Silver Dragon Codex (21 page)

The pen wavered above the paper. “It seems something of a waste to leave a dragon to dance for pennies, but the judgment is fair, and the contract is legal according to the law in Palanthas. If this is the punishment that Belen wants, then I am willing to be reasonable, as she did turn herself in for the crimes. The best punishment must be one that serves the community and betters the lives of others.”

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly right!” Worver crowed, pushing subtly against Mysos’s wrist. The mage glared at him and jerked away, making the ringmaster shrink back. “Let me get you a glass of water, sir. That’ll quench your thirst. Justice—it’s a thirsty business!”

Jace grimaced. Thirstiness wasn’t the reason Mysos was hesitating, if Jace was any judge of the mage’s character. What made him pause was the greedy leer in the ringmaster’s smile. The White Robe was trying to think of other options. Mysos couldn’t afford to stay here and watch over Belen, and
despite his bluff, if the dragon refused to come to Palanthas, it would take more than just one wizard to force her. This deal, distasteful as it was, fulfilled all the requirements of law, and Mysos knew it.

Jace hoped that the wizard would be equally happy to be offered another way out of the deal. “That’s it, that’s all the time we have. We’ve got to go now.” He shook Ebano’s shoulder. “He’s about to sign!”

“Very well, then.” Mysos began to draw the pen across the paper as Worver sat back to pet his twisted little pet.

Before he could complete the first stroke, Jace and the others threw open the door.

“Ahja. Za-fayn ha’alikk hamza Ebano Bakr Sayf al-Din ibn Ceham.”
The mesmerist’s robes were torn and bloodied, frayed by acid and ragged at his wrists, but his regal bearing and intense purple eyes made these seem embellishments worthy of a king. “Greetings.”

“Not again! He’s a madman!” Mysos surged up out of the chair, readying his spells. Ebano did not flinch, his purple eyes flashing as if eager for the challenge—but he also did not draw his hands out or speak words in the magical tongue. Mysos paused in his casting, unwilling to start throwing spells around in such a small space, and Jace seized upon the opportunity to leap past Ebano toward Belen’s side.

Belen and Worver rose up out of their chairs, equally surprised. “What … but you … Hautos!” Worver called, pressing his hands to either side of his head as if the steam of anger might blow his top hat right off.

“Hautos is busy, ringmaster.” Jace smirked. It felt good to have all the advantages on his side this time! Cerisse held two throwing darts ready, two more tucked into her belt, and Ebano folded his arms in a picture of supreme unconcern.

“Jace?” the White Robe looked even more confused. “Jace Pettier, the tightrope walker?”

“At your service, wizard of Palanthas.” The boy’s eyes moved from the wizard to the ringmaster, and settled gently on Belen. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Jace, you shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“Because you made a deal with the ringmaster? I know. But you should know that he didn’t just tell Hautos to heal Ebano. He also told him to kill Ebano—right after the contract was signed.”

“I think you should stay and hear the story, ringmaster.” Cerisse moved in closer, pressing the sharp end of her throwing dart an inch from Worver’s throat. While Mysos was listening to the boy, Worver had been moving slowly toward the back door—only to find himself stopped point first by the half-elf’s weapons.

“What is going on here?” Mysos demanded. “I won’t have these proceedings interrupted with exaggerations. If Worver treats you poorly or doesn’t pay you enough, then that is a separate issue. I will be happy to discuss it after the issues with Belen and Angvale are finished, but this is a matter of Solamnian law—”

“This
is
about Belen and Angvale,” the boy insisted. Jace straightened, hurling a harsh stare at the ringmaster. “Belen attacked that village.”

Mysos threw his hands into the air. “I already know that! The dragon has confessed—”

“To the attack yes, but she didn’t kill anyone!” Jace clenched his fists.

Ebano stepped forward, the scrape of the mystic’s patterned slippers on the wood floor keeping Mysos’s attention divided. The mesmerist locked eyes with Mysos, returning the White Robe’s angry stare with a somber peace. Whatever was going on, Ebano wanted Mysos to pay attention to this boy. Out of respect for the other wizard’s power—or perhaps to get to the bottom of this—Mysos stopped protesting. “Tell me.”

“The people who lived in Angvale are still alive. They’ve just been changed into werewolves, cursed by a powerful magic because they failed to protect a sacred stone. Belen didn’t kill anyone! But there’s more—the attack wasn’t her
fault. She was tricked into thinking that the village stole her egg—threatened her child—and she went there to get it back. She thought she was doing the right thing. Belen was thinking like a mother, not like a killer.”

“Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?” Mysos asked.

“I do.”

“How terrible that those poor people are still alive! And cursed too!” Worver interrupted swiftly. He tsk-tsked, waving his hands in the air. His pet, Tsusu, climbed up into the wagon’s rafters, hissing softly. Worver snatched up the contract on the table and fluttered it at the wizard. “Master Mysos, let’s finish what we were doing. Once the contract is signed, we’ll have plenty of time to sit down and discuss this. As you know, Jace fell from quite a height the other day. I think he struck his head, you see—”

Mysos shushed the ringmaster with a sharp gesture of his hand. “Jace?”

“Worver did it all, sir. He lied to Belen about her egg—it was taken by the evil dragons—and he stole Angvale’s magic stone. He enslaved the pukah who serve it, just like he’s enslaving those werewolves he had performing today. The pukah have been doing work for the circus for five years, ever since he took the stone. Worver did all of this for his own benefit. He’s known about this the whole time, even
when he found Belen in the woods, and he’s been keeping it secret. Even now, he wants you and Belen to sign that contract”—Jace pointed at it—“and make her a slave too.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“He’s got the stone in one of the circus wagons, sir.” Jace insisted. “He’s got some kind of key around his neck, something that makes him officially the owner of the stone.”

Mysos turned to Worver, stepping past Belen and, perhaps foolishly, turning his back on the dark foreign mage. If this was some sort of a trick, he’d know it soon enough. “Well, Worver?”

“I have no idea what the boy’s babbling about, master wizard.” Worver straightened, ignoring the dart. “He’s always blamed me, you know, for his father’s fall. This is all a nasty trick to get even with me for what he sees as his family’s failure! You know as well as I that Jace was going to fall from that rope before you arrived—you saved his life! But Jace is stubborn, and he’s vengeful enough to make all this up just to get Belen’s attention. Everyone knows he has a crush on her, and he’d do anything—including lie, cheat, and steal—to show off for her.”

Jace’s heart fell through his feet. He felt his face turn red as Belen blinked and looked at him, and even redder when Cerisse looked away. “That … that has nothing … to do with this!” he stammered. Belen looked surprised, but
the worst thing of all was the pitying softness in her stare. Jace’s vision blurred and he pushed past Ebano angrily. “Stop blaming me!”

“Ah, son, the truth hurts, doesn’t it? It must be hard. You know she’s a dragon? Belen is older and more mature than you will ever be, and she’s far more powerful. You’re nothing but a little circus tramp, barely a tenth her age! Of course she’s not interested in you. Now end this charade, get out of my wagon, and we’ll all let bygones be bygones.” Worver preened while Tsusu’s hissing laughter echoed faintly in the shadows.

“You shut up!” Cerisse snarled, pushing the tip of her dart against Worver’s throat. “Jace is wonderful. He’s smart, and he’s brave, and even Belen would be lucky to have him!” Her outburst was unexpectedly fierce, her red hair lashing back and forth like a tiger’s tail.

“Cerisse! You can’t believe this ridiculous tale. Master Mysos, I assure you, this is all fantasy!”

“Very well, I’m willing to accept that.” Mysos folded his arms.

“You are?” Worver brightened

“Of course. But just in case, why don’t you show me what you’re wearing around your neck?”

The ringmaster’s face fell. “Surely that isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is. In fact, I insist.”

Worver’s hands fumbled as he slowly raised them to his neckline. “Master Mysos, of course I’ll do anything you require. I only ask that you be gentle on the poor boy when you realize what a liar he’s being. It isn’t his fault, you know. His father’s tragic fall, the pressure on Jace to redeem an entire family filled with failures and reprobates—”

“Hey!” Jace yelped, stung again.

“I’m trying to do what’s best, my boy. Here we are, my necklace.” Worver pulled it out of his neckline with a quick tug. “You’ll see it’s everything you expected—and more.”

The thin cord around Worver’s neck was unassuming, made of light leather looping down to a wooden trinket on the end. Jace had been anticipating something more grand—a holy symbol of Chislev, perhaps, or a magical token—but instead, it was only a child’s whistle made of wood. Before anyone could react, Worver lifted it to his lips and blew.

Light instantly coalesced around him, blinding them all. Jace heard a scuffle. Tsusu’s thin laugh darted down from the rafters, bounding to the floor and away. He heard Cerisse scream, and then came Ringmaster Worver’s voice, smug in the white nothingness. “Obey me, my pukah minions.”

As the brilliance faded, six bright lights became more distinct, swirling in patterns around Worver’s heavy form.
“Kill the boy, the girl, and the hypnotist. Use your magic to make the dragon girl forget again. It seems your little spell fails under too close inspection. Oh, and erase the White Robe’s memories too. Make sure he signs that contract.” The fairies turned on Mysos and the others, unable to resist the command of the whistle’s wielder.

Worver smiled, twisting his mustache as Tsusu leaped up on his shoulder. Jace could see that the monkeylike creature already had blood on its hands, and the girl on the floor wasn’t moving. Worver stepped backward through the curtains at the front of the wagon where Cerisse had come in. “Oh, and clean up when you’re finished, my little pets. We can’t afford to have any loose ends.”

he pukah dived toward them with thin, shrill screeches, claws outstretched, and wings buzzing. The inside of the wagon reflected their brilliant light from brass fixtures to mirrors to glass. Anything and everything bright became illuminated like a hundred candles as the pukah rushed forward.

Jace yelled to the others, “Don’t hurt them! They’re slaves, it’s not their fault!” He didn’t know if Mysos would listen or if Ebano would understand, but Belen would know what to do. He looked for any way he could fight, picking up a bucket to swing at the pukah that launched itself into his hair. With a scream, Jace flinched away, swinging the bucket wildly in an attempt to trap the creature inside.

The pukah was far too quick for him, dodging under the lip of the bucket and renewing its attack. Its wings left silvery patterns in the air, scattering dust across Jace’s
shoulders and face. He tried not to breathe in, but was unable to avoid it, and a strange lightness tickled through his lungs.

“Don’t breathe their dust!” Belen was yelling. It seemed tinny and far away. “It’s magic!”

Magic? Like Belen’s dancing. Pretty. Shiny too. Jace looked down at the bucket in his hands and tried to remember what he’d been doing. Feeding some animal? Getting water? That seemed like a strange thing to be doing inside one of the wagons. Was he about to go on stage? Tightrope walking with a bucket. The idea made him giggle. He should go find Cerisse and tell her about it. Maybe she’d juggle buckets in her next act too.

A stiff wind nearly knocked Jace over, slamming him back against the wall of the wagon. The bucket tumbled from his hands, forgotten, and sparkling dust swirled past him, cleared away by the wind. Jace looked up and saw Mysos standing with one hand outstretched, wind whipping his pale robes about him. “Thanks,” Jace managed, and the mage nodded once. “Where’s Worver?”