The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  She was alive, but her heart was broken.

  A hand landed gently on Maura’s shoulder, and Halla sank down beside her. Although her eyes held sympathy, Halla was aglow. The glory of victory was still upon her.

  Not wishing to dampen her friend’s spirits, Maura congratulated her, then asked, “Did you know the drakdaemons wouldn’t attack the å Livåri?”

  “Hadn’t a clue,” Halla admitted. “Although I should have figured it out when I was in Drak Icar. The drakdaemons never punished the å Livåri men themselves—they always used a human overseer to do the whipping. Lazdac, incredible as it seems, either never knew this, or if he did, failed to comprehend why. And I’m sure he never imagined his creatures would be confronted by an å Livåri army. I think the old legend about the å Livåri and dragons sharing blood ties must be true, and it’s the reason why the drakdaemons couldn’t attack Baldo’s force—some animal instinct must have prevented them from shedding the blood of kin.”

  Leif, on Maura’s left, lifted a slice of melon on his knife. “Well, thankfully the å Livåri weren’t likewise inhibited. I wonder why those held captive in Drak Icar didn’t discover this flaw in Lazdac’s design. They could have risen up against the creatures there.”

  Halla shook her head. “Being a slave takes more than just your freedom from you. It can make even the strongest doubt their worth.”

  “We’re lucky you didn’t,” Leif said.

  “I didn’t suffer the terrible hardships the å Livåri had to endure.”

  Maura laid her hand on Leif’s arm. “I thought I’d lost you today, when Zal’s dragonfire hit you.”

  Leif laughed. “It wouldn’t have hurt me, any more than it would you!”

  Maura frowned. “What do you mean? Being dragonfast doesn’t protect you from fire.”

  Leif set down his knife, the melon forgotten. “What?”

  “The ‘what’ of it all lies here.” Both Maura and Leif looked up as Master Morgan slid onto the bench and tapped a finger against his former apprentice’s chest.

  Leif lifted the pendant he’d worn for as long as Maura had known him. “My solaric stone?” He studied it as if seeing it for the first time.

  The wizard nodded. “It’s thanks to your diligence that you were able to unlock its power.”

  “It’s thanks to the freezing cold of Belestar,” Leif said with a laugh, then sobered. “You mean this is what protects me from fire?” His eyes widened. “If I hadn’t been wearing it, I would have been burned to a crisp in Syrene’s nest!”

  “Thank the gods you were not!” Master Morgan said, then he covered Maura’s hand with his. She realized she was trembling at the thought. “You don’t have to stay, my dear,” he murmured quietly, “if you don’t feel up to it.”

  She shook her head. “Today was a great victory for Drinnglennin, and for our new High King and the å Livåri, too. I wish to do them honor.”

  “I’m sure Fynn appreciates that, my lady, but you’ve suffered a terrible loss. All here will understand if you retire early.”

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” said the young king, who had appeared at their table, along with Whit. “And I hope you’ll feel free to go whenever you choose.” He turned and held out his hand to Halla. “I’ve come to claim this brave lady for a dance.”

  Halla spun around to look up at him, her face reddening. “I… I… would be honored, Your Majesty, but I don’t…”

  Whit burst out laughing. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you blush, cousin! I confess, I put him up to it. I know how much you love to dance.” Ignoring her glare, he turned to Master Morgan. “Might I have a word with you?”

  The old wizard nodded and got to his feet, and Maura took the opportunity to rise as well. “By your leave then, my king,” she said. “I think I shall retire.”

  She slipped from the hall, and Whit and Master Morgan trailed after her for a bit before turning down the corridor leading the north turret. Knowing sleep would elude her, she headed to her uncle’s old apartments, where she hoped a bit of consolation might lie. The key to the library still hung on the little hook in the alcove beside its door. A draft of cold air greeted her as she entered, but the familiar scent of the books shelved there warmed her sore spirit.

  She wandered along the stacks and, as was her old habit, selected a book at random. She was just lifting its cover when the sound of footsteps made her freeze. She recalled that the last person she’d met there had been Roth.

  But it was Borne who stood on the threshold, Magnus beside him, the dog’s tail fanning the air.

  “You’re supposed to be recovering in bed, sir!” she scolded, for Borne had taken a blow to the head when he’d been knocked to the ground by the beating of Zal’s wings. Then, seeing how sheepish he looked at her reprimand, she laughed and went to the shelter of his arms. “How did you know to look for me here?”

  He bent his head to kiss her brow. “After my parents died, books were my only solace.”

  As he quietly held her, Maura was grateful that there was no need to say anything more. Borne too had suffered great loss in his life, and Cole’s death had nearly broken him. She’d tried to help him through the worst of it, and now he was here to do the same for her. Perhaps Ilyria had known all along that Maura would have need of his comfort, and that was the real reason the dragoness had taken her to Tell-Uyuk.

  Borne’s fingers stroked her hair, his breath warm against her skin. As if reading her thoughts, he asked, “Is there anything I can do, my love?”

  Maura pressed deeper into his embrace. “Yes… and you’re already doing it.”

  * * *

  The flickering torchlight leading toward the west wing and Maura’s old chamber cast eerie shadows against the walls. As she walked with Borne past the sculpture of Mifhar, behind which she’d hidden the night she saw Maitane leaving Roth’s bed, Maura gave silent thanks that she’d witnessed that betrayal. She supposed she should thank Maitane, too, for the part she’d played in ensuring that Maura escaped what would have been a disastrous marriage.

  “I’ll see you to your room,” said Borne, “then come to you later. I want to check on my horse first. I haven’t seen her since I came to.”

  “I could go with you. I like Liath. She always whickers whenever she sees me.”

  “Perfectly understandable. I’d do the same if I didn’t think it would raise some eyebrows—” He came to an abrupt halt as a voice raised in anger issued from a corridor off to their left.

  “What’s down there?” he asked quietly.

  “Nothing. Or rather, not anymore. It’s where the old Alithineum was. But my uncle told me it was sealed off after the great fire.”

  A muffled cry rang out again, followed by a dense silence, and the dog gave a low growl.

  “Wait here with Magnus,” Borne murmured. “I’ll just go and have a look.”

  Maura shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”

  Borne raised one brow, then laid a finger to his lips, and they started down the corridor, the great dog padding behind them. Here, there were no torches, and the portraits lining the walls were draped with spider webs. But when the passage turned to the left, a faint light greeted them from the end of the corridor, issuing from behind a set of high brass doors that were dull and blackened in places. One of them stood slightly ajar.

  “Stay, Magnus,” Borne commanded, and the dog lay down in the shadows, his head on his paws.

  When they drew closer to the Alithineum, the distinct sound of Roth’s voice was carried to them from beyond the doors.

  “Why, by Velicus’s bones, did you bring me back here?”

  “The crown is rightfully yours, my son!” A deeper voice, this one.

  Roth’s laugh was incredulous. “Were you not paying attention? It now sits on Urlion’s actual son’s head. I don’t even want it anymo
re, and they wouldn’t have me anyway,” he said petulantly, “not now. Not since they all know what treachery you used to get me on the throne.”

  “A throne that was stolen from Rendyl Strigori, whose blood runs through your veins!”

  “As does the blood of a bastard, bred on an Albrenian whore.” Roth’s bitter retort was followed by a sharp slap and a sharper cry.

  “My mother did what she had to do to keep us alive!”

  Maura exchanged a glance with Borne. The other speaker had to be Audric, Roth’s professed father, and his next words confirmed it.

  “When Ciprian Strigori left my mother pregnant with my sister, her family disowned her. If my father had married her rather than Lazdac’s mother, I would bear his proud name.”

  “You mean there’s more of you?” Roth’s voice held both despair and loathing. “I want nothing more to do with you and your Strigoris, or with the bloody Einhorn Throne. My mother and I wish to return to Albrenia. At least there, no one knows of my tainted blood, and now that my Uncle Palan is king and has no heir, I can take the Albrenian throne after him.”

  “You ungrateful knave!” Audric growled. “I’ve dedicated a quarter of a century to securing this throne for you! As for your grandiose dreams of Albrenia, you can forget them. Palan’s army was routed on the field of battle by the dragonfast, and your uncle was cut down by the Lorendale wench. In any case, Grindasa’s association with Palan de Grathiz won’t win you any supporters in her homeland. If any of Jorgev’s kin still live, the Albrenian throne will return to that line. You will be High King of Drinnglennin! Lazdac promised me this.”

  “Lazdac’s army has just been decimated by Lurkers,” Roth snapped. “One of his dragons was slain, and the others driven off. Just how does he intend to fulfill this promise?”

  Maura took a step toward the doors, for Audric had dropped his voice, and she desperately wanted to know how the Strigori could possibly hope to deliver on this vow. Borne’s hand closed on her wrist, as if he meant to draw her away.

  But the voice in her ear was not his.

  “Learning anything interesting?”

  Maura whirled around to see Borne sprawled on the ground. A gaunt man towered over her, his sharp features hooded in shadow, but she knew at once who it was who had hold of her wrist.

  “He’s only stunned,” murmured the Strigori, “but scream, and he’s a dead man. Do as I say, and I might yet spare him.” His voice was soft, yet chilling—this cruel man who had perpetrated unimaginable horrors throughout his long lifetime. “Come. Let’s not linger out here—we’re awaited.”

  Maura could see the slight rise and fall of Borne’s chest. If there was any chance she could save him, she would do as Lazdac bid her.

  She eased past the open door of the Alithineum and felt a stab of horror at the sight of what lay within. The remnants of thousands of books, now mere ash and bits of charred leather. The shelves upon which these treasures had once rested trailed off into the murky depths of the great chamber, and the acrid memory of the fire that destroyed this place still faintly lingered in the musty air.

  Roth dropped his hand from his cheek, where an angry welt was rising, and turned his icy gaze on her.

  “What’s in Dylar’s name are you doing here?” he demanded, then he paled as Lazdac entered the chamber behind her.

  The Strigori’s gaze flicked between Roth and the old man. “Familial trouble? Or is there something more intriguing afoot? Plotting something, perhaps?” His query was mildly put, but Audric’s expectant look disappeared, and Roth retreated a wary step.

  “In answer to your question, nephew,” Lazdac continued, moving into the room and running a finger through a pile of ash powdering a shelf, “unlike you, this woman has Konigur blood running through her veins. And I have unfinished business with the Konigurs.”

  Audric frowned. “Have you not yet dealt with the boy king?”

  Lazdac narrowed his eyes at the old man. “You presume to ask me this? How long did it take you to ‘deal’ with Urlion, you coward? You were so frightened of the curse attached to killing a king that you had to hire an assassin to do the task assigned to you. And even then, it was bungled when your archer missed his mark at the jousting during the Twyrn!” The dark wizard pointed his chin in Roth’s direction. “You needn’t pressure your bastard about being High King. I shall sit the Einhorn Throne, as it was foretold.”

  “When dragons return to Drinnglennin’s skies,

  her darkest mage again shall rise

  and thus unleash the wings of dread

  ’til all the Known World’s tears are shed.”

  He spoke the verse caressingly, as though to a lover.

  Audric’s jaw dropped. “You mean to take the throne? But you swore to me—”

  With the speed of a snake’s strike, Lazdac’s staff whipped forward to press against Audric’s throat. “And now I’ve changed my mind.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Maura saw something shift in the darkness between the gloomy stacks. Lazdac must have sensed it as well, for he said, “Ah, excellent… I think we’re all here now.”

  To Maura’s horror, Fynn and Halla came reeling out of the darkness and fell at Lazdac’s feet. They were both bound and gagged, and deep in sleep.

  The sorceress Celaidra emerged from the shadows behind them, and the Strigori’s expression darkened.

  “Where is Cardenstowe?” he demanded.

  “He and Morgan weren’t in the hall when I got there, my lord.”

  “But they’re surely still in the castle,” said Lazdac. “Go and find them. Wait—wake the wench first.”

  “Deifsg o’bhoch breadarwyd!” Celaidra said, then wrapped herself in her shadow and disappeared back into the ruined stacks.

  Halla’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw her former captor, she made a muffled sound and struggled to get to her feet.

  Maura started forward to help her, but Lazdac snapped, “Stay where you are.”

  His fierce eyes remained fixed on Halla, and he returned her furious gaze with a malicious smile. “I hadn’t expected to see you here, Lady Lorendale, but I must confess I’m delighted. When you stole away from Drak Icar, you took something of mine with you.” He looked pointedly at Halla’s flat stomach. “I’ll remove your gag, but should you call out, she”—he lifted his chin at Maura—“will pay the price.”

  He signaled to Audric, who hurried forward and took the cloth from Halla’s mouth.

  “You’re going to kill us all anyway,” Halla hissed at Lazdac, “you despicable—”

  Lazdac pointed a finger at Maura, and a blinding pain, like a spike through her heart, stabbed into her, making her double over with a sharp cry.

  The dark wizard clucked his tongue disparagingly at Halla. “See what your poor manners have made me do?”

  “I’m sorry!” Halla said at once. “Don’t hurt her!”

  He dropped his hand, and the knifing pain subsided, leaving a dull throbbing in its wake.

  Maura straightened and met Halla’s anguished gaze. “Don’t give in to him,” she said.

  Lazdac grabbed Maura’s arm and flung her at Roth. “Keep her quiet,” he ordered.

  Then he returned his attention to Halla. “You thought to foil my plans for you and the child, then led the å Livåri against my drakdaemons. That was very unwise.”

  “While you led no one,” Halla retorted. “Was that supposed to be the resounding defeat you spoke of so often? And where were you, while your monsters were being annihilated? Still licking your wounds from your defeat at my cousin’s hands?”

  Maura feared Halla had gone too far, for the Strigori’s eyes took on an even more frightening gleam. “I had something to prepare,” he said, his voice as cold as iron. “Before this night is out, I’ll tell you all about it. It will be just like old times in Drak Icar. And when I’ve
finished, my dealings with the Konigurs will be nearly complete. Killing you will be the last of them… save one.”

  Chapter 60

  “I’m going after Lazdac.” Whit drew breath, preparing to forestall Master Morgan’s protest.

  Instead, the old wizard heaved a sigh. “I expected no less of you, despite the risks.”

  Whit had drawn his mentor out of the Great Hall to tell him of his plans, and from where they stood, they could hear the wind whistling down from the stairs leading to the northern turret.

  “And I will go with you,” Master Morgan added.

  Whit stared at him. “Master—”

  “I know what you’re thinking—I’d be of no use in a duel with a hedge witch, let alone a virtuos.” He held up his hand. “No—it’s true. But I might have something other than magic up my sleeve.”

  Whit felt certain a meeting between Lazdac and the wizard who had driven him into decades of hiding would end badly for one of them. And the Strigori had all the advantages. But he couldn’t very well refuse the offer.

  He turned his head at the sound of footfalls, and instinctively stepped in front of Master Morgan. But it was only Leif who came barreling out of the gloom.

  “Thank the gods!” he cried. “The Cailleach just left the Great Hall. She cast a dream spell over everyone.” He paused for breath. “Well, almost everyone. It didn’t work on me, maybe because of all my dragonfast bindings, but I pretended it did.” He looked between them gravely. “She took Halla and King Fynn away with her.”

  “Celaidra has joined with the Cailleach,” said Morgan. “They are one being now. They will take Halla and Fynn to Lazdac!”

  Whit made a move toward the hall, but the old wizard laid a hand on his arm. “Beware, Whit. We must come on Celaidra unawares.”

  Whit nodded, then cast his shadow over the three of them.

  In the Great Hall, which just moments ago had been filled with music and laughter, they were now met by only the crackle and hiss of the fires burning in the wide hearths. The revelers were slumped over the boards, their sleeves in pools of wine and ale from dropped goblets, or sprawled out on the floor, platters of food strewn around them, deep in sleep.