From Embers Read Free

work to do. There are preparations to be made for the coming spring: walls to be mended, roofs repaired, and a dozen major projects in each region."
    The prince cocked his head, bewildered at this denial, then ran his gaze around the circle. Most would not meet his eyes. Even young Erik shook his head, before nodding across at Gunther. "He speaks the truth, Wotan, and you know it. We had just started work on a dam at Highford when your mutt called me here, and I am anxious to get back to it. Should I leave that work undone, to carry a message to the king of Men? Is there any chance he will believe us?"
    Wotan rocked back at the question. He hadn't considered it, but if even his own chieftains could not believe it....
    Gunther nodded sharply. "That's it," he said. "It is a pointless errand, in service of a little fear." He turned to the others, likely afraid to speak directly to his prince, but he did not shrink away. "Perhaps the spring isn’t as quiet as you’d like it. Perhaps there are troubles with your mines and some tremors in the ground. But spring work demands more attention than your idle fears.” He finished and sat for a moment, pondering. Then he nodded sharply again and climbed to his feet. "And for that very reason, I must take my leave."
    Wotan only stared. He felt thunderclouds gathering in his breast, outrage and anger piling up at Gunther's stone-headedness, but mostly he felt astonished. He had never faced such open defiance—dismissal—and he could ill afford to allow it now.
    "Gunther!" he shouted. "Take your place."
    The chieftain only raised his chin. Before Wotan could shout again, Erik spoke up again from the other side of the table. “I mean no disrespect, Highness, but perhaps Gunther is right. Perhaps we are swinging at spiders. Spring is always a time of trouble. I have felt it as much as any of us, but it is a long run to believe.... Well, to claim what you claim. Ten thousand dragons awakened at once? A world awash in fire? I've heard the stories, too—my father survived the second swarm as a boy—but here? And now? Ten thousand wyrms at once? I find that hard hewing indeed. Has any of us seen a dragon at all?” He waited for an answer and nodded at the silence. "Not even one."
    The prince pressed both hands flat on the ancient table. He pushed himself to his feet. He drew himself up, he caught his breath. His heart hammered as though he were about to go to war, and in a way he was. He fixed his gaze on Gunther first and then on Erik. He opened his mouth.
    But before he spoke, the Wolfhound let out a great yelp and leaped to its feet. It threw a shoulder against the door to knock it open, then lurched out into the gathering gloom without. A disheveled figure was just then trudging the last few steps to the threshold, and the Wolfhound guided her forward to stumble wearily into the hall. Already on his feet, Wotan was the first to meet the haggard intruder. With a gentle hand he brushed back a mass of tangled hair to reveal the face of his wife, covered with scrapes and bruises from her half-day trek. She opened her arms to lay Michael on the floor at her feet; the boy shook himself a bit and squirmed into a more comfortable position on the wooden planks, but he never woke.
    Suddenly oblivious to the presence of the other Councilors, Wotan drew his wife against him in a protective embrace. “Elsa, dear." His voice caught. He coughed, and turned her face up to his. He shook his head. "What has brought you here?”
    "Michael," she said, and he could hear a touch of madness in her voice. "Our home. Wotan." A shadow passed before his eyes, and Elsa seemed to sense it, too. Her grip on his arms closed like pincers, and her eyes flashed unearthly terror. "Oh, Wotan."
    He leaned his forehead down to touch hers. "Elsa, you are safe. Michael is well. Come back to me, Elsa." Dimly he recalled the Council. He sensed them standing, now, gathered at a distance—anxious to express their concern,