The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1

by Irene Radford

  CHAPTER 48

  “TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH TO GET HERE!” Lucjemm protested. The splash of his quarry hitting the bottom of the trap was most satisfactory. He listened to Glenndon thrash about, cursing as fluently as any soldier. How long before he tired and drowned?

  “Ah, yes, my lovely, you think the pit we dug, with the help of your mates, and filled with water from the pond is deep enough. I am not so sure. My enemy who should have been my friend is tall, taller than I.”

  “Lucjemm? Is that you? You aren’t supposed to be here. But I’m glad you are. Help me get out.”

  “Oh, no, my friend. That isn’t allowed. You see, I have studied magicians and their rituals for a long time. I know about this supposedly sacred trial. You must do it alone.”

  “Alone on an undisturbed island. But it has been disturbed. Therefore the rules don’t apply. Help me out and we’ll find out who has profaned . . .”

  “Profaned!” Lucjemm protested. “Don’t you know how the Stargods profaned life on Kardia Hodos? That isn’t even the proper name of this world. But it works. Path of the Heart. But whose heart?” Lucjemm’s voice rose in volume until it echoed against the ring of aromatic trees.

  “Yes, my lovely. Your heart. You are the heart of this world.” He petted the weapon coiled about his neck.

  The snake lifted her head and hissed, demanding the blood of their enemy. Before he drowns, she insisted. She needed living blood to grow and thrive so that she could join with her adoring mates.

  “Soon, my lovely, soon you will truly be the matriarch of this world, mother of two dozen or more of your kind. Soon, soon, I will smooth the way for them to remove the excess water from the land,” he crooned to her, momentarily forgetting the prey in the ditch while he exulted in his plans.

  “Only when Coronnan is a desert will the dragons die and leave us free of their despoiling magic.”

  “You idiot!” Glenndon bellowed. “You say you hate magic, but that damned snake is a creature of magic, cousin to the dragons.”

  “Lies! Lies born of the dragons. Lies perverted by dragon magic,” Lucjemm yelled back. “Water is the bane of my lovely and her kind. She cannot grow to her full potential with all of this water. Water captured by the dragons. While there is water, the dragons thrive. The time has come for the one to give way to the other. In removing the water, we will also remove the magicians and the magic, force them to flee to another part of the world, or die.” He shouted his litany to the skies.

  “I am an idiot. I thought you were my friend,” Glenndon spat at him. “I trusted you. I looked the other way when you courted my sister. You have betrayed your king, your country . . .” he lowered his voice to a hiss that stabbed Lucjemm through his mind to his heart. “You have betrayed me, your friend.”

  “All magicians must die,” Lucjemm said, repeating the words his pet spoke directly into his mind. Not magic speech, intimate speech. “My lovely says so. You are a magician first and my friend later, so you are the first to die. You betrayed me by having magic and using it. Magic must die too.”

  “Without magic or magicians, the dragons will fade away to dust,” Glenndon muttered. He sounded like he was thinking aloud.

  “They are the true enemy,” Lucjemm confirmed. He liked Glenndon. Perhaps if he converted his friend to proper thinking he could save him.

  The snake hissed a vehement negative. He sighed in disappointment. “My weapons and I shall hasten the demise of magic and magicians. Nearly all is in place now.”

  Glenndon thrashed and splashed about some more. Some of the filthy water drops touched his pet on her spread wings. She hissed in pain. Tiny burn holes ate at her skin.

  “Now look what you’ve done! For that I should kill you right away. Most horribly. With fire. The opposite of water.” He petted the snake, easing her agitation as well as his own.

  “Die quickly, Magician. I shall console your sister in her grief. You see, you weren’t ready for promotion to journeyman after all. And without you, the king has no heir. Only I can make order out of the chaos he leaves the kingdom in. Order. Dry order. That is the purpose of life.”

  “You are insane,” Glenndon muttered. “Your pets have clouded your mind with lies. You lie just like them.”

  “We speak the truth. You and your kind have not matured enough to know the truth from lies.”

  “I could say the same about you!” Glenndon called. His words bore magic, trying to pierce the protective bubble his lovely granted him.

  “I have no more need of you, Prince Glenndon.” Lucjemm strolled away, stroking his lovely, whistling a sprightly tune that was certain to win the love of his princess. “She will love me when she has no brother to lead her astray. She will love me as my mother, Lady Lucinda, once loved my father. But he destroyed that. Destroyed her. And she did not love me enough to take me with her when she ran away to the magicians.”

  “I am afraid she must die along with the magicians for she did not love me enough.”

  Only my princess can truly love me enough.

  Lyman is planning something, Valeria whispered to Lillian in the dark stretches of the night, after Da fell asleep in his chair. She shifted her cat body a little, stretching three of her legs. Her right hip was still sore, a sharp ache that traveled along her spine and made her wings pop in and out with each muscle spasm. She was tired, much in need of sleep. The queen’s herbal tea helped a little, but did not allow her to overcome her spinning mind and grant her healing sleep.

  “How do you know?” Lillian asked. She hummed a familiar tune as she stroked Valeria’s back. Warmth and love spilled from her fingers and her song. The aches and pains eased but did not go away. Not yet.

  Perhaps Lillian had found her true talent at last. She could be a healer even if she worked no other magic. Mama had been a healer long before she learned how to do other magic.

  I learned a lot from Lyman since we transformed. I shared his mind even when he was not talking to me. He knows how to fix the flagpole and the Well of Life.

  “We need to tell Da.” Lillian swung her legs off the bed they shared in an alcove at the back of the suite occupied by the younger princesses.

  A maid’s room, the royal girls had informed them haughtily. A more luxurious and softer mattress than they shared at home, a lot more private, too. Though the entire palace was colder and draftier than their snug cabin.

  Not yet, Valeria moaned.

  “But . . . we have a responsibility.”

  We have to wait until morning. Lyman has to persuade Old Maisy of his plan first, whatever it is. He cannot act without a body to move him from here to there, or apply leverage to that flagpole.

  “Do you think she really loved him long ago?”

  I know he loved her.

  “Where are they now?” Lillian asked. “We should talk to them.”

  We can’t trust Lyman. He’s so old he’s lost his sense of . . . of morals. Da put Maisy somewhere in the palace with magical wards on the room. I think she needs some time alone with Lyman. Maisy needs time to remind him of what he should do, not just what he wants to do.

  “You’re probably right. We’ll tell Da what you know first thing in the morning. Now we should get some sleep.”

  I hope I can sleep. Can you sing Mama’s favorite lullaby?

  Soothing words on a lilting three count filled the tiny room.

  Valeria finally drifted off to sleep dreaming of flying, for real this time, not the half memory of her dragon-dream.

  She woke with a start. All around her, silence enfolded the palace. She listened with her enhanced cat senses for sounds of life. Outside a soldier walked his weary patrol, coughing out dust. His boots scraped the stone parapet. Atop a turret a FarSeer blinked and blinked again, unsure if he truly saw movement along the river or not. Deep in the dungeons
Old Maisy and Lyman shared angry thoughts.

  Then far away and very weak she heard the plea that had awakened her: Tell the king not to trust Lucjemm. Tell Linda not to trust him. A long pause. Tell Mama and Da that I love them.

  Glenndon! she screeched.

  She had to help him. But what could she do, injured and crippled, unable to fly. Unable to walk.

  She had to do something.

  Maybe now was the time to wake Da.

  Darville’s body ached with fatigue from toes to crown. Yet he knew sleep would elude him once more.

  He emptied his goblet of a last swallow, dregs mostly, but couldn’t bring himself to spit out the bitter bits. The rough liquor had made him sleepy but had not countered the worry in his brain.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. Unable to banish his weariness, he rested his head in his palms, elbows propped firmly upon his desk—a huge piece of furniture that could be both sanctuary and prison. Tonight it felt like a dank cell deep in the dungeon, like the one where Jaylor had set guards and wards to watch Old Maisy and her unwelcome guest, Magician Lyman.

  Fred had roused from his own fitful doze to sit beside his king, dutiful and responsible as ever. Darville had told him to sleep in the hall outside his office, or go back to bed. To be anywhere but here.

  For once, the king needed very much to be alone.

  Rather than allow his mind to spin through an endless loop of despair, he unrolled a map of the city, firmly anchoring each corner with an object from his desk. He focused on small details, banishing the muzziness in his head. A fanciful rendition of the palace with its towers and turrets surrounding the old keep, dotted with courtyards and gardens, sat in the middle of the map, even though the exact placement among the myriad of delta islands was slightly to the southeast of the middle. Smaller Ambassador Isle actually occupied that central place in reality. Still, the map was as accurate as his cartographers could make it.

  Tediously he consulted a report listing each of the bridges his troops had inspected and either found sound or repaired. Most only needed a new dose of Amazon oil on the latches and hinges. A few needed rickety planks replaced. He’d ordered they remain unrepaired. The populace knew about the wear and tear. An invading army might not. He compared the list to the map and made check marks in appropriate places.

  His people had been thorough. This city was their home, after all, and they had a vested interest in keeping rebellious lords from carrying their disagreement with the king to fighting in the streets.

  Then he checked the faint tracery of gray lines indicating tunnels he and Jaylor knew about. Incomplete knowledge at best. He’d devoted years to exploring them as a teen. Jaylor had continued the job for him as a young man. Still they had not followed every branch or turning. Sometimes he wondered if the foundations of the city had been compromised with all that tunneling. He didn’t dare think too hard about it. Apprehension would drive him to seek refuge elsewhere. Or in the cask of beta arrack.

  He had nowhere else safe to take his family, except possibly the new University in the Southern Mountains—if Jaylor remained in charge after he broke the circle in the face of rebellion. By seeking refuge there, he’d effectively abdicate his throne and leave all the lords fighting to the death to fill the vacancy.

  But the lords alone would not suffer in such a war. His people would suffer. They were suffering because he couldn’t organize relief efforts for the drought that threatened many of the Provinces.

  He turned his attention to the hills marked on the map and the places where the FarSeers and his scouts had seen movement. Surrounded. He was surrounded by hostile lords and their armies.

  The worst any king could imagine was about to happen.

  When had he lost control? Long before he’d broken the Council of Provinces. Long before he’d given up hope of Mikka giving him a son.

  “Darville?” Mikka asked sleepily from the inner doorway. “You should be in bed. You need rest,” she added, moving gracefully and silently toward him.

  “You are right. But too much troubles my mind.”

  “Let me brew you a cup of herbal tea. I can make a mild infusion that will relax you. More than the beta arrack you have become too fond of.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his face where it had escaped his queue.

  “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Mikka. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  “Only a few hours ago. But you can never say it too much or too often.” She kissed his brow. “I love you too. And I fear for your health if you do not sleep.”

  “Then prepare your posset, my love. I’ll welcome a few hours of rest. These maps and reports tell me nothing I don’t already know.”

  “Dawn and a new spate of troubles are not far away. Come back to bed.”

  He let her take his hand and haul him to his feet. He wrapped an arm around her waist and took one step away from the desk.

  “You needn’t run away from me,” an oily voice said from the interior doorway. Someone who could only have entered the private chambers of the royal family by the secret tunnel system.

  The slight man, or tall woman, remained shadowed, little more substantial than a silhouette. Darville couldn’t discern much from the voice. Husky, educated, malicious.

  He pushed Mikka behind him and reached for his dagger. He’d replaced the useless ceremonial piece with a stout weapon balanced for stabbing, too heavy for accurate throwing. But he had a solid pewter inkwell and a sand canister. If only he could reach them . . .

  Mikka slid the sander into his questing hand, anticipating his needs before he’d thought them through.

  “Now, now, there’s no need for weapons here. My lovely tells me her bite won’t hurt much at all.” Lucjemm emerged from the shadows stroking a writhing black snake coiled around his neck and down his forearm. It waved its wedge-head, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air. A red gleam brightened its eyes. A shift of light clouded the edges of Darville’s vision. He could no longer see the snake or Lucjemm clearly. But the doorway behind him, the colors in the carpet, the details of the tapestries snapped into focus.

  Then Darville’s stomach sank. The beast had six leathery wings. Krakatrice.

  Behind him, Mikka gasped in fear as the snake slithered down the boy’s arm, freeing itself of his neck.

  He could see now that the beast was thicker than Lucjemm’s upper arm—arms made strong with many hours of practice with broadsword and spear.

  “The queen?” Lucjemm asked the snake, still petting it, seeming to relish the length of the creature. “You want the queen’s blood. The king’s is more valuable even if hers is more powerful with magic. You must satisfy yourself with the king. I promise you’ll have magic from Jaylor, or one of his daughters.”

  “And I thought I could trust you. ’Twasn’t your mother who made you feed the snakes. You did it willingly. Tell me, is your mother even still alive?” Darville taunted the boy, knowing full well she lived. “Or did you feed her to your pets?”

  “Leave my mother out of this!” The boy screamed. “This has nothing to do with my mother, or my father. This is between you and me, and my lovely.” He calmed instantly and petted the female Krakatrice once more, hand blurred within a strange distortion of light around him.

  While the young man seemed preoccupied with soothing his loathsome pet, Darville threw the sander.

  Lucjemm caught it neatly; his hand reached through the cloudiness and became clearly visible for those brief seconds. “Now that wasn’t nice, Your Grace. Not nice at all.”

  The snake lurched, fangs dripping venom.

  Darville dove beneath the desk, pushing Mikka ahead of him. He was fast, even with a half-befuddled head.

  The snake was faster. His arm burned from elbow to wrist as star-spangled darkness pushed at his peripher
al vision.

  The alarm bell gonged. Once, pause, five short peals. An enemy army approached the first bridges of the city islands.

  Heavy steps pounded along the main corridor. “Your Grace!” Jaylor yelled. “Darville!”

  “Such an untimely interruption, Your Grace. Next time. We’ll finish this next time.” Lucjemm faded into the shadows of the interior room.

  Darville heard the grind of a closing portal before Jaylor slammed his broad body into the wooden door of the office.

  The alarm sounded again. Twice, pause, five short peals. The army had breached the first bridges from both sides of the mainland.

  Then nothing. He sank deep into a burning blackness that ate at his arm and his soul.

  CHAPTER 49

  “DON’T YOU DARE DIE on me!” Mikka demanded.

  Darville clawed his way out of the darkness toward the light that was his Mikka. How could he ignore the woman who had stood by his side, borne his children, and loved him for half his life? She’d been his partner when he was a wolf and she a cat. She’d helped him survive many times since.

  Once again he entrusted his life to her. Stargods, he wished he could move more than his eyelids. The words of love he wanted to say to her wouldn’t move past the numbness in his lips.

  He had to content himself with looking at her beloved face. Worry deepened the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. He needed to soothe them away with hands that wouldn’t move.

  “Jaylor, you have to save him,” she implored.

  Ah, yes, Jaylor had interrupted Lucjemm, probably saved Mikka’s life, if not Darville’s. If only he could move . . .

  A difference in the quality of darkness pushing at his vision from the sides revealed a hulk kneeling at his side.

  “Help me pull him out into the light,” Jaylor said.

  The darkness made sense now. Darville had dived beneath the desk to protect himself and Mikka. Mikka seemed to have escaped the lunging attack by the snake. As long as Mikka was safe . . .