Dragon Magic

by Megan Derr

  Sule flinched and went to see to getting the boat moving. Mahzan turned to the priest. "Where is the fearmonger?"

  "We injured the damned thing, though only the Great Dragon himself knows how," the priest replied, and looked suddenly sad and weary. His eyes took on the shine of unshed tears as he looked over Mahzan's shoulder. "I had no deep love for the place, but I never wanted that."

  Mahzan turned to look over his shoulder, and did not bother to hold back his tears. The great spires of the Compass Gates, the gleam of the castle towers, the cathedral—gone. Everything had been destroyed. The Heart of the Dragon was in ruins. His home… Even if he had once agreed to leave the city for Kuzey, he had never really wanted to go. He had been born and raised in the Heart, had planned to die there.

  Destroyed in a matter of minutes. "His Majesty?" he asked dully.

  "I don't know," Binhadi said as he joined them. He did not look like the ominous shadow mage everyone held in awe and fear. He looked as sad and broken as the rest of them. At the helm, Sule looked angry, but Mahzan suspected that was how he faced anguish.

  He tried to think of something witty, clever, the sorts of things jesters always had on the tips of their tongues. But the words stuck in his throat, choked him, and he gave up. In silence, they watched flames consume the Heart of the Dragon, until night and distance stole it from their sight.

  OATH

  They slept in the fishing boat when it grew too dark and all of them grew too exhausted to continue traveling. Land must be close, but Sule was no sailor, and he did not want to risk running the ship into something. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, slipping in and out of clouds. The smell of smoke mingled with the fresher scent of the Great Lake.

  Sule's eyes stung from the smoke, and the cold air made him shiver; his formal cloak was meant for celebration, not the chilly winds of the Great Lake. He drifted in and out of a restless sleep, and woke as the sky was fading from black to gray.

  As dawn slowly came upon them, he looked back toward the Heart of the Dragon. Smoke still poured from it, though it was in trickles rather than gouts. The city that had survived centuries had been destroyed in less than an hour.

  How had the other cities fared? The Great Lake stretched for leagues in all directions, forming a loose oval close to the very center of the continent. At each of the compass points was a large city: Dragon Claw, Dragon Tooth, Dragon Scale, and Dragon Eyes, the great twin-city that stretched across the enormous river to the north that fed the lake.

  Turning around, Sule's heart immediately sank as he saw more smoke where Claw should have been. The beacon tower that should have hailed them as they drew close was gone, and he saw no signs of life, only empty boats drifting along the water with them. If they had been foolish enough to push on last night, they would have crashed into at least one of them.

  How much devastation had the fearmonger wrought?

  The sound of movement, groaning and yawning, made him turn again. He stared at Mahzan, who stripped off his ruined purple and pink tunic and cast it aside, leaving only a white under tunic stained with sweat and blood—though none of it appeared to be his.

  Memories of the previous night ran through Sule's mind, but very little of it was clear, especially after he had returned to the Hall after ensuring the king was safely away. But he remembered how Mahzan had brought down what remained of the ceiling. That was high level mind magic. Most mind mages were empaths of low to moderate power. Usually they took up roles as clerks, advisors, or similar such that made being able to feel emotion a useful skill. Those with strong emotion reading often went mad as they grew older. Once it had been illegal for mind mages not to report their abilities to the throne, since the skill had terrible potential. Long before that, they'd been killed outright the moment they were discovered, considered too dangerous to be left alive.

  A mind mage powerful enough to move objects with mere thought, to bring down walls and ceilings… and he had been living as a mere jester. A spy of some sort? But no, that didn't make sense. Jesters had access to many places, but a spy would not want to draw the sort of attention that being the King's Jester would garner.

  So one of those who preferred to eschew his magic. Bah.

  Mahzan turned and looked around, then caught his eyes. Sule expected some smirking remark, and was startled when he only said, "I thought things would be better in the morning. Is that Claw burning?"

  Sule looked over his shoulder, even though he knew it was. His mouth pinched. "Yes. From the look of it, the fearmonger attacked Claw first. I hope the other cities are unharmed."

  Pursing his lips in thought, Mahzan nodded toward Claw. "If the fearmonger razed Claw before it attacked the Heart, then it likely came from the Red Forest Mountains. There are caves of sufficient size to keep a fearmonger, and they'd be warm enough with all the hidden hot springs. There'd also be food aplenty to feed it."

  "It is also," Binhadi interjected, "not far from where Prince Seda is imprisoned."

  Sule swore. "Do you really think Prince Seda is behind this?"

  Binhadi shook his head. "I do not know, but who else could it be? His Highness and the Grand Dukes are the only ones who stand to gain anything by such destruction. That being said, I don't know how they would do it. Lord Metin is an acclaimed beast mage, but such magic does not extend to fearmongers."

  Sule's frown deepened as he turned to stare out at the water and smoke. When King Kanth had died ten years ago, he had thrown the court into turmoil by bequeathing the throne to his younger son, Yavuz. Prince Seda, his eldest son, had not accepted the news gracefully. He had attempted to take the throne by force, and the four most powerful men in the country had stood with him—the Grand Dukes of the North, East, South, and West.

  When they had lost, all five men had been stripped of everything they possessed and imprisoned across the country.

  "They could control a fearmonger under Oath," Mahzan said.

  The priest shook his head. "Absurd. Oaths are a myth. I have never once come across a tale of Oathbound mages that was true."

  "Ah, yes, because books are never written with bias or filled with lies and errors," Mahzan said scathingly. "I am telling you, Prince Seda and the Grand Dukes could have captured and controlled that fearmonger if they were Oathbound. It's the only way controlling a fearmonger would be possible."

  The priest said, "Even assuming that is true, how could they be under Oath? They are hundreds of miles from each other. If they were bound before the uprising, surely the Oath has long since been broken by distance, if not something else."

  Sule scowled. "What in the name of the Great Dragon is an Oath?"

  "An old, forgotten magic," Binhadi said. "Under Oath, mages are bound together, unable to part, for a set length of time or until a certain requirement is met. I have never known it to be done. They're considered myth, and even if they are true, they're so rare and knowledge of them so non-existent that they're little better than myth."

  Mahzan added, "Oaths were used back in bloodier days, when such bonds were necessary to achieve the levels and versatility of magic required. There are definite, reliable recordings of Oaths in the last Blood War, and in earlier wars. The Feelia bloodline was destroyed by an Oath formed under that very stricture. Prince Seda was a capable shadow mage, and the Grand Dukes were fiercely loyal to him and equally competent in magic. I see no reason they could not have sworn an Oath, and if it's an Oath of Heart, then even distance would not break it."

  Sule's brow rose. "Why should I believe a royal fool over His Majesty's warlock?"

  Sneering, Mahzan replied, "Interesting opinion from a man who doesn't even know what an Oath is. I may be King's Jester, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. I can hold my own in knowledge and power with anyone in the Heart, even Warlock Morlock. I don't remember your sword and flames doing much to stop—"

  He broke off as Sule leapt over the railing and down to the lower deck, landing neatly in front of him and reaching for his sword—onl
y to be stopped by shadows closing over his hands. Sule glared furiously at Binhadi. "Release me."

  "The Heart is destroyed, Claw is destroyed. We are very much the worse for wear. We need food, proper rest, and information. We will obtain none of that by acting like children." Binhadi's dark eyes flashed. "Behave like the North Captain you are supposed to be." He turned to Mahzan. "If you can hold your own with me, act like it." He gave them a last admonishing look and withdrew his shadows.

  Sule returned to the helm. "So where shall we go? To obtain food and supplies and information? I could dock in Claw, but I do not know how far that would get us."

  "Head northeast, toward Barren Point," Binhadi said. "If His Majesty was able to escape, that is where he would have been taken. It's the easiest place from which to push on to the Broken Monastery."

  The priest looked up sharply, eyes narrowed. "How would you know that?"

  Binhadi met his gaze unflinching. "The better question, priest, is how would you? Who and what are you?"

  Smiling, nothing nice in the expression, the priest replied, "I am Cemal, a Shield of the Holy Order."

  "You're a battle priest?" Sule asked in disbelief. "They still have those? I was never told such a thing."

  "Our existence is known to precious few. My duty is to protect the High Priest and His Majesty," Cemal replied. "I was only made a shield priest six months ago, so my duties are still fairly minor." His face clouded.

  Mahzan said quietly, "The High Priest did not survive."

  "No, he did not," Cemal said flatly. "We almost had him out, but the fearmonger came on too suddenly, and we had nowhere to go. I am alive because I slipped. The rest of them were dead before they could draw breath to scream." He closed his eyes, hands balling into fists at his side, breaths coming out slow and careful.

  Sule winced. He knew how it felt to be a survivor, even before the fearmonger. "It's not your fault."

  Cemal said nothing, only opened his eyes and regarded Binhadi. "So we head for the Broken Monastery?"

  "It seems our best option," Binhadi said, and turned to look at Sule.

  He felt suddenly like a new recruit with the eyes of the general on him, acutely aware of all his shortcomings. Or like a son, painfully aware of the disappointment in his father's eyes. You're no daughter of mine! Sule flinched and looked away.

  "You seem a competent sailor."

  "Competent is a tad generous," Sule said, slowly turning back to face Binhadi. "But I probably won't sink us. Barren Point isn't far. We should be there in a few hours." He returned to his post and adjusted their course, grateful it took them away from fully seeing the ruin of Claw. "Do you think His Majesty made it to safety?"

  "I don't know," Binhadi said. "I was busy in the Hall. I saw you take him away, but that is all."

  Sule grunted, annoyance returning. "His private guard came, took him away. I returned to the Hall; I thought I'd be of more use there. I do not know what became of any of them. I hope they made it." He tried not to think of the tens of thousands of people who were dead. Hopefully they were all dead—if not, survivors were living on an island of corpses, and their food supplies would dwindle quickly to lake weed and fish, until they could find boats or get help from the outlying cities. Hopefully the outlying cities had noticed something was wrong and were headed to rescue whoever might be left.

  He shuddered to think of the chaos that would spring up were the people to learn the king was dead and a fearmonger was somewhere out there, waiting to strike again. "What will happen if the king is dead?"

  No one replied, but he supposed a reply wasn't necessary. The country needed a king, and the only remaining person of royal blood was a criminal locked away on an island far to the northeast. As Prince Seda was not a viable option, the remaining nobles would fight for the throne, and civil war would cause far more damage than a fearmonger.

  They lapsed into silence, each man retreating to his own thoughts. Sule kept most of his attention on the fishing boat and the water, but curiosity compelled him time and again to look over his companions. Try as he might, he could not ignore them the way he normally would, though he could not explain why. Maybe it was a lingering effect of the way he, Cemal, and Mahzan had given their power to Binhadi for a time. He had never given his power to anyone, did not like the idea of someone having that sort of hold on him, but a good soldier did what was necessary.

  Cemal vanished from view. Why? Sule shifted his gaze to Mahzan, who had thrown a bucket over the side of the ship and was hauling it back up. Kneeling in front of it, Mahzan fumbled with one of the half-dozen pouches at his waist and pulled something out—soap, Sule realized, as Mahzan worked it into a lather and began to wash his face.

  Sule had, in his days of youthful stupidity, taken up with a jester. It was one of the smaller mistakes he had made, in the grand tapestry of his life, but it had taught him not to waste his time on fools. The man had taught him much about fucking, drinking, and carousing—and nearly ruined his chances of getting the promotion that had been his first step toward moving to the Heart.

  One of the things he remembered from that short stretch of weeks was the man's face paint. He could spend hours painting his face just so, and once it was on, practically nothing would remove it. He had needed a special soap to scrub it all away, and like Mahzan, he had always carried a small measure of it on his person.

  He looked away to check their course, but curiosity drove him right back to watching. Free of his paint, Mahzan started to work on removing the trinkets in his hair. His face was surprisingly handsome, in an understated sort of way. He had the black-brown skin especially common amongst those born in the Heart, a broad nose and full mouth that might have been pretty if he weren't such an ass.

  Annoyed with himself, Sule looked away to the bow of the ship, where Binhadi skulked. His black robes were ripped in several places, burned in others, and it looked as though blood had dried on his right upper arm. If he was in pain, however, the straight line of his back and shoulders gave no indication of it. His hair had come loose of its braid, falling to the middle of his back. The wind whipped up, blowing his robes forward, plastering them to his backside.

  Sule looked away, back at Mahzan, still working diligently on his hair. He looked ridiculous, a bright, colorful, half-made jester on a dumpy fishing vessel. Movement caught Sule's eye, and he turned as Cemal joined him at the helm, holding out a small wedge of sailor's bread. "There were some provisions below decks. I thought you might like a bite."

  Nodding in thanks, Sule took it and ate one handed, the other always on the wheel.

  "Did you have family in the city?" Cemal asked softly.

  "No," Sule said flatly. After he had returned home that last night to tell his family of a commendation he was to receive, his father had lost whatever little patience he'd had left. Sule had hoped with all his heart that someone in his family would accept him as brother or son, accept he did not want to be daughter and sister, but in the end, he'd been left alone.

  It no longer mattered—he would not let it matter. He had his men, his commanders, his friends… Except he didn't have them anymore, either. They were all dead now. Better not to think about it. There was a mystery to solve and a fearmonger to find and kill. Mourning would have to wait.

  Cemal looked as though he wanted to say something else, but in the end, he went to give food to the others. He was so good at being a proper little priest, Sule had to wonder how much of a priest he truly was not. Then again, he was a Shield, which surely was not a position granted lightly.

  Dragon, he hadn't realized such an old-fashioned thing still existed. Priests had not gone to war for centuries, and they were not allowed to carry weapons or engage in violent behavior. Priests took vows to do no harm, to help those in need and do work that benefited society. Such a frivolous, ignorant vow could hardly produce competent soldiers.

  It was like expecting a fool to fight. Thinking of Mahzan made him look toward the man, and Sule was startled all
over again to see how completely different Mahzan looked free of the marks of his profession. He still wore his ridiculous leggings, but in the white tunic, his dark, heavy braids loose, his face clean of paint…

  He looked normal. Not wholly unappealing. If they were still in the Heart, and Mahzan were not a fool—the greatest fool in the kingdom, in fact—Sule might have been tempted to coax Mahzan to his bed. Assuming, of course, Mahzan was not the type of person to be displeased Sule's body was not the kind typically associated with men. The city had proven to be more accepting about such things than his village, but only in certain places, and not enough of them that Sule had ever been able to stop keeping his secret entirely.

  "Land ho," Binhadi cried suddenly, jerking Sule's attention back to the task at hand. Sure enough, he could see land just beyond Binhadi's shoulder—they would reach it soon. Barren Point, so called because a fire many years ago had destroyed the surrounding wood, and illness had killed an entire village. Nothing remained of the place now but long-empty, broken down homes, and earth that would not see the return of its forest for a very long time. He did not even know what it had once been called, so long had everyone called it Barren Point.

  Silence reigned as they sailed on, until at last, they were close enough to see what remained of the harbor. "That's a royal ship! Perhaps His Majesty made it after all."

  "Maybe," Binhadi said, frowning. He turned so that the sun caught his back and cast a long shadow, then held out his hands, folding and joining his fingers until the shadow they cast looked like a bird with wings spread. Magic fluttered softly through Sule's mind—but how could he still feel that? He wasn't casting it, and Binhadi didn't need his power for such a minor thing.

  The thought slipped away as the shadow-bird lifted from the wood of the deck and flew into the air, soaring away on magic toward the ship with royal purple sails. That wasn't possible. Shadows were always tethered to surfaces, even when being manipulated.

  "You can't—" Cemal rounded on Binhadi. "You can't do that. Shadows can't be freed that way. It's not how they work."