Dragon Sleeping (The Dragon Circle Trilogy Book 1) (42 page)

Before that greatness could begin, Nunn had to add the third eye to his collection. He had placed the first two in the flesh of his palms so that they would always be a part of him, and he would always share in their power. But, with a dragon eye on his either side, where should he place the third?

Of course, he realized, there was only one place for the newest gem, one spot to display proudly the gift from the dragon, to let all those who came before him know that he was heir to the dragon’s power. Once he thought of this, he realized there was no other place for the eye to go.

He felt the heat of the stone as it rubbed against his fingers. His hands tingled with the sensation as he rolled the stone about the other eyes, as the power of all three gems built, waiting for the magic to burst forth. Nunn breathed deeply, letting the energy wash over him for a minute while the stones reached their peak.

The moment was near, so familiar from his use of the two stones, but so much more now with three. The energy seethed from finger to palm to thumb, then spread to wrist and elbow and shoulder. Nunn allowed himself a moment of the fullness the power brought before he concentrated on placing it back into the stone.

Now, he thought.

He brought both hands up to his face and placed the stone against his forehead. Although the stone was dark, it felt white- hot against his skin, for the eye still held all its energy within.

“Now!” Nunn shouted as he pressed the stone into his flesh. He heard his skin sizzle as the great heat burned it away and filled his lungs with the acrid smell of sorcerous fire. He pressed his palms against the newest stone, so that two eyes pressed against the third, heat adding to heat, and heard the bone bubble and boil as the skull melted to make way for the facets of the gem. As the power grew, so did the vibrations that spread from his hands to rack his whole body. And now he could feel those same resonances in that space above his eyes as well, great sweeping tremors of energy that threatened to make him collapse. But he wouldn’t stop yet, not before he was truly fulfilled. A final moment of concentration, and he would be done.

Nunn screamed for joy as the dragon’s eye pushed into his forehead.

E
van Mills opened his eyes. Or at least he tried to. It was far too bright.

“About time!” a high, whiny voice announced. “Zachs is not to be kept waiting!”

“Zachs?” Mills asked, remembering the creature of light as he repeated its name. He had met the thing somewhere inside Nunn. It felt very long ago. He couldn’t remember much that had happened since. He did remember light and then blankness. How had he regained consciousness?

“Zachs hides,” the whiny voice said proudly. “Zachs knows Nunn. Waits for the right moment. Nunn gains power. Zachs lives for power!”

“What do you want from me?” Mills asked.

“You woke Zachs!” the thing insisted. “You’re Zachs’ friend. Now Zachs wakes you! Together, we will use Nunn’s power! Together, we will find a way to get free!”

So that’s why the creature was here. It knew Mills had somehow been independent of the wizard’s power before. Now it wanted Mills to show it some way out.

Except Mills didn’t know a way out, didn’t even know the exact nature of the place they now were in.

But he did know another thing or two.

“Zachs,” he replied, “there is a way out of here. But we will have to wake a couple of the others first.”

The creature giggled. “Zachs will wake everyone. Power enough for all!”

“Yes, Zachs,” Mills agreed. “Power and freedom, too.”

T
he King of the Wolves was worried.

He had already lost a part of his pack to these treacherous humans. And he could hear rumblings from those that remained, that he was no longer worthy of leadership, that he should be challenged and killed.

The wolves needed meat. Not that they were truly hungry; they were skilled hunters, and took down small animals and the occasional larger creature, like those three red-furred things that came from another island. But they held a different, deeper appetite. The humans had rebuffed them too many times. They needed to tear apart soft human flesh, to taste the salty blood that only came from man and woman.

He scented humans often now. There were many of them in the wood these days. A great group of them had passed through here only moments ago, including a number armed with those sharp flying and stabbing things to cut the life from a wolf. They were not the best place to start.

The King of the Wolves prowled, barking for the others to follow. His pack might grumble against him, but they still obeyed. He caught the smell of other humans on the wind. A smaller group this time, only four, and two of them had the particular stink that came to humans with age. But old meat was better than no meat at all, especially when its real purpose was to lift the spirits of the pack. After they were done with the aged, the two others would give them more tender, juicier fare. Maybe, the King thought, they could keep one or two of them alive in a Man Trap and lengthen their feast. No one would question the King of the Wolves after that.

The King moved forward warily, growling for the others to follow, but at a distance. He would scout this prey himself. He wanted no chance of failure. Yes, he could see all four of them in the brightness of the clearing ahead. They hardly moved at all, instead sitting and leaning against the ground, plainly exhausted. The old man’s head kept nodding down, as if he was fighting sleep. The old woman stared up into the trees, perhaps looking for something far away. Another woman of middle years stared at the ground, muttering to herself. The only one who appeared to be any sort of trouble was the fourth, a youngster who spent half his time talking to the woman who looked at the ground, and the other half pacing the clearing.

It already looked like these four had lost a great battle. They appeared exhausted and dispirited, not much of a foe at all. The wolves would have the human meat they needed, after all. And maybe, the King thought, they’d save the boy for later.

The King of the Wolves howled for the pack to follow as he broke into a run. Three of the four in the clearing ahead didn’t even seem to notice his cry.

He broke into the clearing with a great growl. It wouldn’t do if these humans were too dispirited. Their meat tasted so much better if it had been flavored with a scream or two, just before they were taken down.

“Wolves!” the boy cried.

“Yesss!” the King of the Wolves exulted. “Ssit sstill. It willl be overrr quicklyy.”

“What?” The old man started, as if he had indeed been sleeping. “Oh, bother.”

He pointed at the King. Green light shot from the man’s finger. The King of the Wolves screamed in pain.

Wizards! Was there no end to this human trickery? He howled a warning to the rest of the pack. The King somehow got his paws beneath him and scrambled from the clearing.

There were no sounds of pursuit. The humans seemed to still be sitting there, as if there had been no attack at all.

He was safe from the wizard, then.

The King was not so sure about his pack. They had been promised human meat. The grumbles would soon become growls, and he would find his throat tom out and be left to bleed to death on a forest trail.

The King of the Wolves roared to all of the woods. “Frustrating, isn’t it?” a voice said behind him. A human voice.

The King spun about, ready to defend himself. But the tall, pale creature before him made no move toward him. He did not look precisely human, either, although he might once have been a man, for he had a great, green jewel embedded in his forehead, a jewel that lit the whole forest around him.

“Whoo arre youu?” the King of the Wolves demanded.

“A friend,” the stranger said with a smile. The King didn’t like it when humans, or things that looked like humans, smiled. “A friend who has recently acquired a bit of power. I saw your frustration when you attacked those humans. Perhaps there could be a way to lend you a bit of my power, so that you could go back and destroy them.”

“Desstroy?” the King growled warily.

“Let us say that this is something I wish to see done as well,” the stranger replied. “Because of this, I might be able to give you certain abilities that would make you faster, fiercer, better than you are. Are you interested in making a bargain?”

The King of the Wolves reared up on his hind legs. For once, he was ready to listen to a human voice.

T
he wolf seemed to have woken them all up. At least, all of them besides Bobby’s mother. She smiled as she stared at someplace nobody else could see, murmuring words of comfort to her husband and son.

“Do you have your lunch? I made that sandwich especially. How was your day, dear? Oh, the lines at the supermarket were terrible. And they have to do something about that traffic—” She’d shiver from time to time, but then start her monologue again, reassuring words from the family and neighbors. “Did you see that thing the Smiths put on their lawn? What’s happening to this neighborhood? I made your favorite for dinner—”

It felt like this place was too scary for her, and she had to find someplace—the old neighborhood—that was safer. Bobby wondered if she’d ever leave the neighborhood again.

“Obar,” Mrs. Smith said quietly. “I’m sorry for losing the stone. I was overconfident. I rushed into this thing without really knowing what I was doing.”

“And I’m terribly out of practice,” Obar answered with a sad smile. “I was totally exhausted by that confrontation. We’ll have to get better if we’re going to defeat Nunn.”

“Defeat Nunn?” Mrs. Smith shook her head. “How can we possibly defeat Nunn? Thanks to my foolishness, he has three of the dragon’s eyes!”

“But we have one,” Obar replied reasonably. “And we have your power, which was formidable even before you got the eye. And there are other eyes out there, on other islands, eyes that used to be hidden from us. But this world is changing, maybe because you are here, or maybe because of the dragon. The other eyes should be easier to find, for those quick and willing to find them.”

Mrs. Smith closed her own eyes for a second. “There are three more of them, aren’t there? In three very different places.”

Now it was Obar’s turn to shake his head. “And you do that without the benefit of your own dragon’s eye.” A short bark of laughter emerged from between his lips. “Sometimes I find you frightening.”

“My husband used to say things like that to me, too,” Mrs. Smith replied with a smile. “It’s a shame I’ll never see him again.”

“You never know,” Obar said, suddenly very serious. “That sort of thing is the will of the dragon.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Smith asked with her own frown. “This is always so mysterious. How can anybody know the dragon’s will?”

“I have a feeling that we will all know far more about the dragon before this is over,” Obar added. “Far less mystery, far more blood. But we must plan to find the other eyes.”

“As soon as we know that the others are safe,” Mrs. Smith agreed. “I have the feeling there is still something we can do for Mary Lou.” She looked over at Bobby and his mother. “For that matter, maybe there’s something we can do for Mrs. Furlong, too.”

Bobby shook his head. His mother said something reassuring to the dirt.

“I think Nunn’s done too much to her,” Bobby said.

“Anything Nunn can do can be undone,” Mrs. Smith answered, some of the old strength returning to her voice. “With or without an extra dragon’s eye.”

“You are truly terrifying,” Obar remarked. “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“And I’m glad that you keep that in mind,” Mrs. Smith said with the sweetest of smiles. “Now, what say we try to help Mary Lou?”

M
ary Lou never thought she would hate her name.

The cries of “Merrilu! Merrilu!” were deafening as her captors carried her from the last of the trees onto the great log platform of the People’s village. Mary Lou didn’t want to hear any more. She wanted to cover her ears, to make all of it go away, if only for an instant, a final silent moment for her to think. But her hands were pinned to her sides by a hundred of the People’s hands, and hundreds of voices shouted her name.

“It will be over with soon,” the prince’s soft voice cut through the chanting again.

“Merrilu! Merrilu!” the People called ecstatically as they carried her across the platform.

Soon, she supposed, there would be nothing but quiet.

C
harlie barked at the disappearing Volunteers. Wilbert grunted away, reaching the tree line a full minute after any of the others, but still climbing with a steady pace. Nick and Todd were not far behind.

“You want to go, boy, don’t you?” Jason said to the dog. He was surprised he hadn’t volunteered to join the rescue team himself. But a part of Jason felt it was important to stay with the Oomgosh, as if this was his true purpose in this place. He looked over at the tree man, who also watched the others leave very intently, as if for once he wished he could leave the ground. The Oomgosh’s new limb was growing at remarkable speed, its bright green shoot already half as long as the arm that remained. In another day or so, Jason doubted they would even be able to tell which arm the tree man had lost to the poisoned spear. Jason would feel better, too, once the Oomgosh was whole and himself.

“I feel so helpless,” Mrs. Dafoe said softly.

“We should arm ourselves,” Mrs. Jackson replied suddenly. “I never want to feel that way again. Let’s see what Joan has in that sack.”

Mrs. Blake looked up from the assortment of knives and hatchets. “We all need to protect ourselves.”

Rebecca Jackson hugged her arms close to her body, as if fighting off a chill. “It’s not like—” she began. “Some of you have guessed that things were not that good between Carl and myself. Sometimes I was scared of him. A hundred times I swore I’d leave him. But where would I go? What would happen to Todd?” She walked over to get a better view of the knives. “All those worries disappeared when we were pulled out of our homes and brought here. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I don’t want to be afraid the way I was before.” She crouched down next to Joan. “I think I’d like a knife. I sort of know how to handle that. I wouldn’t have a clue how to handle a hatchet.”