Brevelan clung to Puppy’s thick fur. He smelled of dog, and fresh air, and the plants he had brushed along the way. His tongue panted in the slight breeze, radiating heat. He swallowed, then licked her cheek in affection.
Darville had become a part of her life, a very important part. She had told him things she would not confide to another human, shared her home, her food, her love with a beast. She refused to believe he was anything other than wolf.
And yet . . . ? There were times when he seemed so very intelligent, listening to her with comprehension in his eyes. And there was Shayla’s almost reverent protection of him.
When she thought about the situation, it seemed very likely indeed that her pet was more than he appeared to be.
“How?” she asked. If Jaylor’s words were too unbelievable, she would reject them and not allow him to take Darville away from her.
“I don’t know. I can only presume Old One-eye is behind this. The prince has been missing since just before the winter solstice. I believe I was sent to find a dragon in hopes the dragon would know something of the prince’s location.”
“Instead you found a witchwoman with a wolf for a familiar. A wolf with a princely name and a dragon guardian,” she breathed. It could be true, it was all so logical. And yet . . . and yet her heart did not want to release the wolf who had been her constant companion for months. Tears gathered in her eyes.
She remembered the saber cat trapped in bronze. Its anguish had made her ill at the time. Did the wolf at her side know he was trapped inside an alien body? Would he remember and carry the hatred as the cat did?
If Darville was indeed a man, then he must be restored to his true form, and soon. But when that happened, he would cease to be her companion, her confidant, her friend. She hadn’t been able to trust any man in a long time. Would she allow herself to continue trusting him?
The answers lay with Shayla. Blindly, Brevelan began walking again. Up the narrow pathway.
“I won’t believe you are truly a man and not a wolf until I see it with my own eyes. Until then we belong together. Come with me, Puppy.”
Darville lay down on the path, muzzle on his paws, and whined. His eyes pleaded with her.
“It’s obvious he won’t pass this spot.” Jaylor looked around for a solution. “We’ve got to get moving. Our follower is getting closer.”
“Come, Puppy,” she coaxed, catching some of his urgency. She, too, felt the threat. It was like a snake climbing her back, tightening its coils around her neck.
Darville whined pitifully, scooting farther away from the cliffside.
“Come with me.” She put every ounce of command available into her voice. Darville’s golden eyes widened then closed, effectively severing the channel of communication.
“He’s not going to come willingly,” Jaylor huffed. “Here, take Mica. I’ll carry Darville.” He handed the cat to Brevelan.
“Isn’t he too heavy for you?” Brevelan cradled Mica close to her chest.
“I’m big enough to manage, for a short while anyway.” The wolf was bigger and heavier than most of his kind. “He should be fine once we pass the ridge.” He stooped to gather Darville.
A few small rocks bounced off the cliff, almost striking Darville’s head. The wolf backed up again, his paws scrabbling on the stony path.
Brevelan and Jaylor both looked up toward the source of the disturbance. They could see nothing unusual.
“You probably don’t remember the summer you were sixteen, Roy, but I carried you home the night of the midsummer fair.” Jaylor bent to persuade the reluctant member of their company. “Even if you weren’t a wolf right now, you wouldn’t remember that night. We’d both had too much to drink and one too many fistfights with the local bullies.”
Darville cocked one ear as he listened to the soothing cadence of Jaylor’s voice. This time he didn’t protest when strong arms gathered him up. “You wouldn’t allow me to use your real name because you didn’t want to be different from the others in our gang. So I called you ‘Roy,’ short for Royal.” He scooped up the wolf, arms around his legs so he couldn’t break free. “Now let’s get out of here before the entire cliff gives way.”
Following his words a larger stream of dirt and rocks broke free. Brevelan scanned the cliff once more. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Something was up there, disturbing the precarious balance of the hillside.
Brevelan ducked under the veil of dirt that lingered after the initial shock. “Quickly, get around the corner!” she called to Jaylor.
He bent into a sprint to follow her. The heavy burden in his arms slowed his progress. Another rock struck Jaylor’s shoulder, bounced, and landed on Darville’s back. The wolf yelped and wriggled, desperately seeking escape.
Jaylor stumbled on the loose rocks and went down on one knee. Puppy twisted free and ran up the path toward the unknown.
Beneath the roar of the rockfall came the hideous, maniac laughter of a man she knew. Not Old Thorm, or a foreign rogue magician. But her father—Lord Krej.
Chapter 16
“Jaylor!” Brevelan ducked beneath the barrage of cascading rock. Above her, the distinctive roar of a rockfall grew louder, closer.
Another rock struck Jaylor on the back. His eyes glazed in a disorientation. Stunned and bewildered by the blow, he seemed incapable of making the lifesaving decision to move.
All thoughts of Darville and his true nature fled from Brevelan. The man she loved was in danger.
Brevelan grabbed Jaylor’s arm and heaved him upright by shear force of will. He stumbled and lurched along beside her, too dazed to choose a direction.
“Come on,” she ordered through gritted teeth. “You have to move. Now.”
The roar grew louder yet. She had to get him out of there quickly. Upward she propelled him, in the wake of the howling wolf.
Jaylor wiped blood that dripped into his eyes from a cut on his forehead and stared around him. A rock as large as Brevelan’s clenched fist bounced off his boot. The new pain seemed to jolt him back to reality.
“S’murgh it.” He stopped and looked around. “This isn’t a natural avalanche. We’ve got to catch up to the wolf before One-eye finds him!” He reached his hands backward and his staff sprang to him. A single wave of his tool and a dome of shimmering blue and red light protected them from the increasing flow of soil and debris from the hillside.
Together they dashed along what was left of the path.
“Mica? Where is Mica?” Brevelan turned back to search for the cat. In all this dust and turmoil Mica’s coloring would be impossible to discern.
“Forget the cat. We have to protect Darville.” Jaylor spun her back toward their path.
“I can’t. She’s my friend,” she shouted over the roar of the collapsing scree. Half the mountain seemed to be raining down on them. Her heart lurched to think of Mica buried underneath all that weight. Desperate to find her pet, Brevelan yanked her arm free of Jaylor’s grasp and dashed back toward the spot where they had stopped with Darville.
“Look with your heart, not your eyes,” Jaylor commanded right behind her. “You’ve got about five heartbeats before the whole hillside goes.”
“There!” A flutter of her heart directed her gaze toward glistening movement in the dust. Brevelan dove toward the spot. Dust filled her eyes and choked her. “Mica,” she squeaked. “Come, Mica.”
Jaylor’s arms locked around her waist. Her body flew backward, not forward.
“Mrew,” Mica pleaded for release.
“You can’t save her, Brevelan,” Jaylor pulled her backward. “I can’t hold back the rockfall with magic anymore.”
“I can’t not save her. Please, let me go to her,” she wept, still reaching.
“I can’t let you hurt yourself to save a cat.”
Brevelan went limp in his arms. His grip slackened. She lunged out of his grasp toward the tiny bit of overhang that still protected Mica from the rocks.
A tree crashed besi
de her, not three arm’s lengths away. The mighty trunk bounced and rolled, caught a moment on the lip of the path then careened on down the steep slope.
Brevelan’s fingers closed on a handful of dirty fur just as Jaylor hauled her backward once more.
Again the wolf has escaped me. We are too near the dragon. Shayla’s aura grants him luck. Not much longer.
The magician must die. Torture? Drowning? Something deliciously hideous will occur to me. Perhaps he will become an ivory statue in my collection. I’ve never had a human before.
Yes. Yes. New statues. The wolf is already gold. He only needs gilding. I shall make the girl watch and know the horror of their undeath. Then it will be her turn to die. Her death will infuse me with power.
The cat can escape. She is useless.
“Stupid, fool woman. You could have been killed.” Jaylor shook Brevelan, forcing his fear into her. Without thinking, he clutched her tightly against his chest. His arms enfolded her and the filthy cat in a cocoon of safety and love.
“Stargods, Brevelan, what would I do without you?” he whispered, awestruck at the implication.
Her eyes lost their sparkle. Something haunted her expressionless face, but no empathic emotions radiated from her. Jaylor looked more closely at Brevelan.
He felt as empty as she looked. Surely they could find something more than a blue cloak for him and a secluded clearing for her!
“I can take Mica again.” He reached for the little cat hiding her head in the crook of Brevelan’s arm and shivering.
“No.” A spark of emotion lit Brevelan’s eyes again. She clutched Mica tighter as she pulled out of his reach.
“Fine. You carry her, or let her walk by herself.” Stargods! He’d been carrying one or another of his companions the entire journey. He felt like a nanny, not a magician within moments of completing his master’s quest.
There was nothing left to do but trudge on up this endless mountain in search of a mythological dragon. Stubbornly he set one foot in front of the other. He’d find that dragon if it killed him, and he’d drag the others with him whether they liked it or not.
It was the resolution they both wanted. Wasn’t it?
“Arroof!” Darville barked and bounded forward.
“Darville!” Brevelan called.
In two leaps the wolf was around a bend and out of sight. The cloud came back into Brevelan’s eyes. “Come back, Darville!” Her whisper was plaintive, almost desperate. “Come back to me.”
The only reply was another sharp bark.
“You’ve got to catch him, Jaylor. It’s not safe for him to be separated from us.” She clutched his sleeve anxiously.
Her touch spread warmth up his arm. He wanted to grasp it and hold her close until her eyes sparked with enthusiasm again.
“Please, Jaylor. You’ve got to catch him,” she implored.
“Yes.” Briefly he clasped her hand then set off in pursuit. “You can hide in that clump of bushes until we come back for you.”
His shoulders were tight from carrying first Brevelan and then Darville. She was so small, so special, he’d hardly noticed her weight. Darville, on the other hand, had been heavier than Jaylor thought possible. He knew the beast was big for a wolf, but he’d weighed as much as a man.
Darville is a man. He only appears to be a wolf, Jaylor reminded himself.
“Arroo, arroo, arroo, roo roo.” Darville’s concentrated bay announced his excitement.
Energy surged through Jaylor’s limbs, his heart pounded faster. The wolf would only howl like that if he encountered another being.
“Darville!” he called.
“Darville!” Brevelan echoed just behind.
He turned to prevent her from rushing forward. A few tendrils of bright red hair sprang from her once neat braid. Her eyes looked as huge as the Great Bay and sparked with an intense glow of protectiveness.
“Wait.” Jaylor stopped long enough to halt her headlong dash around the next bend. A large everblue with needles as long as his hand obscured his view. Beyond it a Tambootie soared, blocking the sun. In its shadow anything could lurk unseen.
He swallowed deeply to clear his mind of the wonderful vision of Brevelan. Her lips pursed in determination, and there was a light of battle in her eyes. As she hurried, her breasts strained the fabric of her bodice while her skirt was kilted up to allow her legs freedom. Would she ever dash to his rescue in such an immodest manner?
“Wait, Brevelan.”
“But. . . .”
“Let me see what awaits us first.” He didn’t pause for an answer, or another protest.
Tambootie! Hot and sharp. A wave of pure magic assaulted him as he rounded the bend. He walked into a palpitating miasma of the stuff. His eyes watered, his skin tingled. Power invaded his entire body. All of a sudden his tongue was too big for his mouth and seemed to fill his ears as well. Even his hair itched.
Memories surged through him with each straining heartbeat.
He was back in that stone room filled with cloying smoke. Ogres and snakes assaulted him and dispersed with a word. His pulse pounded, then stuttered. He fought to draw air into his belabored lungs.
Sharp mountain breezes stung him back to reality. This time there were no walls to close in on him. He was out in fresh air with companions to help, if he needed them. He thought he was prepared for whatever the smoke could make him see. The reality in front of him was no match for delusion.
Shayla dipped her head in greeting.
“Master,” the kitchen boy peeked over a pile of books, “I think I’ve found somethin’.” He sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the hidden room.
Baamin looked across the waist-high stacks of discarded volumes piled between them. Not all of the books in the sealed room were as fragile as the first one he had touched. Many, especially those hidden behind the first layer, were in pristine condition. Evidence of the power of the original spell despite the haste of its construction. The outer row were mostly history chronicles, familiar and of no particular value. Behind them were books he had never seen.
“What, Boy? What have you found?” He breathed in a mouthful of mold and began to cough again, even as he reached across the lopsided stack to grasp whatever the boy held. The cold and dust crept into his old body, making his movement stiff and awkward.
“An old book, sir. Real old. I don’t even recognize the writin’, sir.” He held up his treasure, open to the title page.
The strange script wiggled across the page like so many snakes. Words and images started to form in Baamin’s mind but would not take hold. This was definitely a book of magic, very old magic. He doubted he could make writing confuse a reader like that. His discomforts were forgotten in his growing excitement.
Out of habit, Baamin calmed his mind and stilled his body, as if gathering magic. When he opened his eyes the letters held their place and formed words.
PRIVATE JOURNAL OF NIMBULAN:
MAGICIAN TO THE KINGS
FATHER OF DRAGONS
VICTIM OF THE WARS OF DISRUPTION
The last line was written in the same but an older and shakier hand, in a different ink. It appeared to be almost a postscript.
“Nimbulan!” Baamin breathed his excitement outward this time.
“Founder of the University. He’s the greatest magician known.” The boy’s eyes widened in wonder. “Do you think his journal will tell you how to summon your magicians?”
Baamin felt much the same sense of awe. Nimbulan was remembered with reverence. His ideas and experiments had led to the development of the Commune. Without him the border would never have become reality. Coronnan would have been consumed by civil war and left as easy pickings for greedy neighbors.
“If he doesn’t tell us in his journal, perhaps he will mention a book that will.” As he took the slender volume from the boy, he allowed his hands to caress the smooth leather of the binding.
Nimbulan was mighty in the annals of magic, not just for his achiev
ements but for his loyalty and compassion as well. He was a man whom all his successors tried to emulate.
Baamin felt humble in the face of such greatness. He’d never be able to wrestle the kingdom through this current crisis. How could he possibly hope to live up to the legacy of such a magnificent predecessor?
“I’ll take this to my private chambers, Boy. Keep looking.” He stumbled to the door, consumed by his need to read the journal without interruption.
“Sir?” The boy disturbed his train of thought.
“Yes?” he replied absently.
“What if I find something else?” There was hope as well as a tinge of bewilderment in his voice.
“Then bring it to me. But do so quietly. We don’t want anyone else to suspect the existence of this room.” The boy would obey. He wasn’t intelligent enough to do anything else.
Shayla defied Jaylor’s attempts to describe her. Beautiful beyond words. All colors. And yet no color. Light reflected back and around the viewer. She was as translucent as an opal yet as glistening as a diamond.
The dragon dipped her steedlike muzzle to his level. He felt speared by the large multicolored eyes that scanned him, one at a time. Above the eyes, a ridge tapered up into a wicked horn, as long as his arm. That horn was repeated in spines parading down her long neck and back.
With majestic dignity, the huge dragon propped her short forelegs on a fallen log, resting her weight on her powerful haunches. From each foot sprouted a set of long colorless claws, matching the spines in shape and texture.
Behind her, a thick tail tapered to a sharp arrowhead point. It looked as lethal as its counterpart. Her wings, too, could be considered weapons. At the end of each rain-bowed vein lay a wicked hook. Jaylor revised his preconception of her size. Two sledge steeds together would match her width. Two more would be needed to fill the height of this magnificent dragon.
But her best defense was her shimmering opalescence. In flight she would be invisible.
Jaylor should have felt intimidated by her. Instead, he was filled with a glowing sense of affection. The great eye that scrutinized every bit of him—inside as well as out?—held only curiosity, no malice or greed. And, thankfully, no hunger.
Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Page 16
