need everything that I can get so that I can actually do something. Please. If you know anything that will help, tell me.”
The Sister’s face gentled deeply. “There are some things you must find for yourself,” she repeated. “If I told you, I do not think you would believe me, and you would not, I fear, react rightly.”
“But the people,” Daystar protested, pleading.
“Your care for your people will be your strength,” the Sister reassured him. “And you will be the better for it. I shall tell you this. The dragons will not attack again, it is not in their nature. They have given their warning, and now they will wait. If the barons go to war against the Cinderstrand, they will battle against whoever comes against them, but it will be much longer before they are angered enough to lay waste to the entire kingdom, and they will warn you before they do it.” She stood to face him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“You are accustomed to command, but the time comes, Daystar Kingskin, when you must allow people to suffer the consequences of their own actions. You did not abandon your kingdom, you were thrust from it, and it is the barons who must bear the weight of their decision, not you. If the dragons do attack, that is upon their shoulders, not yours.”
The Sister looked past his shoulder to where Daystar’s companions sat near the pool, speaking quietly with each other, and her eyes grew deep and thoughtful. “There is far more going on than even you know or I know. You are not the only one interested in the Dragonhatched. Jonathan and Bess were held and interrogated over it by someone else to the north.”
“Who?”
“They have no idea, and neither do I. You have long held that the kingdoms around you fear Upper Vale’s power too much to invade them, but now, with your energy stores weakening and limited? Someone else might be interested in picking up your broken contract for themselves and getting a kingdom on the side.”
Daystar slumped. “And I cannot prevent that either.”

“Pining over it will do you no good,” the Sister told him sharply. “What I tell you, I tell you so that the information will be of use to you in the future, not so you can waste away thinking of it. Go with Jonathan and Bess. Travel your kingdom. Understand it. And when the time for action is come, you will know it.”