A dragon’s eye! Yaakke sighed in relief. The blue-tipped dragon had waited. But how long? Now for the first time, Yaakke wished he’d learned to center his magic so that it tracked time accurately.
Gradually the rest of the dragon emerged from the depths of the lair. Hazy, autumnal sunshine slanted off his crystalline fur, pulling Yaakke’s sight around the dragon rather than directly toward him. He blinked and forced his mind to concentrate on the outline of the huge creature before his eyes tricked his mind into believing the dragon invisible.
Larger than Shayla, the dragon rested back on his haunches. Blue veins outlined the shape of wings folded against his back. More blue marched across his head and down his back in a showy display of horns. On his shortened forelegs, blue claws flexed, much like human fingers.
Yaakke waited, expecting the dragon to offer his name according to dragon protocol.
The dragon remained silent while surveying Yaakke with those penetrating eyes.
Yaakke squirmed in guilty self-consciousness. “I’m sorry.” Finally he offered the apology he knew he owed the dragon.
(You have become arrogant with your power.) The dragon words came into Yaakke’s head unbidden.
“I’m sorry,” Yaakke’s murmured again. “I should have guessed you have more knowledge of the void than I.” He hung his head a little, peeping up at the dragon through lowered lashes.
(I hope your trip through the realm of the dragons taught you something useful.)
“I don’t know . . . um . . . sir. What do I call you anyway?”
(Sir will do.)
“Anyway, sir, the images came so fast I didn’t recognize half of what I saw.” A memory of moon-bright hair and tears on a girl’s pale face flashed through his mind. “Who is she?”
(You will learn that when your time reference catches up with what you observed. Time has no meaning in the void. Past, present, and future are all the same. Dragons observe it all and learn.)
“Why did you call me here?”
(Shayla needs assistance from the magicians.)
“Shayla!” Yaakke breathed through his teeth. His quest was almost over. He’d be the youngest Master Magician ever. Without ever having been a journeyman!
(Your journey is long, apprentice. Long in distance and long in maturity.) The dragon speared Yaakke with a compelling gaze. (There are things you must know before you face the dangers ahead of you.)
The ominous tone of the words in the back of Yaakke’s mind was so like Old Baamin, the boy automatically keyed all of his attention to the huge beast.
(Drink, Boy. Then we will discuss your future and perhaps your past.) The dragon gestured with his muzzle toward a crystal cold stream trickling down the mountain face beside the cave entrance.
“You promised to tell me about my parents, sir,” Yaakke reminded the dragon.
(I know of your sire and your dam. The knowledge will be given to you at the appropriate time.)
“When will that be?”
(At the appropriate time. Drink and refresh yourself. You have much to learn in order to find Shayla.)
Curiosity flared. Yaakke was always eager to know more about magic. He’d taught himself to read so that he could steal books from the University library before he knew for sure he had any magic.
Yaakke knelt beside the little pool that formed in a hollow made by the falling stream. He cupped his hands in the water. Colors and images swirled before his vision, then faded to reflections of sunlight on water. He drank deeply, twice, then splashed his face and hair reasonably clean.
One more drink. He’d never known plain water to taste so sweet before. Head bent over the pool, he was about to dip his hands once again, when the dragon’s reflection shimmered in the water.
The beast loomed behind him, magnificent head higher than two sledge steeds. Sunlight sparkled. Water reflected. Crystal fur shimmered and those huge, faceted eyes showed access to the void and all of those tempting umbilicals.
Chapter 8
Pinpoints of light speared Yaakke’s eyes, then burst into a myriad of stars. Suddenly the dark cave entrance and the crystal spring disappeared.
A thundering cascade of water filled his ears. His gut reverberated in response to the deep boom of a river tumbling hundreds of feet into a deep pool. He shivered as cold spray dampened his clothes and drizzled down his face. A wall of algae-slick granite, older and paler than the jagged basalt near the lair, pressed into his face, but he didn’t dare jerk away from the slime until he found secure footing. He glanced at his feet without moving his head. A narrow shelf of rock jutted out from a cliff side, barely wide enough to contain both of his feet.
Finger-length by finger-length, he eased his body around to face the roaring waterfall. Tiny droplets tumbled, joined, separated, fell hundreds of feet below him into a wide pool. Turbulence from the waterfall thrust small waves across a deep pool to a long rolling meadow. Steep walls on three sides defined a wide vale that narrowed at the far end into a canyon leading to the outside world. His only exit from this unknown mountain hideaway?
A wide undercut yawned deep into the base of the cliff behind the waterfall. He knew instinctively that a series of caves wandered back into the bowels of the mountain from that barely glimpsed opening. Shadow within shadow moved behind the lacy curtain of water. Was that the outline of a dragon head, its glittering eyes the same color as the water drops?
He’d found Shayla! But where?
Then Yaakke scanned the setting for clues. He looked up. A black bird with funny white tufts on its head soared up the cliff a hundred feet above him. Scrubby everblues seemed to hang out over the edge. The water poured over the lip around and through them. Ferns, lichens, and wildflowers clung to the rocky face, adding spring vibrancy to the scene.
The waving grass in the open field appeared lush with moisture and new growth. Clumps of tall shrubs offered shade and shelter on this bright afternoon. More than just shrubs, stunted Tambootie trees. Dragon salad.
Above the hidden vale, sharp mountain peaks, still covered in snow, rose in undulating tiers into the distant, hazy horizon. Jutting out from closer crags and pinnacles, wind-sculpted lumps of stone pointed toward the cloudless sky. Dragons standing guard?
Yaakke sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “Woodsmoke.” Alarm sent his heart racing. Corby cawed loudly in distress, then disappeared. Soon, the mindless destruction of fire unleashed would envelop this lovely glade. Tambootie smoke would poison all living creatures within two leagues or more.
He sought the magic power that should be entwined with the rock and soil of the cliff. No energy tingled through his body. “Rain. Stargods, I need rain to stop this!” Concentrating the failing reserves of his own body, he reached up into the sky for every drop of moisture available.
A small cloud formed. Then another. Tiny, fluffy white clouds. Not big enough or heavy enough to release a single drop of rain.
(Cease!)
Dragon thoughts sent him tumbling down, down toward the pool. Cold water numbed his mind and body. Pain lanced through his temple.
(You may not change a dragon-dream.)
Yaakke sat up from the plateau outside Shayla’s old lair. “Dream? It all seemed so real.” Delicately he probed his temple with shaking fingers. Aches spread outward into his jaw and ear. No sticky blood. Just a bruise from collapsing onto the ground.
(Reality changes from eyeblink to eyeblink. What you see is real until you disprove it with new perceptions.)
“Where is this place you showed me? Not in Coronnan. The mountain shapes were wrong. Too jagged and bare of trees.” Yaakke inspected the rest of his body for damage, glad that he hadn’t ceased breathing because he thought he fell into a pool and drowned.
(Your quest ends in a place that appeared to you in the dragon-dream. The jackdaw will guide you.)
“Do I still have a quest? I left Jaylor without an explanation. I disobeyed you. Will anyone trust me after that?”
(Seek Shayla
with your heart as well as your mind. She will trust your heart.)
“What is that supposed to mean?”
(Shayla’s life depends upon you. Without Shayla the Nimbus of Dragons will die.)
“I need to talk to Jaylor first. He’ll help me understand . . .” His voice trailed off. Yaakke wasn’t certain what he needed to understand. His bizarre trip through the void followed by a dragon-dream seemed to have scrambled his insides as well as his thoughts.
(You may discuss this with me.) The dragon sounded sad or upset that Yaakke sought advice from another.
“You’re just a dragon. You wouldn’t understand.”
Uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
(If only I could tell you.)
Was that a dragon thought? Yaakke wondered if he truly caught a glimmer of hurt and resignation in the droop of the dragon’s muzzle and half-closed eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear it of confusion so he could be sure.
More silence.
(Jaylor’s hiding place is on your way.)
“On my way where? Is Shayla hurt like King Darville? Can she fly?”
Yaakke twisted his neck to peer at the dragon. Gone! The dragon was gone, disappeared.
“I know you are nearly invisible, but this is too much.” Silence except for the distant call of a jackdaw. Yaakke staggered to his feet and blundered toward the cave entrance that had shadowed the dragon. With outstretched hands he examined the lair entrance. Nothing.
“Is this whole thing a dragon-dream?” No one answered but Corby. “S’murgh it, I could still be in the capital for all I know.”
Jaylor squinted through his telescope one last time. The other Master Magicians had deserted him for the warmth of their beds hours ago. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting in the sky tonight. But Jaylor needed the practice. And he needed some time alone.
A year ago, when he’d begun his journeyman’s quest, all he’d wanted was to “Go see an invisible dragon” and earn the right to be a Master Magician. He had no idea, then, precisely what master status entailed. Now he knew.
Master Magicians charted the stars, tabulated the paths of celestial bodies, and searched for anomalies and omens. Closer to the mundane population, magicians used their powers to minister to the sick, communicate with distant outposts, test the soil, and advise the people about proper nutrients and crop rotation and efficient breeding of stock. The secret knowledge entrusted to them by the Stargods provided them with guides. They experimented with tools and inventions, striving for improvements in production. They kept records and wrote chronicles. In better times, magicians advised the rich and powerful about diplomacy, economics, and alliances.
Those responsibilities were child’s play compared to Jaylor’s duties as Senior Magician. Endless lists of supplies, maintenance and observation schedules, keeping track of every member of the diminished Commune, and placing the magicians where their talents could be maximized and their limitations augmented by others. And a constant monitoring of the defensive war being waged at the pass near Sambol. How many magicians dared he post there without raising superstitious fear among the troops, generals, and Council? The number had to be enough to counteract King Simeon’s indiscriminate use of battle magic. Where did they get the power to wage war? Everyone knew there were no ley lines in SeLenicca to fuel magic.
These late hours on the roof seemed to be the only time Jaylor had alone, to think, to plan, to worry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed at the same time as Brevelan.
His wife and son were always sound asleep when he crawled beneath the covers and still asleep when he rose before dawn to his morning duties.
He checked the position of the wanderer he had been monitoring for twenty-one nights. Then he measured its position between two fixed stars. His eyes blurred and he placed the point of light on the wrong chart, in the wrong position.
His geometric calculations on the chart tangled.
One more time. A deep breath for calm. A second deep breath for clear vision. His third deep breath sent him into a light trance. With the aid of his magic, he looked, measured, and calculated once more. The numbers fell into place. The wanderer had definitely shifted its position relative to his location. Precisely what it was supposed to do at this time of year.
The calculations on the chart, combined with the recent meteor shower, predicted chaos. The same conclusion the other masters had drawn a week ago.
At last he’d done something correctly. He bent to touch his toes, stretching his back in relief. As he stood again, his shoulder bumped the telescope.
“Dragon dung. Now it’s out of alignment.” He looked into the lens, still maintaining his extended senses, to see how far off he’d knocked the sights.
Shimmering pinpoints of light responded to his magic senses. Not starlight. Too green, wrong shapes. He extended his TrueSight and hearing through the telescope into the distance beyond.
At the extreme limits of his magic, woodsmoke caressed his nose. The sounds of drowsy steeds cropping grass within their picket line tickled his ears. Jaylor drew upon FarSight and the scene jumped as close as the exterior grounds of the monastery. Seventy-five, no, one hundred campfires. One thousand men. Herds of war steeds. He spotted a sentry patrolling a perimeter.
An army camped out there, half a day’s hard march away.
Whose army? His spy in the palace had said nothing to him about an army on the move.
He wished for Yaakke’s listening talent, or for the boy himself. No word from him for nearly two moons now. Curse the boy for his secretive ways and stubborn disregard for others.
Jaylor sought and found a silvery-blue ley line filled with magic power, running through the foundations of the monastery. Slowly, he urged the magic energy to rise through the walls. The stones caught the power, resonating with their internal music. The magic picked up the natural harmonics and amplified them within the ageless bones of the land. Jaylor listened to the singing of the power. His body vibrated in harmony with it. Only then did he draw upon the power, forcing it upward when it wanted to dart out into the world through his fingers. Up and up into his neck and his mind. The Song of the Kardia grew. He Sang the magic into his eyes and his ears.
Only then did he look through the telescope again. Bright banners atop gaudy war pavilions came into focus. He identified the flags of Marnak the Elder from Hanic in the southwest and Jonnias from Sauria in the northwest. Neither lord was particularly fond of Jaylor or his magicians, but they had sworn loyalty to Darville.
A third banner caught Taylor’s attention. Marnak the Younger of Faciar. Through his wife, Rejiia, that sniveling little upstart had claimed Krej’s old province. He, too, had sworn loyalty to Darville, but only after Jaylor had purged the young man of all traces of Krej’s magic manipulation. If Marnak and Rejiia hadn’t been so young and naive about Krej’s corruption, the Council of Provinces would have forced them into exile with Krej’s wife and six younger legitimate daughters. No one bothered counting his bastards.
Rumor in the capital claimed the tall, determined, and still very young heiress to the province intimidated her shorter husband, and that the marriage had never been consummated.
Rejiia had tried to renounce her marriage along with her father when the extent of Krej’s evil became obvious. But the Council of Provinces had held the adolescent marriage to be legal and Rejiia’s husband governor of her province.
The three lords encamped beyond the next line of hills were an odd confederation to lead an army. None of them had ever shown interest in the arts of war before.
Jaylor puzzled over the implications, listening to the small sounds of night life in a military camp. He swung his vision around the perimeter of pickets and steed lines, tents, and provision sledges. One more large pavilion stood off to the side, but still within the perimeter of the camp, as if seeking privacy and protection at the same time. The royal banner of a dragon outlined in gold against a midnight blue field su
rrounded by silver stars flew from the ridgepole. A golden wolf stood in the comer of the flag.
Darville’s personal emblem. The presence of the king explained the other three banners. None of those lords would be willing to remain idle in the palace when there was a chance to kiss royal ass in the field.
The tent flap opened and a shadowy figure slipped out into the fresh night air. A tall man, broad of shoulder, slim of hip, stretched and yawned. King Darville. Jaylor’s best friend.
As Jaylor watched, the king walked to the perimeter, speaking with each of the guards. Darville’s personal contact with his soldiers had won their loyalty and made him a better general.
Why would Darville bring his army within two days’ ride of where Jaylor and the Commune hid from the Council of Provinces?
Jaylor yawned and stretched. He couldn’t think straight until he’d indulged in some much needed sleep. Darville would never deliberately harm him. Time enough to puzzle this out in the morning.
He thought of Brevelan’s warm body and inviting arms. Already he ached to hold her tight against his chest and sleep with her sweet scent filling him with her serenity and calm.
Hilza coughed and coughed again. Katrina looked up from her newest lace pattern to check her sister. Hilza’s thin body collapsed jerkily with each new spasm. Dots of sweat popped out on the little girl’s brow though the workroom was icy. The kitchen fires that heated the whole house had been extinguished right after a meager breakfast of thin porridge, in order to conserve firewood.
Hilza coughed again, nearly choking from lack of breath. Maaben dropped her tablet of figures and dashed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Distantly, Katrina heard the front door bang shut. She knew that Maaben would seek refuge from the stress of little food and less heat, of sickness and short tempers, with Tante Syllia and Oncle Yon. Their relatives welcomed Maaben, fed and cosseted her, where they rebuffed the rest of the family. King Simeon’s displeasure with P’pa had extended to anyone seen assisting the Kaantille family.
Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Page 72
