Page 48 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘Do you swear to me, upon your place in Halgalant, that you will not go to Yscalin?’
He touched the brooch of his patron, the Knight of Generosity.
‘Upon my place in Halgalant,’ he said, his voice soft in defeat, ‘I will not.’
Marosa
CÁRSCARO
DRACONIC KINGDOM OF YSCALIN
CE 1004
Before Yscalin fell, the collared doves of the Royal Aviary had carried many letters between the cities of the world. All of them could fly great distances. All of them had known their way home.
Unlike the public aviary on the cliff, the one at court had not been destroyed when the wyverns came. Safe inside the palace, it had been full of living doves when King Sigoso gave the order. Hundreds of letters had been written, stamped with his seal, and fixed to the birds. They had soared away from Cárscaro, bearing word that the House of Vetalda had renounced the Saint and pledged loyalty to the Nameless One.
None of those birds had ever returned.
The crest of the House of Taumargam was a white dove, its wings displayed, the Sarras Mountains at its back. Perhaps, one day, Queen Sahar would send a wind from wherever she was now, bringing back one bird – just one – that might be used to call for help.
Until then, Cárscaro was once more a prison.
****
Marosa did not know how a year had passed. A year with her city held to ransom.
The first rush of fear had been like molten steel. It had cut off her screams as it poured over her, sealing her lips and stopping her breath, then cooled and hardened, colder by the day, until she was laden and heavy; until she showed as little feeling as a suit of armour. She had to remain calm, to stop the servants and courtiers from succumbing to hopelessness.
Each morning, she stood on the balcony, as if nothing had changed. Beyond her mountain city, the land was black and cold. All the lavender was gone, turned to ash and blown away.
Ermendo stood close, crossbow at the ready. He was one of the few who still had one, since the Vardya had stripped the people of their weapons. Fýredel was taking no chances. The city watch had been permitted to keep their swords, but only to quell riots and ensure no one attacked the wyverns. Everyone in Cárscaro was to accept the new way of things.
Marosa looked through the spyglass Bartian had lent her. Her hands were clammy, but Ermendo had insisted upon her wearing gloves. Now the wyverns had returned, so would the Draconic plague.
At first glance, the streets looked ordinary. Most of the buildings were intact, except for the sanctuaries and armouries, which lay in ruin. Her people were still meeting their loved ones, collecting water, hanging laundry to dry in the sun. They still bought food at the market, for Cárscaro had always had full granaries, given its isolation. In that, her father had been shrewd.
But for all her people were pretending normality, they lived their lives quietly, as if they were afraid to be seen. There was almost no sound from the streets, except for chilling roars.
Marosa angled the spyglass towards the Plaza Vetalda, the largest public square in the city, where the Cárscari had once lingered to talk and trade, or to hear from the herald. Now it was wholly deserted, except for a pair of wyverns, both drinking from the Tundana. Though the creatures did not attack on sight, people tried not to go outside more often than necessary.
She had tried to establish a pattern in the wyverns’ behaviour, to no avail. They came and went from Cárscaro, but there were never less than twenty in or around the city at any given time.
After a long moment, she turned the spyglass on the Gate of Niunda. Several corpses dangled from it, some with missing limbs.
The vestiges of her secret rebellion.
Marosa lowered the spyglass, sick to her stomach. After the requisition of weapons, all of the guns had been stored in the Palace of Salvation. On her orders, Ermendo had convinced some of the Vardya to smuggle matchlocks and gunpowder to a group of willing subjects, so they could make the journey for help. They had intended to slip away under cover of night and get to Lasia, but the wyverns must have caught their scent. Now they hung in chains.
She sleepwalked towards her apartments, followed by a silent Ermendo. Each plan that came to mind seemed futile with Fýredel so nearby. She was as much a captive as Oderica had been, and there was no Fruma to swallow her into the mountain. Her father had been a fool to stay here, hundreds of miles from the sea, with no escape.
Her food was served at the usual time. There were stores of grain and livestock, but the Privy Council had no idea how long this state of affairs would last, so only small amounts were served.
She pushed her food around her plate. Priessa watched her dully.
During the Grief of Ages, the wyrms had declared their presence, then burned the land without remorse or explanation. There had never been a situation like this, where a king and his court had been held to ransom, with submission as the price. As far as she knew, the doves had instructed city officials to quell the people, succour the wyrms, and destroy all trace of the Saint.
Every day, Marosa hoped the rest of Yscalin would find a way to fight back. She hoped that other countries had not already fallen. There was no longer any news from outside.
