Bazil Broketail (6 page)

The eyes blinked, cleared.

“Humph! What are you talking about? I have no tail-how can I fight dragons without a tail? The legions won’t have me now. It has all been a waste.”

“I have a plan.”

“Oh, do you? Well, keep your plans, fool boy! We will be in Quosh by midwinter. Harrowing and hauling, breaking ice on the mountainside, oh what a life it will be.”

Relkin noted all the five classic signs of a “sulky” dragon.

“Roll over. I have to get to those cuts on your back.”

“Ah me, ah my, now for the sting and the smart. This is a grand life, did anyone ever tell you that? Getting chopped up in the arena and rubbed with stinging juice in the night.”

Despite the complaints, Bazil did roll over and present his five-foot-wide back, with the huge shoulder blades and the thick arches of muscle that met along the spine.

Relkin wetted a swab with the liniment and started disinfecting the bigger cuts.

As the liniment soaked in, Bazil shook and cursed in sibilant dragon speech, ancient terms that fortunately had no meaning in human tongues.

Relkin decided the time had come to bring up his scheme, concocted on the way back from Old Rothercary’s shop. “I was at Rothercary’s shop on Hag Street this afternoon.”

“And what would you be wanting from a brujo? That sort of thing is frowned on as you well know.”

“He offered me some blood from a Cunfshon steerbat. For ten silver pieces.”

“What? We don’t even have
two
silver pieces between us.”

“I know, I know, but there might be ways of getting some.”

“You contemplate a life of crime now? Think again, boy. This is Marneri—the witches find out in no damn time at all. Then you be for it.”

Baz cringed as the swab got close to an infected cut. As Relkin swabbed it, the big dragon hissed loudly for a second or two, then resumed human speech.

“Anyway, what’s the point of blood from a Cunfshon steerbat, and what the hell
is
a Cunfshon steerbat? I can’t even say that, it sounds so horrible.”

“I don’t know, I never heard of it either, but Rothercary swears that it will re-grow lost limbs, even tails.”

“Bah, what does Rothercary know about dragons? When has he worked here in the dragon yards? His potions are meant for humankind, not the dragonfolk.”

“No, listen, I believe him. We will get ten pieces and we will buy the blood of a Cunfshon steerbat. Then we will re-grow your tail.”

“Bah! I will probably grow a donkey’s tail. I am not going to rub the blood of anything from the witch isle on any part of me.”

“I can’t believe it will hurt to try. You have to get your tail back. You have to be able to defend yourself. Smilgax has demanded a rematch.”

“What?”

“Yes, he has called for a rematch, in protest at the awarding of a draw in your bout. He will fight you for the right to meet Vastrox.”

Bazil groaned, long and low.

“We are done then! The hard green will beat me to death and go on to glory in the legions. You will bury my ashes in the graveyard and they will give you another dragon. I have failed. You will be free of me, Relkin.”

“Nonsense, Baz. I will buy the blood of the Cunfshon steerbat and we will re-grow your tail in time for the combats.”

Bazil yawned. This whole idea would fail on the most obvious fact.

“How will you get ten pieces of silver? You own nothing but the clothes you wear. You are dragonboy, homeless orphan. In the village the law said that unblooded dragon not allowed to own any damn thing, dragonboy not allowed to own any damn thing either.”

Relkin clenched his fists in determination. “I will get it! You remember when I climbed to the top of the palace tower and saw the garden of orchids? I will gather some of those orchids and I will sell them outside the opera. There is a performance of
Orchidia
tonight, they will be gone in a flash.”

“That will be stealing, dragonboy. You will get caught and take a thrashing.”

Relkin shook his head. “They’ll not catch Relkin. And the window is not guarded, nor are orchids heavy to carry, so I’ll just bring them down in my satchel.”

Bazil turned a gloomy dragon eye upon him. “Farewell, Relkin Orphanboy. I ask only that you place my ashes in an urn of Quoshite brick.”

“They won’t catch me, Baz. You’ll see, have faith in Relkin now.”

But the dragon remained beyond consolation.

“The thrashings are administered by the drubbing women, a dour, broad-shouldered lot. You will not survive their ministrations, Relkin. I will miss you.”

As night settled in across the white stone walls of Marneri, a cold wind arose from the north. The tocsin began to ring as the stars glittered in their courses, the moon had not yet risen.

A sudden disturbance echoed in the stairwell of the Tower of Guard. Shouts, secretaries running ahead. A guard holding back the door to the restricted rooms. Two women in the grey cloaks of priestesses of the Temple came hurrying across the landing to the double doors of the anteroom to the royal bedchamber.

“Awake the king,” said the shorter of the two, a round-faced woman who wore the red surplice of an abbess. “We must speak with him.”

The guards sent for the Lord Chamberlain, old Burly of Sidinth.

Burly and Plesenta were old antagonists. The chamberlain’s ancient crusty face soured at the sight of the plump abbess. It soured further on considering her companion, a tall, grey-haired priestess with no badge of rank, Viuris of the Office of Insight.

“What is it now?” he said testily. “It’s damn late, you know.”

“An urgent matter for the king. I require his permission to use the Black Mirror.”

The chamberlain looked as if he’d been bitten by a snake, then with a convulsive shake of his head he led Viuris on into the royal bedchamber.

King Sanker of Marneri was not happy to be awoken so soon after he had been put to bed.

He was even less happy to be told that a passage through the Black Mirror was requested.

“Damnable thing! I wish I’d never agreed to let them use it.”

“Your Majesty, it has not been used in three years. Only on a matter of grave urgency would we make this request.”

“And what is this matter?” His peevish eyes snapped. Servants assisted him in rising to a sitting position. Angrily he brushed them away when they sought to arrange a coverlet about his scrawny frame.

Viuris hesitated, then bent forward to whisper in the royal ear: “The investigation of the desecration on Fundament night.”

“Mmf, won’t find anything, know that before you start. Damned stuff and nonsense.”

“Someone comes from Cunfshon itself.”

“Long way to come, must be hellishly dangerous.”

“It is dangerous, but she is a mighty traveler.”

“Damned dangerous. One mistake and we could lose the entire city.”

“We must open the mirror, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t like the idea, not one bit.”

The abbess had an idea. She leaned forward and whispered in the other royal ear.

“Your Majesty, the Princess Besita will be required to serve at the mirror’s side. She has the duty for this week.”

King Sanker’s face was transformed suddenly.

“Besita has to attend, eh?”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty, it is her duty on this night.”

He scratched at the white stubble on his chin.

“Sounds wonderful. You have our permission—you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” They genuflected and departed swiftly, two contrasting figures cloaked in grey, Viuris tall and lean and Plesenta, short and plump.

On the way out to the central stair, Viuris whispered to the abbess, “What changed his mind?”

“Ah, Viuris, you have not been in Marneri long, but you must know how much Sanker hates his daughter. In fact he denies that she is his daughter. He claims that her mother, Queen Losset, had relations with dozens of lovers. It all happened long ago, but Sanker is an unforgiving man.”

“Now I recall the matter. Yes, of course, I see.”

“Perhaps you also see why Prince Erald cannot be allowed to sit the throne here in Marneri.”

“He’s a halfwit, of course.”

“The king refuses to acknowledge this.”

“I see, the king has a somewhat perverse view of life.”

“One way of putting it. The Royal House of Marneri has been increasingly difficult to deal with in the past two generations, both Sanker and his dreadful sire, Wauk, have been quite capricious.”

They came to the great doors to the outer world beyond the royal apartments. They passed the guards and headed quickly up the stairs to the uppermost floor.

There they found no sign of the Princess Besita.

“Where is she?” said Viuris.

Plesenta sighed. “Besita is a woman of the flesh. She is more of a political priestess than a spiritual one.”

“I understand. The practice is widespread in the Argonath cities.”

“And you have little experience there.”

“My service has been further afield, Abbess.”

Plesenta knew that Viuris was not just the traveling Sister of the Benevolent Mission that she appeared in her grey robe, white surplice and complete lack of adornments. When the Black Mirror was used it always involved the Office of Insight. Viuris, even with her inexperience in the Argonath, was clearly one of those Sisters.

“Well, I will send her a note. Perhaps that will bring her.”

“Let us hope so, Abbess, for the message was urgent—someone crosses the deeps even as we speak. If we do not open the mirror in time there may be a disaster.”

“There is always such danger with the mirror.”

“I know, Abbess, and you must compose yourself to face it. I have experience, this is all I can say, and if I sense the worst I will shut the mirror. We might lose our passenger but that would be better than to lose the city.”

Abbess Plesenta snapped her fingers at a page.

“Run quickly to the Princess Besita’s apartment and tell her that the abbess awaits her on a most urgent matter in the chamber of the Black Mirror.” The youth left at a run, bounding down the stairs. The abbess turned to Sister Viuris.

“She will come, she knows that it is her duty. You see, Besita was never allowed to marry. Sanker wanted no young pretenders to the throne of Erald. You have to remember that Sanker put Losset to death for her adulteries.”

“So Besita depends on the Sisterhood for survival, is that it?”

“More or less. She could not be wed, she could not enjoy the favor of the king, and she could not leave Marneri. Sanker remembers that his father had to put down two rebellions on behalf of pretenders to his throne. So she joined the Sisterhood.”

The wind was whistling around the upper part of the tower. The door to the turret in which the Black Mirror was kept was locked both with metal and with a spell. Plesenta stepped forward and pressed her hands to the gate and unsaid the keeping spell. Then she produced the key and unlocked the door.

“I pray the princess will be in time,” said the grey-eyed Viuris. How different things were here in these Argonath cities. Here the local culture had permeated the Sisterhood and the discipline Viuris was used to had broken down. In the distant missions of the Office the outside world was entirely hostile. Discipline was strict because without it survival was impossible.

In the outer lands Viuris had seen things that she knew would have frozen this plump abbess to her marrow. That was part of the distance between them.

Plesenta, for her part, pursed her lips and suppressed her urge to end this farce and ask Viuris openly about the Office of Insight. She had so many questions bubbling inside her head.

It was such a mysterious body, said to be closely allied to the Imperial Family in Cunfshon. Had Viuris ever been in the imperial presence? How Plesenta longed to ask about the emperor and the empress. Were they as beautiful as the portraits made them out to be?

“She will hurry, won’t she?” The grey-eyed Sister could not hide her mounting anxiety.

“Yes, Viuris, she will hurry, do not fear.”

Plesenta wondered what it must be like to be in the Office of Insight, constantly moving from city to city, pursuing rumors and intrigues, hunting for enemy spies, never having a place to call one’s home. Plesenta was glad that she was allowed to remain in one place, in her beautiful city of Marneri, secure behind great walls.

Viuris’s agitation grew apace as they waited. “Where is the woman? The call was urgent, very urgent.”

“She will come, Viuris, be calm.”

They waited and Plesenta hoped Besita would not be overlong in responding. Besita was getting to be awfully indolent these days, and she was probably terrified of the duty of the Mirror’s Side.

In fact, the page with the message from the Abbess Plesenta had actually caught Besita at a most inconvenient moment. A handsome young magician, Thrembode the New, who had been sending the ladies of the court into swoons for a month, had finally been seduced into her bed. He was a dark, virile man of passion and fire. Besita was in the process of enjoying herself enormously.

So she ignored the knocking at her door for as long as she could stand it and then finally bade Thrembode to desist, while she rose, flushed and flustered, to investigate. Her maid passed in the message. Besita read it and voiced a loud, vulgar complaint, but there was nothing to be done.

“An emergency has arisen, my dear Thrembode. I must go. I promise I will return as soon as I can.”

Thrembode’s face registered shock and masculine outrage.

“What? Besita, will you abandon me now? In this aroused state! Can this duty not wait, just a few more minutes even?”

Besita shook her head unhappily.

“I am afraid not. I am compelled to attend the abbess in the chamber of the Black Mirror!”

-Thrembode’s eyes snapped wide; his demeanor changed, however, and he softened his complaint. “Someone traverses the deeps tonight?”

“I cannot say, but the call is urgent.”

Besita dressed herself hurriedly in a purple smock and grey robes. She wore the black and gold surplice of the Office of Purchasings to which she nominally belonged.