Dragonstar

The Demon Queen came in the dark hours before dawn; she shined in the blackness with the moony radience of rotting wood. Chained, John Aversin raised his head and squinted at her; his breath came fast. The King's guards had taken his spectacles from him when he'd been brought to the cell beneath the prison tower, and even at three feetthe cell measured barely sixshe was blurred to him, which made him sure that this was no dream. That fact was perhaps the most frightening of all the things that frightened him that night. Prince Gareth, Regent for the mindbroken King of Bel, had promised he'd return Aversin's spectacles to him with the guardsman he'd send to smuggle him out. That had been that afternoon, while the King's men and those of the King's councilor, Ector of Sindestray, were building a pyre in the square before the city's market hall to burn him alive for trafficking with demons. "He'll come with the midnight watch, when the courtyard is quiet," the young man had promised, pushing his own thick-lensed spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose. "He'll bring you a horse and food," for it was customary to starve prisoners condemned to the stake. After three days in the dungeon, John was too light-headed and short of breath to put up much of a fight or run very far even if he could escape from his chains. "The man I'll sendCaptain Tournevalis loyal to me, and will ask no questions." By the dirty yellow torchlight that fell through the grilled trapdoor overheadthe cell's only entrance, nearly twelve feet from the clayey rock of the floorGareth's face, even to John's myopic perception, had appeared haggard. Days without sleep deepened the lines that rulership and responsibility had put in the features of a boy who'd once ridden to the Winterlands to fetch John to the aid of the Realm, a boy who'd gone looking for the Dragonsbane of his precious ballads. That boy was twenty-four now, and carrying the burdens of a man. A man's grief had turned those facial lines to gouges, showing what Gareth's face would look like in old age. Plague had swept the Realm and especially the capital of Bel. The fever seemed to come from no source, and it killed rich and poor alike. The Lady Trey, barely twenty-one years old and the mother of Gareth's daughter, had died the day before. Had diedand had returned. "It's all right," Gareth had said, his light voice shaky with relief and exhaustion. He'd passed a nervous hand over his face. He was built like a fence-rail, and up until the start of his Regency five years ago had done little but study ancient ballads and modern fashions, a gawky and well-meaning dandy whose elder cousin, only the previous summer, had nearly taken the Regency from him by force. "There's a healer, a very great doctor, in the town. Hehe brought her back. She's all right. . . ." And at the words, John's heart sank, and the memory of them made him shudder now. In other worlds, in the alien Hells and alien realities to which the Demon Queen had sent him on errantry, he had seen how demons entered the bodies of the dead. He had seen what those people became, and what they did. Gar, no. No . . . And in the young man's eyes, sick with relief that the woman he so adored had not after all gone out of his life, John saw that he could not speak. For if he said, She's a demon, Gar, and you must burn her alive as Ector seeks to burn me, the young Regent would have turned away. Would have made his choice of what to believHambly, Barbara is the author of 'Dragonstar' with ISBN 9780345441713 and ISBN 0345441710.