The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) (32 page)

“Souska figured it out,” Lily said, laughing.

“So I have heard,” Linder said, setting Lily back on the ground. “You must be Souska,” he added, giving her a brief bow. “I am to fetch from you a pot of noxious something and return it to Mistress Maigret as soon as possible.”

“It’s over by the midden.” Lily waved north and west of their location. The wind rarely blew from that direction.

“What is Mistress Maigret going to do with it?” Souska asked. She had no solution to the problem herself.

“Bait,” Linder replied on a grin. “Or at least most of it. The Krakatrice hunters will set out a bit of it to see if we can draw in any surviving snakes. Some of it, the mistress insists, she’ll keep to study, see if she can make an . . . an . . . anti something out of it.”

“Antidote,” Lily supplied the missing word.

“Or a vaccine for the snake hunters,” Souska added.

Lily shuddered at that idea. Hadn’t they listened to that lesson taught by Master Marcus last year? He wanted the healers to find ways to give the general populace who didn’t have access to magical healers a tiny bit of a disease, to make them slightly sick. They’d recover quickly but have the immunity to that disease for a long time. Possibly a lifetime.

Souska liked that idea. She didn’t trust magical healers if they listened to dragons who didn’t know everything.

Linder just looked blank. Then he shrugged and turned back to his dragon. He began untying the sacks of grain.

Lily took the first bag from him, still laughing. Souska went over to Krystaal and began releasing the sacks. The knots were sturdy and twisted and did not yield easily. “Can you crouch down a little, Krystaal, so I can reach these better?” she asked as she indulged in running her hand down the sleek fur of the huge animal.

Krystaal turned her head away and promptly plopped down onto her belly, legs tucked neatly beneath her.

She’d announced herself properly but had not directed any more communication into Souska’s mind.

“What’s wrong, Krystaal?” Souska asked quietly so that Lily and Linder could not hear over their own jabbering.

(I am not worthy.)

“Nonsense. You are a perfectly normal dragon.”

(I spoke too soon with not enough information.)

Ah, so the dragons did know that the solution the female dragon had given them was incomplete and potentially disastrous.

(Female dragons are not as numerous as males. So we are made to feel special. I believed myself too special to listen to my wiser elders.)
She closed her eyes and hung her head so that the long, spiral forehead horn nearly touched the ground.

“I forgive you, Krystaal. I understand. I’m not much better when it comes to magic.”

(You could have been harmed. The village could have been destroyed. You saved them. Not I. It was my duty to save you and I failed
.
)

“We all worked together. You told us fire and salt. We thought we had to burn and then sow salt. But we need to burn the fields after harvest, not before, and scrape up the extra salt, not add more. Your words set me thinking along the right path.”

(Is that enough?)

“For now.” Souska gave the dragon hide an extra vigorous rub, then set about loosening the knots.

“May I help?” Stanil asked, hovering a good ten paces away from the dragon.

“Yes, thank you,” Souska replied. The headman didn’t move.

“Oh, yes, I forgot I have to introduce you. Krystaal, this is Stanil, headman of the village. Stanil, this is Krystaal, a young female of the nimbus of dragons.”

Stanil bowed his head in respectful greeting before taking those ten hesitant steps forward. He made a show of putting weight on his bandaged foot, but he still limped and pain clouded his eyes.

“She won’t eat you. Or flame you. She’s my friend.”

The dragon lifted her head from her depressed slump and turned her big all color/no color eyes on the newcomer.
(Krystaal here.
Welcome, Stanil.)

“Did . . . did she . . . just speak to me?” Stanil’s eyes opened wide in wonder.

“Yes, she did.” Souska suppressed a giggle. Then she paused, surprised that she actually felt the little bubble of mirth. Warmth and the need to reach out and touch her friends filled her. Suddenly she felt as if she belonged here, wanted to become part of the village community, to learn everyone’s name and share with them.

Hesitantly she laced her fingers with Stanil’s and guided his hand to scratch Krystaal’s muzzle where she knew it itched. “Announce yourself,” she whispered.

“Um . . . Stanil here, Krystaal. Welcome to our village.” He looked away from the dragon long enough to capture Souska’s gaze. “
Our
home.”

Souska couldn’t look away from him.
Our home
. Did that mean he welcomed her as well as the dragon? Offered to let her stay?

“Magic,” Stanil whispered as he stroked the silky coat on the dragon. “I can feel the tingle of magic in her fur.”

“Yes, the magic of friendship,” Souska agreed.

Lily laughed again. Her entire being seemed to have brightened as she and Linder shared memories and gossip about mutual acquaintances. They’d grown up together, had much in common. Linder passed along a message from Lily’s twin. They didn’t seem to notice or need Souska.

But Stanil did. And Krystaal did. They needed her. No one at the University did.

“T
HIS CASTLE NO longer welcomes me,” I mutter to my captain as we patrol the curtain wall after moonset. “Something has changed.”

“I agree,” he replies. His eyes shift nervously as he counts the guards on watch. “Twenty-five. As I scheduled. We always have twenty-five on the walls. At all times.”

“Why do you question their presence?” I too grow alarmed. Something is very wrong with these guards. They each turn and salute as we pass. Yet . . . yet they keep their faces lowered. Is it respect that they will not meet their leader’s gaze directly? Or is it fear?

Neither. I cannot smell fear in them.

“I know every man in the palace guard. I selected each one for this duty. So why will they not meet my eye?” He has spent too much time with me of late rather than seeing to his duties. I needed to force the bond between us, so that he looked to me rather than his king or his comrades-in-arms. Temporary, I thought. But to what detriment?

I look ahead, behind, and across the forecourt. Every uniform is the same. They are all tall and broad shouldered. They all carry their weapons with easy familiarity.

My heart skips a beat in recognition.

“They do not look to you as leader,” I whisper, seeking an exit. Any exit. This place is no longer safe.

“They must . . .”

“They are not your
men
. They are Lady Maria’s
women
,” I hiss, dragging him toward a tower door that should lead to the interior of the castle, or at least down to the forecourt.

My captain gasps in recognition. Finally he realizes the danger of these women turning on him in the name of their lady. Their
dwarf
!

How can they take oaths of loyalty to a misshapen crone of no beauty and no authority?

They should fear us. I am beautiful and dangerous. My captain is strong and handsome, a proven leader.

They have no fear of us. Only disdain.

We could order them directly into the Krakatrice pens.

Or could we? Have they replaced all of the men here?

I must flee. I have misjudged this place and these people. They cannot help me. They cannot feed me power. And I cannot find Geon and Bette anywhere. They have deserted me! I will punish them when I find them. But I have not the time to search. I must flee. Now.

My gaze drifts to the port. There are ships there. Many of them. They all display different flags, different designs. I point them out to my captain.

“I agree. We leave now.”

“And what of your king, my fiancé?”

“A useless fool who no longer listens to anyone but his poisonous pets in the dungeon. How safe will anyone be when he turns them loose? That last ship in line flies the flag of Venez. We buy passage on it within the hour and sail on the morning tide.”

Bette and Geon can rot in this foul place. I must save myself and my captain.

Lily looked across the evening fire toward the crest of the hill. Sparks popped and normal green flames licked the wood merrily. The villagers
talked
to each other. The listless meal preparation and the silent but hasty gulping of thin, bland stews had given way to thoughtful additions of herbs and enthusiastic chatter while each person savored their food.

“I’m no longer needed here, Linder,” she said quietly to the journeyman. He’d brought the requested supplies, sent the poisonous pot back to Maigret and . . . and lingered beside her.

“Then come back to the University with me,” he said succinctly, gaze circling the villagers and not meeting hers.

She felt his slight embarrassment and attraction. Her own emotions stayed bland, welcoming his friendship but not needing to explore a deeper relationship with him. Her heart belonged to Skeller.

She acknowledged it and held it close within her, cherishing the tiny flame of love.

And now that Death had touched her and left her living she considered the possibility of living. More than that. She needed to embrace life and love, while accepting death as part of the natural cycle.

“The time is not right for that either,” she replied. “There are other villages suffering from this plague. They need me now.”

“Mistress Maigret has dispatched every healer and herbalist she can to seek out those afflicted villages and aid them with
your
cure and fresh supplies.”

“Not my cure. Souska is the one who knew how to mix it and use it properly.”

“But you were the one to ask for the ingredients. Yours is the name whispered among the Healing Halls.”

“Then take Souska back with you. She’s the one who should get credit.”

“If she wants it.” Linder tilted his head toward where the girl sat a little distant from the companionable group around the fire, talking quietly to Stanil.

Lily didn’t need to hear their words or search for an aura to know that their life energies reached toward each other. “I’m not certain I like that. He’s twenty-two, she but fifteen.”

“So? Age means little when hearts and minds align.”

So it did. Skeller looked at the backside of twenty-four, while her seventeenth name day was still many moons distant.

“I heard that Lady Graciella wanted to join the healers in seeking out afflicted villages, but she is too close to her term—big as a hut and waddling more than walking. Her mother sent her back to the University. Seems only her husband wants her, but he’s not been heard from since the flood.” Linder shifted subjects as he shifted himself a little closer to Lily.

“I’m happy that she thrives. We never did grow close while traveling together. She has a wall around her, protecting her from emotional involvement—even with her baby.”

“Wouldn’t know about that. But Lady Ariiell and your sister seem to have reached friendship.”

Is that true, Val
?
Lily reached out with her mind toward her twin, something she’d avoided for too long. A gentle warmth of love filled Lily. She and Val didn’t need words, just the knowledge that the other lived and thrived.

The death of Samlan by Lily’s hand was something she did not want to share with Val, did not want to taint her with guilt and despair and losing a bit of her soul to . . . Death.

But Death had given it back to her, or taken away her guilt with that burning cold touch.

“Why is there a glowing spot on your forehead, Lily?” Linder asked, taking back that little bit of space between them.

Automatically Lily touched the cold spot. She found the skin slightly rippled, like a frostbite scar. That little circle of skin had died but lingered rather than sloughing off and letting new, healthy tissue grow over it. As she lowered her exploring fingertip she caught a glimpse of color through the flames. Narrowing her eyes and peering closer, Souska’s green aura leaped into view. It blended and mingled nicely with Stanil’s paler green and brown.

Lily leaned back so that the flames no longer interrupted her view. The auras vanished. She leaned forward again and watched others, knowing each surviving villager by name and where they belonged in the community. Again the flames allowed her to see more—Barbo had conceived and didn’t like the idea, she’d lost two children to the disease and still felt guilty for surviving. Stanil worried about the health of the doe goat that was bloating from improperly chewed food. Another man wondered if he dared plow up another field to plant winter wheat. And Souska . . . Souska exchanged her previous anger and fear for contentment.

A smile crept across Lily’s face and brightened her vision a tiny bit.

“This is a gift,” she said quietly. “And a curse. I need a longer journey to discover its purpose.”

“Don’t stay away too long.”

“As long as I need to. That’s the purpose of a journey.”

“Lukan here. Verdii?” Lukan called into the distance with his voice, his mind, and his heart. “Please, Verdii, if you are anywhere near, answer me,” he pleaded.

His head still felt vacant between his ears, and his wound sent fiery darts outward in all directions. He’d like nothing more than to sit here for a long, long time, but knew he couldn’t.

He had to finish this.

(Verdii here,)
the dragon said. He sounded a bit subdued, no longer finding mirth in every situation. Yesterday’s business had been hard and grim for all of them.

“My friend, I cannot walk to the ruins to make sure there are no more Krakatrice and no more eggs, or men to gather them from the wild. Can you show the place to me, through your eyes?”

(Yes.)
Short. Curt. Reluctant.

“Please, Verdii. I have to know before I can return to the city and find a way to eliminate your ancient enemy once and for all.” Anxiety itched along his spine. It nearly propelled him to his feet. He needed to pace, he needed to see what was happening.

He needed up. Up in the top of the tree or the roof of the corner building that looked almost intact. From up he could breathe cleanly. Up he could think. Up he could remove himself from the details of life that constricted him.

But the pain in his leg kept him immobile.

“Please, Verdii, help me do what I cannot do alone.”

A huge weight seemed to lift from his chest. He couldn’t do everything alone. He shouldn’t do everything alone.

If only Da had learned that earlier, he might not have become a victim of his own strength, lost his sight and his life to the draining forces of the massive magic he insisted upon controlling by himself.

“I am not my Da. Nor am I my brother Glenndon. I need only live up to my potential, not their expectations, and I need help. Chess, can you give me a hand and help me stand?”

“Gladly,” the boy said and lent him a strong arm and broad shoulder.

Lukan’s head tried to spin away into darkness. He held on until it settled. A better perspective on the ruins. Not good enough.

(Close your eyes and join your mind to mine,)
Verdii whispered.

Chess complied quite readily. Lukan followed suit. He breathed deeply and allowed his thoughts to drift until Verdii caught them.

Together, the three of them (Lukan sensed Chess’ tight reddish brown aura unfolding into a mellow rust) rose up and up and up as the dragon soared toward the cloud layer and scanned the desert landscape that shaded into green from the new moisture.

Lukan saw the square created by the wood and mud-brick buildings and newly swollen creeks. He saw red clay roof tiles scattered and broken. He smelled the almost sweet charred wood beneath the acrid stench of rotten magic. Death and destruction.

His heart ached.

Something moved.

“Closer, Verdii. I need to see more details.”

“I don’t think we want to, Lukan. It’s awful,” Chess gulped.

“I have to know what we have wrought. I have to know that we succeeded completely, no matter how awful, before we continue on to the next chore.”

(For that lesson I will give you what you need.)

A vertigo-inducing dive. The ground grew closer and closer. Wind pressed tightly against his face, biting his cheeks with a moist chill. Making his eyes burn with churned dust and ash.

His stomach flopped at the instant change in perspective.

Then he saw it. A slender tendril of black slithering out from under a much larger snake body. An infant. A baby.

A baby that would feed on the carcass of its dead relatives and grow large and strong on death.

Another Krakatrice that would grow into a monster that fed on human blood and poisoned the land.

Then he noticed the six nubs, three on each side of the spine, that would grow into the huge leathery wings of a matriarch. The potential mother of a new crop of destruction. A matriarch to guide all the males.

“Flame her, Verdii.”

The dragon released a long tongue of bright green flame. The baby snake shriveled and screamed, tried to retreat to the safety of the dead carcass.

Verdii was relentless and sent more flame that ignited the fats within the snake flesh, offering an inferno instead of shelter to the baby.