The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(69)

“You’ve anticipated our call,” Chelson says. “Almond.” Chelson jabs at the urn on the sideboard. The owner pours Livion a bowl of pit roast, serves it on a matching dish, and leaves with the elevated dignity of one who’s been forced to perform a service below his presumed station.

Chelson says, “We’ve had news from Herse regarding our wolf pack.”

“I’ve had news myself,” Livion says, “from one of our trade riders.”

Chelson opens his hand. Livion relates what Omer told him. All but Chelson exchange glances when he mentions the second dragon.

Chelson says, “The general says the wolf pack was destroyed by Aydeni ships.”

Livion knows what a party line sounds like. The conversation was over before he arrived. Nevertheless, he says, “Our rider’s source was on the Pyg. I confirmed it.”

“Your rider’s source,” Chelson says, “was a wretch. Now dead.”

“He was very specific regarding dragons.”

“He saw fire. He heard explosions,” Chelson says. “The damage to the wrecks bears that out.”

“They’ve been found?”

“Yes,” Chelson says. “A dragon’s corpse was not, however. Only evidence of how our officers were treated by the Aydeni. Burned alive, the general said.”

“That would mean war,” Livion says. “A disaster for trade. For us. And,” he adds, “the city.”

“Trade knows no disaster,” Chelson says. “Only opportunities.”

This brings to mind another of Chelson’s axioms: “When one wave falls, another must rise.”

“The general will report at Council today,” Chelson says. “We can’t have any wild talk about dragons. As for the city, if there’s a war, we would rebuild it.”

Livion tallies the construction interests the Shield has assembled the past few years, the raw materials and weapons it’s stockpiled, the forests and quarries it’s acquired, all in anticipation of a war with Ayden. The markups will be enormous. As will the destruction.

“You look conflicted,” Chelson says. “I’m surprised. You’ve taken the long view before. It’s why you’re sitting here.” Chelson puts his hand on Livion’s arm. “I’m sure we can continue to count on you.”

Could the rider have been wrong? Livion thinks. If he contradicts the Shield at Council, his career would be over. He would lose Trist. And, if he’s wrong, he might leave Hanosh unprepared for an Aydeni attack.

Chelson notices Livion’s bowl. “You’ve barely touched your coffee. It is bitter today. Here.” He takes a tiny silver box from his pocket. The spoonful of sugar inside probably cost three of Livion’s monthlies. Chelson rubs a pinch into his bowl. “This will make it more palatable.”

Livion says, “An Aydeni attack would explain why Tuse’s ship hasn’t arrived either. It passed through the same area. It might have also been sunk.”

Chelson grunts and the owners respond in kind.

As Livion sips his coffee, trying not to scald his tongue, something occurs to him. “What if the other survivors spread the dragon story?”

“The general assures us there are no other survivors.”

Herse is playing a friendly game of hip ball against two brothers in a wide Upper City alley. People cheer them from doorways at either end of the alley, and the windows above. They admire the general’s ability to lose without seeming to.

His adjutant, Rego, argued that he didn’t have time before Council, but Herse can’t help himself. Who knows whom he’ll inspire? Who knows whom he’ll discover? Hip ball gave him his start. It took him from alleys lower than this one to the captaincy of a company team and several League championships. There, in fact, painted on the wall is a faded advert in which a much younger Herse touts Sea Circle olive oil with the slogan WINNERS STAND ALONE. He won’t fade himself, though, and pick-up games keep him popular. Besides, by playing he’ll distract people from seeing Rego and several soldiers enter a nearby lodging house. They have to deal with a situation.

Herse sends a lob to the older boy, who’s playing back. Given the boy’s stance, Herse readies himself for a lob in return, but the boy closes his hips and passes the ball to his brother, playing up. Herse, now out of position, says, “Ah!” and leaps to where the up man should send the ball. The younger boy can’t handle the pass, though, and costs them the point. The older boy gags in frustration. His brother scowls and sags.

Herse picks up the ball and gathers the boys to him. He says, “That was an excellent pass. You fooled me completely, but you fooled your brother too. Keep an eye on him to make sure he knows what you’re doing. And, you, you were playing me well, your position was good, but you have to play with your brother too. Angle your hips toward him to stay ready for a pass. Good?” The boys nod. “Let’s call this match point,” Herse says. They run to their positions, and he serves another lob.

The older brother crouches, smacks the ball on the short hop, and sends his brother another nice pass. The younger boy turns on it like an oar in its thole. Herse was ready for the return, and the ball still skips off the wall past him. “There it is!” he says. “Work together. Win together.” The boys bump their left hips, then right, and the crowd applauds. Of course a few smirk, thinking Herse a grandstander with no business inside the walls, but that’s better than jeering or throwing fish.