He groaned aloud. “If I weren’t such an idiot!” When he had magicked the yellow fragment of the DragonCrown, he’d put a spell into it that would slowly warp Chytrine’s views of the world. He wanted it to make her paranoid, so she would think those around her were plotting. At the time he thought it was subtle and a fitting revenge for the death of his mentor.
How much simpler it would have been if he’d just stuck a spell into it that would kill her. Or, barring anything that direct, a more subtle spell that would allow him to locate the fragment of the DragonCrown.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. There are times when I am too smart for my own good. I am smart, but inexperienced. I don’t know enough to be able to do all that I could.
Kerrigan smiled and thought about Orla. The grey-haired woman had once told him as much. When she said to listen to Crow and Resolute, and to avoid Vilwan, it was because she knew that what Vilwan wanted him to be wasn’t going to be what the world needed him to be. He was capable of being more than a dragonel, but like a dragonel he needed to be brought to a target and aimed. Crow and Resolute would do that, since they were intent on one thing: stopping Chytrine.
He sat bolt upright on the straw-filled mattress. Off to his left a spark flashed to life, then arced over to a candle on a shelf. The candle caught, then glowed brightly. More sparks exploded from it and flew around the room, igniting more candles and more until all were merrily ablaze.
The initial spark had come from Rym Ramoch’s left index finger, which he had casually flicked toward the candle. The masked thaumaturge drew his finger back into his fist and peered down at Kerrigan. “You have been restless, Adept Reese.”
“I’ve been thinking about things you said.”
“As I have about things you told me.” The robed wizard steepled his fingers. “This ability to duplicate items out of like items intrigues me. We have no time for a demonstration at the moment, but I shall demand one later. And I wonder how well the duplication works. If I asked you to duplicate an enchanted item, would the enchantment come through completely, or would it fail to work?”
Kerrigan shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t believe the fragment of the DragonCrown that I left behind would be useful in the Crown itself. I didn’t seek to understand the magick there, so I cannot believe I made a duplicate that would work.”
“A pity, though probably for the best, all things considered.” Rym canted his head slightly. “Upon what did you think, Adept?”
“Traces and taints in magick, and why Vilwan is the way it is.”
“Quite a lot to think about. Did you come to any conclusions?”
“Things you already know, I think, since you detected the taints on me.” The rotund mage shifted a bit and drew his legs in under him. “If I could learn to identify the sort of taint the DragonCrown left on me, I might be able to fashion a spell that could locate that same taint in others or on others. If an item like that leaves footprints, then we might be able to follow them.”
“Very good. That would be most useful.” Rym nodded solemnly. “We shall start you learning how to do that. Once you can see the taint, however, you have to learn to do something before you can track it.”
“What’s that?”
“Erase it. If the taint allows you to track others, others might track you because of yours.”
Kerrigan frowned. “But the need to erase the taint suggests others can identify it. Wait. I already know you can do that. Are you telling me that others might be hunting me because of it?”
“I do not know if they are or not. The simple fact is this: if you were hunting an animal, you would approach it from downwind, so your spoor would not alert it to your presence. Anyone who has a portion of the DragonCrown could be powerful enough to detect your approach.”
The young mage nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, of course.”
“Good, a first lesson learned.” Rym clapped his gloved hands and Bok appeared at his shoulder. “Bok, a meal for Adept Reese, then warm clothes. We will be going out.”
Kerrigan’s eyes brightened. “Out?”
The hooded mage nodded solemnly. “Yes, to reunite you with your companions. I have determined to my satisfaction that you are not a threat to the world. With my instruction, however, you will become a threat to Chytrine. The sooner your training begins, the better events will be for us all.”
CHAPTER 31
K ing Scrainwood’s announcement had stunned Will. After a moment’s reflection, the transparency of the king’s strategy made itself manifest. Will had refused to do Scrainwood’s bidding, so Scrainwood found someone who would. He’s a scheming snake who will wriggle after a year and a day in the grave.
Will had known such people in the Dimandowns, but there it was expected. In the Dim you trusted people only when you could see them, and still you assumed they were plotting against you. There wasn’t much to be had in the Dim in terms of wealth or power, but folks were still greedy no matter what.
Greed, it struck Will, was a universal vice. Chytrine clearly was greedy for all the south offered. Scrainwood was greedy for the power that went with controlling the Norrington. Others had their own motives for wanting things done, and nobility seemed no proof against greed.
Will had returned to the Rampant Panther in something of a daze, and news of what had happened had clearly preceded him. While the innkeeper was still respectful, Will had gone from being “my lord” to “sir.” When he asked for a mug of steaming wine to warm him, the man told him the price. Will overpaid, then crossed to the fire. He sat closer than anyone else could bear, and did not mind that the heat kept others at bay.
Can it be that I am not the Norrington? All he had been through seemed to substantiate his claim. His mother had died in a fire from which he’d been rescued. He’d recovered a piece of Vorquelven treasure. In the mountains of Gyrvirgul he’d been tested and the sullanciri that was his father had been drawn to him. Even his grandfather had claimed him. That he was a Norrington was not in question.
His being the Norrington, on the other hand, suddenly wasn’t so clear. The prophecy was a thing of magick, and just by seeing part of a mural Oracle was painting of her vision of the future, he changed things enough that her vision shifted. Had being bitten changed things? Had Lady Snowflake’s healing him changed things?
Before him his father, Bosleigh Norrington, had been believed to be the Norrington. Resolute had even warned him that he might not be the person named in the prophecy—that lot might fall to one of his children. Could it be that the mantle was shifting, and might land on someone else’s shoulders?
He didn’t think so, but the hint of doubt plagued him.
Sitting there, drinking the burning liquid, he thought back on all he’d endured. The battles, big and small, against gibberers and pirates, vylaens and dragons. He had almost been slain, twice, by sullanciri. He’d seen dragonels and draconettes. He’d been to Gyrvirgul and seen the Gyrkyme at home. He’d been to Okrannel and Wruona and Loquellyn. He’d been to Fortress Draconis and fought on the long retreat. He’d done so many things in the name of the prophecy, and now it was all a mistake?
It can’t be. He started to growl, but the scars on his neck hurt. I can’t let Scrainwood’s games make me doubt the truth.
“I must speak with you, Will Norrington.”
The thief looked up slowly. Princess Sayce stood there, the heat steaming snow off her cloak and boots.
“I need your help.”
Will frowned. “Didn’t you hear King Scrainwood? I’m not the Norrington. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
“Ha!” She snorted and drew a crude chair from a table, then sat in it, with the chair’s back against her chest. “Do you think I’m so feebleminded that such a denial could drive me off?”
Something in her voice, something in the way she offered that challenge, stopped Will from snapping off a smart remark. He would have preferred to be left alone but, at the same time, he didn’t want her to go a
way. He needed time to get himself back under control or he needed perspective to look at his situation anew. Since she’d not grant him the former, he’d look to her for the latter.
He leaned forward, keeping his hands wrapped firmly around the tankard’s barrel. “Princess, I am an illiterate thief from Yslin. I can make a rhyme as easy as I can tell you that you have no more than twenty gold crowns in your purse. I know you rode a long way to come find the Norrington and bring him north to save your nation. No one who is feebleminded could or would do that.”
She nodded and the firelight danced golden highlights over her red mask. “Then you know I don’t care about the games King Scrainwood is playing.”
“How do you know it is a game?”
“It’s obvious.” Sayce waved all other possibilities away lightly. “By morning we will have horses and provisions and can be away for Caledo. Gather your friends and we shall be off.”
“That is not going to happen.”
Her pale blue eyes narrowed. “I thought you understood how important this is to my people.”
“I do, but you’ve got to understand why it’s so important that you make the right choice here.” Will looked over at her, meeting her stare openly. “You came to get the Norrington. King Scrainwood says I’m not it. You say that’s nonsense but let’s suppose, just for a moment, that things have changed and he’s right. For a while my father was the Norrington. Maybe my turn in that role is over. You take me away, and it could be I’m not the one who will save your nation. You didn’t come here for just a symbol, you came here for the fulfillment of a prophecy. What if I’m not it?”
His question stopped her for a moment. “You must be, though. Don’t you know?”
“It’s magick! How am I supposed to know?” Will swept a thick hank of hair back. “It’s not like I have a scar on my forehead or some weird birthmark or anything. Just because my father is a henchman for an evil empress doesn’t mean I’m a hero. I mean, I know the songs. I know the legends. It’s just easier in the legends.”
He lifted his chin and pulled at the collar of his jacket to expose the two round scars there. “See these? I got these because a sullanciri tried to kill me. Look like burns, don’t they? Soon someone is going to start singing about how the burn marks point to the ‘washed in fire’ part of the prophecy, and the fact that I survived the attack to the ‘immortal’ part of it.”
Sayce started to say something, but Will rose from his chair and looked past her at all the other people in the room before returning his gaze to her. “Look, I know why you came. The prophecy says someone, a hero named Norrington, is going to vanquish Chytrine. That’s great, but whoever he is, he isn’t going to do it alone. Sure, people want heroes. I’d love to be one, but I can’t be the hero for everyone. And while folks are looking at me, they’re missing all the others out there.
“Look at you, Princess. You and your men rode all the way here from Caledo in the nastiest winter anyone’s seen in almost forever. If that’s not heroism, what is? And look at Crow. Since he was of an age to wear a mask, he’s fought Chytrine. He’s crisscrossed with scars from battles. He’s killed sullanciri. There’s a hero for you. And Resolute and Alexia, they’re heroes. Everyone who was at Fortress Draconis was a hero.”
Will felt the eyes of the assembled crowd upon him, and certainly no one was speaking save for him. “You know, having a prophecy just means that everyone assumes that someone else will take care of things for them. And that’s just wrong.
“Princess, you’ve ridden a long way to find someone to help you. I wish I could be that person, but I don’t know that I am. What I do know is this: hero or not, fated or not, I’d be able to help you more easily if everyone who could do something to help would.”
Will shrugged and looked down at her. “I know you wanted more. You deserve more. I don’t know that I can help you. I will, if I can, but I need to sort some things out. I’m sorry.”
He sighed and threaded his way through the crowd. His feet felt leaden as he mounted the stairs and made his way down the hallway to his room. Suddenly exhausted, he tugged his boots off, then slipped into the bed and shivered himself into a restless sleep.
The next morning came late and Will couldn’t tell if Resolute had slept in the other half of the bed or not. There was no sign of him, or that he had even been in the room. The thief knew there was a small Vorquelf community in Meredo, and while Resolute seemed to hold most of his countrykin in little more than contempt, he imagined that spending time with them would be more pleasant than with him.
He huddled in bed trying to think of nothing, which he managed fairly well given that he was very cold. He eventually decided that if he remained in bed he would freeze to death, so he pulled on cold boots and made his way down to the common room. There he ordered a hot tankard of mulled cider and went over to sit by the hearth.
Will had only just begun to feel warm when Dranae entered the inn and stamped the snow off his feet. He started up the stairs, but the innkeeper pointed toward the hearth. The big man smiled as he crossed the room. “Good, you are awake.”
“What’s good about it?”
Dranae shook his head. “Can’t have that now, Will. Not now. Not today. Today is too important.”
Will’s head came up and the cider’s steam caressed his throat. “What’s special about today?”
“The Norrington pretender has arrived. He’s at the palace, with his mother and the king. King Augustus, Queen Carus, and Princess Sayce are there, along with Princess Alexia and Crow. I was sent for you.”
Will shrugged. “You don’t need me. The lot of you can just take him and finish the fight against Chytrine. I’ve done a fat lot of good so far.”
Dranae crouched and lowered his voice. “I heard reports of what you said in here last night. Do you believe what you said?”
“That I might not be the Norrington?” Will nodded. “You bet.”
“Not that, Will, the other part.” The massive man’s expression contained a bit of bemusement, but more of respect. “You told everyone that they already had heroes; that what would make the war against Chytrine go better was more folks doing what they could.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“So, then, if you are not the Norrington, are you going to do your part?”
Will tapped one of his scars with two fingers. “I’ve done my part.”
“But Chytrine’s not gone yet.” Dranae canted his head. “You remember how you found me, Will? Gibberers had made me a captive and I couldn’t remember who I was.”
“I know.”
“So, don’t you wonder why I’m here? It’s not because I don’t know where I belong, because there are plenty of places I could go. I’m here because what you and Crow and Resolute are doing is very important. I may not know who I am, but I know what I am not. And I am not someone who is going to lie down and cower before some ice queen from the north.”
The thief glanced down in his tankard. “But you could die.”
“Better that than living a slave, or letting others become enslaved.” Dranae stood back up again. “Come on, Will.”
Though reluctant to leave the hearth and its warmth, Will bundled himself up against the cold. He tied his formal mask to his upper right arm and even donned a lacy courtesy mask though it did nothing to protect him from the cold. Then he followed Dranae to the palace, using the big man as a wind-break. He would have resisted Dranae’s entreaty to accompany him, but the man’s referring to the new Norrington as the “pretender” had kindled Will’s desire to see him.
They arrived at the palace quickly enough and made their way to the throne room. As big as it was, there was no way it could be warmed enough to suit Will. More important, tension filled the air. Princess Alexia and Crow stood near the windows in close conversation with King Augustus. All three of them wore thick winter clothes more suited to utility than fashion. Princess Sayce hung back from them a bit, but had abandoned her riding leathe
rs for something a bit warmer.
Across the room from them, Queen Carus looked beautiful as always, though Will suspected she had spent a sleepless night. She spoke politely to Linchmere and he nodded, though he looked as if his mind were suffering from frostbite. With them stood an old woman with so cold an expression that Will found it painful to look at her. He dimly recalled her being Princess Alexia’s ancient aunt.
In the center of the room, however, was the tableau that he had been brought in to witness. King Scrainwood stood talking to a tall, handsome woman with white-blonde hair and eyes as pale as Princess Sayce’s. Between them was a tall, clean-limbed man wearing a green leather mask. He had the thin line of a beard running about his jaw, so Will guessed he was old enough to legitimately be wearing a mask.
Scrainwood let a smile slither onto his face. “Ah, Will, there you are. Please, meet your father’s wife, Lady Nolda Norrington. This is your half brother, your elder half brother, Kenleigh Norrington. He is, obviously, the Norrington.”
Kenleigh smiled down at Will as the thief approached. The man’s big brown eyes watched him closely and his left hand moved to cover his purse. The clothes he wore were quite stylish, but Will had learned enough about fine clothes to realize these had likely been taken from Linchmere’s wardrobe, since they did not quite fit correctly.
Will’s gaze flicked up to meet Kenleigh’s, and he was surprised to see the man flinch because Kenleigh had to have five inches and forty pounds on him. Will looked at Kenleigh’s hands and saw how rough they were, and scarred. They weren’t the hands of a noble or even a warrior.
They were the hands of a farmer.
A chill that ran bone deep shook Will, and he looked up at King Scrainwood. “I know why you are doing this. I’ve defied you. You hate me. Fine. I have to ask, though, do you realize what you are going to do to Kenleigh?”
When Dragons Rage Page 25
