Gold Dragon Codex Page 5

  “Father.” He struggled to keep his voice from cracking. “What are you doing?”

  The baron took off his helm, laying it on the wooden feast table with an empty thud. He paused for a moment, gathering himself, then turned and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder gravely. “Sandon, I want you to understand that this was the last thing I wanted to do. Malaise and Lazuli have drained this barony of its resources, taken away everything that once made us rich and prosperous. Right now, all the people can do is fight starvation. If we’d had to pay another tribute so near the harvest, everyone would have starved before winter’s end.”

  Holding his son’s shoulder, the baron turned to his brother. “Vilfrand?”

  “Yes, Camiel?”

  “It will fall to you to hold the throne for my son until he reaches eighteen years of age and can rightfully inherit. By the law of the barony, he cannot be made baron until he reaches his majority. I know that you weren’t born to rule any more than I was, but until such time as this barony can be ruled by its rightful blood”—he met his brother’s eyes formally—“I name you regent of the throne.”

  “By your will, Your Excellency.” Vilfrand bowed deeply, lowering his head to quickly cover the shine that rose in his eyes.

  “Dad …”

  “Sandon.” Baron Camiel faced his son gently, the stony hardness that had served him so well against Malaise tightening across his features once more. “Do as you’re told. Mind your uncle. Rule well, and govern wisely. And for Paladine’s sake, give up these foolish visions of knighthood. The Knights of Solamnia are far away, and they’re not coming to save us. We have to save ourselves. The people of Hartfall need you—not your daydreams.” For a moment, it looked as if the baron would say more, but he simply cleared his throat and stepped back. Baron Camiel patted his son on the shoulder and turned toward Vilfrand. “Come, Captain. We have little time, and much to do before your regency begins.” He crossed the room toward his official chamber, boots clacking sharply on the hard floor.

  Vilfrand lingered for a moment beside Sandon. When the baron passed out of view, Captain Vilfrand looked down at Sandon with a quiet solemnity. “You know that he cares for you very much, Sandon.” When the boy had no answer, his uncle continued. “He’s right about the knights. They aren’t coming. We have to accept that, and do the best we can without them.”

  “The knights always come!” Sandon struggled to keep hope alive. “Weren’t you the one who told me that when I was just a boy?”

  His uncle looked uncomfortable, and lowered his head. “Did you know, Sandon, that when I was your age, I wanted to go join the knighthood—just like you do?”

  Surprised at this revelation, Sandon managed only, “You did? Then … why did you stay?”

  Vilfrand shrugged lightly. “There was no money for me to make the journey. Besides, your father had just become baron, and he needed me here in Hartfall.” His blue eyes were pale with old memories. “Sometimes you have to give up a dream to do the right thing, Sandon. That’s what your father told me at the time, and I believe that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s giving up his own future, all the years he has left to spend with you, so that the barony can survive. He’s giving his death meaning. Don’t take that from him, Sandon, just because you feel cheated of a child’s dream.”

  Sandon’s heart sank. “Yes … yes, Uncle.”

  “Listen to me. I have to go to your father now and plan out the next four years of your life—four years that he won’t be here to witness. Remember that this barony and its people will look to you to be their strength as well as their conscience. Do everything you can to keep them safe, because that’s what the oath of taking the throne requires. Can you understand that?” Sandon choked back a sob and nodded. Vilfrand managed a small smile. “Good.”

  “Now go to your room, son, and clean your armor. I want you to be at your best tomorrow at sunset. The people of the barony will take their strength from you, and you must show them that—dragon or not—the heir to the throne, like his father, is not afraid.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” he managed a whisper. “I will.”

  Vilfrand rustled the boy’s hair, and then turned toward the throne room and the baron’s private study. Sandon watched Vilfrand go, willing himself with all of his strength not to cry while his uncle could still see him.

  At last, Sandon stood alone in the empty feast hall. He placed his clenched hands on the empty table, staring at his father’s gold-plumed helm. Tears blurring his vision, Sandon reached out and ran his fingers through the soft horsehair. It hurt to think that his father might never wear it again; might never ride out proudly from the keep, surrounded by his loyal guardsmen; might never sit on the throne of Hartfall and give wise council to villagers in need. The thought was too much to bear, and Sandon shoved the helm away violently and ran half blindly toward the stairs that led to his bedroom.

  In the dark and silent feast hall, the helm rolled from the table. It clattered to the floor unheeded, polished faceplate lolling open to reveal a bitter emptiness within.

  hat are you doing?”

  The question suddenly broke the silence of the room, startling Sandon. He hadn’t heard the door open or the soldier step inside, but there Kine was, as big as daylight, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “I said,” the soldier repeated, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe, “what are you doing?”

  Sandon jumped, but it was too late to hide the heavy hiking boots he’d been tying on or the skinning knife that lay on the table beside him. He grabbed it guiltily, hooking the scabbard to his belt beside a small canteen. “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” Kine didn’t bother to point out the obvious. He raised an eyebrow. “Going for a walk?”

  “Yes. Alone. By myself. That means without you.”

  “Without guards too? Heh. That only makes me more interested.” He grinned wolfishly. “That wizard’s apprentice, Umar, was trying to feed me a cock-and-bull story about how I ought to sneak in a few bottles of wine for his master ‘under the blue dragon’s nose.’ Apparently, Yattak’s been making him dance on what’s left of the raisins to try and squeeze a little juice out of them. Honestly, kid, your afternoon sounds more interesting—and safer. So, where are we going?”

  Sandon clenched his teeth together, growling, “Why do you care?”

  “I’m your guest. When my host acts strangely, I make it a priority to know why so that I can get out of town before they lynch me.” Kine’s hazel eyes were laughing, even if his face was sober. “Are you headed out to get the sheriff?”

  “No. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Well, I’m glad at least one member of your family believes that. Now, tell me, kiddo, where are you going, and why is everyone in the castle acting like someone just died?”

  It took just that hint of caring for everything to spill out. The words fell from Sandon’s lips in a downpour—his father’s deal with Lazuli, Malaise’s evil glee, the horrible look on everyone’s face, like they were simply accepting the inevitable when his father went away to make plans for the regency. Kine took it all in silently, nodding on occasion, but just letting Sandon go on and on until words failed the boy and he trickled to a stop. It was a relief to get it all out, like a wound lanced by a physician, and when he was done, Sandon took a deep, shuddering breath and fell silent.

  “So. Back to my question,” Kine said, and this time he smiled gently. “What are you doing?’

  “Going up to the mountain to make that dragon listen to us even if it kills me.”

  “Lazuli?” Kine’s eyes bugged out.

  “No!” Sandon rolled his eyes. “The gold dragon.”

  There was a long pause. “I’m not sure that’s better,” the soldier said, rubbing his chin with a wry smirk. “All dragons are dangerous. On the battlefield, we learned not to get in their way, and duck if they suddenly flew low. What makes you think this Gold will help you if it hasn’t lifted a finger yet?”

 
“Nothing.” Sandon waved his empty hands and shrugged. “But it’s the best idea I have, and honestly, I can’t just sit here and do nothing while my father plans his own funeral.”

  Kine looked at Sandon with something akin to respect. “I have to agree—it’s exactly what I’d do in your place. But I’ve got one more question for you, and this one’s not as easy. If you go off to bother this gold dragon, and it’s crazy or upset and it kills you, how is that helping your father or Hartfall?”

  Pausing, Sandon stared at the hilt of the soldier’s ever-present sword. A kingfisher, a crown, and a rose. Hope rose up in his chest, unbidden. “It’s not going to kill me. It’s going to trust me.” He felt a grin spreading across his features, the first smile since he’d seen his father meet with the draconian on the field.

  “Why?”

  “Because I just had a great idea. It might not recognize me as heir to the baronial throne, but it will respect me—because I’ll be escorted by a Knight of Solamnia. No matter how crazy that dragon is, it has to respect the ancient oaths that the dragons made to Huma and his order. I may not be a knight like you, but I’m just as brave. I don’t need to be sworn in order to act like one.”

  “Hey, now wait a minute, I told you, I’m not—” Kine protested.

  Sandon interrupted quickly. “By the guest law, when you asked for succor, you were swearing to all of its tenets. That means you swore ‘to do no harm and aid in all ways.’ Right?”

  “Right.” Kine winced. “Oh, swords afire. I see where this is headed.”

  “Directly up the side of a mountain,” Sandon said, shoving his extra canteen into Kine’s hands. “You’re going with me.”

  The first hours of their trek were the easiest. Once they’d slipped out of the keep—easy enough, given how preoccupied everyone was—the roads that led toward the mountains were clear-cut, if overgrown from lack of use. Sandon had abandoned his armor back in his room because it was too heavy for climbing, but he kept his hand on his sword hilt, ever ready for bandits to appear out of the woods like wolves. They moved slowly and carefully over hollows and brushy vales where Sandon had played as a young boy. The fields around Hartfall were half-blackened, and the signs of Lazuli’s displeasure still marked several areas where the blue dragon had scarred the earth. He was obviously quite big, judging by the marks of his claws on stone and earth, and his lightning breath not only set the crops on fire, but scorched earth and air alike, leaving a thick crust of greasy ash wherever Lazuli spent his rage.

  A few people could be seen working the fields that still held green and growing crops, but those fields were few and far between, the last arable land that the Blue allowed them. Even those paltry fields were protected by farmers carrying pitchforks, walking the edges of their fields like soldiers on patrol to keep out bandits and carry a watchful eye for enemies. If the town of Hartfall was so quiet that it seemed half empty, the fields looked plenty full of people desperate to protect their only livelihood in these last weeks before harvest. More than their livelihood, Sandon realized. Their very lives. If those fields were burned, most of the people in town wouldn’t have food for the winter. Hunting would help when they could slip out into the forest without being caught by bandits—or draconians!—but every trip would be a tremendous risk, and more than a few would end in tragedy.

  Many times along the grassy, unused roads that led toward the edges of the valley, they saw cold campsites where bandits had spent time before moving to richer pastures, or empty houses that had been looted when their occupants were forced to move closer to town. The homes stood in silence, empty-eyed skeletons occasionally touched with some familiar strangeness, like frilly drapes in broken windows, or children’s toys scattered about in ash-scarred yards. Kine ignored them, keeping his eyes on the road and head bowed in a sturdy, marching pace. Sandon couldn’t help but stop and stare. He’d known that things were bad. He’d heard his father say that the people were close to starving, and he knew Gallia was doing everything she could to stretch the keep’s meager supplies, but he hadn’t had an image of the wreckage that marked the edges of the Hartfall barony. Things were worse than he’d imagined, inside and outside of the little blue-roofed town.

  They reached the cliff side where steep and rugged rock towered up in jagged handfuls toward the bright blue sky. Kine shaded his eyes, peering upward while Sandon began to scamper up and over the first large boulders. Kine scrambled in his backpack, pulling out an odd assortment of gear while Sandon perched on a graying peak of stone. “What’s that?”

  Kine sat down, strapping something to each of his feet and pulling on a pair of thick, scaly looking gloves. “Climbing gear. You’d better put on a pair of the gloves too, kid, if I’m going to haul you up this mountain.”

  “I can climb just fine.”

  “Not unless you’re part hawk, you can’t. Those high areas there are sheer stone. I’ll go first, widen some of the cracks with the climbing spurs on my boots. That’ll help with your grip. Until I get up there and check it out, you’ll be sitting as still as a canary in its nest, waiting for my by-your-leave. You got me?”

  “What is all that stuff?” Sandon pointed at all the equipment. “Why do you carry climbing gear around?”

  “Because I don’t always make friends.”

  “So?”

  “And I’ve always got to eat.” Kine hurled the rope upward, and a miniature grappling hook caught hold around one of the higher rocks. He ignored Sandon’s disbelieving grunt and didn’t answer any other questions. Looking up at the rope, the soldier tugged on it, leaning his weight against the creaking weave until he was satisfied. Kine wrapped his hands in the rope, twisting it around his thick gloves. Hand over hand, kicking with the spiked boot wraps against the stone, Kine climbed like a spider to the top of the rope and over the lip of the first plateau.

  Sandon scrambled down, grabbed the other pair of gloves, and shoved his hands into them. Kine reappeared over the rock face, calling down, “Tie my backpack to the end of the rope so we can haul it up with us.” Sandon was quick to comply, and then started pulling himself up the length of the hemp. When he reached the top, Kine pulled him over and started coiling the length up until he had gathered it all. Kine then unlatched the grappling hook, swung it around his head, and tossed it to a higher boulder.

  “You’re sure that the dragon lives at the top of this cliff?” Kine asked, starting up the next, much steeper cliff.

  “On sunny days, you can see the shine of its scales from the highest tower of the keep, I told you. Its cave is on that ledge, right there.” Sandon pointed. It seemed very far above them.

  “And it’s never moved?”

  “Not as long as I’ve been watching it. Three years or more.”

  “Might be petrified.” Kine scratched his cheek, measuring the high breadth of stone between them and the faraway cliff ledge. “If the blue dragon got here first, he might have already killed the Gold. Left the body on the ledge to rot.”

  “If that were true, it wouldn’t be shiny, now would it? It’d be all gooey and raven picked. And after three years, it’d probably look more bone white than solid gold.” Sandon was glad he’d already argued all of this through on his own, even if it reminded him of the long hours he’d spent sitting on top of his father’s highest tower, staring forlornly at a glittering yellow mote that shone like a beacon against brown and gray mountain walls.

  “You’d better be right, Sandon.” Kine grinned down at him, lolling like a marionette halfway up the rope. “If you’re wrong, you’re lowering me when we head down again.”

  They struggled up the cliff even as the sun climbed in the sky, passing its zenith and heaving into afternoon. It was difficult, but they were aided by the fact that the cliff was far less sheer than it looked. It was pockmarked by ledges and boulders, little goat trails and flat plateaus of bushy overgrowth. By late afternoon, Kine’s grappling hook caught on the high ledge that was their target. “Last chance to back out.” The s
oldier scratched his grizzly chin. “Once we get up there, either the dragon helps us, or it eats us. You said that you wanted to show that you were brave enough to be a knight. I guess this is your chance, kid. You sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure.” Sandon thought the soldier might be kidding, but he honestly wasn’t sure. There was no way this could go wrong—it was a gold dragon after all, and more, Sandon had a Knight of Solamnia with him. That was all the Golden General of the good armies had, and she’d driven off Takhisis’s armies! Surely, they could drive off just one blue dragon. What else could he possibly need? “All right. I’m ready.”

  Kine muttered, “Glad one of us is, kid,” and pitched the grappling hook. “You stay here. If I don’t come back, you start down again. That’s an order, soldier.” Sandon nodded, afraid that the soldier would hurl him off the cliff if he didn’t agree.

  Breathing heavily, Kine straightened his gloves and boot spurs. He spent extra time testing the rope, tugging on the weave and double-checking the grip of the grappling hook until Sandon poked him for dawdling. With a mighty sigh, the soldier began his climb. The last area of rock was only about fifteen feet above them, hardly the height of the oak doors to Sandon’s father’s hall, but it felt like it took forever for Kine’s gloved fingers to seize the edge. The boy watched the soldier pull himself up, peering over the cliff edge at the cave beyond. The silence was deafening, broken several minutes later by a long, low whistle. “Well, I’ll be hog-tied and fed to ogres.” He looked down between his legs and called to Sandon, “You aren’t going to believe this, kid.”