Armor wrapped around Glendon and he seemed to fade into the natural colors of calubra ferns and everblue trees.
Jaylor concentrated hard on pushing his hand through his son’s protection and grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck. He wasn’t Senior Magician for nothing. The boys had yet to figure how to keep him out. They tried, often, and he dreaded the day he couldn’t break apart any spell they threw.
“What did you put into the witchballs, Glendon?”
Lightning probes.
Bolts of inquisitive magic whose sole purpose was to penetrate a given object or person for information.
“What did you learn from your probes?” Jaylor asked, trying very hard not to shake the boy and frighten him into silence.
Glendon panicked anyway. The armor around his small body thickened and thrust his father’s grasp away with a jolt of energy. Before Jaylor could reassert his hold on his son, Glendon disappeared through the crack in the clearing.
Jack jerked his eyes and his mind away from the hideous wound on Shayla’s wing, back to her face. She seemed to wince—as much as she could show expression—with each slight movement of her wing.
“Does it hurt?” he blurted, too astonished for tact.
(Yes.) She folded the wing abruptly.
Of its own volition, Jack’s hand reached out to caress her long nose in sympathy. Inches from contact with her iridescent fur he pulled back, uncertain he had the right to make physical contact with her.
(You may touch.) The dragon dipped her head, butting into his still outstretched palm. He cupped his hand around her cheek and stroked the velvet softness. Instantly his shoulders relaxed and his mind stopped whirling.
The cranky jackdaw, absent for more than three days, chose that moment to circle and land on his head. A series of earsplitting croaks informed both man and dragon of his jealousy.
Jack reached up to pet the bird and received a painful peck on his hand in return.
“There’s no pleasing you!” He brushed the bird away.
It hopped to Jack’s foot, pecked at the loose sole of his journey-thin boots then leaped to Shayla’s longest spinal ridge. That perch didn’t seem to please the bird either. From Shayla’s back, Corby flapped noisily into flight up the cliff walls to one of the irregular knobs standing sentinel over the valley.
Knobs of rock or crouching dragons?
Almost invisible against the darkening sky, the jackdaw hovered over a looming shape, voicing his displeasure with life in general and Jack in particular. Finally Corby landed and quiet reigned in the valley once more. The jackdaw began to preen, seemingly quite satisfied that he had thoroughly upset everyone.
“King Darville has a burn on his left arm that won’t heal. It looks just like that.” Jack pointed to the ugly black wound. “At least I presume it still looks like that. I haven’t had any contact with Coronnan for three years,” he babbled, unable to avert his eyes.
(My king still wears the Coraurlia. His body continues to bear the wounds of his battle with the evil ones. He will not heal until I heal. He has learned to live with his pain, as have I. We both grow weary of the burden.)
“I’m not a healer, but I have observed Brevelan. I helped her once when she tried to draw magic out of King Darville’s wound. Maybe I can do something with the wing—enough to let you fly home.”
(That is why I sent for you.)
“I’m sorry I took so long getting here.” Jack hung his head. If he hadn’t unleashed that terrible firebomb in Marnak’s camp . . . if he had sent a summons to Jaylor earlier . . . if he hadn’t been so arrogant and gotten lost in the void . . .
A million “what if’s” couldn’t change the past or bring back the dead. He could only try to improve the present.
(You were not strong enough, or wise enough to heal anyone when my mate set you on your path. The passage of seasons has been long, but not without rewards. When you and your magic were mature enough, the dragons revived your mind so that you would once more seek to finish your quest.)
“My staff? The dragons put the staff into my hand?”
(We kept the staff hidden. It would have sought you earlier, but you were not ready to awaken. When your mind had healed enough to understand your mistakes and accept your destiny, we allowed it to find you.)
Jack smiled as he fondled the length of twisting oak. The staff was a part of himself, linked to his magic. Of course it would have rolled through the mine seeking him when they were first separated.
Only then did he notice the dozen silvery shapes hiding in the shadows of smaller side falls that fed into the pool.
“You mated again! Or are these little ones three years old?” A smile spread through Jack at the sight of the pretty cublets, all silvery and dainty, climbing onto rocks to sun themselves. He counted ten little dragons—if one could consider a winged creature the size of a pack steed to be small—with pale colors beginning to emerge on spinal ridges and wing tips. Two each of blue, green, and red, the usual colors of dragon males. Still clinging to the protection of tumbling mist sat a shy pair tinged a rare purple. The last two dragon children who swam to Shayla’s side showed no trace of color of their own. The immature females reflected light; sun and water shimmering into a myriad of rainbows.
(My other children seek lairs of their own and will mate at the end of the next century.) A note of maternal pride colored Shayla’s mental voice. She seemed brighter and her eyes more colorful as images of the eleven older cublets grown strong, flashed into Jack’s mind.
“Two purples in this litter?” Jack asked. “Isn’t that supposed to be impossible to have two purples alive at the same time?”
Shayla hunched her shoulders in a dragon shrug. (Destinies I cannot control determine the colors of my children.) She glanced at each of her offspring. Love seemed to radiate from her in almost visible waves.
(I do not wish to birth a third litter in this land. When you have rested and eaten, we will begin the healing.)
“We don’t have long,” Jack informed her. “Someone approaches from the south.”
(The Simeon comes but once a year to renew the pain.) Shayla’s eyes grew dull. (’Tis not time for him.)
“Unless his spy summoned him. He seeks new recruits for the coven. He wants me to fill an opening.”
(Do you wish such a fate?) No emotion touched Shayla’s voice. Yet Jack felt the great anger filling her to near bursting. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her fury. Stargods help Simeon when she broke free of this beautiful prison.
“I have no love for King Simeon or his coven. They wreak havoc with each spell they throw.” Jack affirmed.
(Then come behind the waterfall. There is time for you to dine and sleep. We begin our work at dawn. When the agents of my enemy arrive, we will be long gone.)
“If I can remember the spell,” Jack muttered to himself as he gathered the two packs and assisted the drooping Fraank around the edges of the pool. On the far left side, a narrow path led to a deep undercut behind the waterfall. A perfect hiding place or a dead-end trap?
Chapter 23
I have found the lacemaker. She hides within an enclave owned by a Rover. She possesses knowledge damning to Simeon. Which does the king fear more, the knowledge or the Rovers? Zolltarn’s clan does not frighten me. I will have the knowledge and the lacemaker. Then I will have control over Simeon, king and sorcerer, as well.
Fraank looked better already. He sat, huddled over a fire—ignited by an attentive baby dragon showing off his newly learned trick of blowing fire. The older man absorbed warmth while a meal of venison and tubers roasted over the coals. A red-tipped dragonet crouched beside the weary man, much like an oversized puppy anxiously protecting its master.
This was no puppy. Rufan, as Shayla had named the dragonet, stood nearly as tall as Jack and probably weighed twice as much. His wings were wide enough and strong enough to support his body mass while flying. The hooked talons at wing elbow, wing tip, and on all four feet co
uld flay man or crush the neck of a goat. He was not yet telepathic with humans.
Jack watched his traveling companion lean against Rufan’s flank. Tension left Fraank’s spine and neck as his body slumped further against the dragonet. In moments Fraank was asleep against his warm and furry pillow.
Relieved at the ease Fraank had finally found, Jack relaxed against a nest of dried leaves and blankets, easy in mind and body for the first time in years. For a while they were safe, warm, and dry. He could turn his mind toward matters beyond survival.
“Your mate, the blue-tipped dragon who showed me this place in a dragon-dream, promised me information when I found you.”
(You desire to know of your family.)
“I have a right to know my own history!” The familiar anger of his youth began to curl within Jack’s empty stomach. He clamped down on a temper he knew could soon boil out of control.
(Are you certain you want to know these things?)
“I must. How can I know who I am if I know nothing of my parentage and childhood? I need to know if the name I chose for myself is truly mine and I am worthy of it.”
(You make your own life, your own future.)
“But my past shaped me.”
(At moonrise, you may climb to the second highest peak above the waterfall. The dragon who wears magician blue on his wings and spines will speak to you there.)
“Is there a path, or must I levitate up there?” Levitation took more energy than Jack thought he could muster right now.
(A staircase exists. You must use your special gifts of sight beyond sight to find it.)
Sight beyond sight. That meant magic and only his bodily strength to draw upon. Time to refuel. “I think that venison is cooked enough.”
Fraank woke up as Jack approached the fire pit. Rufan looked at them both with a sparkle of mischief in his eye. Maybe it was just a reflection of the firelight. The baby dragon eyed the venison and then cocked his long head at the two men. Jack caught a glimmer of a thought.
“Don’t you dare add any more char to my roast!” Jack lunged to restrain Rufan from breathing more fire upon the deer carcass. He wrapped both hands around the silvery muzzle.
Rufan’s surprise jolted Jack off his feet. Telepathic communication dribbled into Jack’s mind as Rufan scooted backward on the cave floor, closer to his mother. A few incoherent thoughts and a gibberish of dragon language fed a confusion of images. Still Jack clung to the dragon’s muzzle, afraid to let go, lest he be the next target of fiery experiments.
Shayla appeared at his side, looming tall and protective over her youngster. Jack cringed away from her powerful talons.
(You seem to have awakened the boy’s mind. Now we must teach him to speak in words instead of baby pictures,) Shayla chuckled. With a nudge of her muzzle against Rufan and a wink of her enormous eye at Jack, she sent the child to his nest for the night.
“Sight beyond sight,” Jack muttered to himself as he stretched his hands above him, seeking the next handhold on the cliff wall. The moon rose above his left shoulder, nearly full in a hazy sky. Diffuse light washed the cliff in a uniform pearly gloss. “I need eyes in my hands and feet for this climb.” He clung to the next narrow indention.
Tired and panting, he pulled himself up another step. If the “stairs” were a little wider, he’d probably crawl. As it was, the indentations weren’t wide enough to support one knee let alone two. The ledge he’d stood upon during his dragon-dream of this valley had been this narrow.
The moon rose higher. An irregular knob appeared above Jack, outlined in an eerie shimmer of magic and moonlight. A halo of deep blue hovered around the form. The dragon who wore magician blue.
Jack took another step and another, and then he was within the blue aura.
“Sir?” Jack tentatively probed the slumbering dragon with mind and words.
(You are late again, Boy.) The huge male didn’t stir from his crouched pose, muzzle buried in a pillow of forepaws and encircling tail.
“I ran into some problems along the way,” Jack defended himself. He wasn’t a naive adolescent any more to bow to just any authoritative voice and manner.
(Did you learn anything from your brash mistakes?) The dragon opened one eye briefly, as if to verify his presence. Faceted points caught the moonlight and sparked with emotions Jack couldn’t read. Then the translucent membrane dropped and the dragon seemed to slumber once more.
“My experiences taught me many things about the man I can be. Only you have the key to the child I was.”
(You won’t like the story I have to tell.)
“I don’t like not knowing more. I have a right to know who I am, where I come from, what my true name is.”
(Jack suits you fine; more honestly than Yaakke.)
“But what name was I given at birth? No mother would leave a child unnamed. You promised to tell me when I found Shayla!”
(The lack of this knowledge burns deep within you. That yearning must be satisfied or you will not have the concentration to work the healing spells. Come.) The nameless dragon heaved himself up onto his hind legs in a curiously graceful undulation for so large a creature. He stretched his spine and reached his shorter forelegs toward the night sky as if embracing the moon. Once more his eyes were open, light lancing from the facets.
(Observe, Jack. Watch your past and learn from the mistakes of others.)
Cold swirls of blue, green, and red light closed around Jack. He fell through the dancing star points of the jeweled dragon eyes into a void. Falling, falling, farther and farther away from himself through the lives of dozens of people and into the past.
Endless moments flowed through the wheel of the stars. And still he fell. His body learned the streams of movement through this strange void, stretched out and flew.
(Now you have enough of the dragon within you to observe the past. Remember the dragon within you and within every magician when next you have a need to visit with those who have gone before. Watch!)
“Observe what?” A strange/familiar landscape took shape around him. He’d been here before. But not at this moment in time. The trees were not quite the right shape and the sledge-ruts in the road were too deep. “Where are we?”
He looked around again, sensing and smelling familiarity rather than understanding it. There was a road running toward the southern border, just outside Brevelan’s village, that looked something like this. He scanned the horizon. Yes. The creek plodded along its path beyond the dip in the meadow and on toward the Great Bay.
The water was clear and clean, not choked with mud and debris from the floods that had plagued Coronnan when last he saw this place. Birds sang in the fully leafed oak trees that should have their roots underwater but sat back from the bank by several steed lengths.
He measured the angle of the sun against the length of the shadows. Early morning, past the summer solstice. Jack and Fraank had left the mine just after the Vernal Equinox, only a few weeks ago.
“Maybe I should ask, ‘When are we?’ ”
The dragon said nothing. Jack looked over his shoulder to where he sensed the beast hovered. All he saw was the dim outline of an old man in colorless flowing robes. Then he looked at himself. Almost transparent and wearing the black trews and vest of a Rover. His shirt appeared to be pale yellow, but so much of the green fields around him shone through the fabric and his skin, he couldn’t be sure.
(Watch and listen,) the dragon ordered.
Just then a man and woman riding double on a fleet steed appeared on the road, coming from the north. The steed was black and sleek, bred for speed. Sweat shone on its glossy coat. They might be proceeding at a stately pace now, but just recently, the riders had pushed the steed in an all-out race.
The man in the front, clad in shiny black leather to match his mount, kept looking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The woman, perched behind the saddle, clung to his belt. She rode astride with her brightly colored skirts hiked up above her knees. Shapely legs and
bare feet clutched the heaving sides of the steed.
“Rovers,” Jack spat. Three years ago, Jack had a few encounters with Zolltarn, king of the Rovers and his tribe. Rovers had their own codes of ethics and honor that had little to do with the rest of civilization. Jack was convinced the entire race of wanderers would gladly slit a man’s throat just to prove they could.
(Dragons observe and learn. We do not judge.)
“But . . .”
(Observe.)
The mounted couple moved past Jack and his guide seeking all around them with their eyes. The young magician started to greet the passing pair and offer them directions. A heavy hand on his shoulder stoppped his angry words. A human hand in shape and size. Prominent blue veins stood out on the backs of that nearly invisible hand, much like the colored veining on a dragon’s wing.
(We are ghosts in this time. Our souls dictate our forms. They cannot see you. We cannot interact. Only observe.)
“Who are they?” The couple must be important or the dragon wouldn’t have brought him to this place and time.
(The woman is your mother.)
“Mamam?” Jack dredged up a baby memory of the name he called her. He took a step as if to follow her. His body didn’t seem to move. “My mother is a Rover? But Rovers keep their children, even half-breeds and orphans. I was abandoned at the poorhouse.” Confusion dominated the churning emotions within him.
(Observe her past. You are not yet born in this time frame.)
“Does she have a name?” Anger and curiosity warred within Jack. Mamam looked so very beautiful. He’d been deprived of that beauty, and her love, all his life.
She had abandoned her infant son! He tried to keep his anger dominant and failed. She was so beautiful.
(Her father is Zolltarn. He named her Kestra for the kahmsin eaglet he spotted at the moment of her birth.)
“Kestra.” Memories began to tickle Jack’s mind. He knew that name. Somewhere he’d heard of a missing Kestra and her mythical child. Was he the lost child the Rovers searched for through all the lands?
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I Page 88
