Legacy of Steel Read online

  Sara watched the firelight dance on Mirielle's sculpted features. And she wondered, for what would be the first of many times, what would have happened if she had not stopped that knife.

  13

  The morning blew in cold and raw on the heels of a bitter wind. The city of Neraka woke to find its lord mayor dead, his council under arrest, his mercenaries dead or switching sides as fast as they could surrender, and the Knights of Takhisis in firm control of all the city gates and watchtowers. The dragons who flew reconnaissance flights in the skies now flew over the city, reminding everyone who held the reins of power. A few ogres and draconians put up a token resistance in the streets with the knights, and a party of merchants sent a delegation to General Abrena to register a formal complaint, but overall the citizens of the city shrugged philosophically and went about their business.

  General Abrena spent the day consolidating her position in the city. She fortified the area around her headquarters, doubled the guards at the gates, and moved a number of talons out of the tents to occupy the city. She met with the merchant delegation and the elders of Neraka to assure them that the change of leadership would not seriously affect the populace. Then she imposed a curfew and hinted that a "protection" tax to help pay for the upkeep of the military forces might be necessary.

  The merchants looked resigned, and one suggested that she look in the lord mayor's personal treasury. The old mercenary had been collecting that tax and more for years.

  Curious, Mirielle led two talons of guards to the hideous structure the lord mayor had used for his palace. They drove out the mayor's retinue and searched the building from roof to dungeon. Sure enough, in a dank storeroom buried deep beneath the walls, they found boxes of steel coins, bars of iron and bronze, chains of gold, and enough jewels to keep a family of dwarves happy for years. As soon as they had stripped the place of its valuables, General Abrena ordered the slaves to demolish it. The palace, with its hideous colors and ridiculous design, looked like something put together by a committee of gnomes. It was too big an eyesore even for the knighthood.

  Mirielle was pleased with her progress. In one swift stroke, she had removed her one rival, gained control of the city, and increased the order's struggling treasury. Now she had the headquarters and the foundation to begin the next stage of rebuilding the dark knighthood. The process would be a long one if it was to be done well, but Mirielle Abrena had learned patience and the art of doing things right the first time from her years as a senior knight before the war. Even then she had dreamed of leading the knights to victory.

  If General Abrena was having a good day, "Knight Warrior Conby" was not. Exhausted after the dinner and standing guard at the Red Quarter's perimeter, Sara had gone to her tent and collapsed on her bedroll.

  Two hours later, Massard beat on her tent walls with a stick and bellowed at his talon to rise and shine. They managed to rise, but even the sun wasn't shining. Stick in hand, he drove them at a jog-trot on a cross-country run across Neraka's plain to the distant hills and back again.

  For a man who had been raging drunk the day before, he had made a speedy recovery and stayed with the recruits every step of the way, pushing them on with curses and insults. He paid particular attention to Sara and kept close to her to make sure she did not falter or fall back. Any time she stumbled or eased off, he slapped her back with the stick.

  The run was torture for her. She hadn't run like that in years, and her stamina wasn't used to such long distances. By the time she stumbled into camp, her back was covered with welts and her legs had turned to lead. Sinking to a stool, she gasped for air, her face white. The younger squires watched her worriedly.

  In the half an hour Massard gave them to eat, they fixed a rough breakfast and brewed tea for Sara. Jacson breathlessly told them about the general's dinner and Sara's act that saved Mirielle Abrena from the bodyguard's knife. Their growing respect for her jumped up several notches. Derrick brought the tea to her along with a hunk of bread and some hot bacon.

  Sara waved her cup at the tent where Massard had disappeared to his own breakfast. "Is he always like this?" she asked wearily.

  Derrick curled his lips down in a frown. "Vile or drunk. Take your choice."

  "He must have changed," Sara mused, too tired to think carefully what she was saying. "He would not have lasted long under Lord Ariakan if he had been like that ten years ago."

  "Why?" Derrick wanted to know.

  "Ariakan believed in honor, skill, faith, and discipline. He taught his knights to respect the skills of their enemies and to train their minds and bodies to achieve their highest potential."

  The other squires moved closer to listen.

  "Like Steel Brightblade?" Kelena asked.

  A jolt went through the older woman at the mention of her adopted son. She sipped her strong tea and looked far into the past. "Yes, like Steel…"

  Kelena sat down beside her, avid to know more. "Did you know him? My brother died in the Rift with him."

  "I knew him. He was everything… everything Lord Ariakan wanted: strong, intelligent, dedicated, and honorable. He had a crooked smile, like yours," she said to Derrick. "And he lived to be a knight. It was all he ever wanted." Her voice trailed off as she stared into the depths of her tea.

  She turned at a sound behind her and saw Massard leaning against his tent pole watching her intently through dark, brooding eyes. A tendril of fear crept around her heart. How much had he heard? Could he put her mention of Steel together with an old memory of her? He had only been at Storm's Keep for a short time before Ariakan posted him somewhere else, but he certainly had been there long enough to have seen her.

  Finishing her tea with one swallow, she dumped out the dregs and climbed to her feet to face Massard. "What next, Knight Officer?" she demanded.

  Massard grunted through his large nose. He had shaved that morning and changed his clothes, but nothing had changed his disposition. "Sword practice," he growled. He apparently had not made the connection yet.

  Sullenly the recruits brought their weapons shields to the practice field and paired off to skirmish. After a few desultory minutes of thrusts and parries, Massard shoved his thumbs in his belt and said, "You take them now, Conby," and left.

  Sara stared at his back disappearing among the tents. "Who died and made him an officer?" she said incredulously.

  "Experience and age," said Jacson glumly. "He's been a lazy brute for as long as we've known him, but now that you're here and competent enough to train us, he figures he can dump all the work on you."

  Sara choked on a laugh. She had never taken the blood oath or the test or seriously trained as a knight while she stayed with Ariakan, yet here she was in Neraka, posing as a real knight and doing a better job of it than the officer in charge of her talon. It was ridiculous.

  "All right," she sighed. "If that's what he wants, that's what we'll do."

  To limber up her sore muscles after the long run, she first practiced every part of her daily sword exercises. The squires followed along, intrigued by the novelty of her maneuvers. Then they showed her some new advances and retreats and some defenses they had learned, and they put the entire regimen together and went through it one more time. Sara laughed. All they needed now was a troupe of musicians to accompany them.

  While they finished the exercises, Cobalt appeared and settled down on the edge of the field to watch. Sara was delighted to see him. She paired the squires off again to put their skills to work, and this time she called on Cobalt to advise. The recruits were skeptical of the dragon at first. What dragon paid attention to the technical side of swordplay? Cobalt soon put their doubts to rest by telling Saunder how to use his longer reach to better advantage and telling Marika how to improve her footwork.

  They practiced the rest of the dull, cold morning, and that afternoon, under the direction of Massard, they helped several full-strength talons move their gear into barracks in the city. Sara saw General Abrena several times at a distance, and
she marveled at the woman's energy and organization. She seemed to be everywhere in the city, checking on everything, talking to knights and civilians, shouting orders, and keeping the work of occupation moving with her own sheer will. Sara envied her endurance.

  Her own endurance and patience were nearly at an end. She was exhausted and sick to death of the smells and the endless noise in the city, and she thought if she had to listen to Massard's harsh voice scream at the young squires one more time, she would take his head off with the nearest brick. Half a dozen times she thought about slipping away to find Cobalt and fleeing Neraka.

  She just couldn't bring herself to do it—not yet. She had not learned all of Mirielle's plans or discovered the true strength of the knighthood. Nor did she think the sentinel dragons would let them simply fly away. She needed a good excuse to leave the city that would give Cobalt time to put some distance between themselves and the vengeful anger of the knights.

  Then there were the five squires. She hated to admit it even to herself, but she was beginning to like them. They were bright, enthusiastic, and searching for something to fill their lives. Although they had chosen the Knights of Takhisis, Sara wasn't convinced they were ready to totally dedicate their souls to the dark goddess. They seemed to lack a certain zeal for the truly evil. She could be wrong, of course; she had only known them for two days. But if there was a chance to show any one of them a different path, Sara asked herself, wasn't it worth staying in Neraka for a few more days?

  So she bit her tongue and jumped to obey Massard's orders and kept her anger in check. Fortunately for her self-control, she stood the early watch that evening and afterward went to her bed for a much-needed night's sleep.

  The days that followed assumed much the same pattern for Sara. The weather stayed dry and cold and drear. The talon remained in the tent quarter and divided its time between intensive conditioning and training in the mornings under Massard's abusive fist and serving the knights in the afternoons and evenings by performing whatever tasks needed to be done, followed by a turn at sentry duty sometime during the night. The schedule was strict and rigorous and varied little.

  Sometimes Sara was able to take the recruits out on the dragons for reconnaissance flights, which everyone enjoyed, and once in a while someone would come to her and ask for help for a sick or injured animal. She appreciated these respites from the constant grind of physical labor, and she decided that if she ever returned home, she would never again complain about cleaning her house or digging her garden.

  During those days, the newly designated Governor-General Abrena continued to consolidate the knights' hold over the city. A few more bands of surviving knights arrived in Neraka and were quickly assimilated into the new army. Recruits arrived, too, singly or in groups, and they were assigned to talons-in-training out in the tent quarters. Sara studied every new face she saw, and thus far her luck held. No one recognized her.

  The general ordered her to attend as squire at several more dinners, but while Sara listened avidly, she learned little more about the general's future plans for the knighthood or how Mirielle intended to accomplish her goals. All she found out was the prices of goods on the black market, plans for the renovation of an interesting place called the Arena of Death, and how to charm city officials without actually saying anything meaningful.

  Sara was going back to the Red Quarter one night after one of Mirielle's dinners when she saw Knight Officer Massard at the gate to the Queen's Way. There was nothing in his demeanor that caused her alarm, nothing that warned her of his intentions. He looked as if he had been drinking, but that was nothing new. She saw him leaning against a tavern wall just outside the gate, and for a moment she thought she could walk past him in the dim light without his noticing her.

  He had no intention of letting her pass. She was just two paces away when his head snapped up. He lunged at her and his hand grabbed her arm. His fingers dug painfully into her muscle. "Come with me," he snarled, and he dragged her into the shadows of the deep alley beside the noisy tavern.

  Sara had no choice. She could not break free of his powerful grip, and because she had been attending the general, she had no weapons with her. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

  "I know you," he hissed in her ear. "It took me a few days to work it out. You're Ariakan's whore. The one who escaped from Storm's Keep." He shook her fiercely, his hands on both her arms. "What are you doing back? Why are you in Neraka? Who sent you here?"

  "Nothing! No one!" Sara managed to gasp through the violent shaking.

  He shook her again and slammed her against the wall of the building that loomed over them. "Don't lie to me. I know better than that. I'll take you before the General and let you tell her. I'm sure she'll be glad to pay a reward for a spy."

  Something in what he said leaked through the pain, and a spark of hope lit in Sara's thoughts. "If it's only a reward you're interested in," she gasped, "perhaps I could find something you would like."

  He chuckled and pressed her tightly against the wall. His foul breath fanned her face, and his rough beard rasped against her cheek as he whispered, "I'm sure you could." He rubbed a rough finger against her cheek. "I always wanted to see why Ariakan kept you around. Give yourself to me… and bring me fifty pieces of steel. With that, I can be quiet for a long time."

  Sara shuddered from head to toe. Fury and repulsion surged through her. She knew, however, that without a weapon or help, she could not escape. She had to buy herself some time. "That's impossible. Where am I going to find fifty pieces of steel?"

  He laughed again, the fumes of ale and spirits thick on his clothes and breath. His hand caressed her neck, then he circled his fingers tightly around her throat. "I don' care where you get them. If you want to live, you'll find a way. The knights don't look favorably on renegade spies. Think about that. Bring the coins and yourself to my tent before the end of three days and I'll forget that I ever saw you at Storm's Keep." He kissed her hard before he shoved her away and went laughing out of the alley.

  Sara wiped her lips with her sleeve, spat on the ground to rid her mouth of his foul taste, and wiped her lips again. Abruptly her knees gave way and she sank down on a barrel.

  Oh, gods, she cried silently, now what do I do? There was no possibility she would meet his demands. She could not beg, borrow, or steel fifty pieces of steel in this city, and there was no chance she would ever give herself to that brute of a man. She would prefer take her chances with the knights' adjudicator rather than submit to Massard even once. And she realized once would not be enough for him. Like most blackmailers, he was greedy. He had a powerful hold on her he could use time and again to twist her to his will.

  No, she had to find another way to silence him. At least she had three days to devise something. Whatever she decided to do would have be handled carefully and discreetly. She did not want to jeopardize her position in Neraka if she could help it. There was too much at stake.

  Cold and angry, Sara pushed away from the barrel and made her way back to the street. As she stepped out into the light radiating from the busy tavern next door, she glanced both ways to make sure Massard was gone. Warily she left the streets and alleys of the inner city and exited the main gates to return to the tent quarter.

  On second thought, she angled out beyond the tents to where the practice fields lay wrapped in darkness. Cobalt, she knew, had dug himself a cave out in the highlands beyond the valley. When he was not hunting or spending time with her, he returned to his cave to rest. He seemed to prefer the solitude to the company of other dragons.

  Around her neck hung a leather cord she kept beneath her tunic. On the cord, she had strung three of Cobalt's sapphire scales, each about the size of a small child's palm. Satiny smooth and iridescent in the sun, they took the place of the lily brooch she gave to Mirielle as a focus for her ability to summon dragons.

  When she conceived the idea, she didn't know if it would work without the magic inherent in t
he black lily. Fortunately dragons had their own kind of magic, and the scales bore enough vestigial power to be effective enough. She used that power now, coupled with her own mental energy, to send a call to Cobalt.

  He came winging silently, like an inky shadow against the black sky, and landed beside her. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

  Quietly she told him everything, and when she finished, she leaned against his leg and let his closeness sustain her.

  The night lay cold and silent around them. Clouds still obscured the sky and blocked the light from the stars, so the only light came from the distant torches in the tent camps across the field.

  "I could dispose of him for you," the dragon offered.

  Sara smiled in the darkness. "I thought of that. But let's wait. His disappearance could be awkward, and if anyone pinned the blame on you, the other dragons would kill you."

  "You could hire an assassin. There are probably dozens of people who would like to get rid of him."

  Sara said glumly, "Doubtless. But first I'd have to find one in time, then I'd have to pay him—which I can't—and hope he'd keep quiet."

  "Do you want to leave?"

  "Not yet. But stay close." She rubbed a hand down his smooth scales and said thoughtfully, "I'd like to find something to hold over him, some way we could reach a standoff so he would leave me alone and I could leave him alone."

  Cobalt dropped his head so his golden eyes glimmered close to Sara's face. "Massard does not seem to be a 'standoff' kind of human. Watch your back."

  They did not talk anymore but curled up together in the night, Sara wrapped in the protective circle of Cobalt's neck.