Pranter was painfully thin. He no longer seemed part of the solid, real world, but rather a wraith somehow visible in the daylight. He couldn't walk without assistance, and even standing still, he wobbled. In one hand he clutched the scepter of Alemar Dragonslayer.
"We see it all now so clearly," Pranter said weakly. "The Dragon sequestered himself these past decades because he was maturing. We knew it would happen one day. Now the skies are his. Our doom is upon us."
"I'm not ready to give up yet," Keron said.
Pranter smiled humorlessly. "We don't have much time on our side, boy."
"There is one chance."
The king raised one eyebrow high. "Oh?"
"We have to kill the Dragon."
Pranter chuckled. "I wish I was young enough to share your optimism. I have dreamed of that impossibility, praying that any moment your children would return from the desert, or some inspiration would be sent by the gods. But it has been two years. Your twins have died, Keron. All our hopes have died. It is time to cut our losses."
Keron swallowed. The taste of his own bile was bitter. He could not deny that he, too, had decided that Alemar and Elenya had perished on their quest.
Pranter tapped his scepter pensively. "The talismans must be taken to safety – away from Elandris. We may lose the country, but our heritage from Alemar the Great must be preserved. You are the man I trust most to execute the task."
At first, Keron was not sure he had heard right. "You're asking me to run?"
"In a way. Would you rather remain as head of the navy, and have to watch your ships turned to charcoal? I need you to continue the fight, and to do that, you have to find higher ground. It doesn't exist here."
"What of you, my king?"
"I am on death's doorstep. What point to make me a refugee? My body would not survive the journey. I will stay, where the loyal can rally to me, and keep the kingdom free as long as heart and body will bear it. That's how my life can best serve a purpose."
"I don't like abandoning you," Keron said.
"Forget me. There is more than one dynasty or kingdom at stake here. I do not believe Gloroc will stop when Elandris is defeated. He is not like the dragons of old; he has lived among humans too long. He has learned ambition. In time he will want the world."
Pranter extended his arm, offering the royal scepter to Keron. The admiral hesitated.
"Take it."
He did so reluctantly. It felt alive; he could almost feel a pulse running down its handle.
"This is the one thing he fears – this and all the artifacts our ancestor left behind." The speech made the old man's body shake. "We must keep the threat alive, or he will come to rule us all. Do this for me. Choose your own men and your own destination, and be gone. Be invisible. Be a threat."
"I'll prepare at once," Keron replied.
Nanth was in the parlor showing their youngest daughter how to embroider. Keron watched from the doorway for several moments before revealing his presence. Nanth was no longer the carefully crafted beauty of two or three decades earlier, and their marriage, a prearranged affair that had never been perfect even before Keron had encountered Lerina, had endured some unpleasant moments. But as she turned and smiled at him, it was hard to bring the lie to his lips.
"Val and I are going to the palace," he said as he kissed her head and that of his daughter. "We should be back in a few hours."
He didn't return her smile, but Nanth wouldn't think that strange. There had been little to be happy about in the two weeks since the Dragon had appeared above Firsthold.
Keron met his son just outside their home. The boy was doing his best to hide his red eyes. Both of them had decided he should not try to bid his mother farewell; Val wasn't mature enough to put up a convincing facade.
They set out for the palace. Keron's bodyguards automatically dropped into place behind them. The streets were lightly travelled, although it was barely dusk, normally a social hour. There was a strange pall about the city, a grimness. They felt unhappy eyes peering at them from upper-story windows. The ocean above, normally crystalline, was tainted by sediment.
Two blocks down they came upon the site of a looting. Someone had broken into the storeroom of one of Firsthold's best inns. The city militia were restoring order. A pair of men in uniform started toward Keron's group, recognized him, and turned away again.
It's beginning already. Keron had heard reports of fighting the previous night. Rationing had been put into effect the day after the Dragon's attack. The mood of the city was growing thicker. Keron's final project as admiral of the navy had been to send a huge fleet of ships to T'jet with the sole purpose of bringing back as many provisions as could be stuffed into the holds. There were more ships, with more skilled wizards aboard, than the Dragon could intimidate alone. He would have to rouse his navy. The ships, unlike Gloroc, would be vulnerable. The royalists could, at least, cause the enemy pain.
In the meantime, those left behind in this city, or any of the other communities of free Elandris, felt the noose tighten about their necks.
Keron and Val left behind the bodyguards at the entrance to the palace, walking in stony silence through side corridors to the king's chambers. The sentries admitted them, and they soon stood in a parlor rarely visited by any save the king, his family, and inner household servants. The king and a bald man in a captain's tunic waited at the rear of the room, near an alabaster statue of Miranda.
"Enret," Keron said, clasping hands with the captain. His longtime friend nodded back.
To one side were almost twenty carefully assembled packs. Each contained a talisman of Alemar Dragonslayer. Most of them would be leaving Firsthold for the first time in more than a millennium.
One by one, the others joined them. Keron examined their faces as they assembled in front of him. Good men. The best that he and Enret could pick. He met their glances with compassion. Every one of them was leaving behind a wife, mother, sister, or child – loved ones who would have to guess at their man's fate. Only the king and the men themselves would know how they left the city.
Soon they were all assembled, but one. Enret noted the hourglass and coughed. "Should we leave anyway?"
"He has to go," the king said. They waited a short while, and the last man appeared.
Keron rarely saw his cousin, Treynaf. The latter was an effeminate, dour man nearly as old as the admiral. He wore his hair close-cropped, like the ancient wizard-kings of Acalon, and was not popular at court, but he was able to activate the globe of Alemar, which he even now nestled in his hands. Pranter insisted that any who could use the talismans should accompany the party. That was why Val was present.
"What news, Cousin?" asked Keron.
Treynaf rubbed the crystal reverently. His eyes briefly glazed over. "I see a long swim," he answered tonelessly.
That was hardly news. They couldn't risk travel by ship, nor would they stop at cities along the way, for fear that the Dragon would somehow pick up their trail. They would literally swim to the coast.
It was unfortunate that Treynaf was not more worthy of the globe's potential, Keron thought. He could have foreseen useful things, such as the Dragon's recent attack.
The king stood. The others bowed to him.
"Follow this man," the king said, pointing his scepter at Keron. "He will be your monarch now." With a trembling, unsteady hand, he placed the head of the scepter against the wall behind him. Double doors suddenly became visible and opened inward, revealing a narrow, unlit tunnel that smelled of stagnant air.
"May you all outlive the Dragon," Pranter declared.
Enret took the lead, letting the others follow single file. At last only Keron was left with the aged, rightful ruler of Elandris. Pranter suddenly swayed, maintaining his balance only by placing his hand on Keron's shoulder. When he was steady, he handed the scepter to the younger man.