‘I can,’ said Tenaka. ‘The cause is lost. Give Ceska time and he will destroy himself. He is mad. The whole system is falling apart.’
‘I am not good with words, sir. I have ridden two hundred miles to deliver the message. I came seeking the man I served, but he is not here. I am sorry to have troubled you.’
‘Listen, Beltzer!’ said Tenaka, as the warrior turned for the door. ‘If there was the smallest chance of success, I would go with you gladly. But the thing reeks of defeat.’
‘Do you not think I know that? That we all know it?’ said Beltzer. And then he was gone.
The wind changed and veered into the cave, gust-ing snow to the fire. Tenaka cursed softly. Drawing his sword he went outside, cutting down two thick bushes and dragging them back to screen the entrance.
As the months passed he had forgotten the Dragon. He had estates to minister, matters of importance in the real world.
Then Illae had fallen sick. He had been in the north, arranging cover patrols to guard the spice route, when word had reached him and he hurried home. The physicians said she had a fever that would pass and that there was no cause for concern. But her condition worsened. Lung blight, they told him. Her flesh melted away until at last she lay in the wide bed, her breathing ragged, her once beautiful eyes shining now with the image of death. Day after day he sat beside her, talking, praying, begging her not to die.
And then she had rallied and his heart leapt. She was talking to him about her plans for a party, and had stopped to consider whom to invite.
‘Go on,’ he had said. But she was gone. Just like that. Ten years of shared memories, hopes and joys vanished like water on the desert sand.
He had lifted her from the bed, stopping to wrap her in a white woollen shawl. Then he carried her into the rose garden, holding her to him.
‘I love you,’ he kept saying, kissing her hair and cradling her like a child. The servants gathered, saying nothing, until after an hour two of them had come forward and separated them, leading the weeping Tenaka to his room. There he found the sealed scroll that listed the current state of his business investments, and beside it a letter from Estas, his accountant. These letters contained advice about areas of investment, with sharp political insights into places to ignore, exploit or consider.
Unthinking he had opened the letter, scanning the list of Vagrian settlements, Lentrian openings and Drenai stupidities until he came to the last sentences:
Ceska routed the rebels south of the Sentran Plain. It appears he has been bragging about his cunning again. He sent a message summoning old soldiers home; it seems he has feared the Dragon since he disbanded it fifteen years ago. Now his fears are behind him – they were destroyed to a man. The Joinings are terrifying. What sort of world are we living in?
‘Living?’ Tenaka said. ‘No one is living – they are all dead.’
He stood up and walked to the western wall, stopping before an oval mirror and gazing at the ruin of his life.
His reflection stared back at him, the slanted violet eyes accusing, the tight-lipped mouth bitter and angry.
‘Go home,’ said his reflection, ‘and kill Ceska.’
1
The barracks buildings stood shrouded in snow, the broken windows hanging open like old, unhealed wounds. The square once trodden flat by ten thousand men was now uneven, as the grass pushed against the snow above it.
The Dragon herself had been brutally treated: her stone wings smashed from her back, her fangs hammered to shards and her face daubed with red dye. It seemed to Tenaka as he stood before her in silent homage that she was crying tears of blood.
As Tenaka gazed at the square, memory flashed bright pictures to his mind: Ananais shouting commands to his men, contradictory orders that had them crashing into one another and tumbling to the ground.
‘You dung-rats!’ bellowed the blond giant. ‘Call yourselves soldiers?’