Michael A. Stackpole - Dragon Crown Saga 3 - When Dragons Rage

WHEN DRAGONS RAGE

DragonCrown Saga 03

Michael A. Stackpole

To the memory of Austin H. Kerin

(If not for his book, I’d not be a writer today.)

Acknowledgments

Anne Lesley Groell has the patience of a saint and was quite kind with me as this book

groaned along well past deadline. The errors herein are mine, and the dearth of them is all

her doing. The author would also like to thank all of those readers who made good their

promise to read some fantasy while awaiting their next BattleMech or lightsaber fix.

THE NORRINGTON PROPHECY

A Norrington to lead them,

Immortal, washed in fire

Victorious, from sea to ice.

Power of the north he will shatter,

A scourge he will kill,

Then Vorquellyn will redeem.

CHAPTER 1

A misty blue curtain descended over Princess Alexia of Okrannel, obscuring her

surroundings. Save that something felt solid beneath her feet, she would have had no way of

discerning up from down. Not that there really is any ground here — or up or down.

She lifted her head and gazed forward, trying to see the mountain she knew loomed afar.

In accord with her thought, the cerulean mist swirled and parted, bleeding down and away

into low fog that tugged at the hem of her gown. In the distance she did see the

sharp-peaked mountain blotting out a wedge of starry night sky.

Though the mountaintop lay miles away, she reached it in three long-legged strides. She

smiled, for melting of both the mist and the miles were not the only changes wrought as she

moved forward. She had arrived in the mist in a simple white gown with a short cape, but by

the time she reached the mountain and the arched mouth of the cavern near its top, her

clothing had shifted to a warrior’s tunic, simple trousers, and a good pair of boots.

She recognized her clothes as those she had last seen Crow wearing. This surprised her

because though she was operating in a magickal realm where her whim could shape reality,

she had not consciously chosen Crow’s raiment. Either her mind was betraying her, or other

forces held a certain sway in the Communion’s domain.

Alyx glanced up at the stone arch defining the cave’s mouth, and gathered her long,

white-blonde hair over her shoulder. Unconsciously plaiting it, she read, “The secrets within

are secret without, for the good of all the world.” While hardly lyrical or powerful, the words

described what would happen to discussions held beyond the arch. Nothing she said or

heard could be shared in the waking world.

She shivered and set her shoulders. In Yslin — mere months previous, though it seemed

like years — she had been invited to join the world’s eldest and most elite secret society:

the Great Communion of Dragons. Any Communicant could access their enchanted

meeting place in a trance that would appear to be simple sleep to observers. Alexia had

tucked herself into bed at the Scarlet Mask Inn before she traveled here. This was her first

conscious journey to the Communion, so a touch of fear fluttered in her belly.

Still braiding her hair, she entered the cavern, occasionally ducking her head around

low-hanging stalactites. She threaded her way along a dimly glowing curved path that led

down to a vast arch that bridged a crevasse. She could not see the bottom of it and

suspected it had none. The span linking one side to the other was narrow, and try as she

might she could not make it appear any broader. On the other side, the cavern closed into a

twisting, serpentine tunnel that worked its way down, and finally opened into a vast chamber

filled with moist air and the gentle ripple of water washing up on a shore.

A boat waited at the end of a pier that jutted into the dark underground lake. The boat

had no masts and had been styled after a dragon, with a fearsome head curving up from the

bow. Back on the wheeldeck stood a steel construct, animated by magick, that appeared to

be the marriage of human and dragon forms. Its massive, clawed hands rested on the

wheel. Its dark eyes did not show any light, nor did it acknowledge her as she boarded

amidships.

She glanced at it. “Maroth, take me forth.”

The ship lurched slightly, then began to move across the lake. Alexia strode to the bow.

Water flowed noisily by under the keel, and some splashed up to sprinkle coldly on her face.

She felt the rush of the passage in the breeze upon her face, but the ship sped into a

starless void that provided few visual clues as to movement. Glancing back she saw nothing

of the pier, but when she turned to look forward again, an island had appeared, towering

over the boat as it moved to a small quay.

The boat glided to rest, bumping only slightly, and Alexia leaped effortlessly to the granite

quay. She turned and tossed the pilot a salute. “Thank you, Maroth.”

The mechanical creature made no response.

Alexia mounted the steps and slowly began to recognize the places from which bits and

pieces of the island had been drawn. The steps reminded her of the seaside entry into

Fortress Draconis, though she saw none of the dragonel ports that had defended its “small

harbor. And the island still boasted the soaring cylindrical towers typical of strongholds

predating Chytrine’s creation of weapons that could raze them. The island also bore no

scars of battle, and though Fortress Draconis had yet to fall the last time she saw it, she

imagined Chytrine’s assault had by now reduced it to smoking, corpse-ridden ruins.

Up the steps she went, then crested the island’s rim and began a steep descent to its

interior. A lush garden greeted her, rich with blossoms that bloomed despite the twilight. The

scented symphony of their nocturnal perfume exceeded their beauty. Some of the trees bore

fruit and her mouth began to water.

Alyx smiled, wondering if her mouth was watering in this illusion, or back in the tavern.

Could I pluck some of the fruit? Would it taste delicious when I bit into it?

“It would, in fact, daughter.”

She spun, dropping into a combat stance, then relaxed and straightened. “You surprised

me.”

“My apologies.” The rough figure of a man materialized from a shadowed grove. Thickly

and powerfully built, he wore a black surcoat worked with a scale pattern reminiscent of

dragon flesh. His gauntlets and boots — both of which were armored and ended in talons —

continued that theme. The elaborate helm he wore fully hid his face, but the golden eyes

glowed and moved as if they were real, and even the ears seemed to function.

Alyx knew the man chose to wear that form here, and had enough ease with his

surroundings to look however he chose. What she was able to do with clothing, he could do

with his whole person. And more.

The Black Dragon reached up and plucked a ripe, red apple from the tree above him. “It

will provide no nutrition, but will be pleasing nonetheless.”

Alyx straightened up and pressed a hand to her stomach. “I am not certain I could keep

food down at the moment.”

The Black’s eyes narrowed. “What news of the world, then? What has happened?”

Alexia rubbed a hand over her forehead before she graced him with a violet-eyed

glance. “After last I spoke with you, much, very much. Because of your warning, Adrogans

sent some of us to Wruona to wrest the Jeranese fragment of the DragonCrown from the

pirates. We got it and got away. What little remained of their fleet after the raid on Vilwan

was laid to waste by Kerrigan.”

“I knew you had met with some success, but I don’t know Kerrigan.”

She hesitated for a moment. “Kerrigan Reese. He is from Vilwan, and not more than

seventeen. He’s tall, but a suet-ball that could easily be dismissed as some overindulged

noble’s child. He’s smart, however, and has incredible power. He can command spells that

no human has ever mastered, and yet others that have not been employed since the time of

Yrulph Kirun.”

The Black nodded solemnly. “He who was Chytrine’s mentor. So young a man wielding

such power could be dangerous. He’s mature beyond his years, is he?”

Alyx looked at the apple in the Black’s hand and imagined it in hers. It appeared in her

hand, and then evaporated. “I wish he were, but he’s not. His last teacher, Orla, tried to

make him grow up, but she died on Wruona. He’s pushed himself hard since then, and

worked diligently for the Draconis Baron, but without something to give him direction, I don’t

know what he’s going to do. The impact of Orla’s death has yet to sink in, and if he loses

control, he could be extremely dangerous.”

The man began to pace. “The Norrington. He was with you, too?”

“Yes. Will.” Alyx smiled. “He’s a thief, and very good at it. He has little in the way of

conscience, though one seems to be growing. Peri — Perrine, my sister from the Gyrkyme

— thinks he is good-hearted. I trust her judgment. After we escaped from Wruona we went

to Loquellyn. The elves weren’t about to let Peri set foot there, but Will made them

reconsider. He can be surprising that way. He’s young, too — younger than Kerrigan — and

can be very childish. But he’s game in a fight and capable of great cleverness.”

“Cleverness will be important, since he is the key to the prophecy that will destroy

Chytrine. We once thought it was his grandfather, or his father, Bosleigh. When they joined

Chytrine and became her sullanciri, that focused hopes on someone else.”

Alyx sighed. “We’ve met some of the sullanciri and even killed a few. You know I slew

one at Svoin. Resolute later killed Ganagrei south of Fortress Draconis, after we evacuated

with refugees. Do you have news of the Fortress?”

The Black Dragon shook his head. “Nothing reliable, except that news from there is rare.

That suggests the worst: that Chytrine’s forces have completely laid it to waste. Balancing

that, however, is the fact that her armies have not yet moved south, so she still may be

searching for the DragonCrown fragments there.”

“Or the defenders so chewed up her army that she needs to wait for reinforcements.”

Alexia tapped a finger on her chin. “A mix of the two is also possible. That was a big place,

with lots of tunnels and warrens. There could be survivors holding out, still fighting. It might

have been broken, but crushing it completely would be difficult.”

The Black faced her. “I shall hope your assessment is accurate. I suspect you will learn

sooner than I if it is. But how is it that you are not there?”

“Chytrine allowed Oriosans and noncombatants free passage to the south. I did not want

to go, but Dothan Cavarre asked me to safeguard his wife and children as they returned to

Oriosa. I didn’t know until earlier today that he had an ulterior motive‘.” Alexia hesitated for a

second. “The Draconis Baron had gotten Kerrigan to create a duplicate for one piece of the

Dragon-Crown, which was left behind as he smuggled the real one out. Chytrine was

deceived, though she still sent troops after us. We held them off — that’s when Resolute

killed Ganagrei.“

“There’s nothing wrong with killing sullanciri. How long ago was that?”

“Two weeks? No, only eighteen days. Once we reached Sebcia we got relays of fresh

horses and pushed hard to reach Oriosa with Ryhope. When we crossed the border,

Kerrigan told us he had the fragment. He also said he’d worked a spell on another fragment.

He’s not sure whether Chytrine will detect it, but if not, it will feed her sense of paranoia, and

that will be to our advantage.”

The Black Dragon nodded. “It will, very much so.” The figure’s head came up as he

turned to regard her. “You did not come here while on the road — despite having left

Fortress Draconis and having seen a sullanciri destroyed.”

Alexia blinked. “I didn’t realize there was…”

The Black shook his head. “No, there is no requirement for you to share anything,

daughter. What I was leading to was this: these things were quite momentous, and seeking

perspective on them would be understandable. It was not until you were out of danger,

however, that you came here. What else has happened?”

She frowned. “You told me, when first I met you, that I could trust Crow. When we reached

Oriosa his countrymen arrested him. They have him in custody. You knew who he was, didn’t

you?”

The dark figure slowly nodded, and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “I have

known his identity for a long time.”

“How could you tell me I could trust him? He’s Tarrant Hawkins, the man who betrayed

the last expedition sent to destroy Chytrine. Kenwick Norrington became a sullanciri

because of him.” Her hands closed into fists. “There are some who say he even got my

father killed.”

“You feel betrayed.”

“Yes!” The emotions coursing through her surprised Alexia. She hadn’t completely taken

the Black Dragon at his word, but his comments pertaining to Crow had disposed her well

toward the man. To find out that he was the most evil man outside Chytrine’s legions had

hurt.

“You feel a bit betrayed by me, since I told you to trust him, but more by Crow, isn’t that

it?” The Black cocked his head slightly. “You perhaps wonder why he didn’t tell you who he

was, and yet you react with the same revulsion anyone would. Yes, Tarrant Hawkins has

been painted as an evil man, but you have had experience of him. Is Crow evil?”

“It doesn’t matter. A man cannot change from his past.”

The Black Dragon snorted, puffs of cool blue flame jetting from each nostril. “Then, I

would suggest, daughter, that you have a choice of two explanations. The first is that Crow is

as evil as Hawkins is in legend, and that Crow managed to deceive you. The second…“

Alexia’s eyes narrowed.“… The second is that Hawkins was as courageous as Crow,

and the legends about him are wrong. But, if that were true, why would he allow such lies to

be spread?”

The Black’s jaw opened in a dragonish grin. “That was not a choice given to him, Alexia.

People saw him as a threat. They neutralized him. He is lucky to yet be alive. Enduring lies

is better than lying in a grave.”

“What threat could he have been?”

“He told the crowned heads that Chytrine would come for their realms in a generation,

and this was a message they did not want to hear or have heard by others.”

“They knew she would come back?” Alexia raised her fists to her temples. “Amid the

Gyrkyme it was supposed that someday Chytrine would return, but no one knew she had

vowed to do so. You’re telling me the crowned heads knew she would return and did not

prepare? That no one prepared save the Draconis Baron and King Augustus? How could

they?”

“A crown on the head does not guarantee brains in the skull.”

“But to ignore the threat is criminal!”

“Yes, but recall they lived in fear. A sullanciri slew Queen Lanivette in Meredo, in her

castle, with all of her troops waiting to oppose him.”

She nodded. “Leaving Scrainwood as king, and likely a willing collaborator with

Chytrine.”

“Of course, and what other ruler could not fear the same fate for himself and his nation?”

The Black’s eyes half-lidded. “For many, the assumption was that if they did nothing,

Chytrine would not see them as a threat. What they did not realize was that to do nothing to

oppose a tyrant in fact aids that tyrant.”

Alexia opened her mouth for a second, then closed it. “And Crow and Resolute have

spent two and a half decades opposing her.”

“They’ve not been alone. And they are trusted.” The Black Dragon began pacing again.

“The Draconis Baron would never have allowed Crow to travel with you if he did not trust

him.”

“You’re saying Cavarre knew?”

“He must have, yes.”

“Who else?”

The Black shrugged. “Augustus, certainly; a few others. Once Hawkins was believed

dead, he passed from notice. Some of the Vorquelves know, but the Vorquelves would

never betray Crow, since he is a key to getting their homeland back.”

Alyx shivered. The revelation of Crow’s true identity had shaken and confused her. He

was a comrade in arms, a friend. She liked him. He had risked his life to save her. He had

opposed and destroyed sullanciri. He had given her good counsel. He had lied to her, but

only to hide his identity.

“Crow knew my father, then?”

“They were well acquainted, for a time. Hawkins impressed your father with his honesty

and courage.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You knew my father?”

“I never had the pleasure of embracing him and calling him brother, but I did know him

and certainly knew of him. He was a good man, and he would be inordinately proud of you.”

The Black grinned again. “But we can reminisce about your father another time, because it

was your concern over Crow that brought you here.”

His comment brought her up short. “Can you read my mind?”

He shrugged. “As you get more practice here, you will become more comfortable. I am

not really reading your mind; there are just some things you are thinking rather loudly. For

example, you are correct in supposing that Crow should not be executed for the crimes he

was accused of so long ago. You will think of a plan to rescue him, though I urge caution in

executing anything that would put you on the wrong side of authority. You are a princess,

albeit of a nation still occupied by Aurolani forces, but you can use your station.”

She smiled. “Even though I’d rather just break him out of the root cellar where he’s being

held and disappear?”

“I like the direct approach as much as you do, but that’s a plan that will label you nothing

more than a strong arm with a sword. You will need a different plan: one to confuse your

enemies and keep them off balance.”

“Chytrine will not care.”

“It wasn’t of her that I was speaking.” The Black gave her a golden-eyed stare. “Chytrine

is not the only one who desires power in the south. As you become powerful, others will find

reason to oppose you. They are a cautious lot, however, and the more you give them to think

about, the slower they act.”

“And now you’ve given me something to think about.” She smiled, hearing in the Black’s

words something Crow had told her back in Yslin. “Yes. I think I have a plan to save Crow. All

I need to do is…”

The Black held a hand up. “Don’t say anything, or you will be unable to mention it in the

physical world. If what I glean in flashes from your thoughts is at all accurate, however, this

plan will do as much to confuse your enemies as it will to save Crow — both of which I

applaud heartily.”

“Thank you. And, belatedly, thank you for the warning about the theft of the Jeranese

fragment of the DragonCrown. If you had said nothing, Chytrine would now have it.”

The Black shook his head. “No thanks are required. Telling you was all I could do. You

did the hard work, and all the praise is deservedly yours. And now you will save Crow, for

which I shall also be grateful. Go now, daughter, and do what you must. The world requires

it.“

The Black gestured, and a wave of dizziness washed over Alexia. She blacked out for a

moment, then reappeared in her bed, the din of the tavern’s common room buzzing up

through the wooden floor. The plan she’d formulated had crystallized in her mind. Throwing

back the blanket, she swung her long legs from the bed and began tugging her boots on.

“Crow, you’ve spent a lifetime saving other folks. Starting now, that investment gets paid

back.”

CHAPTER 2

Will Norrington paced the floor at the foot of the bed, shooting venomous glances at the

powerfully built Vorquelf leaning back against the headboard. “They’re going to kill Crow.

How can you just sit there? Some friend you are.”

Resolute blinked once, slowly, then regarded the youth with a cold, argent gaze. “Choose

your words carefully, boy.”

A shiver ran down Will’s spine, but the hot fury racing through him didn’t let that chill get

far. “Are you going to kill me because of what I’m saying?”

“No.” The single word came husky and low, more growled than spoken. Because he was

of elven stock, Resolute had long limbs. And, were he standing, the brush of white hair that

ran in a stripe over his skull would have touched the ceiling. Moreover, the Vorquelf lacked

the slender build of most elves. His arms rippled with muscle, and the flesh sheathing them

was amply decorated with arcane tattoos. Scars likewise crisscrossed his skin, with thick

knots standing out on his knuckles.

The Vorquelf’s eyes tightened. “You should choose your words carefully, because you’ll

be eating them if you continue. Out with what you’re really thinking.”

Will, who was Resolute’s physical antithesis — being small, slender, and relatively

unmarked in his youth, with grey eyes and brown hair — planted his fists on his hips and

frowned. “I am saying what I think. I think we should go out there, pull Crow out of that

turnip-bin they’re keeping him in, and get away from here.”

“Really?” The Vorquelf’s silver eyes had no whites, no pupils, so Will couldn’t be sure

when he was being stared at or not. “Let us play with your scenario, shall we? Not with the

obvious things, though.”

“Such as?”

“Such as having no place to go. Such as being outnumbered by the troops on hand.”

“Local militia. We could slip past them and spirit Crow away, and you know it.”

Resolute did allow a faint flicker of a smile to flash over his face for a heartbeat.

“Regardless, they would come after us.”

“So we kill them.”

“Really?” The Vorquelf’s expression tightened. “For what?”

“They are going to kill Crow. Did you miss that when Call Mably met us out on the road?

They think Crow was this Hawkins, and he’s under a death sentence. They’ll take him to

Meredo, King Scrainwood will pretend to listen to him, and then he’ll kill him. It’s wrong!”

“Why?”

Will’s eyes widened. “Because Crow isn’t Hawkins. He isn’t the Traitor, and there’s no

way we can let them take him. If some of them have to die because they’re too stupid to see

the truth, well, sometimes stupidity is a fatal disease.”

“It is, at that. I’d be careful, though.”

Something in Resolute’s tone sliced into Will’s outrage. “What is it?”

The Vorquelf arched an eyebrow. “All your posturing is built on your belief that they have

mistaken Crow for Hawkins.”

“They have.”

Resolute shook his head. “No, they haven’t. Crow was Hawkins.”

Will’s jaw dropped and he hunched forward, grabbing the foot of the bed. He felt as if

he’d been gut-punched, for no breath could come. He knew from the Vorquelf’s voice that

there was no deception, no hidden meaning in those words — and try as he might, he could

find no way to twist them.

But that’s impossible! Everyone knew the story of the Traitor, the one who betrayed the

world’s heroes to Chytrine. In songs he had become Squab, always conniving and craven,

always defeated. It was common knowledge that the real Hawkins had killed himself in

shame over what he had done.

“No, it can’t be. Not Crow.” Will looked up and caught Resolute’s unwavering gaze. A

lump rose in his throat and tears began to leak from his eyes. Crying? No, no, no. He

covered his face with one hand and slammed his right fist down on the bed. “You’re wrong.

You have to be.”

Resolute kept his voice even. “You’re smarter than that, boy. Think, boy, think the way I

know you can.”

The youth looked up and swiped at his tears. “What’s there to think, Resolute? Crow

can’t be Hawkins. Hawkins was a coward and a schemer. Crow isn’t.“

“You were there, Will. Crow gave himself over without a fight.”

“Sure, sure, but he did that to protect the rest of us. He’s like that, trusting the mistake

would be straightened out.” Will smiled, nodding. “He’s too trusting, and you know it.”

“Yes, he is. So was Hawkins.” The Vorquelf drew his knees up and rested his arms on

them. “That was why Hawkins had to die.”

Will leaned heavily on the foot of the bed and shook his head. “I don’t believe it. How

could Crow be Hawkins?”

“Because he was too trusting. The basic story is true. Hawkins accompanied Lord

Norrington, your grandfather, and Leigh Norrington, your father, on the last war against

Chytrine. That was a quarter century ago. Along the way your father found a terrible sword,

Temmer. It made him invincible in battle, though not invulnerable. The price the wielder paid

was that he would lose his last battle.

“That last battle came at Fortress Draconis. Chytrine had one ancient sullanciri — an

undead hoargoun. You saw some of the frost giants at Svoin, though this one had been

dead long before I was born. It used fear the way a skunk uses stink. The warriors who faced

it broke and ran, your father among them. Only two men stood to oppose it.”

Will looked up. “At that interior gate?”

Resolute nodded solemnly. “Your father had run, and Scrainwood with him. Hawkins ran,

too, but his fear was for your father. He found him, took Temmer from him, and slew the

sullanciri‘’

“Really?” The young thief frowned. “I never heard that.”

“Those who were there knew it, but many had been so fear-mad they seldom wanted to

think about that whole battle.”

“You said two men stood against it. The other was Princess Alexia’s father, wasn’t it?”

The Vorquelf nodded. “You saw the plaza at Fortress Draconis. You saw where he died.

Hawkins couldn’t save him, but he saved many others. Because of that, he was selected to

go north with your grandfather and King Augustus, to chase after Chytrine’s retreating army.

When Chytrine split off from the army, Hawkins was allowed to join the band heading after

her.”

“Of course; he had Temmer.”

“No. Temmer was shattered killing the sullanciri” The Vorquelf’s head turned toward the

sword with the keystone pommel. “That is Tsamoc, and the sword Hawkins carried as he

went after Chytrine.”

Will nodded. He’d seen Crow use the sword in battle. It had a glowing, opalescent gem

set in the blade’s forte. The sword had enough magick in it to been using it at the time.

“That band of heroes knew they were off on a suicide mission, but they went anyway.

Only it turned out to be worse than that, for Chytrine trapped them. She slew some, hurt

others badly, but turned all to her will. She made them into her new sullanciri, since the old

ones had been slain. And she tortured Hawkins, physically and mentally. She offered to

make him her consort, to give him all of the Southlands if he would lead her troops.

“Hawkins refused and survived her attempt to kill him. He came south and reported to the

crowned heads what Chytrine had told him: that the children of that day would never live to

see their own children mature. She vowed to invade again, and everyone knew her threat

was a potent one.”

Will frowned. “But if things are as you say, then Hawkins did nothing wrong. Why does

Scrainwood want him dead?”

“Scrainwood’s hatred for Hawkins runs deep. Scrainwood wanted Temmer for himself.

He wanted to be a hero, but instead he proved a coward. Hawkins knew it. But, more

importantly, the kings and queens faced a problem. Okrannel had fallen to Chytrine, and that

scared a lot of people. They knew that if Chytrine’s threats were made common knowledge,

there would be panic. People would revolt. The safety people craved would mean their sons

and daughters would be sent off to die fighting for Okrannel. It was the same reasoning they

have used when they refuse to liberate my homeland, Vorquellyn. Hawkins had to be

destroyed so he would never be believed.”

Resolute’s chin came up. “In Yslin, in Fortress Gryps, Hawkins’ father stripped him of his

mask. His father told him he had no son named Tarrant. It wasn’t quite then that Crow was

born, but that was surely when Hawkins died. We Vorquelves took him in, because we know

what it is to be without a home. And we knew Hawkins couldn’t be the person they said he

was.”

Resolute smiled, his eyes narrowing at the same time. “Not long after I met Hawkins, he

vowed he’d see Vorquellyn liberated in his lifetime. Just as Oracle knew you were part of a

prophecy, part of the web of events that would lead to Vorquellyn’s redemption, so we knew

Hawkins was part of it, too. Because of that, we knew the rumors had to be false.”

Will blinked. “You’re telling me all this, and yet you’re not helping me to free him? Fat lot

of good his execution will do your island’s redemption.”

Resolute shook his head fiercely. “You’re missing it, boy; think. For over two decades

Crow never set foot in Oriosa. Why? Because we knew, at some point, someone would let

the truth slip. Vorquelven minstrels started the Squab songs. They started the rumor that

Hawkins had killed himself, and people believed it because they thought a traitor ought to

have the decency to kill himself in shame. Later, the same minstrels started the Kedyn’s

Crow songs — all of them true, mind you. Despite all that, though, we knew that coming to

Oriosa would be too risky.“

“Why did he do it, then?”

“You can answer that question.”

Will closed his eyes and concentrated. Crow had spent a quarter century fighting

Chytrine. He had searched the world for Will, knowing he was the last of the Norrington

bloodline, which was prophesied to destroy Chytrine. He’d fought to destroy her troops and

to keep her from obtaining a fragment of the DragonCrown. And, coming south, they’d killed

another sullanciri and returned Princess Ryhope and her children to Oriosa.

The thief opened his eyes again. “Crow felt that getting here, delivering Ryhope, was

worth the risk of his life?”

“Ryhope? You were more important, Will. You are the Norrington.”

Will rolled his eyes. “That’s beside the point. We can’t let Crow rot in that pit they’ve got

him in.”

“We won’t, but breaking in and pulling him out isn’t going to work, either. You can be

smart, Will, so use your head.”

Michael A. Stackpole - Dragon Crown Saga 3 - When Dragons Rage

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