“Because of the disappearing drakes. That Andrean miner was burning a drake corpse, presumably to hide its presence. We assumed it was a nightdrake, but what if it wasn’t? And surely whoever removed the daydrake corpses had similar motivations—to hide their existence.”
Corwin drew a deep breath, confusion muddling his thoughts as he tried to make sense of it. Drakes were wild beasts, deadly and unpredictable. But Dal’s speculation made it seem as if the attack on the caravan had been deliberate, same as the attack on the Gregors, as if someone was controlling these drakes and using them like weapons. Highly effective weapons. The Gregors were all dead, or presumed to be. Perhaps someone wanted him dead as well. But why? As it stood now, Edwin would become high king and not Corwin. He hardly mattered by comparison.
Corwin waved the thought away. “I think that’s a bit of a leap at this point.”
“Perhaps.” Dal stretched his hands high above his head, yawning. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway considering we’ve been relieved of all obligations to investigate these daydrakes. Oh, and your peacekeeping tour is officially over. We are to return to Norgard as soon as you’ve recovered.”
“Let me guess,” Corwin said, rolling his eyes. “Is that another direct quote? From my brother?”
“Indirect. The word came signed from the high king.”
“Of course it did.” Corwin leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his temples. He should be relieved, thrilled actually—he was finally free to do as he wished, and the gods knew he had no desire to deal with such evil tidings. And yet, he didn’t want to just let it go. The mystery nagged at him, demanding to be solved. And the dead avenged.
Corwin sat forward again. “What does Edwin say about the Gregors?”
“Very little.” Dal pulled a dagger from his belt and began to clean beneath his fingernails with the tip. “Officially, it’s been declared a terrible tragedy, and that was that. No mention of the Rising.”
“Of course not. Edwin wouldn’t want to alarm the public by blaming wilders.” Corwin paused, thinking it over. “He’s probably glad of it. With Marcus Gregor dead, there’s one less dissenter among the nobles.” Several choice curse words rose up in Corwin’s mind, but before he could voice them his stomach gave a loud growl.
Snickering, Dal said, “Think I’d better call for some food.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s wise.” Except Corwin didn’t feel hungry in the slightest, despite his protesting stomach—it was anger at his brother’s presumption with ordering him home that pulsed inside him. While he’d vowed to obey, to finally submit to Edwin as the next high king and heir, he struggled against his own independent nature at every turn. Especially now, with this puzzle set before him.
Dal disappeared, leaving Corwin alone with his thoughts. Forcing his mind off Edwin, he soon found himself thinking about Kate, remembering fragments of their time together in the Relay tower. They’d spoken about her father and why he never delivered Hale’s message to her—his childish anger at the kiss she’d shared with Edwin, one his brother claimed later had been an accident, Kate mistaking him for Corwin.
The truth shamed him now, but back then her actions had seemed almost worse than Hale’s attack on the high king. He’d never had a chance to confront her about it, but he couldn’t quite believe it had been accidental. It had looked so willing. Seeing her in the arms of someone else had driven home the terrible truth he’d been trying to deny—that she could never be his. He was the high prince, destined to marry a princess or someone from a noble house. Not the daughter of the master of horse.
Sighing, Corwin forced his thoughts elsewhere. He struggled to recall all he could about the daydrake attack. He’d managed to slay several of them, but it hadn’t been enough. There were too many, the creatures too powerful and relentless in their attack. The luck of Redama, goddess of fortune, must’ve been with him when he took down that last drake. It landed on top of him, hiding him from the view and scent of the others. But it forced him to lie there while he listened to the shrieks of dying horses and men, helpless to stop it. He must’ve passed out for a time, but then Kate arrived. She’d been attacked herself, by three—no, four—drakes, he remembered with sudden, certain clarity. The panic of seeing them bearing down on her was enough to drive off what remained of his delirium. The first she took down with enchanted arrows. But the remaining three . . .
“Food will be here shortly,” Dal said, returning. He flopped down on an armchair and swung one leg over the side, as if the effort of calling for food had been taxing.
“Did you talk to Kate yourself?” Corwin asked, a part of him dreading the topic.
A grin split Dal’s face. “Why, yes, I did. She was far too cordial with me though. I only got a glimpse of the feisty thing you described. I believe she reserves most of that for you.”
Corwin shifted in his seat, unsure if he was annoyed or pleased. “Did she tell you about the attack?”
“A little. She claimed to have killed two drakes.” Dal winked. “Like I said. She is your damsel in shining Relay tunic. Although personally, I’m keen to see her in a dress and with her hair combed and face washed.”
Corwin ignored the comment, tame by Dal’s standards. “She didn’t kill just two. She killed four. I saw it. She took down the first with enchanted arrows, but the other three she slew with a single pistol.”
Dal jerked upright, eyes widening. “The revolver!”
Corwin winced at his shouting. “The what?”
“The revolver, she called it.” Excitement strained Dal’s voice. “It can hold six bullets at once. She said her friend made it, a blacksmith here in Farhold. But you say she killed three drakes with it?”
With the memory growing sharper in his mind, Corwin nodded.
“Holy mother of horses,” Dal said, his mouth hanging open. “I think I might need one for myself.”
“You and me both, especially if there are more of these daydrakes out there. Did she mention the name of this blacksmith?”
“Afraid not. She didn’t seem keen on talking about it much.” Dal scratched at his cheek. “One might even say she was cagey about it.”
Corwin sat forward in his chair, his excitement over a gun that could fell so many drakes tempered only by his nervousness at seeking out Kate to learn more. It was one thing to have talked to her in the state of delirium he’d been under; it would be quite another to face her now that he wasn’t under duress.
Still, it must be done. A weapon like that was the kind of invention that could change the world—the way the steam engine was slowly transforming countries like Endra and Rhoswen that didn’t have magic to rely on as they did in Rime. With enough of those weapons in enough hands, they might even be able to slay all the drakes and free Rime from a life behind walls and wardstones.
“You say she’s been grounded?” Corwin asked.
Dal slowly nodded. “She’s spending every day at the Relay house though. You can find here there right now, I’m sure.”
Corwin shook his head. “Not today. I can barely stand, let alone sit a horse.”
“I see. But this means you will go see her then?”
“Yes, eventually.”
Dal pressed his lips together, stifling a smile, while his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m coming with you. I’m dying to meet the feisty Kate you spoke of.”
Corwin sighed “Let’s just hope she doesn’t decide to bite me.”
“On the contrary,” Dal said. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”
10
Corwin