The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) (21 page)

“I
AM A magician. My staff stays with me,” Lukan insisted, clutching the precious instrument with pride.

“Precisely. It brands you as a magician. Lokeen already has one magician in his dungeon. He’ll throw you and Chess there as well at the first whiff of magic. And believe me, you do not want to be a prisoner in his dungeon,” she returned, standing squarely in front of him. “The Great Mother only knows why he hasn’t imprisoned Princess Rejiia. She reeks of magic, and I have no talent for recognizing it!”

“Rejiia’s magic is designed to cast a veil over the eyes of her victims so that they see only her allure and not her purpose. She will present obstacles if she recognizes us.” Lukan met Gerta’s gaze, realizing once again that he topped her by only an inch, and he was headed toward being as tall as his father and brother. Her muscles, honed by years of working the forge, and weapons training before that, probably gave her strength well beyond his, and he couldn’t work any magic within the castle to compensate for the difference.

“If I may offer a compromise?” Skeller asked. A half smile played around his mouth, as if he knew something they didn’t and found it amusing.

“Such as?” Lukan and Gerta replied together, still staring at each other and still snarling.

“Gerta, will you lend me your dagger? I’d use mine, but then I’d have no weapon at all and I know you have at least a dozen others,” Skeller continued. He sauntered over to the bed, threw off the coverlet and stripped the top sheet from the mattress.

“What for?” she demanded, finally breaking eye contact with Lukan.

“An old trick used by scallywags and scoundrels on the caravan circuit.” He attacked the sheet with his knife, tearing off several long strips of fabric, each about as wide as his palm.

Cautiously, Gerta drew her long knife from its sheath.

“No, the whole thing, sheath too, but not the belt.”

She unbuckled the belt and slid the sheath’s loop along its length until it was free, and then handed it to him.

Quickly, Skeller wrapped one strip of fine linen—so fine Lukan had thought it silk at first—around and around the sheath until all but the very tip of the pommel was covered. “Lukan, your arm?”

Lukan proffered his right arm, the one that wasn’t holding his staff.

“Your left arm. You want the right free for defending yourself, or whatever.”

Lukan shifted his grip on the staff from left to right and stuck out his arm. Skeller placed the wrapped dagger on the outside of his forearm so that the pommel rested just above the elbow and bound it in place with a few light wraps at wrist and middle arm. The he returned the staff to the crook of Lukan’s elbow and wrapped some more.

“This is very awkward,” Lukan complained.

“It looks like a crutch,” Chess offered.

“Exactly,” Skeller confirmed. “Now, a few sharp bits of gravel, I keep on hand for throwing in the eyes of attackers, wrapped in more linen and bound to your bent knee.” He stooped to finish his disguise.

“That’s going to hurt like . . . an unlanced boil,” Gerta said.

“Only if he straightens the leg. Limp a lot, Lukan. It makes the crutch more plausible. You are now a homeless cripple and not worth noticing. I doubt even Rejiia will recognize you.”

Chess began giggling.

“What?” Lukan said a little too loudly. He liked the idea of a disguise, but this . . . this was humiliating.

“You need an eye patch. Then you’ll look even more helpless.”

“He’s right,” Gerta agreed.

Skeller dug in his pack, the one he hadn’t bothered unpacking because the wardrobe held more of what he’d need in the castle than his wandering essentials. “I really like this shirt. But it’s so threadbare with ingrained dirt Aunt Maria won’t let me wear it in her presence.” Grimly he ripped the hem off the garment and tied it diagonally around Lukan’s head so that his left eye was covered.

“I can still see daylight and some outlines through it,” Lukan said.

“Good. Then you aren’t as blind as people will think and you can still defend yourself with the staff on that side.”

Lukan experimented with lashing to the left and behind with the staff. He had control.

“And you, Gerta, can extract the dagger if you must just by pulling on the pommel. But leave it in there as long as possible, not only to hide just how well armed we are, but to give the arm brace a bit more stability.” Skeller pulled the dagger free of its double sheath about an inch to demonstrate.

“I guess we’re ready then,” Chess said. He sounded disappointed that he didn’t have a weapon or a disguise.

“Not quite yet.” Skeller returned to his pack and withdrew a thick canvas sack smaller than his palm with a tight drawstring. “Pepper powder. A pinch blown into the eyes is guaranteed to temporarily blind anyone getting too close.”

Chess smiled hugely. And they trooped out the door, Lukan trailing behind as he discovered just how much star gravel on the back of his knee hurt.

“You will not punish the boy!” Maria screamed at her brother-in-law. She didn’t know where she found the courage to defy him.

“My son is no longer a boy. He must take responsibility for his actions,” King Lokeen said lazily, lounging in his throne, nibbling on honey-dipped walnuts imported from Coronnan.

“He spent some time exploring the world, furthering his education. You dispatched letters to him, he returned. He has proven himself responsible and loyal,” Maria argued.

“I have indeed returned,” Toskellar drawled from the doorway, leaning on the frame indolently. He looked as lazy and uninterested in the mob of courtiers gathered to watch the show of discipline that might end in bloodshed as he had when a rebellious teenager.

But in the years since, Maria had learned much about observing posture and the way a man’s gaze flitted here and there, weighing, assessing. Within three flicks of his eyelids, she knew that her beloved nephew had noted every means of escape, including some she might not consider.

“Introduce me to your friends, son,” Lokeen demanded. He scowled as Gerta took a place next to Maria, half a step behind her left shoulder.

“Unnecessary. Waifs I encountered on the road and brought along for companionship.” Toskellar lurched upright from his slouch. He retained the lazy, arrogant posture.

“Necessary,” Lokeen spat. “If they leech hospitality from me, then I will know them.”

Maria took one painful step forward and spread her hands, palm up in an image of abject innocence. “A homeless teenager, a crippled beggar, and a female warrior who was exiled from this place two years ago; of what possible use can they be?”

“You’d be surprised.” Lokeen glared at her.

“Why did you expend a great deal of money and energy to pay a magician to summon me home?” Still looking indolent and only mildly curious, Skeller examined his fingernails rather than look his father in the eye.

“I have found you a bride. We can hold the ceremony in a matter of weeks. Get her pregnant with a daughter, then you will be free to wander the world again and I shall continue as regent for your queen.”

“No,” said a tall, black-haired woman emerging from behind Lokeen.

All the little murmurings and shuffling of a crowded room grew silent.

Toskellar and his crippled companion—who hadn’t been crippled a few hours ago—started and reached for weapons. Gerta was only a heartbeat behind in placing one large, callused hand on her sword grip and the other beneath Maria’s elbow to assist in their escape.

Lukan stood almost frozen in place, gaze glued to Rejiia and the servants who lingered behind her. How could he look anywhere but at her magnificent beauty?

He blinked and swallowed, knowing full well that she cast a magical allure around her. From the stillness around him, he suspected most of the men in the room had also fallen victim to her enchantment.

(Knowledge is power
.
)
The dragon voice in the back of his head crept around the edges of his need to move closer to Rejiia, touch her, kiss her, make her his own. He gripped his staff with his right hand, in an awkward cross-arm pose. He needed his essential tool in his hand, not cradled in the crook of his offside elbow.

The staff tingled in his hand.
Knowledge is power. I know what she’s doing, therefore I can break her spell.
Another blink and a deep swallow and his eyes cleared. No longer did he gaze lustfully through a veil of softer colors and misty emotions. The sharp contrasts and straight lines of real vision jarred him the rest of the way back into control of his mind and body.
I am stronger than she. She can only build upon existing lust. I know her for what she is and therefore have no lust, so her spell upon me is weak. I can break it.

But he didn’t want to let her know that. So he modified his expression and continued to follow her movements with his eyes.

King Lokeen almost drooled.

Lady Maria and Gerta frowned. Good. They were immune, no lust or admiration to build the spell upon. For some reason Lukan couldn’t imagine, the magic bubble of enticement extended to the other court ladies in the room, but not to these two. Rejiia dismissed them as unimportant.

Bad mistake.

Gerta inched her long sword half-free of its sheath. “Who are you and why are you here?” she demanded.

A tall man wearing the house colors of black with red trim and a gold sash from right shoulder to left hip stepped between Rejiia and Gerta. He too drew his sword an equal length from its sheath.

Geon melted away and reappeared on the opposite side of the room.

Lukan now had enemies on two fronts. He poked Chess with the tip of his staff, urging him to turn around and take note.

The newcomer must be the captain of the guard, with that gold sash, the only person normally allowed to bear arms in the presence of the king. Gerta got away with her own weapons because she captained Lady Maria’s guard. In the old days she would have taken precedence over any male in the household, including the king.

King Lokeen continued to gaze fixedly upon Rejiia and gape. Then he roused himself enough to address the dozen couples milling about the room. “Lords and ladies of Amazonia, I present to you Princess Rejiia, granddaughter to the royal house of Coronnan.”

“Works fast, doesn’t she,” Skeller muttered out of the side of his mouth.

So, he too was not included in Rejiia’s need to subdue her audience with lust. Or his own musical magic saw through her spells and rejected them. But how had she drawn enough magic
inside
the castle to throw even this minor spell, where Lukan could find none?

Rejjia drew in a deep breath, as if savoring the taste of the air, and released it. The fuzziness around the edges of Lukan’s vision returned along with a need to reach out and touch her. But he was not worthy. His hands were ingrained with dirt and his nails broken . . .

(Knowledge is power
,
)
the dragon voice insisted. It felt like a kick in the head.

“Her tongue flicks in and out like a snake,” Skeller whispered.

“Snakes?” Lukan asked himself and his friend. “Are there any of the giant snakes in or near the castle?” That would explain his inability to gather dragon magic or draw ley line magic from the Kardia. But it didn’t explain why Rejiia could.

Or did it?

“Princess Rejiia has come from Coronnan to be my new bride,” Lokeen said. His words came out a little like he was reading from a text and not quite certain what words came next. “I negotiated in secret with her father, Lord Laislac. The marriage treaty is signed. We marry as soon as the bridal clothes can be made.”

“Isn’t Laislac Ariiell’s father?” Skeller asked, again out of the side of his mouth.

“Yes. That’s who the king negotiated with, but she’s not the bride he negotiated
for
,” Lukan muttered under his breath. “Half the truth is more plausible than a full lie.”

Rejiia beamed a huge smile at the court. But her tongue continued to flick in and out very quickly as if tasting the air. Tasting the air like a snake. The captain of the guard returned a sly smirk to her, also tasting the air, quickly, only the very tip of his tongue clearing his teeth.