The Dragon's Path

tried to pull it out for a more respectful burial would be hung. Somewhere behind Geder, hidden by the nobles of Antea, the doors opened. With the king gone and the ceremony finished, conversation rose to a deafening roar. Geder couldn’t make out what anyone was saying over the noise of everyone else, so he just followed the subtle movement of the crowd and made his way out.
    In the great halls of the Kingspire, the nobility of Antea broke into a hundred small groups. Dispersed, the din of the talk was less deafening if not particularly more comprehensible. He saw people pretending not to look at him, and he had some idea what they were saying:
Palliako claims he was wandering the Keshet, but he came back knowing all about the plot on Prince Aster
and
burning Vanai was all part of his plan
and
I told you his bringing loyal soldiers back just before the mercenaries tried to take the city was no coincidence.
He walked through the hall slowly, bathing in it.
    “Sir Palliako. A word.”
    Curtin Issandrian and Alan Klin walked up to him looking like bookends in the library of the damned. Geder smiled. Curtin Issandrian put out his hand.
    “I’ve come to thank you, sir. I owe you a great debt.”
    “You do?” Geder asked, leaving the man’s hand floating in the air between them.
    “If it weren’t for you, I would still be in alliance with a secret traitor to the crown,” Issandrian said. “Feldin Maas was a friend, and I let that friendship blind me to his nature.Today has been a terrible day for me, but it has been necessary. And I thank you for it.”
    Geder wished Basrahip had been there, just to know if Issandrian were what he pretended to be. Another time, though. There were months and years still to come when he and his Righteous Servant could ferret out every secret in the court. A little magnanimity now wouldn’t hurt anyone. He took Issandrian’s hand.
    “You’re a good man, Geder Palliako,” Issandrian said, speaking just loudly enough to be overheard. “Antea is fortunate to have you.”
    “Thank you, Lord Issandrian,” Geder said, matching him. “It is a strong man who can admit he was misguided. I respect you for it.”
    They dropped hands, and Alan Klin came forward, his own hand extended. Geder grinned and took it, pulling the man close.
    “Sir Klin!” he said, grinning. “It’s been too long.”
    “It has. It truly has.”
    “Do you remember that night on the march to Vanai when I got drunk and burned that essay I showed you?”
    “Yes. Yes, I do,” Klin said, laughing as if they were sharing a nostalgic moment.
    Geder laughed too, and then let the amusement drain from his face.
    “So do I.”
    He dropped Klin’s hand, turned, and walked away feeling like the ground itself was rising to meet his footsteps. Outside, the day was blue skies and chill winter wind. His father stood near the steps that led down to the carriages, watching the chaos of horses, wood, and wheels. He held a pipe in his hand, but there seemed to be no fire in it.
    “So did the political process come to its logical end?” Lerer asked.
    “Didn’t you watch?”
    “I’m too old for blood sports. If the thing needs doing, then do it, but don’t make a theater piece out of it.”
    “But the king has to make an example, doesn’t he? He’s trying to keep Asterilhold from interfering with us,” Geder said. He felt hurt that his father hadn’t watched Maas die. “They were going to
kill
Prince Aster.”
    “I suppose,” Lerer said. “Still. I’ll be damned pleased to be home, get the stink of Camnipol off my skin. We’ve been away from Rivenhalm too long.”
     
If we are to understand the freedom of humanity, we must first understand its enslavement. The root of all races—even the Firstblood—exists in the reign of dragons, and the end of that reign must by necessity mark the beginning of a peculiarly human history. It is not an exaggeration to say that the last breath of the last dragon was the first moment of the age of humanity in all its variety. But like all freedom, it was bounded and defined by that which came before. Our knowledge of the Dragon Empire is imperfect at best, but I contend that the discovery of the cave-palaces beneath Takynpal gives us our best view into what I have chosen to call the Age of Formation.
     
    Geder flipped ahead, rereading pages he had translated before. The paper was brown with age, and fragile. He disliked handling it for fear that the pages would crack