Dragon Secrets

by Christopher Golden

  “Is that so?” boomed a voice Timothy did not recognize.

  He spun around in time to see a figure clad in a starched uniform of solid black enter the chamber, a long cloak swaying behind him. Captain Simons stood at attention and Leander did his best to hide a scowl. The man was tall and powerfully built, with hard eyes and a black mustache that slashed across his chiseled features.

  “You must be Timothy Cade,” said the stranger, his hand reaching up to smooth the ends of his mustache. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, striding further into the room.

  “I am Constable Grimshaw.”

  “You’re the one who put Verlis here,” Timothy said, glaring at the constable and gesturing to the cell behind him.

  Grimshaw’s eyes gleamed with pride and he smiled politely. “Correct,” he said, moving toward Timothy and the cage. “The Wurm posed a serious threat to the security of our world, and to all of the guilds in the Parliament of Mages. We can’t have vicious beasts wielding that kind of power and running free. It would be chaos. That is why the Wurm were banished from Terra in the first place.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it,” Timothy muttered.

  The constable raised an eyebrow and shot a suspicious glance at Leander. “Really. I would be quite interested in how you heard it. And from whom.”

  Leander only stared back at Grimshaw defiantly.

  Verlis had turned to eye the approaching constable. A rumbling growl from somewhere deep within his broad chest filled the chamber, and Timothy could see that his friend was fighting uselessly against his bonds.

  “He’s done no one any harm,” the boy said.

  “Yet,” Grimshaw stressed, holding up a long index finger to make his point. “He’s done no one any harm yet.” The constable clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of the boy.

  “You see, Tim—I can call you Tim, can’t I?” Constable Grimshaw asked, stopping in midpace to glance at the boy.

  “No,” Timothy snapped.

  Grimshaw chuckled as he began pacing again. “You see—young Master Cade—you look at this caged beast and see a noble creature, a friend even, but I see something far more dangerous. I look at the Wurm and I see our great cities in flames, our citizens destitute, injured, or worse, eaten. I see the seeds of a threat that must be stopped before it is given the opportunity to take root.”

  The constable stopped pacing and glared at Timothy with cold, calculating eyes. “Do you wonder what I see when I look at you, boy?”

  The chamber was eerily silent, their eyes locked upon one another.

  “Constable,” Leander called from across the room, and Timothy could hear the warning in his friend’s voice.

  “It’s okay, Leander,” the boy spoke up. He knew that the man was dangerous, but could not bring himself to back down. He was reminded of one of Ivar’s many lessons about the art of combat: Never show your adversary that you are afraid. Timothy was doing everything he could at that moment to follow that lesson.

  “What do you see, Constable Grimshaw?” he asked. “I’m curious.”

  Again Grimshaw raised a hand to his mustache and smoothed one of the ends. “You’re a smart boy,” the constable said. “But you’re not a mage. In your way, you’re no different from the Wurm, except perhaps for the fact that you are not in a cage.”

  Timothy gritted his teeth to stop the shudder that went through him, for he could almost hear the unspoken word that would have finished that sentence, the same way Grimshaw had finished his sentence before. Yet. The constable saw him the same way that many members of the Parliament of Mages had seen him when he was first introduced to them. They saw a threat—something to fear.

  He looked away from Grimshaw and studied the metal bars of the cage that held his friend. It all made sense to him now, and like a spark of hungry fire setting Hakka powder ablaze, he felt his anger flare.

  “It’s because of my … affliction that you’ve used no magic to keep him prisoner.”

  Verlis growled again, straining against his restraints, his dark, terrible eyes boring into the constable. Grimshaw smiled coldly, turning to admire the cell. The constable gripped one of the unyielding metal bars in his hands and tugged on it.

  “Precautions were taken to assure that the prisoner would remain with us.” Grimshaw looked back to the boy. “Every possible contingency was considered. Even little boys with the ability to disrupt magic.”

  Timothy sneered, glaring at him, and again studied the cage, committing to memory the angles of its construction, the points where the metal was joined together. He could build a cage like this if he was so inclined, or perhaps even take this one apart.

  “How long, Constable Grimshaw?” he asked in all seriousness. “How long before you try to put me in one of these cages?”

  The constable placed a hand to the front of his black, gold-buttoned waistcoat and gasped theatrically. “Young Master Cade, you wound me. One would have to be a great threat against the nation of Sunderland to be imprisoned here. Are you suggesting that you pose such a threat?”

  Timothy seethed, unable to remember a time when he’d ever felt as angry—or as helpless. He had to leave this place before he said anything that could get him or his friends into trouble.

  He reached through the bars into the cage.

  “Be careful, boy,” Grimshaw warned.

  Timothy paid him no mind, laying a tender hand on the metal sheath that encased Verlis’s hands. This time, the Wurm did not pull away.

  “I have to go now,” he said softly. “But I’ll come back to see you again very soon.” Timothy looked into his eyes, hoping to reinforce the message that he would do everything in his power to set his friend free.

  With a final nod, the boy turned away from the cage and went to where Leander waited, surrounded by guards. “I’d like to go now,” he told the Grandmaster, and the mage obliged, placing a comforting arm about the boy’s shoulder and escorting him through the doorway and out of the room.

  “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance,” he heard the constable say from the chamber behind him. “I hope we have another opportunity to chat again soon.”

  Timothy turned to stare back at him, even as the door swung closed.

  “You can count on it.”

  Chapter Three

  Timothy had spent almost his entire life on the Island of Patience, where he only had to answer to himself. The idea that the Parliament could imprison Verlis, that they could effectively erase the promise Timothy had made to him, was deeply horrifying. Never had he felt such frustration, such utter and complete helplessness. When he had an enemy, like Nicodemus or the Nimib assassins who had once tried to kill him, it was easy to know how to fight back.

  But how could he fight Parliament?

  The underwater prison of Abaddon was a marvel, and Timothy’s analytical mind had wished to linger, to examine it and figure out how it had been constructed. He had been so furious and so sad for his friend that he had not been able to focus on such things. Even so, there were things he had noticed about the place and logged away in the back of his mind.

  One way or another, he was going to get Verlis out of there. The Parliament was simply wrong. The Wurm’s imprisonment was unjust. And since nobody wanted to treat Timothy like a citizen of the nation of Sunderland, he didn’t consider himself bound by its laws or by the rulings of the Parliament of Mages.

  On the other hand, he was no fool. He knew that if he crossed the Parliament, there would be nowhere in this world that would be safe for him, and he might end up down in Abaddon himself.

  Once they emerged from the ocean, Caiaphas guided the carriage south, along the air currents that would lead them to SkyHaven. When they came in sight of it, that magnificent fortress floating above the ocean, Timothy shivered. His memories of the things that he had experienced there still made his skin crawl. The wraiths, the bloodshed, the deception of Nicodemus—he doubted there would ever come a day when those thin
gs did not echo in the halls of SkyHaven.

  Now, though, the place was in Leander’s hands. As Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred, he had inherited a job he had never really wanted. Leander wanted to go back to the University of Saint Germain, to return to his students. Despite the work he had undertaken in secret, as an investigator answering only to the Parliament, in his heart, Timothy knew the mage would always think of himself as Professor Maddox, and never Grandmaster.

  But Grandmaster he was. And commanding the order was a job Timothy did not envy.

  Atop his high seat, Caiaphas guided the sky carriage over the floating fortress. Banners flew above SkyHaven, and Timothy could see mages practicing their spellcraft on the grounds inside the walls. The ocean was a deep blue-green far below … and then he could see it no longer, for Caiaphas had flown them in among the towers of the fortress.

  The veiled navigation mage guided the craft to a gentle landing in front of the main entrance of SkyHaven. Even as it set down, Timothy glanced out the window and saw a thin man running toward them, his face pinched with a strange combination of urgency and superiority, as though he hated having to run out to the carriage like some servant. Which was, of course, precisely what he was.

  “Him?” Timothy asked, unable to contain himself. “You kept him here?”

  The door swung open for Leander, and he had begun to step out when he paused and glanced back in at the boy. “Carlyle is my chief aide. He knows more about the inner workings of the order than anyone. He’s been invaluable.”

  “But…” Timothy scowled and shook his head.

  Leander smiled. “That does not mean I like him.”

  The massive mage got out of the sky carriage, the wind immediately whipping at his hair and beard. Timothy hesitated a moment before following.

  “Good day, Grandmaster. Welcome home,” Carlyle said. He bowed his head as he spoke, a gesture of respect that seemed empty to Timothy.

  Carlyle wore a green robe, cinched tightly at his waist, the fabric of it hanging as neatly as if it had been painted into place. Everything about him was precise. But when he glanced past Leander and spotted Timothy, his nostrils flared and one eyebrow twitched in disapproval.

  The feeling’s mutual, Timothy thought, but he did not speak the words. Right now, Constable Grimshaw worried him a lot more than the annoying, arrogant Carlyle.

  “What is it?” Leander asked.

  Carlyle nodded. “You have received a message from the Parliament. You’re ordered to appear before them immediately, Grandmaster. There was no mention of the purpose of this audience.”

  Leander thoughtfully stroked his beard. Timothy noticed that there was more than a little satisfaction in Carlyle’s tone, as if he thought his new master might be in trouble, and the idea pleased him. Leander seemed not to notice, or not to care.

  “All right. Has Master Fraxis arrived?”

  Carlyle frowned. “He has. But the message—”

  “Can wait for a few moments of common courtesy. We’ll go inside and explain why our meeting must be delayed, and then you will offer him every comfort until I return.”

  The aide seemed about to argue, but then he relented. “Of course.”

  Leander turned to Timothy. Carlyle glared at the boy, but Timothy ignored him.

  “I wish I could let you feel what I feel,” Leander told him, his eyes sad. “There is a spell for that very thing, but of course it will not work on you. I’ll be inside for a few moments, and then I must go.”

  “Because Parliament commands you,” Timothy said, unable to hide the bitterness in his words.

  Leander nodded gravely. “Yes. Yes, they do. This is the way of the world, Timothy. Along with my teaching, the order and the Parliament are the things I’ve built my life around. I wish you could understand that. I am very sorry for what has happened to Verlis. I was not yet born when the Wurm were banished, but you can be sure I would have stood against their treatment, just as your father did. I do not always agree with parliamentary decisions, but I must abide by them.”

  Timothy only shook his head. Leander hesitated a moment, then turned and strode quickly toward the entrance to SkyHaven. Carlyle sniffed and then followed his master inside.

  “You’re being quite hard on him, young one.”

  Frowning, Timothy glanced up at Caiaphas. The navigation mage sat on his high seat, draped in the blue robes of his station, sparks of magic still dancing around his fingers. In moments, Leander would return and they would be off again. It occurred to Timothy for the first time that though he had focused his magic upon a particular skill, Caiaphas must be very strong to be able to propel a sky carriage all day.

  “He deserves it,” Timothy replied, watching the eyes that showed through the mage’s hood. “He could have fought harder for Verlis.”

  Caiaphas sighed wearily. Only his eyes could be seen above the veil that covered his face, but those eyes were expressive enough. “He is doing his best, Timothy. Professor Maddox always does his best. At present, he is torn in many different directions. It is more of a burden than you imagine, becoming Grandmaster. Every mage in the order has been made to appear at SkyHaven in recent days, and to submit to questioning. Even those as respected as Master Fraxis. Most of them have turned out to be more loyal to the order than to Nicodemus. But I have heard the professor—pardon me, the Grandmaster—speak of others whose eyes are dark with malice. Others who cannot be trusted.

  “That is a precious commodity of late. Trust. Grandmaster Maddox is attempting to serve the Parliament, and the best interests of the order, as well as his own heart when it comes to the university and to his feelings for you. But you and I both know that it is impossible to please everyone. Yet he tries, Timothy. Trust in that much, at least. He will do anything in his power to protect you, even if it means his own life. If nothing else, at least give him your trust.”

  Timothy gazed at the sparkling blue eyes of the navigation mage and felt ashamed of himself. Guilt welled up within him. Caiaphas was right. Leander was doing his best, of course. But the situation was far more complicated than Timothy was willing to admit.

  “I will,” he whispered to Caiaphas. “I do.”

  The navigation mage nodded, but then his gaze shifted, and Timothy turned to see that Leander was returning.

  “Thank you. I needed to hear that,” Timothy said.

  Caiaphas said nothing.

  The young man hurried toward SkyHaven. He did not want to discuss Verlis’s situation any further at the moment, and Leander surely had other things on his mind, but Timothy stopped him and gave him a quick hug before continuing on to the entrance. Ivar, Edgar, and Sheridan would be waiting for him.

  At the door he paused to see Leander watching him, surprised by the embrace he had received. Timothy smiled and waved to him.

  Leander waved back, a curious expression on his face, but he had pressing business and so he hurried to the sky carriage. A moment later blue magic spilled from Caiaphas’s fingers, and the craft lifted up off the ground and whisked away across the sky.

  What now?

  This question echoed through Leander’s mind over and over as Caiaphas guided the sky carriage high above the city of Arcanum. Normally he was soothed by such a journey. The elegant spires of the city’s towers were breathtaking, their pale reds and gleaming turquoises creating a sort of elemental color scheme, earth and fire and ocean. But there had been so much political strife in the aftermath of the revelation of Nicodemus’s crimes that he never seemed able to relax anymore.

  It wasn’t only the politics and this new summons from the Parliament that worried him. Timothy was on his mind as well. The young man meant well—he always did—but he had to learn how to fight injustice from within the system. No one boy, no matter how special he might be, could take on the entire Parliament of Mages. Even Argus Cade, who had earned the respect of all mages, had not been able to sway the Parliament’s hatred of the Wurm, only to convince them that banishment was a more c
ivil punishment, and that continued, unnecessary warfare was just as barbaric as the sort of acts they so often accused the Wurm of. Leander was only seventy-six, barely middle-aged for a mage, but he wished he had been alive to see Argus Cade in his prime, arguing before Parliament. Argus had mastered the art of working within the system to improve it. His son, however, knew no such nuances in the world, only right and wrong.

  Leander sighed. He and Timothy were going to have to have a long talk when he returned from this meeting. There was more than one way to fight.

  The sky carriage banked to the left, and through the window Leander could see the Parliament complex ahead, a sprawl of buildings at the very heart of the city. There were stone structures, traditional Arcanum spires, and vast, cavernous halls. At the center of it all was the Xerxis, the oldest surviving structure in all of Sunderland. Once it had been the palace of Xerxes, one of the greatest of the legendary Wizards of Old. Now it housed the grand meeting chamber of the Parliament of Mages. Yet the Xerxis was only the core of the complex, which had been built up around it over the ages and now spanned three entire blocks, filled with libraries, residences, offices, and restaurants. Its greatness was appropriate, for it was the center of guild relations, commerce, and politics for the entire world.

  Long ago the world had been comprised of countries whose fierce national pride put them at war with one another. But over time the guilds had grown more and more powerful, each with members scattered around the world. Mages were no longer divided by nationality, but by guild membership. Now national boundaries had all but disappeared. Arcanum might be the capital city of the nation of Sunderland, but such geographical definitions meant little these days.

  The Parliament ruled the guilds, and the headquarters of Parliament was in Arcanum. In a very real sense, that made Arcanum the capital city of the world.

  Arcanum was a large, busy city—the lights and spires of its towers stretched as far as the eye could see from Leander’s current position. Sky carriages filled the air, but the air traffic was much worse around the Parliament complex. It took Caiaphas several minutes of avoiding collisions with reckless navigation mages before he was finally able to guide them toward the entrance to the Xerxis.