Northern Storm ac-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

  Kheda dropped to his knees. ‘Dev,’ he whispered urgently, shaking him. He snatched back his hand as the coarse hairs on the wizard’s forearm slid away to dust beneath his seared fingers. The heat within the mage was singeing him hairless.

  Back on the beach, the dragon roared with sudden fury. Kheda heard the deafening clap of its wings. He looked at Dev. Before he had time to think, he caught up a rock the size of his fist. He winced as he smacked it into the side of Dev’s head. The wizard moaned and went limp. Kheda ducked as the dragon made a pass overhead, the wind from its wings setting the leaves rattling. As the shadow passed, he tried to drag Dev further into the shallow hollow beneath the overhang and tested the wound he had inflicted with careful fingers.

  You don’t seem to have cracked his skull. That’s one good thing. Or is it? No one would have batted an eyelid if you’d returned without your awkward slave, who could then be safely praised as a hero for spending his life in your service.

  No, we’ve been here before. I didn’t kill him then and I won’t kill him now, not unless it’s the only way to save ourselves from the dragon. I owe him more than that.

  And he owes this domain a more valuable death, if it comes to it. There’s still much his blood could do to wash away the stain he’s brought to these islands.

  Kheda glowered at the unconscious Dev as he reached inside his tunic and brought out the wax-sealed box. Cracking the tightly fitted lid open, he found that the speckled powder inside was still largely dry. Forcing the unconscious wizard’s jaw open, he tipped a hefty dose on to his tongue. After a moment’s thought, he ripped the sleeve from his tunic and bound the wizard’s mouth closed. Then he ducked down as the dragon swept overhead again.

  Going back to the shore. Then we’re going the other way.

  Forcing himself upright, Kheda dragged Dev’s senseless body on to his shoulders and began breaking a path though the undergrowth, heading away from the nightmare on the beach.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting in a high-backed chair upholstered with painstaking needlepoint, Velindre allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warm sunshine pouring through the unshuttered window. Then she opened the crisp new almanac lying in the lap of her lavender gown and ticked off the twenty-ninth day of Aft-Spring. Carefully setting her pen down on the octagonal table at her elbow, she blew the ink dry and then closed the book. Her thin lips narrowed to invisibility. Thirty days here and still no closer to a decision. She gazed out at the paved square beyond her window, its enclosed garden watered by a glittering central fountain. The sweeper was about his leisurely business brushing the flagstones free of dust, at the same time showing broad shoulders to keep the square free of Relshaz’s hopeful indigents. A nursemaid in yellow livery shooed a gaggle of excited children out of one of the genteel houses with whitewashed walls and ruddy earthen-tiled roofs. As they rushed towards the circumscribed freedom of the central garden, some nameless youth pushing a handcart paused to talk to the nursemaid. After a glance up at the blind windows, the girl slipped something into his hand before hunying after her charges. One of the two little girls was denouncing her bolder brother as he swung on the green-painted rails, hands on her diminutive hips.

  Velindre lost interest in the pedestrian byplay, looking up at the scudding clouds dotting the clear blue sky. There was little enough power to tempt her. Relshaz was too far south to find the lofty ribbon of air she had pulled down over Azazir’s lake, and too far north to find its counterpart that raced high across Hadrumal. All was as yet untroubled by the thunderstorms sweeping in off the gulf to break over Lescar and Caladhria, as the wide inland plains threw off the summer’s heat. Far beyond the horizon, she could sense the long reach of Toremal cradling the broad gulf, its mountains denying passage to the turbulent winds of the open ocean.

  There was little enough power but there was still sufficient to tempt her. Sweat prickled beneath her shoulder blades and under her breasts despite the moderate temperature of the room. With her newfound skills she might be able to summon the dragon once more, even with such dissipated breezes in these placid skies.

  Another dragon, she corrected herself savagely. The first one was dead at the hands of Azazir’s simulacrum. And it was no true dragon, merely a creature of magical contrivance and convenience. But it had been a creature all the same that had delighted in the soaring element that so thrilled her. A creature condemned to fade and die before it had barely begun to comprehend where it was or what it was. Unless she threw it into a brutal fight to the death against some other wizard’s equally enslaved magic.

  Sweat beaded her forehead as she felt suddenly nauseous. Getting carefully to her feet, she crossed to a sideboard and poured herself a glass of wine. She was standing, motionless, holding the wine undrunk when a knock at the door startled her into spilling it all over the prettily embroidered linen draping the polished wood.

  ‘You have a visitor, my dear.’ The amiable widow who was renting her these two comfortable rooms beamed as she opened the door. ‘You said you had no acquaintance in Relshaz,’ she chided.

  ‘I don’t,’ Velindre said curtly as she moved to hide the spilled wine from view.

  ‘Well, dear, she says she’s a friend of yours.’ The widow’s smile faltered and she brushed at the frivolous lace hanging from turtleshell combs supporting her complicated coiffure. ‘She says she’s Madam Esterlin. Shall I show her up?’

  No need,’ laughed a genial voice from the hallway. ‘Velindre, my dear, no wonder you stay so slender, climbing all these stairs day in and day out.’ A generously proportioned woman in an elegant gown of jade silk appeared in the doorway, fanning herself with a silver-mounted spread of vivid green feathers. The widow bridled as the visitor sailed past her into the room. ‘I’ll leave you to your conversation.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Velindre managed a brief nod for her landlady. The widow shut the door with a force that spoke of her indignation.

  The newcomer grimaced as she deposited a light wool wrap and her fan on an old-fashioned satinwood side table. ‘I don’t think she’ll be bringing us wine and honey wafers.’

  ‘Probably not.’ Velindre folded her arms. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Mellitha.’

  ‘Unexpected, that much I’ll grant you.’ The newcomer’s laugh had a harder edge now that the door was shut behind her. Her shrewd grey eyes took in every detail of the room, lingering on the table by the lustre-tiled fireplace where twenty or more leather-bound books were organised in precise piles. A thick sheaf of notes on expensive reed paper was set squarely between them. T was surprised to learn you’d been in the city for nearly half a season without calling on me.’ She looked at Velindre, her plump face expectant.

  ‘You’re curious to know what I’m reading?’ Velindre crossed the room in long strides to pick up the topmost book. ‘Lawsenna on the history of Southern Toremal and-’ she lifted the volume beneath ‘-Den Jaromire on the beasts and birds of the Cape of Winds.’

  ‘You’ve sailed the Tormalin ocean coasts extensively.’ Mellitha nodded with apparent understanding. ‘Though I’m curious as to why my book merchant mentioned you’ve been buying everything and anything he can find on the nature and lore of dragons.’

  Velindre replaced the books carefully. ‘I’m hardly your pupil to explain myself to you. Still,’ she continued, to forestall the words on the other woman’s lips, ‘I was Otrick’s pupil, as you well know. It’s not so remarkable that I’d be retracing his steps in my reading.’

  No, but I know full well you did that ten years ago and more. He told me as much himself Mellitha crossed the room in a rustle of lace-trimmed petticoats and sat in the chair matching the one Velindre had vacated. ‘Since we’re being so frank with each other,’ she went on with distinct sarcasm, ‘it’s not so much what you’re reading that piques my interest as where you’re reading it. I’m surprised to find you away from Hadrumal.’

  ‘One can learn many things beyond Hadrumal’s shores,’ Velindre responded
smoothly. ‘Otrick taught me that.’

  ‘I would have thought Otrick taught you how to pour a fine wine without spilling it.’ Mellitha leaned back in her chair to look at the stained cloth behind Velindre. The sunlight picked out the silver thick in her chestnut hair. Did he teach you how to rise above disappointed hopes?’

  Velindre smiled coldly. ‘You can reassure Flood Mistress Troanna or Archmage Planir, or whoever it is you’re reporting to, that I’m not sitting here weeping over my shattered dreams.’

  ‘I imagined Rafrid’s elevation would still be a sensitive subject.’ Mellitha waved an airy hand bejewelled with rings. ‘You misunderstand me. I’m not here on anyone’s behalf. Oh, when Planir’s curious about something in this ant hill, I’ll kick over a few stones if it suits me to find out more, but that’s seldom called for. I have plenty of things to occupy my time, far more interesting things than reading inferior copies of books I found tedious the first time around in Hadrumal. Which is why I’m curious to see you reading them.’

  Velindre found her nausea retreating. ‘These things that occupy you, they’re matters of magic?’ she queried.

  ‘Relshaz has little or no interest in magic’ Mellitha chuckled. ‘And the games around the magistracies here make the scrambling for the high seats on Hadrumal’s Council look very tame.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt,’ Velindre said distantly.

  ‘I came to see if Otrick or anyone else had ever let you consider opportunities beyond Hadrumal for a woman of your intelligence and affinity.’ Mellitha looked out of the window at the serene square. ‘I’ve lived more than half my life here. I’ve made a handsome fortune, satisfied my own desires as I’ve seen fit and raised four happy, healthy children, all grown and gone now, leading their own lives as they see fit, mageborn or not.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m cut out to wheedle contracts to gather taxes out of a council of venal magistrates.’ Velindre smoothed her skirts as she returned to her seat.

  No, I don’t think you are.’ Mellitha rested her chin in her hand, studying Velindre. ‘I think you intended to head back to Hadrumal with some startling discovery spun from Otrick’s wilder speculations, to make Planir and all the rest regret not raising you to Cloud Mistress. I think you’ve stumbled on something you didn’t expect. You’re certainly hiding from someone. Or should that be everyone? Why do you think I’ve gone to all this trouble of visiting you in person? Because I couldn’t raise you through any kind of spell, and even if I don’t play Hadrumal’s games, you can rest assured there’s no one there who’s my equal in scrying.’ Velindre couldn’t help her glance towards the closed door of her bedchamber, where the mirror was shrouded with a heavy shawl and both ewer and basin stood dry and empty.

  ‘You’re not looking well, Velindre,’ Mellitha continued after a few moments’ tense silence. ‘You were always thin, but now you look positively gaunt and that’s not flattering for a woman past the first flush of youth.’ Velindre still said nothing.

  Mellitha stood up and fished in the mesh purse hanging from the plaited silk girdling her well-cut gown. ‘Come and see me if you feel like confiding in me. I’ll tell my servants I’ll always be at home to you.’ She laid a folded and sealed piece of deckle-edged paper on the wine table beside her chair. ‘Or just come to dinner, if you don’t want to talk.’ She gathered up her wrap and fan as she sailed blithely to the door. ‘I’ll give you one piece of advice to be going on with. I used to tell my four children, if you skin your knee, don’t pick at the grazes. It’ll take all the longer to heal. The same is true of wounded pride.’

  ‘If I talk to you . . Velindre forced the words out. ‘Will you keep my confidences?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mellitha stood motionless, one hand on the door handle. ‘I told you, I don’t play Hadrumal’s games.’

  ‘I have to talk to someone.’ Now that she had started, Velindre regretted it. At the same time, she wondered if she would be able to stop. ‘To someone mageborn, someone who might just possibly understand. Or I’ll go mad.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want that, my dear.’ Mellitha walked swiftly back to her chair.

  ‘Did you ever know Azazir?’ Velindre stared out of the window at the alluring blue sky. ‘Only by reputation,’ said Mellitha cautiously. ‘They say he’s mad.’

  ‘That doesn’t equal the half of it.’ Velindre shivered even though she was sweating again. ‘He’s gone beyond madness. He’s lost himself utterly in his element.’

  ‘It happens.’ Mellitha’s voice was cold. ‘I take it you’ve seen him?’

  Velindre nodded jerkily.

  ‘Do you think you might be going down the same path?’ Mellitha asked softly.

  Startled, Velindre looked at her. ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Mellitha’s grey eyes were steely. ‘Because that’s not something I could keep from Hadrumal. Anything less than that. . .’ She shrugged. ‘That’s no business of anyone else’s.’

  Not entirely reassured, Velindre looked back out of the window. ‘Azazir knew how to summon dragons, did you know that?’

  ‘Him and Otrick both.’ Mellitha nodded. ‘Is that what you’re planning on astounding the Council with?’

  ‘I had some such notion,’ Velindre admitted, running a shaking hand over her mercilessly braided hair. ‘Have you any idea how they do it?’

  Mellitha shook her head. ‘I was never that curious to raise some creature that might bite my head off.’

  ‘I know how,’ Velindre said simply ‘And now I wish I didn’t. Only I went to find out to help someone else. If I don’t tell him, he’ll most likely die as a result. But he could well end up dead if I do.’ The words rasped in her dry throat

  Mellitha rose and fetched them both a glass of wine. Who are we talking about?’

  ‘Dev.’ Velindre sipped at the wine and felt it strengthen her. Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘More than once.’ Mellitha chuckled. ‘He’s another one who was never born for Hadrumal, never mind his wizardry.’

  ‘He’s down in the far south of the Archipelago.’Velindre swallowed another mouthful of wine. ‘He’s been helping a warlord fight some wild wizards who appeared out of the southern ocean last year. He thought they were all dead but this year a dragon’s appeared, so presumably there’s at least one left’

  ‘Or one’s recently arrived from wherever the first contingent came from?’ Mellitha raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

  ‘Either way, Dev wanted to know how to summon a dragon of his own.’ Velindre fell silent again. ‘To attack the interloper?’ Mellitha prompted. ‘Like those old tales of the dragon hunters around the Cape of

  Winds?’

  ‘He has no idea what he’s asking for.’ Velindre drained her glass.

  ‘Fire to fight fire, presumably.’ Mellitha looked intently at her.

  ‘Literally, as it happens.’ Velindre found she couldn’t smile at the jest. ‘Which would give him two things,’ she continued with brisk dispassion. ‘Firstly, access to far more power than he could ever imagine, and I don’t know how well you know Dev, but I certainly wouldn’t trust him with that. He could easily find himself slipping down the same road to Azazir’s obsession. Because a dragon’s aura is fascinating beyond belief, Mellitha. You can see all the things that have always been just beyond the reach of your wizardry and you think you could finally grasp them if you just reached out a little further. And when you find you can’t, you tell yourself it doesn’t matter because you’ll manage to do it next time and anyway, the power you’re feeling now is the purest and sweetest you’ve ever known.’

  Her words slowed. ‘Have you ever had a lover who brought you such bliss that all you wanted was to feel his hands on you, that every moment you were apart felt wasted, even when you were well past the first flush of passion?’

  ‘Just the once,’ Mellitha said dryly.

  Velindre looked at her. ‘And you realised eventually that however good the loving, there is more to life than ecstasy in bed?’

>   ‘Eventually.’ Mellitha dimpled, her youth momentarily returning in her eyes. ‘Then I decided the best trick was having the ecstasy and the rest to go with it.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Velindre laughed despite herself. ‘And once you’ve had that, you’re not inclined to settle for anything less thereafter.’

  ‘Quite.’ Mellitha looked at her quizzically. ‘But what has your life with Otrick or mine with whoever else got to do with dragons?’

  Velindre’s smile faded. ‘It’s hard to think of anything more desirable than the elemental thrill of a dragon’s aura. You spend your days thinking of all the reasons why you should summon one up—for the good of wizardry, for the better education of the mundane populace. To drive untamed wizardry out of the southern Archipelago.’

  ‘And Dev did always have a taste for white brandy and dream smokes,’ said Mellitha thoughtfully. You said there was a second thing he’d gain, besides a dangerous new obsession.’

  ‘He’d get a dragon.’ Velindre pressed her hands to her face as she struggled for words. ‘I don’t mean the magical aura, I mean the beast itself. It’s pure element, Mellitha, shaped and bound with magecraft, and it’s an innocent. Yes, it’s dangerous beyond reason, and I certainly don’t trust Dev with something like that to do his bidding—always assuming he could bend it to his will—but there’s no malice in it. It’s a creature of instinct and all its instincts are mageborn. It revolts me, the thought of creating such a creature to fight like a pit dog, suffering pain and death, never even knowing why it’s there. It’s a perversion of all that’s good and honourable in magecraft,’ she concluded bitterly. ‘And I’m talking like some dewy-eyed fool of an apprentice, I know, and I should know better.’

  ‘But you say there is already a dragon in the southern Archipelago, doing the bidding of some unknown wizard?’ Mellitha returned to the crux of the problem tormenting

  Velindre.

  ‘Who will quite probably kill Dev if I don’t show him how to fight back on equal terms,’ the blonde magewoman agreed ‘And will certainly cause even more mayhem across the Archipelago, killing innocent Aldabreshi and giving them yet more cause to hate and fear and murder any mageborn they happen to come across.’