Dragon Secrets

by Christopher Golden

  Timothy knew he ought to have been shocked. The idea that Verlis would be imprisoned just for who and what he was certainly struck him as horrible. But the words were disturbingly familiar. Ivar had spoken of the Parliament’s intolerance for different races. The warrior’s own tribe, the Asura, had become extinct thanks to the suspicion and hatred of the world’s most powerful mages. And Timothy had experienced these attitudes firsthand from those who feared or hated him because he was an un-magician.

  It was even worse for the Wurm. Verlis explained that once the Wurm had lived in the wild places of Terra, in jungle caves and the mountain caves of the hottest parts of the world. Their only natural predators were their enemies, the Asura tribe. Wurm and Asura continued to struggle over territory for centuries as both breeds expanded. They evolved together, locked in a mutual hatred upon which both seemed to thrive. The average lifespan of a Wurm was more than two hundred and fifty years, an Asura more than three hundred, so new generations learned old hatred fresh from those who had kindled it for centuries, and the animosity between the two never had a chance to die out.

  The mages changed all of that. Verlis had been a child when it had begun, but he remembered still. When the Parliament of Mages was still brand new, the many guilds were beginning to come together, to make peace, and to look at the world as theirs. Offshoots of Wurm and Asura tribes were springing up far beyond their usual homelands, with their own types of magic and with powerful warriors as well. Yet with no loyalty to any guild. The Parliament would not have welcomed them, of course. They were different, monstrous, to the eyes of a mage. But the mages might have been content if the monsters had been willing to bow to the Parliament’s authority. Neither Wurm nor Asura would ever have bowed to anyone. So they were seen as a threat.

  It had begun quickly after that. In the areas where the Wurm and Asura existed, locked in their eternal struggle, the mages began to oppress them. Alhazred, who had only recently founded his own guild, the Order of Alhazred, drove the Parliament into a panic over the danger of these so-called savage races. He pushed them to create laws in an attempt to control them. Or better yet, enslave them. Both Asura and Wurm were driven out of their homes, but the mages were not content with that. Alhazred whipped the Parliament into a frenzy of hatred against both tribes, but the mages hated the Wurm even more. The Asura, after all, were humanoid. They were different—their skin, their eyes—but at least they were shaped like mages.

  The oppression had become so bad that the Wurm and the Asura began to cast aside centuries of feuding and work together in some areas to fight against the mages.

  The Parliament would have none of that.

  Timothy had heard the entire, ugly truth from Verlis, and the boy’s own research and conversations with Leander confirmed it. One hundred and seven years ago, the Asura were wiped out. Thirteen months later, the Parliament of Mages set out to do the same to the Wurm. Timothy’s own father, Argus Cade, had saved Ivar—the last of the Asura—by secretly moving him to the Island of Patience, which existed in a parallel dimension. This had inspired Argus to do the same for the Wurm, but on a grander scale. Though he was a member of Alhazred’s guild, he spoke against his own grandmaster in opposition to the slaughter of the Wurm. He offered a gentler solution.

  Banishment.

  Now, though, Alhazred was dead. Argus Cade was dead. And there was a Wurm on Terra, in the city of Arcanum, for the first time in over a century. But Alhazred had been wrong. All of the Parliament had been wrong, then, to oppress the Wurm.

  They weren’t savage as a race. They were no different from mages. Perhaps some were cruel and vicious, but some were kind and gentle.

  Verlis was more civilized than most of the mages Timothy had met.

  “He’s not dangerous!” the boy insisted, shooting a hard look at Leander. “I know the history. All his kind ever wanted was to be left alone. Now there’s a civil war in his dimension, in Draconae, and his clan are being killed. All he wants is help! He risked everything to get here. I promised to help him, Leander.”

  Leander glanced out his window, avoiding Timothy’s gaze. “They understand completely, but it has done nothing to sway their judgment.” The Grandmaster smoothed his thick tangle of red beard with one hand, then glanced at the boy again. “They have retracted your offer of aid to the Wurm.”

  Timothy felt as though he’d just been slapped. “Retracted my offer? How can they? It’s my offer, not theirs. It isn’t as though I promised Verlis that Parliament would help. I told him I would go to Draconae with him, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  The Grandmaster gazed at him solemnly. “They have forbidden it,” he said softly, his face drawn, eyes filled with woe.

  To Timothy, the man looked to have aged at least ten years in as many days, but that did little to restrain his anger. “I promised.”

  “And they have negated that promise,” Leander stated. “I’m sorry, Timothy, but no one is going to Draconae. You have no choice but to abide by the Parliament’s decision, especially during this time of upheaval.”

  The sky carriage slowed, and from his high seat, the navigation mage called down to his passengers. “We have arrived, Master Maddox.”

  “Very good, Caiaphas,” Leander called. “Bring us down. I’m ready.” He began rolling up sleeves as though preparing to cast a spell.

  Timothy watched out the window as the carriage glided over an abundant expanse of forest, and then the ocean came in sight. He frowned. “I thought you were taking me to see Verlis.”

  “I am,” the mage replied, flexing his fingers as he began to utter a strange droning incantation.

  “I don’t understand. I see nothing out there except ocean. Where have they taken him, Leander? Is it hidden by magic?” Timothy pressed his face to the window and the spell-glass dissipated at the touch of his forehead. Air blasted into the carriage, buffeting him, but as he withdrew, the glass restored itself.

  “Timothy,” Leander said, his tone grave.

  The boy turned to find the mage staring at him with brow furrowed as though in anger. “Do not do that again,” he said sternly.

  Then Leander extended his arms. Bolts of pure magical force arced from his fingertips through the walls of the craft and coalesced to form a transparent bubble of emerald energy around the hovering carriage and its navigation mage. The magic hummed, tinting everything outside the windows green.

  “The Wurm has been brought to Arcanum’s most notorious prison,” Leander explained as the sky craft began its descent toward the churning ocean. “The prison is called Abaddon, and its ugliness, and what it represents, is hidden from sensitive eyes by neither spell nor glamour.”

  Within the translucent sphere of magic, the sky carriage bobbed as it touched down on the waves. Timothy gasped when the craft began to sink, plunging the cab into darkness as water rose above the windows.

  They seemed to descend forever, and Timothy only realized he’d been holding his breath when his lungs began to burn for air.

  “No need for concern,” Leander said. He conjured a floating bubble of silently spinning energy to cast light within the darkness of the carriage, yet still there remained a kind of eerie gloom. “We’re quite safe.”

  The protective bubble glowed, and Timothy received his first view of the strange world beneath the ocean. The water seemed gray, as if the color had somehow been drained away. Even the sea life darting behind rocks or plants was devoid of any color.

  “What a sad, cold place,” Timothy said, pulling his attention from the drab world outside the carriage to look across the seat at his friend.

  Leander nodded in agreement. “Yet appropriate.”

  The sky craft stopped short of touching the muddy bottom and glided forward through the murky waters as if moving through a stormy night sky, propelled by the expert skills of the navigation mage. Leander dipped his head to look out Timothy’s window. Slowly he raised a hand, pointing out into the ocean depths.

  “The
re,” he said. “Just ahead.”

  Timothy squinted, looking in the direction that the mage was pointing. At first he saw nothing, and then it was there, massive and foreboding, on the ocean floor.

  “Abaddon,” Leander said in a whisper, as if to say the name too loud might be a crime all its own.

  The enormous structure appeared to be made from slabs of gray stone, its surface shiny and slick, most likely from an accumulation of algae, Timothy guessed. Circular windows like multiple eyes shone in the darkness, and Timothy could not help but be reminded of some fearsome sea beast, lying in wait for prey to swim by.

  “What a terrible-looking place,” Timothy said as they drifted closer, his concern for Verlis already on the rise.

  “Constructed to house Sunderland’s most dangerous criminals,” Leander said. “It is as if the face of Abaddon reflects the evil that dwells within its walls.”

  Timothy fixed Leander in a fierce stare. “Verlis isn’t evil,” he said emphatically. “He doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

  The Grandmaster lowered his gaze, sighing with obvious regret. “You must believe me, if there was anything I could have done—”

  A strange humming sound filled the carriage, startling its occupants.

  “Attention, unauthorized craft,” said a cold voice of authority. “You have entered the perimeter of the Abaddon Penal Institution. State your business at once, or suffer the consequences of your trespass.”

  Timothy looked out the window at the prison and could see movement up on the structure’s flat roof as multiple weapons of some kind were trained on their approaching carriage.

  “Abaddon Control, this is Leander Maddox, interim Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred,” the mage said with equal authority. “I believe we are expected.”

  The voice was silent as it verified the Grandmaster’s claim.

  “Visitation authorized, Grandmaster Maddox. Please have your craft piloted to the designated airlock.”

  A light came on, illuminating a circular entrance in the front of the prison, and Caiaphas guided the sky carriage toward it. A pulsing barrier of mystical energy that seemed to act as a gate faded briefly away, allowing them to pass into the facility before it sparked to life again behind them.

  Once inside the submerged chamber, the craft began to rise through a circular shaft to Abaddon’s docking bay. Timothy’s ears popped uncomfortably as they rose. The carriage broke the surface and Caiaphas guided it gently to the floor of the docking area. Leander muttered another spell and the bubble of magic surrounding them dissipated in a silent flash.

  Timothy pushed open the door, cautiously stepping out onto the stone floor. The air was stale, and he found breathing it unpleasant. He moved away from the carriage and surveyed his surroundings; the inside of the prison facility was just as oppressive as the outside. Strange crafts bobbed on the water in other nearby bays. He briefly studied them, his inventive mind already figuring ways to improve upon their basic design.

  “Timothy,” Leander called, pulling the boy from his reverie. “Stay with me.” His stare was fixed on the doorway at the far end of the room, and as Timothy moved to join him, he heard the sounds of multiple sets of footsteps drawing closer.

  Six guards entered the room, dressed in high-collared uniforms a rich shade of red, a startling introduction of color to the cold, drab surroundings of the prison. Each of the stoic men and women clutched a long cylindrical object made of polished metal that tapered to a point. Even though he was unable to wield the power of magic, Timothy had made certain to learn as much about the practice as he could, and he knew that those objects were called focus rods. He also knew that the rods enabled magic users to wield powerful forces that would normally be harmful to them by allowing them to focus vast amounts of destructive energy through the special metal.

  The guards aimed their gazes at Timothy and Leander and the boy gasped, startled by the show of aggression. Leander placed a calming hand upon his shoulder, clearing his throat before addressing them in his most official voice.

  “I am Leander Maddox, Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred. Who is in charge here?”

  A tall woman with sharp features strode into the bay, the shoulders of her uniform decorated with golden stripes. “I am Captain Simons, Grandmaster Maddox,” she said, casually adjusting the sleeves of her blouse. “Please excuse our cautionary measures, but this is a maximum security facility. We can’t be too careful, now can we?”

  Captain Simons smiled a smile absent of all warmth and humor, and Timothy felt a cold chill cascade the length of his spine. At the same time, he found it odd that there were so few guards, and that there had been no one in the chamber when they had first arrived. It might have been a maximum security facility, but he had the idea that they had a minimal staff, relying mostly on magical defenses. After all, their prisoners were incarcerated, and the enchanted weapons on the exterior would sense any uninvited guests.

  The woman gestured with a black-gloved hand and the guards snapped to attention, lowering their focus rods.

  “I believe you’ve come to see our latest resident,” Captain Simons noted. “If you follow me, I will take you to the monster’s containment cell.”

  “He’s not a monster,” Timothy said sharply. “He is a Wurm, and he has a name. Verlis.”

  The woman fixed him in an unwavering gaze, the corner of her mouth gradually rising in a sneer. “Of course,” she said. “Calling a fire-breathing eater of children a monster, how thoughtless of me.” The captain abruptly turned on her heel and started for the door. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Timothy opened his mouth to argue. Eater of children! Verlis would never have done such a thing. It was just the sort of thing Verlis had told Timothy the Parliament would say about his kind to stir up fear of them among all the world’s mages. But the captain was already walking away before Timothy could come up with the words to defend his friend. Leander laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and ushered him along, and so the boy could only grumble angrily and follow, walking quickly to keep up with the woman’s brisk stride.

  The facility was like a maze, filled with winding hallways and doors locked to anyone unable to produce the correct spell-key. The guards followed close behind them, as if expecting some kind of trouble. Timothy gazed back at them nervously, meeting their emotionless stares. There were at least a million other places he would rather have been at that moment, but he had no choice. He had to see Verlis—he had to be sure that his friend was all right.

  At the end of yet another winding hallway, Captain Simons uttered a short, guttural incantation and waved her hand in front of a glass orb that resembled a gigantic insect eye set into the door frame. The heavy door rose up into the ceiling with a snakelike hiss, and they stepped onto a catwalk that spanned an enormous room. They were in a vast chamber, hundreds of feet wide and just as deep. Everywhere Timothy looked he saw prison cells of solidified magic, floating weightless within the open space. He could feel the prisoners, peering out from their cages with hungry eyes, desperate to be noticed. Timothy wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything quite so disturbing. He flinched when he felt Leander’s powerful arm wrap around his shoulders.

  “Come along, Timothy,” the mage said. “You shouldn’t see any more of this than you have to.”

  They made their way across the chamber, Captain Simons leading the way. She had obviously noticed how much her prisoners had disturbed Timothy. Standing before the door at the far end of the catwalk, she gestured toward them.

  “Better they be in here than out there. Trust me, the world is a much safer place,” the captain said.

  Another magical lock was undone, and the door rose to allow them access to another room. It was much smaller than the one they had just left. A single cage rested on a platform, and within the cage stood Timothy’s friend.

  “Took no chances with this one,” Captain Simons said, her eyes upon the cell. “We thought it wise to keep it separated from the general p
opulation.”

  Timothy barely noticed the captain’s words, and the way she called Verlis it. The boy called out his friend’s name and ran toward the cage.

  “Come back here!” Captain Simons barked. “Utmost caution must be used around the prisoner at all times!”

  The guards standing in the doorway immediately snapped to attention, raising their focus rods.

  “Wait, please. You need not worry,” Leander said, appealing to the guards. “They are friends. The boy and the Wurm. Verlis would never hurt him.”

  Timothy slowed as he reached the perimeter of the cage. Verlis’s cell was constructed not from magic as the other cages were, but out of thick black metal.

  “Verlis,” he whispered, peering through the bars. “Are … are you all right?”

  The Wurm did not respond, standing motionless in the cell’s center. As Timothy moved closer, he saw the reason for his friend’s silence. Verlis’s mouth was covered in a kind of muzzle—a precaution against breathing fire, Tim supposed. The Wurm was chained and his talons covered with gauntlets, most likely to hinder any magics that could be conjured by gesture. Even his friend’s mighty wings had been bound closed, strapped against his back with a band of metal that appeared to be made from the same material as the prison cell.

  Timothy’s heart ached. “I’m so sorry,” he told the dragon, gripping the cold bars tightly. “Don’t worry,” he assured his friend. “Leander and I are going to do everything in our power to get you out of here.”

  He reached into the cage to lay a hand on the cold metal restraints that had been placed over the Wurm’s hands. Verlis pulled away, his dark eyes raging with anger and hurt.

  “Verlis, please…” Timothy pleaded, but the Wurm turned his back. The boy stepped away from the cage, smarting from the rejection. “I know you probably hate me now—probably hate all of us—and I can understand why.”

  The Wurm did not turn around.

  “But I want you to know, I will get you out of here. I promise.”