The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) (34 page)

“Lukan, you need help. You are wounded. The fate of two continents is at stake . . .”

“You are King Darville’s heir. You dare not risk it!”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t. Look, you could probably make all this go away with a flick of your finger. But, just like Da, you have to trust someone else for a change. Taking the entire burden of magic onto his shoulders alone all the time is what killed Da—that and probably using the Tambootie and lingering in the void a time or two. All of those are things you do too. You have a Tambootie wood staff, for Stargods sake. And you treat the void like a second home. I’m not going to lose you too!”

“Lukan . . .”

“You are valuable, big brother. You were always Da’s favorite. The gifted one. The dragon’s golden child. I’m merely a second son. A tagalong, easily forgotten and overlooked. You can’t come. Chess and I can manage. We have to. You have to stay there.”

“Lukan, you are
not
expendable,” Glenndon insisted. “Not to me. I don’t want to lose you, little brother. I need to keep you safe.”

“Thanks, big brother. I love you too. But a journey is about facing dangers and finding new solutions. If we can get back to the castle, I think I know what to do. Maybe my friend Verdii will drop us off onto a tower roof.”

“Use the transport spell. I grant you permission and authority to do so. I don’t care if it is forbidden to journeymen on journey. Use it. And . . . and stay safe.”

“I’ll contact you as soon as we get this all settled.”

“Summon me every hour so that I know you are safe,” Glenndon insisted. “I won’t rest easy until you do.”

“I’ll summon you when it’s all over.” Lukan closed the spell by wiping the lingering moisture on the glass away with the palm of his hand.

“Okay, Chess. We release the steed and let him find his own way home. You and I will take a shortcut.”

“Um, how about I ride the steed back to the stable and you use the transport spell on yourself?”

Lukan shook his head. “I need you to hold me up when we land. I’m aiming for the parapet at the top of the watchtower. I scouted it before we left. We’re in this together, and I think the masters will gladly grant you a staff when we finish this.” He closed his eyes and gathered his energy as he built an image of the castle parapet in his mind, layer by layer, stone by stone, adding color, texture, and the smell of the sea. Chess’ hands slipped around his waist, holding him up and sharing the image Lukan built. Together they moved from here to there, barely pausing to acknowledge the void and the dragons in their passage.

M
ARIA PAUSED TO wipe her finger across the surface of a small table outside Lokeen’s private study. Servants used it to place trays of food and drink before knocking and opening the door. And they hadn’t dusted it.

She made a mental note to reprimand those responsible. As she turned she noted that Robb had almost caught up with her. She didn’t think anyone walked slower than she, but he managed. He’d only been on his feet a few hours since rising from his sickbed.

“You should rest,” she said quietly as he pushed himself two more steps and paused, leaning heavily on his staff and panting. Sweat dotted his brow and he looked pale. Not as pale as when the fever had grabbed hold of his heart, but still not well.

“I,” pant, “need,” pant “to build my strength.”

“I know. But if you push yourself too far, too fast, you will relapse and lengthen your recovery.”

A ghost of a smile drifted across his face. “I seem to remember giving that same lecture to my wife when she had the milk fever after Stevie was born.”

“You miss them terribly, don’t you?” She sighed deeply, letting go a little bit more of the daydream that this man might learn to love her. He looked so very happy when he thought of his family that she couldn’t deny him that little bit of joy in this dire and gloomy castle.

“Yes, I miss them. They are my life.”

“Maria! Maria, what have you done?” Lokeen shouted from inside his study. “The Krakatrice are grieving and scream for the loss . . . I’m not sure what they mourn. Captain Stavro doesn’t respond. What have you done?”

Maria straightened her spine as much as she could—easier now with Toskellar’s adjustment to her boot.

“You don’t have to go in there, Maria,” Robb whispered. He too stood up from his heavy slouch against his staff.

“Yes, I do. I have to face him, sooner or later. Best we get this over with.”

“Not until Lukan and Chess get back and we know for certain what happened at the farm. I suspect that the death of the nest at the farm is what has upset the nest in the dungeon.”

“We know what happened. Gerta gave me a complete report, including the news that your journeyman was bitten by a Krakatrice. He’s not likely to live.” She rested a gentle hand on his arm. “Gerta has been back for three days. We’ve had no word of Lukan and Chess. Rejiia and the captain have been in the dungeon for a day and a half. We can’t wait any longer to confront Lokeen.”

“You’re right. But you can’t do this alone.” Robb lifted one hand and beckoned toward the shadows hovering at the end of the corridor. Gerta stepped forward flanked by three women and two men, the guards who had been so faithful in protecting Robb. He called them Badger and Scurry. The names Robb had given them fit, regardless of what their mothers called them.

“Maria!” Lokeen stomped to the door, his footsteps echoing off the wooden floors despite the rich rugs covering them. Then he flung the door open so hard it bounced and reverberated against the outside wall. “Where are Rejiia and Stavro? Why are the Krakatrice so unsettled?” Then he looked at the assembly in the passage. “Why is
that man
out of the dungeon?” Anger pushed high color from his neck up past his ears, making a vein in his temple throb visibly.

“I am supervising some moderate exercise to help your magician recover from his illness,” Maria said firmly, not blinking or stammering as her rapidly pounding heart wanted her to do. Only the knowledge that to fail now, or to quail, would end in her complete humiliation and possible death at the hands of her brother-in-law kept her upright.

“I don’t need Master Robb anymore. Throw him back into the dungeon until I decide it’s time to execute him. Maybe his blood will settle my pets.” Lokeen waved the crowd away and turned to retreat into his private sanctuary. “I have Rejiia now. She can do more and better magic and isn’t limited by these castle walls. Send her to me.”

Maria grew cold from the inside out.

“You no longer have your betrothed, Your Majesty,” Robb said evenly.

“What?” Lokeen roared, whipping around to face them once more.

“Lady Rejiia and Stavro, your captain of the guard, have eloped, Your Majesty,” Gerta informed him.

“You are lying. My Rejiia would never do that. She loves me! Guards, arrest this woman.”

No one moved. Maria counted her breaths, making sure they remained slow and steady though her knees trembled.

“I said, arrest her! Arrest that woman. She’s an imposter. She has no place in the castle. Nor do any of those other women I see walking around in uniform and carrying weapons. Guards, get rid of them!”

No one moved. If anything, Scurry and Badger retreated a bit, allowing the women to stand forward. Frederico and his sister Frella appeared and stood fast beside the men. Jacko and Jimbo added their numbers to the solid wall of support for Maria.

“What have you done, Maria? You are responsible for betraying me. I’ll throw you to the Krakatrice first.” The last came out on a long hiss.

“I don’t think so, brother-in-law,” Maria replied.

The color drained from Lokeen’s face. He took one step back, reaching to pull the door closed behind him. As if he’d be safe in the study.

“Lord Lokeen, I believe your tenure as regent of Amazonia is ended,” Toskellar said, appearing behind him.

The king jerked his head back and forth between his son and his sister-in-law. “Wh . . . where did you come from?” Lokeen looked truly frightened.

“Surely you remember, my lord. The entire castle is riddled with secret passages and hidden rooms. Escape routes to the harbor and into the hills. Isn’t that part of the definition of being a castle?” the prince quirked the left side of his mouth up in a sarcastic grin that did not reach his eyes. “I know every inch of the back ways in and out. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“But . . . but . . .” Lokeen blustered.

“Oh, but you didn’t grow up here. You came here as my mother’s husband. You assumed you were safe and secure from the first moment you crossed the threshold. You had no need to explore. Unlike your sons, who saw the way you leeched authority from Mother at every turn. The way you hurt her, and intimidated her when she resisted your orders to disband the women warrior troops. The way you ignored her when you severed one of our most sacred laws and made executions not only legal, but the norm. We saw, and we knew the time would come when we would have to escape you.”

“You have to agree with me. You returned,” Lokeen protested. “Fear alone keeps people from succumbing to their base natures and breaking every moral and ethical law that defines civilization. The people have to fear their rulers or they will rebel. We’d have chaos in the streets if the people did not fear me.”

“Strange, we never did before,” Toskellar said, rubbing his chin in deep thought. “Tell me, Master Magician Robb, is there chaos in Coronnan? I hear your people love their king and honor him in every way. But they do not fear him.”

Robb nodded. His mouth twitched as if suppressing laughter.

“Lord Lokeen, husband of my late sister,” Maria began the ritual words she’d memorized long ago and never thought she’d have the opportunity or the courage to use. “Five years and more have passed since the untimely death of my sister, our queen. Your term of regency has passed. Since my sister bore no daughter to succeed her as queen of Amazonia, I hereby assume the regency until Prince Toskellar marries a woman of suitable lineage, or a natural leader arises from the ranks of the Women Warriors.”

“You can’t do this! The people will never tolerate a twisted and deformed dwarf as their queen,” Lokeen sneered.

“I disagree, my lord,” Gerta said, hand on the grip of her sword. “As the newly elected leader of the Women Warriors and captain of the Castle Guard, I declare my allegiance to the Lady Maria.”

Lokeen leaped sideways and began running.

Robb flipped his staff and tripped him. He sprawled on the floor, his elegant robe hiked up to expose his skinny legs.

The stone walls shook.

Maria felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her. Her precarious balance sent her stumbling backward. Both Gerta and Toskellar rushed to her side. Robb steadied her.

When she righted herself, Lokeen was gone.

The Krakatrice slither inside their prison restlessly. They poke and probe, desperately seeking an escape. No longer are they content to exist, fat and lazy, satiated on the fresh blood and human flesh the king feeds them. They have taken over his mind and his will so that he exists only to please them.

In this state they do not freely give me power. I have to work at sending a sliver of my mind into their cell, penetrate the protective bubble that surrounds every scaly, black inch of them, and establish a flow of magic from them to me.

For a day and a half I have worked at building this rapport. They do not easily trust me. They trust no one. They see humans as food. Magicians as a special treat. Royals are almost as fine a delicacy as magicians. Lokeen, they inform me, is not truly royal. Merely a tool.

I, on the other hand, am both royal, though distantly so, and a magician.

They want my blood. They have no need to give me power that I might use against them.

I have to demonstrate my good intentions.

Slowly, carefully, I search the emotions of the people around me. They are nearly as restless as the Krakatrice, uneasy. Some are frightened. Some are determined despite risks.

A man’s mind flares with panic as a garrote tightens about his throat. I snatch the energy from his choking—for some strange reason I cannot fathom, he does not die. Another man flails and falls. His landing knocks the wind from his lungs but does not kill him. I add his fear to my store.

And another, and another. One by one the male guards and soldiers disappear. Strong, logical women replace them. They assume places that were once theirs and denied them too long. They exude satisfaction. I cannot use satisfaction. It is no more useful than the complacency of satiation.

I must find the displaced men and feed upon their fear. I sense a physical binding. Then they move too far away for me to bring them into my circle of power.

Stavro sleeps heavily, as if drugged. A wise move on the part of our captors.

Do I have the strength to continue my tasks? I would if I had some Tambootie, but my satchel of potions has been stolen from me.

I must work without it. I have no choice. I will die if I face prolonged captivity again.

And so I clench my fist as tight as I can and slam it into the unyielding stones of my walls.

Sharp fire lances through my veins. Pain brightens in my mind. I husband the strength fractured fingers give me. I suck the blood from broken knuckles. My belly warms. My eyes see more clearly.

Power tingles along my spine.

A weakness in the mortar between two stones above the low door becomes obvious. The door is so low I had to nearly bend double to enter the room. Easily, I reach up to caress the stone and the crumbling mortar. I dig at it with my damaged hand. The additional pain keeps my power alive.

The stone vibrates beneath my touch. It is not just any stone. It is a crucial piece in holding up the foundation walls beneath the weight of the stone castle above. A keystone.

Slowly I stretch my being into the stone, feeling the way it needs decades to accept the responsibility of holding so much weight together. Centuries to forget the pain of being cleaved from its parent wall of granite. Millennia to cool after flowing as part of the elemental fire at the core of Kardia Hodos. It is a living part of the world.

I need its patience. It needs me to take away the memory of fire and chisel.

I step backward. The stone tries to follow me, scraping away from its fellows, inch by inch.

Hours I work with the stone.

Hours of standing in one position put a strain on my feet and back. I relish the pain.

And then, at last the stone works free of the wall and drops to meet different fellows on the floor. It has left a hole that brings in no new light. The hole leads only to another cell. An empty one.

No escape. But the stone sends vibrations to my feet. I easily interpret them. Its recent mates are adrift without its support. The stone to the left of the hole breaks free with more ease. The one beside it easier still.

Then a dozen stones tremble and shift.

The entire wall collapses into a pile of rubble.

The ceiling sags.

The Krakatrice scream in fear that they will be crushed as the entire dungeon shakes.

“Escape while you can!” I yell at them. “Slither free and wreak chaos on your captors.” I fully intend to do the same.