Dragonfang (30 page)
Now or never, thought Jelindel. She ran to the first column and replaced the pentacle gem with one of Lady Forturian’s drones. Fluctuations in the transference disturbed the portal’s calling, causing the Duke to gasp with alarm. He called to Jelindel to get back.
Ignoring him, Jelindel made it to the second and third columns before the Duke realised his mistake. He ordered his
men into the sphere. Several rushed forward but were instantly incinerated.
‘Kill her!’ he screamed at his archers.
The Preceptor’s men saw the Duke’s men stringing their bows. Assuming that the Duke had decided to dispose of the Preceptor now that he had a fifth gem, they charged across the lawn.
Jelindel knew nothing of the fighting. She ripped a fine chain from around her neck. It held a blue teardrop pendant. A daemon by the name of T’rr’ll had given her two of them.
Said to open transition gates to paraworlds, Jelindel prayed that they did, in fact, work. She then spoke a name-seeking incantation. A side of the blackness surrounding her began to lighten.
‘Ril’kss,’
Jelindel said, repeating T’rr’ll’s spell.
Reality warped in and out of focus as though viewed through a blurred farsight. Jelindel edged towards what appeared to be a mirage bubbling the air around her. A sphere of pulsating energy rippled like a disturbed pond and, with the briefest of hesitation, she stepped through it.
T
he fiery sphere opened onto a hall of green and white stone. It was well lit, and very spacious. On the floor was a thick, richly decorated rug, and on the rug was a scatter of bars with stones attached to their ends. A man lay on his back in the centre of the rug. As Jelindel watched, he lifted a bar, keeping his arms straight until they were above his chest. Then he slowly lowered it again. He was wearing only trousers, and she could see that his muscles were well-defined, although not massive. It seemed to her that he was halfway between Daretor’s muscular build and Zimak’s thin frame.
The man sat up, sweat gleaming on his face. Zimak’s face. It was Zimak after a great deal of exercise and careful dieting. A well-trimmed beard covered his chin.
The man noticed the hole that had opened amid the hangings on the wall. Scratching his head, he moved to where a pile of clothes and armour lay. He picked up a sword and backed away slowly to the door.
The sphere held steady. According to Lady Forturian, the bridge between worlds was normally a sphere open at two sides, each end in a different world. This particular one only opened into one, because Jelindel had studied the properties of the gems in more detail than the Duke. This was one of many options available.
Before her, Zimak backed away further, his sword held up and at the ready. Jelindel realised that the blue teardrop had collapsed in her hand. She let the powder fall to the floor, but put the anchor gem into her pouch. Somehow, T’rr’ll’s transition gate pendant had been imprinted with Zimak’s mind. Or, perhaps, Daretor was nearby.
‘So, Zimak, we meet again.’ She winced inwardly. Even to her own ears she sounded too formal.
Daretor stared for a moment. It was Jelindel dressed as a boy again. The last time he had seen her, she had declared her femininity and let loose her hair. What was the little vixen up to now?
‘Jelindel? Or is it Jaelin? What trickery is this?’
‘I’m Jaelin at present,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘No tricks. I’m not even armed.’ Jelindel held her hands out, palms raised. The last time he had seen her she had shot him with a weapon called a thundercast.
Daretor lowered his sword, but said nothing. His face contorted with the effort to understand what his eyes were seeing, and his mind denying. Jelindel/Jaelin returned like some demi god from a miraculous hole in the wall. Surely Zimak and Premiel were teasing him with some cheap conjuring trick.
Jelindel regarded him candidly. It seemed Zimak was either too flabbergasted to speak, or he was so furious with her that he couldn’t speak.
‘Look, I’m sorry about what I did. Things just got out of hand – between your cunning and Daretor’s obsession with honour –’
‘Honour,’ Daretor growled. This was something he did understand. ‘What about your treachery? You banished us here when you got what you wanted. You used us, Jelindel. After all we did for you.’
‘After all you did for
me
?’ Jelindel echoed, astonished. ‘I saved both of you from Jabez Thull.’
‘And who guarded the “Mage Auditor” every time she pitted herself against unbeatable odds? Longrical. The Valley of Clouds. The King of Skelt. And for what?’ Daretor spoke rapidly, unleashing his frustration.
‘You wanted the mailshirt as much as I did,’ Jelindel threw back.
‘To destroy it,’ Daretor seethed.
‘And that’s just what I did.’
‘Prove it.’
Jelindel shook her head. ‘That’s the Zimak I know. You haven’t changed,’ she said, tightly. How could this have gone so horribly wrong? ‘So, does Daretor know about the dragonlink ring yet?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea what you are saying,’ Daretor replied, warily. He halted just short of the door. If indeed this was a trick, he would not give Zimak and Premiel the satisfaction of seeing him flee the room. But if it
was
some sort of conjuring act, it was a damnably convincing one.
‘Zimak, take me for what you will, but do not take me for a fool. All your fighting skills came from a dragonlink ring encased in lead. If I had just taken that dragonlink, Daretor would have noticed that your fighting skills had vanished at the same time as your supposedly lead ring.’
The youth Jelindel thought was Zimak nodded slowly. ‘His
sword skills were sucked from his body by a dragonlink ring. He has a justifiable hatred of anyone who gets their fighting skills by wearing a ring,’ he said.
‘True,’ Jelindel said, snagging on the word ‘justifiable’. How unlike Zimak to find anything noble to say about Daretor. His time on this paraworld had been well spent. ‘He would have started shouting about honour and chivalry, then he might have killed you. On the other hand, I needed to get all the dragonlinks together in order to destroy the mailshirt, so I made it seem as if I had betrayed both of you by flinging you into this paraworld.’
Daretor glared at her. ‘So what are you
really
doing with the mailshirt now? Ruling Q’zar?’
‘I told you I destroyed it. Now I need to rescue you and Daretor, and get you both home. It has been difficult. Travel between paraworlds without the mailshirt is not easy. Even more difficult will be explaining to Daretor that I sent you two here because you were wearing a dragonlink.’
Daretor let his guard down. He had suspected Zimak’s treachery from the beginning, but the cunning weasel had always lied his way out of admitting guilt. ‘Actually, explaining that will be easy. Explaining it in such a way that will prevent me from setting upon Zimak and spreading him all over the flood plain more thinly than this carpet is the real trick.’
‘You have the measure of my … dilemma …’ Jelindel’s voice trailed away. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked after a long silence. ‘
You
are Zimak. Tell me that I’m not wrong.’
‘Thanks to some rather creative wizardry there has been an exchange of bodies,’ said the man with Zimak’s body. ‘I was tricked into using a machine, which was supposed to take me back to Q’zar.’ Daretor froze. Had he just been tricked into giving Premiel’s people the truename of his homeworld?
‘That reminds me of something,’ Jelindel said, anxiously. ‘But finish your tale first.’
Daretor shrugged off his unease. No one could have manifested as perfect a copy of Jelindel as this. ‘Some ancients regenerate their bodies when the old ones wear out. They decided that they wanted our bodies – outlanders are prized here. They were thwarted, but at a high price – for everyone except Zimak, at any rate. Two of the ancients are dead – a woman survived. Zimak is the monarch of these lands right now.’
‘King Zimak.’ Jelindel shook her head.
Daretor scoffed at her confusion. ‘Are you telling me that you are not Queen Jelindel back on Q’zar?’
Jelindel’s eyebrow rose.
‘The mailshirt,’ Daretor said. ‘Tell me you did not send us here so you could rule the world.’
‘I destroyed the mailshirt,’ Jelindel reiterated.
‘A likely story.’
‘But a true one,’ Jelindel said. ‘It had a dark life source. One that sought a surrogate to rule.’ She paused. ‘We don’t really have time for this right now.’
He waved her away. ‘Look at me. I have my own troubles.’
‘Your own is a very unlikely story,’ Jelindel began.
‘I have proof that you could never refute,’ Daretor said as the picked up a tunic. ‘But first, what is involved in getting the three of us back to Q’zar?’
‘A simple procedure, involving a small, blue jewel. Once started it cannot be stopped, so make sure that you have whatever you want to take before I initiate it.’
‘Lies,’ he laughed, derisively. ‘We arrived here naked, only living bodies can be transported.’
‘After I stunned the two of you with the thundercast, I had
you stripped to create that impression. It seemed like a good enough reason for why Zimak’s ring was absent. Under unusual circumstances, an undirected jump can singe your hair a little. Was your hair singed?’
‘It was, now that you mention it. I never … on second thought, perhaps there is sense in what you say,’ Daretor said as he buckled on his sword belt and picked up his helmet. ‘You arrived here with all your clothes on, after all. Why is your hair not singed?’
‘Because I did things properly.’
‘That tells me a lot.’
‘Well, do five years of schoolwork, plus a year specialising in Applied Enchantment and Creative Wizardry, and then come back and demand an explanation. Actually, do all that and you will not need to ask.’
Daretor silently fumed. He wanted so much to believe in her. ‘All right, all right,’ he said dismissively, waving his hand. ‘You tend to the magic and I’ll swing the sword. When can we leave?’
‘Before we go anywhere, I need to know if you have told anyone Q’zar’s truename.’
‘No one will follow us back home, if that is what you’re worried about. So no, we kept that a secret – this much we learned from you.’ He collected his sword and strode to the door, flinging it open. He searched the corridor, then beckoned for her to follow.
Jelindel suddenly began to have doubts. The man before her looked like Zimak, but talked like Daretor. No, that was not entirely true. He looked like a Zimak who had been exercising frantically in order to look like Daretor. There was limited scope for this, as Zimak was eighteen inches shorter than Daretor, yet Zimak had never bothered to work hard at building his muscles.
Jelindel’s impressions of what was meant to be began to waver alarmingly.
‘Do you wish to see convincing proof that Zimak now lives in my body?’ asked the little man before her.
‘Well – I, yes. But if you are, indeed Daretor, then you know about the dragonlink that Zimak once wore –’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I have a far worse fate planned for him now. But come, I wish you to meet someone.’
‘As in someone with Daretor’s body?’ asked Jelindel, suspiciously.
‘No, it is someone who has been getting very little attention from Daretor’s body for at least a week, if not longer.’
At that instant the sphere between worlds collapsed with a loud blast, vanishing.
Daretor stumbled backwards as the sound waves cracked the air. Jelindel tumbled to the ground and groaned. Lady Forturian had been wrong. The power of the drone gems lasted for only minutes, not hours. The full horror of this knowledge was quickly dawning on Jelindel.
Daretor led Jelindel outside. A short distance along the corridor they found four guards checking the rooms.
‘Did you hear a clap of thunder just now?’ demanded a centurion. He looked dubiously at Jelindel, as did his men.
‘Indeed I did,’ said Daretor. ‘Out of a clear sky as well. That is a very bad sign.’
‘A bad sign?’ the centurion queried. His narrowed eyes didn’t leave Jelindel.
‘Thunder out of a clear sky means that a king is about to die,’ continued Daretor. ‘Leave off this searching now, and take us to the queen. This person with me is, ah …’ He stared at Jelindel, who was dressed as a sailor and did not look particularly female.
‘My friend here is a famous prophet who has an announcement for the ears of the queen and nobody else.’
The centurion hesitated.
‘Move,’ Daretor said, striding forward. ‘Or have you forgotten that I am Prince Ulad’s personal guard?’
The centurion’s face paled. He thumped his chest with a closed fist. ‘All right, men, to her Majesty’s chambers, at once.’
Queen Premiel’s audience chamber was about what Jelindel expected: rich hangings on the walls, thick, richly patterned carpet on the floors, high, arched windows of leadlight and coloured glass, an elevated throne, and several massive trunks bound with iron. Premiel was sitting on the throne when Jelindel and Daretor entered. Light streamed in from the window behind her, and she was being fawned over by several handmaidens. Four guards were stationed around the room.
