Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (11 page)

TWELVE

Pain filled Vagner as the demon crouched on the floor. He had pulled every ounce of reserves into play against it to no avail. Tane was using the demon’s True Name, sending fire raging through essence and flesh, and all Vagner could do was scream.

Tane’s anger was not silent either. “You idiot fiend! I told you to bring me the bard, but you could not obey a simple order if you tried. You did not have my permission to go rampaging about the countryside. The damage you did to that farm could cost us dearly. If word should get back to the Council of Mageborn about what you did there, all hope for my success would be in vain. They would hunt you down, and in finding you, they would find me!”

With each statement, the pain grew. Vagner could hardly breathe…

“And if they were to find me before I am able to find what I desire…” Tane continued. “I shall have to see to it now that they never find you, demon. I shall bury you in the deepest hole for what you done, but not before I have finished torturing you. A simple task and you failed…”

“I had no choice!” Vagner screamed through his pain. “I tried to take the bard, but he was too well versed in fire magic…and there were the others…”

“What others?” Tane shouted.

“The master mage!”

Tane reached down and seized the demon’s jaw, drawing the bat-like head around. Vagner felt the blood mage’s power as it bore into his eyes, tore into the demon’s brain and ripped forth images from Vagner’s memories.

The scene played itself behind the demon’s eyes. A youth on the verge of true manhood, his blond hair thrown about in disarray, his leg bleeding, crouched on the path. He stretched forth a hand and threw white fire into the demon’s face, blotting out the scene. Then the world reversed, showing the demon’s aerial ballet about the outer bailey, sweeping past the guards and the mage with hair like fire and eyes richer than a summer sky…

Tane broke off both physical and mental contact and abruptly stepped away. The torments stopped as the bloodmage crossed his arms and covered his mouth in thought. Vagner slumped to the floor, every inch of his flesh shivering with the aftermath.

“Horns, it would have to be him,” Tane said and drew a deep breath as he stalked over to the window to stare out at the gloaming.

“Him, master?” the demon said in a weary voice and slowly pushed upright to watch the bloodmage from hooded eyes.

“Fenelon Greenfyn,” Tane replied. “Son of Garreth Greenfyn, grandson of Colm Greenfyn, and great grandson of Phelon Greenfyn…damn them all…”

“I have heard that name mentioned in my search for what pleases you, Master,” Vagner said. “I heard the others in Dun Gealach speak of him from time to time. He and the young bard appear to be friends.”

“Friends?” Tane said and turned to glare at the demon. Vagner hitched back a fraction in response. “This does not bode well at all. If Fenelon Greenfyn should figure out what I am after before I can find it, the bastard will likely go after the Dragon’s Tongue for himself.”

“But he is not a bloodmage,” Vagner said. “What use could he possibly have for the item you seek?”

“You truly are a stupid beast,” Tane said. “The Dragon’s Tongue is power. With it, a bloodmage could bring back the darkness that spawned the age of the Shadow Lords. He could become one of the Shadow Lords and be worshiped as a god!”

Vagner cringed, unsure why anyone would want to become what the Shadow Lords had been. While it was true that they were looked upon as gods, they were evil and some were rather ugly…not unlike demons, only nastier. It was said Arawn was the most beautiful of them, and now he was a god of death, trapped in the dark realms of Annwn where he filled his Cauldron of Doom with the souls of the damned. There he waited for the day the Dark Mother would set him free.

“Fenelon Greenfyn, like his illustrious ancestors, would not use the Dragon’s Tongue as it was intended. He would study it, ascertain its power and seek to pervert it for some good, and if that proved impossible, he would bury it in the coldest, deepest vaults beneath Dun Gealach. And if he is so fortunate as to find it before I do, creature, rest assured, I will never forgive you!”

Tane’s words increased in fury.

“In fact, monster, I do not forgive you now, and for your bungling, you will pay…”

Tane stretched his hands and words began to spill across his tongue.
“Bi ann na caileige…”
he charged.
“Falaich do fior na naduir…”
Magic fingers stretched from the ends of his hands. They seized hold of Vagner before he could rise in an attempt to flee. He felt them literally reshaping and molding him into form against his will. Pain filled him as the scales and fur of his normally chiropteran shape were stripped and changed into soft flesh. He writhed on the reeds, unable to resist as his form shrank to a smaller size.

At last, it stopped and Vagner lay panting, prying open eyes in time to see Tane touch his own face and whisper another spell. Youth fled those aqualine features. The bloodmage’s hair turned white and thinned. Wrinkles covered his face, and a beard of equal luminescence tumbled from his chin.

“There, now,” Tane said. “If you want something done proper, you must do it yourself.”

Vagner groggily pushed upright and froze at the sight of his own hand. Instead of claws, he had thin fingers, beautifully tapered and lithe. His chest appeared to have sprouted budding breasts, small and firm in their ripening. And when he gasped, he no longer heard the demon baritone, but a sweet feminine coo.

“What have you done to me?” the demon wailed.

Tane smiled from his ancient face and helped Vagner to rise, leading the demon over to the mirror. “Behold, my granddaughter, Vagnera…” Tane said.

Vagner beheld a winsome face, mouth open in utter astonishment. Beauty stared back at the demon, the fresh face of a lass with thick curling tresses the color of straw and rich green eyes. A child on the verge of womanly bloom, still thin in adolescence.

“What have you done?” Vagner repeated.

“Why this is your punishment,” Tane said. “And part of my new plan. I am now to be called Baron Tallos of Grune.”

“Grune?” Vagner said. “Where’s that?”

“It’s a small village in the far east of Elenthorn…I’ve been there once or twice in my life. Hardly anyone there, actually, and the old border keep is in ruins now, but that does not matter. I am a traveling scholar and I have brought my fair granddaughter to Caer Keltora as we travel the world. And always conscious of broadening her education, I seek a bard to give her music lessons, and I was told that a certain…” Tane paused.

Vagner sighed. “Alaric Braidwine of Gordslea Hold…” The demon remembered that much from the first night at the inn.

“Master Braidwine has come to Caer Keltora as well, and I would be most appreciative if he would consent to give the child of my dearly departed son a few lessons on the psaltery.”

“This is an outrage!” Vagner said and felt the tiny body begin to shiver in protest of the cold his old form never seemed to notice. The rushes on the floor were digging into his bare feet, stinging like nettles. By the deepest pits of the Void, all this discomfort, and for what? So Tane could play games. Vagner could not even summon his own magic. It was locked inside him like a cold stone. “I do not like this form, Master. Unbind me…change me back!”

Tane chuckled as he pulled off his cloak and wrapped about the slender shoulders. He brushed the pale tresses aside, his hand suddenly catching the demon by the now-thin throat. Vagner stiffened, startled by the alien sensation of human-like physical pain.

“Be grateful, monster,” Tane said. “I had considered turning you into a lapdog. Now, go find yourself some clothes. We have a long journey ahead of us. In order to keep them from detecting the origins of my spells, we must travel as mortals do.”

As mortals…? Vagner reached inside himself and uselessly battered the cold wall that separated him from his center of power. “My magic! I cannot feel it! What have you done?”

“Your magic is buried deep within this mortal flesh, as is the essence of your true self, and only by your True Name uttered by one bound to you as master can the binding be broken,” Tane said. “It’s a precaution, you see. Master Braidwine, being sensitive to your essence, would know you immediately if I did not take this step…after all, we don’t want Master Braidwine to fathom out little trap, do we? If you wish your true form back, Vagner, you will have to earn it. Once we have Master Braidwine, I will consider changing you back…perhaps. Then again, I may enjoy keeping you in this form for a time.”

The hand on Vagner’s throat lightened its grasp and stroked across the demon’s chin. That touch sent wild and fearful shivers coursing through the demon. He closed his green eyes—
her
eyes—and sighed.

I will have revenge for this, Tane.
One day, you shall pay for this indignation.

But for now, the demon had no choice but to obey.

~

His leg felt good as new now, but Alaric was still a bit woozy from the poppy wine as he followed Fenelon into the private sectors of Dun Gealach. This was one of the places Wendon had said was forbidden to apprentices and students and even master mageborn of the wrong gender. Yet Fenelon strode into the entry corridor without a hint of unease. Alaric felt magic buzzing, like a warning of some sort. He frowned and looked around as they were stopped and met by a pair of formidable matrons, one of whom was three times Alaric’s width. She eyed the pair with a critical eye.

“State your business,” she said.

“Good evening, Mistress Wallace,” Fenelon said with a short bow. “I and my companion Alaric Braidwine are here to see Mistress Savala and join her for dinner.”

Mistress Wallace looked most disbelieving, but she closed her eyes and grew still as stone. Alaric felt the tickle of magic again, and the woman opened her eyes. “Yes, Mistress Savala is expecting the both of you,” she said. “Come with me.”

The woman turned and started to lead them through an impossibly narrow hall. There was barely room on either side of her, and Alaric wondered if she had been chosen for this task for that very reason. It would be difficult for any man to get past a woman of her size. She had a good thick staff and a powerful arm rippling with muscle was visible under the loose sleeves of her overtunic.
I’d be afraid to have her hug me.
I bet she could probably break the ribs of a horse.

Mistress Wallace took them straight to the door and knocked. It opened and revealed the familiar face of one of the lasses Alaric has seen in the hall earlier in the day.

“Your visitors,” Mistress Wallace said.

“Thank you, Mistress,” the lass said as the older woman stepped aside. “Mistress Savala said to tell you she would escort them back herself.”

“As she wishes,” Mistress Wallace said. She cocked her head at Fenelon. “Well, in with you two or I shall be unable to return to my post.”

“Do come in,” the young lass said with a smirk.

Fenelon led the way, and Alaric followed, quietly musing Mistress Wallace’s declaration. Of course, if they did not go in, she could not go back. However, she must have seen his slight smile before he looked up to thank her, because her gaze narrowed in warning. He could do little more than whisper his gratitude and hurried on inside, relieved when the door closed to his back.

“Never mess with the Wall, Alaric,” Fenelon said. “She’ll just tie you into a little knot.”

“The Wall,” Alaric said and grinned. “That’s an apt name for her…”

“We only call her that behind her back,” Fenelon said. “A lot of woman, eh?”

“Her name is actually Cora Ni Wallace,” Etienne’s voice sounded from a short distance away, “and if you are wise, Alaric, you will never be disrespectful to her as Fenelon is…”

“But I’m disrespectful of everyone,” Fenelon said cheerfully. “It’s one of my better traits.”