Northern Storm ac-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

  That was too much for one of the other cowering warriors. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the forest, prompting a stifled outcry of encouragement from the swordsmen hidden among the trees and brush. This incautious outburst died on a note of despairing horror as the dragon rose and reached out one massive forefoot. The swordsman disappeared beneath it, crushed into oblivion in the sand. The dragon hauled his body back and bent to sniff at it. The ruff of scales around its head flared and its eyes burned hot scarlet as it opened its mouth to hiss on a rising note.

  Abandoning the contemplative approach, it seized the armoured corpse between its teeth, head shaking from side to side. The swordsman’s arms and legs flopped loose and rattled against the creature’s scaly jaws. It spat him out with a growl of irritation and smashed its great foot down on him once again. After a moment, it repeated the blow and then stamped down a fourth time before bending to lick delicately at the oozing blood now obscuring the steel of the dead warrior’s hauberk. Lifting its head, it studied the gory mess for a moment, then carefully extended one claw and drove it through the dead man’s neck, pinning the body to the ground. Bending down, it nipped his legs between its vicious teeth with surprising precision, metallic lips drawn back. With a single tug, it ripped the broken torso out of the chain mail, the head left pinned, and devoured it in a single bite. Now that it had the trick of it, dispatching and consuming the other two men was the work of a few moments for the beast.

  Bear witness, that’s one of your duties as warlord. Find some way to save the rest of your men, that’s another. What are you going to do?

  Kheda wracked his brain helplessly as the dragon finished its appetiser and looked towards the island’s scrub and meagre trees, interest brightening its eyes. It began slowly pacing the length of the beach, long tongue still tasting the air, teeth and lips gruesomely bloodstained. Warlord and wizard froze, hugging the ground, as the beast drew level with them, barely breathing until it had passed, watching its great claws tearing up the indistinct footprints, long tail dragging a line in the sand behind it.

  ‘I reckon we know what happened to those wild men now.’ Dev’s voice was improbably distant. ‘How do we stop it happening to us?’ whispered Kheda savagely.

  ‘Can you feel the power that thing carries with it?’ Dev breathed, husky now, almost lustful. ‘What?’ Kheda propped himself on one elbow and stared at the wizard.

  ‘The magic’ Dev looked at him unseeing, his eyes dark and wandering.

  As if he’d been drinking deep of his barbarian liquor and filling his head with their tainted smokes for good measure.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Anger seizing him, Kheda shoved at the mage, sending him rolling sideways, unresisting. ‘And keep your voice down.’ He twisted to look hastily in all directions, though there was no one to be seen among the glossy yellowy-green of the leaves.

  That doesn’t mean there’s no one else hidden within earshot.

  Is this where all your connivances with magic are to be finally unmasked?

  Will there be anyone left alive to carry the tale to Itrac or anyone else?

  Dev rolled back on to his belly, propping himself up on his elbows and hanging his head, breathing deeply like a man who’d just slaked his passions. ‘The magic, Kheda.’ His voice was a fervent whisper. ‘A dragon is a magical creature; it’s in its very nature. No one knows how or why. I’ve heard tell of their aura, of the wild magic that hangs all around them, but nothing I’ve ever read describes just how potent it is.’ He chuckled, a low, licentious sound.

  ‘What is it doing here?’ Kheda demanded.

  ‘There have been mages in Hadrumal who could summon dragons.’ Dev’s face sharpened unpleasantly. ‘Precious few of them and they always kept the mystery mighty close. But even a fool can stumble on a wise man’s secret. Maybe these wild men have managed to find themselves a wizard again.’

  ‘A wizard who called this monster here?’ Kheda stared at Dev, aghast.

  ‘Maybe,’ the barbarian mage said slowly. ‘And maybe it got out of hand and ate him along with the rest of his cronies. I don’t see it taking much heed of anyone, do you? Or maybe some bright spark on this scrap of an island has finally had his stones drop far enough for him to feel the magic in his blood.’ Dev scrambled on to his knees, helmet knocking against the twigs of the sard-ben-y bush, dislodging fruit to stain the ground around him. ‘And when he stuck his head above the parapet, there’s some bigger, badder wizard been hiding himself who decided to cut him down to size. Maybe he has the trick of this and sent his new pet out to rid himself of a rival. Or just to fill its belly with anyone who won’t get in line behind him.’

  As the wizard talked, rapid words stumbling over each other, he was digging a hollow in the dry, sandy earth with the dagger from his belt, scooping out the loose soil with the other hand. Dropping the blade, he sat back on his heels and tugged up the bottom edge of his chain mail and the thick padded tunic beneath it. Holding back cloth and armour with his forearms, he fumbled with the drawstring of his trousers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Kheda, revolted, as the wizard exposed himself.

  ‘Got a water bottle on you?’ snapped Dev. No, I didn’t think so. Me neither. Now listen. That beast’s a dragon born of fire, plain enough from the colour of it, never mind the way it snuffed out that pyre you made of the stockade. Well, I was born to see the elemental fire within things. If someone’s summoned it, I should be able to follow the trail of the spell that summoned it here through a scrying, even if it is in a puddle of my own piss.’ The wizard grimaced as he relieved himself.

  Kheda concentrated on watching the dragon, which was now well past them, pausing to sniff at the dead embers of the burned stockade before continuing its measured progress along the curve of the beach. ‘Then we make a run for it through the woods, flag down the Green Turtle and the Lilla Bat, taking our chances in the rocks and surf Dev didn’t sound thrilled at that prospect. His voice strengthened as he continued. ‘Then we work out how to sneak up on this clever bastard without him calling his new playmate down on us.’

  ‘And gut him like a fish.’ Kheda finished the sentence for the wizard.

  But why would any wizard capable of summoning a dragon use it against his own people? Wouldn’t he simply set the beast about finishing the destruction these foul invaders began last year?

  Dev didn’t answer. Kheda looked around to see green magic filling the puddle of urine, darkening as the liquid slowly seeped away into the dry earth. He looked about hastily for any condemning eyes before returning his gaze to the wizard. Well?’

  A sheet of emerald flame erupted from the damp hollow, sending Dev recoiling backwards, hands clapped to his face, muffling a guttural cry of pain. Flames crackled in the air around him, translucent green paling to a sickly yellow before strengthening to a vivid gold and then darkening to ferocious orange.

  ‘Dev!’ Kheda was on his hands and knees, ready to go to the barbarian’s aid, when he realised that the flames had no source, no fuel. The mage’s clothes weren’t burning beneath his chain mail, nor were the leaves and twigs of the tangled underbrush. It was as if the very air was ablaze, wrapping the wizard in fire.

  Is it illusion? Dev told me of such things. No, his hands are blistering. It has to be fire—but magical fire. How can I quench it? What will its touch do to me?

  All the same, Kheda scooped a double handful of the loose sand from Dev’s digging in his cupped palms, instinct driving him to quell the fire. Then movement on the beach held the warlord motionless. The dragon had whirled around and was running back along the sand in their direction. Before it had looked almost clumsy with its heavy plodding gait. Now it was racing like a hunting hound, long body at full stretch, head outthrust on its sinuous neck, tail straight as an arrow behind it.

  It’s heading this way! What is it after? The magical fire? It must be!

  Kheda threw himself on the wizard, knocking Dev awkwardly on to his back, his legs t
wisted beneath him. Straddling the barbarian, he tore Dev’s hands apart, seeing his face beneath scorched and burned as if the mage had stood too close to a fire when a resin-filled log ignited. The blisters on Dev’s hands burst beneath Kheda’s grip, the flesh slick and raw. Kheda felt the impossible flames fasten on to his own hands, crawling up his arms, the fine black hairs curling and disappearing, the skin reddening and growing sore.

  ‘Dev!’ Kheda yelled. ‘Stop it!’

  But the barbarian had his eyes screwed tight shut. His whole body was tense beneath Kheda, shuddering like a man in a fever. The flames burned ever brighter, ever hotter, and the roar of the dragon filled Kheda’s ears. He let go of Dev’s hands. They fell loosely on to the wizard’s chest. Kheda braced himself with one hand on the wizard’s breastbone and reached for his dagger with the other.

  If the beast is seeking Dev’s fire, his death will put an end to that.

  Better yet, cut his throat. You can tell anyone who saw the fire it was the dragons work. There’ll be no one to gainsay you.

  Yes, but who’s going to save all of us here, never mind Risala, Itrac and all of Chazen, from this new magic if Dev’s dead?

  Kheda let the weapon fall and wrapped his bare hands around the wizard’s throat. He gripped, hard, the knuckles of his forefingers digging into Dev’s lined, sun-toughened neck just behind the angle of his jaw. Dev went limp beneath him and the flames vanished in the blink of an eye. Kheda looked around—tense, poised on his knees—to see where the dragon was and what it was doing.

  It had stopped dead, scouring up a rut in the sand with the violence of its halt. Head swinging from side to side, its tongue continued that ceaseless flickering in the air. Its eyes shone with a crimson fire, searching the forest’s edge. The blood hammered in Kheda’s head, inheld breath a choking fire in his chest, hands and forearms scorched and sore.

  The dragon continued to look from side to side, gaze sliding over the bushes that concealed the two men. All at once it sprang upwards, vast wings unfolding and beating against the air with a deafening clap. As it soared overhead, Kheda looked up to see the dark lines of the creature’s bones through the leathery wing membrane when its flight momentarily blotted out the sun. Impossibly swift, it rose through the sky and disappeared over the hillock of the island.

  Dev stirred beneath him, throwing Kheda off with a convulsive heave of his hips as he coughed. ‘Good thinking,’ he commented grudgingly as he rubbed at his neck with clumsy fingertips.

  Kheda got to his feet, peering up through the sparse trees to search the fragmented clouds for any sign of the dragon. ‘Is it coming back? Where’s it gone?’

  After the ships? Would it attack a trireme? What about a lesser boat? Risala, where are you? ‘I’m not inclined to try finding out,’ rasped Dev, now sitting up. Not with magic, anyway.’ A rustle in the bushes startled Kheda. It was three swordsmen, muddy-faced with tenor.

  ‘Go and gather everyone together,’ the warlord barked. ‘Stay under cover as best you can. As soon as we’re all together, we’ll head for the far side of the island, to see if we can signal to the Green Turtle and the Lilla Bat. Don’t forget to keep your eyes open for those cursed traps,’ he added.

  The three of them just stood there, slack-jawed and uncomprehending.

  ‘Go on!’ Kheda urged.

  His commanding tone reminding them of their duty, they turned and disappeared into the trees. Kheda heard other voices behind him, those who’d fled into the trees making themselves known now that his carrying words had put new heart into them. Twigs and leaves cracked and rustled as people began pushing their way towards him.

  Kneeling to retrieve his fallen dagger, Kheda pushed his head close by Dev’s. ‘Your magic got away from you, mage. That happens again with anyone else at hand to see it and we’re both dead—and not just because it looks as if the dragon can sniff out your fires. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you and have done. You said wizards can summon those beasts. What else do you know about these evils? Quickly, before anyone else might hear!’

  ‘I’m sonny, my lord, but I know precious little about dragons,’ said Dev sourly. He paused to blow on the backs of his raw and weeping hands to cool the pain. ‘But I do know someone who knows a cursed sight more than most.’

  Chapter Six

  Velindre, come in.’ The man opening the age-darkened oak door was at least half a head shorter than the tall, blonde woman he welcomed.

  ‘Cloud Master.’ She inclined her head, face expressionless as she swept across the threshold. Her firm chin was held high, the long plait of her golden hair falling straight as a rule down her spine.

  ‘Rafrid will do. This is all quite informal.’ He was quite possibly twice as broad across the shoulders as his visitor, with a barrel chest for good measure. With his long back, the way he belted his blue woollen tunic under his paunch made his grey-breeched legs seem incongruously short. The hobnails of his sturdy leather half-boots had scarred a path across the polished floorboards from the door to the table laden with books and parchments, and from the table to the tall triple-mullioned window on the far side of the room. The sky beyond the diamond-shaped panes of glass was the same soft grey as the narrow slivers of the stone walls visible between bookshelves burdened with scholarship past and present. The man’s eyes were a harder, flinty grey, age and experience lining his brow and dusting his dark hair with silver. ‘Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to take the chill off the day? A little wine or cordial? A tisane?’

  His manner was brisk rather than solicitous as he gestured towards the modest hearth where a polished copper kettle hung on an iron spar ready to be swung over the self-effacing flames. An oil lamp glowed golden on the table even though it was barely midday.

  ‘Thank you, no.’Velindre took a ladderback chair from an irregular circle of mismatched seats. She set it between the table and the fireplace on a rug whose pattern had long faded into obscurity. Sitting with her back straight, she folded her hands in the lap of her indigo gown, its full skirt cut short enough to avoid the worst of winter’s mire. As she crossed her long legs neatly at the ankles, her black leather boots, finer sewn than Rafrid’s, showed that she’d been through a succession of puddles on her way there. ‘You know why I wanted to see you.’ Rafrid sat in his own round-framed wooden chair, shoving at the cushions behind him as he looked expectantly at Velindre.

  She laced nail-bitten fingers together, knuckles whitening. Not really.’

  An angled crease between Rafrid’s grizzled brows deepened. ‘If you’re as unforthcoming with the apprentices, I’m hardly surprised I’m hearing complaints.’

  ‘From whom?’ A faint blush highlighted Velindre’s angular cheekbones and she silently cursed her fair complexion. ‘Excuse me.’ Standing, she moved the chair a few paces from the fire and sat down again. ‘I’m a little warm.’

  ‘And you one of the most talented mages born to command the air here in Hadrumal?’ Rafrid wondered sardonically. ‘I find it difficult to believe that you can’t keep yourself cool.’

  Velindre folded her arms tightly across her modest bosom. ‘If you won’t tell me who, you might tell me what’s being said about me.’

  ‘You spend very little time with the new apprentices compared to the other mages of your standing.’ Rafrid leaned back in his chair, tossing a battered patchwork cushion to the floor. ‘And I gather that any of the more experienced apprentices making a formal request to study with you as your pupil can expect refusal without explanation or apology.’

  ‘There are plenty of wizards keen enough to nursemaid the new anivals.’Velindre shrugged one shoulder, her face impassive. ‘I’ll take on any apprentice with two or three years’ learning to steady their affinity who comes up with a course of study I consider worth pursuing.’

  ‘You’re not excused from your responsibilities just because others are more mindful of all they owe to this island and these halls of learning,’ Rafrid began sternly. ‘We
all have our own magical interests to pursue. It’s not the business of other wizards to give you the leisure to concentrate exclusively on your own studies.’

  ‘I am fully mindful of all I owe to Hadrumal and my fellow mages,’ Velindre said frostily. ‘I have lived here all my life.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Rafrid scowled, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and twisting a heavy ring around the middle finger of his writing hand. A sizeable sapphire, dark and mysterious, was set deep into the silver. You’re Hadrumal born, as were your parents, both of whom have added significantly to the scholarship of wizardry. Yet your parents have always found time to nurture the lads and lasses arriving on our dockside still reeling from the shock of discovering their magebirth. As for further study, your mother in particular has an unequalled record for guiding pupils on paths that seemed entirely unpromising at first glance.’

  Velindre sat in silence, her narrow lips thinned almost to invisibility. Rafrid drummed his thick fingers on the edge of his table, his square jaw hardening.

  ‘You used to spend more time with apprentices,’ he pointed out with a visible effort at reasonableness. ‘You’ve had past pupils who made notable progress and not just in the understanding of the element of air. Why the change of heart over this last winter?’

  ‘Tell me how much time I’m to set aside for apprentices.’ Velindre uncrossed her feet and stood. ‘And how many pupils I’m required to take on.’

  ‘Kalion did you no favours encouraging you to think that you stood a chance of being elevated to Cloud Mistress,’ said Rafrid bluntly.

  Velindre lifted her chin defiantly. ‘I suggest you take that up with the Hearth Master.’

  ‘I have done,’ Rafrid assured her dourly, ‘with him and Troanna both. Our esteemed Flood Mistress is under no illusions about what I think of her meddling.’