The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1

by Irene Radford

  I alone will bring about the end of the domination of mankind by the dragons and their evil minions, the magicians.

  I shall miss my friend Glenndon, though my lovely tells me I need no friends but her and her consorts. And Glenndon is a magician through and through. I cannot leave him alive to challenge me for the throne.

  And Linda . . . ? My beloved Linda. I must find a way to keep her safe.

  CHAPTER 42

  GLENNDON LOOKED HASTILY over his shoulder to make sure Linda had not followed as Da led him deep into the tunnels in search of the archives of magical texts. For once in her spoiled life she had obeyed the strict admonition to remain safely in her room and keep Lillian with her. She had obeyed, under vehement protest, only because she had an important task at hand.

  Da needed the flywacket to help him with something once they found the hidden room. Lillian would remain separated from her twin for only a short time. Where they journeyed tonight presented danger, a danger Da would not subject Lillian to.

  And if Linda stayed behind, then Lucjemm would too. As much as Glenndon liked Lucjemm, thought of him as a friend, he was mind-blind. This chore did not belong to or involve him.

  When Glenndon turned his attention back to following Da, keeping his eyes on the small circle of illumination provided by the magical glow ball in Da’s hand, Lyman joined them from a side tunnel. He chirruped a greeting and trotted easily ahead of them, nose twitching from side to side, tail up but only half bristled, ears flicking back and forth. Not much would get past his senses unnoticed.

  “Not far now,” Da said quietly. He followed a faint ley line. This close to the Well it should be thicker and fatter. The abundance of lines did not mean they gained potency or size.

  For a moment Glenndon despaired that they would ever restore magic to its rightful place in Coronnan.

  Then he remembered that Da had led him beneath the river and he couldn’t breathe. The thought of all that water above them seemed to crush his lungs.

  Surely Da would not allow that to happen. He was the most powerful magician in all of Kardia Hodos. He could keep the walls from collapsing. If Glenndon helped him. Could any amount of magic keep the crumbling stones intact? They didn’t have enough magic; not with the ley lines running so deep and the Tambootie trees losing potency and the dragons failing to thrive and breed . . .

  “Stop stalling, Glenndon. These tunnels have stood for almost a thousand years. They won’t collapse now,” Da said angrily.

  “A . . . a thousand years? What keeps the mortar intact?”

  “Old-fashioned technology from the times of the Stargods. Keep up now, we’re almost there. Old Baamin showed this place to me once, before he died. The turnings are complicated and hard to find. I’ll get lost trying to find you if you don’t keep up.”

  Lyman let out a squeak that could have been suppressed laughter.

  Glenndon forced himself to memorize the maze Da entered. Right, right, left, left, ignore six side tunnels which all carried a rune of no exit, then left again and two quick rights that took them almost into a complete circle. His sense of direction faltered. This deep belowground his contact with the magnetic pole dimmed to unreliability.

  “Ah, here it is,” Da said on a note of triumph.

  Lyman pushed his nose against one of the ubiquitous ragged cracks that outlined a door. He snuffed in an affronted manner. He should be able to open the thing.

  Da laughed at his indignation. “When you come back to us as your true self, you will be able to open this door, Valeria.”

  Black fur bristled. Whoever was in that body didn’t quite believe him.

  Da placed his right hand on the proper stone and pushed. This entrance was meant for magicians with dominant right hands, not kings who preferred the left.

  The door creaked and groaned as it swung on its pivot. Glenndon had become used to the noise and the motion. Indeed, if it had been silent, he’d have questioned its placement and the recent lubrication of its hinges. Lyman darted into the room as soon as the opening was sufficient to allow his body to pass, nose twitching wildly.

  “Lyman knows what we need. He’ll lead Valeria to it quicker than I could find it,” Da said. “I hope she remembers when she becomes human again.”

  Glenndon peeked through the opening in amazement. Da stood near the door, glow ball extended to ignite some form of illumination in the ceiling. The archives in the palace tower were big, three stories of books on shelves around the wall and on freestanding shelves.

  This room dwarfed that collection by a factor of four. The shelves stretched inward for half a mile, at least, farther than he could see in the dim light. And it smelled dry. Dry as dust. Not a bit of mold anywhere.

  “How are they preserved?” he asked, pushing past Jaylor to scan the titles on the first available shelf to the left of the door.

  “Magic, what else?” Da cocked his head and raised an eyebrow with mischief sparkling in his eyes. “We took as much as we could at the Leaving, but that is only a fraction of what remains. Many more texts were lost in the Burning during Nimbulan’s last years. The head of the University at the time decided all references to solitary, rogue magic had to be eliminated. A clever journeyman who went rogue rather than follow the man of limited vision hid books before the fire started and stole many others right out of the flames. He added more books over the years as he found them. I believe he put the stasis spell on them. The books waited, and waited, until they were needed again. Old Baamin discovered the place. He and Ambassador Jack renewed the spells. I added my own bit of preservation when Old Baamin died.” Da hung his head in respect for a beloved mentor and friend.

  “Strangely, the original rogue magician had a red and blue braid as his signature too. He might have been an ancestor of mine.”

  “I think Lyman found something,” Glenndon alerted Jaylor.

  “So he has. I think Lyman may have added texts over the centuries as well. What I want is a letter written long, long ago by Kimmer, a scribe of the South. It meant little or nothing to me at the time. Now it might give us some clues about the Well of Life.” Da reached down to take a thin scroll tied with blue ribbon from Lyman’s mouth, much like from a dog returning a fetched stick.

  “I am entrusting this place to you now, Glenndon. You must make sure its existence remains secret and renew the spells as necessary.”

  Glenndon gulped in awe of the huge responsibility the Senior Magician and Chancellor of the University, his Da, entrusted to him.

  “What does it say?” he croaked around the lump in his throat.

  “The light is too dim and the ink faded. I think we need to find some place above, but private, to read it.” Da rubbed his eyes like they hurt or were greatly fatigued.

  “Let me see if I can make sense of it, since you won’t admit that your eyes are aging.” Glenndon held out his hand for the scroll. At the same time he conjured a glow ball of his own, bigger and brighter than the one Jaylor held. “We can’t get more private than this place.”

  Da gave it to him without protest, almost with relief that they might be able to decipher it here, where it was protected and they had no audience.

  Glenndon unrolled the first bit and scanned the writing. It looked perfectly clear to him, even if the script was old-fashioned. He cleared his throat and began reading the words of a man who had lived in the time of the Stargods. Some believed he might have been one of the three divine brothers. Others dismissed such a blasphemous notion. He was only named for the youngest of the three.

  My dearest brothers,

  I have safely returned to my beloved Coronnan and to the clearing.

  Glenndon skimmed a long bit about family, love, and travels to places he’d never heard of. Then a phrase caught his attention.

  As for the devastation caused by Hanassa and her
delusions of dragonhood . . . The river valley recovers slowly from the raw magical energy poured upon it through the iron pipe. Years, nay, decades must past before the area in and around the delta returns to its former lush productivity.

  I have noted depletion of the ley lines. I do not know if the lines will recover or not. The dragons do not know either. They grieve at the destruction of so many Tambootie trees. They retreat to their mountain lairs, refusing to breed until the trees return to feed them. I believe the element contained within the Tambootie that is essential to the dragons is unknown to modern science.

  Adieu,

  Your loving brother,

  Kimmer

  P.S. the baby does indeed have the O’Hara blue eyes. Tell Mother that her first grandchild looks just like her.

  “Da, does—does this me—mean what I think it means?” Glenndon asked. His ability to speak complete sentences deserted him with his disbelief in what he read. It couldn’t be. And yet here were the words written by . . .

  “I think it does, Glenndon. Kimmer, the simple scribe of the South was one of the Stargods, and they devised the clearing with its protective barrier opened by a song.” He sounded shaken.

  “And the blue eyes? Many magicians have midnight blue eyes, they seem dominant among us. Does that mean we are all descended from the Stargods?”

  “That would seem to be the implication. None of it made sense when I was twenty. Now I’m afraid the rest of the letter tells us the dangers we face. We have to get that iron pole out of the Well. Quickly. But carefully. Who knows what kind of firestorm will erupt with the removal.”

  “May we sit for a moment?” Glenndon pushed his Da toward a stone bench against a wall between two stacks of shelves. It looked as if it was meant for a casual reader to peruse documents.

  Jaylor heaved a sigh of relief as he rested his back and knees. “I don’t know if quickly is fast enough to get that pole out. But with all of the energy coursing through it, you and I will not be enough to contain it and push it back where it belongs.”

  Lyman rubbed his face against his leg and purred. Idly Jaylor reached down and scratched between fuzzy ears. “Yes, I know that Lyman has much knowledge to help. It’s raw muscle and joined talents we need.”

  “You must bring the Circle of Master Magicians here to Coronnan City. Now. As fast as we can summon them and they can transport,” Glenndon said.

  “I cannot trust all of them. I fear Samlan has taken many of our best and most learned members . . . and set up a rival circle elsewhere. He might sabotage our efforts for sake of revenge.”

  “Are there journeymen you can promote to master? We need numbers and loyalty more than skill.”

  Da’s eyes lighted. Some of the weariness passed away. “Yes. And the first promotion will be yours. Tonight you must row over to Sacred Isle and in the morning find your journeyman’s staff.”

  Excitement leaped through Glenndon. His hands started shaking the rolled parchment until it rattled. “You know, Da, if I am a journeyman magician, I cannot become king.”

  “Do you want to become king?” Da arched one eyebrow again.

  “No. I never did. I came to my father out of duty.”

  “I know, son.” Da clasped his shoulder with deep affection. “But your presence here will give the king and his daughter time. That is all we truly wanted from you. Time. Besides, you and I need be the only ones who know of your status.”

  “But I will be a true journeyman?”

  “Yes. And I give you that promotion with pride. You have earned it. And this sojourn in Coronnan will be your journey. Now let’s get back to the palace. We have much to do.” He rose from the bench. The lights dimmed.

  “The letter, Da?” Glenndon asked.

  “We leave it here. One more secret among many that magicians must carry in their hearts.”

  CHAPTER 43

  DARVILLE SEEMINGLY STROLLED around the palace grounds. General Marcelle impatiently matched his strides to the king’s. “We must maintain the appearance of calm,” Darville said out of the side of his mouth. “We are prepared. No need to transfer our concerns to the others.”

  Fred, Darville’s silent bodyguard, moved easily two steps behind and to the right, leaving the king’s dominant left hand free to wield the broadsword he wore easily. They were all well armed since the sightings of rebel troops massing on the mainland near Battle Mound. An army that reportedly grew by the hour with peasants who feared magic more than death and retainers ordered to arm and march whether they wanted to or not.

  Fred kept one hand on his sword grip, the other fingering a wicked-looking dagger. A dozen throwing stars bristled from his leather jerkin. Darville was willing to bet he wore mail beneath the fine linen of his shirt. He knew the leather thong entwined with his three-strand queue was well knotted and tipped with metal weights to become another weapon.

  “I found no trace of the shop with the eggs at the back of Market Isle,” Fred said quietly. “I left two men in civilian dress to watch for a return of the owner. In case he departed in a hurry at first whisper of royal Guards on the island.”

  Darville nodded acknowledgment.

  “I have ten squads patrolling the city. They are checking and oiling the latches on every bridge, even the rarely used ones that look as if they have fallen into disrepair but haven’t,” Marcelle replied. His gaze flicked right and left, taking in details, noting shadows out of place and malingerers.

  Darville noted them too as he surveyed the massive gates at the primary entrance to the royal household.

  Fred saw more, he had no doubt. The bodyguard had trained for nearly two decades to see what others dismissed.

  “I want archers in and atop every one of the towers. Keen observers along with them who can also maintain firepots.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve already ordered firepots taken to every observation point.”

  “And summon the FarSeers from the port.” He knew the port authorities secretly kept a team on hand.

  “Done, Your Grace, though I haven’t heard back from the Port Master. He may insist on an actual order from you to admit he has men and women who use magic to see beyond the horizon.”

  Their path took them around the training arena. The enclosed courtyard was full of men drilling while waiting their turn to bout. They honed sword edges, adjusted the balance of throwing axes, or lifted and thrust spears into bales of hay. Some practiced throwing battle stars into a target; from either hand, sideways, even backward.

  “I don’t see Lucjemm,” Darville said. Disquiet made the space between his shoulder blades itch.

  “He requested permission to accompany Her Highness into the city. I made certain he was well armed,” Fred replied.

  “Why has Linda gone shopping? I thought she’d want to be here, training to defend her mother and sisters if we are attacked.” Darville paused, staring at the sword fights without really seeing them.

  “Are you certain she is shopping?” Marcelle asked.

  “Knowing Her Highness, I suspect she is patrolling in her own way, checking the state of the city, looking for possible weaknesses,” Fred added. He’d escorted the royal daughters into the markets often enough to know their routines.

  “Of course. She has grown up so much this year I sometimes forget that she has a mind of her own. Miri and Chastet have become little more than decorations that mask her true purpose.”

  “Her Highness is more than a girl. A young woman now, a beautiful young woman with thoughts of romance and her own destiny troubling her.” Fred looked uncomfortable with that admission.

  “Every time she saunters off on her own mission, I wish for my obedient little girl again. She is worrisome.”

  Fred snorted. “She has never been obedient, except when it suits her purpose.”

 
“And Prince Glenndon? He should be here too,” Marcelle added. He looked uncomfortable discussing the princess so intimately.

  “I sent my son on an errand.” Darville replied.

  Marcelle opened his mouth ready with new questions.

  “A private errand that does not concern you.” At least that was how Jaylor had explained their secret foray into the tunnels deep beneath the city.

  “You’ll like Market Isle,” Linda said gently to Lillian. She kept a firm grip on the other girl’s hand as they walked briskly toward the bridge that separated Palace Isle from Ambassador’s Isle. Miri and Chastet lingered slightly behind them. Linda pushed aside the guilt that crept toward her heart. She’d neglected her two friends badly these past few weeks, spending most of her time adventuring with Glenndon and Lucjemm.

  Her ladies just weren’t as interesting as the two young men. Especially Glenndon, who had become closer to her than her sisters since their minds had blended during the magic spell. Lucjemm offered her a chance at settling her eligibility to inherit the crown. If only she could be sure he’d rule beside her and not try to take the crown away from her.

  “How do you keep from getting lost?” Lillian asked, trying to turn around and around to get her bearings. A spark of interest flashed across her eyes, the first time they’d brightened since her twin had become a flywacket.

  “Easy. The palace is at the center of the islands, the largest of them,” Miri said haughtily, as if the question were stupid.

  “Market Isle is to the east, closest to the ports on the Bay,” Chastet added, equally dismissive of their young charge in a simple homespun dress.

  There are no stupid questions, only stupid people who refuse to ask when they need to know something. Papa’s words came back to Linda from a long-ago lesson in politics.

  “We grew up here.” Linda tried to soften Miri’s haughty attitude. “We learned the arrangement of the city bit by bit as we explored in wider and wider circles. I bet you can find your way through the forests at your home where we would be totally lost.” She glared at her two ladies, ready to send them packing if they continued with this . . . this jealousy.