The duchess led them toward the rear of the palace. They left the grand chamber by way of a tunnel, entering a part of the palace that had been designed to more nearly resemble the caves that had once been the dragons’ homes. The chambers were much smaller than the grand chamber, with no windows and no furniture. The floor was dirt, packed as hard as stone.
“Dragons sleep here,” said Father Jacob to Sir Ander. “Despite building these grand palaces, dragons are only comfortable sleeping in small, enclosed chambers. The nursery would be here, as well. I’m surprised we don’t see any young dragons. The duke and duchess are of breeding age.”
The chambers were cool and airless, with a very strong odor of dragon. Sir Ander was once more extremely thankful he was sleeping in his own comfortable bed in the yacht.
Drohmir led them to a chamber in the very back of the palace. The chamber had no doors; apparently dragons had no need for privacy. She asked that Father Jacob and Sir Ander wait in the hall until she checked on the elderly dragon.
“He may be asleep,” she said. “If so, you will need to wait until he wakes. Rousing Vroathagn from a deep slumber is quite impossible.”
Drohmir advanced and peered into the darkness. “Ah, good. He is awake. Vroathagn, you have visitors. An old friend of yours, Father Jacob Northrop, would like to speak with you. He is accompanied by his Knight Protector, Sir Ander Martel.”
She moved aside to allow Father Jacob and Sir Ander to pass. They entered the chamber, which was snug and warm. Fine paintings hung on the walls: landscapes portraying the mountains that had once been the ancient homeland. A thick bed of fresh straw cushioned the old dragon’s gnarled limbs and aching joints. The duke and duchess were making certain their faithful servant’s final days were filled with comfort.
Vroathagn raised his head. His body was failing him, his wings useless, his limbs shriveled. His scales were quite gray and falling off, leaving bare patches of flesh. His eyes were clear and bright, however, and very shrewd.
“Father Jacob, how pleasant to see you again,” said Vroathagn in a dry, rattling voice. “You were one of the good sort of humans. Always so polite and good natured. Easy to serve. Never one to complain.”
Sir Ander raised an eyebrow, wondering if the dragon had the priest confused with someone else.
“Vroathagn, Sir Ander and I have traveled a long way on a matter of great importance. I came to see the duke, only to find he is gone. The duchess thought you might be able to help.”
“I will be of service if I can, Father,” said Vroathagn.
“A nun named Sister Marie Allemand came to visit the duke’s father. She would have been accompanied by several Knight Protectors. Do you recall meeting her or hearing stories of her?”
Vroathagn listened intently, his eyes fixed on the priest. He nodded slowly. “I remember her. She was here before the Time of Storm and Sorrow and she came again several years later, after the storms had abated.”
Sir Ander wondered what the Time of Storm and Sorrow was, then realized the dragon must mean what humans know as the Dark Ages.
“She was here prior to the Time of Storm and Sorrow?” Father Jacob asked, startled.
“Sister Marie and her friends—a group of priests. Their names were … let me see … Father Dennis, Father Michael, Father Charles, and Father Xavier. They came here to study.”
“Father Xavier,” Father Jacob repeated with a glance at Sir Ander. “You have an excellent memory. What were the five studying?”
“The roed and the raeg,” Vroathagn said.
“What is that?” Father Jacob asked.
Before the old dragon could answer, the duchess made a rumbling sound in her chest. Her claws scraped the stone floor, her tail thumped against one of the walls.
“We were discussing a nun, I think,” said the duchess. Her tone was cool, no longer quite as hospitable.
Father Jacob took the hint. “Please continue, Vroathagn.”
“There is not much more to tell, Father. Sister Marie and her companions spent many months here. They wrote down what they learned and took the books with them when they left.”
Sir Ander was about to ask what was in the books. Father Jacob stopped him with a look.
“Sister Marie returned some years later, you said,” said Father Jacob.
Vroathagn gave a soft, sad sigh.
“Sister Marie had changed a great deal. I remember the duke saying he would not have known her. When she was here the first time, she was always talking, always laughing. She and her friends were excited by what they were learning. Good friends, they were. Very close. When she came here again, after the Great Rending sank the island, Sister Marie was old beyond her years and seemed weighted down by grief. She had lost the gift of laughter.”
“What happened to the books?” asked Father Jacob. “She left them here with you. What became of them?”
Vroathagn’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about the books, Father? Sister Marie said they were secret.”
“Saint Marie told me about the books, Vroathagn,” Father Jacob said. “The books on contramagic.”
“Take care, Vroathagn,” the duchess warned.
Father Jacob understood her perturbation. “I know this subject is a sensitive one, Your Grace. A subject you dragons do not like to discuss openly—”
“The subject is not sensitive to us, Father,” said Drohmir sharply. “You humans are the ones who have forbidden us to speak of it.”
“A terrible mistake with tragic consequences,” said Father Jacob. “A mistake I am trying to correct, if I am not too late. Saint Marie wrote about the books in her Confession.”
He drew out the small book from his pocket to show the dragon. He quoted the words from memory. “‘I saw the terrible evil we had caused and I was going to destroy the books that contained our research. Then I realized that the knowledge was not evil. The evil lay in men and what we did with that knowledge. I have decided to take the books on contramagic to my friend, the Duke of Talwin, for safekeeping until the day when humanity gains wisdom.’”
Vroathagn closed his eyes and Sir Ander feared the old dragon might have fallen asleep.
“Her very words. I can almost hear her voice.” The dragon’s eyes flared open. “No one knew about the books, not even Sister Marie’s Knight Protectors. She told the Knights the strongbox they carried contained sacred relics. She gave the books to the old duke for safekeeping.”
“I would like very much to have them,” said Father Jacob. “I believe Saint Marie led me here for that purpose.”
Vroathagn eyed him shrewdly. “Have you gained in wisdom as she says, Father?”
“I hope I have, Vroathagn,” Father Jacob replied in grave tones. “I need to understand contramagic.”
He turned to the duchess. “You have agents in the human kingdoms, Your Grace. You know we are under attack from a foe that is skilled in the use of contramagic. They have created contramagic weapons that have proven devastating to us and to dragons, as well.”
“We were speaking of books, Father,” said the duchess coldly. “Tell him where to find them, Vroathagn.”
“I will be glad to tell you, Father,” said Vroathagn. “If you give me the key.”
“Key? What key?” Father Jacob demanded.
“Sister Marie told the duke that the one who came for the books would have the key.”
“Key! I have no key!” Father Jacob said in frustration. “What key could she mean? Unless there was a key with her when she was killed. If so, it has long since been lost.”
He ran his hand through his hair, knocking off the biretta. Sir Ander retrieved it. Father Jacob paid no heed. He stood frowning at the floor.
“Key … What could that be … Ah-ha!” he shouted in triumph.
He opened the book to the first page and showed it to Sir Ander. Beneath the words, “My Confessions,” Saint Marie had written the phrase, “The key to my soul.”
Father Jacob showed the book to Vroath
agn.
“That is the key,” said the old dragon. “Sister Marie told the duke the key would lead a wise man to the books. They are in a strongbox banded with iron and locked with magical constructs. The old duke hid the box in the vault beneath the pigsty.”
“I can show you how to find it, Father,” said Drohmir. Having at first been so welcoming, she now appeared eager to be rid of them and willing to do anything to hasten their departure.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Father Jacob.
He thanked Vroathagn, who said he was glad to have been of service.
“A pigsty,” Sir Ander said. “I have to dig a box out of a pigsty.”
“I’ll help,” said Father Jacob.
“Damn right you will,” said Sir Ander.
* * *
Sir Ander did not want to go rooting around a pigsty in his best dress uniform. He was going to return to the yacht to change, but the duchess offered him clothes that had been left behind by some human laborers. Once he had changed, he asked where he could find shovels. The duchess led them first to a toolshed and then to the pigsty, which was located behind the palace. He was relieved to discover there were no pigs.
“We have no one to take care of them anymore,” Drohmir explained. “And I know nothing about pigs.”
Apparently she didn’t know how to clean up the muck either. Sir Ander had to concede that the duke had found an excellent place to conceal a vault.
The duchess said coldly she would leave them to their work. She returned to the palace and soon they heard the sounds of violins. Drohmir was seeking solace in the music.
“I fear I have upset her,” said Father Jacob.
“She certainly didn’t like the talk about contramagic,” said Sir Ander, handing the priest a shovel. “What I still don’t understand is why Saint Marie left the books here. And why did the five priests come to the dragons to study? What were they studying? Dragons?”
“Contramagic,” said Father Jacob. “One of the priests, Saint Michael, came from Ciel-et-terre. He would have been raised around dragons.”
“But what do dragons know about contramagic?”
“Ah, to that I have no answer,” said Father Jacob. He had kilted up the skirts of his cassock. “Help me over the fence.”
Sir Ander and Father Jacob both began to dig where the duchess had indicated. Father Jacob proved to be inept with the shovel and when he accidentally tossed a load of filth onto Sir Ander’s boots, Sir Ander ordered him out of the pigsty.
He had dug down about four feet when the shovel scraped against something hard. Sir Ander cleared away the remaining muck and dirt with his hands and uncovered a stone slab set into the ground. He and Father Jacob squatted down to examine the slab that was locked with magical constructs.
“I hope they used human magic,” said Father Jacob. “If these constructs are dragon magic, I’ll have to ask the duchess to remove them.”
“I think she’s more likely to remove us,” Sir Ander grunted.
Feeling the ground shake, Sir Ander stood up and looked around to see Drohmir coming toward them.
“Have you found anything yet?” she asked.
“We have located the vault, Your Grace,” said Sir Ander.
Father Jacob was on his hands and knees, casting a magical spell on the stone slab. He passed his hand three times over the stone surface and the constructs appeared.
Father Jacob sat back on his heels. He stared at the constructs blankly. Sir Ander gave a low gasp of shock.
Blue sigils gleamed. Green sigils shone. Both together. Green lines of magic intertwined with the blue.
“The roed and the raeg,” said Father Jacob softly, awed. “Magic and contramagic intertwined.”
“That’s impossible,” said Sir Ander.
The shadow of the dragon’s head fell over them.
“Not for us,” said Drohmir. “You were not meant to see this. If I had known the vault was bound by dragon magic, I would not have allowed you to find it.”
Father Jacob rose to his feet, wiping his hands. He faced the dragon. “See what? Contramagic and magic working in union? Why should I not see that?”
“Your concern is these human books. Take them away and ask no more questions. I will remove the constructs, Father,” said Drohmir. She sounded more sorrowful than angry. “Stand aside.”
Moving ponderously, the dragon stared intently at the box. She did not move a claw that Sir Ander could see, yet the glow of constructs, green and blue, began to slowly diminish, and finally faded away altogether. When the dragon had deconstructed the magic, she thrust one claw beneath the heavy stone slab and pried it open.
The vault was about six feet deep. The walls were lined with stone protected by the same magic. The only object in the vault was the strongbox. A crude ladder consisting of a series of iron rungs had been built into one wall.
Father Jacob climbed down the ladder to examine the strongbox, which was locked by magic. He passed his hand over the box. The warding constructs were made by a human, for they gleamed blue and appeared to Sir Ander to be extremely complex. Father Jacob pondered them, trying to figure out how to unlock the magical spells. At last he smiled.
“Three keys,” he informed Sir Ander. “Saint Marie was thorough. The strongbox is extremely heavy…”
“I will lift it for you,” said Drohmir.
“That would be kind of you, Your Grace,” said Father Jacob. He looked up at her from the bottom of the vault. “I am truly sorry to have upset you. That was not my intent.”
The duchess picked up the heavy strongbox with her claws and lifted it out of the vault. Father Jacob climbed the ladder and the duchess replaced the stone slab. Father Jacob shook down his robes.
“Your Grace, we need to talk,” he said to the dragon.
“It would be best if you left now, Father.”
“I cannot leave without the answers, Your Grace. Saint Marie and her friends were studying contramagic and how it works with magic, as opposed to destroying magic. They came to the dragons because they knew you have the ability to control both magic and contramagic. The roed and the raeg. An ability you have kept hidden from us.”
Drohmir gazed at him steadily. She said nothing, but she did not turn away. In the distance, the violins had stopped, replaced by harp music.
“You must have heard of the collapse of the Crystal Market,” Father Jacob continued. “Your agents would have told you. Perhaps they also told you that before the crystal blocks shattered, crafters reported feeling the crystal shiver beneath their hands. They watched in horror to see the magical constructs vanish. Some said they heard a sound as of a heart throbbing or drumming. Very faint and distant.”
“A drumbeat…,” Drohmir said. “No, Father, I had not heard about humans hearing a beating drum.”
“You understand what they mean, don’t you, Your Grace,” said Father Jacob. “You hear it, as well.”
A shudder rippled through Drohmir’s body, her mane crackled. Her claws dug into the ground.
“That is why you keep the musicians,” said Father Jacob gently. “They drown out the sound.”
“We hear the drumming,” said Drohmir harshly. “A throbbing, like the beating of a heart. The sound comes from the depths of the Breath. We don’t understand how, but when the drumming starts, magic fails. And worse.
“The drum beat is killing us.”
* * *
Sir Ander changed back into his uniform, then loaded the heavy box into a wagon loaned to them by the musicians. While Father Jacob conversed with Drohmir, Sir Ander drove the strongbox to the yacht. He stowed the box away safely in the secret compartment underneath the yacht, which Father Jacob had termed “the coffin,” then drove the wagon back to the palace.
He found Father Jacob still in conversation with Drohmir. The musicians were playing softly at the far end of the chamber. Every so often, Drohmir would stop talking and tilt her head to listen.
“Drohmir has been telling me wh
at has been happening to the dragons,” said Father Jacob, motioning Sir Ander to join them. “Dragon scholars have long known that dragon magic is in the blood, not the brain, like human magic. A dragon’s magic is a part of her, like her scales or her bones or her wings. As you saw, Her Grace was able to remove those constructs by turning her thoughts to them. What we did not know because we were too ignorant to know, is that dragons have both magic and contramagic in their blood. The one complements and reinforces the other.”
“Why doesn’t one destroy the other, as we’ve seen for ourselves happen with contramagic?” Sir Ander asked.
“The dragon’s body maintains the two in a delicate balance. Now that contramagic has begun radiating up from Below, the balance has been disturbed. Our own magic is failing, crumbling beneath the onslaught. The same is happening with the dragons, only worse. Because the magic and the contramagic are inside them, the effect on them is lethal.”
“Wounds heal far more slowly, if they heal at all,” Drohmir explained. “We are easily fatigued. We are aging much more rapidly. But the toll on our eggs is far worse.”
“I wondered why I did not see any young dragons about the palace,” said Father Jacob quietly. “Drohmir told me why.”
“Some of our children died before they hatched,” said Drohmir, her voice soft and grieving. “Those few that survived were weak and sickly and did not live long. If this attack continues, dragons will soon be extinct.”
“The dragons are meeting in supreme council to discuss the crisis,” said Father Jacob.
“We are desperate to find a way to stop this. We did not know the source, but you say, Father, that the drumming comes from people at the bottom of the world. How is that possible?”
Drohmir’s mane rippled along her back. “According to the old stories, dragons flew down there centuries ago. The journey through the Breath was perilous. Many turned back, unable to endure the cold. Those who fought their way through reported that they found a vast body of water, cold and murky, and swampland. They deemed the place uninhabitable. We saw no humans. I did not think humans could have survived.”
Storm Riders Page 51
