The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus)

by Irene Radford

  Black fire engulfed the former king in a burning web, shrouding him like a living fishnet. Then it squeezed and tightened, strangling him. Crushing him. Burning flesh from bone, deeper and tighter it pressed.

  A long shadowy figure rose up behind him with another dagger held high. He rammed it into Lokeen’s back. A hideous snarl of a smile flashed across his acid-scarred face. Then he faded into the darkness. One more shadow among many.

  Lukan didn’t think Rejiia had seen Geon.

  For still Rejiia poured magic into destroying Lokeen, long after the last scream squawked from his charred lungs.

  None of her anger dissipated.

  Lukan stared, agape at the senselessness of her continued outpouring of power. He didn’t think he had ever been or ever could be that angry.

  A question formed in the back of his mind. The dragons demanded he look deeper within himself.

  “Right. I was nearly that angry when I learned that King Darville is Glenndon’s father and not Jaylor, the man we both called Da. I grew angrier that Glenndon was summoned to court, leaving me alone to figure it all out by myself. I carried that anger deep in my heart for many moons. But no longer. I’m not going to waste time and energy nursing hurts that were never really there at all.”

  As Lokeen’s body crumbled to ash, Rejiia whirled to face the tableau at the center of the room.

  Only a few heartbeats had passed since she first entered. Everyone else seemed frozen in shock at the outrage of her murder of a king; no matter how insane, a former king deserved better than that. A trial in a court of law before execution, if nothing else.

  “And now for you, Master Magician Robb,” Rejiia snarled, gathering more power from her seemingly endless supply of anger. “I shall have your life in return for all the years you and your kind imprisoned me. You were the one who used your staff to backlash my spell. You and you alone are responsible!”

  She raised her arms again. Black fire crackled anew from her heart outward to every tip of her body.

  “No!” Chess yelled, pulling the tapestry that concealed them completely back.

  Rejiia faltered half a heartbeat.

  Lukan cast his staff and the Spearhead of Destiny directly into her heart.

  The black fire withdrew to the obsidian and funneled outward along the twining grain of the wood.

  Rejiia gasped, pulling inward. Convulsively she grabbed at the staff only to thrust her hands away again with an agonizing screech. Her palms nearly glowed green with the fire of an alien touch upon the staff.

  “You can’t do this to me,” she said, surprised. Blood gushed from her mouth. Her eyes turned back to their normal midnight blue surrounded by white. Then the life poured out of her.

  She collapsed into a pool of her own blood, normal red blood. The black of her magic died with her.

  Lukan sat down hard, fully aware that he’d just taken the life of a person.

  He had to force himself to breathe. “How much worse did my empathic sister Lily feel when she took the life of Samlan?”

  CHAPTER 44

  “SEND ME HOME, please,” Robb croaked. He raised his palm a few inches from the floor in entreaty. All he could manage.

  “Master Robb, you live!” Maria sank down beside him. She lifted his much too heavy hand into her lap and cradled it lovingly.

  “Home. Please,” he managed a few more words around his dry throat. “I would die beside my wife. I need to hug my sons one more time.”

  “If you aren’t dead yet, chances are good you’ll live,” Lukan said matter-of-factly as he stumped toward him from the cover of the tapestry. He yanked his staff from Rejiia’s cooling body. Then he examined the Spearhead curiously.

  Gerta approached him, hand out. “The Spearhead of Destiny, please.” She didn’t like to pretty up her sentences much.

  “I think I’m glad to be rid of this,” Lukan said on a shrug, flashing her as big a smile as he could. Stargods, she was gorgeous, with the full dignity of an honorable battle draping her like a fine fur cloak. He fished a small utility knife from his boot and used it to slice through the binding on the Spearhead. “I don’t like using my staff as a weapon.” He let the obsidian point drop into Gerta’s hand, complete with its gory coating.

  “The battle is over,” Maria said. “Now we can rebuild Amazonia in honor of the traditions our ancestors gave us.” She lifted her voice so that all assembled could hear.

  “Majesty, permission to dispose of the Krakatrice corpses, however the magicians think safest,” Gerta requested, on a bow to Maria.

  Robb tried to smile in satisfaction. Somehow he’d known that facing a true crisis would force Maria to come into her own.

  “Master Robb?” the new queen turned to Robb, still holding his hand.

  “Salt them heavily, burn them to ashes. But stay upwind of the fire,” Lukan answered for him. “And sweep the residue into lidded containers. Then dump the remains as deep into the desert as you can. We don’t know how much poison remains in them. But we do know that eating the meat is deadly.”

  Robb nodded his agreement, too weak to speak more.

  “We have wagons. With wheels,” Skeller said proudly. “We can manage this better than you could with your primitive sledges.” He winked and smiled at Lukan.

  “I would value your help and advice, Master Robb,” Maria said quietly. Her eyes seemed to bore into his mind. But he felt none of the tingle of a telepathic message. Her magic was more subtle, healing and organizing, and finding another’s strengths. She’d make a good queen.

  “Majesty, I have nothing left to give you. You have Gerta and her Amazons. You have Skeller and his wisdom, even if it is disguised as music. You have your other nephew.” He nodded toward the doorway where the red-clad healer and his followers assembled, crumpled, dirty, exhausted, and triumphant. “You have less need of me than I do to go home to die.” He turned his face away and closed his eyes.

  “I guess I have to do this,” Lukan said. He sounded weary as he approached Robb, his staff grounding each of his steps. “Chess, you’ll have to give me the strength for the spell. I haven’t much left.” He sat at Robb’s head, legs stretched along either side of him.

  “Um . . .” Chess hesitated. “I’m not overly fond of using a transport spell.”

  Robb could almost see him tracing a rune pattern with his toe. The sigil wouldn’t help him much, except to stall. The boy had talent and imagination—perhaps too much imagination, since he always found the worst possible end to whatever he did.

  “Courage, Chess,” Robb whispered. “I brought you with me because I knew you had courage, if you just looked deep enough for it.”

  A moment of silence. Robb knew the boy would chew his lip, shuffle his feet, unconsciously seeking a ley line, and finally look up with a determined chin and a disapproving grimace across his face.

  “I’ll give you strength, Lukan. But I’m not going with you. If he hasn’t found passage home already, I’ll find Juan—the slave who helped us at the farm and contacted Glenndon to tell him about your injury—and then . . . and then we’ll take ship to Coronnan City. I’ll report to Master Marcus at the University.”

  “Agreed,” Lukan said on a weary sigh. “Juan needs to come home too. Best if you make sure he gets there, friend.” He began the deep breathing ritual required for any major spell. Chess placed his hands on Lukan’s shoulders and matched the rhythm of inhale and exhale.

  Robb found his own breathing relaxed into the familiar pattern. But his skittering heart could not settle. “Good-bye, Maria. I thank you for your care and kindness,” he whispered while keeping a measured cadence. “I’ll honor my promise to send a magical healer to you.”

  “Thank you, Master Robb, for giving me a reason to find my courage.” She raised his fingers to her lips, then placed his hand over his heart. Skeller offered her a hand up to stand and back away from the circle of magic that began to flow around Robb and Lukan.

  “Lukan, say hello to Lily for m
e,” Skeller said just as the blackness of the void engulfed them.

  Maigret, I’m coming.

  (Come, come, come. You are needed now!) Krystaal burst into view above the fields of the unnamed village. Her command sank into Souska’s mind with the weight of dread.

  “What is happening?” Lily called back from her place beside the thresher. She continued to flay dozens of sheaves of barley on a wide tarp. A goodly pile of seeds had built up at the sides as she separated them from the stalks.

  (You are needed at home. I am come to take you there.)

  Lily handed off her flail to another woman who wasted no time continuing the work. Storm clouds built to the south, and they needed to get this vital work done before the first rains of autumn damaged the grain.

  A third woman worked at keeping a new crop of flusterhens from eating all the grain before it could be properly stored for winter. Orderly routine returned to this tiny village. The routine of life and continuance.

  Souska found herself retreating behind Stanil, to where they worked at cutting tuber tops to plant in a newly worked field. The late-growing plant would produce new roots big enough for eating by early spring when the rest of their supplies dwindled and the remaining people had to resort to short rations.

  “Come on, Susu. Grab your pack, we’ve got to go,” Lily said as she passed Souska on her way to their hut.

  “You’ve been packed for days,” Souska said, as much to herself as her companion. “You’re ready to move on. I . . . I’m . . . I don’t know what I am.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Stanil said quietly. “We need you here. You are welcome here.”

  Lily stopped short and stared at Souska. “This is important. Maigret wouldn’t have sent a dragon for us if it weren’t.”

  “I . . . I am useless at the University,” Souska replied, studying the ground at her feet and seeing new shoots of grass and fireweed in the burned fields, a sure sign that life returned to the land.

  “No, you aren’t,” Lily protested.

  “Yes, I am. But I know what to do here. I know how to help my friends without magic. My place is here.” Resolution brightened her mind and filled her with courage.

  Stanil’s hand reached for hers, holding it tightly. “She’s staying with us,” he told Lily. “She’s staying with me.”

  Lukan accepted the bone-chilling cold of the void as just one more thing to endure before he could rest. He’d barely registered the sight of dozens of bright umbilicals snaking around him when sunlight warmed his face and soft grass cradled his backside. He sighed in relief.

  Then the weight of Robb’s head in his lap and the comforting smoothness of his staff in his hand reminded him of the urgency behind the transport spell.

  His master was dying. He’d tasked his heart too much, too soon after enduring the fever.

  “We’re home,” Lukan whispered. “Truly home.”

  Even as he said it he felt the rush of air from a dragon backwinging in order to land in a tight place. He looked up to see a juvenile female with silver still tipping her all color/no color wings and horns. His sister Lily slid off the dragon’s back at first touchdown, while long claws clasped chunks of grass for balance.

  “What have you done this time?” Lily asked as she slung her pack off her shoulder and began rummaging around inside for . . . for whatever Lily thought she needed.

  Thought was beyond Lukan at this point. He just needed to sit a while longer and let his body rediscover where and when he was.

  But he knew deep inside him that something was different with Lily. Thinner, quieter, more confident. And . . . and a small white circle glowed brilliant white on her forehead.

  “Robb!” Maigret bellowed from the top of the steps to the Forest University. She pelted down them with her apprentice, Linda, close on her heels. Within a heartbeat a dozen others appeared out of nowhere, all converging on the center of the master’s circle in the open forecourt of the three wings of the wooden building.

  Moist, temperate air caressed Lukan’s nose, bringing him the familiar scents of harvest, grass, and everblue trees.

  “Home,” Robb said with some surprise. “We’re home.” He roused a little, lifting his head and smiling at sight of his wife.

  Strong hands lifted Robb free of Lukan’s grip. Someone clucked in disapproval at sight of the crude bandage on Lukan’s leg. Moments later he found himself lying flat on a cot in the infirmary. He surmised that Maigret had taken Robb back to their quarters where she could tend to him herself. The last he’d seen of them, she was raining kisses on his face while inspecting the rest of him with her hands, seeking the source of his illness and injury.

  A healer Lukan did not know cleared the room to work his magic. Seconds later, Lukan dipped into deep sleep, from drugs or magic, he didn’t care.

  “Val?” Lily asked hesitantly as she stepped inside the family cabin. The only home she had ever known smelled different. The scents of rising bread, baking yampions, and fresh rushes on the floor still rose to greet her. But the spices and herbs were different. The perfume of three different women permeated the air. None of them Mama.

  Lily’s twin rose from the rocking chair Da had built for Mama. She held a bit of knitting in her hands. For the first time . . . ever . . . her red-gold hair shone in the firelight with health and vigor. Her skin, though still pale, had more color, and the lavender shadows around her eyes had faded.

  “Lily!” Val dropped her handwork and rushed to embrace her twin. Her fingers clutched with new strength.

  A flood of love passed between them, doing more to restore Lily than food or a return home, which didn’t seem like home anymore, ever could.

  “Come, sit, rest. Supper is almost ready,” Val said, urging Lily toward the settle on the far wall. “Take off those boots, not enough leather left in them to cover a book let alone your feet.” She knelt in front of Lily and yanked the offending gear off her feet.

  Gratefully, Lily sighed and wiggled her toes against the dirt floor. That at least felt natural and familiar. Val helping her, urging her to rest and eat was . . . the opposite of normal.

  Another woman emerged from the inner bedroom with Jule and Sharl clinging to her skirts. Tall and willowy, ethereally blonde, with a decisive glint in her eye. “Good to have you back, Lily,” Ariiell said. “Gracie’s just started her labor. I suspect she’ll birth before dawn.”

  “But she won’t be returning to her husband any time soon,” Val said. “He was never found after the flood, her mother doesn’t want her, and the castle isn’t safe as long as Krej lives, even if he is just an old man telling stories by the fire. Gracie needs to stay with us. We’ll raise her babe together.”

  “You aren’t a vague wisp of guilt hiding behind insanity anymore,” Lily said quietly to Ariiell.

  Ariiell just grinned. Then she urged the children forward. “It’s only been a few moons, surely you remember your big sister,” she said.

  Sharl hastened to climb onto the settle beside Lily, still a six-year-old bundle of curiosity, but she’d learned a few manners over the course of the summer. “You look more like Val than before,” she whispered.

  Lily hugged her tight and opened her other arm to invite three-year-old Jule to join them. He came more slowly, eyes huge, examining her from head to toe and back again before deciding she was familiar. Lily felt his reluctance.

  “You’ve made a nice life for yourselves here,” Lily said. “Comfortable.”

  Val nodded and blushed. “We are happy together. We fit.”

  “I never thought I’d enjoy cooking,” Ariiell admitted as she bent to stir whatever concoction simmered in the pot over the hearth.

  “And I have found a talent in creating things out of yarn and thread,” Val almost crowed.

  And I don’t belong here any more.

  CHAPTER 45

  A LONG TIME later, Lukan woke to find much of his pain and fatigue evaporated and Lily sitting on the end of his cot.

  �
�Maigret wants to promote you to master and give you a medal,” she said with a trace of humor. “She says that you are a natural teacher and belong here working with the apprentices. She doesn’t think you are fit to journey anymore, either.”

  Lukan groaned, remembering that the dragons had diagnosed a permanent limp. Not a handicap, but a badge of honor. “What’s going on outside?”

  “You’ve slept two and a half days,” Lily said.

  “I think I needed to.”

  “You’ll always walk with a limp, but the healers have cleared you of infection and rebuilt some of the muscle in your calf. Not all of it. That snakebite was deep and the venom spread quickly.”

  “I know.”

  “So, are you up to attending the bonfire and homecoming celebration?”

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  “Robb is coming. He’s confined to a chair, and Maigret won’t let him out of her sight, but he’ll be there.”

  “Will he recover from the bad heart?”

  Lily shrugged again. “I can’t see Death in his aura. Doesn’t mean she won’t find him. Just not for a while yet.” The glowing white dot on her forehead pulsed.

  He shied away from that ominous portent. What was it? What did it mean? And why had gentle Lily been gifted with that . . . that . . . whatever it was?

  “That sounds like something new happening in your magic,” he choked out.

  “It’s been a strange year.”

  “Did . . . did Death give you that?” He pointed at the glowing white spot.

  “Death and I have become intimates, almost friends,” she whispered. “I understand better the purpose of Death, when to push her aside and when to welcome her.”

  “Mama and Da?”

  “Together, as they should be. Death has sent them on to whatever awaits us. They were ready to go, as long as they could go together.”

  They sat in silence a moment, not quite needing to cry, together and separately.