Land of Dragon

3

The Oxcart



 

 

 

 

 

 

The oxcart rumbled north along the white gravel of the Queen’s

Road. Treylen and Aaron sat opposite Marziel on makeshift benches that the cartwright of Signet Lake Village had installed for their trip. Rime and Felicity chased each other through the fields, keeping pace alongside and terrifying the local farmers, who’d rarely seen a single assassin traveling openly, let alone a trio in an oxcart.

The bard they’d brought back from Lome was named Atrop. He sat in the driver’s seat, whistling the songs he’d sung in Marziel’s tavern. Half of them were Jaul tunes—thus forbidden in Iverna—but ever since they’d brought him back over the mountains, Marziel had given him free rein to do and say what he pleased, and he was popular around the abbey.

A bard with a wealth of stories, from past and present, near and far, who would sing anything at any time upon request, but said nary a word about himself. Treylen questioned the wisdom of keeping such a man in the abbey, let alone bringing him on such an auspicious journey as this.

The ox plodded steadily onward toward their audience with the Queen. The meeting had been arranged shortly after word of their victory over the wizard arrived in Queenseat. Marziel had made sure only news of their successes were passed along. Any word of his collusion with Apogee and Snarefoot was swept under the rug and the burning of the Dragon’s Hide was reported as a strategic move. Even under the interrogation and debriefing, Marziel was an accomplished liar.

He was also—it seemed—an accomplished knitter. The hard-looking assassin currently held a ball of yarn in his lap, a pair of gold needles clacked

in his hands as bit-by-bit, a mysterious shape began to emerge.

“Don't look at it,” Marziel growled when Treylen’s eyes drifted toward the knitting. Marziel struck out at him, lunging across the cart and knocking Treylen’s ear. Treylen clenched his teeth but didn’t look away. He whacked Aaron next.

“Don't look out at the fields, Aaron. You must keep your eyes on your host’s face at all times. Even when nothing is happening. Don't meet your host’s eyes, keep them on her chin.”

Treylen resisted the urge to rub his ear. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is between life and death. Don't sound so injured, I'm trying to keep the two of you breathing. While we’re on the subject, you aren't to use the dragonmind within the palace. If your eyes flash, your throat will be cut. If you blink in the palace…throat cut. If you keep speaking after the queen tires of you…cut. Remember how I told you the old ways were harsher? They aren’t old in the palace.”

“No blinking?” Aaron risked a glance at Treylen for confirmation and he gave a quick nod. His mother had been to the palace and had said the same thing.

“If you have to blink in the queen's presence you blink one eye at a time.

Slowly and with control.”

One of Marziel’s eyelids slid down, then back. He repeated this with the other eye.

Aaron chuckled, but Marziel wasn’t amused.

“Aaron Relok, the queen has just asked you where your parents live and how they find it.”

“Right…my mother is a seamstress in Wodurn. My father left her after I was born…”

“Wrong!” Marziel struck Aaron on the ear and the big man cringed. Worry knotted Treylen’s stomach. Ever since coming back to the Abbey, Marziel been a kind man. He never hit the trainees outside of sparring, never threatened to slice anyone's throat or joked about it. Treylen hadn't seen this kind of cruelty out of Marziel since they’d left the Dragon’s Hide.

“The queen doesn't want to hear about your father's leaving. Either both of your parents are well under the Queen, or they rest well on her ground. Try again.”

“Wodurn, my Queen, they are well,” Aaron muttered.

Treylen could hear the hurt in his voice but kept his eyes on Marziel.

“Treylen Corbel, the queen asks of your service to her.” That was harder.

“Yes, my queen,” he drew out the statement to buy himself a moment. He resisted the urge to look away. Marziel bugged his eyes out the way that he used to when he’d disguised himself as the tavern keeper. Treylen wouldn’t be tricked. He kept his eyes on the side of Marziel’s chin.

Aaron would have launched into a story, but it would not do to tell the queen just any story. Treylen may have never been in the court of a high noble, but he was raised well enough that he knew how to conduct himself. It was the queen who should decide what tale was told.

“I would speak a short tale if it pleases the queen.”

“It does,” the corner of Marziel’s mouth turned up in an amused smile.

“If a traveling tale should please the queen…” Marziel didn’t answer. “Or the wizard of Tabron….”

“That one,” Marziel said.

“The strange wizard was plaguing the city of Tabron. I went along in search of him. Disguised as a messenger I entered the city and slew him on the steps of his lair.”

“How did you locate him?” Marziel said, pitching his voice up to imitate a younger woman.

“Quite easily, my queen, with the help of my bondmate.”

“You see that.” Marziel leaned toward Aaron and pointed at Treylen. “He understands. He answers every question precisely. He says neither too much nor too little.”

“That wasn't even what happened in the report,” Aaron complained. “The wizard was working with the army, he served Jaul.”

“No!” Marziel whipped one hand out from his knitting and jammed the needle into Aaron’s thigh.

“Hellcaves!” Aron hissed as Marziel twisted the needle.

“No Jaul. You don’t speak the word Jaul within the palace. And you can leave the details of your stories to the queen’s advisors. Do you really believe there is something you can tell her that her people don’t know already?”

“No.” Aaron grimaced.

“If the queen wants to hear of troubles she can hear it from her advisers.” He jerked the needle free and cleaned the blood off.

The bard cleared his throat and leaned back from the driver’s seat. “Marziel…didn’t we hire the cart to keep these two presentable?” He

eyed the blood dripping from the hole in Aaron’s pants.

“We hired it because that fool twisted his ankle trying to fly.” He pointed a needle at Treylen.

“Is it your intention to have them both limping into her court?” The bard gave the reins a shake.

“It won't matter much if they don't survive the encounter.”

“Give it a rest.” He turned back to the road humming a Lowsater tune that made the ox snort.

Marziel glared at the back of his companion’s head then blew out a breath.

“I’ll let you patch that up.” He pointed a needle at Aaron’s leg. “Then we’ll practice again. Treylen, come walk with me.”

He tucked the knitting under the seat then vaulted the edge of the cart and trotted after the dragons. The bard glanced back to give the two of them a wink, then shook the reins and hurried the cart along.

Here in the center of Iverna Valley the lands were flat and fertile, though a day or two of travel in any direction would bring them to the mountains. The buildings of Lakehold were small on the horizon. By afternoon they would disappear into the east as the road curved west around the glistening waters of lake Iverna, and white towers of Queenseat would loom before them.

“Are you alright?” Treylen put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Go walk. You can figure out what’s gnawing at him.” “He’s just nervous for us.”

“Shouldn't be.” Aaron grunted and poked at the wounded leg. “We're going to be commended.”

“If he says be careful, we should be careful.”

“I'm just glad to be out of the Abbey. If we're lucky we'll get an assignment.”

“Maybe…” Treylen’s first assignment had not been anything like expected. Though he hadn’t been gone long, it was enough. And he had relished the winter, spending time with the monks again, training under a real teacher like Marziel, not in enemy territory but in the comfort of his homeland. He kept his doubts to himself though, clapping Aaron on the shoulder and hopping out of the cart to chase Marziel.

When he caught up with him, Marziel was jogging through a field of young wheat, Rime perched on his shoulder while Felicity glided overhead.

All the dragons at the Abbey adored Marziel, and he loved them. Felicity had grown a bit too large over the winter to be perching on shoulders, though Aaron was large enough she still managed it. When Treylen jogged up beside him, he lifted Rime and tossed him into the air. The dragon soared away and landed on the cart.

“How did you like your last assignment? You haven’t spoken of it all month. Normally I can’t get you to shut up,” Marziel asked between breaths.

“It was fine. I didn’t think I was supposed to talk about it.” Treylen hopped the bank of a stream and ran up the other side. Returning to the road, he spun to look back at the cart. The ox couldn't be hurried.

Treylen looked down and saw that his shoes were muddy. They’d need to be cleaned and polished again before he entered the palace.

“You seem troubled about it.” Marziel came up beside him. His shirt was balled in his hand, stripped off to keep from sweating on it—his gnarled body was patterned with old scars.

“It was nothing I haven't done before. I'm glad to be doing what I was meant to. It’s just—he woke up right before...”

“Then you have a stronger stomach than I did in the beginning. It’s harder sometimes to kill someone who doesn’t fight back.”

“You were watching me?”

“No, but I knew old Gilwin when I was the queen’s eyes on these roads. If he knew he had a blackslip he would accept it. He was no fool. He wasn't a traitor either.”

Treylen pretended that he hadn't heard the blasphemy of those last words. The man's name had shown up on a blackslip. That made him a traitor. There was no debating the subject.

“It wasn't just him,” Treylen muttered, watching the cart, still not meeting Marziel’s eyes. “The guards, too—our own—I had to kill one of them.” Marziel only nodded.

“You should have been quieter. It's not fair to burden others with our duty. Anyway, we all make a choice. The guards made theirs.”

“The guard said he was a good man. I don’t believe it, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

“Fortunately the queen doesn't know how you feel. Only how you behave.”

“Can you tell me what he did?” Treylen asked. Marziel shook his head. “You will find this job is easier if you don’t know.”

“I just want to know that he deserved it,” Treylen said.

“There will be plenty of missions in your future where you are asked to find proof of wrongdoing, but when the name is on a blackslip, you can rest assured that the decision has already been made.”

“It’s just…” Treylen wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it; he had made trouble in the past by going off-mission. But Marziel had done the same, so perhaps he would understand. “He had letters on his desk. I couldn’t read them but they said Duremo…”

Marziel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What did I just say?”

“I know, but it’s too late, are you going to tell me what the connection is or not?”

He stared off toward Queenseat before speaking.

“There aren’t many people trying to escape Jaul anymore, because the Jaul have already conquered everything. But the few who come are rarely welcome. The man you killed had a reputation for taking in the unwanted. Well, I suppose any viscount would be glad for a few serfs he can work to death and nobody cares, but Gilwin Suleyon had a reputation for kindness.”

Treylen thought of the Lowsater who he had rescued in Lome and sent north toward the harvest pass. He wondered, had they made it? Or had they been turned away?

“How does all of that make him a traitor? And what’s the connection?” “It’s not your place to decide who is and who is not a traitor. We all live

under the doom of our queen’s judgment. But if it will stop you asking dangerous questions, I’ll tell you that Gilwin had a relationship with our forces at Harvest Pass, a network to make sure he got the first pick of any new arrivals. Someone with those sort of connections smuggled your Glyph Scribe out of Iverna and he has been our prime suspect for some time. It’s possible that something more came to light to justify the blackslip. Or perhaps the queen just grew tired of waiting for justice. If that is the case, then the people of Silbray are fortunate that she was not more heavy-handed. When her justice was delayed, the queen is inclined to kill the lot for good measure. But that’s all I know. So, does the truth ease your burden?”

“Obviously not.” Treylen wished that he had dug through more of the man’s papers. But it was too late now.

“Now come, let us see if Aaron has improved his manners. He'll need all the help he can get. We’ll camp in the field tonight and arrive in the morning. We'll talk some more about the ritual that you'll have to perform.”

Marziel trotted back toward the cart. Treylen faced east, wondering what his parents were doing right now, whether they were in Lakehold, or if they’d gone to their summer house further up the coast. He thought he saw a dragon rider above the city in the distance. Some childish impulse made him wonder if it was the hero, Rak’tsoro, before remembering the torn body in the woods before Tabron.

No, there were fewer heroes now. It fell upon the likes of Aaron and himself to take their place. He could not help but look at little Rime, at Aaron mending his pants, in the back of a rickety oxcart, and wonder…when it was their time to step up, would the heroes of the old look down from their mountain shrines and find them lacking?