The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  Seagryn couldn’t think. He still reeled from the inner battle that had briefly stormed through him, as his tugolith self had longed to plunge forward and spear the leader on the tip of his horn. But he managed to collect his wits, the worship leader turned around — had he somehow heard them over the drone of the chant? — and Seagryn’s jaw gaped wide in partial recognition. He knew this face! He’d seen the man — where? At the meetings of the Conspiracy! He was — Seagryn searched his memory for the name and found it. “Wilker,” he breathed. Wilker, the lost Remnant’s Undersecretary for Provincial Affairs — the man whom the dragon had left behind.

  “Keep watching,” Amyryth whispered, her mouth still inches from his ear. “He’s not the only one you’ll recognize.”

  Seagryn could see now that Wilker was too lost in the ceremony to hear any distractions. The man whirled about to face the congregation again, both arms extended above his head and both hands flopped over, palms down. The chanting stopped as he spoke, moving his cupped fingers in rhythm to his words. It took Seagryn a moment to catch on, and when he did so, it was with utter astonishment. Wilker moved his hands as if they were puppets — a puppet image of the dragon!

  “I am Vicia!” his left hand said. “I am Heinox!” his right said. “I am the Power’s scourge!” both said. “I am Vicia! I am Heinox! I bring the fire’s purge!”

  “No.” Seagryn groaned, and again those on either side of him clutched his shoulders tightly. “No,” he whispered again to Wilker’s back. “You’ve missed it. You’ve missed it entirely.”

  The whole congregation had now taken up Wilker’s words, waving their cupped hands above their heads in time with his and turning his rhyme into a song. A new fear rattled down Seagryn’s spine. Had Elaryl been entrapped by this new heresy? Did she believe it? He twisted his head to peer around Wilker’s back and found reason for both relief and new rage in her eyes. His wife stared vacantly into the bonfire, her face the picture of panic.

  “I wanted to go!” Wilker suddenly shouted, and the chanting immediately hushed. “I, myself, longed to be eaten! ‘Take me, too!’ I shouted at Lord Dragon. ‘Take me, too!’ I cried! But it wasn’t to be, and it hasn’t been. Though I long for it still, that is not my calling. I have instead been appointed to enlist the willing, and to send them two by two to the Lord Dragon’s mouths! Let those who long for reunion all rise!”

  Seagryn had known from the first moment the purpose of Elaryl’s captivity. She was obviously part of a group who were soon to be fed to the dragon. Even so, his head reeled at the eagerness with which many devotees in that front row leaped to their feet. He saw in their eyes that same crazed eagerness for self-sacrifice that Wilker had himself expressed. But Elaryl only looked terrified, as did Jocelath, whom he now noticed being jerked to her feet down the line from her mistress. Then Seagryn identified the face of the man who handled his wife’s companion so roughly. It was Yammerlid — Yammerlid, his boyhood rival.

  He could wait no longer. He pivoted on one knee to grab Amyryth by the wrist and turned her to face him. “Tell me the plan,” he whispered fiercely.

  Dark’s mother looked back at him, her grim expression unchanged from the early afternoon. “There is none,” she whispered back. “There is only you — and the Power.” Then she pulled her hand away and motioned to Dark, and both of them backed away from the clearing’s edge, leaving Seagryn and Sheth behind. Seagryn understood. They had done their part. They had gotten him here — as, he supposed, the Power had prompted them to do. He realized now why Amyryth had needed to take the lead; Dark’s foreknowledge robbed him of the will to decide anything. The lad never felt the freedom to act without someone else leading. “There is only you — and the Power,” she had said. Why, Seagryn wondered, had the woman not included Sheth?

  “Looks like we’ve been abandoned,” the other wizard whispered, but he didn’t appear at all worried or displeased by it. In fact, Sheth seemed almost relieved, as if their departure had put him back in control of his own destiny. “No need to attempt the spectacular,” Sheth murmured confidently. “We just need to get Elaryl away from them and get on back to the tree, so let’s do this. You cover the two of us while I cover the clearing with a spell of self-doubt. They’ll all be shaken with such overwhelming self-consciousness that none will notice when one woman disappears into our cloak. Are you ready? Then let’s go —”

  “It won’t work,” Seagryn said flatly.

  Sheth had already risen from his knees to a crouch. Now he kneeled again. “What?” he whispered, obviously aggravated.

  “Can’t you feel it?” Seagryn asked quietly, struggling to give expression to feelings that his conscious mind did not want to face. “This is not just a meeting of madmen in the forest. There’s something much greater present here — something as loathsome as it is powerful.”

  Sheth gazed at him, his eyes wide with fear. Then the shaper blinked away the terror he felt and scowled instead. “I’m not listening to this,” he growled. “You’re as much a fool as those idiots out there! If you’re not up to it, I’ll do this myself!” He jumped to his feet and threw his arms wide, and a dozen flaming balls went hurtling over the heads of the dragon’s devotees. Seagryn saw through the bush the shocked faces of the crowd and heard the collective gasp —

  Then he saw nothing, for a dense fog abruptly settled on the clearing — and not a cool, white mist, explainable in natural terms. This was a hot fog, and black, absorbing the light of the fire even as it absorbed all of Seagryn’s power. Was this Sheth’s spell of self-consciousness? Seagryn wondered. Had he been caught in it, too? As if in answer, he heard the other wizard thrashing about in the underbrush, saying, “What is this? Are you doing this?”

  “No,” Seagryn called out into the darkness — but his own voice seemed to be coming from far away. Then he felt hands grabbing him roughly and heard distant cheers.

  “We’ve caught him! We’ve captured Seagryn himself!”

  He was terrified. Or rather, up until that moment he had been terrified. Now, he guessed he felt more puzzled than anything else, for the coming of the black fog summoned up from within him a relaxed peace he’d not recently experienced, which always puzzled and surprised him. Something horrible enveloped Seagryn — but something far more powerful resided within him. “You can’t shape me.” He chuckled, amused that this power thought it could. He shrugged off the arms that clutched at him and waved away the darkness. Millions of stars filled a sky that had been only black a moment before, and a cool, fresh breeze blew through the clearing, not only dispelling the fog’s wet heat but also snuffing the bonfire.

  “What is this?” Sheth shouted at him again. “Seagryn! Is this you?”

  “No, it’s not me,” he called as he heard Sheth fleeing back toward the horses. Seagryn let him go, confident that he would be safe, that he would find his way back to the tree-castle, and that they would soon be working together on that crystalline object. But Seagryn knew, now, that there would be far more to that creation than Sheth himself understood. This plan had all been initiated by the Power — perhaps years ago — and it was the Power that acted through him now. He was not shaping powers when he caused the ground in the clearing to glow with a light-blue radiance, enabling Elaryl and Jocelath to find one another. Rather, he was himself being shaped, and the One who shaped him worked this wonder through him. When he vaporized the ropes and cords that bound all unwilling captives in the clearing, Seagryn was not doing magic — he performed a miracle. What a vast difference distinguished the two! Magic took the forces available and shaped them into illusions. Miracle created the perfect solution — out of nothing. Wizardry required cunning, quickness, and bravado. Miracle-working required only faith and surrender. Powershaping gave Seagryn the feeling of personal potency. Acting as the instrument of the Power’s miraculous outpouring made him feel humble. At this moment, in the face of a horrible presence far more powerful than he, Seagryn laughed aloud, elated by the Power’s ability to use
his weakness. He guessed his laughter might sound maniacal to the dragon’s devotees, but he couldn’t help that. It wasn’t he who acted.

  The sinister assembly broke up and scattered. People were knocked down and stepped on. Some screamed. Others fled silently, too terrified to do anything but get themselves off the glowing carpet of light at their feet. Wilker fell to his knees in the eerie glow and raised his eyes to the starlit sky. He crossed his arms above his head and moved his cupped hands in unison as he chanted out his continued faith in the dragon. Yammerlid disappeared into the night. Elaryl had recognized his laughter and now pushed through the chaotic crowd toward him, pulling Jocelath behind her. Seagryn stepped into the clearing to meet her, his arms wide open, and she ran into them and locked herself around him. Jocelath stood anxiously by, watching around her as these mad folk who had seized them rushed crazily about, until she could restrain herself no longer. “My Lady, hadn’t we best depart before they grab us again?”

  “They’ll not grab you anymore, Jocelath.” Seagryn beamed as he freed an arm and reached around her to give the maid a hug. “You’re safe. But we do need to be on our way. We’ve got a lot of distance to cover …”

  “More travel?” Jocelath murmured. The ground’s blue radiance was fading, but her wince was still clearly visible.

  “Let’s go then,” Elaryl said, and Seagryn put an arm around each woman’s waist and guided them out of the clearing into the forest. He found Dark and Amyryth waiting for them, as he’d somehow known he would.

  “You see now, Seagryn?” Amyryth said, that familiar smile he remembered finally returned to her round face. “You and the Power can be quite formidable!”

  Seagryn smiled back, then glanced around. Amyryth and Dark both sat astride one horse as Dark held the reins of another. “Is Sheth gone?”

  “Your fellow powershaper grabbed his horse and fled without a word,” Amyryth said. “He looked terrified.”

  “There’s reason,” Seagryn responded grimly, and Amyryth agreed.

  “There is indeed.”

  “Elaryl, you and Jocelath take this horse,” Seagryn said as he cupped his hands to boost his wife aboard its back.

  “Sheth took a horse?” Elaryl said as she climbed up. “Why didn’t he just — snap himself away?”

  “He may have been too frightened to try. We both lost our shaper powers in the face of whatever thing that was back there —”

  “Something evil,” Elaryl murmured.

  “It is that.”

  “But you didn’t lose your powers, my Lord Seagryn!” Jocelath boasted as she settled herself behind her mistress, and Elaryl started to agree.

  “Oh, but I did,” Seagryn corrected. “Those weren’t my actions back there in the clearing — they were the Power’s.”

  “Call it what you like,” his wife’s maid said proudly. “It came through you.” Her smile was clearly visible in the starlight.

  “Shall we go?” Elaryl asked.

  They could, of course, but for one thing. Lacking a third horse, Seagryn would have to take his altershape again — and he found the thought distasteful. He’d now experienced working miracles! Mere shaping would never again hold the same wonder for him. Still, it did appear to be necessary at times … “Hold your noses,” Seagryn warned, and turned tugolith.

  “Follow us,” Amyryth said. “Our cottage is not far from this place.” She proved to be correct. In less than an hour, the weary travelers relaxed in the welcome shelter of Dark’s home in the Marwilds. Amyryth quickly found food, and they ate it gratefully as Elaryl told of her encounter with Ognadzu and her decision to seek out Seagryn.

  “Did the dragon burn the house?” Seagryn asked. “I’ve — heard rumors …”

  “We don’t know,” Elaryl answered, looking at Jocelath. “We’ve been on the road ever since, avoiding caravans, dodging capture, trying our best to determine where we might find you.”

  “Did you come through the Central Gate?” Seagryn asked sharply, and Elaryl shot him a sarcastic look.

  “Sure we did, and spent a pleasant afternoon with the dragon …”

  “You talked to it?”

  “Of course not! You think we’d have no better sense than to walk directly into the twi-beast’s lair?”

  “I … I didn’t know —” Seagryn mumbled.

  “We came through the Marwilds,” Elaryl informed him, “following much the same path you and I took on Kerl when we left Sheth’s cave!”

  Jocelath leaned over to Dark. “They talk to each other like this all the time at home.”

  “I know,” the boy said, adding with deadpan expression, “and if you ask me, the future doesn’t look much different.” It took Jocelath a moment to realize the boy prophet was joking. Once she did, she giggled merrily, her brown curls dancing around her face. Dark grinned. He’d not had much call for his wit lately, and he was glad she’d picked up the humor in his comment.

  Seagryn and Elaryl never heard it, so locked were they in their conversation. “When were you captured?” Seagryn demanded, Ills jaws clenched. He was angry at his wife for putting herself in danger. Now that he knew she was safe, he could allow himself that freedom.

  Elaryl shrugged. “Several days ago. We’d managed to cross the forest and found this peaceful little town, and had just settled into a room at the inn when the Army of Arl attacked us.”

  “Ritaven?” Seagryn asked. “You were in Ritaven?”

  “I don’t know what they called the place, only that we happened to be there at the wrong time. The soldiers rounded up everyone and marched us out to a camp, and the next day that crazy man who loves the dragon came and told us all how blessed we were to have the opportunity to be eaten.”

  “Wilker.” Seagryn nodded, and Elaryl looked puzzled. “That’s his name.”

  “You know the man?” Elaryl said. She arched one eyebrow. “That figures.”

  Jocelath spoke up. “At first we thought they’d arrested the whole town because of us. That’s because a man who’d pursued us all the way from Lamath was helping lead them.”

  “What man?” Seagryn asked.

  “I don’t know his name,” Jocelath said; then she shivered and added, “I wouldn’t want to know.”

  Seagryn looked at Elaryl. “A thin man, long face, sandy-blond hair?”

  “That’s him.” She nodded, adding dryly, “You know him, too, I suppose.”

  Seagryn looked back at Jocelath. “Was he holding on to you at the bonfire tonight?”

  “That was the man,” the maid said emphatically, and shivered again.

  “It’s Yammerlid,” Seagryn murmured, and he looked at his wife apologetically. “He’s hated me since childhood.” Elaryl made no response, and they just looked at one another for a moment. Both realized there was still much between them that needed to be cleared away before they could be fully comfortable again. Still, they were together. Perhaps there would be time. “So you know nothing about your father?” Seagryn finally went on.

  “Not since we left Lamath,” Elaryl answered. Then, as if on cue, both of them looked at Dark.

  “What?” the boy asked — though he knew in advance the question that would be coming.

  “Is Elaryl’s father alive and well?” Seagryn asked flatly.

  “He’s alive, and she will see him again,” Dark answered, and Elaryl breathed a relieved sigh. “But he’s not all that well. How could he be, with all of Lamath in an uproar?”

  “What’s happening there?”

  Dark’s young face took on that ageless expression that meant he spoke prophetically. “While there were captives like these two in that group tonight, did you not see those eager to be swallowed? Those were Lamathians longing for ‘union,’ as Wilker calls it. And many more will follow them. You see, now, how shallow the vaunted faith of Lamath has really been. One major crisis and half the believing population want to throw themselves down the gullet of a monster. And old Talarath knows: Whose fault is that, if not that of the lea
dership?”

  Seagryn winced. He’d been part of the leadership of the faithful. And while he still felt the afterglow of the Power’s presence inside him at the bonfire, he also knew how infrequently that happened within the prescribed rituals of Lamathian worship. “Then I suppose the only thing to be done is to go find Sheth and help him make the crystal object. You did say that it will destroy the dragon, didn’t you? …”

  Dark nodded, but he avoided Seagryn’s eyes. “Eventually,” he said. Seagryn frowned.

  “How eventually?” he demanded, and Dark looked back at him, his brown eyes full of conviction.

  “It will happen, Seagryn. It cannot happen without your help. You’ve understood tonight that the object Sheth is planning has far greater significance than just the death of a dragon, fearsome though that beast may be. You’ve recognized that the Power’s presence in these activities is no recent thing, as if the Power has suddenly taken an interest in events that were previously of no concern. The Power has always been at work! I’ve told you from the beginning, Seagryn, that the Conspiracy, misguided though it was, still offered the best hope. And I will try yet again to say something no one seems to understand, even when I shout! While I know what will happen, it only can happen because those who play a part choose to act. It is the tapestry of freely willed actions by individuals that the Power weaves into a means of rescue. You must choose to play your part — or not to.”

  Seagryn listened quietly. When Dark finished, it was Elaryl who spoke first. “What is this thing you’re to make? You’re to do it with Sheth?” Her time with Seagryn in the Dragonforge had not endeared that wizard to her. Seagryn understood how she must feel. Still …

  Amyryth had been like a rock throughout the day. She’d stepped aside this evening to let her son speak, but Seagryn wondered what her counsel might be. “Amyryth? Share your wisdom with us.”

  “What wisdom?” she said, smiling slightly in self-deprecation. But she put down the towel she’d been using to wipe the dishes and looked at Seagryn squarely. “You know you faced far more than the dragon tonight. And you know that you withstood that attack not by reason, nor magic — but by faith. My counsel is that you go back to the tree and help Sheth in the making, but that you remember — the poor man has no idea what it’s for. And if you were to suggest its purpose is to confront that horrible darkness that encompassed you both, he’d probably run just as swiftly as he ran this evening. We don’t battle mere flesh and blood, mere bones and scales and teeth — we battle far more than that.” As she spoke, Seagryn realized that even though dressed in the garb of a peasant, Amyryth had the bearing of a priestess.