Dream Magic (24 page)

“That doesn’t sound positive.”

“It rarely is with the Jewels. Such gifts they are, but like any sword, they can cut with either side of the blade.”

“So,
if I can’t find the White by searching, I have to wait for it to appear?”

“Yes, but fortunately, you don’t have to worry about that one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? This witch you met, Morgana. She wields the White. I would bet my last acorn upon it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She fits the profile closely.
Mysterious, unknown, with power over the minds of others. The White gives one the power of the sorcerer. What I don’t understand is why she’s seeking the location of all the other Jewels. That sort of thing is dangerous.”

“How so?”

“No one knows exactly what happens if all the Nine meet, but the legends hint at an unimaginable cataclysm.”

“Oh. Well, could you tell me of the Quicksilver then?”

Myrrdin stopped pacing and stood, looming over Trev. “The Quicksilver is unlike all the rest. It avoids them. It repels them. It is immune to the others. Its power is to
restrict
the power of its brothers.”

“Ah, and what does it look like?”

“That’s not clear. I do believe it is similar in nature to the Bloodhound, however.”

“How do you mean?”

“It can take the shape of a living being.”

Trev’s mouth opened, then shut again. He lifted a finger high, as if getting a sudden idea.

“Could it be that—that Morgana is the Quicksilver?” he asked.

“Hmm,” said Myrrdin. “I suppose, but if she was, why would she be seeking all the rest? And besides, I’ve always been of the opinion that the
Quicksilver is somewhat more like the hound. It should be small and easily carried.”

Trev nodded. “You’ve been most helpful, Uncle.”

Trev walked past Myrrdin a dozen paces. Myrrdin’s gaze followed him closely. The boy put his hands on his hips, examining the huge stump which was now covered in leafy growths.

“Just what
is this thing you’re so focused on? Some kind of cliff of dirt or…I believe this is wood, isn’t it?”

“That’s an experiment of mine, Trev,” Myrrdin said. “Don’t touch it—th
ose shoots are poisonous.”

Trev backed away obediently,
but Myrrdin wasn’t satisfied. Out of the sight of the others, within the bowels of his tree-body, the ancient wizard’s staring eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the dangers these three seeming fools represented. Certainly, the dragon wasn’t a mooncalf. The creature sat quietly, listening to all that transpired. She probably knew more than she was admitting to. Likewise, Myrrdin doubted Trev was as foolhardy as he seemed, either. The boy had to have some of Puck’s wily blood in his veins.

Myrrdin lifted a wooden finger to his trunk and tapped it there. The sound was like that of a woodpecker hammering for its dinner. The others looked at him warily.

“What are you thinking about, Wizard?” asked Fafna.

“Ah—just how to care for my guests. I’m not accustomed to visitors, you see. And now you
’ve provided me with a particular problem, dragon.”

“How so?”

“You’re a carnivore in search of special fare. Like Ivor, who seeks meat like a carrion bird. You two aren’t easy for me to provide for. All that I have grows from the ground, you see.”

“Oh, is that all? Have no fear on such an account. You don’t need to feed us. Already, I’ve enjoyed some of Ivor’s rodent.”

“Are you sated then?”

“Well…no,” admitted the young
dragon.

The leaves of Myrrdin’s crown rustled
and he nodded his head as if in confirmation of his suspicions. In truth, he could not care less if the dragon starved at his feet. His worries had to do with what these three had witnessed—and to whom they might tell their tale if they were allowed to leave.

Nonchalantly, Myrrdin turned and strode to the nearest living tree and touched its bark. It was a fine pine, a monster of its kind, soaring nearly a thousand feet tall. He touched it, and felt it shiver in response. Then he went to another tree, an oak this time, and rubbed its rough skin as if soothing a pet.

“What are you doing, Uncle?” asked Ivor.

Myrrdin turned back to the trio and tried to fashion a smile on the bark that encrusted his eye holes. He wasn’t entirely successful, and the hideous grin of rippled wooden skin caused the others to blanch noticeably.

“I’m seeking fresh game for you!” Myrrdin lied smoothly. “I’m asking the trees what they have seen nearby—or what they may have hiding high in their branches. This one, the oak, tells me a family of squirrels that gnaws at his young on a daily basis, and would rather have them removed from his person.”

The others blinked at him.

“The tree’s young?” asked Trev, baffled.

“Yes, acorns, we call them.”

“Oh, of course.”

There was an awkward pause.

Finally, Ivor spoke to Trev: “Uncle is being nice. I’m glad you’re here now. He must like you more than he does me.”

Trev chuckled with embarrassment. “That’s a very kind offer, Uncle,” he said. “Are you interested in going on a squirrel hunt,
Fafna?”

“That depends. What’
s a squirrel, anyway?”

Trev described a rodent l
ike the rat they’d roasted, a cleaner beast of similar size.

“Clean meat?” asked the
dragon curiously. “What do you mean by ‘clean’?”

“Well, squirrels raised on nuts from the tree must have a much better flavor than a rat, which subsists on muck found at ground level.”

The dragon began to understand the possibilities. Her mouth slavered with glowing red embers.

“Have a care, this is a forest, you know.”

“I’ll do it,” said the dragon. “Let’s go hunt this pack of tree-rats.”

“Can I come?” asked Ivor.

“No, you’ll weigh down my wings like a stone.”

Ivor looked crestfallen.

Myrrdin, who’d been watching the exchange carefully, now raised a wooden finger the size of a walking stick. “Could I trouble you to stay here a moment, Trev?” he asked. “I have family matters to discuss.”

“Certainly, Uncle,” Trev said, but it was clear he’d rather ride the
dragon into the trees to seek squirrels.

Without further discussion, the
dragon launched herself into the air and flapped hard. Going straight up was difficult for her kind, so she spiraled around the tree as she rose. Once, twice, thrice around she went.

Then Myrrdin reached out his wooden hands and applied them to the trunk of the tree the
dragon circled. He loosed a cackle of delight as the tree shook and rustled in response to his touch.

Green light shown where his body made contact with the great tree.

“Uncle…? What are you…?” began Trev.

But Myrrdin ignored the boy. His staring eyes were upon the scene above. The
dragon had managed to reach the level of the main branches, and they quickly wove themselves into a fine network of leaves and twigs. The latter were as thick as saplings and made of living hardwood. They caught the little firefly just as Myrrdin had urged them to do.

To Myrrdin’s surprise, Trev no longer was content to stand at his root, shouting admonishments up at his uncle. Instead, the cheeky youth had climbed the trunk with startling rapidity. He now stood on Myrrdin’s shoulder and was attempting to peer inside.

Myrrdin knew in an instant what the boy was up to. The half-elf devil knew there was a gaunt sliver of flesh inside the bowels of the living tree. If Trev could manage to climb inside the bole, perhaps he could stop his uncle with the blade he now held gleaming in his hand.

“Stop, child,” Myrrdin said. “Look, I’ve got your scaly f
riend. He’s not harmed, but he’s in my power. Don’t make me rip his wings off and discard them.”

Trev, panting, rested on a thick
, jutting branch. “Why are you doing this, Uncle? It’s very poor manners.”

The two were able to see one another now—at least their real eyes of flesh could meet. Myrrdin stared with shining eyes out of the bole of the tree and Trev met his gaze with an angry look of his own.

“Poor manners—yes, admittedly,” Myrrdin said, “but my victim is a dragon, not one of our kind. She’s not worthy of your respect and friendship. In fact, she’s dangerous. There’s never been a dragon that I’ve known in my long life that was worth calling a friend to anyone—not even to another dragon.”

“You might be right about that. But I brought
her here under my protection. She’s my guest, and you’ve violated that trust. You’ve shamed me, and you are my own family.”

Myrrdin
might well be mad, but he still felt a pang to hear his nephew’s words. Even the maddest of men sometimes had shreds of pride left in them. The habits of hospitality, honor and respect for social rules ran deep among his kind.

“I’m sorry for that,” Myrrdin said truthfully. “But
I can’t have a dragon flying about, telling all and sundry what I’m doing out here. I don’t even want them to know where I am. How you found me at all is a mystery.”

Trev quickly told his uncle about the mound and the connection to the Everdark it represented. The tale was soon interrupted, however, as showers of sparks were falling from above them.

“Tell your idiot dragon to stop trying to burn away the cage I’ve built for her, or I’ll crush her like a buzzing wasp!”

“Sh
e doesn’t respond well to threats.”

“
Humph, I suppose not,” Myrrdin said, craning back his trunk to stare above. The leaves in the trap were all cinders now, and the sticks were no longer green shoots. They’d been transformed into a spray of woven bars as black as cooked iron.

“Say there!” he called. “I’m going to
bring you down. Let us talk for a moment. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”

Myrrdin had the tree lower the struggling
dragon toward them. The branch was licked by flame and scorched in a dozen places before the cage was placed upon the ground. Once there, Myrrdin strode over to it.

He’d
never been so reminded of a feral housecat in his life! The dragon raged in the enclosure, scrabbling with claws, firing jets of red at the bars. She seemed beyond speech or reason. Myrrdin had no doubt that she’d free herself given another few minutes time.

“Sh
e’s a mad-thing,” Myrrdin said, stepping up to the cage and lifting a massive foot over it. He prepared himself to stomp it flat.

“No
!” Trev shouted, climbing as fast as a spider.

Myrrdin
pulled his foot back onto the ground in surprise. How had the boy…? He was very close,
too
close.

Myrrdin
reached up with a branch, but the youth was quick. He felt a sting as the point of that tiny dagger bit into the flesh of his
real
shoulder.

Myrrdin howled and clawed with wooden fingers, seeking to pluck the boy away. Finally, he managed to
get him into the air.

At the foot of the whipping tree, Ivor sadly walked around in circles, uncertain about what should be done. Anyone seeing him would know he was torn by his loyalties. He kept saying things like: “Don’t hurt ‘em! Stop it, you two, or there will be no supper!”

No one paid him any heed. Instead, they struggled until at last Myrrdin won out. He had Trev hanging by his tunic thirty feet in the air, suspended in the pinching grip of clacking wooden fingers.

Myrrdin raised his gnarled roots over the
dragon’s blackened cage, ready to crush it down. Earth dribbled from his twisted, ugly feet, showering the dragon, who still raged at the bars that enclosed her.

“Shall I?” the wizard asked Trev.

“No, it would be bad form.”

“Is that all you care about? You risked your life and that of your own flesh and blood to save a
dragon. What kind of sense—or lack of it—have those Haven people taught you?”

“I don’t know you,” Trev said. “I don’t trust you.
But I know that dragon. She and I have fought together and won through more than once. Friendship and trust must be earned, not given.”

“Wise words,” Myrrdin murmured. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve got an idea.”

And he truthfully had gotten an idea. If this boy wanted the dragon spared so badly—why not use that misguided loyalty?

“I’ll tell you what, nephew, I will spare the
dragon.”

Myrrdin
lowered his foot, and the blue-scaled creature in the cage snarled up at them again, shaking falling clods of earth from her back.

“You propose a wager?” Trev asked.

“No, not a wager—a bargain. She will stay here until you return.”

“And what shall I do in the meantime?”