Dragonlinks

by Paul Collins

  There was a dull clack as a false panel in a wall swung out, followed by the tread of a heavy man across the stone floor.

  ‘I do believe Your Majesty’s interests will be consummately served by this treaty,’ the Adept 12 said smoothly.

  The King did not turn. He wished to say in truth that he had not set eyes upon Fa’red in months, so kept his eyes averted.

  ‘I told him to begin moving his accursed mounted militia north today. With most of the Skelt coastline between us and him I should think that even his twenty flying brigades will be distinctly weary should they ever have a mind to come south to attack Altimak.’

  The treaty was scribed up and presented to the Baltorian Ambassador for preliminary ratification. Within a day a courier and his escort set out for Hez’ar and four weeks later the Baltorian Crown Prince was standing at the rostrum before the Skelt throne, signing the parchment scrolls that formally gave Baltoria access to the sea.

  The Preceptor was by then installed in Tol with his militiamen. It was seen as poor politics to move troops after a treaty had been signed, so the move had to be made in advance. The Preceptor hated the tropics, disliked ships and sea travel, and was now far from all the contacts that he had cultivated so carefully since his humiliation in Hamaria five years earlier. He was surprised, however, that Fa’red now chose to buy a mansion on the outskirts of Tol. The merchant-mage declared that there were new opportunities for trade in the place, now that the Marisa River and its bargehorse tracks were open to free trade.

  The Preceptor also noticed that several of the pseudo-lindraks had come with Fa’red. A week passed after the ratification of the treaty, then Fa’red came to him with a certificate of general clearance to be signed for seven riders who were about to go up the Marisa River to the Passendof border.

  ‘They are to help with the merchants’ enclave at Chasmgyle,’ Fa’red explained.

  ‘But this certificate clears them to cross the border and continue on to Dremari, the Passendof capital itself.’

  ‘Well Preceptor, our merchants need help in Dremari as well,’ the merchant-mage replied with no hint of any expression on his heavily scarred face.

  Only days later the seven riders emerged from the Passendof Mountains and onto the high plateau. Passendof was a landlocked kingdom almost on the equator, but its altitude made the climate cool in spite of the sun being nearly overhead.

  Dremari was one of the most pleasant and beautiful cities in the known world. Its spires and domes gleamed with glass inlay and leadlight windows of many colours. The stones of its exquisite buildings were mostly green, red and dark yellow, and even the walls of the poorer layers of the mighty terraced city were whitewashed and gleaming bright in the sun.

  ‘The intelligence we have gathered on those three with the mailshirt is disturbing,’ said a thin, gangly rider in words like the twittering of mountain larks. ‘Fa’red will be dismayed to learn that his friend is dead and two more dragonlinks have been woven into the mailshirt.’

  ‘Nay, they are going well and acting in our interests,’ cheeped their leader like a town sparrow. ‘Three more dragonlinks and the mailshirt will be complete.’

  ‘And what then?’ asked the thin youth.

  ‘Then the foundations of this continent’s moribund kingdoms will be shattered, and there will be rich pickings for the strong and swift. Let us hurry, for we must be well established when our brave and clever friends arrive here.’

  Their black stallions, imported from Unissera at great cost, had the stamina of horses otherwise found only in bards’ fables. The seven drank up the miles effortlessly and only slackened their pace when they came in sight of the slender towers of the capital, the fortified city of Dremari.

  Passendof was like any other of the minor kingdoms in the area. Petty barons squabbled over territorial rights; fortunes were made and lost at the flick of a coin; the tax gatherers were loathed, and the King was expected to dispense justice – and occasionally he did so. His palace towered above the streets of the walled city, a silent sentinel as well as a symbol of power. Its many spired domes and multi-tiered battlements thrust upwards, as if daring the sky to impale itself upon them.

  The seven riders passed the customs post in the outer wall with a governor’s certificate from Skelt. The streets of Dremari were well drained and clear of rubbish, offal and excrement, and the citizens went about their business in brightly coloured and well tailored clothing. The Skeltians made their way up the winding streets and steps that led to the higher terraces.

  ‘So, we are here,’ said the gangly rider, this time in Skeltian. ‘What are we to do now?’

  ‘Remain alert and wait,’ replied the leader. ‘In Passendof is the last dragonlink that is known to Fa’red. Our quarry knows about that too, so they must come here. We shall be waiting.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then we wait for Master Adept Fa’red. He is bound for this place after he concludes certain business in Skelt.’

  ‘That could be a long time. The Master Adept travels far more slowly than we.’

  ‘Ah, but he travels with exquisite timing.’

  Chapter

  15

  Jelindel, Daretor and Zimak arrived at Dremari some weeks later. They paused at the very spot where Fa’red’s deadmoon warriors had viewed the capital. Jelindel and Zimak dismounted and marvelled at the view of the city from a stone wall beside the road. Daretor remained on his horse.

  ‘I never dreamed there could be such a wonderful city,’ said Zimak.

  Jelindel had seen sketches of Dremari in books, but as usual they did no justice to the real thing. For a time they just sat there marvelling that humans like them could have built such a wonder.

  ‘So, there is said to be a linkrider here,’ declared Daretor at last, as always returning to his vendetta against the accursed dragonlinks and linkriders. ‘It is a big city, and links are very small.’

  ‘When we are closer I can do a survey from the close paraplane,’ suggested Jelindel. ‘Links show up distinctly there. Besides, the mailshirt will glow on this plane, too.’

  Entry to the city was not easy. They had to pass a customs checkpoint, pay an entry fee and prove that they were carrying the equivalent of a month’s wages for their declared trade.

  By now Jelindel had forged a charter from Hez’ar’s central Temple of Verity declaring her to be a Mage Auditor, and border papers for Daretor and Zimak proving them to be indentured temple guardsmen.

  ‘Why do I have to be indentured to you?’ asked Zimak quarrelsomely.

  ‘Could you pass yourself as a Mage Auditor?’ retorted Jelindel.

  ‘I look no less a man than you.’

  ‘But you talk as if you’ve never read a book.’

  ‘That I have!’

  ‘Wily Sir Fox and the Flopsicle Rabbit hardly qualifies you to be a Mage Auditor, and even then it took a week for you to read it aloud by the campfires.’

  ‘I thought it a rather nice story,’ began Daretor.

  ‘Stay out of this!’ snapped Zimak. ‘I think it would look better if Daretor and I were two wayfarer knights and you were our indentured spellcaster.’

  ‘No!’ said Daretor firmly. ‘The arrival of two knights would look threatening, perhaps like an attempt by some hostile kingdom to spy upon the defences of Dremari. “Mage Auditor” has the ring of a mere catcher of felons.’

  Zimak laughed cynically. He confronted Jelindel by standing between her and her horse.

  ‘So, Mage Auditor, show me how you lead your men.’

  ‘I lead by others wishing to follow me. Now stand aside.’

  ‘Zimak,’ began Daretor, but Jelindel held her hand up to silence him.

  ‘Stand aside, Zimak, or I shall make you regret this idiocy.’

  She made to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, locked right arm to left and swung her back the way she had come in a motion so smooth that Jelindel was not even sure how she changed direction.

&
nbsp; She turned, straightened and faced him.

  ‘Insubordination against one’s Mage Auditor is a punishable offence, Zimak,’ she said, then enunciated a carefully tuned word of binding.

  Zimak fell, blue coils wrapped about him and digging into his flesh. His head was free, but the coils were tightest about his ribs.

  ‘Quite a good one, is it not, Daretor?’ panted Jelindel, drained by the wordcast, but triumphant.

  ‘Wha– what have you done?’ he gasped, eyes wide. ‘He doesn’t seem to be breathing.’

  ‘He’s not.’

  She walked up to Zimak with feet dragging, managed to step over him, then with some effort swung herself up into the saddle of her horse.

  ‘Do something!’ demanded Daretor.

  ‘The word binds for a period set by the Adept who is using it. Set it short and the victim has a very bad fright. Set it too long and he dies for lack of breath.’

  ‘Set it? You mean it’s fixed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jelindel looked down imperiously from her horse. ‘Now, Zimak, do you think you offended me enough to warrant death, or merely a very bad fright?’

  The blue bonds suddenly dissolved and shot back to Jelindel. They crackled about her lips for some moments, then faded.

  Zimak lay gasping, wheezing in huge gasps of air.

  ‘Apologise,’ said Jelindel.

  Zimak got to his knees, rubbing his ribs but glaring with surprise and anger. Moments passed.

  ‘I think he needs another –’ began Daretor.

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ exclaimed Zimak in poorly restrained terror.

  ‘Now get on your horse and stop behaving like a loon,’ ordered Jelindel. ‘Do you want to come with us or go your own way?’

  Zimak stood against his horse, clinging to the saddle for support. The blood had drained from his face and his eyes were unfocused.

  ‘With you,’ said Zimak. ‘I was … just testing … how you handle … trouble.’

  ‘Did I pass?’

  He nodded sullenly.

  When they arrived at the customs post’s outer gates, Jelindel presented a written demand for an audience with the Supreme Marshall. None of the guards could read, so the demand was taken to the presiding accountant. He laughed, but gave her the name of an official within the city and told her not to bother seeking an audience for another two days. Jelindel asked that he write the date when they should present themselves across the bottom of her demand.

  When they had declared their assets and trades, and paid the prescribed fees, tips and bribes, they were allowed to proceed. They rode up into the extended terraceworks and patches of housing that were the outer city.

  Jelindel pointed out the huge aqueduct that supplied water to the city’s artificial lake. It was a long, curving stone canal on elevated arches of red granite.

  The castle towered above the haze of the city in the distance, and as they got above the terraces they saw the lake on the left. Small sailboats and oared water sedans were gliding across the calm surface.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Mage Auditor, sir,’ said Zimak with exaggerated servility.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wasn’t that a bit stupid making all that fuss back there? We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The surest way to turn an official’s attention from oneself is to demand his attention. We now have two full days to explore and make contacts. For now we shall find a hostelry of middling quality and I shall sign us into two rooms.’

  ‘I can do my own signing,’ said Zimak sulkily.

  ‘A warrior who can read and write is an unusual warrior, and we do not want to attract the wrong sort of attention,’ Daretor chided. ‘I’m sure that was the intent of our master, the Mage Auditor.’

  ‘Quite so, it was,’ agreed Jelindel.

  The hostelry that they chose was close to the inner city walls. Within view was the Grand Promenade Road that led over the moat, through the gates and up to the walls of the palace itself.

  While the two warriors brushed down the horses Jelindel went to her own room and barred the door. She spread her reed mat on the floor and lay down to say the word that would take her eyesight and touch onto the paraplane of magical auras.

  All at once she was within a field of rainbow glows and sparkles. Door spells, charmed amulets, and the green pinpoints that were Adept 1 and 2 charmvendors glittered all about her, while the enchanted beasts that guarded the moat swam like carnival streamers in the wind through boundaries of permissions rather than water.

  An Adept 14’s aura stirred like long fronds of water-cord as she passed, disturbed by her passage yet not quite certain of the disturbance. Other shimmering bands of coloured light were unknown to her, while some centres seemed like pits of blackness far deeper than the backdrop of black that occasionally sucked in a sparkle of light that drifted by.

  This was no village, it was a huge and complex metropolis of enchantments and Jelindel quickly became aware of how very little she knew. She knew that hours were probably passing as she explored, yet there was no sign of fatigue. That would come later, when she returned.

  There were Adepts by the hundred in Dremari, and dozens of them were at level 8 or above. She also encountered other presences that she did not recognise. The most sinister of them appeared as seven grey globes led by a black globe that was irregular at its edges, almost like a cloud. From a distance Jelindel studied them for some time. If they were aware of her they did not show it.

  Suddenly the black globe faded to grey and assumed a regular shape. They began to move, the disguised globe in the lead, almost as if it was bait. All of them extended and uncoiled thin, spiked streamers.

  Jelindel trailed after them, staying sufficiently far away not to cause alarm. She soon saw that they were stalking an irregular green shape that was also armed with thin, spiked streamers. The strange hunt did not look deadly, but Jelindel could see the grey globes making their way stealthily through the protective layers of permissions. Suddenly the green shape became aware of the attack and lashed at the elastic grey surface of the disguised globe. Tendrils of force, influence and permissions entangled, then the formation of seven grey globes burst through into that permission domain. They swirled in closer, then coalesced around the glowing green body that was locked in battle with the lone globe. The layer of grey began to contract, but green streamers slashed through the grey surface time and time again.

  The conflict ended with a bright flash, then the dimmer grey globes separated and sailed unsteadily away as green sparkles began to appear and grow into globes in the permission domain behind the massive gate spell where the death had happened.

  Jelindel guessed that this strongest of gate spells was that of the palace. Within its domain were lesser sparkles that played like butterflies above meadow flowers. In the permissions domain that encircled them were bright red starpoints with sharply defined rays that seemed as sharp and hard as surgeons’ scalpels. They were guard entities that Jelindel did not heretofore know existed.

  ‘Jaelin!’

  She felt the word, rather than heard it. The word cracked out like a thunderclap and grey streamers slashed past her like hair-thin serpents. Though startled, Jelindel was untouched.

  Somebody knew her name. Someone was trying to use her name against her – yet Jaelin was not her name, it was the name that she went by, her calling name. The streamers slid back through the blackness to a grey globe suspended between two triangles of similar globes. There was something logical and powerful about the arrangement. They were in a very different domain now.

  ‘Jelindel!’

  This time Jelindel retreated from the speeding, questing streamers as they came radiating out of the cluster of globes.

  She felt for the solidity of the mailshirt as pinpoints of pain blazed across her sense of touch like a bath of cold needles.

  Suddenly there was a sense of pain that was not
hers: of terror, falling, despair, horror – and something losing its form like a snowflake falling into a pan of boiling water. Jelindel opened her eyes and sat up. She was alive and unharmed.

  The mailshirt was glowing faintly orange in the cool darkness of her shuttered hostelry room, but even as she watched, it faded back to its usual silvery sheen. No light was seeping past the shutters, for it was now night.

  She got up stiffly, drank a mug of water and splashed some on her face. The fatigue of her hours exploring the paraplane weighed on her limbs like robes woven from lead. This was the time to rest and take stock, yet …

  Taking a deep breath and gritting her teeth, she lay down again, closed her eyes and spoke the appropriate word.

  Within the paraplane there were only seven grey globes now, and they were drifting randomly, bouncing softly off the walls of their permissions domain as if they were drunk. Even as she watched, twelve green sparkles appeared among them and began to grow in size and sprout fanged streamers. The grey globes began to shrink, but two were caught by the barbs of writhing green ribbons of light.

  The pair were quickly surrounded, while the others sacrificed part of their grey substance to the grasping barbs and winked into a subtly different permissions domain. Suddenly the luminescent barbs bit right through one globe’s shrinking body. It collapsed, and there was a bright flash as the trapped globe died.

  The other suddenly turned black and slashed two green globes with black tendrils that carried blue star-points at their tips. Both detonated in a single dazzling flash. As the light died away Jelindel saw that the black globe was gone too. Did it die with its green victims, or did it escape, she wondered? It was impossible to tell.

  Now Jelindel returned to combing the paraplane view of the city for the link. Her reach was much further than the distance that would make it glow in her world, but there was such a clutter of light and movement in the place that she was unsure where to extend her sense of touch. At length she gave up when Zimak began banging on the door and calling out: ‘Jaelin? Mage Auditor? You’ve been in there a long time.’