Mikk sagged with relief. This truly would be his last tubful of muck for the day.
(A job well done is its own reward,) a voice announced in the back of his mind.
Shayla? Mikk here. He remembered naming protocols.
(Shayla here, and Baamin, and the entire nimbus at our king’s disposal.)
An ear piercing bugling, like a deep-throated horn, echoed around the palace walls, bouncing and growing with each reverberation. The lad slapped his filthy hands over his ears and ducked his head.
Mikk searched the skies for a trace of a dragon. They were close. He could feel them in the back of his mind. Was that truly a glint of yellow, as sun struck around the edges of a crystalline dragon wing?
“Dragons!” he cried in relief. “The dragons have come to help.”
“Where?” the nameless lad cringed against the stone shed that housed the cistern access.
“They won’t hurt you. They’ve come to help.”
“But . . . but what can they do? They’re so big. Big as two sledge steeds across and two more high. My grandda says so. He saw a dragon once. Once when the king was new to the crown.” He pressed himself harder against the stones, as if trying to merge with them.
“They won’t harm you. I don’t think they can. They are bound to the king by blood, tradition, and magic. They’ve come to help clean up after this disaster.” Mikk shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun with one hand, still propping himself up with the shovel handle.
“Fat lot of help they’ll be. They’re just too damn big,” the boy snorted.
“They can lift collapsed bridges off the river bottom, or rake a city street clean, or even retrieve a boat from a rooftop,” Mikk chuckled.
“If you say so, sir.”
Mikk returned to his work with a renewed sense of purpose. He could do this. He had to do this.
(Of course you can. And you will.)
Something tingled its way outward from behind Mikk’s heart, filling his arms and legs with new strength. His feet stabilized against the slippery courtyard with refreshed balance. Details of dirt and plant life and of tiny rotting fish jumped to the front of his awareness.
Suddenly he felt as if he could accomplish anything. Shayla, what is this?
(A gift to help you learn what you must more quickly than most.)
“Magic,” he breathed.
A low chuckle echoed around the back of his skull like the dragon call had echoed around the courtyard.
He pushed his shovel into the ground and cleared a few more inches of muck.
“We are not alone,” Valeria whispered. Her small sound echoed off the slimy walls encasing an iron spiral staircase. She hated gripping the cold metal that sent chills through her entire body. Lukan descended in front of her, keeping close enough so she could clasp his shoulder for balance. Skeller did the same for Lily. The iron didn’t seem to bother them.
“Servants,” Graciella dismissed her worries. She led the way, walking with a surety that led Val to believe she’d been here before. Possibly Lucjemm had led her this way when threatening her with the razor-sharp rocks in the cove.
Unspoken fear lodged in Val’s throat. Was it all echoes of the past? She knew criminals had been led this way to their executions upon the rocks.
No, this was something newer. Lily, what do you feel?
Graciella is trembling inside.
Maybe that was it.
Ariiell stopped short behind Val. The ball of witchlight she carried on her open palm wavered and nearly blew out. It shouldn’t. Only withdrawing the spell would extinguish witchlight. She grabbed Val by the shoulder and held her back. “They are here,” she whispered. Her words did not echo or carry ahead to the others.
“Who?” Val asked, holding Lukan back as well. Had it been wise to place the three strongest magicians at the back of the line? Lily and Graciella had little magic to defend themselves with. Skeller had a long knife. Would that be enough if their enemy awaited them below?
Darkness pressed close against them, rapidly filling the gap between Lukan and Lily. Graciella’s candle lantern flickered and disappeared around yet another curve. Its light did not penetrate the shadows between them.
“The weasel and the cat,” Ariiell said.
“Didn’t Graciella see them transform?” Lukan asked. He kept a wary lookout, peering over the inside railing for signs of the others.
“They are still a weasel and a cat inside their human bodies,” Ariiell spat.
“Were they animals trapped inside human bodies before the spells? Then humans trapped inside animals . . .” Val had to ask. How else could she explain the longevity of two wild animals that should have succumbed to starvation or predators long ago. Sixteen years they’d lived wild.
“Which part of them dominates now is what we need to know,” Lukan said. “Are they cunning magicians or wild animals?”
“Both,” Ariiell insisted.
They continued downward more cautiously until they reached a broad landing where the others awaited them. A heavy door leading inward to the lower levels of the castle filled most of the wall. The stairs spiraled downward into the murky darkness. Graciella’s candle did little to alleviate the gloom. Val wondered if even witchlight would push aside the shadows down there.
“Listen,” Skeller whispered, turning toward the continuing stairs. “I can hear the boom of surf crashing onto land.”
Val picked up the sound more as a thud against her belly than noise tickling her ears.
“I have to leave you here,” Ariiell said. “I’ll guard your backs, make sure the cat and the weasel do not follow or interfere. Help me with the door, Lukan.”
“If you stay, I have to stay,” Val said hesitantly. “It is my duty . . .”
“I discharge you of your duty. I am sane now. I have acknowledged the sins of others against me as their sins, not mine. As for my own sins? I know what I did and why. I’m learning to cope with my guilt. Go, Val. Go to your other duty.” Ariiell turned her back on them and shot a hot, white stream of magic into the lock.
Before Val could follow Ariiell, Lukan hauled the door open. The massive panel nearly filled the landing. Graciella, Skeller, and Lily had to retreat down the stairs to make room for it.
“I can’t let you go alone,” Val protested. “You have not kept up your magic . . .”
“Neither have they,” Ariiell said.
“I’ll go with her, Val,” Lukan reassured his sister. “Lily needs you beside her. We’ll meet you back in the bower. Keep your mind open for our messages.” He stepped through the portal after Ariiell and pulled the heavy door closed behind him him.
That left Val the only true magician facing Samlan, a ruthless master in full command of his power.
I long to feel the Kardia beneath my feet once more. This endless rock and sloshing works against what little healing I can manage. Geon’s poison has left me weak. I can barely force myself to eat and drink to replenish myself.
Solid ground will heal me more than time or remedies.
There is little dragon magic for me to gather. I used too much in my spell to conjure the storm. This reminds me of the days right after Shayla and her consorts flew away, nigh on twenty years ago. Jaylor forced us to learn to use ley lines in order to survive as magicians. I learned, but I hated every moment of every spell. My voice rejoiced the loudest when the dragons returned.
Now I am forced once again to seek out elusive bits of magical energy that drift through the ocean. I use it to cleanse water and catch fish so that I may survive. There is barely enough magic left over to cook the fish.
But the end of my ordeal is near. Yesterday I spotted land on the horizon. Today I can make out the ragged headland that marks the opening of the cove that will shelter me. My minions await. They have been most agreeably vulnerable to my dream probes since the end of the storm. They have no choice but to serve me so that I may restore Coronnan to greatness. They will learn the necessity of my cleansing
the land of the corruption brought on by Jaylor. They will worship and obey me as their savior.
Now I must watch and wait for the precise moment just after the slack tide when the currents will carry me forward. The worst of the rocks will submerge and the rest will be exposed enough for me to steer around. Fishermen have used this technique for centuries. I shall be perfectly safe if I am patient and wait just offshore for the right moment.
I have infinite patience. I have waited twenty years for Jaylor’s death and my elevation to his position so that I may guide the king along the proper path.
CHAPTER 42
LUKAN WOUND HIS way through a cluttered storeroom. Nothing neat and organized here, a clear sign of neglect by the lord and lady. He kept his glowball small, illuminating only a small puddle of light around his feet so he didn’t trip over a sack of tubers or a leaning barrel of salted meat.
His nose itched. He swiped at it with his shirtsleeve.
“The flour is rotting,” Ariiell whispered, half a step behind him. “What kind of reception do they expect to put on for Lady Graciella’s return?” She seemed angry, not just annoyed.
“More than rotting flour and overripe red fruit,” he whispered back. “Magic.” Ley line magic that smelled faintly of earth and ocean, flowers, and tall trees. Dragon magic smelled sharp and aromatic, exotic in comparison. He looked around for a source of the power.
Tiny trickles of silvery blue led inward. They combined into a barely solid line against a wall. A glimmer of light showed around a doorway. The line crept under it. Losing potency in an effort to follow the stones rather than sink through them into the land beneath.
A trapped line, then, not a natural one.
Lukan doused his glowball and pressed his ear against the wooden panels. Ariiell did the same, pressing her body close to him from behind.
He gulped as her musky scent filled his senses and blotted out all thought.
“Concentrate, you idiot. I’m not going to seduce you here and now. Though I might consider it later.” The latter came out on a chuckle.
Lukan’s face heated almost to burning the roots of his hair. He was grateful for the darkness so she couldn’t see his embarrassment.
“Listen!” she hissed.
“We need another day of dry before you bring in the first hay,” a man said in educated tones.
“In time for the Solstice celebration. We’ll erect a Festival Pylon and dance, as we did in ancient times.” A woman’s husky tones sent enticing shivers up Lukan’s spine.
Behind him, Ariiell went rigid.
Her wary alertness told Lukan more than he wanted to know. Krej and Rejiia spoke in the next room.
“Who else is with them?”
“Kitchen staff of three, and five villagers,” Ariiell whispered directly into his ear. “Elder retainers who remember him from the old times.”
How did she know? She must have counted heartbeats. That was something journeymen learned in the first few weeks after promotion.
Lukan forced his hearing deeper, consciously blocking the everyday sounds of words, clothing rustling, fire crackling, scuffing of restless feet. Deeper yet.
Ka-thump thump. One heart. Strong and confident. Krej. He found its rhythm and banished it from his mind. Three more hearts sounded in his mind, pounding different beats. One too fast—he thought that was excitable Rejiia—another slow and steady, listening and noncommittal, the other faint, as if it was somehow muffled or the owner stood apart from the others across the room.
He had to fight to find the rest. But find them he did, and agreed with Ariiell’s assessment.
Now what? he asked.
We wait. And listen. Until they are alone.
Sound advice. Mama and Da would have said the same.
Krej issued a few more orders about the crops. Then a stool scraped across the stone floor. More foot shuffles.
Lukan felt a lessening of the pressure against his deep hearing before he heard doors opening and closing.
At last.
“Now, my dear, we have rested, eaten our fill, bathed, and attired ourselves in appropriate clothes. The time has come to plan our next move,” Krej said.
“And what is that, dear Papa?” Rejiia spat.
Trouble between them? he asked Ariiell.
Always. We can take advantage of that.
Graciella led Skeller, Lily, and Val through six cellars, each a step lower than the previous one. Skeller recognized casks and barrels bearing the seals of Amazonia, Venez, and SeLennicca burned into the staves. The first room contained dry goods, flour, salt, and sugar. The next held barrels of dried fruit, then hanging meat, heavily salted to preserve it, then wine casks. The last two rooms remained empty, too damp to store anything without risking heavy mold and rot.
Amazonia didn’t have tall mountains and jagged cliffs near the sea. His mother’s castle sat atop an artificial hill overlooking the vast plains to the east and the seaport to the west, so tunnels were not common to him. Fascinating. He wanted to linger and examine the stonework and chisel marks. He couldn’t. A mission awaited him. One he didn’t want to think about, but had to.
He fingered the long knife sheathed at his belt. Would killing a man feel different from hunting animals for food? He’d given up the latter as he’d given up so much inherent to daily life in Amazonia. He gratefully joined Lily in her meatless diet because the thought of killing anything turned his stomach now.
He’d never taken the life of another person.
He pondered the various strengths of his companions. Graciella appeared vague and incapable of making a decision. But she harbored a lot of anger and fear. Val, though slight of build and often sickly, revealed whipcord-lean muscle and fierce determination. She also had a formidable magical talent, or so everyone told him. Then there was Lily. His gentle, nurturing, empathic Lily.
She had to know his trepidation. She had to feel his determination to do what had to be done.
Skeller lifted a heavy crossbar from the last door in their path. Sound and the scent of the sea washed over him the moment he pushed the door outward. He followed the muted boom of the surf, magnified by the twisted natural cavern. His nose told him that salt air awaited them only a few yards away. One more turn and they would face the enemy.
The man he had to kill.
Lily reached for his hand and squeezed. She gave him a weak smile of encouragement. He was a prince, trained for battle long before he cast away his heritage and embraced music. He could do this. He had to do this. It was his duty to the world, to himself, and to Lily.
The dragons have deserted me. I see them flying between large white clouds toward the city. I hear their belling calls. But their magic stops short of me and my little boat. I can no longer gather their magic.
I feel as if the special organ behind my heart, where I store the energy I gather from them, has shriveled into a desiccated, hard-shelled nut. Did I use too much of myself in creating the storm?
I do not think so. I am offended that the dragons give their magic to my enemies but not to me. They do not understand and appreciate what I have done for them. I have brought the Circle of Master Magicians back to the glory days without the manipulation and interference and changes implemented by Jaylor.
Women at the University! Legalizing ley line magic! Younger men ruling when older, more experienced masters are cast aside, ignored, and kept in ignorance of facts. That is what Jaylor brought.
I will restore the Circle to the basics of the covenant with dragons. I have restored Coronnan by wiping away the corruption of my enemy.
And still the dragons withhold their magic from me.
Very well. I can survive without their blessing. In time they will recognize the rightness of my actions. For now I will use the ley lines I espy on the strand to bring me and my boat to safety.
I can see a nice one running parallel to the shore. I pull on it through the medium of the water and the boat. The soles of my feet tingle with power. T
he energy moves upward to my heart and my mind.
The magic gives me full vision above and below the water. I see the route through the deadly rocks. The land and my minions await my return.
CHAPTER 43
“I NEED TO flex my magical muscle,” Krej said as he left the kitchen area. “A summoning spell I believe is what we need.”
“What we need is to grab Jaylor’s daughters and find out what is happening in the capital,” Rejiia insisted.
Lukan put his hand on the door latch to follow them.
“Wait,” Ariiell whispered, placing a hand on top of his. Then she waved an intricate design with her fingers and touched the doorjamb, the hinges, the iron strips binding the door planks together, and then finally the latch. Her face paled, and she bit her lip. Sweat dotted her brow.
She had little magical stamina after sixteen years alone in her tower.
How much strength had Krej regained after those same sixteen years locked in the body of a tin weasel?
A plan began to form in the back of Lukan’s brain. If he could push the two rogue magicians to overextend their strength, become vulnerable . . . he could . . . What? What could he do? He wasn’t even an official journeyman yet. What skills and spells could he bring to the battle?
Ariiell cut short his musing by pushing gently on the door. It eased open silently even though a bit of rust tinged the hinges.
A quick assessment showed the kitchen empty. The hearth had been banked, and the workers had gone off to other tasks. The room was huge, taking up the entire undercroft of the hall above. A cook could roast an entire ox over the hearth. A leather treadmill on wheels would turn the spit when two boys walked on it.
Wheels! Lukan had never actually seen one, though he’d read about them in some of the oldest writings in the library. He wanted to kneel down and examine them minutely, figure out why the Stargods forbade them.
But he didn’t have time. Not now anyway. Later maybe.
The Broken Dragon: Children of the Dragon Nimbus #2 Page 32
