The Grand Crusade Read Free Page B

feathers after the pattern of a falcon, she smiled and hugged her sister.
    “King Augustus called the crowns together when I told him you were coming. They were grumbling, but this display silenced the lot of them. Well done, Dranae.”
    Dravothrak, now having assumed the form of a tall, powerfully built man with dark hair and a full thick beard, bowed his head. “I am glad it was effective.” He fastened the red cloak at his throat and gathered it about him to cover his nudity.
    Alexia peered into the thinning fog, seeing dim forms moving through it. “Which way?”
    Before Peri could answer, a small, green, humanoid creature, with four arms, four glassy wings, two legs, and two antennae above compound eyes, buzzed in through the fog and circled the group. “This way. Qwc knows. Come, come, hurry, hurry.” In the blink of an eye he was off again with a ghostly vapor vortex curling in his wake.
    Alyx slipped her right hand through the crook of Crow’s elbow and followed the Spritha. Dranae and Erlestoke came next, with Resolute and Peri bringing up the rear. Dressed for winter—and most armed for war—the company struck a sharp contrast with those assembled for the council. The guards stationed on the walls and along the passages were outfitted for combat, but Saporicia had clearly sent its best troops northeast to the Murosan border. These soldiers were old or very young—and some were still pale from having seen a dragon land in the courtyard, then vanish in flame and fog.
    The royal retainers for the various leaders wore finery that mocked the state of the world. Alyx suppressed a shiver as she imagined whole households planning how they could array their wardrobes to best advantage. While the kings and queens would deliberate, their staffs would battle each other, pressing advantages and wresting concessions. Politics necessitated they look ahead, past Chytrine, to position themselves to take best advantage—even if that positioning might be exactly what allowed Chytrine to take over the world.
    Ahead, Qwc hung in the air at each intersection, making the courtiers sent to escort them shrink back. Some did so at a buzzed word, but at least one clawed at his face. The Spritha had spat a smothering wad of webbing at that man, and Alyx’s horror was transformed into wicked delight as she recognized the purple face as that of Cabot Marsham, King Scrainwood’s aide.
    Marsham, his face still sticky with white tendrils, started to snarl, but
    Erlestoke cut him off with a sharp command. “Back away, dog. You should feel blessed he deigned to notice someone as insignificant as you.”
    Marsham’s chubby face drained immediately of color. He gagged, then turned and darted away, heading up the stairs to which Qwc pointed. The chamberlain slipped twice in his haste, crying out as he barked his shins once, but scrambled on quickly.
    Erlestoke laughed. “He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.”
    Alyx graced him with a raised eyebrow. “Youarebelieved dead, you know.”
    “Indeed. Shouldn’t he have been happier to see me?”
    Resolute just growled.
    They mounted the broad stone stairs and ascended to the second landing. The short corridor leading east opened into a large room with vaulted ceilings and fanciful murals depicting spring revels. Three large windows at the room’s far end admitted a flood of morning light that silhouetted many of the functionaries in the back rows of benches. Toward the front, however, where rulers and their most important advisors gathered behind tables and banners proclaiming their nations, Alexia had no difficulty recognizing faces.
    She likewise recognized the expressions which, at first, as they caught sight of Erlestoke, went from shock to guarded delight. Then some, rather quickly, darkened. Others followed, heads turning to confer with companions. Necks craned, heads bobbed, then whispers began to filter back and forth, filling the chamber.
    King Fidelius, a small man of middle years with thin grey hair and a