Krayson opened his eyes to find King Cathis the Algara staring down at him. The king's expression was cold, a deep frown beneath his neatly-trimmed goatee. The slit pupils of his eyes were contracted, focused on Krayson's face.
Rising from his blankets, Krayson hopped down from his cot. The king stepped aside and watched him toddle towards the door of his bedroom.
Krayson paid the king no more mind. He set his tiny hand against his door and grunted as he pushed it open. It had been sticking lately. Papa said he would send for a woodworker once one was available after their work on the palisades surrounding the estate. In the hallway, Krayson grinned as he caught the scent of mushrooms and bacon. His stomach growled, and he took off in a run for the kitchen.
Dimly, he was aware that a king followed.
"Uncle?" a voice whispered. It echoed strangely, as if from the depths of a canyon.
"A moment, Tarlus," the king said. "I wish to see this."
Krayson ran into the kitchen. The floor was dug an extra hand into the ground. Hard-packed dirt surrounded the sigil-powered stove and oven, but the rest was lacquered hardwood. Mama often complained about the span of bare dirt, but the cooks insisted it was necessary. What good would their food be if it couldn't receive the blessings of the earth spirits?
Tafti was at the stove, her skillet scraping over the glowing fire sigils. Bacon sizzled, and a pile of brown mushrooms was already plated next to her on the counter.
Krayson waited for the head cook's customary scowl and snappish greeting. Tafti might have had a fangblade or two in her tribal lineage, but Krayson never thought she meant anything by her acerbic manner. It was just her way. She didn't say anything now. It looked like she hadn't noticed when he came in.
Climbing his way up to sit in a stool, Krayson waited for her to slide a plate of breakfast in front of him. It would be accompanied by a scolding for some perceived failing and a demand that he wash his hands in the basin before eating. Still, Tafti was quiet. The bacon in her skillet began to burn.
"I am losing his imprint, Uncle," the voice said. "He dreams, but he is ill at rest."
The king snorted. "Seems the Krayson is a light sleeper."
Krayson heard the voices as he would the buzzing of a fly in the next room. Unimportant, but irritating. He was hungry, and Tafti still hadn't seen him.
No, it wasn't Tafti anymore. Krayson's eyes widened. A woman with long black hair stood at the stove. Her face was lined with age and hardship, but still beautiful. She was slender, even dainty, and her dark and narrow eyes leaked tears.
Flames and the stench of charred meat rose from the stove.
"Something is happening," the distant voice said. "Winds, I think..."
"Tarlus?" the king asked.
"It's the blood magic, Uncle. A spell woven into his blood is trying to wake him."
"A defensive ward," the king said. "Can you overpower it?"
"I think so, but not for much longer."
Krayson scrambled off of his stool. The flames in the skillet caught on the sleeve of his mother's dress. She didn't seem to care. Fire took her arms and spread over her body. She didn't cry out. She didn't try to escape. Krayson wanted to warn her, but she simply stood there as she burned.
He lunged to save her, but a hand fell on his shoulder and held firm. He turned, expecting to see his father, but it was the king who restrained him.
"This is a dream, Blood Runner," Cathis said. "I need you lucid."
"But my mother..." Krayson turned to look at her. She was engulfed by the flames, her beautiful hair curling into cinders as she scraped the skillet over the stove. As it had when she was placed on her pyre.
A dream, Krayson thought. Thunders, this is oneiromancy.
Krayson, no longer a child but a man, turned to face Cathis and did nothing to hide the storm lurking in his eyes. "What gives you the right?" he demanded.
"You forget whom you speak to, boy," Cathis snarled. He produced a pendent from beneath his embroidered doublet and let the silver chain dangle from his fingers. A teardrop vial filled with dark red liquid swayed in time with the beating of Krayson's heart. "A thought from me and your life is forfeit."
Krayson knew that what he saw wasn't his actual blood. The king wasn't standing in front of him. None of this was real. It was a figment of his mind, and the king projected himself into it through sorcery. As with sendings, the threads of the Ethereum Weave that connected Krayson's imprint to the king's-- via their previous interactions-- carried words, thoughts, and images. Within the open state of mind one was in while dreaming, those threads made an oneiromancer appear as part of the recipients dream.
In this case, Cathis was using an intermediary. Someone else cast the spell that put Cathis into Krayson's dream. If Krayson didn't miss his guess, Tarlus Algara was the one working the spellcraft. The only son of Prince Vintus was famous throughout the magocracy for his mastery of the discipline. Tarlus was likely the most accomplished oneiromancer in the Spired City, if not all the Five Kingdoms.
Krayson gave the pendant a glance before meeting the king's eyes again. "I don't care what power you have over me, Your Grace. A man's mind is his own."
Cathis' eyes widened, and he bared his teeth in his outrage. "You have a mouth on you, boy," he said in a low and threatening tone. "It's like you want me to kill you."
"Kill a blood runner under your own contract? The Order would have something to say on that, and even the Highest King isn't an autocrat." Krayson leaned in, bringing his face within a hand of the king's. "Unless you wish to undermine the same magocracy that upholds your throne... Your Grace."
"Bah!" Cathis let the pendant fall and turned his back on Krayson. He strode away angrily. "Once these kingdoms are set right again, there is much to see to about the place your brothers have in the magocracy."
"Without us," Krayson said, "there is no magocracy. The Order is the only viable way to transfer bloodsongs. No blood runners, no hierarchs. No hierarchs, no magocracy. Every hedge wizard and dabbler of runes could pursue any manner of spellcraft they desired." Krayson stepped forward. "Unregulated use of magic leads to every horror the royal assassins are tasked with eradicating. Domination, gemstone theurallurgy, skiamancy, flesh forging, blood magic, and any number of lost schools and disciplines would spread like plagues. Can you stop them all without the hierarchs enforcing the laws of the magocracy? Without the blood runners and the services we provide, the Continent would face the threat of an arcane apocalypse inside of a decade."
Cathis scoffed. "You overestimate our need of your kind."
"You refuse to acknowledge our necessity."
"Uncle," the voice whispered again, perhaps believing Krayson couldn't hear it. "There is little time left."
Krayson spoke loudly, a note of pleased triumph showing in his voice. "You may tell your nephew that I will unlock my wards for now."
Cathis spun to look at him, his expression surprised. "You're aware of him?"
"Oneiromancy has been a subject of my studies for some time," Krayson explained. "Though I haven't reached a level of mastery equal to the young duke, I am not without merit in the field."
"Brother Dorna may not have exaggerated your skills," Cathis admitted. "Very few would be able to perceive Tarlus entering their dreams when he did not wish it."
"He's done as he said," Tarlus' voice said. He sounded unhappy with being discovered. "The dream is stabilizing."
Krayson buried his pleasure at the small victory and focused on Cathis. Behind him, he could feel the heat of the fire consuming the representation of his mother. He concentrated and removed that aspect of the dream from his mind. The heat vanished, as did the stench of charred flesh.
"You didn't come here just to be a voyeur and debate arcane policy," Krayson said. "I assume you want to be updated on the contract?"
Cathis held his gaze for a long moment. He didn't blink, but as his real body was likely still in the Palace of Towers, he didn't need to. "Don't think that clemency for your house's crimes will absolve you of everything, boy. Your insolence alone is near to earning you a trip to the headsman's block. I will see that you learn your place, Joshuan Krayson."
Krayson felt his anger rising. "His Grace would do well to keep a closer eye on his own affairs. I'm not the one who killed the Merovech."
"If you knew a fraction of what I now contend with, you would hold your tongue," Cathis snarled. The king's fists clenched, and for a moment, Krayson believed Cathis meant to strike him. It would be as fruitless as trying to lie inside a dream. Both acts were simply impossible within a dreamscape.
Cathis calmed himself. He walked the periphery of the kitchen, his eyes taking in the details of Krayson's childhood home. "When I was told you hadn't arrived at the tower as expected, I grew concerned. Fortunate for you, my young cousin spoke on your behalf, but I've decided to take a more direct interest in your progress. You have the name of the Merovech's chosen heir?"
"I do," Krayson said. "However, I still refuse to reveal it until the bloodsong is delivered."
Cathis nodded as if expecting that answer. "Very few of Ambrose's apprentices are within the Spired City. His bastard son, I'm told, and I believe one or two others. Will your contract take you out of the city?"
"I hope not, but I am prepared for that eventuality." Krayson didn't want to give more than a noncommittal answer. He wouldn't forget that Tarlus was listening to everything being said, and Krayson wouldn't bet against this conversation being relayed to Tarlus' father before long.
Krayson had learned enough to suspect Josenthorne Algara of being complicit to Vintus' schemes. It would be foolish to suspect that Vintus didn't have both of his children on his side.
"I am soon to arrive at the Sanguine Tower," Krayson said. "There, I will confer with the masters on how to proceed with my contract. It is possible, Your Grace, they will judge that I must surrender the Merovech's bloodsong."
Cathis narrowed his eyes. "Why would that be?"
"There is a chance that the chosen heir is already dead. Now that the Imperial Diamond is back in Althandor's possession, the bloodsong can be safely stored until the magocracy determines who the next heir should be."
The king frowned, his stance one of deep thought. Eventually, he nodded. "I see. I assume you tell me this because you fear I will not see it as a completion of your contract."
Krayson hesitated, then nodded. "That's a large part of it, Your Grace."
Cathis took a step towards one of the windows in the kitchen. He looked out at the Teularon of Krayson's memory. "Red grass," he said, shaking his head. "You know, we often think of the Teulites as barbarians living in hovels with their fangblades. Out there is an alien landscape that is home to a race of humanity we have never known peace with." He gestured to the kitchen. "The Horde is quite different from us, but seeing this makes me reconsider what I believe I know. So familiar, yet that also makes the differences stand out all the greater."
Krayson furrowed his brow. What was the king getting at?
Cathis looked at him. "Joshuan, the name of a Teulite tribe. Krayson, the name of my son's killers. Both halves of your heritage give me cause to hate you with every fiber of my being." He took a long breath. "Even so, I am not worthy of my throne if I do not keep my word. Whatever the masters of the Order decide, I will uphold my end of the contract. Succeed, and you shall have your clemency."
Krayson found speaking difficult. He felt gratitude-- thundering gratitude-- for this man. It nearly pissed him off. He didn't like the idea that somewhere behind those beast-like eyes there may have been a king worth bowing to. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said. "I will not fail."
Cathis pointed a finger at him. "Just remember that I won't extend clemency to that blustering tongue of yours. Mind yourself, Krayson, or I'll hold on to your blood in case I find myself bored some night. Crushing your skull might bring me some amusement."
And just when I was tempted to respect you, Krayson thought wryly.
Another thought occurred to him. Krayson couldn't lie within a dream, but neither could Cathis.
"Your Grace," he ventured, "there is one thing I need to know."
Cathis sighed in displeasure. He gestured impatiently for Krayson to continue.
"The Imperial Diamond. While I was in your dungeon, you never asked me about it."
Cathis sneered. "I had greater concerns."
"I recall," Krayson said, doing his best to keep his lip from curling at the memory. "You asked after the Dragon Empress."
Cathis' frown deepened.
"I told you that Elise of Eastrun still lived. You didn't seem to believe me."
"I did not. I killed her myself eight years ago and put her ashes on display."
Krayson blinked. He hadn't expected that stark response. Not only did it fly in the face of everything Krayson had seen over the last month, but the king must have believed that to be able to say it within a dream.
"She is alive," Krayson said, and his voice sounded distressingly weak to his ears. "And she is in the Spired City."
Cathis took in a breath to shout a denial, but he hesitated. It was plain that he now realized that Krayson must have been speaking truthfully. "That's not possible. I killed that creature, and my eldest daughter recently confirmed she was dead."
"It may not be my place to say, but I think you and Her Highness need to sit down and have a long talk." Krayson steeled himself. "My part in all this began with the Lady Tarlen. Do you know the specifics of the orders she gave me?"
Cathis gave a curt nod. "You were told to retrieve the Imperial Diamond from her agents."
"Nothing else?"
"What in the Five Kingdoms are you playing at, boy?"
Krayson drew in a breath. Tarlus was listening, but caution be damned. Vintus was already trying to get him killed, so it wasn't as if this would make things worse. "Was the Lady Tarlen relaying your orders to me as she claimed?"
"I don't know what that blustering woman was thinking, claiming to be speaking with my voice, but I gave her no command other than to recover my property that she allowed to be stolen."
Krayson nodded, his suspicions confirmed. He thought for a moment that one of his ghosts felt a profound sense of relief at learning this for certain.
King Cathis didn't order the death of Princess Jin.
"What does any of this have to do with Elise of Eastrun?" Cathis demanded. "Or the Merovech's contract, for that matter?"
"I wish I knew," Krayson said, "but it's not my place to know, only to fulfill my contract. Just know this, Your Grace; one of the Lady Tarlen's agents was Elise of Eastrun, and the bloodsong that was held in the Imperial Diamond was returned to her."
Cathis advanced on Krayson. His expression was a mask of rage. "You wretch!" he bellowed. "Do you expect me to believe...?"
"It is the truth, Your Grace," Krayson said. "Lies do not dwell in dreams."
The king's fury doubled. He took Krayson by the collar and roared in his face. "Do you have any idea of what you've unleashed on the Five Kingdoms?"
"I do now. She has two dragons, Your Grace. A red and a black."
Krayson could leave Saveen out of that. Elise didn't have her anymore.
Cathis cast his eyes about as if searching for answers. "Two of them," he murmured. "Two empresses. The oracle didn't warn me of this. No, but it must be the Lady Yora."
Krayson stifled a shocked gasp. "Who?"
Cathis released his grip on Krayson's collar and eyed him sidelong. "I'm certain you'll hear of this before much longer. An Aleesh girl has declared herself the Dragon Empress of Shan Alee. Her name is Enfri the Yora, and Ecclesia is in support of her. Winds and storms, but Adeyemi's sending said she might have as many as a hundred dragons with her. No, Elise isn't the Aleesh I should be concerned with." Cathis stepped back, and a look of profound grief came into his eyes. "My daughter has joined her."
Cathis turned and took another step away, rubbing a hand across his brow. "Winds take me," he said wearily. "The augur told me my own blood would betray me, but I never thought... I would have never believed it would be Jin. Winds and storms. At least now I know the true reason she was in the south when Josy and Dashar saw her."
Krayson's mind was racing. Up until now, he'd been going forward on scant evidence and tenuous deductions. The king had confirmed all of it. Jin and Enfri Page, now Enfri the Yora, were working together. But to think that Enfri would declare herself the Dragon Empress or have a host of dragons flew so far beyond what Krayson had assumed that he found himself reeling.
Thundering old codger, Krayson thought angrily towards where the Merovech now dwelled in the Beyond. Just what in the embrace of hellfire did you get me involved in? It would have been a simpler way to kill me if you just hurried up and cut off my head like you were supposed to.
But, why Enfri? Why did Ambrose the Merovech choose her as the heir of his bloodsong? He was supposed to be Cathis' most loyal general. It didn't make any sense that he would hand all this power to his king's greatest enemy.
And no amount of clemency will save me if I deliver this bloodsong, Krayson thought. I have to reach the tower and tell them everything. That is if Vintus doesn't kill me first. A penny against a mark, Tarlus will tell his father I plan on reaching the tower soon. I won't be able to just stroll in through the front door.
The beat of Krayson's heart increased, five beats per minute. The Law of Five was manifesting within his blood. Whether the threat came from Cathis, Tarlus, or somewhere near to Krayson's physical body, his blood was warning him of danger. He needed to leave this dream, and soon.
"I would have Ambrose at my side again," Cathis murmured. It felt like he spoke to himself and forgot that he wasn't alone. "He always managed a perspective my other advisors lacked, a forward-thinking that defied reason at times. Would that I knew what wisdom he found that day in Melcia."
"Melcia, Your Grace?"
"The eyes," Cathis whispered. "I could feel the eyes whenever Ambrose spoke as he did. As if all the world had turned towards us to see the path we took."
Cathis started, then turned to look at Krayson. His eyes were accusing, as if Krayson had tricked him into revealing something private.
Thunders, but he has gone mad, Krayson thought.
"You have a contract to complete, boy," Cathis growled. "This will not be the last time we speak before the end."
Krayson refrained from offering a sarcastic retort. He wondered if he did have a problem with guarding what he said. Empirical evidence was stacking up.
"It is done, Tarlus," the king said. "Awaken me. There is much work to be done with other matters."
Krayson shut his eyes as the king faded from the dream. He concentrated, separating the sensations of the dream from those of his physical body. Moments passed in which he could feel both realities. The warmth and scents of his homeland and the fetid decay of the lower levels were both present. With reluctance, Krayson latched upon the latter and struggled to pull himself towards waking.
As the dream faded, Krayson opened his eyes. His childhood home became hazy and indistinct. In the last breath before waking, a figure appeared before him. Large, powerful, and bold. Krayson couldn't leave home without paying his respects to the Tiger Lord.
His father's face glowered at him, demanding to know why he dared to return to the land he was banished from. Krayson spent the last moment of the dream gritting his teeth.
oOo
Rising from the stone floor, Krayson sought out the source of the danger his blood warned him of. His heart continued to race. It hadn't yet passed.
Saveen was awake also, her back to him. She knelt by the shelter's entrance and peered out.
"What do you see?" Krayson asked in a soft voice that wouldn't carry far.
Saveen turned to look at him. The mist goggles were fixed over her eyes, making it hard to read her expression. She couldn't hide the way her hands shook. Saveen mouthed a single word. "Trouble."
Careful not to make much sound, Krayson moved to her side. The nighttime fog was thick and gray, diffusing the light of early morning. Dawn was only minutes away, but that meant little this far down the spires. Even after the sun rose above the horizon, the ground levels wouldn't get much direct sunlight.
He couldn't see anything through the haze, and he could only smell refuse. But the sound he heard, Krayson couldn't identify it. It couldn't have been close. Krayson needed to hold his breath to hear it. It was a steady roar, like a waterfall or a windstorm crashing through the boughs of a forest. Neither of those were to be found in Eastrun.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"Voices," Saveen said with a tremor. "So many voices. They're crying out."
Krayson got to his feet and took a tentative step out of the shelter. Half outside, he turned his head to try to determine what direction it came from. The spires made it impossible. Too many echoes. "What do you mean 'crying out'? Are you saying the City of Althandor is under attack?"
Saveen shook her head. "No. They're not afraid."
Krayson looked down at her, on her knees and clutching her arms to her chest.
"They're angry."
Turning back to the outside, Krayson listened again. Saveen might have been right. It did sound something like a mob. A large one at that. The longer he listened, the more it sounded like the voices were chanting something. And Krayson's heart was still beating fast.
"We need to go," he said. "Are you rested, Saveen?"
She nodded.
"It's early enough I think we can get away with flying. So long as we stick to the lower levels until we reach Southrun."
Saveen looked up at him. "You're willing? You didn't seem to like..."
"I'll manage," Krayson grunted. "You don't know the way, so I'll give you the heading. Stay quiet, and we'll find a place we can take a lift to the upper levels, then catch the morning train to Westrun."
He reformed and locked the ward concealing the bloodsong from casual detection. Meanwhile, Saveen carefully stripped down before changing into her true self. Krayson was placing her possessions into his holding spell as Saveen's powerful hind legs launched them upwards. Her wings beat against the air, and they were away.
The chanting voices grew fainter as the flew west. Saveen was rapidly putting distance between them and the source. Krayson held onto Saveen's scales with a vice-like grip, but he gave little thought towards the discomfort of flight. He pivoted at the waist to look behind them and above. The angry voices had been coming from Fellowton.
Krayson had little doubt in his mind that, one way or another, Elise was the cause.