Fortress Draconis (71 page)

“But, if you wanted to write a poem, you could, right?”

“Having a duty to perform in one area does not preclude having abilities to perform well in other areas.” The Gyrkyme shrugged. “We’re not mindless, just focused on our duty. All else, of which there is much, is secondary.”

Will tossed his towels on the floor and began dressing. The body servant returned in time to collect the towels and nightshirt, which he carried away. The scullion reappeared and slid a small bucket with fruit and some meat in it across the floor to Perrine. The servant left before she could start eating, but did not close the door after herself. Will walked over to do that, but Trawyn appeared in the doorway before he could.

The elf reached out and tugged on the shoulders of Will’s tunic, then smoothed the sleeves. “Very good. The seamsters will be pleased their work fits so well.”

“It does.” Will returned to the bed and sat there to pull on his boots. They were the only piece of clothing that the elves had not taken away and replaced. Will did notice that they’d been cleaned and polished, which impressed him. He smiled, figuring he looked good enough that he’d have targeted himself as a rich man from whom a fortune could be stolen in a crowd.

Trawyn nodded as if she’d read his mind as he stood. “Quite suitable. Now, if you will, we shall repair to the gardens.”

Peri emerged from her nest, with her clothing in place and a couple of apples speared on talons for the walk. “Please.”

Trawyn affected not to have heard her, so Will nodded. “I think we’re ready.”

The elven princess took Will’s arm and guided him through the palace wing, along corridors that had not been laid out in an exact line but instead meandered, akin to a termite’s track through wood. Various niches housed statuettes or pretty rocks, and the veins in some of the wood swirled around and into ghostly murals. While all of it was quite fetching, Will did have the feeling he was being taken along a minor corridor because they had Peri in tow.

They emerged through a tunnel that resembled a long, rootlike projection and into the garden. Soft moist mosses covered the earth beneath the spreading boughs of thousands of trees. In their branches were nestled hundreds of different flowering plants. Some grew right there on the branches, with their roots and stems projecting into the air. Others were clearly cultivated so their vines rose up and around the host trees, while others had been raised in pots that had been inserted into niches. The combined effect of color and fragrance overwhelmed Will at first, and his stopping only a couple of steps into the riot of color clearly pleased Trawyn.

Peri breathed in deeply, then unfurled her wings and struck skyward. Trawyn watched her go, the smile on her face not slackening a bit—at least not until she noticed Will glancing up at her. Her blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but the smile broadened and carried up into them.

“The palace gardens here in Rellaence are renowned among the homelands for their variety of plants. We have samples here from every homeland, even Lost Vorquellyn.”

“Raising them so the Vorks will have something to bring home when the island is reconquered?”

Trawyn nodded. “When you redeem it, Will Norrington.”

Will smiled and let her lead him on a whimsy course through the garden. Many of the plants were or resembled some of those Resolute had taught him to recognize. Where things got rather unfamiliar were in the silverwood and mageoak groves. In the boughs of silverwood trees grew plants whose fruits and flowers looked a lot like body parts or animals. Trawyn explained how the elixir made from a heart-shaped leaf would promote good heart health, or a foot-shaped fruit might be good to get rid of a toe fungus when made into a poultice and applied liberally.

Mageoak had a lot of plants that had similar shapes, but these had magickal powers. “Here a heart-shaped leaf could brew a tea to make love grow.”

Will pointed at a feathery flower. “And this one?”

Trawyn stiffened. “It is a legacy plant, grown only to preserve it. We do not use it now.”

“What did it do?”

“It is known as dreamwing. It let fancies fly during sleep and, being a powerful drug, deluded some into thinking unorthodox thoughts. It’s not been used in centuries.” She tugged him away from the purple flower with gold edging. “There is a pond where we may relax, over here.”

It seemed pretty clear to Will that she didn’t want to talk about dreamwing, so he shifted the subject. “I heard that servants aren’t always servants here, which would be tough, given that you live a long, long time.”

Trawyn spread her skirts and sat, then patted the greensward beside her. “That’s quite true. Your body servant of today might head to sea tomorrow to fish, then tend the garden the day after.”

Will sat. “Isn’t that confusing? Who would know what needs to be done?”

She laughed lightly, then tapped a finger near her right eye. “Your Resolute, his eyes are a solid color. He was not bound to his homeland as we have been to Loquellyn. Because of our being tied to our land, we know what the tasks are that we are called upon to perform.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

The princess smiled carefully. “You know that the Spritha learn from the world that they must be at a specific place, at a specific time.”

“Yes.”

“It is similar with us, though not quite as urgent. At times we know we are to go learn from a particular person, or to teach them, and the skills that are acquired then are used as needed. Were Loquellyn under invasion, our calling would be to fight, so to war we would go. The Blackfeathers headed to Okrannel because that was what would serve Loquellyn best. When they return, they might farm, they might sweep; they could do anything.”

“Even be a princess?”

“No, not that.” She frowned slightly. “Intermarriage with those from other homelands is not discouraged, and each elf is linked to the land of his birth, regardless of where his parents came from. Within a homeland, however, the nobility is born of generation after generation of individuals linked to that homeland. Our link to it is stronger, therefore our responsibility is deeper and greater. Our path is a bit more rigid.”

Will thought he heard a longing for the freedom others had. “More responsibility, and you have to lead. Is that why your hatred for Gyrkyme is so strong?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I have no hatred for your… friend.”

“Ha! You can’t even say her name. And you don’t look at her, not if anyone can see you doing it.” He scowled. “If that’s not hatred, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s not hatred, dear Will.” Trawyn’s voice softened. “Others may hate the Gyrkyme, but I do not hate your Perrine. There, I said her name. But you are correct, I have difficulty looking at her.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“It’s not hatred, Will, truly it is not.” The elven princess shook her head solemnly. “She is akin to the Vorquelves— because of Aurolani evil the Gyrkyme and the Vorquelves are forever barred from fulfilling their elven nature. They cannot become part of their homelands. Knowing how much my connection to Loquellyn completes me, I mourn their lack of that bond. I cannot look at her because in her I see what she could have been without evil’s taint, and the reality of her is too painful for me to bear.”

Kerrigan Reese stood a man-length away from the wooden bier upon which Orla’s shrouded body had been laid. A single sunbeam poured through a small, high window, illuminating her body. She looked far smaller lying there than she ever had in life.

The pirates had used some sailcloth to sew up a shroud for her. They’d used a bright crimson canvas, which was co-incidentally appropriate since that was the color worn to indicate skill at combat magick. He was pretty certain neither Lombo nor the crew realized that, but he felt sure Orla would have appreciated it.

Even though she didn’t wear red around me.He thought back over his brief association with her. She’d not taught him combat spells—he’d learned all she knew and more before she ever became his tutor. Instead she had tried to train him to function as a warrior. He could see that at this remove, and saw how he had failed her. He’d been taught so much that he could do almost anything, and she had been trying to teach him how to decide, how to take responsibility and act.

He glanced back to his right, to the elf standing behind him in the solemn, dim chamber. “Thank you for letting me have this moment with her. We can proceed.”

Arristan glided forward, silently, and took up a position opposite Kerrigan across Orla’s body. The elf spread his hands out, letting his palms play a handspan above the shroud-covered body. “It is still there. Lomardel and Osthelwin were foolish to dismiss you and ignore Magister Orla’s concerns.”

Kerrigan stepped closer to her body and held up the block of mageoak he’d asked his host to provide the previous night. A foot long, and three inches on the smaller sides, it felt lighter than he would have thought. He caressed it with his right hand. “If you would open the shroud, please.”

The brown-haired elf gestured languidly with one hand and the stitching snaked free, letting the shroud sag open. He spread the cloth over Orla’s stomach and the putrid stench that rose choked Kerrigan. He swallowed his gorge back down, then set the block in place against her grey flesh, covering the wound. The top of the block touched her wrists where they crossed over her heart. He made sure it settled in, concentrating on her stomach so he would not look up at her empty face.

Arristan’s brown eyes flicked up at him. “You are certain you can do this?”

Kerrigan nodded slowly. A discussion with Osthelwin had revealed that both the elven healers had detected the dual spells that Orla had warned them about. They used magick to sever the spells, then discovered the shielding spell was something of an illusion. The reason Kerrigan had found it difficult to define was because it pulled in magickal energy and once it had enough, it exploded, casting off one of a variety of spells at the mages who were plying it with magick. Kerrigan’s investigatory spells had been insufficiently powerful to trigger the shield spell, but the elves had provided it more than enough energy.

When Orla’s body had been removed from theWhite Shark, Kerrigan had detected the spells as still active and warned others of the danger. As the elves discussed things, Kerrigan mulled the problem over and came up with a solution. Impressed by his thoughts on the matter, the elves decided to let him try to get rid of the spells.

It never occurred to him that in letting him try his solution they put no more of their own people in jeopardy. Arristan agreed to help him because he was Kerrigan’s host and his skill at magick ran to conjuration and construction spells, not curative, so he was not needed to deal with his stricken brethren. Loquellyn’s healers had their hands full trying to help Osthelwin and Lomardel, with hopes sinking for the latter with each hour.

Kerrigan took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Again he stroked the wooden block and trickled magick into it. He used the spell he’d employed to make Orla’s new staff, slowly reshaping the wood.Magilextook well to being thaumaturgically manipulated, with the wood taking on the viscosity of thick sap, allowing itself to be pushed, pulled, and pinched into a new form. Kerrigan worked with a broad outline for the physical shape, and concentrated on altering the block’s essence so it matched Orla in every way possible.

Kerrigan wasn’t certain how long it took for him to have themagilex block changed into a simulacrum of Orla, but the sunbeam had long since moved-off her body by the time he was done. He’d come up with his plan without using Wheele’s wand or even touching it—though he did use what the renegade mage had said about it. He reasoned that if the wand allowed him to identify her spells, then crafted a response to her, he should be able to locate those elements of her essence that the wand had used. Once he had them, and instilled them into the mageoak model, the spells lurking in her decaying flesh could be lured out, mistaking the block for her.

Arristan glanced down at the Adept’s handiwork. Settled against Orla’s womb lay a small wooden statuette of a woman. It could easily have been taken as a grave offering that would be entombed with her. “You are certain of this next part?”

Kerrigan rubbed at his eyes. “Not wholly, but I think it should work.” Again, following how the spell seemed to track along the lines of energy back to the mage casting a spell, Kerrigan touched the simulacrum and used it as a conduit to cast a simple diagnostic spell. At the same time Arristan used a spell to make the simulacrum more receptive to enchantment. Kerrigan’s spell teased the Aurolani magick with the impression that its target, Orla, was again available. To enhance that impression, he altered how he cast his spell to more closely match the elements that identified Orla.

The Aurolani spell slowly stirred. Kerrigan made his magick trickle in along Orla’s arms, then withdrew the tendrils of it. Heslin’s magick moved from her guts upward, through inert flesh, following the ethereal residue. Kerrigan pulsed a bit more power in and the Aurolani spell quickened.

“Careful, Adept, very careful.” The elf swiped at the sweat on his brow with his left hand.

“I will be.” Sweat burned into Kerrigan’s eyes. His finger stroked the simulacrum and magickal tendrils flicked at the malignant spell. Little by slowly, inch by inch, he lured it up to her left shoulder and then let it flow down her arm and out the wrist, into the wooden doll.

The doll shook, then opened its mouth in a soundless scream before trying to bite Kerrigan’s finger. All it got was a mouthful of dragonbone armor, then Arristan killed his spell and the doll froze with fury etched into its features. The human mage picked the doll up and with a simple gesture the elf magically sewed the shroud closed again.

Arristan wiped his face with a sleeve. “The magick has left her. She can rest well. That thing you should have destroyed.”

Kerrigan shook his head. “No, it won’t hurt anyone now.”

“How can you say that? From here I can sense that the magick is still active.”

“Yes, but it has a severe limitation. It didn’t kill Orla outright because she had been altered in her nature when I healed an injury. The spell that killed her produced a toxin that poisoned her. When it jumped to your healers, it produced the same toxin, which could be fatal to them, but much less so than to a man. Even with her dead, it continued to work, consuming her body, and would have continued until nothing was left of her. Now, the spell is trapped in wood, so it will start dissolving this block. If I were foolish enough to let it jump into me, it would be far from lethal, since I’m not made ofmagilexT