There was supposed to be a silvery-blue ley line filled with magic power directly beneath his rump. The magic should have surged through his body and completed the spell properly, with only a little guidance from his mind. He was too tired to seek a solution to the double rabbit right now.
“But it’s so simple!” Yaakke placed a steadying hand on Jaylor’s knee.
“If the spell is so simple, why did Lord Krej offer me a knighthood and three estates for it?” He threw off the boy’s gesture of comfort, more angry at himself than at Yaakke. The meditation hadn’t worked.
“How come Lord Krej could work magic with only two Tambootie leaves? That’s not the antidote to witchbane,” Yaakke said, changing the subject.
“You’re right.” Jaylor hadn’t thought about that. The ancient textbook that had given him the formula for witchbane specifically mentioned that Tambootie enhanced whatever was present in the body: magic, disease, health, drugs.
“I vowed not to tell anyone Krej is working magic again. That night I was too worried about Brevelan to notice how much Tambootie he ingested—barely enough to feed his addiction, not enough to fuel his magic.”
“The magic was in him before I brought him to the clearing. That’s how I found him. Lord Krej’s magic is very distinctive. I’d smell it anywhere.”
“I have to get to the capital right away. The antidote must be discovered and neutralized. I also have to keep Krej from making any more mischief like he did last spring. Explain the spell again, Yaakke, so I can send myself.” Decisive energy pulsed through him again, his momentary weakness and the rabbits forgotten.
“I can’t.”
“Think, Yaakke. Think about it very hard. This is important.”
“But you can’t send yourself. You can only transport other things. Just like you do the wine cups from the University cellars. You’re better at that than anyone. Even me.”
“Then why hasn’t Lord Krej figured it out? He said a living subject always dies or is maimed when transported. And I split that rabbit. Why can’t we make it work?”
“Did you imagine the rabbit about five heartbeats younger than it really was at the tail end of the spell?”
“Younger? Time. Are you moving them through time, then?”
Yaakke shrugged. “I guess so. That’s what Nimbulan’s great-grandfather surmised in his journal. I found it in the forgotten library at the University—the one that was hidden in the cellars and sealed at the end of the war.”
“And when you don’t know where someone is, you can locate them by smelling their magic.”
“Sort of. I guess it’s like when you and Brevelan said you’re connected by colored umb . . . ubil . . . whatever. Everyone is different.”
Excitement danced around Jaylor like a firefly, lighting this idea, then the next and the next. His imagination soared with the dragons.
Dragons.
“We could bring Shayla back!”
“I already tried. I couldn’t find her. I guess ’cause I can’t gather dragon magic.”
“Then we have to try harder. Walk me through the spell again.” Before his third breath, Jaylor was back in the void. His mind sought a presence. A greenbird this time. At the touch of his mind, the bird flew from its perch in fright. He caught the bird on the wing and brought it to his hand, perched as it had been on the branch, seconds before.
“Twuweep?” the bird squawked in puzzlement.
Jaylor’s eyes snapped opened. He’d done it!
“Twuweep!” The bird took off again, frightened by Jaylor’s convulsing arm muscles.
“Master, are you all right? Master!” Yaakke screamed.
Blackness encroached on the edges of Jaylor’s vision. His legs began to twitch as uncontrollably as his arm. Heavy saliva collected in his mouth, seeking escape.
“Breathe, Master. You’ve got to breathe,” Yaakke implored as he pumped on Jaylor’s chest. “Breathe in, one, two, three. Breathe out, one, two, three.” The boy was near tears forcing air into Jaylor’s lungs.
The preliminary effects of the void calmed Jaylor’s frozen mind. Breathe in, one, two, three. Breathe out, one, two, three. His muscles settled into a pattern of mild shaking.
“Don’t tell Brevelan about this, Yaakke.”
“Playing with magic that you don’t understand is too risky, Darville.” Baamin upbraided his monarch with all the many years of his experience in dealing with adolescents at the University.
“How are we to understand how this particular magic works if we don’t take a few risks?” Darville tried not to feel like one of the Senior Magician’s erring apprentices.
“You are the only legitimate heir to the throne. Please allow someone else to take the chances. If we lose you, we lose the kingdom.” Baamin moved closer to the massive desk that stood between them in the king’s study.
“There seem to be plenty of claimants for my position. Lord Krej would be delighted if I died or was maimed in this enterprise.” Darville braced his legs against the rear wall and his rump against the desk. With the strength of his long thighs he shoved. The desk didn’t budge.
“Would the kingdom be delighted with Lord Krej as their king?”
Darville looked sharply over his shoulder to his short adviser. The old man seemed to have lost even more weight in the last week. At least Baamin had had the sense to have his robes altered to fit his diminished frame. Concern for his old friend made Darville pause in his exertions.
“To quote a very wise man: ‘The fear bred by ignorance is more crippling than the wounds earned in gaining knowledge. ’ ” Darville pushed again. The massive desk that had served the kings of Coronnan for many generations seemed bolted to the floor.
“I said that in reference to politics, not magic.” Baamin moved around the desk to face Darville.
“Of late in Coronnan, magic and politics are so intertwined there is no separation.” He put his feet back on the floor.
“Then allow me to force this first confrontation between the princess and your cat.”
“At the moment, I think you are more valuable to the kingdom than I am. Besides, how would you explain your presence in the lady’s chamber if caught? Your reputation would be ruined, Master Baamin.” Darville chuckled under his breath. Magicians were notorious for their ignorance of women. In the old days, when there was still dragon magic to be gathered, magicians were forbidden knowledge of women until after they had achieved master’s status. Most magicians couldn’t be bothered to expend their precious energies on women even then.
“And I suppose your reputation would survive intact?” Baamin raised one eyebrow in that irritatingly superior way of his.
“Mine would be enhanced for the higher class of partner! Yours would be in tatters.”
“I have not always been old, young man. Nor have I always been celibate.” Baamin attempted to look down his nose, a difficult feat considering the differences in their heights.
“Your mother hatched you fully grown, complete with education and white hair. Just ask any of your apprentices,” Darville teased. He put his feet back up against the wall for another try at the desk.
“And some men never grow up. Just look at you and Jaylor.” Baamin reached under the desktop and pressed something just as Darville pushed against the wall. The prince slid across the top slab of wood and toppled onto the hard floor as the desk swung aside on a pivot. A gaping hole in the stone floor lay where the most solid portion of the desk had been. The top rung of a ladder showed just below the edge.
“How’d you do that?” Darville stared at the escape hole in amazement.
“The mere touch of a lever. Your father and I explored the tunnels when he was a very young king. I believe he called upon his betrothed, your mother, in much the same manner as you plan to visit Princess Rossemikka. Your parents’ wedding had to be put forward by several moons.”
“My father never did anything adventurous,” Darville protested. The late King Darcine had been a loving fath
er, devoted husband, and a total idiot when it came to politics. He was incapable of making a decision and allowed the Council to rule without interference. Now that Darville was trying to assert authority, the same Council was fighting him for control of every decision. Even when they lacked a decision, the Council would not agree to one proffered by Darville.
“Like me, your father wasn’t born old and weak-willed. We had our bold moments, just as you and Jaylor had yours. That is why I didn’t stop your childhood pranks. I could have, you know.” Baamin extended a hand to assist Darville to his feet.
“You knew about our friendship?” Darville and Jaylor had always considered that portion of their young lives quite secret.
“I am Senior Magician, Roy.” He invoked Jaylor’s nickname for the royal son who wished for anonymity. “As well as Chancellor of the University. Very little occurs on University Island or Palace Isle that I don’t know about.”
“Even the time Jaylor taught me to swim at Sacred Isle?”
“That was your first meeting, was it not?”
Darville nodded.
“You were thirteen and Jaylor eleven. Who do you think made it possible for you to steal a boat and for Jaylor to slip away from his lessons?”
“And the time he carried me home from festival dead drunk?”
Baamin shook his head in mild dismay. “I didn’t find out about that until you awoke the next morning with the worst hangover in history. I arranged for the healer to dose you against the whore’s pox in his vile remedy for your more obvious symptoms. I do hope you have learned to be a little more . . . ah . . . discreet in your liaisons.” One bushy white eyebrow raised in rebuke.
Darville looked away in sadness. He and Jaylor had shared much as teenagers. But never the women. Jaylor took his magic too seriously to risk losing it by bedding a woman.
Until Brevelan.
The bond among the three of them was so strong that there had been no jealousy, no need for discussion. Just a natural need to be complete. All three of them.
But in the end, Brevelan had chosen Jaylor as her mate. She, with her special brand of magic, must have known that the child she carried was fathered by Jaylor’s seed and not Darville’s. He could not imagine Brevelan choosing any man but the father of her child.
“I haven’t been with a woman since Brevelan and Jaylor married.”
“I haven’t been with a woman since I was elected Senior Magician. I allowed myself one last wild night before assuming responsibility for the Commune.” Baamin paused a moment, lost in memory. “I often wondered what became of that dark-eyed beauty. I never saw her again.”
Baamin gestured to the gaping desk, breaking the somber mood. “Who’s first, you or me?”
Dwelling on the past would gain nothing for either of them. Darville needed a princess as his wife and mother to his children. Rossemikka came with impeccable breeding and an admirable dowry of ten thousand trained troops to cut off the menace of SeLenicca. But before he could marry her, he had to discover the secret that existed between the woman and his cat.
“I go alone. You need to stay here and make sure the members of the Council believe I am with you. They will not take kindly to this escapade.”
“No, they will not. They fear anything to do with magic these days, even their own magician advisers. I think the Commune is allowed to post those advisers only because the University of Magicians produces the best educated men in the three kingdoms. The time may soon come when all magic is outlawed. Then only outlaws will throw magic.”
“Come, Mica.” Darville lifted the steeping cat from her latest nest on the windowsill. She snuggled contentedly into his arms and purred loudly. Darville stroked her silken fur with fondness. This might be the last time he held his favorite companion in this guise. He wanted to cherish the moment.
Baamin lit a small candle lantern from the sconce on the wall and handed it to Darville. “Be careful, Your Grace. If anything untoward occurs, you have only to touch the dragon earring and picture me in your mind. I will find a way to come to your rescue.”
Chapter 13
My rival reeks of Tambootie once more. His trail should have been easy to follow. Yet I couldn’t face the void. Not alone, without guidance or an anchor to this reality.
I thought my rival had broken his addiction. And yet, on the very night he disappears in the elusive transport spell, he returns with the drug heavy on him. The oils permeate his skin, his clothing, his breath.
Is that the secret? We have fostered superstition against the trees so the simple mundanes would fell them, eliminate them from the face of this planet. The trees are the source of the dragons’ magic. Without the trees, the dragons are just another menace to be hunted and slaughtered.
I believe we have made a grave mistake. I will experiment with the herb. Perhaps the Tambootie will give me the courage to face the void. If I am correct, we must change our tactics and salvage what we can of the once great forests of Tambootie.
But first I must check on the princess. There is a great deal of magic in the air tonight. She must be safe from all spells. Rossemikka is much more important than just an alliance between the desert warriors of Rossemeyer and the bumbling traders of lush Coronnan. She is the future.
Jaylor drew a shaky breath into his tired lungs and looked around. He was in the scullery of the University. Yaakke had placed him in the one place in the capital that the boy knew best and which was likely to be deserted at this time of day.
Long shudders coursed through Jaylor’s body and he shook his head to orient himself. His abrupt passage from the tree-scented clearing to this stone room offended his logic, as well as his nose. For several heartbeats there had been nothing. Worse than the magic void, worse than the nightmare of his rite of passage in a windowless room filled with Tambootie smoke.
But he had survived.
No wonder the key to transport lay in time. The shock of the void was so great that a soul needed to be existing in some other dimension at the same time in order to re-root itself at the end of the trip.
He took another deep breath to steady himself. His cured heart beat strong and in a regular rhythm. He just hoped his magic was as sound as his heartbeat after Krej’s magic had poured through him. He had a task to complete before Brevelan was sent to him. She and Yaakke needed to know for sure that the spell worked, and that she could survive the journey with the baby intact. A summons would be ideal but might prove too draining on Yaakke’s magic.
Jaylor took a third deep breath and pictured in his mind the locked wine cellar of the University. The private reserve contained the best wines from three kingdoms. Apprentices were invited to imbibe at will—as long as they could bring the cups of wine to their quarters magically. By the time they mastered the complicated spells, they were ready for promotion to journeyman.
Jaylor was unusually adept at this particular spell. He’d mastered it easily his first week at the University. But he hadn’t used the traditional method of levitating the cup along the myriad corridors to his room. Instead, he’d used rogue magic to instantly transport the wine to his hand.
No one had recognized his triumph as legitimate and Jaylor couldn’t explain how he had accomplished the unheard-of feat. Yaakke wasn’t so different from himself after all.
With the wine cup firmly in his mind, Jaylor emblazoned a message into the crockery. “SAFE AND WHOLE” burned into the pottery. Then he filled the cup with the finest of red wines. A new shudder rippled along his legs and arms. The muscles cramped and twitched. His mouth watered at the thought of rich fruity wine. That would restore his confidence and his strength. So he filled a second cup for himself. The first was sent back to Yaakke. The other he brought to the scullery.
His hands curved around the cup lovingly. He opened his eyes to taste the favored drink.
There were two cups. One in each hand. One pure vinegar, the other unfermented fruit juice!
His spell had split again.
Darvil
le stepped into the boxlike remains of the desk. The ladder held his weight. The darkness of the tunnels beckoned him.
He found his way to the main passage easily. The cross tunnel to the princess’ chamber was only a few paces along to his right. His small light illuminated a circle around him, isolating him from the rest of the tunnel, from reality, from himself.
This might as well be the magic void Jaylor talked about when he entered a trance. For Darville, the eeriness of the tunnels became an alien territory, a journey through the void to a magic answer.
He met no resistance at the top of the staircase. The few gowns hanging in the wardrobe didn’t hamper his passage. Cautiously, he blew out his candle before he opened the doors of the wardrobe a crack.
Silent darkness greeted him. The moon was in its most remote phase. No light penetrated the heavily curtained window. By feel alone, he found the massive bedpost that reached nearly to the ceiling. As if guided, his free hand found the opening in the draperies that shielded the sleeper from drafts and prying eyes.
Mica roused in his arms. She squeaked a quiet inquiry. Then she shivered in his grasp. Darville sensed the alertness in her body and imagined her ears perked and nose twitching. Before she could jump and awaken Rossemikka, he placed the cat on top of the mound of covers that must be the princess.
Instantly the enclosed bed space was filled with a magical glow of wondrous blue light. Waves of light and magic nearly forced Darville to close his eyes and back away. He fought the impulse. Whatever the outcome, he had to know what happened tonight.
The cat grew. The woman shrank. They surged back and forth. The white streak in Rosie’s hair gleamed brighter, jumped from her body to Mica’s and back again, highlighting, merging and separating, merging again, then with a snap the light was gone.
“You may light the lantern again, beloved,” a sweet, melodious voice rose from the bed. It was Rossemikka, and yet not. She sounded huskier, more sure of herself, and much more sensuous.
“Rosie?” Darville’s voice cracked as it hadn’t done since he was twelve.
Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Page 46
