Dragon's Tongue: Book One of the Demon-Bound

by Laura J Underwood

  “But Tane…” Alaric said.

  “We’ll get him,” Fenelon said. Etienne saw him steal a glance at Alaric’s right hand before laying it on Alaric’s chest. “And we’ll do what we can to fix you.”

  “You’re not going to tell my father or mother about this, are you?”

  “And have your mother come after me with her meat cleaver…I don’t think so,” Fenelon said and smiled. “Now go to sleep.”

  Alaric looked amused, but it was apparently getting harder for him to keep his eyes open.

  “Rest, now. We’ll talk tomorrow, if you’re up to it,” Fenelon said.

  Alaric barely nodded. Whatever Brother Storne administered with his tea had finally done its work. Slowly, Fenelon pulled himself off the bed. He flashed a weary look at Etienne then started for the door. She followed him out into the corridor, but he did not head for his chamber.

  “Fenelon?” she called.

  “I’ve got to look something up in the library,” he said. “You go back to bed. I won’t be long, love.”

  “Are you sure you won’t need my help?” she asked.

  Fenelon shook his head. “I know where to look. I’ll be fine, really. Go on. I promise I won’t be long.”

  He turned and headed for the stairs. Etienne sighed.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said and slipped into the chamber alone.

  THIRTY NINE

  Whatever Brother Storne had given Alaric certainly kept the dreams at bay. Seemed to Alaric all he did was close his eyes and the world went away. When he opened them again, daylight streamed through his windows. He took a deep breath and focused on the bowed head beside his bed.

  “Shona?” he whispered.

  She looked up from the book on her lap, tossing back the pale length of her hair, and smiled. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got up early and relieved Brother Storne,” she said.

  “And the others?”

  “Having a good sleep in, I imagine,” she said. “How are you feeling.”

  He sighed and weakly rubbed his face. “Like the wet plaidie of some drunken Keltoran who went out in a rain storm.”

  She giggle in response. “Oh, surely not that bad.”

  Alaric felt himself smile.

  “Brother Storne thinks you’ll heal quite nicely now that the fever is gone,” she said.

  “I like his bedside manner much better than Mistress Miranda’s, I must confess,” Alaric said, and cautiously, he pushed himself upright. His limbs trembled with the effort, but he made it, leaning against the headboard. “Why did they bring me here instead of taking me to Dun Gealach.”

  Her smile fluttered away, and her gaze briefly flickered towards his hands folded across his chest. “Fenelon thought it would be better to bring you here,” she said.

  “But why?” he asked again.

  She didn’t get to answer him. Shouting voices filled the air outside. Alaric heard a roar of rage, and it was followed by the thump of some heavy object striking the stone walls of the keep. The bitter tang of demon essence filled the air, and with it, such rage and remorse, it pierced Alaric heart and soul.

  What in the name of Cernunnos? Dizziness rushed into him. He could feel the rage as though it were his own, and it burned under the skin of his right hand.

  Alaric’s door flew open, and Fenelon thundered through the gap wearing little more than half laced trews and a shirt pulled on in haste. “Alaric,” he cried. “Make it stop!”

  “What?” Alaric said. Suddenly, his room was full of people; Brother Storne, Etienne and several servants.

  “Make it stop!” Fenelon said. He walked straight to the windows and threw them open. Alaric frowned.

  “Make what stop?” he said.

  Fenelon marched over to the bed and seized Alaric, tugging him out from under the covers. For a brief, embarrassing moment, Alaric realized he had nothing on, but Brother Storne rushed to Alaric’s rescue, raging at Fenelon and throwing a blanket around Alaric’s shoulders.

  “He does not need this trauma,” Brother Storne cried.

  “And I don’t need my household running amok with fear,” Fenelon retorted.

  He supported Alaric more gently than the words implied, practically carrying him over to the open windows. Alaric grasped the sill for support and looked outside. His stomach clenched. The wind blew in to strike him so that he shivered.

  Chiropteran wings flashed across his vision. A demonic shape rose over the edge, bearing part of a tree. Vagner reared back to throw the thing, and howled his song of rage.

  “Vagner, no!” Alaric cried.

  Though he did not have his full voice, his words had the necessary effect. The demon froze in mid action, except for the beating of those massive wings as it hovered and blinked in surprise. Then like a guilty child, Vagner thrust the chunk of wood out of sight behind his back.

  “Oh, uh…hello,” the demon said. “Good to see you’re awake…can I go now?”

  “What are you doing here?” Alaric said.

  “You summoned me,” the demon said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Alaric insisted.

  “Yes, you did,” Fenelon said and seized Alaric’s right hand, holding it palm up. “Do you know what this is, Alaric? It’s a death warrant, that’s what. As long as you wear the mark of a demon’s name on your person, then every mageborn from Keltora to Yewer will have the obligation of seeking you out and killing you. If Turlough finds out, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  Alaric stared at his hand. His legs began to betray him. “I need to sit down,” he said.

  “First, you need to tell your demon to stop chucking rocks and trees at my keep,” Fenelon said.

  “Vagner?”

  “Okay, so I was a little upset I couldn’t reach you,” the demon said. “Shall I go now?”

  “Go where?” Alaric asked.

  The demon shrugged. “Wherever you wish, little master…”

  “Don’t call me that,” Alaric said.

  “Sorry,” Vagner said and ducked his head. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What is your will?”

  “I want you to go away,” Alaric said.

  “Gladly…except that I can’t. Not really,” the demon said.

  “Why not?” Alaric cried.

  “You wear my mark. You know my True Name…and you drank my essence. And I sort of forgot to tell you everything…”

  “Forgot to tell me what?”

  “I am now your possession, body and essence. Yours to command or destroy…whatever you choose.” The demon looked elsewhere. “I had hoped it would be otherwise, of course. Had hoped that once I was bonded to one with a good heart would counter my bond to something as evil as Tane and would set me free.”

  “I need a chair,” Alaric said desperately as his knees gave way. Brother Storne acted quickly, practically shoving Fenelon aside. Within moments, Alaric was seated and wrapped in more blanket. He stared at the demon’s sidewise gaze.

  “So, how do I let you go?” Alaric said.

  “I do not rightly know,” Vagner said. “Generally, those who enslave us are not so willing to let us go. I have never known a single demon who was set free by any means other than the death of the master…”

  Alaric’s brows rose.

  “Don’t worry,” Vagner said with a smile that showed his horrid array of fangs. “You wear my mark, and I cannot kill you. That’s the irony of it. We normally hate the ones we serve, but we cannot harm them without risk to ourselves.”

  “And what about Tane?” Alaric asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Doesn’t he wear your mark as well?”

  “Oh, yes,” the demon said and scratched its chin in thought. “But he thinks I’m dead. You, on the other hand, are alive, and I am obliged to protect you while you are ill.”

  “He is not coming into this keep,”
Fenelon said.

  Alaric shook his head. “Vagner, why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “Because, I had hoped by giving you my mark, I would be set free,” Vagner said. “And besides, it was the only way to regain my true form again, a condition without which both of us would have perished in that tower, no thanks to Tane…”

  The demon’s face flickered with just a hint of ire as he spoke the bloodmage’s name.

  “And what happens if Tane finds out you are still alive?” Alaric asked.

  “Most likely, the two of you would be forced to meet in a battle of wills with me at the center. Only the strongest will be able to force me to kill the other. Either way, I would still be a slave to some mageborn’s whim, and one of you would die.”

  Alaric closed his eyes and leaned his head against the sill. Horns, there was no way he could defeat Tane if such a challenge arose. Alaric had already seen how weak his own will was by comparison to that of the bloodmage.

  He felt a hand touch his shoulder and heard Brother Storne’s whisper of concern, and Fenelon’s quiet promise to end this in a moment.

  “Alaric, send the demon away,” Fenelon said.

  “How can I?” Alaric said, raising his head and peering at the Fenelon’s furrowed face. “He’s not to blame any more than I am…”

  “He deceived you into bonding with him,” Fenelon said. “He’s not a creature to be trusted…”

  “He saved my life!” Alaric said firmly and sighed as the anger exhausted him.

  “But he cannot stay here,” Fenelon said. “I mean, what would the neighbors think?”

  “What neighbors?” Alaric asked, and Fenelon clamped his lips in a tight line. “Besides, it wouldn’t be hard to disguise him as something harmless. He can, after all, change forms. If he became a dog or a cat, who would notice then?”

  Vagner rolled his eyes.

  “Alaric,” Fenelon said carefully as though explaining to a small child. “He is not a pet…He is a demon, and I will not have him wandering this keep of his own free will.”

  “Why not?” Alaric and Vagner asked in unison.

  “He’ll scare everyone half out of what little wits they have left at the moment, no thanks to his temper tantrums!”

  “Not if he looks like something normal,” Alaric said.

  “And just what did you have in mind?” Fenelon challenged.

  “I don’t know,” Alaric said with a shrug. “A raven or a crow or…”

  “I will not be some scavenger bird,” Vagner interrupted. “I’ve more dignity than that, thank you very much!”

  “An owl then,” Alaric said and shot a surly glance back at the demon. Vagner actually cringed a tiny bit.

  “And owl would be good,” Vagner agreed. “They are raptors…”

  “And what would be the purpose of having an owl, may I ask?” Fenelon said.

  “Well, that way, he could stay here with me and behave himself, and your household wouldn’t have to worry about him chucking trees and rocks at the walls,” Alaric said. “And whatever shape he is in, he’ll no doubt be able to help us find where Tane has gone so we can stop him. We need Vagner.”

  Fenelon’s mouth fell open. He glanced at Etienne who shrugged her shoulders. “He has a point,” she said. “We could use the demon to track Tane. And in the meantime, we could try to find someone who knows enough about demons whomight actually know how to safely break the bond so Alaric won’t be executed for trafficking with demons…Besides, I think owls are quite handsome.”

  Fenelon frowned at her. “And I think his insanity is becoming contagious.”

  Etienne returned a scowl.

  “Vagner, become an owl,” Alaric said.

  “Is that what you wish?” the demon asked.

  “Yes, by your True Name, be an owl!” Alaric said, his mind singing the creature’s name.

  “Oh, I do wish you hadn’t put it like that,” Vagner said testily. “No free will here, I see…” A shimmering light passed over the fur and scales as he spoke. Alaric felt his right hand tingle as the demon shrank and feathered out. Within moments, a great horned owl was soaring over the wall. Shona clapped her hands, and Etienne smiled.

  Only Fenelon continued to frown. “There are still wards to keep him out, no matter what form he wears,” he said.

  “You can cancel those,” Etienne said. “I’ve seen you do it many times. And anyway, it’s only temporary.”

  Fenelon’s expression steadily grew sour by the moment. “The things I am forced to do to keep you people happy,” he groused. He touched the wall with one hand, and in the mage tongue, he whispered the names of the warding glyphs as he magically peeled them away.

  Vagner dove through the window, circling the chamber with a giddy “Whee!” and fluttered to a landing on the back of Alaric’s chair. “So where are the mice,” he said, bobbing his head up and down. “I could use a bit of sustenance just now.”

  “If that thing makes a mess in here,” Fenelon said.

  “I’ll clean up after him,” Alaric insisted.

  “Damn right you will,” Fenelon said and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Alaric asked.

  “To the books,” Fenelon said. “The sooner we figure out how to break your attachment to that fiend, the sooner we can banish the bloody beast back to the demon realms from which it sprang…”

  The slam of the door in his wake sent an echo vibrating on every ear. Alaric sighed. Horns, what have I done? he thought, and gave in when Brother Storne’s hands took Alaric’s shoulders and started him towards his bed.

  Looking as delighted as an owl could, Vagner began to preen.

  FORTY

  Vagner was quite pleased with his new captivity. Over the next few days, he had little to do other than eat and sleep. Alaric was a most undemanding master, and the demon felt relieved he was able to relax. There were very few mice to be found inside Eldon Keep, but plenty of game flourished in the forest below. The demon ravenously devoured more than a dozen rabbits a night, plus whatever squirrels, field mice and small birds he could capture. He even ate a newborn lamb. The latter, however, got him into trouble with the Greenfyn who promised a hearty lightning bolt in the demon’s near future if he dared to take another from the farms that lay outside the forest around his keep.

  Alaric quickly recovered under Brother Storne’s care to the point of being well enough to dress and wander the grounds, and even practice a little spell casting on the side.

  And to sing, much to Vagner’s delight. The demon would gladly forego fresh prey of any sort to hear the young man sing.

  Interestingly enough, Vagner thrived on and delighted in the female attention he received. The woman called Etienne was such a dignified beauty, and quite curious enough to want to discuss matters of magic with the demon on a serious level. The younger woman Shona was uneasy at first, but she overcame her fear of the demon, obviously so she could be close to his master. That she was fond of the young man was no secret to Vagner. He sensed her desire to mate with the young bard, a desire she worked hard to keep in check. As did Alaric. Vagner would gladly have suggested that the two of them should go ahead and consummate their need, but both seemed wary of showing any sort of affection in front of Etienne. Too bad, the demon thought. He would rather have liked an opportunity to watch humans mating by mutual consent. If only so he could understand their attraction for one another. He knew the Greenfyn mated regularly with Etienne. Demon ears could hear their passion at night through even the thick stone walls of the keep.

  Three nights after becoming an owl, Vagner sat on the high back of a chair before the fire. Young Alaric plucked his psaltery, and would occasionally stop and stretch his hands, looking at the fading scars left by Tane’s torments. The late hour found them alone since the others had long ago retired. Alaric danced a lively tune from the psaltery when he stopped abruptly and held his left hand out so the silver band around his finger glittered in the firelight. The
demon’s senses buzzed, and sharp eyes picked up the slight waiver in the young bard’s essence, as though another overlapped it.

  “What in the name of Cernunnos…” Alaric muttered and frowned at his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Vagner asked.

  “My hand,” Alaric said. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.”

  “It is attached to you,” the demon said. “So how could it not be yours?”

  “I know that.” Alaric rolled his eyes. “But sometimes, I feel like. Like I don’t really control this body, like I’m not entirely alone.”

  “Of course, you’re not alone,” the demon said. “I’m here.”

  “I’m not talking about this here,” Alaric said and shook his head. He thumped his own chest. “I’m talking about in here, inside myself. It’s as though sometimes, I’m not alone.”

  “Then it must be the other who resides in you now,” the demon said and stretched his wings as though bored with the whole matter.

  “What other?” Alaric asked, rising and turning to face the demon.

  Vagner hesitated. Perhaps this was something he should have mentioned before? Or not at all? “You…have another’s essence in you,” Vagner said. “You have carried him since that night. I know because when you took my essence, he took it as well. I felt him then. Sometimes, he is very quiet, but other times, I hear him speaking to me through you.”

  “Who?” Alaric insisted. “Who is he?”

  “The one you spoke to in your dreams,” the demon said. “The one you call Ronan.”

  Alaric grew rapidly pale, and he grabbed the arm of the chair and seated himself once more. He closed his eyes, and with a deep breath, he whispered mage words. Vagner could feel the whisper of magic tracing through the air. The demon hunched down small and watched with an air of uncertainty and dread.

  I should not have said anything at all, Vagner thought.

  ~

  The other? Alaric slowed his breathing and drew bits of essence to himself. Then as Fenelon had taught him, Alaric began to slowly drift into himself, searching with a mageborn’s inner eye.