The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  Nebalath chewed reflectively, his eyes focused somewhere over Seagryn’s head. Then he swallowed and shrugged. “I thought it had something to do with the dragon,” he began, and Seagryn nodded. “But now …” Nebalath’s voice trailed off, and the wrinkles that circled his eyes seemed more pronounced now than Seagryn had ever before noticed. Suddenly the aged powershaper hunched forward across the table, his gaze intent on Seagryn. “You know I was born in Lamath, don’t you?” he asked.

  Seagryn stopped eating in surprise. “I — I knew you had a Lamathian-sounding name, and that you seemed to know the land well —”

  “Upper Region,” Nebalath grunted. “A coastal town called Pourelia. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “I studied maps,” Seagryn countered evenly. “I know exactly where Pourelia is.”

  “But you’ve never been there …”

  “No.”

  Nebalath sighed. “If you ever had, you’d know why I got out. A pious fishing village — too pious. I could never buy the idea of the presence of a caring Power. I lost too many friends to the sea. Death seems to polarize faith; it makes those who already believe more believing, while those who doubt just get angrier. I got too angry to stay and jumped a merchant trader bound for the south. This was a long time ago …” Nebalath’s mind seemed to wander for just a moment, but he quickly returned to his point. “I still can’t believe in any benevolent Power. Too much I’ve lived through argues against it. But have you sensed, as I have, the pervasive spreading of an evil presence through the world? Am I just getting older, Seagryn? Or are things really getting worse?”

  — You’re getting older and things are getting worse, the Imperial House offered.

  “I’m talking to Seagryn here,” Nebalath growled at the ceiling, then his eyes returned to search the face of his younger friend. “What do you think?”

  This string of questions took Seagryn by surprise. It wasn’t because he hadn’t considered them. The relationship of the Power to good and evil had been a constant topic for debate in the schools he’d attended. He’d just not had much time to think about it in the days since. His experience as a cleric had convinced him that evil expressed itself through people. Evil in the abstract had been replaced by clear and present evils that needed to be battled daily. It was a foregone conclusion among Lamathians that the powers associated with shaping were evil — that’s why he’d been expelled when his own talent for wizardry had revealed itself. He’d come to terms with his own ability to shape the powers, and questioned now whether they were inherently evil. But was there some evil presence behind the lesser powers, perhaps linking them all together in opposition to the One Whose Name is Beyond Speaking? Could there be one among a group of powers who, like evil persons Seagryn had known, somehow managed to influence lesser powers to perform evil deeds, and who linked these deeds together to enact evil on a grand scale? If so, how could the Power deal with such a being? He knew that the Power, too, expressed itself through people …

  Seagryn never got the chance to answer, for the Imperial House quietly announced — The dragon is here.

  Nebalath disappeared with a snap that directed all eyes in the great room to the wizards’ table. Seagryn leaped to his feet and sprinted for the door. The entire room was silent for a moment, then suddenly erupted in a frenzy of excited speculation. What had happened? Where were the shapers going? Had they quarreled? And breakfast in the court of Haranamous continued at its leisurely pace.

  “Where’s the dragon now?” Seagryn demanded as he raced back up that winding staircase. It seemed he’d done nothing these past two days but run …

  — Circling the city, the Imperial House replied.

  There was no energy, no passion in the castle’s response. The Imperial House sounded drugged. Apparently the powers were receding from this place, as Nebalath had suggested. But if that were the case — what tools did they have for opposing the dragon? He reached the top of the stairwell and bolted outside onto the rooftop.

  He spotted Nebalath at once. The old wizard stood on the peaked pinnacle of one of the castle’s corner towers, bracing his feet on the shingled roof and clutching a flagpole with one hand while he raised his other arm above his head. Seagryn had never seen the man looking more like the image of a wizard: The wind billowed his long robes out around him, and his hair blew wildly around his face. He squinted up at the beautiful morning sky, his jaw set in an expression of fearless resolve, his lip curled back in a defiant sneer. He seemed to be challenging the twi-beast to come and do its worst — and that worried Seagryn greatly. He’d witnessed the dragon’s worst on more than one occasion, and it was terrible indeed. Seagryn craned his neck, shielding his eyes against the morning glare as he searched for that familiar two-headed form —

  “Where is it now —” he began, but before he finished the question he had the answer to it. The dragon had circled below the roofline of the palace. Suddenly it swooped up and across the roof toward him, and Seagryn saw Vicia’s jaws gaping wide and diving directly at him. He flattened himself upon the rooftop tiles and felt the rush of wind as the beast flew over.

  — Very brave, the House commented, but without its usual rancor. Seagryn didn’t have time to talk. He leaped to his feet and looked back up at the tower.

  Nebalath still stood braced atop it, but he’d turned all the way around now and shook his fist at the receding dragon. Seagryn whirled to watch as the great green beast turned in a lazy loop and glided back toward them. His imagination raced …

  On this pass the head named Vicia angled toward Nebalath. Those jaws again gaped wide, and the eyes glittered with cruel delight. Seagryn glanced back at Heinox and raised his hand confidently. “You know me, Heinox!” he shouted, and it appeared at that moment that the better head recognized him and pulled up to pass above him. Seagryn hadn’t the time to look back toward Nebalath, but he didn’t really need to. He visualized in his mind the illusion he wanted Vicia to perceive: Nebalath, still, but now standing on a pinnacle that was ten feet shorter, Vicia adjusted his aim by dropping down lower — and ran headlong into the side of the tower. The whole castle shook at the impact —

  For such a last-minute thought, this spell had remarkably far-reaching consequences. The enormous dragon body seemed to pause in midflight, then continued on at a much-altered course. Rather than flying on in a straight line, the twi-beast appeared to be spinning helplessly out of control. Seagryn looked sideways in time to glimpse the perplexed expression on Vicia’s face, and he couldn’t help smiling. Vicia’s huge eyes crossed and his tongue lolled out to the side. As the rest of his green body flipped over the battlements that lined this rooftop like great teeth, Vicia just seemed to hang upon the tower by his nose. Then his long neck abruptly jerked him away, and he, too, disappeared over the edge. A moment later Seagryn heard a loud — and very satisfying — splash.

  His satisfaction was tempered, though, by great concern. The initial blow had weakened the masonry of the pinnacle and set it wobbling. The pressure of the dragon’s neck snaking around its base now tore it loose from its foundation altogether. The weight of the tower was up in its tip, and Seagryn watched in horror as this collapsed inward toward the center of the rooftop — and through it. He was in no danger himself, but as the rock work tumbled through the floors below —

  “Why’d you do that?” Nebalath demanded, and Seagryn was relieved to see the older wizard standing beside him.

  “Why? To save your life! Vicia was about to swallow you!”

  “I realize that, and don’t think I’m not grateful. But look at that!” Nebalath pointed to the huge hole that now gaped in the center of the Imperial House. “How many people do you think you’ve killed below us?”

  Once again Seagryn felt inundated with guilt. It wasn’t his fault — not really. He was here, after all, to do battle with a dragon, and if he’d failed to act, then Nebalath would certainly not be standing beside him. Yet the statement was true — his actions had kil
led again. And a brief thought flitted through his consciousness: How might this situation have been resolved if he’d endeavored to let the Power shape him, instead of acting to shape the powers?

  Nebalath was on his knees beside him, shouting at the Imperial House. “House! House, are you all right?”

  — This House appears to have lost one of its towers …

  “Are you all right, though? Do you hurt anywhere?”

  — There is no pain. In fact, considering the circumstances, this House seems to have weathered the shock rather well. Not that it will be capable of weathering a rainstorm any time soon, what with this huge tear in its ceiling. If anything, this House is feeling rather drafty at the moment …

  “What of the people inside you?” Seagryn asked quietly. “Are many … dead?”

  — It would appear so. There are bodies littering every floor-some of them moving, but many of them not. The great hall has collapsed inward. Incidentally — one of those not moving is King Haran.

  Seagryn and Nebalath exchanged a look of quiet despair, but they had no time to speak. A gurgling roar rose behind them, and they looked toward the northern wall in time to see the dragon soar, screaming, into the sky above the castle. Its fluttering wings shed gallons of water at every flap, and its slick green scales glistened threateningly in the sunlight. Vicia-Heinox was very angry, and the target of its anger stood watching in horror on the rooftop below. The dragon hung in midstroke and focused all of its eyes on that one spot —

  “Cloak!” Seagryn shouted as he pushed Nebalath in one direction and dived off in another. Intense heat exploded into flame in the spot they’d occupied, heat created by the focused animosity of the dragon. The fire quickly consumed the paint that coated the rooftop tiles, then burned itself out. By that time Seagryn had rolled across the open space to lodge against the battlement, cloaking himself all the way. Safely hidden, he glanced around to see if he might spot Nebalath.

  — This House feels constrained to warn you that you are not very popular among the people below. They appear to be clamoring for your arrest.

  “One thing at a time, House,” Seagryn murmured. “Where’s Nebalath?”

  — It appears he’s taken it into his head that he’s to die falling from one of the spires of this house. He’s currently standing atop the most southerly tower.

  “Nebalath!” Seagryn shouted in dismay as he looked in that direction, for the older wizard was indeed standing on that pinnacle and in plain sight. “Nebalath!” he shouted again. “Cloak yourself!” But Nebalath couldn’t have heard him, for the dragon was screaming with renewed rage at the sight of the wizard on the tower, and those two heads were focusing upon it with dreadful purpose.

  A moment later a brilliant light suddenly flashed between Nebalath and Vicia-Heinox, and all four of the dragon’s eyes blinked. The twi-beast howled in frustration and flapped furiously to maintain its place in the sky as it shook its heads, trying to clear its sight. In the relative quiet, the dragon heard a powerful voice booming these words skyward.

  “Vicia-Heinox, we need to talk!”

  Seagryn was a practiced speaker. He’d learned to project his voice in the large, featureless halls where the faithful of Lamath met to worship. He’d been able to make himself heard when he’d addressed the assembled wheels of the tugoliths at the Great Wheel far to the north. The very shape of this castle roof amplified the sounds and carried them upward, so it was easy for the dragon to hear. It was easy, too, for much of Haranamous to listen in, for the shoreline of the two rivers that met at the castle’s base was lined with spectators. And what they heard did not enhance Seagryn’s reputation among them.

  “Who is that?” Vicia snarled down angrily. “I can’t see you!”

  “And neither can I!” Heinox added, equally incensed.

  “I’m Seagryn, whom you know quite well!”

  “Seagryn?” Heinox said eagerly. “Where are you?”

  “And where did you go?” Vicia added, obviously still vexed.

  “I’m here on the castle rooftop. Whom is it that you seek?”

  “I seek Sheth, the fiend who tortured me!” Heinox screamed. “I’m going to rend him into tiny little pieces, then swallow him bit by bit!”

  “And I’m also going to fry yonder fellow who just made me bump my head!” Vicia added.

  “I made you bump your head, Vicia, not he,” Seagryn shouted upward. “And I’m here to tell you that you’ve been deceived. Sheth is not here at all!”

  Both of the dragon’s faces frowned. “He is here. A tugolith told me!”

  “That tugolith was either mistaken or he lied! I’ve been all through this palace and I can assure you — Sheth is not here!”

  “Where is he, then?” Heinox demanded, not yet mollified.

  Seagryn answered with unfeigned passion, “If I knew that, believe me, I’d find him and wring his neck myself! He’s not here. Now I want you to go away!”

  “What?” Vicia screeched.

  “I said, go away!”

  “Why should I?” Vicia mumbled, sounding more like a petulant child than a dragon.

  Seagryn found himself responding in character. “Because I said so!”

  “And what if I won’t?”

  The pattern had been established. Seagryn had no choice but to threaten. “If you don’t, I’ll — I’ll ram your head into another tower!”

  — Please don’t, the Imperial House asked with remarkable restraint.

  The dragon had begun to circle the castle again, flying low over the city. “But I’m hungry,” Vicia protested. Many of the spectators below suddenly decided they’d heard enough and sought shelter indoors.

  “Then why don’t you eat that tugolith the next time he comes and lies to you!” Seagryn shouted. Still hidden within his cloak, Seagryn stood away from the wall and followed the twi-beast’s circular flight with his eyes. When the dragon did not reply after several circuits, Seagryn shouted again, “I told you, go away!”

  “Very well, Seagryn. For you, I’ll go away.”

  Seagryn breathed a sigh of relief, then clenched both his fists and his eyes in a silent shout of victory. He missed seeing those four eyes lock once again onto the tower where Nebalath still stood watching. “But first —” Vicia said, and Seagryn’s eyes flew open in time to see the shingles on that pinnacle burst into flame as the fiery figure of his friend and companion plummeted from it to disappear beyond the far wall.

  “Nebalath!” Seagryn shouted, and started to race across after him but found his path blocked by the enormous gash in the rooftop.

  — Too late, the Imperial House informed him quietly. You could do nothing in any case. The boy prophet had informed him he would go that way. He was trying to get it over with quickly.

  Standing grief stricken on the lip of the hole, Seagryn was only marginally aware of the dragon’s departure from the sky over Haranamous and of the subsequent arrival on the rooftop of a contingent of armed guards. These were led by Chaom, the tall, beefy general who had sat at the table with Seagryn when both had first heard the plans for the making of this horrible dragon. Seagryn could understand, then, the hesitancy in the man’s eyes as Chaom loudly announced, “Seagryn Dragonspet, by agreement of the surviving court of King Haran, I hereby place you under arrest.”

  “On what charge?” Seagryn asked, gazing at him, and Chaom had to look away.

  “On the charges of vandalism of the Imperial House of Haranamous, creating and fraternizing with a lethal creature, and premeditated regicide.”

  “They think I planned the death of your king?” Seagryn asked, incredulous.

  “There was some conversation in the court last night between the king and Nebalath. It seems the wizard revealed the certainty of King Haran’s death, as well as his own.”

  “Dark again.” Seagryn sighed.

  “You can certainly see why they might conclude you had a part in planning this catastrophe,” Chaom said quietly. “Especially in light of your c
onversation with the dragon moments ago.”

  “Yes.” Seagryn nodded, then he looked at Chaom directly, recalling their shared reactions to the dragon plan at that picnic luncheon at Paumer’s house. “I suppose it could be said that we both did, months ago.”

  Chaom shrugged, obviously hoping the guards who were with him wouldn’t ask too many questions when they returned to the barracks. “Come along, Seagryn. By the time we get back downstairs I’m sure they’ll have added a charge of contributing to the murder of a wizard.”

  Seagryn’s hands were manacled behind him, and he was ushered toward the stairway and down. Stairs — he felt that he’d been on these stairs for days. And this time he descended much farther into the bowels of this castle than he’d ever gone before, down deep into a dungeon he thought surely must be below the level of the river. They marched him through a maze of unlit passageways until they arrived at the door of a cell, into which Seagryn was unceremoniously shoved. The door slammed behind him, the key turned in the lock, and a moment later he was alone. Fortunately, he had the House to keep him company.

  “I wonder what else could happen today,” he murmured to the walls of rock.

  — This House is not Dark the prophet. It sees and hears what does take place, not what is about to take place.

  “That was a rhetorical question,” Seagryn said. But it did bring an idea to mind. “You could tell me what they plan to do to me …”

  — Isn’t it obvious? They’ll execute you.

  “Oh.”

  — This House will not see it, of course.

  “Why not? Will the execution take place somewhere out in the city?”

  — No. They’re currently digging a stake pit in the center of the stables.

  “A stake pit?”

  — This House could explain more specifically, but would suggest that you really do not wish to know. It does, however, involve a deep hole, sharpened stakes, and horse manure.