Dragonsbane (Book 3) (10 page)

Now that he knew the truth, a sudden thought made his toes curl. “But why would Crevan force them to go to Midlan?”

Kyleigh’s eyes went dark. “Why do you think?”

The King summoned the whisperers to Midlan, where they were never heard from again
. That was how Amos had told the story. He’d had never said for certain what had become of them. And in his heart, Kael had hoped that they’d only been captured. But the look in Kyleigh’s eyes told him the truth:

Crevan had killed them all. He’d killed every last one.

“Whispercraft,” Baird said, slapping a hand to the side of his rucksack. “A summons written by the Dog, himself.”

“Who’s the Dog?” Kael wondered.

Baird grinned. “Not the most talented craftsman, not by far. But he was a loyal pet. Whatever the King asked of him, he would wag his little tail and hop to obey — that’s why they called him the Dog. He had another name, but I’ve forgotten it. Something like …
Horace
, perhaps? No, that doesn’t sound quite right.
Magnus
? No.
Bertrand
? Ah, dear me, I think I’m getting further away …”

“Maybe it’ll come to you
if you sleep on it,” Kyleigh muttered after he’d rattled off several other names.

Baird looked as if she’d just suggested he stop breathing. “Sleep? I can’t possibly sleep — not with that little thief lurking about!” He jabbed an accusing finger at the wall to Kael’s right. “Besides, I’ve only just woken up.”

Kyleigh groaned as she curled into a ball and pulled her hood over her head. “He won’t go through your pack again. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson … haven’t you, Kael?” she growled after a moment.

He certainly had. Now he understood why Morris had warned him to be careful with his words. He’d had no idea that whispercraft could be so powerful. “Why do you even keep that letter?”

“It’s no harm to me.
I
can’t see it,” Baird said with a shrug.

“But other people can.”

“Well, then perhaps
other
people should keep their eyes on their own things.”

“It’s dangerous,” Kael insisted. “Why don’t you burn it and be done with it?”

Baird gasped indignantly. “This letter is history, young man.
History
. No self-respecting bard would burn a piece of history. Besides that, it’s a powerful bit of whispercraft,” he added with a sly grin. “One never knows when it might be useful.”

Chapter 9

Merchanting

The afternoon sun rose high, spreading its warmth across Gravy Bay. Golden light fell from between the clouds and filtered through the mansion’s windows.
It climbed slowly along a desk in the library, creeping forward with the minutes until it finally came to rest among the strands of Captain Lysander’s wavy hair.

He sat hunched over at his desk, a small mountain of unopened letters lying at the edge of his reach. A fresh sheet of parchment rested between his arms. One hand held the parchment down while the other was poised above it, gripping a quill.

Drops of ink slid from the tip of the quill and splattered onto the blank white of the page, but Lysander didn’t seem to notice. His stormy eyes weren’t on the parchment: they were locked on the window.

Sunlight shone brightly and the sea sparkled back. Lysander’s chest rose and fell with the crashing surf; his gaze grew more distant. His hand lowered slowly until it finally came to rest … squarely in a puddle of ink.

“Swindlers! Thieves and pickpockets, the lot of them!” Uncle Martin stormed as he marched into the room. “Our fathers would roll in their watery graves if they could see us now —
roll
, I tell you.”

“Be that as it may, you’re still going to have to pay the chancellor for those goblets,” Lysander murmured without taking his eyes from the window.

“Oh, I’ll gladly pay him. But it won’t be coin he gets,” Uncle Martin swung his cane in a dangerous arc, “it’ll be blood!”

“Excellent. Why don’t you take a crew and explain that to his armada?”

Uncle Martin snorted through his mustache. “Maybe I will. I’d rather be strapped to the bottom of my ship than have to bow to the will of that stony-eyed monster —”

“Fantastic idea. I’ll get the rope.”

“We’re pirates, blast you — not coin-fondling merchants!” Uncle Martin’s shoulders went straight as he gripped the cane to his chest. “You’d do well to remember that,
Captain
.”

No sooner had Uncle Martin’s stomping steps faded than two more sets shuffled in. The first pair belonged to Battlemage Jake. He leaned to watch Uncle Martin storm down the hallway and said, with no small amount of concern:

“You don’t think he’ll really attack Chaucer, do you?”

“That man is all mast and no sail,” Lysander replied.

Eveningwing sprinted past Jake and bounded onto the middle of Lysander’s desk, startling his gaze from the window.

“What have I told you about perching wherever you please?”

Eveningwing cocked his head to the side. “You don’t mind it when I’m a hawk.”

“Yes, well, you’re a good deal lighter then,” Lysander grumped as he pulled a book out from under his toes. “And your feet aren’t nearly as filthy. Now what’s this all about? I’m very busy.”

Jake shoved his spectacles firmly up the bridge of his nose. “Captain, we’ve come to ask you, one last time —”

“Are those lady’s gloves?”

Jake stretched out his hands. A pair of black leather gloves covered him from the tips of his fingers to past his wrists. The seams were stretched almost to the point of splitting. They squeaked piteously as he flexed his hands.

“It was an accident.”

Lysander raised a brow. “How does one
accidentally
wear a pair of lady’s gloves?”

“I wanted to make a new impetus, one that wasn’t so childish,” Jake said shortly. “I was just practicing with the gloves, but it wound up working rather well. I had to use a spell to make them a little larger. They aren’t perfect, but …”

He stretched a hand out and a tail of green flame rippled to life on his palm. Then he slapped his other hand on top of it, snuffing it out. “See? Like a sword and a shield.”

“How so?”

“Don’t bother,” Eveningwing said, picking at the feathers that sprouted from his elbow. “He’ll say the same thing twenty times and then get ruffled when you don’t understand.”

Jake made a face at him. “I couldn’t have possibly explained it any clearer. But we’re not here to talk about my gloves.” A knot bobbed up and down his throat as he swallowed. “We’ve come to ask you, one last time, if you’ll reconsider.”

Lysander groaned and slapped a hand to his face — smearing a good deal of ink across his stubble. “This again? No, I’m afraid I won’t. I’ve told you a hundred times that Kyleigh knows what she’s doing. If she chose to leave, then I’m sure she had a very good reason.”

“But they’ve got no chance at all,” Jake insisted. “They need our help.”

“No chance at what? You don’t know where they’ve gone.” He sighed at Jake’s look. “How many times must I tell you? Kyleigh would never try to take back the mountains alone.”

“But Kael would. That’s
exactly
the sort of thing he would do.”

Lysander snorted. “Kyleigh would never let him. No, I’m sure they’ve gone off on another errand. We’ll attack the mountains next spring, just like we planned.”

“Dig your head out, Captain,” Jake said, with a surprising amount of scorn. “You know full well where they’ve gone. If you sit around and do nothing, you’ll be sentencing them to death —”

“Enough!”

Lysander’s fist came down hard upon the desk. The noise startled Eveningwing so badly that he jumped into his hawk form and bolted out the window. Jake’s spectacles slid a considerable length down his nose, but he made no move to push them back.

Lysander sighed heavily. He dragged a hand through the waves of his hair, leaving a streak of ink behind. “I know you’re concerned about them. I think we all are. But she always comes back — and when she does, I have no doubt that she’ll bring Kael and that horrible little cat-man —”

“Silas.”

“— with her. We aren’t going to go charging into the mountains looking for them, and that’s my final word on the matter.” He leaned back, jutting out his chin. “Now if you pester me about it again, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice. I’ve already had to lock Nadine in her room because she wouldn’t behave. Am I going to have to do the same with you?”

“Assuming you could find a lock that would hold me? No, Captain,” Jake grumbled. Then, as he turned to leave: “I just hope you’re right.”

The moment Jake had marched from the room, Lysander sagged in his chair. His eyes were distant by the time they reached the window. There was a sharpness behind the storm, now — a rumbling in the clouds. He stared, unflinching, until a soft knock drew his eyes away.

“Have you come to scold me as well?”

Aerilyn smiled as she crossed the room, her pale blue gown sweeping the floor behind her. One hand rested absently on the small bump beneath her dress. “That all depends. Have you done something worthy of a scolding?”

“Perhaps,” Lysander said as he pulled her into his lap. They sat quietly for a moment: her arms around his neck and his ear against her chest. “I’m doing the right thing. I know I am.”

“Of course you are.”

“I’ve managed to keep my people fed, my men out of trouble, and my wife indescribably happy,” he said with a smile. “The winds have stopped howling and the weather’s finally fair. There’s absolutely no point in marching across the Kingdom looking for trouble — not when I’ve got everything I need right here.” He pulled his head from her chest. “Right?”

She kissed him on the chin. “Right. You’ve earned yourself some peace.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t spend the rest of your days comfortably, trading for goods instead of killing for them.”

“Absolutely,” Lysander said — though the word came out sounding as if he’d strained it through his teeth.

“We’ll go to the chancellor’s parties together and make all sorts of friends. I’ll need to buy you some proper dress wear, of course. You’d look so handsome in a fur-trimmed coat,” she added with glowing smile. “They’re a little itchy at first, but you’ll get used to it.” Her eyes flicked down to the smear of ink across his cheek. “Oh dear, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Lysander sat rigidly as she scrubbed at the ink with her thumb. Sparks flashed behind his eyes. “We wouldn’t have to go to
all
of the balls, surely.”

She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, my love. If we don’t go to the balls, how can you expect your son to marry well?”

“Come again?”

She sighed. “If we ever want any respect at all among the merchants, we’ll have to find him a lovely woman of good standing to marry. And if we have a daughter, we’ll need to get her betrothed as quickly as possible. Otherwise all the wealthy old men will be taken,” she added with a wink.

Lysander’s smile didn’t quite have the same shine as it’d had before. “I’m worried about Kyleigh and Kael,” he blurted out.

Aerilyn raised her brows. “But I thought you said they’d be all right?”

“There’s war brewing in the Kingdom. I’ve heard all sorts of nasty rumors at the chancellor’s castle: Midlan has fallen unnaturally silent, Titus’s thugs are carving up the mountains, and everybody’s convinced there’s all manner of evil running wild in the Grandforest. It’s all such a sudden, terrible business. I never could’ve seen it coming.”

Aerilyn gripped his arm. “Oh, that’s horrible! You ought to go after them — at least as far as the Valley. There’s no telling what sort of mess they might’ve gotten themselves into.”

“Ah, but if I leave, who’s going to take care of the merchanting? You’re in no state to handle all of the writing, all the squabbling back and forth —”

“I have an idea,” Aerilyn said lightly. She slid off his lap, took him by the hand, and led him down the hall.

As they wound their way through the mansion’s elaborate passageways, a soft trail of music rose to greet them. It was muted at first. But the closer they got, the more the notes began to stand out. The song was sharp, pounded out with force and finality. It rang through the halls like the steps of an army — one with its will bent against the destruction of all in its path.

The louder the music became, the more Lysander slowed. “Ah, I don’t think he’s quite ready yet, my love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s more than ready.”

“But he said he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s been very clear on that, and I think the least we can do is —”

“If you leave him alone, he’ll rot in there,” Aerilyn said firmly. “He’ll waste away until you come in one day and find his bones hunched over that foolish instrument. If there was ever a man who needed to be disturbed, it’s Thelred.” With that, she latched onto Lysander’s arm and pulled him through the ballroom doors.

The music slammed to a stop.

“I told you not to come in here!”

Thelred sat at the bench of a small piano. The hair on his face had grown long and there were plates of half-eaten food scattered all about him. His eyes were rimmed red, his fists were clenched tightly atop the piano’s keys — and his only clothing was a rumpled, filthy nightshirt.

Lysander managed to take two steps in before he staggered backwards. “What in high tide is that smell?”

“He hasn’t bathed since we got back from the plains,” Aerilyn said.

Thelred returned her look with a glare. “It’s nobody’s business whether I’ve bathed or not.”

“He hasn’t been going for his walks, either,” Aerilyn added, crossing her arms. “Morris said you’re supposed to walk on it at least twice a day. How do you ever expect to get used to —?”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Thelred said sharply. “Do you think I ever want to be seen like this?”

He jerked his leg out from under the piano. A thick leather band was strapped on just below his knee, held tightly by a tangle of lacing. Below that was a wooden stick: it was nearly as thick as a man’s arm and with a knob on the end for walking.

Thelred’s glare slipped as Lysander met his gaze. He tugged down roughly on his nightshirt — though the hem fell well short of his wooden leg. “I can’t sail, and I can’t fight. I’m no good for anything anymore. So you might as well just leave me to my music.”

Lysander watched him a moment more before he clasped his hands smartly behind his back. “Sorry, Red, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. Our friends in the mountains need my help. And while I’m away, I expect you to run the merchanting.”

Thelred looked as if a stiff wind had just blown up his nightshirt. “But …”

Lysander held up a hand. “The latest shipment from the plains should be halfway here by now. Once it arrives, you’ll need to take it to the castle. Sell Chaucer his bit — at the most ridiculous rate possible — then sell the rest in the courtyard. Keep the men in line while you’re on the chancellor’s grounds. And make sure you don’t get caught stealing anything.”

“There shouldn’t be any stealing to begin with,” Aerilyn cut in, glaring.

Lysander planted a swift kiss on her cheek. “Isn’t that what I said?”

Thelred struggled to his feet. “Wait, I don’t —”

“Put on some trousers and get to work,” Lysander called as he strode through the door. “That’s an order, Red.”