Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (29 page)

Alaric swallowed. His throat was too tender just yet for wine. “I would rather have some water…if you don’t mind.”

Tane chuckled. “How polite of you to put it that way,” he said. “Of course, you may have water. Vagner?”

The demon child brought a pitcher, looking perturbed. Water was poured into a wooden mug and given into Alaric’s trembling hands. He sucked it down, relishing the cool, lean flavor. With a sigh and trying to ignore the rattle of the chains, he set the empty mug on the table and glanced cautiously at the demon. Vagner offered a quirky smile and filled it again.

“Please, eat,” Tane insisted. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” Alaric ventured, tearing off a bit of venison.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Tane said with a thin slice of a smile.

Something in the cold delivery of those words stole into Alaric’s soul like a Haxon’s wicked blade. With great effort, Alaric began to nibble on his food.

THIRTY

“Fenelon, we’ve been all through the place from tower to cellar five times now,” Etienne said. “There’s nothing here.”

“I want to be sure,” Fenelon called back over his shoulder as he headed for the tower yet again.

“I might as well talk to the walls,” Etienne muttered and shook her head.

The last of the sun light had already faded, leaving mage light and torches as their only form of illumination. She had brought Tobin and Katriona back to assist on their second sweep because Fenelon thought more heads would be better. Others came of their own accord. Even Wendon and a couple of his friends arrived, eager to assist. They were now re-exploring the cellars, though Etienne suspected the three untapped barrels of ale she had noticed on an earlier visit as their true motive for choosing that dusty place.

Rumors about the motive for Alaric’s abduction ran wild through Dun Gealach. How the news had spread so fast was anyone’s guess. Shona knew better. Etienne could only conclude that someone in the infirmary—a guard or one of Mistress Miranda’s assistant healers—had overheard Fenelon’s rant and gossiped to others. It was a wonder to her Turlough had not chosen to add his presence to the fray. She had heard his remarks on how he believed Alaric’s involvement with demons was going to be proven any day now. What made him think that was beyond her comprehension.

“I wish you could talk to the walls,” Fenelon suddenly called down from above, startling her from her thoughts. “They could probably tell us what happened here.”

Etienne rolled her eyes. She passed Shona who sat on the stairs rubbing her feet, and followed Fenelon up into the tower once more.

He roamed about the center of the chamber by the time Etienne arrived. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his shoulders hunched, and he rubbed his own chin. His
“pose regardful,”
as she called it, one he often took in moments of deep thought. He circled closely around the fallen lute, his gaze fixed on the instrument. The magic of his scry spell hummed on Etienne’s mage senses.

“He disappeared from here,” Fenelon said.

“We already know that,” Etienne said.

He looked up, perturbed. “I was thinking aloud,” he said.

“Beg pardon,” Etienne said, not hiding her own irritation. Times like this made her grateful their relationship had never gained any commitment deeper than the love they shared. Being wife to someone like Fenelon would have been more than her patience could bear. She took a deep breath to relax herself and stepped around the outer edge of the room, carefully regarding his demeanor. Her foot kicked a broken bit of wood and sent it skittering across the floor. Fenelon turned towards the sound.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Part of the broken psaltery,” she said.

“Psaltery,” he repeated, more for his own benefit. He suddenly charged across the chamber like a child in pursuit of a favorite toy. “Psaltery,” he said and snatched up one of the fragments, dangling wire strings like spider legs.

“It’s not his,” Etienne reminded him. “I don’t think Alaric ever even touched it.”

“No, he didn’t,” Fenelon agreed, grinning. “But he didn’t bring his own psaltery here either. He didn’t know he would need it.”

“Your point being?” She asked.

“It’s still back at Eldon Keep.”

“Ah, and we can use it…”

“To trace him, of course!” Fenelon said and tossed the broken instrument aside. “It will be full of Alaric’s essence.”

“Aye, but only as long as they haven’t taken him too far from Caer Keltora,” she said.

“No problem,” Fenelon said cheerfully. “My father showed me how to stretch the limits of normal scrying from a few leagues to many. All we need are seven willing mageborn.”

“Seven?”

“Aye, one for each of the seven points of power,” he said. “Now, we’ll need the big conjuring room at Dun Gealach. Why don’t you go make the arrangements. I’ll head for Eldon and fetch the psaltery and my notes.”

“And just who are you proposing to assist us with this spell?” Etienne said.

“You, me, Shona, Tobin, Katriona…” he said.

“That’s only five, and three are mere apprentices.”

“Ah, but they are your apprentices, which means they are good. And besides, I’m sure we can recruit a few others at Dun Gealach to assist us. The Wall…maybe even Wendon.”

“Wendon won’t agree.”

“He will if he thinks he gets credit towards achieving the master magehood he covets, all for assisting.”

“Why not ask Turlough…or Lorymer?”

“Turlough would just as soon let Alaric rot, and Lorymer is not so powerful as loyal to Turlough’s whims, and anyway, Turlough is the reason Alaric’s in this mess. If Turlough hadn’t given in to his natural greed…”

“And just how do you know it was greed?” Etienne insisted.

“I know Turlough, love. Greed is his god. Now, you get everyone together. I’ll meet you all in the conjuring chamber.”

He backed away and started to open a spell gate.

“But we have yet to have supper,” she said. “I’m famished, and I know my students are. How can we possibly concentrate on an empty stomach?”

“Good practice,” he said. “We’ll eat.”

“When?”

“Soon,” Fenelon said, and before she could demand clarification, he was swallowed by his gate spell.

Etienne threw up her hands and raced from the tower to gather the others.

She only hoped, for Alaric’s sake, this was going to work.

~

Tane chatted amicably through the meal, though his friendly conversation did little to relax Alaric. He watched gestures and listened to the tone of Tane’s voice instead of paying attention to the words. Good practice in some ways, he told himself. Listening to tones and nuances kept him from dwelling on his own dilemma. Letting his musician’s ear tune itself into the sound made it easier to deal with his fear.

Alaric so wanted to be anywhere but here.

“So, I am given to understand that you know a great number of songs,” Tane said. “Is this true?”

“I…know a few,” Alaric said, startled to be asked such a question under the circumstance.

“Modesty does not become a bard,” Tane said with a turn of his head. “The greatest bards are always sure of their skill and their knowledge. You must learn this if you wish to live up to your old master’s standards. Ronan Tey was very much a braggart.”

Tane reached down and stroked the amulet he wore, a collection of hand bones bound together in harp wire, and as he stroked it, a sense of dread rose in Alaric.

“My parents never approved of boasting,” Alaric said. “My father thought it bad character to do so.”

Tane chuckled. “No matter. Likely, you do possess a great deal of talent and skill. And I am sure you know many more songs than you would admit in your modesty.”

Alaric frowned. “I have never admitted to knowing anything I did not. Lying was another trait my father would never tolerate.”

“Really,” Tane said with a smile. “So you consider yourself an honest man?”

“As honest as I am able to be,” Alaric said.

“Good,” Tane said, and waved his eating dagger back and forth like a wand. “Then tell me. Do you know a song that goes by the title of
The Dragon’s Tongue Key
?”

Alaric frowned. “I don’t believe I know that one.”

Tane lost his smile. “Are you certain? Because I was given to understand you boasted of learning the song from Ronan Tey himself.”

Alaric’s dread deepened. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “You were misinformed, sir,” he said carefully. “Ronan never taught me such a song.”

Several inches of the eating dagger buried itself in the center of Alaric’s trencher. He flung himself back against the chair as Tane leaned across the narrow table.

“And you call yourself an honest man,” Tane said. “I have no more tolerance for liars than your father.” Alaric flinched. “I want the Dragon’s Tongue Key, and you will give it to me if you value your life.”

“But I don’t know it,” Alaric said softly. “I swear to you, I have never heard such a song…or been taught its like.”

Tane roared as he wrenched the dagger out of the trencher and buried its blade in the frame of the chair quite close to Alaric’s head. “Liar!” Tane shouted. “I have a witness who says you bragged of knowing this song to none other than Fenelon Greenfyn!”

“When?” Alaric whispered, afraid to move or speak louder.

Tane drew back and turned his angry glower on Vagner. The demon flinched visibly, then spoke. “The night you went to the tavern in Caer Keltora, you came out and told Fenelon the names of the songs you had learned from Ronan Tey. You said you knew The Dragon’s Tongue Key. I heard you.”

“Just where were you?” Alaric asked.

“In your psaltery,” Vagner replied.

“Oh,” Alaric said and closed his eyes. He opened them again to find Tane’s glare had returned to him. “Look, I was drunk when I left the inn that night. Most of that evening is a blur. I don’t drink, and I don’t hold ale or wine well. I’m likely to have said anything and remember none of it.”

The demon’s face fell into a pout. “You sounded quite sure of yourself then.”

“I swear to you,” Alaric said. “I never learned any song with Dragon in the title, and certainly not from Ronan who made me sing every song twenty times in a row when he taught it to me until I grew sick of some of them, but I could sing them in my sleep. There was never a Dragon’s Tongue Key among them, and that is the truth.”

Tane pulled back, his gaze shifting from Alaric to the demon and back several times. “Well, one of you is lying, and since my demon is bound to me by its True Name, and cannot lie to me if I ask a direct question, that leads me to conclude you are the liar here, Master Braidwine.”

Tane gestured sharply. Alaric’s chair lurched as it was seized and lifted. “Horns!” Alaric hissed when the back of his head thumped roughly against the wood. He felt his stomach hitch in protest as he was carried over to the center of the circle and dropped abruptly enough to jar his teeth. A man on each side seized the chains that bound his wrists and pulled them tight, hooking them to the seat so Alaric’s palms were pinioned to the chair arms. He bit his lip and jerked experimentally to no avail. The shackles held fast.

“I had so hoped you would be cooperative so we could do this the easy way,” Tane said.

Alaric looked up as the bloodmage pulled off his cloak and tossed it across the back of his own chair.

“I do hate to waste time torturing people just to get what I want,” Tane continued, but his expression belied his words.

“But I don’t know the song,” Alaric said and shook his head as fear tore into him.

Tane paced into the circle until he faced the chair. He touched the bone amulet around his neck, stroking it like a pet. Then he began to pace again, and this time, he whispered words of power. Alaric felt the circle close around them.
Oh, Bright Lady, preserve me,
he thought and briefly closed his eyes. He opened them to find Tane leaning close, narrow features hardening into a scowl.

A slender dagger appeared out of nowhere. Alaric winced as the tip of it traced the backs of his knuckles, barely reopening the cuts left from his battering the lid of the trunk. The blade looked very much like the one he had watched Tane shove under Ronan’s nails in that awful dream. Alaric began to shake hard.