The Dragon's Eye Page 2

  One by one, the sailors manacled the Greencloaks. Cordelia glanced impatiently over her shoulder the whole time.

  Climbing out of the hull wasn’t easy with his hands bound, but Rollan managed. He blinked as the sunlight assailed him.

  It took a few moments for his eyes to get used to it. They’d been held in the gloom for weeks and the sky was dazzling, even at evening time.

  The others were equally stunned. But eventually sight returned.

  They were in a natural crescent bay with high cliffs on three sides and the sea at their backs. The docks were lined with Zhongese soldiers. Apart from their vessel, there were only two other ships, much smaller, and a cluster of rowboats bobbing in the waves. Steps, cut into the natural rock, zigzagged their way up.

  An elegant palace dominated the top of the cliffs. It was long and sinewy in design, with a suspended platform at the very tip of the crescent.

  “It’s … beautiful,” breathed Rollan.

  “Xin Kao Dai,” said Meilin, with a note of sadness. “The emperor’s Summer Palace.”

  CORDELIA SHOVED CONOR ALONG THE GANGPLANK. “Get a move on.”

  Conor spun to her, a snarl on his lips. “I go at my own pace.”

  Cordelia bristled. She wore more armor than the usual brass cuffs and collars of the Oathbound uniform. Her boots had brass shin guards, and plates were strapped to her thighs. A heavy mail covered her from shoulders to below her waist.

  There was a nervous, unstable twitch in the way she gripped Wildcat’s Claw, but Conor had spent too long cooped up in a cell. He’d grown up a shepherd, used to the free sky overhead and grass underfoot. He’d taken his imprisonment even worse than the rest of his friends.

  If Cordelia wanted a fight, he was happy to give it to her, chains or no chains.

  Kana stepped between them. She narrowed her eyes at Conor. “We have a problem here?”

  Meilin touched her hand to Conor’s arm. “Now’s not the time,” she whispered.

  So the four of them marched off the ship and onto the docks.

  The three adult Greencloaks were behind them, then came the crazy old man. He hobbled bowlegged down the gangplank, his scrawny limbs wrapped in chains. It was almost comical how weighed down he was, considering he appeared to be the feeblest of any of them. The man bit his beard and winced as he trod over the pebbles, then looked pitifully over at Conor. “My feet hurt.”

  “Should have worn some sandals, then.”

  The man looked up at the palace. “How about a piggyback?”

  “All the way up? I might drop you.”

  Kofe shrugged. “I’ll carry you, old man. Just don’t wriggle.”

  Conor hadn’t gotten a good look at his fellow Greencloaks, not until now. Kofe was just like he sounded, big. The man’s beard was threaded with gray, but he was muscular, a born survivor judging by the scars. Conor knew the type, old shepherds who’d slept outdoors through sun and snow, their skin wrinkled like old leather and just as tough.

  Lady Cranston was not how he’d expected. Her voice had been soft, cultured, and full of clever words. He’d had an image of a tall, delicate noblewoman wearing furs and silks. Instead he saw a middle-aged woman in a heavy tunic with well-worn boots and a face as hard as flint. Those blue eyes of her shone with swift thoughts. She hooked her fingers in her belt, despite the chains, and Conor got the firm impression those chains wouldn’t handicap her much if it came to a fight.

  The third of their trio, Salaman, made him think of Tarik. Conor shot Rollan a glance. By the look in Rollan’s eyes, Conor suspected he was thinking the same thing.

  Salaman was dusky and lean. He looked years older than the rest, and the others weren’t young. His beard was pure white, though short and neat. The old man didn’t appear withered by his years, rather the opposite. It seemed age had merely shorn him of any weakness.

  If Tarik had had an older brother, Conor reckoned he would have looked a lot like Salaman.

  The three elder Greencloaks had an ease around each other. They didn’t need to talk, but there were glances and nods and other silent communication between them.

  What were they planning? Escape?

  Judging by the way the Oathbound handled these three—cautious, even a little fearful—maybe they did have a chance.

  The old man scrabbled up on Kofe’s back. The Greencloak took the extra weight without effort.

  Conor glanced down at his mark. Briggan lay across the back of his forearm. Conor was tempted to summon the big wolf here and now. After weeks in the hull he wanted to run and run, Briggan at his heels.

  He grinned to himself. Run and maybe cause a bit of trouble …

  Rollan caught his look, but shook his head.

  The grin dropped to a frown. Rollan was right. How far would they get in these chains? Yet Conor was tired of biding his time. His patience had been used up. Every muscle burned, desperate to break into action. To run. To fight. To show the Oathbound what he and his companions were truly capable of.

  Kana stepped up to him. “Don’t get any bright ideas, Conor.”

  Conor smiled and took a deep breath. “What ideas? I’m just enjoying the fresh air.”

  “I want you to keep that beast safe and sleeping right where he is. Got it?”

  “Or what?”

  She tilted her head to a group of sailors lining the decks. Each held a loaded crossbow.

  “They’ve got a good range,” said Kana, “and would make a mess of your spirit animal.”

  Conor scowled. “You sure they’d shoot Briggan? Maybe one might decide to send a quarrel at Cordelia? She hasn’t exactly made many friends, has she?”

  Kana scowled and moved on down the line, personally checking the manacles on each and every one of them.

  Meilin leaned over. “You aren’t exactly making friends, either.”

  “Tried that already, and look how it turned out.” Conor grimaced. “It’s just a bit of backchat, Meilin. She deserves it.”

  “She does, but we need her to relax her guard. You prodding her only keeps her attentive, wary. If we act more … docile, then maybe they’ll make a mistake. One we can exploit.”

  “Docile?” He laughed. “That’s almost funny coming from you.”

  Meilin nodded. “It’s something I’ve learned from Jhi. To cultivate a quiet strength.”

  “Might be a bit late for that. You’ve got a bit of a reputation, remember?”

  “What’s that mean?” If Meilin’s arms had been free, Conor suspected she’d be crossing them right about now.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who can break rocks with spinning high kicks,” he said. “Which you are going to have to teach me one day.”

  “You know how to handle yourself, Conor. It’s not graceful, the way you fight, but it is effective.”

  “And I fight even better with Briggan at my side.” He looked around. “If Abeke released Uraza then maybe—”

  “And that’s exactly what Kana would expect. She’s waiting for us to do something stupid.”

  “Then what options do we have?” he asked, kicking at pebbles as they moved.

  “We wait until they do something stupid.”

  He wished he had Meilin’s confidence, but the Oathbound had been one step ahead all the way. They weren’t going to leave anything to chance now, not when they had three of the ancient relics.

  Others had freed their spirit animals. A big wolverine with dark brown fur and a jet-black muzzle sniffed around them. Sid the Generous—another Oathbound lieutenant—scratched the beast between the ears and the wolverine responded with a friendly growl. Then it cast its gaze at Conor and the growl became a threatening snarl. There was dense muscle under the fur. Conor knew these creatures would take on, and defeat, opponents much bigger.

  How had such an animal bonded with Sid?

  He shook his head. Some things didn’t make much sense.

  “So this is where the emperor spends his summers? Very nice,” said Conor. Who would have th
ought there was so much marble in all Erdas? “Still, it’s no rickety shepherd’s hut up in the mountains.”

  “Drafty and stinking of damp sheep?”

  Conor took a deep breath, as though those sheep were around him now. “There’s no sweeter smell.”

  Meilin smiled, despite it all. “You miss the old life?”

  Conor shook his chains. “At moments like these, yeah, I do.”

  “Tell me about it.” Meilin gazed across the docks and the pebble beach beyond. “Looks like we’ve got another visitor.”

  Something was swimming through the gentle waves toward the beach. Sunlight shone upon slick greenish-blue scales and a strong, thick tail that propelled the creature swiftly through the water. Then, among the froth breaking upon the shingle, out crawled a large lizard.

  Meilin’s eyes narrowed. “A Zhongese water dragon. I didn’t know they swam so close to the city.”

  The lizard flicked droplets of seawater off its tail, then plodded up to an exposed slab of rock, a piece of granite cliff that must have cracked free. The water dragon turned around in a circle, then settled itself down on a sunny spot to bask. It didn’t close its eyes to sleep. Instead it kept them slitted and wary.

  It was about four feet long and well fed. Curiously, the animal wore a collar. The leather strap was unfussy, but subtly decorated with branded patterns.

  Conor’s foot was kicked from under him. Hands manacled, he fell flat onto the pebbles.

  “Oops,” said Cordelia.

  Blind fury filled Conor’s heart. He rolled to his feet in one swift movement and charged in, taking Cordelia unawares. He rammed his head into her stomach and swung both hands up as she stumbled back. The heavy chains hanging from his wrist caught her across the jaw and she cried out, collapsing.

  “Enough!” Kana gripped the chains and pulled him off.

  Cordelia crawled to her feet. Her mouth was bloody and her gaze filled with dark rage. “You’ve made a stupid mistake, boy …”

  She drew the Wildcat’s Claw.

  The steel shimmered with amber and golden light as flames caressed the blade. Cordelia gripped it with both hands and pointed it at Conor.

  She’s insane.

  He could see madness in Cordelia’s eyes, and maybe the Wildcat’s Claw was feeding that madness. Cordelia gritted her teeth. “Come on.”

  Even Kana looked wary. She didn’t put herself between them. Perhaps she was afraid Cordelia would cut her down, too.

  Conor backed away. “Unlock these chains and I’ll fight you.”

  Cordelia laughed. “You’ll fight me one way or another.”

  “Conor, move!” Meilin screamed as Cordelia charged him. Conor leaped aside, rolling over the stones as he felt the heat of the blade pass inches from his back. He sprang up and threw a stone at Cordelia.

  Conor had spent more than enough summers protecting sheep from hungry predators. Every young shepherd had to learn to throw hard and straight.

  The rock smacked Cordelia hard in the forehead, and she screamed with fury and pain. She braced herself, thrusting the sword ahead of her blindly as she stumbled under the impact.

  The flames grew fiercer, fueled by her rage.

  Conor couldn’t win this fight by throwing stones. Chained, unarmed, and facing a fiery sword, he needed to use his wits.

  He backed farther down the beach. The sailors and guards watched, but didn’t intervene.

  Water lapped around his ankles.

  Cordelia spat. She turned the Wildcat’s Claw in long, slow circles, drawing fiery hoops through the air. She grinned. “Where are you going to run to, boy?”

  Conor waded farther in. The water was around his thighs. “Come and get me, Cordelia.”

  “Cordelia, don’t do it,” said Sid. “Let him come to you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Sid. The boy’s going to be taught a lesson, and that can’t wait.”

  Both hands tight around the hilt, Cordelia waded in after Conor.

  Cordelia … and all her heavy armor.

  The pebbles underfoot were slippery with seaweed. The sword hissed as droplets steamed upon the fiery metal.

  But if Cordelia noticed these things, she didn’t care. All she wanted was to inflict pain.

  Conor concentrated on keeping his balance.

  The stones beneath the water had been worn smooth and flat. They balanced unevenly on each other. The lapping waves, while not high, carried with them an irresistible force. Each one was moved by countless tons of water.

  Conor felt with his boots as he entered waist-deep into the brine. The flat rock, already slick, was wobbly.

  He stepped off it and receded another foot.

  Cordelia laughed. “You want to drown? Is that your plan?”

  Conor stepped back. He yelled as he stumbled, throwing up his arms to try and keep his balance.

  Seeing her chance, Cordelia yelled and surged forward.

  Conor suddenly straightened up. The stumble had been fake. He swung his chain through the air.

  Cordelia dodged, right onto the wobbly rock. Her right foot slipped away from her and down she went. The Wildcat’s Claw steamed and went out.

  Conor rushed forward.

  Cordelia floundered under the water. The mail shirt itself weighed almost twenty pounds and her arms, too, were encased in shiny brass. Each time she tried to rise, Conor knocked her back down.

  The fury in her eyes transformed to fear. It was only a few feet of water, but there were plenty of folk stories of knights drowning in puddles because of the weight of their armor.

  “Get her up!” yelled Kana. She and a group of sailors were wading forward.

  One of them grabbed Conor and hauled him back to the beach as the others raised up Cordelia. She screamed incoherently, fighting them even as they tried to save her. One let go and down she splashed again.

  Rollan laughed, then embraced Conor. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Conor.”

  Abeke and Meilin looked on proudly.

  In the end, it took four sailors to drag Cordelia out of the sea. They dropped her onto the beach, and not gently, either. Kana waded out last of all, the Wildcat’s Claw now in her hands. She looked down as Cordelia coughed up seawater. Kana dropped the sword beside the half-drowned woman. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  Cordelia snatched the sword and glared at Conor. Then, teeth gritted, she shoved it back into its scabbard.

  Kana led the way up the path to the Summer Palace. The climb was steep and narrow. The cliffs that surrounded them were formed from black granite and patched with green tufts of moss. Water seeped out through cracks, and rivulets streamed over the jagged surface.

  At the cliff top, the path transformed into a wide flagstone road leading straight to the palace gates. The entrance was guarded by Zhongese soldiers in bright armor and plumed helmets. Each man was a giant, and the halberds they carried looked as if they could slice an ox in half.

  They glanced at the arriving party. Conor saw the captain of the Zhongese guards sneer as his gaze fell upon the Oathbound. Then he barked an order and the gates creaked slowly open.

  The guards and sailors remained outside. Before passing through the gate, Kana turned and handed the wiry first mate a jangling bag of coins. “Our business is concluded.” She glanced at Conor as the sailors trekked back to their ship. “It would be in your best interests to behave.”

  “Where are you taking us?” asked Abeke.

  A brief smile flickered across Kana’s lips. “To see an old friend of mine, and my employer.”

  Marble statues lined the courtyard path: magnificent beasts sculpted by masters. Proud lions, elegant herons. There were snakes and antelopes and eagles, all manner of beasts. But Conor’s attention fell on a water dragon.

  Meilin must have caught his look. “That belonged to an ancient hero of Zhong. His animal bond was so powerful that he could supposedly control the sea.”

  “No talking,” commanded Kana.

  The gr
oup passed through great halls with mosaics covering the floors, and along corridors lined with portraits of past emperors. Conor was surprised to find that there weren’t any members of the official Zhongese guard inside the palace grounds. Just a few timid servants and many black-cloaked Oathbound.

  The party stopped outside a pair of huge bronze doors. A servant struck the panel with a hammer, and the doors slowly parted.

  The audience chamber was surrounded by windows so it could look out over the sea. In the center was a throne carved from gold and silver, studded with a medley of colorful gems. Intricately dressed servants waited on either side of the throne, and sitting upon it was …

  “Princess Song?” said Meilin, stupefied.

  The girl laughed and raced across the hall. She hugged Meilin. “My friend! You’re here!”

  Conor frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Song gestured to Kana. “Chains? Really, Kana? Please free Meilin and her friends.”

  Kana bowed and drew out a key. A minute later Conor was rubbing his wrists as the manacles were unlocked.

  Song snapped her fingers. Servants appeared from the edges of the room, carrying plates piled with food. “You all look starved,” she said. Song picked a spiced bun from one of the trays and handed it delicately to Meilin. “As I remember, you seemed to like these quite a bit! I had them specially prepared.”

  Beside Conor, Rollan grabbed up a chicken leg. “Ship food does leave a lot to be desired.”

  Meilin didn’t seem to have an appetite. She placed the bun back on a nearby tray. “Princess Song … what’s going on?”

  The girl turned suddenly. “Empress Song, don’t you mean?”

  Meilin nodded, taken by surprise. Slowly, she bowed to the girl. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

  Song picked up a grape. “Anyway, I’d think it was obvious what’s happening. The Oathbound are retrieving the four Greencloak relics. And funny enough, it seems that the last one has been right under my nose.” She bit delicately into the grape, smiling at its sweetness.

  Meilin grimaced. Her eyes flicked to Kana. “I don’t understand. The relics are symbols of the Greencloaks. Now that you have us, why aren’t we on trial? Why chase the gifts?”