The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(74)
Eles can’t decide if he’s looking at feed or feces. He says, “Let’s hear from our sea general.”
Prieve stands. He is the third of the city’s three generals, commanding the sea guard and the piers in the Harbor, that is, anything touching water.
As old as Eles but more robust, Prieve maintains a pre-League bearing. Livion’s even heard him use the old courtesy words, such as “please.” He knows everyone who has ever docked in the Harbor by name, and he’s been tested. He’s arbitrated countless disputes because no one disputes his fairness. Since the rowers’ guild was broken, he has even tried to improve the prisoners’ lot. This has made him few friends among the shipowners and low people, who see a hard bench as a criminal’s due, but every sailor and petty trader respects him, and he can collaborate with Herse and Ject, whom the Council keeps otherwise at odds.
Prieve says, “My patrols have made no reports about privateers or wrecks between here and Yness.”
Herse says, “How many ships traveling that route have not arrived as scheduled?”
“Five,” Prieve says. “Solet’s three. The Shield’s Hopper, four days late. And City United’s Harbourcoat, two days overdue.”
Eles recognizes a representative from City United standing near the wall. “We give our captains three days’ leeway,” the woman says.
“That’s why you’re a minor company,” someone says.
“You’re just petty,” she says.
Eles’s glare peels smiles off a dozen faces. “Noted. Can the councilors from the Shield explain the absence of the Hopper?”
“Our junior will address this question,” Chelson says. He nods to Livion.
Before he can stand, Ject says, “Is the general insinuating that Ayden sank these other boats as well? Two days is hardly a delay. Nor is four. Ships serve at the mercy of the sea and storm and trade. They aren’t public carts traveling upcity.”
“We have to be on our guard,” Herse says. “The general for the Guard hasn’t seen what I’ve seen in the field. I mean to stop any threat long before he has to buckle his boots.”
Eles says, “The Council recognizes the junior from the Shield.”
Livion stands. As he does, Rego whispers to him through his hand, “Two heroes lost already. A third would galvanize any city.”
I’m no hero, Livion thinks. But could I be one?
Omer has no idea who owns the men surrounding him, but that’s irrelevant. He lowers his shoulder and charges. If he can get out of the alley, he’ll have some room to fight. Red Eye gets lower than him, though, which enables the two men behind the rider to knock Omer over Red Eye. Omer knees Red Eye in his good eye, crawls free, and he gives Crooked Nose a heel to the mouth. He stands, but they get his ankles and, as he takes a step to run, they jerk him flat as a rug. His tooth cracks when his jaw hits a cobblestone.
Omer tries to climb the stones. He can’t get a grip. A blade dives into his back. A boot plows into his ear. The Harbor becomes foggy. His limbs get heavy. Red Eye says, “Flip him. Let him watch.” He’s rolled over, Red Eye draws his hatchet, and the hacking begins.
5
* * *
Livion concludes his statement to the Council by addressing Chelson directly: “I had no chance to tell you earlier. I came straight here after hearing the news. Out of respect for Mulcent’s and Sumpt’s estates, I wouldn’t have said anything to the Council before they were informed unless it was necessary.”
“The company appreciates their contributions and regrets their loss,” Chelson says.
Ject says, “Solet was hunting dragons in the area, which does make the junior’s story more likely than the general’s.”
“What I find likely,” Herse says, “is someone taking a chance to relive old glories.”
“You would,” Ject says.
Livion’s feet swim in his boots, but he can’t back down. “My trade rider’s information has always been reliable.”
“I would like to test that assertion,” Eles says. “Is this Omer still in the city?”
“I know this rider,” Ject says, “and if he is, he’ll be at the Tripple in the Harbor. I’ll have him collected.”
Ject motions to Ravis, first guard of his personal retinue, whose bronze helmets and muscle cuirasses distinguish them from regular guards’ plain leather caps and composite cuirasses. The man tasks two other guards to join him, and they leave to find the trade rider.
“What is certain at least,” Eles says, turning to Chelson, “is that something did happen to your wolf pack. Always thought that was a foolish idea. Of course, if this was an act of war instead of misadventure, your insurers may reimburse you.” Chelson’s face doesn’t move an inch.
“And the prison,” Ject says, “may forgive the loss of its assets. I’ll also have the families and associates of the Shield’s rowers contacted to see if any have returned home. The Shield might do the same with its sailors. Another survivor would provide valuable testimony.”
Chelson waves his hand abstractly. Livion says, “I’ll have that done.”
“Until the Shield’s informant is produced,” Eles says, “I move to postpone this portion of Council and, after a quarter-hour break, proceed with the public pleading.” Blue Island seconds. Eles raises his ivory gavel, carved in the shape of an hourglass. “I would have moved that we keep this situation quiet lest the Shield suffer financially from uncertainty and baseless speculation, but, once opened, that door can’t be closed, can it?” He sounds his gavel. The chamber empties as if on fire.