The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  Paumer assumed the meaningful expression of the statesman about to challenge his colleagues to sacrificial service. “Well, gentlemen. Shall we do as he suggests?”

  Jarnel laughed so rarely it was a real shock when he did so now. “What? What are you talking about?”

  The merchant looked at him. “Why, bring this up before our governments, of course.”

  “Pleclypsa doesn’t have a government!” Jarnel argued. “You have a trade board and a cultural council, both of which you control!”

  “Actually,” Paumer countered, “my wife heads the cultural council. I certainly don’t control her.”

  “But you do direct the trade board, and that’s the closest tiling to a government your little city has. Haranamous has a king! Arl has a king! If Chaom or myself tried to suggest to our respective sovereigns that we needed to work together on anything, we’d each be convicted, finally, of being members of the Conspiracy, and would be executed. Or I would, anyway,” he added, glancing over at Chaom.

  “I likely would be, too,” Chaom agreed.

  Jarnel turned back to Paumer and demanded, “Exactly what are you asking us to do?”

  They heard an insistent knock on the library door, and Paumer seemed relieved by the interruption. “Yes!” he shouted.

  “Milord Paumer,” the steward called out. “Lord Wilker has departed for his home.”

  “He what?” the merchant shouted, jumping up and running to the door to throw it open.

  “He said to tell you that he’s received word that the two-headed dragon has occupied the Central Gate, and that the Remnant is marching to war against it.”

  That was what Nebalath needed to know. He couldn’t take off for the Central Gate without first removing his cloaking spell, of course, so he suddenly appeared in the corner of the room, and both Jarnel and Chaom spotted him and gasped. “Enjoyed the meeting,” he told them, “but I really must fly.” Then he disappeared.

  It wasn’t really flying, of course. It was better.

  Chapter Eight: REMNANT’S RUIN

  You can’t do this,” Seagryn told Garney.

  He’d already said it many times, and the little man was tired of hearing it. Garney whirled to face him. “Listen, Seagryn. We are the One Land. We can do anything we choose. If you truly wish to help us then think of a way you can fit into the king’s strategy. If you cannot, please get out of the way.”

  “What strategy?” Seagryn argued. “‘We’ll all just charge the thing?’ That’s a strategy?”

  Garney sighed with exasperation and looked away, but Seagryn couldn’t tell whether the little man was more frustrated with him or with the king. “You don’t understand …”

  “I think I do. If you try to tell the king the truth about the dragon, you may be forced to tell him other truths as well — like the truth about the world outside — the truth about this being only a Remnant of the once-great One Land. Is that it?” Garney sighed again and shook his head. Seagryn plunged on. “No? Well, let me tell you what I do understand. I understand about Vicia-Heinox. If you let your king march this army out to charge the dragon you can be certain it will never march back Inside again. You must know that, Garney — surely you do.”

  The Keeper of the Outer Portal turned to Seagryn, his expression a mixture of anger and grief. “Yes, I know that. Stay here for a moment. I’ll be right back.” He then started across the throne room to talk with the large cluster of men that Seagryn had

  come to recognize composed the Royal Advisory Board. He had to push his way through, for the room was filling up with warriors.

  The army of the Remnant looked splendid. The Royal Advisors had fetched the ancient blue and gold armor from its storage cavern somewhere in this subterranean maze, and Seagryn could tell at a glance that whichever of these men served as “Keeper of the Arms” had been extremely efficient. The helmets shone in the torchlight. The blue tunics all matched, as if all had been dipped recently in the same dye. Obviously the Remnant had made a commitment to looking good on the battlefield.

  “As if that will matter to the dragon,” Seagryn mumbled to himself. Still, he felt hopeful. He peered through the crowd at Garney as the little man spoke to the others with obvious passion, occasionally gesturing in Seagryn’s direction, and finally winning nods of agreement all around. Relief flooded through him as he saw Garney turn and nod at him before plunging back through the crush toward him.

  “It’s agreed,” Garney said when he reached Seagryn again. “Follow me.” He led Seagryn back around behind the raised dais to a smaller door in the rear of the throne room. Was this the way to the king’s chambers? The door closed behind them, and Seagryn was suddenly aware of how noisy the throne room had been. Garney smiled back over his shoulder and said, “Quieter, isn’t it?” Then he gestured for Seagryn to proceed him through a doorway to the left.

  Seagryn did and had only a moment to wonder why this room was so small before that door clanged shut behind him and the key was turned. “Garney!!” he shouted, spinning around to throw his weight against it, but this door was solid metal and exceedingly thick. “Garney!” he shouted again, more in shock than in anger. “I thought you said you knew you couldn’t lock me up!”

  “It’s a special cell, Seagryn, designed and dug by the little people in the hours since you’ve been Inside.” Seagryn could barely hear him, so thick was the metal of the door. “I didn’t want to do this,” Garney continued, “but you simply would not cooperate!”

  “Garney!” Seagryn shouted, “you’re going to die! You and all the Remnant are going to die!”

  “That may be so!” the little gatekeeper called back, “but some things are worth dying for!”

  “What?” Seagryn cried. “The lie? Are you dying to protect the lie?” But Garney didn’t answer. He’d already returned to join his fellow Keepers as they planned the mass suicide of the Remnant.

  Seagryn slumped to the floor, feeling breathless. Then he noticed that the torch in the wall bracket behind him was flickering and realized the reason. There was no air in this cell — or only the tiny amount that came from the thin slit at the bottom of the door — enough to slow his death but not prevent it.

  This is no problem, he thought. He’d just take his tugolith shape — and be crushed to death! The cell was too small to contain a tugolith, and, since it had been carved out of rock, its walls would certainly not burst outward. Even if he could somehow wedge his altershape into this tiny space, he would not be able to move to force open the door. Garney’s special design appeared to be most effective. Seagryn was trapped.

  He reached up to grab the torch and snuffed its flame against the wall — no need to let it burn his precious air when he could make light at will. Then he leaned back against the cool rock and fought the panic rising inside of him. It had been a long time since Seagryn last felt powerless — when, exactly?

  When he’d been bound by Sheth’s spell in the Dragonforge, he guessed, forced to listen as that sorcerer had tortured Vicia-Heinox into the creature that now periled the world. And that time he had not freed himself but had relied instead on —

  “Oh, yes,” Seagryn said aloud to himself. “The Power.”

  His capacity for forgetting his own limitations never ceased to amaze him. How was it that he could go for days — weeks — pretending to both invincibility and immortality, never once thinking seriously about how truly powerless and mortal he really was? Elaryl had tried to remind him. Elaryl had been talking to the Power for him. Did he dare hope for yet another miracle, on her account, if not upon his own?

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the blackness, trying as he had before to see his way through the distance to her. He might at least be permitted to say good-bye before he died. Then it registered with him — if he had truly visited with Elaryl in some ghostly form, could he not visit someone closer? Could he get help from within this underground nation, from Merkle, perhaps? Would that little man respond to a plea from his
vaporous presence and come unlock the door? Seagryn didn’t disregard the Power entirely — he was willing to give that One credit for the idea — but neither did he waste any time in plunging his mind out through the rock and down, mentally searching for that uncompleted cavern he’d stood in just hours before. He couldn’t explain why he knew how to do it, nor did he make the mistake of trying and thus distracting himself so much that he no longer could. Instead he traced his way through the yellow-tile corridors and down the curving ramps, racing far more swiftly than he’d been able to move on foot, down into the unfinished cavern and across it to the entrance of what Merkle had called the double row, a small tunnel with tiny homes carved from the rock on either side. He moved effortlessly through Merkle’s door. He needed no light — his mind furnished all the illumination necessary — and quickly saw the table where he’d sat and the uneaten food still spread upon it. But a great uneasiness seized him as he searched, for the place was empty. The little people were gone.

  “Surely the king didn’t —”

  Like a boulder blown out of the bowels of the earth by gushing magma, Seagryn’s focused attention shot up out of the dwellings of the little people through the upper levels of the Remnant and out, into the sunlight that washed over the Central Gate, in time to see the blackened Outer Portal crank open. “No!” his insubstantial body called aloud as the military procession began, led, of course, by the King of the One Land, surrounded by the various Keepers. “No!” Seagryn shouted at them again, but the drums and horns of a blue-and-gold clad band filled the pass with stirring music, and no one seemed to heed him.

  Toward the head of the column marched Garney, and Seagryn flew now to him — for that’s what it felt like, this ability to throw his incorporeal presence from place to place. But Garney wouldn’t look his way, even when he shouted in the little Keeper’s ear. “Garney!” he pleaded. “Garney! You must turn back!” He put himself in the little man’s path to block him, but the column marched through him as if he weren’t there — as, indeed, he wasn’t.

  It seemed likely to him now that neither Garney nor any of the others were able to see him. Elaryl had told him he looked thin-shadowy. But these people, most of whom had never seen the sunlight in their lives, were fighting the brilliance to see anything at all. They moved resolutely forward, following in the footsteps of the person before them, each with one hand holding a weapon and the other shielding light-blinded eyes.

  And the column was huge. Did it include everyone in the Remnant? Seagryn moved back to gaze at the line in dismay as it continued to spill down that wide, fire-scorched stairway. Women and children marched alongside the men, carrying banners and pennants and singing some hymn of praise to their king and then-nation. Were the little people still inside?

  The wisp of Seagryn’s projected thoughts shot back into the throne room. It was still as crowded as it had been before but now appeared to be only an exaggerated corridor through which an oddly jubilant army tramped. He glanced at the throne itself. He was peripherally aware that behind it was a small door and, beyond that a cell in which his body waited, but he refused to give his focus there for fear the bonds of time and space might reclaim him. Instead his attention glided down the column of faces, a score abreast — had there actually been this many people inside the Remnant? Were they all actually marching out to attack the dragon? He looked for the little people among the big and found them at last. Walking in a line of their own, Merkle and his mates made their way along the wall, each carrying a metal ax more suitable for digging than for battle. They walked in lockstep, one hand on the shoulder in front of them, all of them squinting their eyes against the brilliance of the torchlight around them. Seagryn wanted to curse the Royal Advisors for including them in this parade — they were blind here in the light of the throne room! What value would they be to the king outside in the sunshine? Seagryn fell into step beside Merkle — or did he float beside him? — and addressed him earnestly.

  “Merkle! Merkle, can you hear me?” he asked. But the little man made no response. He marched stoically forward, digging tool in one hand, his other hand on the shoulder in front of him, marching off to war. “Merkle!” Seagryn tried one last time, but in the stamping and shuffling of thousands of feet the little man couldn’t — or wouldn’t — hear him. A line of children raced through him, laughing and giggling as if on their way to a picnic. And Seagryn greatly feared it would be exactly that — for someone. Unless he could talk the beast out of it —

  A moment later his transparent form floated above the head named Heinox, and for the first time today someone actually seemed to notice him.

  “Seagryn person!” Vicia said brightly. “You’re back!” Then that head frowned and asked in a scolding tone, “Where have you been?”

  The Heinox head had rolled back to peer directly up at him, and also frowned — more out of concern than reproach. “You look very pale. Have you been eating properly?”

  “I’m about to eat well!” Vicia cackled, smacking his great lips and drooling over the approaching army. He then appeared to think of something and cocked himself to one side and looked at Seagryn admiringly. “Did you arrange this feast for me?”

  “In a way, perhaps,” Seagryn murmured. More than he wanted to admit. Then he spoke forcefully. “Vicia-Heinox, listen. You cannot do this.”

  “I cannot do what?” said Heinox.

  “He can’t be talking to me,” Vicia explained to his other head. “I can do whatever I like.”

  Heinox appeared less certain. “Are you talking to me?”

  “I’m talking to both of you!” Seagryn pleaded. “I know you think you can do whatever you like — indeed, you have the power to do just that. But having the power to do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it! Some things are right to do, while others are morally wrong. You may not see it now, but to consume this entire nation would be utterly reprehensible behavior — even for a dragon!” The two heads both stared at him in openmouthed wonder. He apparently had caught the beast’s attention! Was it possible that he’d managed to make an impact on this —

  “Both of us?” Vicia asked, enormously puzzled. “What does that mean?”

  “Are you talking to me?” Heinox asked again.

  “Ahem!” This came from below them, and they all looked down to realize that the King of the One Land had been repeatedly clearing his throat to get their attention. Several servants held a portable canopy over the king’s head, shielding him somewhat from the direct rays of the sun. Seagryn credited the king’s relative blindness for his utterly fearless demeanor. Certainly no one — not even a king who had never in his life been allowed to feel threatened — could gaze up into two such horrible faces and not experience at least a little anxiety. When their silence assured him that he had both heads’ attention, the king called out, “Dragon, I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

  The smile that spread across Vida’s ever-hungry features gave Seagryn a sick feeling in the pit of his insubstantial stomach. “You want to talk to me?” Vicia cackled. Then he glided down to hover at eye level with the king. “Nothing could give me more pleasure!” The beast’s jaws gaped wide —

  “So, here you are! You can’t imagine the trouble I’ve had finding you. What are you doing in the dark?”

  The voice seemed to come from behind him. Seagryn whirled around to face the speaker — and fell flat on his back on the floor of his cell, his head spinning. A small light burned in the room — not of his own making. When his eyes focused, he saw someone vaguely recognizable standing over him, looking down at him curiously. “What’s wrong?” the dimly lit figure asked. “Did I catch you in the midst of a sending?”

  “A … a what?” He recognized those features now. It was Nebalath!

  “Honestly, Seagryn,” the old wizard grumbled, “I do wish you’d at least learn the names of some of these tricks you perform. Of course, I realize that you’ve not had anyone knowledgeable to help you. Perhaps I should write
that book after all …”

  “N-Nebelath?”

  “You remember me. That’s encouraging. I wasn’t certain you would. Why is it so stuffy in here?” Nebalath asked as his ball of light sputtered out.

  “It’s a new cell. Garney wasn’t particularly concerned whether I could breathe or not, so long as I couldn’t get out.”

  “Oh,” Nebalath said with some concern. “Then you’d better stop flinging your spirit from place to place and get your body out of here.” Another ball of light blossomed overhead.

  “I’d be happy to do that,” Seagryn growled, making the effort to sit up. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, you know,” Nebalath chided. “You just haven’t thought of it yet. One moment.”

  Nebalath disappeared with a sharp crack, as did his light. For a moment Seagryn was left blinking into the darkness again. Then he heard a metallic scrape coming from the door, and the tumblers of a lock dropping into line. Nebalath opened the door, and Seagryn rushed for it, thrusting his face out into the corridor beyond and gasping deep draughts of air.

  “Convenient of them to leave the key in the lock,” Nebalath murmured. Then he looked at the gasping Seagryn. “And a good thing for you I happened to find you when I did.”

  Seagryn nodded, then sighed deeply, cleared his throat, and announced, “The Power sent you.”

  Nebalath made a sour face. “I hardly think that’s the case.”

  “It’s true,” Seagryn avowed, still breathing deeply. “I’ve been talking to the Power, and Elaryl has —”

  “But I haven’t.” Nebalath snorted. “Nor do I intend to any time soon! When I was growing up I had enough of that ‘One Who Must Remain Nameless’ business to last me a lifetime. I just happened to need your services and I’ve been hunting you. It appears I showed up at a fortunate moment for both of us.”

  Seagryn peered up at the older powershaper. “You don’t think that’s a miracle?”