Curse of the Dragon Kings

by Anne Spackman

  "Although," Aiovel laughed. "The wizards used to use dragon ashes for a powerful potion of strength. After a few days, Rodruban would have started to feel better..." Rodruban didn't appear to appreciate her humor.

  "Here, take a look at them," Rodruban said, tossing the pouches to Galanor. "I don't want to explode myself accidentally."

  The Ice Dragorian fingered the dust inside and sniffed the contents.

  "Well," Galanor said, laughing, "this one is soap powder." He tossed the blue pouch to the frowning druid. "But this one—is invisible dust."

  The druid caught the other pouch and tucked it into his belt, smiling.

  "Your lunch, my lady," Galanor said, putting the hot fish on a stick and handing it to Lilia.

  "What about this?" Mygdewyn asked, pulling out the jeweled dagger he had found. Galanor peered at it and shook his head.

  "That's an Elwellyn dagger," Aiovel supplied.

  "And does it do anything special?" Mygdewyn asked.

  "Well— yes," Aiovel admitted. "It's awfully sharp." She laughed, and the dwarf narrowed his eyes.

  "All right," she waved her hands. "Actually, it does protect you from dragon magic. But it won't keep you from being roasted, so I wouldn't go charging up to any if I were you."

  "Ah, but with the cloak, I can," Mygdewyn reminded her.

  "How does this work?" Gil asked, pulling the scepter from his belt. The dwarf stared as Gil held it painlessly in his open palm; Mygdewyn was remembering the nasty burn that he'd received.

  "I've never seen anything like that before," Galanor admitted.

  "Nor have I," Aiovel said. "It is not the craft of Elwellyn Elves. However, I do sense a powerful magic in it." She looked meaningfully at Gil.

  "Do you want it?" Gil offered it to her, but Aiovel waved him aside with her hand.

  "No, Gil, you're very generous, but I don't think it's wise. I can't say it would burn my hand as it did Mygdewyn, but it is not meant for elves. That scepter must have once belonged to a powerful human wizard, long ago.

  "It is strange that it seems to have accepted Gil as its new owner, though," she added as an afterthought. "But perhaps Gil has inherited some magic powers of his own."

  "Gil?" Lilia repeated skeptically, her eyebrows raised. "Gil?" she said again, uncomprehending, and looked blankly at him.

  Meanwhile, Gil shook his head vigorously in denial.

  "My father was a warrior, not a wizard!" he protested.

  "Oh?" Galanor said, his eyes narrowing. "I wonder."

  XIII: Wizard

  "Master Iolo?" the magician ventured again, knocking more loudly on the heavy, blackened oak door of the wizard's private chamber. No answer came. But he'd come too far to give up now! It had taken all morning for him to reach the small guild where Master Iolo insisted on keeping residence. Iolo's magicians' guild really was some distance from the other guilds; Lorne had the sore feet to prove it! As far from the castle as one could be and still remain within the wall containing greater Gyfen, Jowan Lorne thought darkly.

  Imagine a wizard living just barely within the wall! It was simply unimaginable! Especially one of Master Iolo's standing. Not that Iolo ever seemed to remember his duties as High Wizard. Cormac had bestowed the honor upon him three years ago, and Iolo had yet to appear at the castle. Word had it he'd even missed the banquet given in his name.

  And why had Cormac bestowed the honor upon an unknown wizard? Lorne couldn't figure it out. Most of the other wizards talked about the High Wizard with a less than favorable assessment; Iolo had not even given a demonstration of his talents to anyone to quiet the rumors. But perhaps that was why Iolo chose to live out here in relative seclusion, Lorne thought. At least it deterred the other wizards from seeking him out, had they been inclined to challenge him. Few would ever make it far enough to find the place.

  Lorne himself had never met the man, but he'd been selected to carry a message as the head Castle Wizard's new magician journeyman. Lorne's predecessor, Kip, had brought back stories about Iolo for the past two years but had never succeeded in returning with the wizard. Yet this year Master Ivesen sounded determined that Lorne would prevail. Iolo would have to come; to refuse this time would be an open insult to the Prince himself!

  Lorne gathered his courage and rapped the door again. So far, he'd passed through the entire guild hall this way, knocking and entering empty rooms and connecting corridors until he reached the interior of the building. He began to doubt that Iolo actually had a working guild; for one thing, Lorne hadn't seen any apprentice magicians so far, though there had been signs that at least one journeyman might live here back near the entrance. But it took far more courage to invade the wizard's sanctum than it had inviting himself inside the unguarded building.

  After a moment, Lorne pushed the heavy door inward. The flickering light of a candelabrum barely illuminated the small windowless chamber; though it was surely a bright and warm afternoon out of doors, Lorne felt a chill as he entered the room.

  The wizard sat in a great chair facing away from him as he leaned over a book at his writing desk. Lorne edged around toward the bare fireplace. So far the wizard appeared to have taken no notice of him, but Lorne watched him closely. Used to the wizards of court, Lorne found Master Iolo anything but conventional.

  Instead of a long grey beard, Iolo was clean-shaven, and he had a rugged face full of character, bearing evidence of former laughter and smiles. Not the ancient man Lorne expected, but certainly well past middle age, though Iolo showed no outward signs of frailty.

  Yet such outlandish garb he wore! Ivesen and the castle wizards wore the embroidered linen tunics of the court; few donned robes that would give any indication of their chosen profession except on special occasions. But even in the dim light, the silver moons, bright yellow suns, and odd colored runes that adorned the High Wizard's robes sparkled like polished steel, set in billowing folds of deep navy linen.

  Lorne stood agape, staring; the wizard finally looked up and stared back at him. Iolo's cornflower blue eyes twinkled in amusement, and finally Lorne realized the wizard was waiting for him to say something. No doubt, he wanted an explanation for this intrusion.

  "Master Iolo, I am Lorne, a messenger from Master Ivesen and Prince Cormac." He offered sheepishly.

  "Iolo?" The wizard repeated, bemused. "Master Iolo you said?" He continued to stare at Lorne with those piercing blue eyes. "Oh, yes, of course, now I remember!" Iolo cried suddenly, as comprehension dawned. Such an oddity that he had not recognized his own name; Iolo's eyes darted over Lorne, as though summing up Lorne's entire history in a glance.

  "So many names to keep up with, you understand." Iolo closed the heavy tome. "Iolo, yes. I've been using that name recently, haven't I?" He chuckled. "So what brings you here, young Lorne?" He asked at last, quite pleasantly. "Do sit down, lad." He gestured to a stool across the desk, and Lorne obliged.

  "Well, sir, it's about the apprentices. Ivesen wants you to—"

  The wizard waved him to silence with a small flick of his hand. Only the tips of his fingers showed from the billowing sleeves of his robe.

  "Yes, I suppose it is that time of year." Iolo nodded. "I'm sorry you came all this way, young man." He shook his head sadly. "But I just can't be concerned with all that hullaballoo right now." Lorne looked at the wizard in confusion. What was so important that Iolo wasn't willing to come to the castle for a single afternoon?

  "But, Master Iolo, the guild masters are planning a big occasion for their apprentices this year, and Kallias has already invited Prince Cormac to speak in the ceremony!" Lorne stopped. Iolo had stood and was shuffling toward the far wall where he kept his books and important artifacts.

  "I have more important things to do." Iolo said firmly.

  "But they can't have the ceremony without you!" Lorne protested. This was ridiculous
! The High Wizard had obligations to fulfill. How could Lorne return to the castle without him?

  "Oh?" The wizard asked, intrigued. "Can they not? The King engages the services of a High Wizard to protect his kingdom and its people, not to entertain guests with silly little tricks."

  Lorne was taken aback. He considered a moment; it was true that Ivesen and the wizards at court usually performed their more showy tricks at the apprentices' leaving ceremony. Come to think of it, they often engaged in contests of power to satisfy their own vanity and to entertain the King's courtiers. But what else was magic for but to show tricks to those who had no magic? There was, of course, an odd time when a show of magic was called for to protect the kingdom from outside threats, but the King himself was a wizard of high caliber, and really needed no other great wizard to secure his throne.

  What then, did the High Wizard hope to protect him from?

  Lorne realized suddenly that Iolo had turned his attention back to the wooden shelves lining the western wall of the small room, the long, dark blue robe swirling around his ankles as he searched among the tomes.

  "What are you doing, sir?" Lorne wondered, then chastised himself for being too forward.

  "Ah... " Iolo replied. "Patience, lad." In a moment, Iolo seemed to have come upon something hidden among the books, and he withdrew a spherical ball of smoky crystal. The wizard rubbed the fine dust off of the ball with his sleeve and held it up to the light of the candelabrum which lent it a soft white glow.

  "Go ahead, take a look at it," Iolo said as he returned to the desk and sat down. He put the ball in front of Lorne.

  "A crystal ball?" Lorne asked, peering into the finely crafted globe. Inside the ball, thin vapors swirled in perpetual motion.

  "Of course it's a crystal ball," Iolo sniffed. "Take it in your hands, lad."

  Lorne picked up the ball. It was considerably lighter than he had expected, and warm like a fresh loaf of bread from the ovens. Lorne remembered it was getting close to lunch time, and he had brought no provisions with him.

  Lorne held the crystal up to the light and watched, waiting for something to happen. The wizard regarded him curiously, and for several seconds all was quiet.

  Suddenly, the vapors in the ball parted and cleared, and Lorne caught a glimpse within the Palace courtyard. Then the familiar image faded, replaced by the startling sight of a giant horned creature sinking into a deep bog. Nearby, another charged across an open field. Lorne almost dropped the crystal like a hot coal, but before it could fall, Iolo reached his hands out and snatched it.

  "Be careful!" He snapped. "It would take longer than your lifetime to replace such a valuable tool!"

  Lorne hung his head, chagrined, and nodded. But his heart was still racing.

  "W—what was that?" He panted, ashen-faced.

  Iolo smiled secretively. "Nothing to be afraid of, my lad." He laughed. "At least, not for the present. But such matters are of great concern, and it is to them that I turn my energies. You must ask Prince Cormac to forgive me for missing the ceremony, but I believe he will understand." Lorne's attention was distracted as the wizard took the crystal ball into his hands.

  It still held the image Lorne had summoned, only now the wizard's hands moved deftly over the surface, bringing the running creature closer and into focus. Suddenly, a bright white light erupted under Iolo's hands, and in the crystal ball, a crack of lightning flashed in a cloudless sky, striking the creature on its great, horned head. Lorne could almost hear the creature's loud echoing wail as it fell to the ground, bathed in the thin vapors of singed flesh.

  "How did you do that?" Lorne asked, amazed. Iolo only shrugged.

  "That will have to wait for another day, when we both have time for it. But these tricks are of little use, I'm afraid," he admitted, setting down the crystal. "Hardly effective at all, considering how many of these things there are. The effort of directing magic through a medium greatly reduces its strength, you understand, but is just as tiring. Of course, I have been preparing to deal with the situation for quite some time—"

  "What situation?" Lorne interrupted.

  "Goodness, what's this?" Iolo said, looking at the crystal ball. As he put it down another image had been forming. Now the wizard gazed at it attentively, his grey eyebrows knitting together.

  "Blast that Myrddin!" He exclaimed suddenly, glaring at the ball.

  Lorne studied the image. A throne room? No, it looked more like a temple. Yes, that was an altar, not a throne. Yet Lorne had never seen a temple so finely decorated, so rich with tapestries, gold— and feasting tables, he noticed as his stomach rumbled ruefully. What were all those standing stones for, though? He wondered about that when the image suddenly shifted.

  A hundred men and women clad in linen robes stood assembled around the altar now, talking, likely arguing. Expressions of fear and concern marred their faces; now that was unusual! For they were clearly druids and priests and as such supposedly not given to confrontations.

  Certainly they were far from Gyfen. In fact, Lorne was fairly sure the image came from the Summer Isle, from Bressilen, center of the priesthood. It had to be Bressilen; no other city in Daegoras claimed so many of the followers of Nature.

  Lorne glanced up at Master Iolo, who seemed somehow to be listening to the conversation going on in that far-off kingdom.

  "Such a bother!" Iolo shouted. "The moment my back is turned, that Myrddin decides to go off again, meddling where he's not wanted!"

  What was this? The High Priest had disappeared from the Bressilen Temple? Suddenly, Lorne understood the unusual discomposure of Myrddin's disciples. Without their leader, pandemonium would break out among the priests and druids.

  "I suppose I'll have to go after him," Iolo muttered, standing. He grabbed his hat and made his way over to the shelf. He then began pulling out items and stuffing them hurriedly into the long sleeves of his robe. "He is likely to get himself killed!" Iolo murmured querulously and placed his pointed hat on his head.

  "I trust you can find your way out, lad." Iolo said to Lorne. "And do give my regards to Cormac."

  Then without a word, the High Wizard disappeared without so much as a puff of smoke.

  * * * * *

  "It takes more than a lizard to make a meal out of me," Dylan muttered as he pulled his sword from a chamaelaeon carcass and began to wipe his blood-spattered blade on the grass. He picked up his walking staff from Argolen, then looked around to the others and spied Lilia over near the riverbank.

  "Drat!" Lilia waved her wand about, but nothing was happening. She supposed she must have exhausted the last of wand's waning magic on the pack leader. Well, at least there had been enough to take care of him. Guess I'll have to rely on you now, she thought, fingering the sapphire amulet about her neck that seemed to warn her if danger approached.

  "And now that that's over with..." Nearby, the dwarf slung his axe onto his back and smiled. Three dead chamaelaeons lay poleaxed on the ground.

  "Looks like someone's losing his touch." Lilia teased, drawing beside the dwarf. She pointed. Two long scratches had left a trail of blood on Mygdewyn's cheek, but the dwarf only shrugged; he didn't feel their sting until he sat down on the riverbank a minute later and returned to his unfinished breakfast.

  "Blast these flies!" he spat, waving away a swarm from his half-eaten fish.

  "We'll have to get going," Dylan said judiciously as he sat down by the dwarf. "Pretty soon the smell of these corpses is going to be an open invitation for every scavenging monster in the area to come this way."

  Mygdewyn nodded. They had traveled eleven days since leaving Argolen, following the banks of the River of Argolen steadily northeast. As much as he hated the water, if the river hadn't been flowing in the opposite direction from the Silver Mountains, he would have suggested building a boat and floating to the mountains. Only o
ne thing disturbed him more. The monster attacks had been getting worse, and a time might come when they weren't so fortunate. Last week, they'd run across a small wyvern and two chimeras, but the reasonable wyvern had responded to Galanor's Dragorian diplomacy and had agreed to leave them be. The chimeras had been more difficult to deal with, and Mygdewyn had the bruises to prove it.

  "All clear!" Galanor shouted from further down the river. Aiovel and Galanor had been giving Gil lessons with the bow; Ronan had been indisposed with the call of nature when the chamaelaeons attacked but now appeared from behind a nearby copse of trees.

  An hour later, they resumed their eastern march. The River of Argolen had been narrowing as they traveled further east, and as they skirted the edge of the desert on the farther banks, the air grew arid; it was shaping up to be a scorching day. By noon, the cloudless blue sky stretched interminably.

  "My skin is shriveling like parchment!" Lilia wailed and flung an arm around her head, pulling her shadow cloak further down.

  Gil smiled in amusement as Lilia's voice seemed to come from the empty air beside him, but the truth was, he didn't care much for the weather, either. Dry heat was all right, as long as it wasn't this dry, or quite this hot.

  "And what are you smiling about?" the invisible Lilia asked; Gil heard the acerbic edge to her voice. It was time to beat a hasty retreat, he realized. Gil jogged ahead and stopped beside Dylan and Aiovel. They were talking about governments and politics, a topic Gil found uninteresting and little understood. Gil lost himself in thought for a while, remembering his last sword lesson and trying to imagine how to make improvements in his technique, when Galanor called them to a halt for lunch.

  They stopped at a bend in the river that had formed a little peninsula. A short distance ahead, the course of the river carried the waters over a steep decline; the loud waterfall made it difficult to speak in an ordinary voice and be understood, but it also made a wonderful view.

  They sat in a circle by the water. The spray thrown up from the falls cooled the air. Mygdewyn was about to bite into his second piece of fish when he spied Galanor under a circle of trees, raising the dwarf's axe to chop a fallen log into pieces. Horrified, Mygdewyn jumped up from his seat by the bank and crossed over to the Dragorian just in time to stop him.