Dragonlinks

by Paul Collins

  ‘The Forbidden Library was also razed. Fortunately its administrator at that time had had a premonition. She relocated many priceless tomes. Even so, much knowledge was lost.’ Kelricka rang a bell chime. ‘It’s getting cold.’ She paused in indecision. Then her mind made up, she said, ‘Let your quest take you to the seaport of Centravian, Jelindel. Ask me no more on this matter. I have just broken a vow.’

  Jelindel returned to the palace with her new clothing after promising Kelricka to be at the aqueduct dock in the mid-afternoon. She had insisted on bidding farewell to the priestess.

  Beneath Jelindel’s sheepskin coat the mailshirt was again glowing with the nearness of the other link. As she sat reading in the court mage’s library, the physician arrived in search of her. Protective enchantments were required for the next day’s coronation, so the two of them went to the Princess Royal’s chambers and applied their work to the garments and regalia for the ceremony.

  After an hour the physician was past the edge of his skills and quite exhausted. He left Jelindel to finish the work while he went to fetch them some lunch.

  All the while the lepon was stretched out on a wide stone windowsill, watching Jelindel speak delicate traceries of pink fire into the royal crown.

  ‘Where is the link, Charapax Brinkle?’ Jelindel asked without turning her head.

  The lepon growled deeply and tensed its muscles.

  ‘That would be a stunningly stupid idea, Charapax. I have powers that you could not dream of, and a sealed note resides in a safe place explaining everything. If I should not return from this chamber that note will become very, very public.’

  Jelindel turned to face the lepon now, and saw its throat seeming to shimmer as if crawling with burnished copper ants. It slipped fluidly from the window and sat facing her.

  ‘What do you want?’

  The sound was like Zimak speaking into an empty tankard to make a deeper voice.

  ‘So then, shapeshifting is considered to be a weapon,’ said Jelindel. ‘Where did you get the link?’

  ‘I clean turds from the palace beastarium. One day watch great sabre-toothed wolf die, very old. I like, feed him for years, I tell him my sorrows and hopes. He change to man as I watch. Naked man, but wear little ring. He hold up ring and say, “Live better as beast, my friend. Take this.” He die. I wear ring, learn shapeshift. Learn ten shapes. Princess like lepon best, make lepon favourite.’

  ‘So the sabre-toothed wolf was you?’ Jelindel asked.

  ‘That me. You seemed like ally. I need your help to protect mistress. How did you know about me?’

  ‘The scent of the paralysis oil on the lindrak’s cord which entangled you betrayed it as one specific to humans only. I know the scent well from my time in the D’loom marketplace, for it is used by physicians to stop the struggles of patients who need teeth extracted. Thus a sabre-toothed wolf that toppled under its influence had to be a human with a sabre-toothed wolf’s form. That could only happen with a human changeling.’

  ‘You clever, very clever.’

  ‘I must have the link, you know. It is a dragonlink, something very dangerous.’

  ‘If you want expose me, you do it already. Why not?’ ‘I want the dragonlink. I have no interest in you.’

  He growled, but it was a spiritless imitation of menace.

  ‘Without link I am carrier of turd pails. Nothing man. As royal lepon I have caresses from Princess. I have more of Princess than even fancy boy lovers. Fancy boy lovers die. Princess sets pet lepon on them in morning. Very nasty for them. Very tasty for me. Taste like pork. Princess always loyal friend to lepon, she tells all secrets to lepon.’

  ‘Why not give me the dragonlink and remain a lepon,’ Jelindel suggested.

  The thought had obviously not crossed the shapeshifter’s mind. He sat pondering for a time, then got up and padded over to her.

  ‘Back outer toe, feel carefully,’ he said, holding up a back paw.

  There was a fearsome claw, a rough pad of skin, and something hard and circular with fur glued to it. The link came away after some careful manipulation, and a glow spilled out from the inner surface. Jelindel dropped it into her pouch.

  ‘Good fortune be with you,’ Jelindel said as the lepon turned and sat facing her again.

  ‘Princess tell me secrets,’ he said. ‘Princess has fancy for your blond guard. On night of crowning she has mind to bed him, then … I have live breakfast in morning. Lovers tell no tales.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jelindel said slowly, unsure if what she was feeling was fear, anger or jealousy.

  ‘She has made tryst with him for night after crowning. You save him, yes? You friend of him.’

  ‘“Friend” is putting it a little strongly, but thank you.’ Jelindel stood up, her legs unsteady.

  ‘Mage Auditor, I have many more secrets, terrible secrets but I love my princess. For all what she does terrible things, I forgive her.’

  ‘Say no more, lepon. If I should learn too much I might become dangerous.’

  The physician returned with a servant carrying their lunch on a tray, and they finished their work as they ate. Jelindel tossed a chicken drumstick to the lepon, who snapped it out of the air.

  ‘It trusts you,’ said the physician in amazement.

  ‘It recognises me as another of the Princess’s guards. It’s an understanding between equals. The Princess is still his mistress.’

  ‘Maybe so, but you still have a way with animals, Mage Auditor,’ declared the physician.

  ‘I ought to, after travelling with two for over a year,’ Jelindel replied with a wry smile.

  Chapter

  17

  After lunch Jelindel went straight to the library of the palace Adept with a pack over her shoulder. She questioned her motives for what she was about to do. Finally she reasoned that her actions were strictly altruistic. She owed Kelricka something for breaking a holy vow. Besides, in these war torn days, ancient texts were safer in temples than in palaces that were prone to insurgency and attack from neighbouring states. Her earlier conversation with Kelricka reminded her that history was all too full of cultures being obliterated by conquering armies.

  She carefully selected fifteen of the best books, slipped another two about word configuration and use under her sheepskin coat, then tidied the remaining books and arranged them according to size and the colour of the covers.

  Even someone familiar with the library would have had trouble working out that anything at all was missing, let alone which titles.

  That afternoon Jelindel went to the city gates and climbed the steps to the aqueduct dock. Three priestesses and their guards were climbing aboard a narrow boat with buffers all along its edges. The current flowed past swiftly, and the polemen stood ready to cast off.

  Kelricka was still on the narrow stone quay as Jelindel came panting up the stone stairs.

  ‘Could you take these south to the Great Temple for me?’ Jelindel asked. ‘They are … donations for the Forbidden Library.’

  ‘Thank you, yes. But –’

  ‘Don’t ask, whatever you do, just don’t ask. Now go, Holy Kelricka.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do in return?’

  ‘Perhaps. Look … when I have found the other dragon -links I would like to apply to become a neophyte at the Great Temple.’

  Kelricka beamed at the words and raised her hands to embrace Jelindel – then forced them down to her sides again. Jelindel was meant to be a youth, after all.

  ‘There are tests, and strictures on entry, but I shall do all that I can and more when you arrive.’

  They parted without any embrace, just curt bows. A priestess seen embracing a youth in public would simply never do. Kelricka stepped into the boat and the polemen cast off. The current in the aqueduct carried the padded boat away swiftly and smoothly. Kelricka turned and waved several times until the aqueduct curved around a terraced field and was lost from sight.

  ‘How far does the aqueduct take the boats?’
Jelindel asked one of the waiting polemen as he helped to untie the next boat in its rack.

  ‘The very border of the Kingdom of Serpentire, lad, and the headwaters of the Serpentire River – that’s the town o’ Headport. They should arrive by midnight.’

  ‘Midnight! So quickly? Are you sure?’

  ‘I does the trip twice a month. The water flows swiftly, and all we has ter do is keep the bow from the walls. At Headport wheel frames are strapped ter the boats and oxen haul the boats back up here loaded with various goods.’

  ‘There are barges on the Serpentire River, I hear.’

  ‘Aye, a much slower current takes ’em down ter the very eastern sea o’ Laka. Horses an’ rowers brings ’em back up.’

  Jelindel inclined her head and crossed his palm with several coppers. ‘You’ve been most helpful,’ she said.

  The morning of the coronation dawned clear and bright, but clouds began gathering even as the sun cleared the nearby peaks. Zimak was dressed in the finest clothes that Jelindel had ever seen him wearing, but Daretor had refused all offers from the palace tailors.

  The actual coronation was held in an ancient stone circle on a terrace high above the city itself. After the ceremony, the new Queen was driven into the city in an open carriage guarded by the elite Palace Lancers.

  At Jelindel’s suggestion Zimak and Daretor climbed to the aqueduct dock for a better view of the queen as she passed below, and Jelindel even lent Zimak her farsight to watch the parade all the better.

  ‘The boy is besotted with her,’ Daretor observed as he stood back holding Zimak’s tankard.

  Jelindel nodded as Zimak called out, ‘There she is! She even has the lepon sitting beside her in the carriage. Aye, what style!’

  Jelindel touched Daretor’s hand, then sprinkled a pinch of greyish powder into Zimak’s tankard.

  ‘You know what you are doing, I presume?’ asked Daretor.

  ‘Just saving his life.’

  By now all the onlookers atop the aqueduct quay were cheering themselves hoarse and flinging petals down on the procession as bells rang out from every tower and trumpets blared.

  ‘I sold our horses this morning and packed the most part of our bags for delivery to this quay,’ she shouted in Daretor’s ear.

  ‘So we are leaving now, but you sold our horses?’

  ‘Look behind you.’

  A small charter boat stood ready, straining at the aqueduct’s current.

  ‘No crew can be found for the trip on coronation day, so I’ve said that I have a man of my own.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘You’re him.’

  Daretor did a double-take.

  ‘But what about the dragonlink? We have not yet found the dragonlink.’

  Jelindel patted her pouch. ‘It’s here. The man who wore it had more honour than the linkriders we have met already. He gave it up quietly, and even seemed relieved to let it go.’

  ‘You are amazing!’ Daretor exclaimed.

  Jelindel held the tankards as Daretor ducked behind a stack of shell boats to change into the sandals and blue drawstring pantaloons of the aqueduct boatmen that Jelindel handed to him. When he returned she pushed forward to Zimak and held out his tankard.

  ‘Here’s a charge for your voice!’ she called, and Zimak took a deep gulp before handing it back.

  Daretor tossed his clothes into the shell boat before selecting a pole from a rack on the wall.

  Jelindel emptied Zimak’s tankard into a drain and set it down, slowly counting to eighty and watching Zimak out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to swoon in slow motion, held up by the people crowded around him. The farsight fell from his fingers. Again she pushed forward and pulled him away from the edge, snatching up her farsight as well.

  ‘Giddy, aye, I’ve lost my legs yet I’ve had barely four tankards,’ he said as she put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Daretor says you’ve toasted the Queen’s health two dozen times,’ Jelindel cried out above the din.

  ‘You’re juss jealous … o’ her beauti … full, ah …’

  ‘Come on hero, over to the water and dunk your head.’

  ‘Mus … be well. Big revel. Big ass, er … big assignment … tonight.’

  ‘I think you mean assignation. Come on, down these stairs and step here.’

  ‘Wooo, tower’s falling!’ he cried as he stepped into the shell boat.

  ‘Nothing’s unsteady, that’s your own legs wobbling. Lie down and sleep now, you’ll be as fit as a bull in spring by tonight.’

  ‘Jaelin, I’ve never set foot on one of these things in my life,’ pleaded Daretor.

  ‘Just stand there and look bored – and hold the pole up straight. I watched a boat leaving yesterday. There’s nothing to do that we can’t learn.’

  Jelindel sought out the clerk of the quay and got him away from the edge of the aqueduct long enough to pay his fees and bribes, and to get an official stamp on their scroll of passage.

  ‘Ye have a qualified boatman, then?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s him,’ Jelindel said, jerking her thumb back at Daretor.

  ‘Ah – don’t know him.’

  ‘He’s from the Hamarian aqueduct in the southern Garrical Mountains. I’m told it’s faster and narrower than this one.’

  ‘I’ve not heard o’ that one.’

  ‘I want to get to Headport alive. Would I lie to try to get myself killed?’

  ‘Aye, all right. Hurry along then. The parade’s passing and one doesn’t see a coronation parade every day.’

  Jelindel got into the boat. She cast off and the craft began to move with the current. Daretor knelt in the bow area, nervously prodding at the stone walls of the aqueduct.

  Jelindel looked back and waved confidently to the clerk of the quay, who was looking after them. He waved back and turned away.

  ‘This is moving faster,’ said Daretor.

  The boat was moving at the speed of a cantering horse, and Jelindel was torn between binding Zimak to the boat and allowing him to float free if they capsized. As she tied their bags and packs down she remembered that she was still wearing the mailshirt, which would weigh her down if they were pitched into the water. What to do? Take it off or leave it on? Decisions, decisions, she thought to herself, then decided to hope that nothing would go wrong.

  The aqueduct curved and the quay was lost to sight. Jelindel sighed with relief. The boat continued on its way, and Daretor managed to keep the craft straight. Suddenly the aqueduct emptied out into a vast lake.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Daretor.

  ‘Um, I don’t know,’ admitted Jelindel.

  ‘Those red things on the water are in a straight line. Perhaps we should follow them.’

  The pole just reached the bottom, and they steered across the lake following the red buoys. Again the current picked up, then they went down a slipway funnel of stone and the speed increased until they were moving faster than Jelindel had ever moved in her life.

  Jelindel realised that she was screaming and Daretor was kneeling in the bows with his head down and his fingers digging into the padding. Zimak was fast asleep, oblivious to everything.

  The boat was half full of water when they finally settled into another small lake. They bailed it out, and entered the next aqueduct. Slowly Daretor developed a method of keeping the boat in the middle of the aqueduct. There was a rhythm, he proudly explained to Jelindel.

  ‘Not too bad for a landlubber,’ he boasted.

  ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ she replied.

  Several hours passed. By now Daretor had become too weary to continue and Jelindel had to take over. Within a further half hour she was in turn exhausted, but Daretor was rested and able to take over by then.

  What hurt worst of all was the way they had to wave cheerily to those on the stone quays that they passed. They were soaked and chilled by the constant splashing and spray, made worse by the chill mountain air rushing over them as the shell boat hurtled along.
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  As they passed across yet another lake Jelindel discovered the tentcloth splash baffle, neatly folded in a locker at the bottom of the boat. While enduring Daretor’s curses she wrestled the baffle into place. The ride became more tolerable, and presently the air warmed as they descended through the mountains.

  ‘We can’t travel like this in the dark,’ Daretor called back as the sun dipped below the peaks.

  Jelindel rummaged in a locker, and found a shielded lantern packed beside a tinderbox. By good fortune both had survived the earlier dousing from their amateurish boatcraft. After some time and many curses she managed to light the lantern.

  The aqueduct’s current slowed. They entered a wider canal with reeds and bullrushes growing along the sides. They soon realised that the light was essential when the boat rammed into a tangled mat of ribbon reeds. The strut for the unused deepwater rudder at the back became snagged.

  Daretor jumped aft with his sword drawn.

  ‘Steady!’ warned Jelindel.

  ‘I’ve little experience in boats, Jaelin, but I think I can master this one!’

  The boat rocked and Daretor rode the motion with a newly practised shifting of his body weight. It was when he hacked down with his sword that his weight tilted the boat too far.

  Daretor’s arms went out to steady himself, but in that moment he lost his grip on the sword – which had wedged into a rotting log beneath the surface. He jerked over to retrieve it and the darkening waters swamped the splash baffle.

  ‘Daretor!’ Jelindel screamed. ‘Stop it! We’ll capsize.’

  The boat rocked back as he eased the pressure. He placed his leg over the side and into the water until it stopped against the log, then heaved. His sword came free at once and the boat rocked right back until the water poured in through the splash baffle’s access.

  Jelindel clung desperately to the thin wooden railings as Daretor lost his grip and fell into the reed-choked water, his arms flailing.

  The boat rocked back again, with water now sloshing about inside. For a moment Jelindel thought it was sinking. She had to save Zimak, she thought in alarm. If he should drown in a drug-induced stupor, she knew she would be responsible for his death. She unhitched the cord holding down the splash baffle to drag him out.