Fortress Draconis (32 page)

Crow bowed solemnly. “This is an honor, Grand Magister.”

The little man did not move for a heartbeat or two, then only slightly lifted his head. “You are Crow? You don’t feel like a crow.”

“No, Magister, today I feel like an old man.”

The magician cackled, and after a moment, the Adepts around him joined his laughter politely.

Will blinked. When Resolute had announced the coming of the man who ruled Vilwan, he’d expected someone who lived up to the title “Grand Magister.” He thought of someone tall and sharp-eyed, with a noble nose, not a misshapen potatolike lump, all hunched over and slow. Power should have been coursing off him, crackling the air around him.

The Grand Magister’s brown eyes slowly glanced past Crow and met Will’s gaze. “This is the boy you brought?”

“Yes.”

“Come here, lad.”

Though the command came barely as a whisper, Will found himself unable to resist it. He stepped forward, right up to the ancient man. The Grand Magister lifted his left hand and took hold of Will’s chin. He tipped the boy’s head down a bit, then their gazes met again.

A jolt ripped through Will. Had the magician not had hold of his chin, the boy’s head would have snapped back as if he’d been kicked by a horse. An alien presence punched its way into Will’s mind. The youth felt himself stretched, then something popped. Another pop and another, distant, sounded in sequence, then the Grand Magister broke eye contact and let Will go.

Will staggered back and Resolute caught him. Will dropped a hand to his longknife’s hilt, thinking to draw and slash the old man for that invasion, but the Vorquelf’s grip stopped him. The youth looked daggers up at Resolute, but the Vorquelf just shook his head.

Will shivered.He’s right. I’d not get a step closer before he could kill me.

The Grand Magister nodded slowly. “He has promise, that one.”

“Thank you, Grand Magister. This is why we want to travel to Fortress Draconis as fast as possible.”

The ancient thaumaturge brushed that suggestion aside with a wave of his hand. “I cannot let you go there. You are needed elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Will shook himself. “Fortress Draconis is where they have the DragonCrown fragments that Chytrine will use to bring an army of dragons back here. Where else could we possibly be needed?”

“His blood is fiery. Good.” The Grand Magister blinked slowly, then looked at Crow. “You will accompany the Vilwanese delegation to the Harvest Festival in Yslin. You will be there for the Council of Kings.”

Crow frowned. “But, Magister, Vilwan does not send a delegation to the Council of Kings.”

“Not often does a witch from the north attempt to conquer Vilwan.” The old man shrugged. “Times have changed. Besides which, the Draconis Baron is attending the meetings, and you have business with him, do you not?”

“The Snow Fox will be in Yslin?”

“Yes, Crow.” The Grand Magister reached out and settled his left hand over Crow’s heart. “You have labored long to be prepared for the times that unfold now. The weight of your work and your reputation are needed to provide balance. Your wisdom is needed to provide direction.”

Crow laughed lightly. “No kings will listen to my words.”

“No, but your words will fall into the ears of their subordinates, then many mouths will share your wisdom with those who need it.”

Will frowned so hard his forehead hurt. “Is being vague something wizards do, or is it just that you’re old?”

The Grand Magister cackled again, but the Adepts did not join him. Instead they glared at Will. The thief shrugged their anger off—in the arena of glaring, none of them could have bested Resolute, and Will could already feel the Vbrquelf’s eyes boring two holes in the top of his skull.

“Wilburforce, would you pour more water into a full jug?”

“Only if I wanted to make a mess.”

“So it is with being vague. You and my Adepts are full up for now, especially as concerns things for Crow.” A spark flashed in the Grand Magister’s eyes. “If you would permit me, though, I think I would have from you an answer that would help fill me.”

“Huh?”

The magicker continued as if he’d not heard Will’s puzzled response. “You saw, last night, the black dragon come and drive off the gold. Why do you think he did it?”

Will blinked. “He?”

The Grand Magister nodded slowly. “Vrüsuroel is not unknown. He lives on Vael. Why would he come here after the gold?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t like Chytrine? He didn’t like the gold?” Will shrugged. “He sees Vilwan as his domain?”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the Grand Magister’s mouth. “A game of dominion? Interesting idea. Think on this, Wilburforce. Vrüsuroel is of an ancient and noble line, but he once served Kirun. Now he defies Kirun’s heir. Why?”

Will snorted. “He doesn’t want her to re-create the DragonCrown and enslave him again.”

“Ah, but that’s the trick of it, isn’t it? I said he served Kirun, not that he was enslaved by him. He served willingly.” The little man arched an eyebrow. “Now, after what is barely a decade in the reckoning of dragons, he no longer supports that cause. His change is to be welcomed, to be sure, but unless we understand what motivates him, we could alienate him and give that power to Chytrine.”

The Grand Magister nodded toward the ocean and dim, mist-shrouded Vael to the northwest. “Chytrine’s dragon was limited to talon, claw, and flame, since her control is incomplete. Free, as was Vrüsuroel, or fully controlled by the crown, the dragons can bring all their magicks to play. If Chytrine is given that sort of power, there is nothing that can gainsay her anything she desires.”

Crow shivered. “We will stop her.”

“Yes, you have the tools, Crow, I see that.” The Grand Magister nodded once. “To Yslin with you, then. You have the tools, now you need gain the chance to use them.”

Tf he’d ever been taught to curse—aside from the magickal I kind—Kerrigan was pretty sure he’d be grumbling all hot land nasty. His boots had shrunk because of the ocean dunking, and gotten tight and hard. He had Blisters, and while it would have been an easy thing to heal them, the magick did nothing about building up the calluses that would protect his feet. Every step he took put him in agony, and the pain from walking had worked up his legs to his knees and hips.

The straps on his backpack—a musty old thing the Panqui had salvaged from somewhere and presented him with great ceremony—rubbed the flesh of his shoulders raw. Because Lombo had torn his robe open and no one had seen fit to repair it, one of the straps was actually rubbing against his bare skin.

After recovering from his exhaustion from healing the old Panqui, Kerrigan had been allowed to heal Orla and the girl. Spelling them back to health had not been difficult, and both of them accepted the pain of their healing.

Kerrigan had, when dealing with Orla, repaired the break in her back. That restored function to her legs. He’d also, as long as he was in there, taken care of some lingering damage from old wounds, clearing up some old scar tissue, reconnecting some nerves, and smoothing down some bones in her hips and knees.

As a result, Orla was marching along through the Saporician jungle at a pace that young Larüka was having a hard time matching. The old woman seemed happier than Kerrigan had ever seen her. While she did admonish him about having done too much, she seemed to enjoy being able to move spryly.

Larüka, who was happy at having survived and having her knee fixed, giggled and wandered all over. She never strayed far from the group, catching up easily because Kerrigan was moving so slowly. When they would get ahead of him—usually at the top of a small hill—they’d wait, chatting gaily about one thing or another. He’d get there and they’d allow him a minute’s rest or two, then set off again.

Lombo was no help at all. In the ceremony in which the backpack was bestowed upon Kerrigan, the elder Panqui exhorted the assembled group of Panqui at great length. Kerrigan estimated the community at roughly three hundred individuals, though only fifty or so came from the immediate camp. He suspected there were a number of other villages scattered throughout the area and made a mental note to learn everything he could about the Panqui when he returned to Vilwan.

During this ceremony, about the only word Kerrigan caught was “Yslin.” Xleniki then waved Lombo forward and presented him to Kerrigan. Lombo translated, indicating he would be their guide for the trip to Yslin. He went on to recount his many deeds of bravery, which set many of the Panqui hooting. Most of it sounded like local adventures, but the beast did mention a stint crewing on a Wruonan pirate ship and living on that island for a while.

On the hike, which had started the day after the ceremony despite Kerrigan’s entreaties to let him rest more, Lombo had primarily taken to the trees. He’d race ahead of the group, bellowing challenges that were seldom answered. Then he’d wait in the bole of a tree between branches, watching them and more often than not munching on fruit or nuts or small, arboreal creatures that hadn’t moved fast enough.

The Panqui had been generous with the rainforest’s bounty, especially when they made camp for the night. He brought the best of fruits, and the group knew they were good because Lombo had generally nibbled each one to make sure. Thevery best went to Kerrigan, then the silver-haired Orla, and finally Larüka. Kerrigan tried to be gracious, but he’d carry his haul off to a nearby stream to wash it all off.

Lombo would follow him and watch him, which only made Kerrigan more miserable. The Panqui would squat in the water upstream, and the young mage feared the beast was relieving himself in the water while Kerrigan washed his food. That put him off feeding until his stomach hurt more than his feet and Lombo, thinking the fruit not to his liking, brought a live snake for Kerrigan to kill and eat.

Cold and tired, achy and hungry, Kerrigan pulled himself away from the two women and barely acknowledged them. He answered their questions with grunts and scowls, which he knew wasn’t fair, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. His physical discomforts did make him grumpy, but he could have gotten past them. Something else was digging at him.

On the second night out, while Orla and Larüka giggled over some private joke, Kerrigan could take no more. He turned, slowly and deliberately, and snorted at them over the small fire. “How can you be laughing? They’re all dead, the rest of them are dead.”

Larüka blinked her blue eyes innocently. “We’re alive. Isn’t that something to be happy about?”

Orla reached a hand out and rested it on the girl’s shoulder. “It is, child, but that’s not what Adept Reese is hinting at, is it? Out with it, Kerrigan. There’s a maggot wriggling around in your mind. Let it free.”

Kerrigan glared at them, and then at Lombo. At the mention of the word “maggot,” the Panqui had started to come closer to Kerrigan, but the youth couldn’t endure Lombo’s grooming him for nits. “They’re dead. Lombo has said no others were pulled from the sea.”

“You don’t know that, Kerrigan. Others might have been picked up by boats in the area.”

“They’re probably dead, too.”

“Some, perhaps, but you eliminated the threat to many of them.”

Kerrigan’s hands closed into fists and he hammered one against his left thigh, punctuating his words. “Yes, but I killed the others because of it! The wave tossed the ship over. They all went into the sea. Itsweirun has more meat to feed his pets because of me. I killed them. I killed them.”

Faster than he would have imagined, Orla rose and slapped him hard across the face. The blow stung sharply, stunning him. His left hand rose to cover his cheek. He stared at her, openmouthed, then his lower lip quivered and he began to cry.

“Why?”

Orla straightened her robe and stared down at him. “You were becoming hysterical and that’s when you stop thinking, Adept Reese. You need to be thinking right now, not feeling, not fearing. That was my first reason for hitting you.”

She slowly sat, holding her hands out to the fire. “The second reason is to show you that you are no killer— though I wish to all the gods you were. Someone of your power would have burned me alive for that, as a reflex. Think about it, Kerrigan, there you were, people screaming and dying. You took an arrow through the chest in the middle of a fight, and what did you do? You used a warehouse clerk’s spell. You raised that ship into the air and then dashed it like a child’s toy. If you had a warrior’s heart, the ship would have been just as dead.”

“Yes, but the others wouldn’t have. There would have been no wave.”

“Your lack of thinking about consequences again betrays you.” Orla arched an eyebrow. “If you’d made the ship combust, the explosion would have started such a wave. If you’d crushed the prow and had it sink, the suction would have pulled our ship down. There were dozens of other things you could have done that might have swamped or sunk our little boat, and for all you know, the damage it had taken might have rendered it unseaworthy. It could have been sinking already.

“Does that excuse you from having caused the wave that sank our boat? No. Does that mean you killed the others? No. You don’t know how many were already dead. You don’t know if others have survived. Yes, some, perhaps all save us, perished—but we would have been no less dead had you not acted.”

Kerrigan sniffed. “But there is still blood on my hands.”

“Yes, there is, boy, and likely will be much more before any of this business is concluded.” Orla hugged her arms around her stomach. “This is precisely what I told them would happen.”

The young Adept brushed away tears. “What are you talking about?”

“How you’ve been trained.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a great huff. “Well, this is a new round of training. Kerrigan, you have to think about the consequences of the magicks you cast. In anarcanorium, with everything set and perfect, you know what they will be. You’re smart enough to go beyond that, to think about what will happen in the field. You have to do that.”

He nodded slowly. “I will try.”

Orla sighed. “That’s better than ‘I can’t.’ And, I guess, for now, that’s the best I can hope for.”