The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) (23 page)

“D
O WE HAVE to do this now?” Lukan asked around a yawn. The moon had set over the harbor, and the wheel of stars overhead circled toward dawn. And still he wore the uncomfortable beggar disguise.

He cast around him with as many senses as he could manage within the dampening field emitted by the Krakatrice. No trace of Geon lurking behind them or around the next corner. The man was everywhere. Not acting, not intruding, or interfering. Just there. Annoyingly
there.

But for the moment he seemed to be elsewhere.

“We have to have people I trust in place before we leave for the farm,” Gerta whispered back. She nudged him forward with the tip of her dagger against the small of his back.

Lukan stumbled and limped, cursing loudly. When he’d found his balance again, he took a long drink from the wineskin slung over his right shoulder on a braided thong, spilling more on his shirt than got into his mouth. He reeked of cheap wine. What guard in his right mind would think him dangerous?

He wobbled and lurched, rebounding from the parapet around the curtain wall of the castle into the body of the nearest guard. “Hey, watch yourself!” the man in red and black shouted. “This walkway is dangerously narrow for a sober man.”

“Nah so loud,” Lukan slurred, holding his wineskin against his temple. “Hurrs m’ears.”

The guard’s eyes followed the movement of the hand with the drink.

Lukan unclenched his left fist from his makeshift crutch, revealing a pinch of ground red pepper—the toxically hot kind grown only in the northernmost city on the continent, nearly at the equator. He exhaled, blowing the irritant directly into those distracted eyes. Before the man could scream in pain, Lukan whipped his staff across the back of the man’s knees. He fell into Gerta’s waiting arms. She clubbed him over the back of his head with something . . . heavy. Maybe a rock. Maybe the pommel of that wicked dagger. Something non-lethal anyway, she’d promised him that. The guard sagged heavily with one last painful moan as he sank into unconsciousness.

Chess slunk out from the shadows and helped Gerta drag the guard away.

While Lukan watched them, a woman guard slipped into place, watching the courtyard within and the city without as she paced an assigned route. A magnificent woman built much like Gerta. Hardly three heartbeats had passed between the first guard and the new one exchanging places. The tall silhouette with broad shoulders remained for any observers from down below.

“One down, six to go. That should be enough for tonight,” Gerta said. “My people will continue while we’re away.”

Lukan could almost hear the smirk on her face. “Teamwork,” Lukan whispered, wishing he could lose the gravel at the back of his knee. A painful bruise throbbed around each of the chunks and he swore they grew and multiplied with each limping step.

“Buck up, man. We’ll travel faster knowing this job is under control.” Gerta prodded him again into stumbling toward the next hapless man who had pledged allegiance to King Lokeen and his pet Krakatrice.

“Krystaal!” Souska called as loudly as she dared. The villagers who could stand and walk wound slowly through their day, not far off. If they knew she called a dragon, they could easily take fright and send their fragile, illness-ravaged hearts fluttering uncontrollably and undo all the precious healing she and Lily had given them.

She’d tried calling yesterday at twilight. But . . . but she’d tried too hard after a long day and lost hours of time to one of her spells. Only Lily asking her if she’d talked to a dragon had reminded her of what she needed to do. If Lukan had summoned her, she might have awakened earlier, but she had not heard from him in days . . . or was it weeks. She couldn’t tell how much time she lost each time she brewed a new batch of hellebore tea.

So now that dawn had come, she tried again to call a dragon. Only not so hard.

She scanned the skies seeking sight of an elusive transparent wing. Males were easier to spot with vivid colors showing through their wing veins, tips, and spinal horns. A female boasted an all-color/no-color swirl of iridescence and thus was harder to see, unless she wanted to be seen. Krystaal was the only female Souska had seen, other than Shayla, the aging matriarch. Perhaps females were only born when a matriarch reached an age when she knew she’d need a replacement.

“Krystaal!” she shouted again, a little louder in case the dragon was too far away to hear. “You said to call you if we needed your help. We need your help.”

Still no answer, no bugle call of greeting, no sight of a wing glistening in the sunlight. Not even the stirring in the back of Souska’s mind like a rustle of dry leaves before a telepathic message came through.

Telepathy. One of Souska’s many failings. She could hear a message directed to her, but she could not initiate mind-to-mind communication. Just as Lily could receive a scry but not initiate one. Except . . . Lily had found the energy to call Maigret for help.

“Is calling a dragon like a summons or scrying spell?” she wondered. For a long, long time she could only respond to Lukan’s spells. Now she could send and even eavesdrop when she had to. But it was hard work, leaving her more tired and hungry than she could afford—and prone to one of her forgetful spells. Maybe she’d tried too hard without focusing properly.

She couldn’t afford to succumb to losing time now. The entire village depended upon her for healing and help with everyday chores. And Lily needed her to be vigorous and . . . and confident. Or at least give the appearance of confidence. Lily had recovered somewhat from her ordeal with the miasma. She was not fully well yet, needing daily doses of foxglove and willow bark to keep her stable.

“Oh, Krystaal, please answer me. I really, really, need you.” This time she put the force of her mind into her plea, as if she were looking through her tiny shard of glass into a bowl of water lit by a candle flame.

Focus,
she heard Lukan’s lesson.
Narrow your vision to the candle reflected in the glass, just the flame, nothing else
.

Just the flame. Souska imagined pushing herself into a scrying spell. Just a routine scrying spell. Only she called a dragon instead of Lukan.

Souska here. Krystaal, we need your help.

(Krystaal here
.
)

The words popped into Souska’s mind as if they were dormant seeds suddenly blossoming into life. They’d been there all along. She just needed to . . . to water and nourish them with the force of her will.

“Krystaal, we need food. Enough to get us through the winter. If we have to burn the fields and sow them with salt, they will produce nothing, not even weeds. The animals will have nothing to browse. Please, can you talk to Mistress Maigret or Master Marcus, or someone who can help us?”

(There are many suffering from this illness. They all need help. Those that survive.)
The warmth and humor of friendship seemed missing from her voice.

“I know that. And I will take medicine to them when I can leave. But I am here and I see these people suffering. Lily and I saved some of them. But why give them life only to watch them die slowly of starvation? Please. Help us.”

(Burn the fields.)

“What of the few crops . . . ?”

(Tainted. You must treat them with fire and salt to destroy all trace of the miasma.)
Was that a morsel of hesitation in the dragon’s proclamation?

“We will. When we have enough people on their feet to contain the fire. But they will resist unless there is food to replace what we destroy.”

(Much of Coronnan will go hungry this winter.)

“There’s a difference between hunger and starvation. I’ve faced both as a child. Hunger is better than starvation. Can you take a few stores from one place, a few more from another? Deprive each place of only a little, but enough to give this village life.”

Something like a squeak of surprise, the kind a child made when discovered by a parent playing with something dangerous.

(We will discuss this. Shayla must speak to the king.)
That was a different voice. Deeper, older. Male?

“Hurry. Please.”

A mental shrug terminated the conversation.

Tears pricked the back of Souska’s eyes with disappointment. Half an answer and delay was almost worse than no answer at all.

Breathing deeply, she gathered what was left of her courage to face the next chore. Tomorrow at dawn, they must burn the fields and use the last of the salt to sterilize the ground.

Tomorrow at dawn the villagers must face the choice of never-ending sickness or a year of privation.

A memory of a hungry year at the farm where she’d grown up—until she was beaten and thrown out because she
might
have a magical talent. Her gran had whispered in her ear:
always taste the dirt before plowing. The Kardia will tell you what it needs: more compost, a year to lie fallow, beans or wheat. The Kardia knows
.

“Sickness or no, I have to taste the dirt.”

“This walkway is too narrow. Not enough maneuvering room to defend you,” Gerta grumbled as she paced the giddy heights of the tallest tower in the castle.

Finally free of the crippled beggar costume, Lukan measured the space between stone parapet and the base of the conical roof with a different purpose. Up here he had a chance of working a summons. Fatigue dragged at him. He needed sleep. But he’d eaten well, so he should have the strength to throw a simple summons spell—though the bubble of magical protection around the Krakatrice tugged at him, draining the magic from the air and the ground. He had only his own reserves, and not for long.

Something had changed. The bubble grew by the hour, almost visible as a distortion in the moonlight. He wondered if a female had hatched at the farm. Even as a tiny baby, her presence would fuel the weakened males with purpose. He had to finish this spell quickly.

A line of phosphorescent foam told him where the waves broke outside the harbor. That was west. He faced south and concentrated on reestablishing his orientation to the magnetic pole.

Gerta made another circuit of the roof—useless piece of decoration, not even spyholes or rafters inside to allow a guard to shelter while on watch during inclement weather or siege. Her restlessness reminded him too much of his own need to keep moving to avoid confrontation with yet another guard. Magnificent woman. He’d much rather watch her move in the starlight.

A slight tingle in his belly settled and centered him. He’d found the pole. Now that he knew where and when he was in relation to the rest of Kardia Hodos, he could begin. He stooped below the level of the parapet and fiddled with his bowl of water and tiny candle. When everything was placed just so, he blanked his thoughts of all distractions. Especially Gerta.

A flame leaped from his fingertip to the candle. His glass settled in the water and invited him to look through it far beyond normal sight.

“Glenndon,” he willed his own blue and red aura to find the gold in his brother’s energy.

Then he waited. The hardest part of a summons, waiting for the other person to respond. He counted to one hundred to the rhythm of Gerta’s footfalls. Then counted backward from one hundred, just to keep his mind in the spell.

At last a tinge of gold swirled around the edges of his glass, spiraled inward and leaped back toward him in the image of his brother.

“This had better be important,” Glenndon growled. “I only got to bed an hour ago, and I have to be up again in three more.”

Lukan longed to fall back into the old teasing routine of awakening his brother. They’d done it often just a few years ago. A prank to keep each other alert and wary. “Sorry, but this is important. King Darville has to stop any ships from Amazonia from landing or offloading cargo. Today. Search every vendor in every port for signs of Krakatrice eggs.”

Glenndon’s eyes opened fully in the magical image. “Again?”

“Still. I know the magicians and dragons are stretched thin rebuilding and replanting after the flood, but they have to keep an eye out for new hatchings. Especially if any are females. So far Lokeen has no females.” Would the hatching of a female invigorate the existing males to make the bubble grow so quickly? “The males are weak without a matriarch. I have a hope of killing them as long as there is no female to guide them and to take full possession of the king’s mind. Though he is close to total insanity already. He plans to marry Rejiia.”