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

by Laura J Underwood

  “Well, I have also helped you, haven’t I?”

  Silence! Tane did not speak the word, but Vagner felt it burn him with his True Name. He cringed, waiting for the worst to come. But a hand took his jaw gently, pulling his face back around to meet the bloodmage’s steely gaze.

  “I will give you a chance to redeem yourself, demon,” Tane said. “I have been down in this place all night, and most of this day, trying to find the Dragon’s Tongue, and now I see it is impossible for one of my ilk to find it because I do not have the whole key. And I have wasted much power in my attempts to break the spells of illusion and diversions that abound here, and quite exhausted my power in the process. But Alaric Braidwine has the whole key, and he will be able to lead me through the illusions to find what I seek. So, demon, it would seem I have need of you after all.”

  Vagner straightened up, looking concerned. “I do not understand, master.”

  “I rather suspect young Alaric will sense me if I simply follow him too closely on foot. So you are going to help hide me from him that I may follow him. You will put an illusion spell on me so I cannot be seen as anything but a part of you…”

  “But I must carry you for that to work,” Vagner said. “I…”

  “Have no choice,” Tane said with a frown. “Or have you forgotten that even with my powers drained from use, I can still inflict much pain on you with your True Name?”

  Vagner shook his head. He had not forgotten. It was the part of the binding that all his kind dreaded. The inability to break free even when the master was weak. For doing so would mean death for the demon as well…

  “Good,” Tane said. “Now, work your magic demon. I sense others are near whom I have no desire to meet…”

  You’re not the only one in that, Vagner thought.

  “Work your magic demon,” Tane repeated. “And give me your essence…”

  Vagner heaved a sigh. What he really wanted to do was bite Tane’s head off and damn the consequences. But warm pain—just the merest flicker—touched him. The demon flinched, then crouched and allowed Tane to mount his back and settle between his wings. Then he rose and called his magic, spreading the illusion over Tane so the bloodmage seemed to melt into the demon.

  Tane chuckled. “Well done, creature,” he said, and Vagner could feel the bloodmage leaching essence to strengthen him. Parasite, the demon thought.

  Now any who saw them would think they only saw the demon.

  Only Vagner would know the weight that clung to his back was Tane.

  ~

  Alaric had been relieved to learn the passage widened and curved like a nautilus shell. And the essence of this place practically fell into his hands, giving him free rein to call his own magelight unassisted. His mage senses quivered with delight at the power he felt.

  Now to find statues that had to be older that known, recorded time…Something from the age before the Great Cataclysm.

  Air, fire, earth, water, sky, stone; all these paled when he and Shona reached the bottom step.

  The last figure to occupy a niche was that of a woman. She stood taller than all the rest, and had been carved in wondrous detail. Stone had been etched so wisps of hair flowed about her shoulders and the folds of her robe looked as if they would move if one touched them. About her throat was a torc in the shape of a dragon. In one hand, she held what looked like a set of scales, but instead of trays, the ends of the armature dangled with teardrop lobes. Alaric stepped closer and saw they were carved with runes he did not recognize.

  “What do you think those mean?” he asked.

  Shona leaned closer, squinting. “I don’t recognize them. Too bad Etienne is not here. They look like something I’ve seen in those books of hers…”

  “Vagner, what do you think?” Alaric said, then paused when no answer came. “Vagner?”

  Alaric turned. The demon was nowhere to be seen.

  “Vagner?” he called and his voice echoed. “Where did he go?”

  Shona shrugged. “Surely, he didn’t pass us,” she said. “I mean, can’t you feel him?”

  “He went back,” Ronan said.

  “Back?” Alaric said aloud, then felt his face flame warm when Shona cocked her head questioningly. “Ronan says Vagner went back,” he repeated shyly.

  “Then so shall we,” Shona said. They both started back up the spiral of stairs. Alaric reached out with mage senses and got a hint of demon essence, but it felt masked and softened, and not at all as bitter as he recalled. Alaric frowned. Ronan, is something wrong with Vagner?

  “He is covering his essence,” Ronan said. “Masking it.”

  Why?

  They reached the top of the stairs when a shadowy shape loomed. Shona gave a startled squeak, and Alaric came close to echoing it. The shape came into range of the light and proved to be Vagner. Alaric frowned, for the demon moved as cautiously as an old man.

  “Vagner, where have you been?” Alaric asked.

  The demon hesitated. “I had to…relieve myself.”

  “Do demons do that?” Shona asked.

  “Well, of course we do,” Vagner replied, looking a little indignant. “There are several old spells from the age before the Great Cataclysm, as a matter of fact, for which one of the key ingredients is demon piss…”

  “I’m sorry I asked,” Shona said, her brows rising.

  “He’s not telling the truth,” Ronan said.

  But he can’t lie to me, Alaric thought.

  “I suspect that serving three masters makes it easier,” Ronan insisted.

  Alaric frowned. “Vagner…Be honest. Where did you go?”

  The demon blinked, uncertain.

  “Why are you clouding your essence, creature,” Ronan said in Alaric’s voice, and Alaric bit back a curse. I wish you wouldn’t do that, he thought.

  Vagner looked like he was considering flight. “Oh…that,” he said. “Well, to be quite honest…” He hesitated again. “I thought it would be appropriate to hide myself when I went out, especially when I saw that Turlough Greenfyn…”

  “Turlough!” Alaric and Shona, and even Ronan, all blurted at once, the latter’s effort leaving Alaric a bit dizzy and discombobulated. Their voices echoed alarmingly through the caverns.

  “Hold it down!” Vagner said. “Do you want the High Mage to find us before we are successful…?”

  “I don’t want the High Mage to find us at all,” Alaric said, his voice rising in pitch. “He’ll just want to kill me…” He stepped closer, and the demon pulled back a though uneasy to have Alaric so near. “Are you certain it was Turlough?”

  “Well, yes, I did see him for myself. He was riding some sort of flying platform with nearly a dozen other mageborn.”

  Alaric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Horns! This was all he needed. There was no way he could match Turlough and an army of mageborn and come out alive. He opened his eyes and shook his head. “This is hopeless,” he muttered.

  “We should go on, then,” Shona said, sounding like the voice of reason. “If Turlough finds us before we find Tane…”

  “Yes, we must find Tane before Turlough finds us,” Vagner agreed, and his fingers seemed to weave a pattern before him. Or was it a gesture? Alaric wondered. “He may be closer than we know…”

  Not liking that thought any more than he liked knowing Turlough was about, Alaric took Shona’s hand and started down the stairs. She gave in to the pull. Vagner followed, moving shadow-like at their heels. When Alaric glanced back over one shoulder, he noticed the demon negotiated the stairs with more caution than Alaric imagined was necessary, and in the cast of magelight, the demon seemed to have a hump. Alaric stopped at the bottom and blinked. The hump was gone. Must have been the light, he thought.

  “Vagner, are you all right?” Alaric asked.

  “Fine,” the demon said, stopping. “I’m just a little hungry, that’s all.” He looked away.

  “Well, if you’re certain,” Alaric said.

  He moved his m
agelight around. They now stood in a short hall that was blocked by tall double doors. As Alaric approached, he could see the same runes on them as were on the lobes of the statue’s scales, centered in teardrop shapes.

  “These are the same runes as are on the statue,” Alaric said. “They must mean something. Vagner, can you read them?”

  The demon shrugged and stepped forward. “I have seen their like before,” Vagner agreed, “But I fear I do not know what they mean…”

  “Supreme Evil and Supreme Good,” Ronan whispered. “The statue is the White One, She who sits at the Center of All Things and holds the Balance of All Things in Her care.”

  Do they mean anything?”

  “They are not important just now,” Ronan said. “Time is not on our side if Turlough is here. Now, let’s go.”

  Alaric put a hand on the doors and pushed. They did not budge. “Vagner?”

  The demon touched them as well, and pushed so that his claws dug deep crevices in the floor, and still they would not budge.

  “There must be something bolting them from within,” Vagner suggested.

  “Wonderful… and just how are we supposed to get through…”

  “We do not go through the doors, remember,” Ronan said.

  So which way do we go, Ronan? Alaric thought darkly.

  “You are the key,” Ronan said.

  Alaric frowned. A lot of good that did. Keys open locks, he thought. All I know is a song…”

  A song.

  “Yes, why don’t you sing…” Ronan whispered.

  Sing what?

  “The next part of the key. You remember it, don’t you?”

  “Alaric? Shall I look for a mechanism?” Shona asked, and he realized she had spoken to him before.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Alaric said. He closed his eyes and searched his memory, and a song did come to mind.

  “I am the bearer of the light,

  I am the keeper of the key

  I am the guardian of right

  And so you shall open for me.”

  There was a grinding noise, but the doors before him did not budge. Instead, to his right, a cleft appeared in the wall of stone, widening into a gap. Shona stepped back, startled.

  “That was impressive,” Vagner muttered. “Do you know any more songs like that?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Alaric said as he thrust his light into what appeared to be a tall, narrow hall too long for his magelight to reveal much.

  With a sigh, he stepped into the crevice. Briefly, his dread of close spaced sent a shiver thought him. Alaric closed his eyes. It’s a tall place, he reminded himself, and took a reluctant step forward into the shadowy gloom.

  FIFTY SIX

  He can’t keep this up! Etienne thought as she watched the battle of wills with silent fascination and concern. Fenelon must surely be exhausted, for he had only his own essence as a source of power. Granted, she had seen him push the limits of magic before. But at this moment, he had nothing to fall back on, and she knew well enough recovery would take a long time if he did not find another means of feeding his spells. As it was, Fenelon had been driven to his knees, and a fresh trickle of blood now stained his chin where it seeped from his nose. This is not good. He cannot hold out much longer.

  Turlough looked no better. His face had gone red, and his limbs trembled with exertion. The hand that clutched the Lunari stone was white-knuckled from the effort. Even with the assistance of that stone, he risked exhaustion. Yet he had not called for assistance, and Etienne strongly suspected he would not. Greenfyns were notoriously stubborn, no matter what generation they hailed from. Pure male pride, she thought. It was disgusting.

  “Yield, damn you,” Turlough hissed.

  Fenelon said nothing. He preferred to keep all his concentration focused on holding his mental shields against Turlough’s onslaught.

  But for how much longer? Part of Etienne feared the consequences of this match would be more costly than health or pride. Wherever Alaric, Shona and Vagner had gone, the longer this took, the further into unknown dangers they would be thrust. Etienne knew the demon would do its utmost to protect the two. But what if they met Tane? The demon had been the bloodmage’s slave—and still was—before it attached itself willingly to Alaric. Etienne feared Alaric might be no match against the experienced bloodmage when it came to mastery of the beast.

  So how do I end this? she wondered.

  She knew it had to end before the damage was irreversible. I gave Turlough my word I would not speak or cast spells. She was not one to go back on her word. On the other hand, she had already damned herself as a party to this mad scheme.

  At the moment, no one held her. In fact, she was being ignored.

  She shifted just enough to allow her to take a step backwards, putting her behind the battlemage guard who had first captured and brought her on board. He took no notice of her action, his gaze as intent on the battle as the rest. She allowed herself furtive glances back and forth and saw concern on several of the faces, though whether it was for Fenelon or Turlough, she could not be certain. Even the platform’s navigator was absorbed in the process. Etienne wondered how many of them were laying odds on the outcome. No doubt, sgillinns had already passed hands as to who would be the victor.

  Let us see what I can do to upset those odds. Her own staff leaned against the rail, taken from her hand when they brought her on board. She took another small step towards it, eyed the distance speculatively, then glanced at the guard. Her current position allowed her to see the slip knot that held the leather strung strand of Lunari beads around his neck. Once more, she let her gaze flicker to the mages around her. Turlough was breathing hard. Fenelon’s face grew lines of pain.

  Yes, this had to stop. Etienne took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and touched her own core of power, summoning her own essence. She whispered, and opening her eyes, she stretched her hands. One towards her staff…the other towards the guard.

  The stout oak limb carved in runes suddenly leapt into her right hand, and at the same moment, the battlemage’s beads unknotted, flinging the strand in her direction. She caught them just as he gave a startled cry and turned to stop her.

  Etienne had the advantage of both proximity and weaponry at the moment. Her staff spun in her right hand as she crouched. The guard lunged in vain. Oak caught him across the jaw and threw him off to one side, and she was quite pleased when he became an unwitting hurdle to the next mageborn whom he fell into and knocked down.

  “What?” Turlough broke off his painful rending of Fenelon’s mental shields to turn and see what was happening.

  “Adhar buail!” Etienne called, and reached for the power of the Lunari stones. Essence surged into her left hand and glided across her nerves like wildfire. She raised her staff and struck the surface, and the magical power enhanced the blow so the platform tipped sideways. Suddenly, everyone save Etienne, who had braced herself for the shift, began scrambling for handholds. Fenelon fell, released by his guards as they fought for their own balance. He struggled to get up just as Etienne shifted around with her staff, preparing to do battle like one of the shield maidens of old.

  As proper and lady-like as she always appeared, she had not neglected any aspect of mage training, and that included knowing how to defend against any attack by non-magical means. With surprising ferocity, she snapped around and danced aside, barely eluding the grasp of a guard who had gained his feet and lunged for her. Too late, he saw his mistake looming. Etienne’s staff was suddenly in his path, catching him across the collarbone. The force of his own forward momentum was checked, and being clothes-lined on an unstable surface in that manner threw his feet out from under him. Etienne felt just a twinge of sorrow for him as he landed on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.

  “So sorry,” she said, kneeling at his side just long enough to snatch off the string of Lunari beads he wore. “May I borrow these?”

  His hands flailed in weak
protest, but she took them anyway. The platform’s navigator was frantically seeking to right the still rolling surface in order to keep them from crashing to the ground, and Etienne told herself this was no worse than riding the river barges of her homeland. She managed to get to Fenelon’s side and pulled him to his feet. He staggered.

  “My lady, you are a godsend,” he said with a fractured smile. “I wish they would stop rocking this boat.”

  “And you’re in pain,” she said as she slipped her staff into her belt. “Hold onto me.”

  “Whatever you command,” Fenelon said and wrapped arms around her.

  “Etienne!” Turlough shouted. Lorymer had helped the High Mage to his feet, but the continual rock of the platform kept him off balance. “You gave your word!”

  “And now I must take it back,” she said.

  Etienne tightened her arm around Fenelon’s waist, and leapt off the edge of the platform, calling out the words of her flying spell as she dragged him along. He gave a startled yelp.

  Horns, she hated flying as much as she hated levitating, but there was no other choice. An involuntary squeal slipped from her throat as she and Fenelon plunged ground-ward then began to soar. She had not realized they had flown the platform so high. Fenelon merely clung to her, laughing.

  “Now I know why I love you more than life, Etienne,” he shouted. “A man cannot help but fall for a woman like you. Whatever reward you desire for rescuing me shall be yours.”

  “I’ll hold you to that later,” she called back. “Here!” She thrust the second strand of Lunari beads into his hands. “You’re heavier than I thought!”

  Grinning, Fenelon wrapped the strand around one wrist to bind them in place, then helped her to do the same with the other set before he let go and called his own flying spell. The sudden lurch of losing his weight startled Etienne, and she nearly lost her concentration, but she quickly compensated for the shift and turned, gliding towards the center of the crater.

  “No, not until we lose them,” Fenelon called, coming along side her.

  “How can we lose them?” she asked.