Narine almost expected an outlandish reply and was oddly disappointed when Jace replied, “My real name is Jerrell Landish. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
Ariella exclaimed, “The thief? The one who bamboozled High Wizard Montague out of his clothes?”
Clapping his hand over his eyes, Jace shook his head. “Why does everyone think I wanted the man’s clothes?” He lowered his hand and looked up toward the sky. “Why can’t someone, for once, mention the mining caper in Souton, or the way I bamboozled the minister of trade in Marquithe?”
Narine, Rhoa, and Salvon laughed. Brogan joined in and patted Jace on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them about the time you shoved a rusty sword up a monster’s arse.”
More laughter followed, with Raskor and his wife joining in.
Jace looked at Brogan. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Sighing, Jace turned toward Raskor. “If you decide you are not above using spies, I would be happy to offer suggestions about how to get started.”
Raskor nodded. “Thank you. I will think on–”
Distant screams had everyone turning toward the city. Nobody was prepared for what came next.
A massive creature with a green body and shimmering, purple neck and head flew over Illustan. The beast released a roar and sent a burst of flames toward something below.
Narine and everyone else scrambled from the table and rushed to the balcony railing. “A dragon!” she exclaimed in awe.
“It’s attacking the city.” Raskor turned and rushed from the room, calling for guards.
Salvon shouted. “No, Raskor! You mustn’t attack it!”
When the wizard lord did not respond, Salvon rushed off to chase the man down. After a moment of hesitation, Ariella, Brogan, Blythe, and Phantom followed him, leaving Narine alone with Jace, Rhoa, Rawk, and Algoron. They turned to look over the railing, mesmerized as the immense, flying creature from legend twirled in the air and sailed out over the river.
“That thing is as big as a house,” Jace said.
“Maybe even bigger,” Rhoa added.
Rawk shook his head. “How can one fight something that size?”
“You don’t fight a dragon,” Algoron said. “You run away or else end up as a dragon snack.”
On the palace walls below, soldiers began to pour out, armed with spears and bows. A horn blew, a call to arms. It also attracted the dragon’s attention. The monster turned, circling over the city and releasing a roar. With increasing speed, it barreled toward the wall. Another call sounded, and a volley of arrows filled the air. The arrows struck the beast, deflecting off the glittering scales, the broken shafts falling harmlessly. Still flying toward the palace, a stream of fire shot from the dragon’s mouth, engulfing a cluster of soldiers on the wall, while those to either side readied spears. Screams erupted, arms flailing as they fell from the ramparts. Spears were launched, many striking the dragon, every one of them bouncing off harmlessly.
Brogan, Blythe, Phantom, and Ariella emerged on the rooftop of a tower to Narine’s right. At the same time, Raskor appeared on a tower to her left, overlooking the citadel wall. The man drew on his magic, the power of it glowing brightly even in the light of day. The dragon circled and returned for another attack on the wall, but just before the monster reached it, the wizard lord’s arms shot forward, a bolt of lightning surging out and striking the dragon. The lightning flickered and dissipated without any apparent effect. The beast banked and turned toward Raskor before releasing a furious blast of fire. Just in time, the man raised a magic shield as the flames enveloped him. When the dragon sailed past and the fire fell away, Raskor was on his knees, his robes tattered and burning. The man rolled on the tower roof in an attempt to douse the flames.
The dragon rose high above the castle and did a loop, its direction shifting toward the upper balcony where Narine and the others waited.
“Run!” Jace shouted. “Get inside!”
They all turned and ran around the table, toward the safety of the building. But Narine’s clumsy nature arose and she tripped, her dress snagged on a chair, and she landed on her back with a grunt, facing the sky, her jaw dropping in fright.
The dragon was fast approaching, its amber eyes focused on her. Desperate, Narine drew in her magic, the power augmented by her bracelet, and wove a shield to protect herself. As the dragon loosed a blast of fire, Jace was suddenly there.
He jumped on top of her, covering her with his body and cloak. The flames struck with roaring intensity, the balcony shaking, the blast lasting several seconds.
When it was over, Jace lifted his head. Eyes wide, he gripped her shoulders and rolled. Narine went over his body, then slammed back onto the floor, Jace on top. They rolled another half-turn, ending with her on top of him, shaken.
She looked over and saw the table, chairs, and everything else on the balcony in flames, black smoke rising into the air. She saw he was unharmed. In fact, neither of them were burned at all.
“You saved me,” she said breathlessly.
“As much as I enjoy you lying on top of me…” He smiled, “we had better get up. It’ll be coming back.”
Despite the tense situation, she chuckled and rolled off him. He stood and helped her up as they gazed at the distant dragon, circling over the city’s outer wall.
“We can’t fight that thing. I bet it’s what Salvon was trying to tell Raskor.” Jace’s eyes narrowed. “You know, when I get in a fight with someone I can’t beat, I choose trickery.”
“Trickery?” she repeated.
“Yeah. I pull something unexpected, something to get me out of the situation.”
Narine then recalled Salvon mentioning Zyordican was the last dragon, a female without a mate for many centuries. Inspired, she drew on her magic, pulling in as much as she could harness. She extended her hand and formed a construct of illusion. Working as quickly as possible, praying she would complete her illusion before the dragon turned her direction, she bent the colors and light until it took on an appearance similar to the dragon attacking the city save for one difference – its body was the blood red of a male.
The real dragon reared up, hovering over the city, staring toward the spot where Narine stood, her illusion in the air before her with wings flapping slowly. An odd cry came from the other dragon, and it flapped its wings furiously, bearing toward Narine and her illusion. Urgently, Narine raised her hand and lifted her illusion higher. The other dragon altered its flight path to follow. She then thrust her hands to the east, sending her illusion in that direction, wings flapping rapidly, the false dragon speeding away as the real dragon followed. Straining, Narine held the illusion as long as possible, positioning it against the morning sun, forcing the real dragon to face the bright light. When she could extend no farther, both the false and the real dragon miles away, she released her magic. The illusion faded instantly.
The dragon circled, its neck craning as it searched. It made a loop, scanning the ground below before releasing a long roar filled with pain, sorrow, and loss. Another roar followed before it continued east, toward the rising sun.
33
Your Rogue
Jace sat in Narine’s room with Adyn, trading stories of past taproom exploits. While she told a surprisingly racy tale about her and three male bodyguards during an evening in Tiadd City, the door to the room opened. When Salvon and Narine entered, Adyn stopped mid-sentence.
“How is Raskor?” Adyn asked.
“He is recovered,” Salvon said, the man sounding tired. “His magic healed him, but the effort was great, and he appears spent. I suspect he longs for tonight’s Devotion to refill his magic.”
Jace whistled. “When the dragon fire struck, I thought the man was dead for sure.”
Narine smoothed her dress and sat across from Jace. “Yet when the monster came for me, you risked your life to save mine.”
Swallowing, Jace glanced at Adyn and Salvon before replying. “Yeah. In
truth, I…I’m not sure what I was thinking. I just reacted.”
Salvon sat beside Narine. “Raskor’s magic could not shield him. Yours would have fared no better. If Jace hadn’t shielded you, I’m afraid…” The man didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Something had been bothering Jace in the hours since the incident. “Why weren’t Narine and I burned? The dragon couldn’t have missed us, could it?”
“That is the question.” Salvon nodded. “I suspect the answer resides with the amulet.”
Jace reached for his chest, recalling how the amulet had gone cold as ice when the dragon attacked. It protected me…and her. It felt like blind luck. A chill wracked his body as he realized how close he had come to being burned alive.
“Here is my theory,” Salvon explained. “Dragons are made of magic. They are said to be immune to most man-made weapons and impervious to all magical attacks. If their fire is based on magic, as the stories claim, your amulet negated the magic and left you unharmed. Now, if the dragon had decided to eat you… That would not have ended well.” Salvon put his hand on Narine’s shoulder. “It was good thinking to use illusion to distract her. While magic cannot harm her, you proved she can be led astray by it.”
Narine looked at Jace and gave him a small smile. “Jace gave me the idea to trick the dragon, and I recalled your tale of Zyordican, the last remaining dragon – a female.” She looked toward her feet, her tone shifting. “When my illusion faded and the dragon cried out, I felt sorry for her. The cry sounded…lonely.”
“I suspect she is lonely. Imagine living for centuries as the last of your kind. Living forever is not the boon others believe it might be.” Salvon sighed as he stood and headed toward the door. “Since Raskor is recovering and things are settled, for now, I believe I will take a nap. The beds here are among the finest I have ever known, and I would take advantage of it while I am able. I suspect it won’t be long before I am, once again, sleeping on the ground.”
With Salvon gone, Adyn stood and stretched. “Since we have nothing else planned for today, I think I’ll go find Brogan. Perhaps he is interested in a sparring match.” She grinned and began to cross the room. “Followed by a few tankards of ale, of course.”
Narine smiled, her eyes alight as she shook her head. “You are incorrigible. How am I to behave as a proper princess when I am surrounded by rogues like you two?”
Adyn grinned back as she reached the door. “Why bother? Jace made a good point during our journey to Shear. Life is too short to pay such attention to what others think of you.”
Without another word, Adyn slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind her.
Jace looked at Narine. They were alone. In a palace bedroom. His pulse began to race at the mere thought of the possibilities. Before he could say anything, she spoke.
“I wish to thank you for saving my life. Again.” Her tone sounded sincere. “You seem to have made a habit of it.”
Jace shook his head as he recalled the numerous times he had risked his life for hers. “I can’t seem to help myself.” He looked at her and grinned. “Perhaps I cannot bear the thought of allowing damage to something so beautiful.”
She laughed. “You are such a rogue.”
He stood and sat beside her, his arm around her back. “Perhaps I could be your rogue?”
She gripped his hand, looking down at it. “I…I would like that, but…”
“But what? The world is going crazy, Narine. Wizard lords are dying and tripping over each other in a race for power. Monsters of legend are appearing. We are running for our lives but have no idea what we run toward.” He squeezed her hand, and she lifted her face to meet his gaze. “There is something between us. I know you feel it. Why not embrace it? Why not get what pleasure we can from life before there is no time left to do so?”
She shook her head. “You must understand, I don’t have your experience in this area.” Her aqua blue eyes stared into his. In them, he saw a scared girl trapped inside a woman’s body. “I have never…”
He almost guffawed but caught himself before it came out. “Never?”
She shook her head, her eyes toward the floor.
Placing his hand beneath her chin, he lifted it until her eyes met his again. “I am glad you told me. Don’t worry. I am happy to give instruction where required. After all, I was professionally trained.”
He leaned in, their lips meeting, hers soft and warm. When he pulled back, he stood and held his hand out. She took it, standing. He led her toward the door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, brow furrowed.
Jace reached toward the door and locked it, flashing a grin. “Neither of us will be leaving this room for quite some time.”
He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. Without pause, he gripped his tunic and pulled it over his head, followed by unstrapping the sheaths secured to his wrists and back. The entire time, she watched with a smirk.
“What?” he asked.
“I am just appreciating what I see.”
He grinned. “Your turn.”
Biting her lip, she reached back and began to undo her dress. His heart racing, he hurried to pull off one boot, then the other. She pulled her dress down, revealing her white shift, the fabric so thin he could almost see through it. His body reacted instantly.
In a flash, he yanked his breeches off and threw them across the room. Narine gave him one last shy look and pulled the shift over her head.
After weeks of dreaming of it, he grinned and shook his head, his gaze sweeping her meandering curves as he stepped close and cupped her cheek. “You are one amazing woman.”
He kissed her tenderly. She responded with unexpected eagerness, then pulled back.
“Well?” She gave him a mischievous grin, her gaze looking him over. “There is now nothing between us but skin. What are you going to do about it?”
His blood boiling, he gripped her hand. “I am about to conquer the world.”
She laughed as he pulled her toward the bed.
The exterior door to the throne room antechamber opened and Lord Raskor entered, the man freezing when he noticed he wasn’t alone.
Salvon sat across the room, a glass of brandy in his hand. “I knew you would come through here.”
“Yes. The time for Devotion draws near,” Raskor said as he walked closer.
“It was a trying day,” Salvon said, reaching for a half-filled glass on the table beside him. “I thought you might enjoy a glass of brandy with me before you head up into the tower.”
Raskor looked at the glass in Salvon’s extended hand. The man appeared to struggle with a decision before nodding. “Very well.” He took the glass and sat on the sofa with a sigh.
Salvon leaned forward. “I wanted to speak with you in private. There are things transpiring the others do not know, cannot know…at least not yet.”
The wizard lord’s brow furrowed. “What sort of things?”
“It began with an amulet, enchanted by a magic that renders even a wizard lord powerless. With this magical item, Lord Taladain was murdered. His removal allowed other things to occur. Even now, war wages in Ghealdor with the cities’ prayers as the prize.”
Raskor took a drink and shook his head. “You have already told me all of this.”
“Yes, but I feel there is a hand behind it all, as if moving the pieces of a game board. The sequence of events has upset the balance of magic. What if that is the intent behind it all? What if the wizard lords themselves are pawns and the true design behind theses machinations is something more complex?”
“Such as?”
Salvon leaned forward and whispered, “To shift magic in another direction.”
The wizard lord’s eyes narrowed. “To what ends?”
Leaning back, Salvon nodded. “Exactly.”
Abruptly, Raskor’s eyes grew wide. He leaned forward, dropping his glass, which crashed to the floor in a spray of shards and amber liquid. His hands went to his throat as he
choked.
Salvon shook his head. “It is too bad you spent Pallan’s magic recovering from the dragon fire. Without it, you cannot burn the poison from your body, and black tear works quite fast.”
The wizard lord fell back in his chair, foaming at the mouth, his back arching as his body shook, wracked with pain.
Rising to his feet, Salvon set his glass down and looked down at the dying wizard. “I am sorry, old friend. The shift in magic brings change, which can only continue with the throne of Pallanar falling vacant. When reclaimed, a fire will rise to capture the south, and the shift will become permanent. Please understand. It is nothing personal.”
Turning, Salvon walked across the room, toward the exterior door where a guard surely waited. He flung it open, his voice frantic.
“Hurry! Something is wrong with Lord Raskor!”
The guards outside rushed in, encircling the wizard lord, his body shaking with a seizure.
Salvon followed, standing between the men. “Raskor said he felt ill, something about aftereffects of dragon magic.”
“What do we do?” Theodin asked.
Salvon shook his head. “I do not know. Who can guess at the magic of a dragon?”
Raskor fell limp, his eyes staring off into space, spittle covering his mouth and beard. Kneeling, Salvon felt for a pulse, finding none.
He looked up at Theodin. “I am sorry. Raskor Ueordlin, Lord of Pallanar, is dead.”
Epilogue
Thurvin exited his chamber for the last time, pausing in the doorway for one final glimpse of what had been his home for six years. With a bed, sitting area, and desk, it was modest compared to other rooms in the palace. From this space, he had risen to rule the underbelly of Marquithe. From his next home, he would one day rule the world.
“We have little time, master,” Cleric Korlian said, kneading his hands. “The Darkening is nearly on us.”
“Yes,” Thurvin replied. “Let us go crown a new wizard lord.”
He walked down the corridor with the cleric and a trio of guards in tow. The ceremonial robes he wore swished with each step. They had required hasty alterations since Thurvin was much shorter than Malvorian.
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