The Dragon's Path

Kalliam’s, with King Simeon flapping in between depending on which way the wind blows.”
    “No one talks about his majesty that way to me.”
    “May I stand, Lord Kalliam? Or does your honor call for you to set your dogs on an unarmed man?”
    The weariness in Issandrian’s voice gave Dawson pause. He sheathed his sword and gestured once to the dogs. They cringed back, quieting. Issandrian stood. He was a taller man than Dawson had remembered. Confident, at ease, and more regal than King Simeon. God help them all.
    “May we at least talk of truce?” he asked.
    “If you have something to say, say it,” Dawson said.
    “Very well. The world is changing, Lord Kalliam. Not just here. Hallskar is on the edge of calling their king down from his throne and electing a new one. Sarakal and Elassae have both given concessions to merchants and farmers. The power of nobility for its own sake is passing, and for Antea to be a part of the coming age, we must change as well.”
    “I’ve heard that song. I didn’t like the tune.”
    “It doesn’t matter whether we like it or not. It’s happening. And we can act on it or else try to fence out the tide.”
    “So your farmer’s council has all been a selfless action for the benefit of the crown, has it? Your own aggrandizement has nothing to do with it? Pull the other one, boy. It has bells on it.”
    “I can make it yours,” Issandrian said. “If I gave sponsorship over the farmer’s council to you, would you take it?”
    Dawson shook his head.
    “Why not?” Issandrian asked.
    Dawson turned and pointed to the dogs sitting nervously behind him.
    “Look at them, Issandrian. They’re good animals, yes? Excellent in their ways. I’ve cared for each of them since they were pups. I see them fed. I give them shelter. Sometimes I let them rest on my couch and keep my feet warm. Should I dress them in my clothes and give them seats at my table?”
    “Men aren’t dogs,” Issandrian said, crossing his arms.
    “Of course they are. Three years ago a man working my land stole into his neighbor’s house in the night, killed his neighbor, raped the wife, and beat the children. Now, would you have had me give the bastard a place on the judge’s bench? A voice in his own punishment? Or should I nail his hands and cock to a log and throw him in the river?”
    “That isn’t the same thing.”
    “It is. Men, women, dogs, and kings. We all have our places. My place is in court, following the voice and law of the throne. A farmer’s place is on a farm. If you tell a pig keeper he deserves a chair in court, you put the order of society itself in question, including my right to pass judgment on his actions. And once we’ve lost that, Lord Issandrian, we’ve lost everything.”
    “I think you’re wrong,” Issandrian said.
    “You tried to have me killed in the street,” Dawson said. “I don’t have any concern to spare for what you think.”
    Issandrian pressed a palm to his eyes and nodded. He looked pained.
    “That was Maas. It may not matter to you, but I didn’t hear of it until it happened.”
    “I don’t care.”
    The two men went quiet. In the grate, the fire murmured. The dogs shifted, uneasy but unsure what they were expected to do.
    “Is there no way to bridge this?” Issandrian asked, but the hardness of his voice meant he knew the answer.
    “Surrender your plans and intentions. Scatter your cabal. Give me Feldin Maas’s head on a pike and his lands to my sons.”
    “No, then,” Issandrian said with a smile.
    “No.”
    “Will your honor permit me safe passage out of your house?”
    “My honor requires it,” Dawson said. “Unless you touched my wife.”
    “I came to talk,” Issandrian said. “I never meant her harm.”
    Dawson stepped to the far side of the room and snapped his fingers, calling the dogs out of his enemy’s path. Issandrian paused in the doorway.
    “Believe what you will, I am loyal to the crown.”
    “And yet you’re making friends in Asterilhold.”
    “And you’re talking with Northcoast,” he said, and then he was gone.
    Dawson sat down. The leader of his pack came whining and pressing her head into his hand. He scratched her earsabsently. When he was certain he’d given the man time enough to leave the house, he rose and walked to Clara’s private rooms. She sat on the edge of her daybed, her hands knotted on her lap. Her eyes were wide and her face pale. Everything about her spoke of fear and