“You must use your strength, now, while you have it, to delegate authority to those you can trust—those you know have the best interests of Coronnan in their hearts.”
“I shall handle this myself, Baamin. I dare not trust even you with this chore. Call the lords. I will meet them this evening.
“I can’t.”
“What?” Darcine roared with some of his lost power.
“I don’t have enough magic to summon them. You must send messengers.” Baamin assumed an attitude of defeat.
He must have time to convince Darcine to give the Commune authority over the lords.
“Messengers will take time. Three days at least.”
“It is necessary. What little magic I can summon drains away as fast as I gather it. Something, or someone, is interfering with the very fiber of magic.”
“Then send the messengers within the hour. You may commandeer the fastest steeds in my stable.”
Three days. Was it long enough to find a way around the fading magic? Though his soul recoiled from it, Baamin knew he must seek out a source of rogue magic. It was the only way to counter the actions of a foreign rogue and find out who employed him.
“You didn’t kill the cat.” Brevelan’s weak voice sounded more a question than a statement. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“You could have killed it. But you didn’t.” That was better.
“I didn’t have to,” Jaylor replied. His voice was a little strained. After all, he was carrying her, and uphill at that.
She felt strange moving over the terrain without the physical effort of her own limbs. Strange in a very nice way. She couldn’t remember being carried since she had learned to walk.
She shivered again in memory of why Jaylor found it necessary to carry her. The cat’s mind had been so filled with hatred that it had refused the touch of her empathy.
Jaylor’s arms tightened and chased away her chill of emptiness. For a few moments she soaked up the nice feeling of his comfort, his care. Then she leaned back just enough to see his face when she spoke. “Why did you spare the beast? Most men would have killed it anyway, just to prove they could. Then they would excuse the slaughter by saying they had to, to make sure it couldn’t come back.”
She watched a gamut of emotions cross his face before he settled into a smile.
“There was no need.” He held her eyes with his own for a moment.
She felt his gaze warm her all the way through to the cold, empty place in her belly. It seemed only natural for her to rest her head once more on his shoulder.
Jaylor adjusted his hold to grasp her more securely. “Besides, you were shaken enough by the encounter. If I had killed something that large and close, you would’ve been useless for the rest of the day.”
He was deliberately containing some very strong emotions. She could tell by the tremor in the pulse of his neck. She snuggled just a little closer. The beat of his heart echoed against her ear. Her own heart beat in the same rhythm.
“I’ve never before encountered an animal who refused the touch of my mind.”
“I wondered about that. A gray bear is bigger, and just as mean. But one sheltered you. Why not the cat?”
She clung a little tighter as she recounted the story of the cat in Krej’s great hall. “I think it might be the same cat.”
“If so, it would associate Krej’s cruelty with all people. No wonder it fought your magic.”
The ground was becoming rough, strewn with loose pebbles and larger rocks. Behind them, Puppy whined. He trotted closer, brushing his body against Jaylor’s leg.
“We’ll stop in a moment. There’s a fairly level boulder top just ahead.”
Something akin to disappointment washed over Brevelan. As soon as they reached that broken boulder he would set her down. The wonderful security of his arms would be withdrawn.
“Here we are.” All too soon she felt him lowering her to the stone surface, not so much a boulder as a ledge jutting out from the hillside beside the path.
Puppy didn’t wait for him to step away before he butted his head between them. He licked Brevelan’s face and whined again.
“I’m fine, Puppy,” she reassured the wolf. As Jaylor straightened, she continued clinging to his neck with one hand. Puppy’s wiggling body pushed farther into her lap. Mica chose that moment to scamper onto her outstretched legs. For a moment all four friends were caught in one hug. Brevelan wanted to cry with relief and happiness.
“I think we should find something to eat,” she said to mask the depth of the emotion she felt. “Too bad we left the packs and our breakfast in the cave.”
“No problem.” Jaylor’s grin was infectious. She found herself matching it.
Her back tingled where his hand still rested. She felt a tremor course through his body to her own.
The packs appeared beside her and his staff, more gnarled than before, came to his hand. With another blink of his eyes the campfire and breakfast pot appeared.
“Doesn’t that tire you?” She looked up concerned.
“Not nearly as much as going without food,” Jaylor replied.
Chapter 15
Baamin leaned all of his bulk into the ancient door. Oak panels, aged to the stiffness of iron, creaked open slowly, held back as much by disuse as by the spell that had sealed them for so many years. Three centuries of dust assaulted his nose. Minute particles tickled and irritated until he sneezed loudly. The cloud swirled faster.
“Dragon bones!” he cursed, and sneezed again.
At one time the corridor running past this room had led to a tunnel connecting the University with the Palace Reveta Tristile. Many generations ago, a spring flood had damaged the tunnel. Repairs had been deemed too costly, and this long hallway and its rooms had been abandoned, nearly forgotten.
“What is this room, master?” the kitchen boy asked. His eyes grew huge with wonder.
Baamin sneezed before he could reply. Some of the dust and mold had settled, but not all. A large swirl of it still filled his nose with another itch. He held his breath to stop the next sneeze.
“You know the value of books, Boy?” he finally managed to choke past the gathering tickle.
“Yes, master. Books are the storage place of knowledge. Without knowledge we are no better than the animals.” The boy recited dutifully. His eyes held enough intelligence that he just might understand the words he quoted, in spite of his teacher’s reports on his limitations.
“Very true. Unfortunately, some of my predecessors decided knowledge of some subjects is dangerous.” Baamin shook his head in dismay. So many of the precious books were in a terrible state of decay, despite the spell that had sealed the room for so long.
His search for the room had lasted five years. He wasted another three in breaking the protective seal. Now he had found the key, apparently just in time. He didn’t like secrets. Abandoned and forgotten books bothered him.
Lords secretly employing rogue magicians bothered him more.
“How can any knowledge be dangerous, master? The teachers insist that we must learn all we can to make us stronger.” The lad gently ran a finger along the spine of a large tome. His hand came away grimy, leaving the gold letters of the title glittering in the dim light of their lantern.
“Has your history tutor told you of the Great Wars of Disruption?”
The dark-eyed boy nodded.
“When the rogue magicians refused to join the Commune, they were cast out of Coronnan.” With good reason. The selfish interests of the rogues were responsible for prolonging the war.
Baamin continued, “Indeed, many could not join the Commune because their magic would not link up with other magicians. The kind of magic they performed was banned. And their books were burned.”
“Someone hid these books to save them from the fire?” Fear tinged the boy’s eyes.
“Yes, they did. I don’t know who. It could have been a rogue who hoped to come back some day—the records say many mag
icians thought the Commune could not last. More likely it was one of our own who loved books for themselves rather than hating them because of their content.” Baamin would have done the same thing.
He sighed in anguish as he plucked a small book from its shelf. The dust that covered it was all that held it together. Leather binding and vellum pages crumbled in his hands.
The protective spell had not done its job properly. It had kept intruders out but not stopped the ravages of time. It was evidence of the haste in which the spell had been constructed. Baamin suspected the book burners had turned rabid. Whoever secreted these books away would have had little time and a great deal of fear hindering him.
“Why do we need these books now, master?” The boy was puzzled. His eyes wandered over the vast number of the volumes; his hands remained carefully at his sides.
“Because the magic is changing. The Commune is no longer strong,” Baamin sighed. So much good came from the Commune. If only the King and Council looked more to the Commune for guidance rather than for power and communication. Maybe the Commune was a little rigid in its traditionalism, but the wars of lord against lord, prompted by power-hungry magicians, had ended. The kingdom was at peace. “We need this rogue magic to negate a growing threat to the kingdom.” Baamin needed rogue magic to summon his magicians back to the University before the lords gathered. The boy didn’t need to know that. His only purpose was to carefully clean the books and note their titles.
Baamin must also keep this room a secret. He had no doubt the boy would keep his mouth shut. He had already proven his ability this last week. No one else at the University knew of Jaylor’s antics with the wine cups and the sliced meat. Then, too, there was the matter of the cot and blankets missing from the storage room.
What would Jaylor’s next stunt be? Very likely he would borrow a larger viewing glass or maybe a book of spells from the library. Or possibly a book from this very room?
Baamin shook his head, partly in dismay, partly in amazement. How had he reared a rogue magician in these very halls without noticing? All the evidence was there, in the very early manifestation of power, in the wine cups and wildly distorted spells. Maybe it was a good thing the tutors had thought young Jaylor merely inept at throwing magic. If they had realized he was a rogue at work, they would have banished him long ago.
’Twas Jaylor who had discovered the rogue inciting dragon murder in Lord Krej’s province. ’Twas Jaylor who had been the first of the journeymen to see a dragon. Perhaps he would learn the importance of the wolf the dragon protected, too.
Baamin almost hoped not. He needed to know what prompted the dragon before anyone else did. He needed knowledge and information to deal with the unexpected and unexplained. He began searching through the books in earnest.
Closer and closer they lead me. I must push them to move faster. Soon they will pass the place where I removed Darville from my path. And shall again. It is as close to Shayla as I have come on my own.
On the first dragon hunt, blind luck led us to follow a man in dragon-thrall. The next time, the old witchwoman was tricked into showing the way. I had to kill the old crone. Then the dragon changed her lair, relaid the path. She became smart, as smart as Maman. Almost, I lost the desire to pursue. But the Tambootie gave me the will to persevere.
My patience has been rewarded. I set everything else in place. Now, the girl will lead me. Once beyond this cliff top, nothing can keep me from my dragon.
At last, all the years of planning, the murder of my father and older brothers, the destruction of the nimbus, and Darville’s enchantment, are coming to fruition.
No one in the kingdom will resist me. I will no longer have to steal my Tambootie. Dragons will bring it to me.
Brevelan’s path up the mountain narrowed as it curved around a steep cliffside. An ancient landslide had left a wild scree above the narrow ledge they traversed. Occasional tufts of grass clung to the thin soil, telling Brevelan the age of the slide.
Below them, a sheer cliff dropped to a cluster of trees and a swift stream. In the rarefied air, Brevelan could see the details of the scene very clearly. She felt a moment of disorientation as she looked over the edge. The height was dizzying. Puppy whined and pressed closer to Brevelan. His body trembled against her. She reached to give him the comfort he craved.
“What’s his problem?” Jaylor turned back from the steep path to check on his companions.
“This place bothers him.” Brevelan crouched down to wrap her arms completely around the distressed wolf.
“Why?”
She sensed the man’s armor falling into place. He was nearly as wary as the wolf. There was a presence behind them again. She felt it the moment she stopped concentrating on her footing. The spotted saber cat or Old Thorm? She didn’t like the thought of either one creeping up behind them.
“I don’t know,” Brevelan replied. She crooned a soothing tune to the wolf. They needed to continue on, put more distance between themselves and whatever matched their movements. The follower had also stopped but had not turned away.
“Mrrow?” Mica added her own questions to the conversation. The fur on her back stood upright. Her tail swished in agitation.
Brevelan saw Jaylor wince as the little cat dug her claws into his shoulder. He batted the offending claws lightly. In response Mica butted her head into his shoulder. Her fur smoothed a little.
“Has Wolf ever been here before?” Jaylor peered around the ridge they were climbing. They were very high now. Shayla’s lair couldn’t be far.
Cautiously, Brevelan looked around, without releasing her gentling hand on Puppy. Her gaze was drawn to the valley below. It seemed familiar. She looked closer.
The height distorted her vision and balance. She knew the terrifying urge to throw herself into the warm air rising from the valley floor. She closed her eyes as she backed up, attempting to break the almost familiar need to launch into flight.
Behind her squeezed eyelids she saw a winter storm threatening the gray sky and the crumpled body of a golden wolf at the foot of the ancient landslide. She remembered feeling panic, followed by the overwhelming need to save that wolf. She needed help.
“The last time I saw this place was through Shayla’s eyes.” She gulped in an effort to return to her own body, her own emotions. “Darville was below, injured, and she couldn’t get to him to help him.” She opened her eyes again and looked at Jaylor. Just as Puppy was drawing support from her, she needed the magician’s calming presence to relate the rest of the story.
“That was the first time Shayla spoke to me. She needed my help. At her prodding, I was compelled to follow her lead and take Darville back to my hut.” She relived the moment when another mind had invaded her own. She was used to animals calling to her in their time of need. But never before had an empathic link been so verbal, so intelligent and overwhelming.
Always before, and since, she’d had the choice to refuse the animal. But not that one time.
Not until she had dragged the wolf on a blanket, through the growing blizzard to the safety and warmth of her own hearth, had Shayla released her from the compulsion.
“And the dragon checked on him daily, told you his name? Are you certain Darville is the name she gave him?” Jaylor touched her shoulder. His brown eyes widened. Worry creased his brow as confusion clouded his emotions.
Brevelan nodded. “I’ve never understood why she protected him so fiercely. It would have been easier for her to make a meal of him. I’m glad she didn’t.” She hugged Puppy close again. “The winter was long and lonely. He kept me busy, kept me company. Shayla was someone to talk to when I craved the sound of words. They are my family now.”
“And you never questioned the name Shayla gave the wolf?” He paced back and forth in front of her, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. He seemed oblivious to the crumbling rocks in his agitation.
“Yes, I questioned Shayla,” Brevelan defended herself. “The only answer I received was, ‘Tha
t is his name.’ ”
Jaylor stopped his pacing abruptly. “Darville is his name,” he echoed her words. “Darville is his name. Stargods! It can’t be. It just can’t be.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes then looked more closely at the wolf.
“What can’t be, Jaylor?” Brevelan held tighter to her pet, filling her hands with his long fur.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could have consulted Baamin and found out for sure.” He fumbled in the packs. Clothing and provisions went flying as he sought some object of dire importance.
“Found out what, Jaylor?” Brevelan refolded his spare shirt and gathered her packets of grain and dried fruit.
“You don’t know?” He sat back on his heels and stared at her openmouthed.
“Know what?” she demanded, exasperated at his thick male understanding.
“When I left Coronnan City a few weeks after the solstice, Prince Darville had been missing almost a full moon. We were friends. When I asked to see him, to say good-bye, I was told he was in a monastery contemplating an unfortunate dalliance with a lady. The Darville I grew up with never regretted any of his encounters with ladies. The Darville I knew had no time for quiet contemplation and far too much energy for cloistered celibacy.”
“So?”
“So, I believe the tale was a cover-up. The king and my master are close friends. They are hiding the fact that Darville is missing.”
“Are you suggesting that this animal is our prince? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Dragons and the royal family are connected by tradition, honor, and blood. Shayla is bound by instinct and magic to protect those with royal blood. Do you have any other explanation for her ties to a scruffy golden wolf named Darville?”
Jaylor’s words chilled her.
“Are you telling me that my wolf is part of the royal family?” Disbelief and understanding warred within her.
“He is not just a wolf. Look at him. Really look at him. Do you see the intelligence in his eyes?” He held an oblong of glass between her and the wolf. “Look through the glass and tell me he is just a wolf!”
Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Page 15
