There was pity in the girl’s voice, and Timothy smarted from it. But she had known magic as part of her life since birth, and he had known no such thing. It was like feeling sorry for the mudtoad because it was unable to fly above the clouds.
“I’m not lonely at all, really,” he told her. “When I was on Patience, I had my friends Ivar and Sheridan to keep me company, and now that I’m here”—Timothy looked to Leander and smiled—“and now that I’m here, I have even more.”
The mage returned Timothy’s smile affectionately, and suddenly the boy felt that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
“But one of my friends has been taken from me,” he said, watching the expression on Leander’s face turn to one of disapproval.
“Timothy, please,” he said, not without a little exasperation. “I’ve told you, I have done all I can.”
“Then it’s true?” Cassandra asked, eyes wide and excited. “You actually befriended a Wurm?”
“Yes,” Timothy answered. “Verlis is my friend, and they’ve put him in prison without any reason. He’s done nothing. It’s unfair. Unjust.”
Cassandra’s aides gasped, gazing at each other nervously.
“Wurm are the enemy of all humankind,” Cassandra stated. “Everyone knows that. It was only a matter of time before your supposed friend betrayed you. They’re like that, you know.”
Timothy’s anger flared. “What do you know about my friend?” he demanded. Cassandra brought a delicate hand to her chest in shock. “Have you ever even met a Wurm, let alone talked to one?”
Cassandra looked away indignantly. “Wurm are nothing more than monsters. My grandfather taught me that—”
“Your grandfather was more of a monster than Verlis could ever hope to be.”
“Timothy!” Leander snapped, rising to his full height at the head of the table. “I will not allow you to be rude to our guest. Apologize at once!”
The boy rose as well, throwing his napkin down onto the tabletop. “I don’t think so. The world knows what Nicodemus did. It’s no secret. I meant no disrespect, but I can’t stand the way the people of this world talk about Verlis and his clan. He is no more a monster than I am—and yes, I am aware that some see me like that.”
Save for Leander, no one would meet his gaze.
“I want to speak to them, Leander,” Timothy continued. “I think I can convince Parliament to set Verlis free.”
“You want to speak to Parliament?” Cassandra asked, aghast. “If I were Grandmaster I would allow no such thing.”
“if you were Grandmaster, but you’re not,” Timothy snarled.
“Not yet,” she retorted, placing her hands atop the table on either side of her plate. “But that’s only a matter of time.”
Leander sighed and slowly nodded.
“What is she talking about?” Tim asked in confusion. “You’re the Grandmaster. How could she—”
“Cassandra is the heir of the former Grandmaster,” the mage explained. “By right of ascendancy, she has the authority to remove me and assume the title of Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I’m not yet ready for such a daunting position, but possibly, in the near future.”
Timothy was growing frustrated. “Well, she’s not Grandmaster yet, Leander. Please, let me talk to Parliament. I’m sure that if I could get them to listen…”
Leander sighed heavily, shaking his head from side to side. “I don’t think that would be wise right now.”
“Whatever you asked of them, they would deny you,” Cassandra added curtly.
“She’s right. Now is not the time for you to be talking to Parliament.”
“I understand your doubts, and why you hesitate,” Timothy said slowly, quietly, attempting to remain calm. “But I can’t let that get in the way of what I know is right.” He had made up his mind, and nothing was going to change it. “My father was Argus Cade. In his name, I demand an audience. Out of respect for him, if nothing else, I know they’ll comply. I’ve done my research. I know the customs. Please inform Parliament that I am coming to speak with them tomorrow,” he said with finality.
Leander was speechless as Cassandra lowered her eyes to her plate.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling very well and would like to go to bed.” With those words Timothy took his leave of them, their disapproving stares boring into his back as he walked from the room.
Sheridan’s visual sensors activated with a faint click, and the mechanical man looked about the darkened bedroom.
He wasn’t sure what it was that prompted him to awaken before his designated time, but he knew it had something to do with his friend and creator, Timothy Cade. Sheridan’s head slowly swiveled, taking in every detail of the room. The large bed, where he had last seen the boy sleeping, was empty, and Timothy was nowhere to be found.
The boy had returned from his dinner with Grandmaster Maddox quite furious. When pressed by Edgar, Timothy had begun to rant about Leander Maddox and the mystery girl with the red hair, who, it seemed, was actually the granddaughter of Nicodemus.
He had gone to his bedroom, frustrated, and removed his fancy clothes, tossing them into a rumpled heap in the corner. Sheridan had followed, hoping the boy would confide in him once they were alone, but instead he had crawled into the bed and buried himself deep beneath the covers. The mechanical man had decided to remain functioning in case Timothy decided to talk, but as the evening wore on, and the boy didn’t move, Sheridan had shut himself down. He hoped that a good night’s sleep would give his young friend a fresh perspective, and that he would be able to share his feelings in the morning.
Sheridan moved away from his position against the wall, heavy metal feet clomping across the hardwood floor as he made his way to the bedroom door. Carefully he opened it and peeked into the living room.
“Timothy?” he whispered. “Are you here?” There was no answer, but Sheridan thought he knew where the boy might be.
He left the suite, striding down the nighttime corridors as quietly as he could. Sheridan reached the workshop in the lower level of the floating estate and saw that the heavy wooden door was ajar. His suspicions confirmed, he pushed open the door.
“Timothy?” he called quietly.
“Over here.”
Sheridan followed the sound to a corner of the cramped room, where the boy sat at the desk he had recently constructed, illuminated by a lantern that contained a single bright flame of hungry fire.
The boy placed a finger to his lips, cautioning him to be quiet. Sheridan rotated his head completely around to see a sleeping Edgar perched atop the autogyro flying machine, and Ivar curled up on a blanket beneath the large, shuttered windows.
“I reactivated early and found that you were not in your bed,” the mechanical man whispered. A short burst of steam hissed from the valve on the side of his head. “I was concerned. Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” Timothy replied, setting his pencil down atop the many pages of notes and drawings he had done since leaving his bed. “Thanks for your concern—especially after I behaved so badly tonight.”
“That’s quite all right,” Sheridan said, dismissing the boy’s behavior as irrelevant. “I’ve got quite the thick skin, you know.” He thumped on his rounded chest with a metal fist for effect.
Timothy smiled, and it made the mechanical man feel good to see that his creator had at least partially escaped the dour mood that had weighed upon him earlier.
“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, my thoughts were racing so fast,” Timothy explained, picking up his pencil again. “I figured this was the best place to go.”
“It is quite inspiring, isn’t it,” the mechanical man said, placing his hands on his rounded hips and looking around at the fully functioning workshop. It had only been a few months ago that this had been an empty storage room, but now it was a place where Timothy Cade’s creative skills could run wild.
“I
decided I should have a backup plan, just in case Parliament doesn’t listen to me.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sheridan said cautiously. “Please tell me that you won’t do anything that will get you into too much trouble.”
Timothy chuckled, starting a new drawing on a fresh sheet of paper. “Don’t worry about me, Sheridan. I’m always careful.”
Something tickled the cogs and springs of Sheridan’s mechanized brain, telling him otherwise, and he immediately began to worry about the safety of his best friend.
“Will you be returning to bed soon?” he asked, watching as the boy continued to draw, fabulous ideas spilling from his brain to the paper.
“I want to finish this design first,” Timothy said, not looking up. “Why don’t you go back to the room and wait for me there. I should be along shortly.”
“Very well,” the mechanical man said, leaving the boy to his designs, knowing that it would be quite some time before his young master again sought the comfort of sleep.
Timothy sat nervously in a tiny room in the Xerxis, awaiting his summons from the Parliament of Mages.
The morning had come, seemingly with the snap of a finger. The sun had barely risen when he was awakened, still seated at the desk in his workshop, startled to discover that he had never found his way back to his bedroom.
“Parliament will hear you this morning at the ninth hour,” Leander had said firmly, barely making eye contact. “I suggest you put on some clothes and fortify yourself with a hearty breakfast.” And with those words, he had turned and left the workshop.
Timothy had been stunned by the coldness of his friend, but understood that Leander was still upset with his defiance. His chair creaked loudly under him, disturbing the fragile silence of the waiting room as he crossed his legs, musing upon his morning.
He had done as the mage suggested, and as he had dressed he considered another fancy outfit from his crowded closet, but decided against it. He wanted there to be nothing artificial about his appearance, eager for the various guild masters who comprised the Parliament of Mages to see him for what he actually was, not for what they believed him to be.
After hurrying through his breakfast, he had found Caiaphas and Leander waiting for him at the main entrance to SkyHaven, and they were off. The ride to his appointment had been spent in an uncomfortable silence, and he had briefly considered apologizing to his friend, but his father had taught him to stand firm in his beliefs, and he believed that what he was doing was right. Someone had to speak up for Verlis, despite what the majority believed, and it had to be him. There was no one else.
From the air the Parliament complex was even more incredible than in the pictographs he had seen in his books, and Timothy had found himself nearly breathless as the sky carriage descended through the early morning traffic toward the sprawl of buildings at the center of Arcanum.
He had stood staring in awe at the grandeur that was the Xerxis until Leander hurried him along, desperate to be on time. They entered the building through tall doors held open by two armored sentries.
Since the buildings defensive wards and spells would not work on him, Leander was required to vouch for the boy’s identity. Once that was done, he was ushered into the tiny room with the single chair where he now impatiently awaited Parliament’s summons.
Timothy wasn’t sure how long he had been kept waiting—it felt like days. He stood and began to pace around the tiny room, trying to imagine what his audience with the ruling body of mages would be like, and how he would handle them. His thoughts drifted toward the plans he had devised the previous night in case Parliament denied Verlis his freedom, but he pushed them quickly away. They were imaginings for another, more desperate time.
A door opposite the entrance to the tiny room opened silently, and a sentry dressed even more elaborately than those guarding the Xerxis filled the doorway.
“Parliament summons you,” he said in a booming voice, and stepped back to allow the boy to pass.
Hesitantly Timothy walked through the doorway into the meeting chamber of the Parliament of Mages. This is it, he thought, each step feeling heavier than the last. The sentry directed the boy to a circular dais in the center of the high-ceilinged room, where he stood, turning his attention to those gathered around him. Twenty rows encircled him, each of the one hundred and sixty-nine seats occupied. His father had taught him that in the days of old, only thirteen guilds had made up the Parliament. But as the years passed, other guilds had formed, and now there were thirteen times that original number. Today the Grandmaster of every guild was present, and Tim could feel their scrutinizing eyes upon him.
It was eerily quiet within the chamber, the silence almost deafening, but an anticipatory buzz suddenly arose, spreading through the vast chamber as another door opened and a tall, older woman with silver hair, dressed in robes the color of dawn, walked toward him. She moved as though she was gliding across the floor, holding a staff that appeared to be carved from a gigantic piece of bone. In his nervousness, Tim tried to think of the animal from which a bone so large could have come.
The silver-haired woman stopped before him and struck the base of her bone staff three times on the floor—a signal, Tim guessed, that his audience was about to commence.
“I am the Voice of the Parliament of Mages,” she said, her words echoing throughout the auditorium. “Who is it that has requested we gather this morn?”
Timothy hesitated, not sure of the protocol, not knowing if he should answer the question.
“I have called for this gathering,” said a voice that he recognized, and he turned to see Leander Maddox striding toward him, dressed in his emerald finery “I, Leander Maddox, interim Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred, have asked you here this glorious morning.”
The Voice again stamped her staff upon the floor. “The Parliament recognizes Leander Maddox,” she cried out, looking about the room. “Tell us why you have asked us here, Grandmaster.”
Timothy scanned the crowd before him, his eyes finding familiar faces, representatives of some of the more powerful guilds. He saw the rat-faced Lord Foxheart, Grandmaster of the Malleus Guild, and the enchanting Mistress Belladonna of the Order of Strychnos. Timothy shuddered in fear as his gaze fell upon the fearsome, armored visage of Lord Romulus of the Legion Nocturne, his eyes seemingly burning red from within the confines of his horned helmet.
“The son of the late Argus Cade has requested the opportunity to address this assembly,” Leander boomed, looking about the chamber.
“And do you vouch for this stranger to our gathering place?”
Leander bowed deeply toward the woman who was the Voice. “I do,” he proclaimed as he straightened. “And I shall be his advocate, if it is so allowed.”
Timothy glanced at Leander, a smile of thanks gracing his tense features. Maybe the burly mage wasn’t as mad as he thought, or maybe he was and it just didn’t matter. Leander caught his eye, dragging a hand down over his shaggy beard, and then the mage quickly looked away as the Voice again began to speak.
“The Parliament recognizes your role as advocate, Grandmaster Maddox. Now it is time for this convocation to begin.” The woman lifted her staff and turned slowly in a circle, showing all present the symbol of her authority. “What is the name of the one who wishes this audience?”
Timothy was about to speak when his advocate did it for him.
“His name is Timothy Cade,” Leander proclaimed. “And I beg of you, brothers and sisters, keep an open mind as you listen to his plea.”
A flash of something scarlet and gold caught Timothy’s eye, and he noticed the stiff and proper form of Cassandra Nicodemus seated in the gallery, her red hair in a large knot atop her delicate head, adorned with golden ornamentation. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the girl. On one hand, he found her superior attitude extremely obnoxious, but at the same time, he suspected that her behavior might be hiding something far more vulnerable.
But those were
musings for another time, he knew, as the Voice pointed her ivory staff at him and directed his attention to those seated around him.
“Timothy Cade,” she pronounced. “I give to you the ears of this Parliament of Mages.”
Timothy froze. The gazes of all those gathered pummeled him like a rain of hail, but then he remembered why he had come, and for whose freedom he was about to petition.
Verlis.
“Grandmasters,” he began, his voice trembling softly. “Kind thoughts to you on this morning.” Looking out over the crowd, he touched two fingers to his forehead, his chest, and then he bowed, the traditional greeting of mages.
“On this and all mornings,” the gathered guilds responded as one powerful voice.
He felt his courage bolstered by the courteous greeting and continued with his address. “Thank you for granting me this audience.” He felt his voice growing stronger, more powerful. “I have come to you with an important request, one that I hope you will give your complete consideration after hearing my plea.”
“What do you ask of the Parliament?” asked the Voice.
“I ask that you release the Wurm, Verlis, and grant me permission to travel with him through the dimensional barrier back to his home world.”
The Voice’s eyes grew wide as she turned her attention to the mages seated around them. “I will allow response to this boy’s request.”
“The child is mad,” said an elderly figure from the top row. He was clad in a hooded robe that twinkled like the stars in the night sky. “I have been Grandmaster of the Order of the Winter Star for one hundred and twenty-three years. Though only a handful of you were also members of Parliament then, there are others among us who were alive in those dark days when the threat of the Wurm was real, when villages burned from their fire and children were stolen by night. When Alhazred’s voice thundered in this very chamber, exhorting us to defend ourselves, I was the first to second his motion.
“I say this so that those of you who do not remember will know that these are not myths, but memories. You see a young boy before you, son of the wise but soft-hearted Argus Cade, and despite what he is, this abominable non-magical thing, you might be tempted to look kindly upon him. He is his father’s son, after all. But push aside all such thoughts. The world was rid of the monsters for a reason. To allow a doorway to be opened from this world to theirs would certainly invite disaster upon us.”
Dragon Secrets Page 6
