The guard’s eyes followed the movement of the hand with the drink.
Lukan unclenched his left fist from his makeshift crutch, revealing a pinch of ground red pepper—the toxically hot kind grown only in the northernmost city on the continent, nearly at the equator. He exhaled, blowing the irritant directly into those distracted eyes. Before the man could scream in pain, Lukan whipped his staff across the back of the man’s knees. He fell into Gerta’s waiting arms. She clubbed him over the back of his head with something . . . heavy. Maybe a rock. Maybe the pommel of that wicked dagger. Something non-lethal anyway, she’d promised him that. The guard sagged heavily with one last painful moan as he sank into unconsciousness.
Chess slunk out from the shadows and helped Gerta drag the guard away.
While Lukan watched them, a woman guard slipped into place, watching the courtyard within and the city without as she paced an assigned route. A magnificent woman built much like Gerta. Hardly three heartbeats had passed between the first guard and the new one exchanging places. The tall silhouette with broad shoulders remained for any observers from down below.
“One down, six to go. That should be enough for tonight,” Gerta said. “My people will continue while we’re away.”
Lukan could almost hear the smirk on her face. “Teamwork,” Lukan whispered, wishing he could lose the gravel at the back of his knee. A painful bruise throbbed around each of the chunks and he swore they grew and multiplied with each limping step.
“Buck up, man. We’ll travel faster knowing this job is under control.” Gerta prodded him again into stumbling toward the next hapless man who had pledged allegiance to King Lokeen and his pet Krakatrice.
“Krystaal!” Souska called as loudly as she dared. The villagers who could stand and walk wound slowly through their day, not far off. If they knew she called a dragon, they could easily take fright and send their fragile, illness-ravaged hearts fluttering uncontrollably and undo all the precious healing she and Lily had given them.
She’d tried calling yesterday at twilight. But . . . but she’d tried too hard after a long day and lost hours of time to one of her spells. Only Lily asking her if she’d talked to a dragon had reminded her of what she needed to do. If Lukan had summoned her, she might have awakened earlier, but she had not heard from him in days . . . or was it weeks. She couldn’t tell how much time she lost each time she brewed a new batch of hellebore tea.
So now that dawn had come, she tried again to call a dragon. Only not so hard.
She scanned the skies seeking sight of an elusive transparent wing. Males were easier to spot with vivid colors showing through their wing veins, tips, and spinal horns. A female boasted an all-color/no-color swirl of iridescence and thus was harder to see, unless she wanted to be seen. Krystaal was the only female Souska had seen, other than Shayla, the aging matriarch. Perhaps females were only born when a matriarch reached an age when she knew she’d need a replacement.
“Krystaal!” she shouted again, a little louder in case the dragon was too far away to hear. “You said to call you if we needed your help. We need your help.”
Still no answer, no bugle call of greeting, no sight of a wing glistening in the sunlight. Not even the stirring in the back of Souska’s mind like a rustle of dry leaves before a telepathic message came through.
Telepathy. One of Souska’s many failings. She could hear a message directed to her, but she could not initiate mind-to-mind communication. Just as Lily could receive a scry but not initiate one. Except . . . Lily had found the energy to call Maigret for help.
“Is calling a dragon like a summons or scrying spell?” she wondered. For a long, long time she could only respond to Lukan’s spells. Now she could send and even eavesdrop when she had to. But it was hard work, leaving her more tired and hungry than she could afford—and prone to one of her forgetful spells. Maybe she’d tried too hard without focusing properly.
She couldn’t afford to succumb to losing time now. The entire village depended upon her for healing and help with everyday chores. And Lily needed her to be vigorous and . . . and confident. Or at least give the appearance of confidence. Lily had recovered somewhat from her ordeal with the miasma. She was not fully well yet, needing daily doses of foxglove and willow bark to keep her stable.
“Oh, Krystaal, please answer me. I really, really, need you.” This time she put the force of her mind into her plea, as if she were looking through her tiny shard of glass into a bowl of water lit by a candle flame.
Focus, she heard Lukan’s lesson. Narrow your vision to the candle reflected in the glass, just the flame, nothing else.
Just the flame. Souska imagined pushing herself into a scrying spell. Just a routine scrying spell. Only she called a dragon instead of Lukan.
Souska here. Krystaal, we need your help.
(Krystaal here.)
The words popped into Souska’s mind as if they were dormant seeds suddenly blossoming into life. They’d been there all along. She just needed to . . . to water and nourish them with the force of her will.
“Krystaal, we need food. Enough to get us through the winter. If we have to burn the fields and sow them with salt, they will produce nothing, not even weeds. The animals will have nothing to browse. Please, can you talk to Mistress Maigret or Master Marcus, or someone who can help us?”
(There are many suffering from this illness. They all need help. Those that survive.) The warmth and humor of friendship seemed missing from her voice.
“I know that. And I will take medicine to them when I can leave. But I am here and I see these people suffering. Lily and I saved some of them. But why give them life only to watch them die slowly of starvation? Please. Help us.”
(Burn the fields.)
“What of the few crops . . . ?”
(Tainted. You must treat them with fire and salt to destroy all trace of the miasma.) Was that a morsel of hesitation in the dragon’s proclamation?
“We will. When we have enough people on their feet to contain the fire. But they will resist unless there is food to replace what we destroy.”
(Much of Coronnan will go hungry this winter.)
“There’s a difference between hunger and starvation. I’ve faced both as a child. Hunger is better than starvation. Can you take a few stores from one place, a few more from another? Deprive each place of only a little, but enough to give this village life.”
Something like a squeak of surprise, the kind a child made when discovered by a parent playing with something dangerous.
(We will discuss this. Shayla must speak to the king.) That was a different voice. Deeper, older. Male?
“Hurry. Please.”
A mental shrug terminated the conversation.
Tears pricked the back of Souska’s eyes with disappointment. Half an answer and delay was almost worse than no answer at all.
Breathing deeply, she gathered what was left of her courage to face the next chore. Tomorrow at dawn, they must burn the fields and use the last of the salt to sterilize the ground.
Tomorrow at dawn the villagers must face the choice of never-ending sickness or a year of privation.
A memory of a hungry year at the farm where she’d grown up—until she was beaten and thrown out because she might have a magical talent. Her gran had whispered in her ear: always taste the dirt before plowing. The Kardia will tell you what it needs: more compost, a year to lie fallow, beans or wheat. The Kardia knows.
“Sickness or no, I have to taste the dirt.”
“This walkway is too narrow. Not enough maneuvering room to defend you,” Gerta grumbled as she paced the giddy heights of the tallest tower in the castle.
Finally free of the crippled beggar costume, Lukan measured the space between stone parapet and the base of the conical roof with a different purpose. Up here he had a chance of working a summons. Fatigue dragged at him. He needed sleep. But he’d eaten well, so he should have the strength to throw a simple summons spell—though the bubble of magic
al protection around the Krakatrice tugged at him, draining the magic from the air and the ground. He had only his own reserves, and not for long.
Something had changed. The bubble grew by the hour, almost visible as a distortion in the moonlight. He wondered if a female had hatched at the farm. Even as a tiny baby, her presence would fuel the weakened males with purpose. He had to finish this spell quickly.
A line of phosphorescent foam told him where the waves broke outside the harbor. That was west. He faced south and concentrated on reestablishing his orientation to the magnetic pole.
Gerta made another circuit of the roof—useless piece of decoration, not even spyholes or rafters inside to allow a guard to shelter while on watch during inclement weather or siege. Her restlessness reminded him too much of his own need to keep moving to avoid confrontation with yet another guard. Magnificent woman. He’d much rather watch her move in the starlight.
A slight tingle in his belly settled and centered him. He’d found the pole. Now that he knew where and when he was in relation to the rest of Kardia Hodos, he could begin. He stooped below the level of the parapet and fiddled with his bowl of water and tiny candle. When everything was placed just so, he blanked his thoughts of all distractions. Especially Gerta.
A flame leaped from his fingertip to the candle. His glass settled in the water and invited him to look through it far beyond normal sight.
“Glenndon,” he willed his own blue and red aura to find the gold in his brother’s energy.
Then he waited. The hardest part of a summons, waiting for the other person to respond. He counted to one hundred to the rhythm of Gerta’s footfalls. Then counted backward from one hundred, just to keep his mind in the spell.
At last a tinge of gold swirled around the edges of his glass, spiraled inward and leaped back toward him in the image of his brother.
“This had better be important,” Glenndon growled. “I only got to bed an hour ago, and I have to be up again in three more.”
Lukan longed to fall back into the old teasing routine of awakening his brother. They’d done it often just a few years ago. A prank to keep each other alert and wary. “Sorry, but this is important. King Darville has to stop any ships from Amazonia from landing or offloading cargo. Today. Search every vendor in every port for signs of Krakatrice eggs.”
Glenndon’s eyes opened fully in the magical image. “Again?”
“Still. I know the magicians and dragons are stretched thin rebuilding and replanting after the flood, but they have to keep an eye out for new hatchings. Especially if any are females. So far Lokeen has no females.” Would the hatching of a female invigorate the existing males to make the bubble grow so quickly? “The males are weak without a matriarch. I have a hope of killing them as long as there is no female to guide them and to take full possession of the king’s mind. Though he is close to total insanity already. He plans to marry Rejiia.”
“Stargods preserve us!”
“Keep that in mind. I’m headed to the Krakatrice farm at dawn.” Lukan suppressed a yawn.
“Have you found Master Robb? He can help.”
“I found him. But he’s ill and weak, a prisoner closely guarded. This is up to me and Chess.” Gerta loomed over him, frowning. “And the help of a friend. Just do what you have to do to embargo anything coming from Amazonia.”
“Hard to do. Every ship brings much-needed grain and livestock.” Did Glenndon look a little gaunt?
That made Lukan’s heart stutter. “Do what you have to do. Maybe if you run every load of grain through a sifter? Slaughter the beasts and check their innards?”
Glenndon chuckled a bit. “I’ll see what I can do. In the morning. Get some sleep yourself, little brother.”
“Val and Lily? Are they well?”
“Linda says that Val is thriving,”
Interesting that he talked to the half sister he’d known less than a year and not to the half sister he’d grown up with.
“Linda knows politics and helps me through the maze of conflicting agendas,” Glenndon responded to Lukan’s unspoken surmise. “The Univeristy is helping Lily as they can. She says beware of a plague left behind by the snakes.”
Plague? Chills ran up and down Lukan’s spine. “Plague. Master Robb has been to the farm, and he’s deathly ill.”
“Lily is working on a cure. We’ll let you know as soon as we know.” Glenndon’s image faded as sleep called him.
Lukan made his farewells and closed his fist to end the spell.
“The guards are changing and the servants are stirring. We can’t get back to your room unseen,” Gerta said bluntly.
“Fine with me. I’m happy to sleep up here. As long as I’m up. The stars will keep me company.”
With a grunt, Gerta lay down beside him, hands behind her head.
“There’s the Wanderer, due east at dawn, north at sunset. Our guide on the journey.” Lukan mumbled as he automatically named and sorted the stars.
He fell asleep before he could find two more.
CHAPTER 28
THE SUN HAD just touched the tops of the hills. Red-gold streaks set them aglow with the promise of a new day, a new beginning, a chore that must be completed. Lukan looked his steed in the eye and wondered what mischief the beast had in mind for him. He didn’t like riding, but today, with the back of his knee bruised from the star gravel that made him limp, Lukan needed to ride. He was limping for real now.
“It’s just a docile hire-steed,” Gerta sneered. She swung into the saddle easily. She had chosen the animal with the broadest back, to support her magnificent height and weight, and the longest legs, to eat up the miles between the edge of the city and their high plateau destination. Her mount also stamped restlessly, tossing its head and twitching its mouth around the bit. He’d need a firm hand to keep him from bolting and throwing his rider.
Chess shrugged and swung his leg over the back of a quiet mare.
Another tall and strong woman held the bridle of Lukan’s mount. “Hurry up, I’ve orders to join my troop inside the castle,” she said.
“Report to your brother Frederico, Frella. He’s our liaison to Lady Maria,” Gerta said, walking her steed in a wide circle to keep him from bounding off on his own.
Lukan made note of the complex relationships among the women exiled from the castle. It didn’t make the idea of climbing atop his steed any more desirable. “It would be easier to transport you all there by magic,” he said to himself.
“But then you’d be too tired to fight the Krakatrice,” Chess reminded him. “Besides, you’ve never been there before, and the image Master Robb gave you was blurred and uncertain because of his fever. I do hope Skeller is able to get him better conditions and a healer.” The boy worried his lower lip, looking back to the castle where it loomed over the lowlands and harbor.
“We need to get going, Lukan. Mount now, before the guards at the city gates wake up and detain us with too many questions we dare not answer. We haven’t had time to replace them yet.” Gerta kicked her steed into an easy stride out of the stable yard.
Lukan checked to make sure his staff rested snugly in a loop of leather tack affixed to the saddle. Frella had assured him that guards used such an arrangement to anchor banner poles or spears during parades or while escorting a noble here and there.
With no more reasons to stall, Lukan hoisted himself ungracefully atop the steed. It sidled and stamped but did not unseat him. He was glad that Gerta had not seen his clumsy effort. Gritting his teeth, he set himself to enduring an uneven gait. “At least I’m not walking. But even with a limp that might be easier.”
The steed broke into a jouncing gallop, eager to catch up with his stall mates.
Lukan held on for dear life.
Eventually the steed grew tired of tormenting his rider and settled into a steady gait. At that point Lukan began to enjoy the freedom of traversing long distances on something else’s leg power. The scenery told him a lot about how Amazonia had develop
ed. A relatively lush but narrow lowland beside the sea. As they climbed, the farmland grew more productive from both irrigation and the way the first mountains trapped the rain. But this was high summer. Few storms crashed into the land. It looked to him like the entire western edge of the continent had suffered from a lack of storms. Was this a normal cycle of a dry year?
Long ago Coronnan had adopted the practice of storing grain against drought years. They came quite regularly in seven- and eleven-year cycles. They were due either next year or the year after. From what he’d heard on his journey across Coronnan with Skeller, King Darville might have to dip into those stores this year to make up for the low harvest after the mage-driven storm. Certainly he would if he had to cease accepting all grain shipments from Amazonia. Not that Amazonia looked as if it could spare those shipments.
If King Darville used up the stored grain, would he have enough left for the next drought?
“Gerta, do you have droughts on a routine basis?” he called ahead of him. She rode her steed easily, as if from long practice.
She slowed her mount on the narrow trail, as if she needed to divert her attention from controlling the headstrong beast to matters of weather and crop management. “I don’t know.”
“Someone in town said the people had to revert to dryland ways this year, as if they knew how to cope with drought but hadn’t expected it.”
She shrugged. Such things were not her concern.
“One of the first things I learned when my Da trained me to hunt stray Krakatrice was that they instinctively dam rivers and streams, diverting water away from their territory. Water is their enemy as much as enchanted obsidian spearheads. If left to their own devices, the snakes will eventually change the climate from lush farmland to desert.” He swept his arm wide to indicate the stunted vines and cabbages on the south side of the trail.
“History tells us that when the Stargods first came to Coronnan the Big Continent was nearly all desert, except for a very narrow strip along the coastline,” Chess said, eyes brightening because he remembered something important and could contribute more to the journey than just an extra pair of hands. “It took nearly a thousand years after the defeat of the Krakatrice to recover the land.”
The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) Page 21
