The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  It was several minutes before the source of the cloud of dust turned up the long, tree-lined lane that led up to the house. By that time she’d been joined by her father and several of the servants, including Jocelath. Once she’d identified the oncoming carriage as that of Ranoth, she glanced aside at her timorous maidservant, and the girl smiled back at her, happy that her mistress would not be eaten today, at least. Jocelath was certainly loyal; she couldn’t fault the girl for that. “Run up to my apartments and lay out the light-blue velvet with the high waist. Now what is it?” she sighed, further annoyed by the girl’s quick frown.

  “My Lady, it’s still summer —”

  “It’s not that hot! Go do it!” She turned back to look out the door in time to catch Talarath hiding a frown of his own. There it was again. He never used to hide his displeasure!

  “It’s early to be dressing for dinner,” he murmured. The implication was clear, and Elaryl responded to it immediately.

  “I am going to meet with Ranoth this time, Father. There’s no use in your trying to prevent me from it!”

  “I think that’s a decision that should be left up to the —”

  “I said I am,” Elaryl said with finality, not expecting for a moment that it would actually be the last word. To her surprise, it was, or very nearly so.

  “I see.” Talarath nodded stiffly. Was he trembling slightly? “If you insist. Cheragon,” he continued, turning to the steward of the house, “they’ve been here so frequently, I’m sure Ranoth and his party know precisely where they’ll be staying. See that they’re made comfortable. I’m going to dress myself.”

  Elaryl watched him carefully as he climbed the stairs, certain that he moved a step or two more slowly now than she’d remembered. And did his head droop forward more? Was he sick? As she climbed the stairs after him, she realized she was drooping some herself …

  “My Lady,” Jocelath began doubtfully, but this time Elaryl cut her off. It was the third time her maid had protested the choice of this dress since lacing her into it, and Elaryl grew weary of the issue.

  “It feels fine. It’s an excellent fit, the weather is cooling, and it promises to be a pleasant evening, perhaps a nice night for a walk —”

  “You’re not going outside?” Jocelath asked, a fretful finger to her lips.

  “I don’t know!” Elaryl groaned as she walked quickly toward the door, Jocelath trailing her anxiously. “I might. And what difference does it make? The dragon doesn’t fly at night, does he?”

  “I don’t think anyone knows …” the maid said, still worried.

  “Except perhaps my husband,” Elaryl grumbled.

  “But just in case …”

  Elaryl stepped out on the balcony and looked back at her curly-topped servant. At times like this, she wondered who was working for whom. “Very well. If it will make you feel any better, I give you my word I will not go outside this evening.” Jocelath smiled and let out a relieved sigh. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” Elaryl scolded softly, but she didn’t dent her maidservant’s grin. “I don’t know whether you’re my maid, or my best friend, or my mother!”

  Jocelath shrugged. “I like that second one, myself. I still say you’re going to be hot in that thing,” she added.

  “Then I’ll be hot!” Elaryl snapped, and she trotted down the stairs. By the time she reached the door of the library she could already feel the perspiration trickling down her ribs …

  “Elaryl!” Ranoth exclaimed grandly as she pressed on through the doors, and he threw open his arms to embrace her. He had greeted her thus all her life — the only difference now being that the little man had to reach up to her instead of down. “And how is the golden flower of the Rivers Region?”

  “Not all that well,” she answered with polite firmness. “I would certainly be much improved if you’ve brought some good news.” It was the most direct statement she’d ever made to the chief Elder of her land, and she could imagine the frown it caused to chase across her father’s face. She didn’t see it, however, for her gaze stayed fixed on Ranoth, gauging his reactions. His slow, sad smile told her all she needed to know. “There is none, is there?”

  “Elaryl, you overstep —” Talarath began with some of the old fire, but Ranoth stopped him with an upraised hand.

  “No,” he murmured. Then he took a deep breath and regarded this young lady’s face as if he’d never truly looked at it before. “I remember after your mother died and we’d laid her body away in the crypt of Elders in the capital, you came to stand before me with just that same expression upon your face and demanded to know why. You were ten. Do you remember that?”

  Mention of her mother’s death brought too many memories to Elaryl’s mind for her to single out the incident Ranoth was recalling. She shook her head, and he nodded.

  “Just that same expression. And I told you I didn’t know why, because I didn’t — I never do, with death. And you nodded — much like you are right now — and seemed satisfied that I had at least told you the truth. Somehow … somehow I have the same feeling today I had back then —”

  “Is Seagryn dead?” she demanded, her jaws clenched to absorb the shock of the blow, but her cheeks coloring in bright testimony to her terror at its coming.

  “No. Not Seagryn.”

  Her clenched muscles suddenly went slack, so much so she thought she might topple over. She caught her balance and sighed in relief: If it wasn’t Seagryn and it wasn’t Talarath, then she could stand the news, no matter how grim. “Then who?” she asked, her mouth dry.

  Ranoth looked at Talarath, who looked back at him noncommittally. Finally he shrugged. “Rather a what, an idea, a way of life.”

  “What is it you mean?” she asked, troubled by his hopeless tone. Did this have something to do with her father’s recent mood?

  “What’s dying is the Land of Lamath as we have known it. And we?” He looked wearily at Talarath. “We are coconspirators in its murder.”

  Elaryl fully understood the meaning of the Elder’s words, and she couldn’t mistake the despair in the faces of these two men she had honored all her life. She just couldn’t make sense of how it all related to the world she knew. “How can you possibly say such a thing? You two are the chief among the Ruling Elders —”

  “And likely soon the only survivors among the Ruling Elders!” Ranoth interrupted, with a savagery that surprised her. His anger wasn’t directed at her; she knew that. But it was very much in evidence.

  “The others are —”

  “Dead. Devoured, if you will, by the dragon your husband had a hand in making.”

  Once again Elaryl reeled. This time her feet wouldn’t hold her, and she had to reach behind her to find her way into a chair. “But how — Is he …”

  “Seagryn has nothing to do with it,” Talarath snapped, sitting himself. Ranoth remained standing. He evidently needed to pace.

  “Your father’s right. Seagryn’s not a cause of any of this. Nor is he being of very much help, either, but that’s quite beside the point. Did you know that the Remnant is no more?”

  “The Remnant?”

  “It’s been utterly consumed. Swallowed up by the dragon.” He waited for some response, but Elaryl was too shocked to make any. She’d never been inside the Remnant, but she’d heard her father tell tales of a magic place under the mountain …

  Ranoth continued his explanation. “Since that took place, a certain party has learned how to manipulate the dragon and direct it to kill whomever he chooses. This party has made threats upon all of the Elders, and has already, apparently succeeded in having the beast eat two. He makes no secret of his purpose in all this. He has, in fact, demanded a meeting with myself and your father.”

  “With —” Talarath grunted in surprise.

  “With the two of us, yes. He wanted to meet in the Heartland, but I refused — too dense a population there, Talarath. You understand.”

  “Then he’s coming —”

  “Here.
Yes. In fact, I had anticipated he might arrive before me —”

  At that moment someone outside the door shouted, “Tugolith! Tugolith upon the road!”

  “A tugolith!” Elaryl cried as she bounded to her feet with joy and rushed out of the library. In the hall she was struck with a dilemma — the rooftop to witness his arrival? Or the doorway, to be ready to greet him? She decided on the doorway and raced down the steps for what seemed the hundredth time today, joyfully calling, “Tugolith! Tugolith! Tugolith!” with absolute assurance that her husband had finally come home.

  She was not the first to the doorway this time, but she crowded through the servants clustered around it so that she stood in front on the porch, smiling and waving wildly at the beast who rumbled up the lane. Then her hand froze above her head. This wasn’t Seagryn at all. It was something else entirely.

  There was not one tugolith rumbling up the lane, but a half dozen. They were harnessed together in pairs with links of chain she’d only seen previously in seaports, anchoring huge ships to the docks. Each huge link had to be the size of her own head. The roadway was large enough for two wagons to pass one another easily, yet the lead pair spanned the whole of it and beyond, from the line of trees on one side to the line of trees on the other. Elaryl could tell at a glance that these trees would never be the same after this visit, for what the team of tugoliths pulled behind them dwarfed their own great bulk.

  It was a gigantic armored wagon of metal-sheathed wood, although it looked less like a wagon than the siege engines of which she’d seen drawings in books. It had battlements lined with arrow slits and a central tower, and seemed to bristle with armed men bearing spears and swords and arrows. This grand conveyance suggested nothing less than a castle on wheels — four wheels on a side, she counted now, and each twice her own height in diameter. With its scales of metal sheeting and its ungainly profile, the wagon had a hideous, almost reptilian appearance that made her shudder. At the same time, she immediately wanted to see inside it, curious as to how its interior might be decorated.

  The immense carriage made slow progress up the lane, despite the power of the six tugoliths pulling it. Grand old tree limbs groaned as they bent before its insistent pressure, and not a few of them finally snapped and crashed to the ground in the battle-wagon’s wake. It occurred to her that if this was the nemesis of Lamath arriving, his rolling fortress was at this very moment most vulnerable — unable to turn from side to side and not really capable of making quick progress. She watched hopefully for some sudden surprise attack by green-clad Lamathian guardsmen — but none came. And when they finally shouldered past the two lines of trees onto the large lawn that graced the front of her rebuilt home, the tugoliths moved with an agility that surprised her as they turned the great wagon around. It was only as she watched a wide door open in its rear and a stairway being lowered to the ground out of it that Elaryl realized her father and Ranoth now flanked her on either side, watching the mobile castle’s arrival with identically grim expressions. Warriors dressed in a livery she didn’t recognize clattered down the stairway to form two protective columns. A moment later their leader walked down these same steps with much greater leisure, and Elaryl struggled to place the young man. He, too, wore these lime-green and navy-blue colors that meant nothing to her. She leaned over to Ranoth and whispered, “Who is he?”

  Ranoth didn’t take his eyes off the man as he answered, “That, my dear, is Ognadzu, chief heir to the House of Paumer. Or perhaps I should call him the head of the House of Ognadzu, for it appears that in the last few months he’s wrested control of much of the family empire from his father’s hands. And yes, as you’ve already guessed — this is the man who threatens us.”

  “But — he’s a boy!” she couldn’t keep herself from observing.

  “Yes. A very angry, very powerful boy. Shall we greet him?” Ranoth stepped forward and assumed his ceremonial voice as he called out, “Lord Ognadzu! On behalf of the people of the five regions I welcome you to the Fragment of Lamath! I’ll allow our host to welcome you to this house. Talarath?”

  Elaryl watched the mocking arrogance with which Ognadzu received this greeting, and decided immediately she didn’t like him. Her father cleared his throat. “My — ah — Lord Ognadzu, you are — most welcome. I — had no prior knowledge of your coming or we would have prepared a feast. I — I’m not certain how many rooms will be needed to house you, but if you’ll give me some number, I’ll inform the steward and he’ll begin immediately to —”

  “Save yourself the trouble, Talarath,” the boy flippantly replied. “I did know I was coming, and there’s a feast already prepared for you inside my home. Would you join me, please?” This was not an invitation. It was, rather, a command, launched with calculated arrogance and designed to indicate to all those listening Ognadzu’s relative strength in this encounter. Elaryl didn’t just dislike this boy — she found she immediately despised him.

  She wondered if she’d somehow reflected this realization on her face, for suddenly Ognadzu’s eyes focused on her, and his gloating smile hardened into a grimace of dangerous self-doubt. Ognadzu didn’t smile easily — his guile was not yet as practiced as that of his father. She saw him struggling to recover as he asked, “And who is this woman? The blonde?”

  Ranoth opened his mouth to reply, but Elaryl broke in to answer for herself. “lam Elaryl, wife to Seagryn,” she proclaimed proudly.

  “Oh, ho. So, you are the famous Elaryl,” Ognadzu said, “cherished spouse of the man who helped my father and Sheth to construct the dragon.” The boy was mocking her.

  “Yes.”

  “That almost makes you a part of the family! By all means you, too, must join us for dinner.”

  Elaryl wondered for only a moment what the lad would do if she declined the invitation … But, of course, she wouldn’t decline. The events this childish boor had come to discuss involved her far too deeply. Besides, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the inside of this fascinating vehicle. “If you insist.”

  “My Lady!” Jocelath whispered anxiously from behind her. Elaryl didn’t look back, deciding instead to see if she could charm this adolescent merchant into providing her some information.

  “That’s my maid,” she explained to Ognadzu with a slight smile that again threw him off guard. “She’s afraid if I step outside the house the dragon will swoop down and swallow me.”

  Her words had more impact than she’d intended. Both Ranoth and Talarath winced and looked away, while Ognadzu swelled up to his full height, the arrogance in his smile fully replenished.

  “You may inform the girl she has nothing to fear. The dragon eats no one unless I command it!” He stepped to one side and gestured toward the doorway of his massive carriage. “Shall we dine?”

  Could it be true? Elaryl asked herself as she glided by him and gracefully ascended the staircase. Could he actually summon the beast to do his bidding? If so — what had he done to Seagryn? Her heart pounded as she walked down a narrow wooden hallway, flanked on either side by closely set doors. The hall was dark, but she could see another stairway ahead of her, illuminated by light from above. Her feet sank an inch into the red carpet that covered the stairs as she climbed expectantly to a large, open room. Obviously the main room of the carriage, this appeared to be a small replica of the great hall in a castle. Tables for Ognadzu’s warriors lined each of the walls, while at the rear of the room on a raised dais sat the head table. Windows ran the length of the carriage on either side, covered with varnished shutters and draped with lime and blue curtains. These clashed violently with the rich scarlet carpeting, and Elaryl gave a slight shudder when she beheld them together. She’d not realized Ognadzu was right behind her until she heard his chuckle.

  “My mother thinks it’s garish, but as I told her — if I like it, then it’s art.”

  “It’s — bright,” she breathed at last.

  “That’s what I like about it. The rooms below are only barracks for my
retainers — my bedroom is in the tower above us, and it’s even brighter.” He leered at her. “Perhaps you’d like to see it?”

  She found his puerile attempt at seduction laughable but managed to keep a straight face. “Did you say dinner was already prepared? I’m starving.”

  “Certainly,” he answered with an exaggerated suavity that only made him appear more of a buffoon than ever. He clapped his hands twice, then took Elaryl by the elbow and led her to the head table as servants began to hurry from doorways, bearing steaming golden salvers toward the head table. By the time Ognadzu had seated Elaryl to his right, Talarath and Ranoth had made the climb into the dining room, followed by hosts of lime-and-blue-clad guards. Neither looked very pleased at having to be here, and Ognadzu’s attentions to Elaryl appeared to please them even less. The thought hadn’t occurred to her until that moment — what if Ognadzu simply decided to pull in his staircase and order his tugoliths to carry them all off? It was a bit late to be sorry about such now, she decided. Besides, the two of them would have been trapped inside here whether she was or not. Elaryl chose to sit back in her plush-lined chair and enjoy the meal — if that was possible.

  She found very quickly that it was. Ognadzu may have been a poor decorator, but he seemed to be something of a gourmet, and they feasted on exotic dishes that thrilled her palate. The boy took great pleasure in her enjoyment of them, explaining at length the contents of each and the trouble he’d had to go to in order to provide it. Elaryl was happy to eat and let him talk — she was learning more about him with every sentence.

  It was obvious that Ognadzu was a talented merchant — perhaps even an organizational genius. It was also apparent that his hatreds ran deep, and those included in his grudges were anyone he’d ever perceived to have insulted him. From bits of comments he dropped, she gathered that Seagryn was among these, and that made Elaryl shiver. But nothing he said suggested he had talked with Seagryn recently or had done her husband any specific hurt. Not that he didn’t wish to — his fawning all over her, she soon understood, was really an insult directed at Seagryn. But his strongest words he reserved for his father, Paumer, and the wizard who had designed and made the twi-beast, Evidently he had found a powerful ally in his quest to be avenged on those two unfortunates.