“You know, you have an abnormal amount of bones in your spine; in fact, it looks more like knuckles than a spine. Were you born that way?”

Of course, the tribesmen--the man Jorbert determined was the group’s leader--was born that way, though his spine looked entirely normal. It was just that the man’s spine was the only thing Jorbert could make out through the black bag over his head.

His stomach hurt. It felt like the man was kneeling on it, though it was his shoulder, upon which Jorbert was being carried. He’d woken up like that. The last thing he remembered was an ill tempered tribesman trying to knock his head off with a fist the size of a hoverstone. Now, he was being taken somewhere--obvious enough. But perhaps he could get inside the head of the man taking him. Then, who knows.

“I’m sure we can have someone take a look at it. I’m Master Jorbert, son of Gern Jorbert, Lord of Castle Redforest. Redforest being the fourth highest hoverstone in all the realm. We are very wealthy and powerful and very good at hiring the most knowledgable men, men who could fix you up in a snap.”

Normally, Jorbert would have accompanied that last with a snap of his fingers, but he could not. He was shackled, hands and feet. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the tribesman said, “Nothing wrong with spine.”

Good. Good. We’re getting somewhere. “I believe our knowledgeable men would disagree.”

“Gleg disagree with them.”

“Gleg? Is that your name?”

“Is.”

“Well, Gleg. Today is your lucky day. Not only have you capture someone with access to knowledgeable men, but as I said, you captured someone who is very wealthy, very wealthy indeed. I am sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

Gleg laughed. His voice was deep, with sounds in it like gravel scraped across glass. “Already got.”

“Already...got? You already have an arrangement?”

“Already got. For gold.”

“For gold? You already have an arrangement and you’re going to get paid in gold--for me?”

“Slow Jorbert has ears, don’t use them. Slow.”

“Slow Jorbert,” Jorbert said, whispered to himself with some disappointment; he felt slow, sounded slow to himself, in fact. That man’s fist muddied my wits. “Yes, well. A crushing blow to the face will do that. Who, may I ask, is paying you? I’ll double it, if you free me.”

“Late.”

“Too late? No, Gleg. It’s never too late to make a new arrangement. Never.”

“Late.”

“But--”

Jorbert reeled as he was hoisted off Gleg’s shoulder. He felt himself weightless for what was surely seconds but felt like minutes, and he tried to brace himself before he hit the ground. He held his breath. And when he hit, though sudden soreness spread through his limbs, he was at least happy that the wind wasn’t knocked out of him. He would need his lungs to give rise to his voice, if he were going to talk his way out of this.

“To knees,” Gleg said.

“I don’t think I--”

He was pulled violently up and slammed down onto his knees. Sharp pain shot up his thighs. That was going to leave a bruise. Rage bubbled within him. He would see that Gleg got a bruise for every one put on his body that day. He swore it.

There was a brief silence.

“Gleg,” he whispered. “I’ll double it.”

A clean, strong voice said, “I don’t think you will.” It was a voice he recognized well. “I’m paying Gleg a bag full of gold the size of his head. I doubt you can match it, brother.”

The hood was lifted from his head and there his brother stood. He was six foot, perfectly proportioned, with shining dark hair. His eyes were hazel with red flecks within them. His armor was glittered under the sun, silver and gold, with the crest of a blood leaf welded to the center of it: their family seal.

It was Lance.

Jorbert’s mouth dropped open. “Brother...I...I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Lance said. He got down on one knee and looked directly into Jorbert’s eyes; his brother’s were sparkling. “I think you understand completely.”

“The egg.”

Lance nodded knowingly. “The egg.”

“I don’t have it.”

Lance glanced up to Gleg, who seemed to communicate to him that what Jorbert said was the truth. “Disappointing.”

“Gleg has it. He stole it. He said it was all his now and that he’d sell it. All the proceeds would go to his tribe to make it stronger. And--”

“He told you all that.” Lance stood. “Tell me, young brother, what is the name of Gleg’s tribe? Surely he mentioned it.”

“He did not.”

“Hmm. Curious. Gleg mentioned it to me. Many times. He would only do busines if I knew what he intended to do with the gold. Some sort of honor system the Highland tribe has. Besides, what would Gleg do with an egg?”

“Make food,” Gleg said. He laughed. The sound of it sent shivers down Jorbert’s spine. He had a feeling Gleg wouldn’t hesitate to take his head off, if Lance ordered it so. “Make feast.”

Lance grinned. “You see? Our friend here has no interest in an egg. But he does have an interest in funding a war between his tribe, the Dead Stones, and another called the Goat Skinners.”

“Dead Stones,” Gleg said, “hate Goat Skinners.”

“They apparently skin all the goats without eating them, goats the Dead Stones rely on for food. You see their dilemma.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, dear brother, I sent the Dead Stones after you, because I had a feeling you’d double cross father in some way--”

“That’s shit,” Jorbert spat. “You sent them after me to take the egg for yourself, to stop me from throwing it over the Godscliff. But you couldn’t allow the Dead Stones to attack once they saw father ride through our camp. You couldn’t have him question whether or not the egg went over the edge of that cliff. You were going to double cross father. Not me.” He saw Lance’s cheek puff out, and he knew he’d struck on the plan exactly. “You want the egg for yourself.”

“Of course I do.” Jamie put his hand on the hilt of his sword and began to pace about. “A dragons egg found its way into our land and father wanted it destroyed. Can you imagine? An ancient beast with the ability to roast our enemies like a boar on a spit. And father would just rid himself of it without a second thought!”

“Oh, I’ll bet he had all kind of a second thoughts, dear brother. It’s just that he likely remembers the last dragonkeeper. The one who tried to burn the King’s Hoverstone, along with the King’s castle, Strongwind. He killed hundreds before he was shot down.”

“The last desperate attempt at taking the throne by a man loyal to the traitor, Lord Petyr Malyian.”

“Taking the throne, roasting it, who knows what his motivations were. The point is that father knows how dangerous a dragon can be in the wrong hands. He should have thrown it off our hoverstone to rid himself of the egg, once and for all.”

“You know he cannot.”

Jorbert licked his lips and nodded. Lords were consecrated by the King through a ceremony held on the King’s hoverstone. It was said that the ceremony opened the Lord up to the use of magic; or the use of magic upon the Lord. As such, the destruction of important objects around the realm, it was believed, brought with it a reaction--one that would eventually come around on a person open to magic. Jorbert didn’t believe it. But many did. His father was not an irrational man. Just cautious. Paranoid, even. His brother was right. His father would not take the chance. Passing the deed along to his son was the only logical choice. He just didn’t know his sons all that well, it turns out.

“I do.”

“So, he gave it to you, and you gave it to yourself before I could have Gleg here kill your men and capture you with it. No thanks to Father.”

Jorbert struggled up to his feet. “Yes, and no thanks to father, I was forced to throw it over the Godscliff when he showed up. I did not keep it.”

Lance glanced to Gleg.

“Don’t have,” Gleg said.

Lance drew his sword. He put its tip on the wishbone between Jorbert’s shoulder blades. “I have ears all over the city, brother. I know you took a whore with you to the Godscliff. Gleg sent a men ahead to tell me that, curiously, the litter she was riding in fell over the cliff? And yet--there were no screams.”

“She was...gagged.”

“You threw a gagged whore over the side of the Godscliff in your litter--I suppose you’ll tell me next you did it to protect your tiny cock turning into Castle rumor and gossip.” Gleg roared with laughter. Apparently the Dead Stones knew that word, and well. Lance didn’t laugh, though. Didn’t smile. He looked deadly earnest. “No. I think she had something to do with the egg.”

“You’re right. She saw the egg and...and...I had to kill her to keep her quiet.” It was a terrible excuse, but he went with it. “I had to make sure none of the men knew what I was doing.”

“Except they all knew. Everyone knows. It was all anyone in the Castle could talk about.” Lance shook his head. “You disappoint me, brother. I expected a more elaborate ruse than this. So, I ask, for the last time: where is it?”

He pressed the sword forward.

Jorbert felt a pin prick against his skin. Hot blood trickled down his chest. “You’d kill your own brother?”

Lance shrugged. But Jorbert saw self-doubt.

“You’d kill your own brother and you don’t think father would suspect something’s amiss? That paranoid fuck wouldn’t rest until he figured out why his son, who had the egg, is suddenly missing...”

“The tribesmen already captured you. Maybe they skinned you and ate you alive and that is the way they find your body, mutilated in a ditch.”

“Dead Stones eat no man,” Gleg said. “But...do kill them. Do.”

Lance snorted. “Good enough.”

“Father would hunt them down to make sure. You know this. He would eradicate the tribesmen. He wouldn’t hesitate.” Gleg didn’t react. Maybe he didn’t know the word ‘eradicate.’ “He would kill them all.”

That got Gleg. “No. No war with the bloodyred men. No. Not with Goat Skinner still live.”

Jorbert saw in his brothers eyes, saw that he didn’t care what happened to Gleg and his tribe. He wouldn’t dare double cross Gleg here and now; Gleg’s tribesmen were no doubt in the bushes, waiting for something to go wrong. But later? He didn’t not give two shits about the men from the Highlands. But Jorbert had to keep that line of thought going: “And when all the tribesmen are dead and still he found no egg he would--”

“I see where you’re going with this, brother. But he would never suspect me. I don’t care how paranoid the old bastard is, I’m his heir. No. You’re back is against the castle gates and I am the battering ram ready to knock it down. The question now is: will you surrender? Or will you languish and die there.”

Jorbert looked down at the blade.

He was beat. He knew it. His only saving grace was that Gleg and his men hadn’t seen Valian take off with a similar looking satchel from the one he tossed off the cliff; how Valian escaped their view, he couldn’t guess. But if Lance did not know it, Gleg did not know it. He considered telling a lie. How would Lance know? But that was the strange thing about his brother. Lance always seemed to know, ever since they were boys. Also, if he dared tell a lie, it would come back on him, should Lance be frustrated by his search.

“I gave the egg to a sell-sword.”

“A sell-sword. Are you mad?”

“Some believe so, but it’s what I did.”

Lance dropped his sword. “A sell-sword is likely to keep it for himself or sell it, rather than follow your orders, you bloody fool. Unless your whole point was to sell it, yourself. Take the money and get out from under father’s thumb.”

“My intention wasn’t to sell it.” Jorbert felt the hot sting of tears. His face flushed in embarrassment. It was unbecoming of a noble to cry. “I was going to keep it for myself.”

“I thought so.” Lance put the sword tip back up to Jorbert’s neck. “Where did you tell this sell-sword to go?”

“The Inn at the bottom of the Highlands...”

“And what was this sell-sword’s name?”

“...Merek Valian.”