Dragon's Bane

by Dragon's Bane (lit)

  Gareth shook his head, puzzled. "But why? It wasn't

  a week before he tried to kill us—me and my father both."

  "If that was him."

  The boy stared at him, slowly-growing horror and real-

  ization in his face. He whispered, "But I saw him."

  "If she could take the shape of a cat or a bird, putting

  on the form of the Master of Halnath wouldn't be beyond

  her—Jen?" He glanced across the room to where she sat

  silent, her arm resting across one up-drawn knee, her chin

  upon her wrist.

  "She wouldn't have taken on his actual being," she

  said quietly. "An illusion would have served. Shape-

  shifting requires enormous power—but then, Zyeme has

  enormous power. However she did it, the act itself is

  logical. If Polycarp had begun to suspect her intentions

  toward Gareth, it would dispose of and discredit him at

  once. By making you the witness. Gar, she removed all

  chance of your helping him. She must have known how

  bitter a betrayal it would be."

  Numbly, Gareth whispered, "No!" struck by the horror

  of what he had done.

  Trey's voice was soft in the stillness. "But what does

  she want with Gareth? I can understand her holding the

  King, because without his support she'd—she wouldn't

  exactly be nothing, but she certainly wouldn't be able to

  live as she does now. But why entrap Gareth as well?

  And what does she want with Bond? He's no good to her

  ... We're really only a very minor family, you know. I

  mean, we haven't any political power, and not that much

  money." A rueful smile touched one comer of her lips as

  she fingered the rose-point lace of her cuff. "All this...

  One must keep up appearances, of course, and Bond is

  trying to marry me off well. But we really haven't any-

  thing Zyeme would want."

  Dragonsbane 157

  "And why destroy them?" Gareth asked, desperate

  concern for his father in his voice. "Do all spells do that?"

  "No," Jenny said. "That's what surprises me about

  this—I've never heard of a spell of influence that would

  waste the body of the victim as it holds the mind. But

  neither have I heard of one holding as close as the one

  which she has upon your father, Gareth; nor of one that

  lasts so long. But her magic is the magic of the gnomes

  and unlike the spells of men. It may be that among their

  secrets is one that will hold the very essence of another,

  twining around it like the tendrils of a morning-glory vine,

  which can tear the foundations of a stone house asunder.

  But then," she went on, her voice low, "it is almost certain

  that to have that kind of control over him, at the first,

  she had to obtain his consent."

  "His consent?" Trey cried, horrified. "But how could

  he? How could anyone?"

  Gareth, Jenny was interested to note, said nothing to

  this. He had seen, however briefly, on the road in the

  north, the mirror of his own soul—and he also knew

  Zyeme.

  Jenny explained, "To tamper that deeply with another's

  essence always requires the consent of the victim. Zyeme

  is a shapeshifter—the principle is the same."

  Trey shook her head. "I don't understand."

  Jenny sighed and, rising to her feet, crossed to where

  the two young people sat side-by-side. She put her hand

  on the girl's shoulder. "A shapeshifter can change some-

  one else's essence, even as she can change her own. It

  requires enormous power—and first she must in some

  fashion obtain the victim's consent. The victim can resist,

  unless the shapeshifter can find some chink of consenting,

  some hidden demon within—some part of the essence

  that wills to be changed."

  The deepening darkness outside made the lamplight

  even more golden, like honey where it lay over the girl's

  158 Barbara Hambly

  face. Under the shadows of the long, thick lashes. Jenny

  could read both fear and fascination, that half-understand-

  ing that is the first whisper of consent.

  "I think you would resist me if I tried to transform you

  into a lapdog, had I the power to do so. There is very

  little of the lapdog in your soul. Trey Clerlock. But if I

  were to transform you into a horse—a yearling filly, smoke-

  gray and sister to the sea winds—I think I could obtain

  your consent to that."

  Trey jerked her eyes away, hiding them against Ga-

  reth's shoulder, and the young man put a protective

  arm around her as well as he could, considering that he

  was sitting on the trailing ends of his extravagant sleeves.

  "It is the power ofshapeshifting and the danger," Jenny

  said, her voice low in the silence of the room. "If I trans-

  formed you into a filly. Trey, your essence would be the

  essence of a horse. Your thoughts would be a horse's

  thoughts, your body a mare's body; your loves and desires

  would be those of a young, swift beast. You might remem-

  ber for a time what you were, but you could not find your

  way back to be it once again. I think you would be happy

  as a filly."

  "Stop it," Trey whispered, and covered her ears.

  Gareth's hold about her tightened. Jenny was silent. After

  a moment the girl looked up again, her eyes dark with the

  stirred depths of her dreams. "I'm sorry," she said, her

  voice small. "It's not you I'm afraid of. It's me."

  "I know," Jenny replied softly. "But do you understand

  now? Do you understand what she might have done to

  your father, Gareth? It is sometimes less painful to give

  over striving and let another mind rule yours. When Zyeme

  first came to power she couldn't have acquired that kind

  of hold over you, because you would not come near enough

  for her to do it. You hated her, and you were only a boy—

  she could not draw you as she draws men. But when you

  became a man..."

  Dragonsbane 159

  "I think that's loathsome." It was Trey's turn to put a

  orotective arm around Gareth's satin shoulders.

  "But a damn good way to keep her power," John pointed

  out, leaning one arm across the hurdy-gurdy resting upon

  his knees.

  "I still can't be sure that this is what she did," Jenny

  said. "And it still wouldn't explain why she did the same

  thing to Bond. I would not know for certain until I could

  see the King, speak to him..."

  "God's Grandmother, he'll scarcely speak to his own

  son, love, let alone me or thee." John paused, listening

  to his own words. "Which might be a good reason for not

  speaking to me or thee, come to that." His eyes flickered

  to Gareth. "You know. Gar, the more I see of this, the

  more I think I'd like to have a few words with your dad."

  CHAPTER Vni

  IN THE DEATHLY hush that hung over the gardens,

  Gareth's descent from the wall sounded like the mating

  of oxen in dry brush. Jenny winced as the boy crashed

  down the last few feet into the shrubbery; from the shad-

  ows of the iv
y on the wall top at her side she saw the dim

  flash of spectacle lenses and heard a voice breathe, "You

  forgot to shout 'Eleven o'clock and all's well,' my hero!"

  A faint slur of ivy followed. She felt John land on the

  ground below more than she heard him. After a last check

  of the dark garden half-visible through the woven branches

  of the bare trees, she slipped down to join them. In the

  darkness, Gareth was a gawky shadow in rust-colored

  velvet, John barely to be seen at all, the random pattern

  of his plaids blending into the colors of the night.

  "Over there," Gareth whispered, nodding toward the

  far side of the garden where a light burned in a niche

  between two trefoil arches. Its brightness spangled the

  wet grass like pennies thrown by a careless hand.

  He started to lead the way, but John touched his arm

  and breathed, "I think we'd better send a scout, if it's

  burglary and all we're after. I'll work round the three sides

  160

  Dragonsbane 161

  through the shadows of the wall; when I get there, I'll

  whistle once like a nightjar. Right?"

  Gareth caught his sleeve as he started to move off.

  "But what if a real nightjar whistles?"

  "What, at this time of the year?" And he melted like

  a cat into the darkness. Jenny could see him, shifting his

  way through the checkered shadows of the bare topiary

  that decorated the three sides of the King's private court;

  by the way Gareth moved his head, she could tell he had

  lost sight of him almost at once.

  Near the archways there was a slither of rosy lamplight

  on a spectacle frame, the glint of spikes, and the brief

  outline of brightness on the end of a long nose. Gareth,

  seeing him safe, started to move, and Jenny drew him

  soundlessly back again. John had not yet whistled.

  An instant later, Zyeme appeared in the doorway arch.

  Though John stood less than six feet from her, she did

  not at first see him, for he settled into stillness like a

  snake in leaves. The enchantress's face, illuminated in the

  warm apricot light, wore that same sated look Jenny had

  seen in the upstairs room at the hunting lodge near the

  Wildspae—the look of deep content with some wholly

  private pleasure. Now, as then, it raised the hackles on

  Jenny's neck, and at the same time she felt a cold shudder

  of fear.

  Then Zyeme turned her head. She startled, seeing John

  motionless so near to her; then she smiled. "Well. An

  enterprising barbarian." She shook out her unbound,

  unveiled hair, straying tendrils of it lying against the hol-

  low of her cheek, like an invitation to a caress. "A little

  late, surely, to be paying calls on the King."

  "A few weeks late, by all I've heard." Aversin scratched

  his nose self-consciously. "But better late than never, as

  Dad said at Granddad's wedding."

  Zyeme giggled, a sweet and throaty sound. Beside her,

  162 Barbara Hambly

  Jenny felt Gareth shiver, as if the seductive laughter

  brought memories of evil dreams.

  "And impudent as well. Did your mistress send you

  along to see if Uriens had been entangled in spells other

  than his own stupidity and lust?"

  Jenny heard the hiss ofGareth's breath and sensed his

  anger and his shock at hearing the guttersnipe words fall

  so casually from those pink lips. Jenny wondered why

  she herself was not surprised.

  John only shrugged and said mildly, "No. It's just I'm

  no dab hand at waiting."

  "Ah." Her smile widened, lazy and alluring. She seemed

  half-drunk, but not sleepy as drunkards are; she glowed,

  as she had on that first morning in the King's Gallery,

  bursting with life and filled with the casual arrogance of

  utter well-being. The lamp in its tiled niche edged her

  profile in amber as she stepped toward John, and Jenny

  felt again the grip of fear, as if John stood unknowingly

  in deadly danger. "The barbarian who eats with his hands—

  and doubtless makes love in his boots."

  Her hands touched his shoulders caressingly, shaping

  themselves to the muscle and bone beneath the leather

  and plaid. But Aversin stepped back a pace, putting dis-

  tance between them, rather as she had done in the gallery

  to Dromar. Like Dromar, she would not relax her self-

  consequence enough to pursue.

  In a deliberately deepened north-country drawl, he said,

  "Aye, my lack of manners does give me sleepless nights.

  But it weren't to eat prettily nor yet to make love that I

  came south. I was told you had this dragon eating folks

  hereabouts."

  She giggled again, an evil trickle of sound in the night.

  "You shall have your chance to slay it when all is ready.

  Timing is a civilized art, my barbarian."

  "Aye," John's voice agreed, from the dark cutout of

  his silhouette against the golden light. "And I've had buck-

  Dragwsbane 163

  ets of time to study it here, along with aB them other

  civilized arts, like courtesy and kindness to suppliants,

  not to speak of honor, and keeping one's faith with one's

  lover, instead of rubbing up against his son."

  There were perhaps three heartbeats of silence before

  she spoke. Jenny saw her back stiffen; when she spoke

  again, her voice, though still sweet, had a note to it like

  a harp string taken a half-turn above its true note. "What

  is it to you, John Aversin? It is how things are done here

  in the south. None of it shall interfere with your chance

  of glory. That is all that should concern you. I shall tell

  you when it is right for you to go.

  "Listen to me, Aversin, and believe me. I know this

  dragon. You have slain one worm—you have not met

  Morkeleb the Black, the Dragon ofNast Wall. He is might-

  ier than the worm you slew before, mightier than you can

  ever know."

  "I'd guessed that." John pushed up his specs, the rosy

  light glancing off the spikes of his armbands as from spear-

  points. "I'll just have to slay him how I can, seemingly."

  "No." Acid burned through the sweetness other voice

  like poisoned candy. "You can not. I know it, if you and

  that slut of yours don't. Do you think I don't know that

  those stinking offal-eaters, the gnomes, have lied to you?

  That they refused to give you true maps of the Deep? I

  know the Deep, John Aversin—I know every tunnel and

  passage. I know the heart of the Deep. Likewise I know

  every spell of illusion and protection, and believe me, you

  will need them against the dragon's wrath. You will need

  my aid, if you are to have victory—you will need my aid

  if you are to come out of that combat with your life. Wait,

  I say, and you shall have that aid; and afterward, from

  the spoils of the Deep, I shall reward you beyond the

  dreams of any man's avarice."

  John tilted his head a little to one side. "You'll reward

  -?"

  me'

  164 Barbara Hambly


  In the silence of the sea-scented night. Jenny heard the

  other woman's breath catch.

  "How is it you'll be the one to divvy up the gnomes'

  treasure?" John asked. "Are you anticipating taking over

  the Deep, once the dragon's out of the way?"

  "No," she said, too quickly. "That is—surely you know

  that the insolence of the gnomes has led them to plot

  against his Majesty? They are no longer the strong folk

  they were before the coming of Morkeleb. Those that

  were not slain are divided and weak. Many have left this

  town, forfeiting all their rights, and good riddance to them."

  "Were I treated as I've seen them treated," John

  remarked, leaning one shoulder against the blue-and-

  yellow tiles of the archway, "I'd leave, myself."

  "They deserved it." Her words stung with sudden

  venom. "They kept me from..." She stopped herself,

  then added, more reasonably, "You know they are openly

  in league with the rebels ofHalnath—or you should know

  it. It would be foolish to dispose of the dragon before their

  plots are uncovered. It would only give them a strong

  place and a treasure to return to, to engage in plotting

  further treason."

  "I know the King and the people have heard nothing

  but how the gnomes are plotting," Aversin replied in a

  matter-of-fact voice. "And from what I hear, the gnomes

  up at the Citadel haven't much choice about whose side

  they're on. Gar's being gone must have been a real boon

  to you there; with the King half-distracted, he'd have been