Gold Dragon Codex (7 page)

“Perhaps,” simpered Malaise. “Perhapsss not. But the matter of gathering the tribute is still at hand.”

The baron ground his teeth. “If I blow the horn and invite your master in, what promise do I have that he will leave once he has taken his tribute?”

“None,” Malaise said simply. “But if you do not, then Lazuli will ceassse his protection of the fields at the edge of the valley, and the rest of your autumn harvest will go up in flames. Do you think your barony can survive the winter on dirt and ash, Baron Camiel?” Her lisping laugh hissed delicately, and she tossed her reptilian head.
“Let us come to an accord. You trust us … and we’ll let your precious barony survive another winter. Tell me, what do you have to lose?”

“Very little.” The words were as cold as carved stone.

In the silence that followed these words, Sandon ventured, “Father, you can’t do this.”

Torentine nodded. “That spell is the only thing protecting our barony from the dragon, Baron Camiel. It was left behind by our true protector, and it is all the security we have against Lazuli’s evil. If you release the last gift of the ancient gold dragon, it may never return to us.”

“The Gold’s had plenty of time for that,” the baron answered Torentine with a sharp note in his voice. “And I think the dragon’s proven its interests are no longer in this barony. We have to fend for ourselves.”

Torentine glanced up at the mountains outside the village. “Our protector may yet awaken. We should not give up hope.”

“Protector?” Baron Camiel stared down Torentine, his fists clenched. “A real protector wouldn’t have abandoned us when we needed it the most. That gold dragon was here for the first part of the war, and then, when things got rough, left without warning or a by-your-leave. And what do we have? Nothing but a
worthless spell. What good did it ever do us? The blue dragon’s still out there, our people are starving, Hartfall’s lands are blackened so much that what few harvests we have are thin and dry, and there’s nothing we can do about it. We can’t even send for help. Tell me something, Torentine. When was the last time you shipped village wares out on the merchant roads?” The baron snorted deprecatingly. “Your coffers are as empty as mine.

“We’re trapped in a cage, spell or no spell. Unless someone outside stumbles upon us and tells others—we’re as good as dead.” Camiel sighed. “The best Hartfall can hope to do is stretch its resources and hope to outwait Lazuli. This gives us more time. That’s the best I can do.” Lowering his head in defeat, the baron turned back to the draconian. Torentine snarled, disgusted. The baron continued; “Is it a deal, Malaise?”

“Very wise, Your Excsssellency. We are agreed. When would you like to make the exchange?” She leaned forward eagerly, rubbing her hands one over the other. Sandon was sickened at the sight of her obvious glee.

Baron Camiel bowed his head with a single, sharp nod. “Tomorrow. At sunset. But if your master breaks our deal … if he harms anyone—”

“Anyone other than you, you mean?” the flight marshal said sweetly, twisting the knife with her
words. When the baron didn’t bother to answer, Malaise continued, “Sssunset will be fine. I recommend that you have your people at a respectful distance, but present. It will appease my master’s temperament to see proper fear and respect among those who offer him tribute. If you wish for the village to survive his visit, it would be in your people’s best interessst to indulge his pride.”

Sandon couldn’t believe it. His father was going to be the tribute? That couldn’t be true. What would the barony do without him? What would Sandon do?

“Keep your eyes dry, boy, or you dishonor your father’s sacrifice,” Vilfrand murmured. Sandon hadn’t even realized that he was crying, but at his uncle’s words he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and felt the material grow damp. “You shouldn’t have come.” Vilfrand wasn’t making this any easier, but Sandon couldn’t blame him. The gleam in his uncle’s eye was too bright, and Sandon guessed that his uncle was doing a better job holding back tears than he was.

“Go, Malaise.” Baron Camiel turned on his heel, showing the draconian his back. “Do not return until sunset tomorrow, or I swear I’ll have your head—dragon or no dragon.”

Malaise hissed, and whether it was mild anger or
mocking laughter, Sandon couldn’t tell. She opened her silvery wings once more and beat them on the air, lifting herself from the ground in awkward, heavy strokes. Sandon’s hair fluttered around his head in violent swoops, beating against his cheeks and neck with every beat of the sivak’s ascent.

Guildmaster Torentine bowed slightly to the baron, and then reached out to ruffle Sandon’s hair. “Good day, gentlemen.” His eyes were sad. After the baron started to walk back to the keep, Torentine stopped Sandon. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “Your father’s very upset right now, and he’s trying to do the right thing. You have to stick with him, you hear me? Talk him out of this. Whatever you do, don’t let him pay the blue dragon any more tribute.” He nodded, stepping aside so Sandon could pass. “This needs to stop here.”

Sandon pondered Torentine’s words as he followed the guards back to the keep. His feet churned up little piles of dust, graying his once shiny black boots with the remnants of the barely used roadway. The baron was silent, his men and son marching on in somber procession. Sandon felt as if his heart were kicking along under his boots, turning just as gray as they were. He dragged himself onward through the mud of the road back through the courtyard, in through the big oak
doors that opened on the main hall. When they were finally inside, away from the prying eyes of the villagers, Sandon couldn’t help himself.

“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?”