B00B15Z1P2 EBOK (2 page)

You awakened me and yet you are so ignorant?
The dragon seemed surprised.
If you do not dispel me, I will melt with the coming of spring, like a human burned alive. Know this—I will not die alone.

Mik shuddered. “I’ll find out how to dispel you. I promise.”

The whole town was in an uproar. Mik was raised to keep his promises, but getting started was slow going, everyone asking Mik questions as he tried to ask his. Those who weren’t crowding around Mik, praising him for saving their town or asking him to repeat his story over and over, were gawping at the ice dragon, keeping their distance but unable to tear themselves away.

It was the school librarian who told him where he could find a sorcerer—and not all the way to Queensport, as he’d feared. Mik ran to the dragon with the news.

“The town is named Exidy,” Mik told the dragon. “I think he can help, but it’s a hundred miles east of here.”

A hundred miles?
The dragon sounded amused.
I could fly that far, with you on my back, and return here before sunset!

Mik’s parents were dubious, but saw no other way. Mik had a promise to keep, and breaking it would cost him his life. But even more, it wouldn’t be right to let the dragon who saved them simply melt. His father gave him a thick cloak, and his mother filled his pack with cakes, saying, “Even a mage has to eat, and it isn’t right to seek aid empty-handed.” She had more to say, but her lecture was tempered knowing he had saved their homes. All was ready in an hour, and Mik shouldered his pack.

Everyone turned out, gawping at the dragon or getting a last glimpse of Mik. Girls, who took no notice of him yesterday, waved to him and wished him a speedy return—reminding him of what Robi had said two weeks ago.

You are ready
. Mik nodded and the dragon allowed him to mount, seating himself in a sheltered spot where neck and body met. Below his left leg were large faint pink spots, but Mik barely noticed. The dragon leaped skyward to cheers and shrieks, and they were aloft.

Which way?

“East to the Wide River, then a little south.” Mik was frightened and excited to be airborne. He found his perch surprisingly comfortable; only stray gusts of wind touched him. Land, sky, dragon, all were white. They might be skimming the snow for all he knew. He closed his eyes—

Is that the town?

High above the river, Mik awoke to see a toylike town beneath them. He fought back nausea. “Maybe. Let me down outside of town so you don’t panic everyone. I’ll ask.”

Mik stopped the first townsman he saw. “Is this Exidy Town?”

“Of course, boy,” the townsman sneered.

“Thank you, sir. I seek the sorcerer who lives here.”

The man looked puzzled, then looked beyond Mik, perhaps seeking companions. “Across the river, on that bluff overlooking,” he said at last, pointing. A thin line of smoke rose over the bluff. “There are boats for hire at the docks, any of them can take you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said again. To the townsman’s surprise, Mik turned not to the docks, but back the way he had come.

Mik and the dragon circled the sorcerer’s keep. It was unimposing: a three-story tower loomed over a house of middling size. Twin chimneys each gave a thin stream of white smoke, nearly invisible against the snow from above. Mik saw a generous stack of firewood near the front door—so a sorcerer warmed his house the same way everyone else did, it seemed. A steep but walkable drop led to the river below.

The dragon alit near the front door of the house, raising a tiny blizzard. This door opened, revealing a girl about Mik’s age. She wore a sash of deep blue over her clothes, and carried a staff. She gave them a wary look, then struck the stone of the doorstep with her staff before Mik had a chance to speak.

“The Sorcerer of Exidy, Bailar the Blue!” Smoke billowed from the threshold, then dissipated, revealing the sorcerer. He wore a sash similar to his apprentice’s, with a hood covering his head. A thin brown beard, with a few strands of grey, suggested he was a little older than Mik’s parents.

Mik sketched a bow from atop the dragon. “Notable,” he said, “I am honored, but a personal greeting is above my station.”

The sorcerer looked amused. “A dragonrider
always
merits a personal greeting. Come in, warm yourself, then we can talk.” He turned carefully and went inside.

The dragon curled up in the snow, looking like another great drift, as Mik dismounted. The apprentice ushered him inside. They followed the sorcerer through a mud room and into a hallway beyond. Bailar trailed one hand along the wall, moving slowly.

Mik wanted to ask the apprentice if Bailar was blind, but she began peppering him with her own whispered comments and questions: “You’re no older than me! What kind of dragon is that? Where are you from? I don’t see many people our age here. Are you already a sorcerer?” She put a hand on his arm.

Mik looked at her, nearly losing himself in her wide eyes, and wondered how he’d missed noticing how pretty she was outside. He fumbled, trying to decide which question to answer first, as his host turned. Before he could recover, they entered a cozy common room. A warm fire and benches awaited. “Please, seat yourself,” the sorcerer invited. The way he watched Mik told him the sorcerer was not blind, as he thought at first. “Would you like some tea? Yes? Sura, bring the pot and cups for the three of us.” Mik was given the bench closest to the fire; he soon shed his outerwear.

“Oh, I brought cakes,” said Mik, removing them from his pack. “Maybe they’ll go well with the tea.”

“Indeed. And here’s Sura with the tea.”

With a cup warming his hands, Mik and his hosts faced each other around a low table, Mik’s back to the fire. Sura unwrapped and tasted a cake, then smiled. “Very good!”

“Excellent,” said the sorcerer. “Now, young dragonrider, why don’t you tell us your story?”

Mik told them everything, and found the reactions interesting: the sorcerer looked solemn, while the apprentice tried not to laugh. She had a pretty smile though, and watching her looking at him blunted the sting.

“Very fortunate,” Bailar said at last. “Awakening an ice dragon, and living to tell about it. A rare thing, the first, and the second even more so. One wrong word, and it would have crushed you before wreaking havoc on both armies.

“But know this—you brought it awake, and thus you can dispel it. I may be able to help.” He stood. “I will consult the records, to see if they have anything to say. Sura can show you our guest room and the more important part of the house… the kitchen!” He left them, with that slow, careful gait that Mik had noted earlier.

Mik and Sura looked at each other. “Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you around.” She stacked the cakes on her platter and brought them along. She led him first to the guest room, where he left his pack; then to the kitchen, where she constructed a plate of bread, meats, and cheeses with easy familiarity.

“Got in over your head?” she said at last, with a low chuckle, placing several cakes and another pot of tea on the tray.

Mik was embarrassed, but girls this pretty had never talked to him this much before. He gave her a glum smile. “I’m glad someone finds it amusing,” he grumbled.

The tray looked heavy, but Sura lifted it with ease. “I’m sorry, Mik. It’s just that… you’re not the only one that’s happened to.” She gave him a serious look. “Let’s take this back to the common room, and I’ll tell you my story.”

• • •

Bailar looked at the runes, clear and strong in the ash. Sun. Fire. Water. Sun again. Air. Another Sun. Air and Water again. Chaos and Fate, a rare combination. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mused, looking over the patterns. “Anyone riding an ice dragon, let alone an untrained child, must be an incredible Talent.” Sun runes represented magic, and to see three of them? Sura was a strong Talent herself, but his augury over her, so long ago, gave Sun only twice.

His library contained records of the Conclave, stretching back six hundred years to the time that Exidy was re-established, and he found what he wanted in the earlier records. “Four hundred fifty years, since anyone tried awakening an Elemental Dragon,” he murmured. “And that one, I see, had the messy result that one would expect.”

Sura was likely telling Mik her own story. His daughter was clever, and Mik obviously thought her pretty. That could be complicated, but a Talent this strong was worth the risk. So much hinged on the next few hours, but Bailar expected his visitor would pass the tests. The boy obviously had a good heart, and it would lead him right.

• • •

Mik, not used to being served, insisted on feeding the fire while Sura poured tea. She moved another bench next to Mik’s, close to the fire, and sipped her tea while he poked the firewood into place. The food tray bridged the gap between their benches.

“You said you had your own story,” he said at last, taking up his teacup.

She nodded. “It was near the end of summer,” she said, staring into the fire. “I really made a mess of things…”

“Will you please sit down?” Bailar sounded amused and exasperated at once. “You’re making me nervous.”

Sura sat, watching her father eat. Hunger finally overcame nerves, and she took a roll and nibbled.

“Good,” he said. “Now that you’re still, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

She sighed. “I was tired from pumping water, and the vat was only half full. You left your staff there in the basement, and I remembered that story in the holy book about how the prophet struck the stone and water came out. So I struck the wall with your staff, and it worked! I was overjoyed at first.

“Then the vat filled up, but I didn’t know how to stop the water. I should have called for help before there was six inches of water in the basement, I know.”

Bailar nodded. “Indeed, but that was your final mistake. What was your first?”

Sura laughed. “That’s easy. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place!”

“Exactly! That’s known as the Principle of Necessity. Magic calls on powers greater than ourselves, and those powers are not to be used lightly. That’s why we have apprentices, to do the work not worthy of magic.” He grinned. “So you struck the wall and got water. Why do you think it worked?”

“Your staff. I used your staff.”

Bailer shook his head. “It’s only a stick. It helps me keep my balance. It worked because you have the Talent for magic, like others have a talent for music or weapons.”

Sura looked astounded. “What?”

“Of course. That’s the Principle of Power, or some call it the Principle of Intent. Most people wouldn’t have drawn water. You wouldn’t have either, if you just struck the wall without that intent. I knew the Talent was there—I read it in the ashes, the day I found an infant girl on my doorstep. But like any other talent, you can spend a lifetime developing it. If you want, you can learn to be a sorcerer. I’ll teach you all I can.”

“But—of course—what else would I do?”

“Many things. Any sensible innkeeper would put you in charge of his kitchen, for example. You know the old saw:
A sorcerer or king may be thrown aside, but a good scribe or cook may always abide.
You could be either one.”

Mik looked at the tray. “You made all this? It’s wonderful! Do you use magic to make it taste that good?”

“No, no magic. But Father says he’s eaten in the best houses of Exidy, and even the palace in Queensport, and never dined better than any evening here at home.” Sura smiled at the floor.

“Maybe there’s other kinds of magic.”

She blushed. “Maybe. I’d like the recipe for that cake you brought, though. It’s better than mine. But magic is a lot like cooking. You start by following recipes, then you learn to create your own. How the spell for awakening an ice dragon became a children’s rhyme, though…”

Mik laughed. “Well, I’ve eaten most of this tray. But if what matters is talent, why all the chanting? Why the hand-waving and wands and things?”

“Folk—those who are not sorcerers—expect it. And it can help you focus. The chants are good for remembering spells, too.” Sura tore open a roll, stuffed meat and cheese inside it, then took a bite. “But there’s one more thing…”

Bailar put down his roll. “But let’s pretend for a moment that it was necessary for you to perform that spell. What else should you have known?”

Sura thought a minute. “Um… how to make it stop?”

“Indeed. A spell begun must be ended. That we call the Principle of Closure.”

“That makes sense.”

“Of course it does. And now you have had your first lesson in sorcery. Spells can go awry, even strictly following the Principles, but when they are ignored something nearly always goes wrong.” He began to laugh. “For example, your mentor can find you ankle-deep in water, shrieking like a banshee, desperately trying to hold back a torrent—pouring—from a wall…” He put his face on the table and shook with laughter.

Mik stifled most of his own laughter. “I can see it! I’ll bet that was a mess to clean up!”

“Oh, it was. I learned a lot that day. Kind of like you.”

“So, being a sorcerer… it’s something you were born with?”

“And you as well.” Bailar appeared in the doorway, making Mik jump. “I rather hoped Sura would tell you her story. Perhaps now you understand your own predicament a little better.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, can you can tell me how the Three Principles apply to you?”

Mik thought a moment. “I think it was necessary to awaken the ice dragon. The invaders from Westmarch had overrun the Two Rivers district, and they would have overrun us once they crossed the Laughing River. I wasn’t aware that I need Talent to do what I did, I thought anyone could have done it. As for the Third Principle, I thought—no, I didn’t think at all. I suppose I thought the dragon would go away on its own once its work was done. It would be poor thanks to let it die, even if it hadn’t threatened me, so I came to you.”