Intrigue and Innocence Maharah Tasj waved a hand absently at two thin trails of smoke coming from the nostrils of a dragon incense burner. The smoke had an acrid scent that drifted directly into his face and stung at his eyes. “Would you like me to move the burner?” asked a boy standing guard next to the desk. Maharah Tasj glanced at the fidgeting uninvited young guard in irritation. So much had been lost four years ago, and one of those things had been the senior officers that would have taught the boy when not to speak. Tasj shook his head. “No, the burner was a gift from Devi’s nursemaid. She’s from the Gathj Region and they burn incense to let the dead know we still remember them. I don’t have the heart to move it.” “It’s a nice gift,” replied the boy. “My mother used to burn incense. I liked it. It smelled sweet.” Maharah looked back down at the reports from his mining and farming operations and ignored the boy – the boy would prattle on forever if given the chance. Tasj read through the reports several times, the salt mines would see a decent profit this year, as would the opal mine, but the olive trees had suffered during the recent drought. However, the grape vineyards far to the south had fared better than the olive orchards, but not enough to send the grapes to market as they were. He would have the grapes dried and stored for sale later in the season. A shadow fell across the report Tasj was reading. His eyes flicked up to see the boy leaning over the desk trying to read the report. “Are you interested in the grape harvest?” asked Tasj. The boy grinned sheepishly and pulled back from the desk. “Sorry… I just… today is the last day, if it doesn’t come today I can’t go.” Tasj leaned back in his chair. He understood the boy’s concern. The death of the boy’s father four years ago had thrown the boy’s inheritance into question, though it shouldn’t have. The boy’s bloodline was equally as strong as Deya and his other four cousins. “All we can do is wait for the courier to…” “There won’t be a courier,” interrupted a man striding through the door. The boy spun and drew his sword with a nearly preternatural speed at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. The man jumped back as the boy lunged at him. “Woah there, little rock dragon,” said the man as the boy backed him against the wall. The man peered at the boy. “Is this Tarkan?” The Maharah stood. “It is, and he leaves no doubt he is our brother’s son. Stand down, boy, this is your Uncle Matan. The last you saw him you were five years old.” Tarkan only lowered his sword a fraction as he glared at the man. “Pasaj Matan?” Tarken squinted an eye at the man. “I don’t know, he looks inscrubublous.” The man flourished a bow. “I see you’ve taught him to be a fine judge of character.” Tasj came around the desk and laid a hand on Tarkan’s shoulder. “The word you’re looking for is unscrupulous, and yes, he is perhaps the most unscrupulous man in the Empire.” “You’re too kind, brother,” replied Matan with a grin. “Did you find it?” asked Tasj. “I did,” said Matan retrieving a scroll from under his jerkin and holding it out. Tasj gingerly took the document, it was damp from sweat. “Where was it?” “I located it under the Imperial Grand Dragonmasters bed.” Tasj gave his brother a disgusted look. “You didn’t…” “No, I’m afraid he started leaking blood before our passion could be fulfilled.” “Witnesses?” asked Tasj. Matan grinned. “Absolutely, Sartan was seen at an opium den with our dearly departed Grandmaster, and then later entering his home through the side door.” “Who’s Sartan?” asked Tarkan. “One of your uncle’s more disturbing disguises.” Tasj gently opened the scroll and read it through before handing it to Tarkan. “Congratulations, boy, you are now the Tulaj Tarkan, Sword Master and personal bodyguard to the Buzaj Deya. You better go pack.” Tarkan was out the door before Tasj could even finish his sentence. “I’m going to tell Deya the good news first.” Tasj turned his attention to his brother. “So, the Dragonmasters have been intercepting our messages?” Matan threw himself down in a chair next to Tasj’s desk. “It’s not so much us they’re targeting as they are trying to isolate the Emperor from the Royal Families. I have my men unraveling which couriers are in their employ, but for now, we can’t trust any of the Imperial Couriers.” “You look exhausted,” said Tasj. “I just spent three weeks on dragonback,” said Matan. “It’s not an experience I’d like to repeat.” “We need to talk about Arban.” Matan closed his eyes and slumped down in the chair. “What did he do?” “I think he assassinated one of the Dragonmasters.” A smile came over Matan’s face. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” “This is serious.” “And why do you think Arban would assassinate a Dragonmaster?” “One of the Dragonmasters beat a dragon to a point we had to put the poor beast down. Deya was very upset. The next morning, the Dragonmaster fell ill and died three days later. I recognized the symptoms as black flower poisoning, but Deya would have no more idea where to find such poison than I would, it had to be Arban.” Matan flipped a hand as if waving away a bothersome thought. “Brother, you have suffered a terrible loss and been alone in this castle without council while we scrambled to save the province from collapse. I will forgive you this one misstep because of your grief, but if you ever put your son over mine again, we will be choosing a new Maharah.” Anger flashed across Tasj’s face for a brief moment before he dropped his head in defeat. Of his four remaining brothers, Matan was the one he truly feared. “And will you also remind me yet again that Thetan would be the Maharah if I had not coaxed him to sneak out of the palace with me that night in the rain, and the fever that took him after was my fault. I carry that guilt every day of my life, and now I carry the guilt of my own lost sons. You would do me a service to strike the blow now and end my suffering.” Matan was silent for so long that Tasj thought he’d fallen asleep. “I knew of the assassination,” whispered Matan. “Deya did what you would not, and now the Dragonmasters fear him, as they should. Buzaj Deya gave the order, Jargal purchased the poison, Aerethel crafted the poison into a candle, Tarkan distracted the guards, and Arban stole into the Dragonmaster’s chambers while he slept to light the candle. For such young princelings, it was a magnificent display of teamwork by the princes that will one day rule the Empire.” “Rule the Empire? Are you now Kingmaker as well as Spymaster?” asked Tasj. “Spymasters have always been Kingmakers, brother, you most of anyone should know that. Anyway, this wasn’t their first assassination. They were making them look like robberies gone wrong, but the Dragonmasters got wise to that and travel with guards now. I’ve taught Arban better than executing an assassination inside the castle, but Deya decided to send a clear message – the Dragonmasters are not safe anywhere.” “They are too young for this sort of thing,” said Tasj. “I don’t disagree with you on that, but the attack four years ago forced our sons and daughters to discard their childhoods.” Tasj turned away. Matan was invaluable to his continued health and rule of the province, but sometimes he wished… Tasj pushed the thought away. “And how do you plan to put Deya on the Imperial throne?” “Something you told me about what happened during the Opal Wars.” “I told you, I saw Keladar talking to his dragon, but I never heard the dragon speak.” Matan laughed. “Oh, I don’t believe dragons can talk. More than likely Keladar is a mad king, but he’s a mad king with an army of dragons at his back. We just need to get him to loan us his army.” “An ambitious plan, we’ll just march north and knock on his door I suppose? Excuse me, Sir, I know we’ve been at war for thousands of years, but could we borrow your army?” “I’m still working on that part of the plan,” said Matan. “Go give the order to close up the castle, we’re leaving with the caravan tomorrow morning.” “I’m not going with them,” replied Tasj. “We’ll be staying at the villa outside the city, I don’t want the kids sleeping at the Imperial Palace. It’s far too risky, and I have no intention of losing another four years with my son while they attend the Imperial Princes College.” Matan slumped down further into the chair. “Go on now, I need to rest my eyes for a few minutes.” Tasj walked through the door, fully aware he’d just been dismissed from his own office. They were nearly thirty years old, and it was still as it had been when they were children. **** Ka lay on a worn cushion inside the Maharah’s spacious tent-sled listening to stories of life in the Anse Empire. On one side of the Maharah was Buzaj Deya, and to the other was Agaj Aerethel. Ka liked Aerethel, she was in charge of the Crafting Hall, and an excellent blacksmith. Ka had helped her several times repairing broken dragon harnesses. The other boys in the caravan said she was an ugly girl that would never find a husband, but never to her face, and not in the presence of Ka, not anymore. The first time he’d heard a boy call her ugly, he’d punched the boy in the chest and knocked him down – Ka thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. Deya said there was a family rumor that during the opal wars, her mother may have had an affair with a Wyra Gold Rider, but the Opal Wars had been twenty years ago. However, her mother’s stronghold was located on the Northern Border, so it wouldn’t have been difficult for the affair to have continued for decades. Aerethel had golden eyes, so it was certainly possible. And would have been just like a Gold Rider – they were notorious for such scandalous activities. Aerethel was a big girl, though not as tall as a Wyra girl, but still much bigger than the wisps that were the Anse girls. Among the Wyra girls, Aerethel would be considered dainty, but among the Anse she was stronger than a man, with limbs that would make an oak tree proud. Deya had caught him staring at her while she worked at her forge, lifting and striking raw metal with a hammer Deya couldn’t have lifted. Deya had given Ka one of those coy grins that all boys knew without being told what it meant. “She’s only three years older than you, that’s not so much,” said Deya. “And, she’s an Agaj with land, a huge stone hall, two-hundred men-at-arms, and five-hundred workers. Her weapons, furniture, jewelry, sleds, wagons, and clothing are shipped all over the Empire.” Ka blushed and turned away. “I thought she worked for you?” “She does,” said Deya. “She’s my Craftsmaster, and already brings a huge profit in for the family, probably as much as Sahaj Jargal, my Marketmaster. Her mother is Agaj Tamain and works for my father. We’re expected to be working at the same level as our parents by the time they’re ready to retire.” “Okay, I’m starting to get it,” replied Ka. “The Emperor is like Gethadar, our king, and your father is like our Clan Leaders and sits on the top ledge of the arena. Then your father’s four princes are like the Marshal Dragons that sit on the ledge below the Clan Leaders and do all the real work. And then you and your princes are sitting below them trying to get good enough to move up a ledge and take over when your fathers become Elder Dragons and move to the bottom ledge beneath the Mother Dragon.” Deya laughed. “I’m going to just pretend I understood what you just said. You’re trying to change the subject. You like Aerethel.” “Do not.” “Do to.” It had been a good day. Their argument was just loud enough that Ka was fairly certain Aerethel had over-heard and knew now he had a big crush on her.” Ka settled deeper into the cushion while Tasj and Deya discussed the possibility of asking Gethadar to loan his army to fight the Dragonmasters. The oil lamp on the low table was beginning to sputter. Deya lit a second lamp sitting in reserve before the flame could sputter out. Ka was a little annoyed Deya didn’t just let the lamp burn out so he could go to sleep.” “What are your thoughts, Ka,” asked Maharah Tasj. Ka forced his eyes open. “I don’t know, but there’s no way Gethadar will ever help you fight the Dragonmasters.” Tasj nodded. “I believe an extended truce is all we can expect, but if there is a possibility that we can have a permanent peace, shouldn’t we try?” Ka shifted his position on the cushion, it was late and he was tired, and this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. “I’m nobody, Gethadar isn’t going to listen to me.” “Of course,” said Tasj. “I shouldn’t have asked. So, I heard you and Aerethel have been getting along nicely.” Ka inwardly groaned, this was another conversation he didn’t want to happen. He closed his eyes as if falling asleep, which wasn’t far from the truth. A voice speaking in the Wyra tongue roused him slightly, thinking perhaps one of the dragons outside needed something. He listened a moment longer but… no, the voice was inside the tent. He opened his eyes to find who was speaking. “Ara, my idiot uncle and cousin’s stupid plan to tell him sad stories to get his sympathy isn’t working, they’re switching to their backup plan, come get him out of here before they embarrass me, and him.” Ka’s eyes widened, it was Aerethel speaking in Wyra to a dragon outside. Ka looked from Tasj to Deya, but neither of them were aware Aerethel was speaking, of course, humans couldn’t hear or speak Wyra – the frequency was too high for human ears. A dragon’s head poked through the opening, located Ka, and with its powerful jaws lifted Ka up by the back of his britches and pulled him out of the tent. Tasj grabbed the dagger he’d been cutting an apple with and jumped up. Aerethel grabbed him by the leg. “Uncle, he’s fine,” said Aerethel. “The dragons have a great love for Ka because of his kindness to them, they would not hurt him. I imagine Ka is that boy that stays up too late in the Great Hall listening to the men tell lies of their exploits on the battlefield, until Mother Dragon comes to retrieve her wayward Wyrling. Note that he did not resist, he has been carried to bed like that hundreds of times – he’s a dragon boy. The dragon that just retrieved him is the one he calls, Silent Foot. She probably became worried when he didn’t come to bed at his usual hour, and so, Mama Dragon came and got him.” Tasj dropped the dagger back on the table and sat down. “That was certainly unexpected, and unusual.” “Was it, Uncle?” asked Aerethel. “Isn’t Silent Foot the one that saved Deya during the attack on the palace, even to the point she was horribly injured for doing so? She was ready to give her life to protect Deya.” “That is true, she is an unusual dragon,” said Tasj. Aerethel stood. “You do not need Gethadar’s army to defeat the Dragonmasters, you only need Silent Foot. Grant Deya his request and buy the rights to her from the Dragonmasters. Now, with your permission, Uncle, I will retire to my tent.” Aerethel stepped out of the tent to a dismissive wave from the Maharah. She walked between the rows of tent-sleds. Most people were already asleep, with only a few lanterns still burning. She was only half-Wyra, but still, her ears were better than a human. She could hear the sounds of people breathing softly in their sleep, the murmuring of children dreaming, guards shuffling their feet trying to stay awake, and the sounds of couples doing what couples did in the night. It often took her hours to fall asleep with all the sounds of so many people in one place. How did Ka filter out all these sounds with the full hearing of a Wyra? She would be glad when this trip was over and she was back in her stronghold with its thick walls that blocked all the sounds. She turned and went between two empty sleds that marked a path to the corral. There were no guards, or Dragonmasters at this corral. This was considered Ka’s Corral, and the Dragonmasters were terrified of Ka, and rightfully so. Ka was only ten years old, but already nearly as tall as a full-grown human man, and with shoulders wide enough to lift very large rocks out of the path of the sleds. Pale light glinted off dragon scales from the full moon as she entered the corral. The differences between Ka’s corral and those run by the Dragonmasters were like night and day. The dragons in Ka’s corral weren’t huddled into a mass in the center for warmth and safety, but instead he’d given them each a task to perform in the evenings when the corral was setup. The dragons had to dig sand into rows of mounds, the result being a cozy separate stable facing against the wind for each dragon to sleep comfortably without the chill night wind blowing on them. And, the little mounds they nestled between gave them a sense of security as if each space were a private nest. The floor of the corral was clear of dung, something she very much appreciated. Ka was very strict about designating a place down-wind for the dragons to do their private business. And at each of the sand stables were two buckets of water and a bucket of grain within easy reach during the night. At first, the amount of water he was giving the dragons was a concern – water was a precious and rare resource in the desert. But, he had declared that water was abundant and he could find it easily. So, each morning he had begun performing an elaborate ritual that he claimed the Sand Dragons had passed down for countless generations. He would stand on top of Ara – the dragon he called, Silent Foot. Aerethel knew her real name because she remembered her from before she’d been made mute by the Dragonmasters. Ka would jump up and down, chant to the water gods – she had never heard of water gods before, but he was getting results – then point at random rock formations and say something like: “See how that rock points east, and that one north? There’s water to the west.” And then other times he’d just shout out nonsense words and declare water in one direction or another. It had taken her a week to figure out what he was doing, and when she did, she’d laughed hysterically for ten minutes before Uncle Tasj had gotten angry and demanded she tell him what was so funny. “He’s playing a joke on us with all that nonsense mumbo-jumbo. It’s those super Wyra ears of his,” she’d explained. “He’s got us following an underground river, he can hear the water under the ground. It’s only a matter of time every day when the river gets close enough to the surface that we find a natural spring, or those oasis we keep running across.” Uncle Tasj had given Ka one of those glares that made most people question their life choices, but Ka had only returned him the biggest mischievous grin – Ka had no fear of anyone. She continued to walk around the corral until she found Ka asleep next to Ara and half-buried in the sand. It made sense, he was a Sand Rider and sleeping in the sand was probably as comfortable to him as a feather bed was to her. Ara raised her head and Aerethel reached a hand out to stroke her eye ridges. “Thank you, my friend,” whispered Aerethel, so not to wake Ka. “I couldn’t let them manipulate him like that.” Ara cocked her head to the side as if to say, “What were they going to do?” “Deya found out Ka likes me, and he told Uncle Tasj, and Uncle Tasj told Uncle Matan, and he hatched another stupid plan in case his first stupid plan didn’t work, but Ka is too smart. He wasn’t buying into the dumb idea to get Gethadar to give them an army, so they were going to offer me to him in marriage.” Ara snorted. “Don’t worry, the marriage wouldn’t be for a few more years, he’s still too young,” replied Aerethel. Ara nudged her head against Aerethel questioningly. “No, it doesn’t offend me,” answered Aerethel. “The Anse boys think I’m ugly, and If I were to go north with my real father, all the Wyra boys would only see a freakishly big Anse girl, but Ka isn’t like that, he thinks I’m pretty. He’d be a good choice for a husband. Maybe if he were going to be staying I’d consider it, but he has to go back where he belongs.” Ara shifted slightly and caused some sand to slide down into Ka’s hair. Aerethel liked his hair. The mop of silver hair framed his already adorable face – his face was thick and proper and looked like it could have been carved from a granite mountain. In a few years he would grow out of his cute phase and become a most handsome Wyra man. She turned and began to walk away when a sudden thought stopped her. Her legs turned to ice as she spun around and stared down at his hair – it was silver! How could she have missed the clue? During one of her real father’s visits, she had asked him. “Why is your hair golden, but mine is brown?” “I’m a Gold Sand Rider,” he’d replied with a shrug. “A Rider’s hair always turns the same color as their dragon. Nobody knows why, it just does.” “What happens if your dragon dies?” she’d asked next. A baby dragon had died recently, and though such things did happen, it had caused her to think a lot about death lately. He’d sighed and knelt down to her. “It is a terrible thing when a Rider’s dragon dies. Dragon and Rider are so bonded, we’re practically one person. Usually, the Rider will try to kill himself, unless someone can get to him in time and stop him. It leaves a hole inside us, the grief is overwhelming. And then, if the Rider survives, the cruelest thing happens, as if we’re being punished, our hair reverts to its natural color, and we lose the last thing we had of our dragon.” Aerethel’s mind went back to the day they’d found Ka. He’d been so overwhelmed with grief at believing he’d lost his dragon that he’d tried to kill himself by charging into a pack of Rock Dragons, and he would have succeeded if they hadn’t found him when they did. She looked down at the sleeping boy. His hair was still as silver as the day they’d found him. Unless his hair was naturally silver, that meant… Ara pushed her head in front of Aerethel, the concern in her eyes very clear. The dragon knew what she had just figured out. Ara was warning her not to tell Ka what she suspected. If she told him, Ka would do something stupid like running off unprepared into the desert, and being this deep in the desert, even Ka wouldn’t survive long. She needed to get him home. He was getting too comfortable being here, and in his mind, he had no reason to go home. Now it made more sense why he was fighting the idea of going home and asking Gethadar to help fight the Dragonmasters. Ka secretly didn’t want to go home. A plan started to form in her mind.