The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (8 page)

Seagryn nodded and turned back to the tent to begin taking it down. “You can tell me one thing,” he said as he knelt to pull up a peg.

“What’s that?” Dark asked, scrambling around to the other side to help.

“Is the Conspiracy evil?”

Dark stopped and stood straight up. “It didn’t start out to be.”

“But it is now?”

“Not entirely. We have time to save it ...”

“Is it worth saving?”

Dark’s expression turned thoughtful. He blinked twice, then looked back at Seagryn. “I think it’s the world’s best hope.”

Seagryn shrugged. “In any case, it’s already fixed. You already know we join it.”

The boy seemed saddened by this comment. “Only because we choose to —”

Seagryn finished bundling the tent, passing a few coins he’d found inside it to Dark. “Whatever.” He brushed the dirt from his clerical garb and looked back up at the boy. “You do influence the future, you know. Your — gift. It does have an impact on events.”

Dark swallowed. “That’s a part of the burden ...”

Seagryn nodded and looked at the bundle he held in his hand. He thought in quick succession of burdens, then packhorses, and then of what a tugolith might be able to carry. This led him to the realization that he knew now how to control his ability to take on that enormous shape. He held the bundle behind his back and — as he had the day before, in willing the fire to appear — visualized what he wanted to have happen. He thought of himself as a tugolith and he became one. “Care to ride?” his altervoice rumbled, and Dark grinned up at him with excitement.

“Of course!” he shouted, and he clambered up behind Seagryn’s ears and sat astride the horn. While in some ways Dark seemed ancient, in others he was still just a boy. Then again, Seagryn reminded himself, weren’t most men so? They set out, moving south at Dark’s direction.

The first night they camped in a forest of lofty trees unlike any Seagryn had ever seen. The trunks were as big around as castle towers, and the branches made a gray-green canopy that blocked out the heat of the sun. Seagryn breathed air filtered by millions of pine needles and found it incredibly fresh. They moved on at dawn the next morning; by late afternoon, they had reached the outskirts of Ritaven, a free city on the northwest edge of the Middle Mountains, which sat near the center of the old One Land.

“Looks like a pleasant enough place,” Seagryn said as he took his human-form before stepping out of the forest onto the main thoroughfare.

“It is.” Dark nodded. “For the moment.”

“For the moment?”

“Arl is coming.” The lad shrugged, as if that explained everything. When he glanced up and saw the concern in Seagryn’s face, he quickly added, “Not tonight! Next year!”

“Oh,” a much relieved Seagryn said. They spent that night in a cozy Ritaven inn, paying for their lodging with the gold they’d scavenged from Quirl’s camp. “Tomorrow,” Dark said meaningfully as they lay down. He didn’t elaborate, and Seagryn didn’t ask.

The next morning they began climbing the mountain in Ritaven’s backyard. An hour past noon they stood at the bottom of an enormous rockslide. Huge boulders perched precariously against one another, threatening to resume their ancient dash to the valley at the slightest provocation. Seagryn eyed this jumble of granite, then looked back down the mountain. The windmills of Ritaven looked like tiny blue flowers, and the rows of thatched houses like orderly lines of pebbles arranged by a child. Seagryn frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Dark called down to him.

“Why do we come this way? I see no other members of your august Conspiracy scraping their fingers and knees to climb this hillside.”

“Of course not. They all went in the main entrance.”

“There’s a main entrance? Then let’s go find it!”

“Can’t.”

“And why not?”

“It’s two days walk around the mountains, then another day’s journey back underground. We’d miss the meeting. Besides, they wouldn’t let us in.”

“Wouldn’t let — You led me to believe you were expected!”

“Expected, yes — but not welcomed,” Dark said. When Seagryn stared, Dark seated himself on a rock to explain. “You see, they don’t want me there. They say membership in the group is by invitation only, and I’ve never been invited. But they know they can’t keep me away, since I always know in advance where they will have met. Never mind,” he went on when Seagryn frowned. “Just trust me. At the top of this pile is an entrance.” Dark hopped off his perch and started up again. Seagryn didn’t move.

“If you’re not welcome, I’ll certainly not be, either.”

“True,” Dark called, “but you still need to come.”

“Why?”

“To move away the stone!” Dark shouted, now high above. “Come on!”

Seagryn looked down again at Ritaven. A pleasant village, he thought. Might they welcome strangers? Perhaps he could — But Dark’s hints of some mysterious destiny had ensnared him, as had the lad’s promise of a reunion with Elaryl. Besides, Arl was coming — whatever that meant. Seagryn looked up and saw the boy lounging on top of a house-sized boulder. He climbed up to him.

“How much further?”

“We’re here. Ah — would you mind moving this rock?”

Chapter Five

INTO THE REMNANT

GET up!” a girlish voice screamed in Jarnel’s ear. “Get up and get out of this room! Do you think this house is the servants’ quarters?” The shrill noise set him onto his feet before he was fully awake. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and peered down at the tiny speaker, who kept up her verbal fusillade until Paumer burst into the room behind her.

“Uda!” the merchant bellowed. The brilliant red of his face matched that of his gown.

“What?” the girl snapped, spinning around to face her father. Jarnel realized quickly what had happened. He rubbed his eyes and forehead as he waited for this family disturbance to ease. When he pulled his hand away, he saw Chaom shoot him a knowing smile.

Paumer pushed Uda behind him as he bowed apologetically to his two guests. “My daughter,” he murmured. “She — she saw your garments and — excuse me.” With a final horrified grin, Paumer whirled around and catapulted his daughter across the entry way and into another room. He followed her quickly, and slammed the intervening door behind him.

Jarnel looked at Chaom and raised his eyebrow. “I like a man who knows how to handle his family.”

“So do I,” Chaom replied evenly. “Which is one more reason to despise Paumer.”

Confused, Jarnel started to ask for an explanation. He didn’t, for the son of Paumer, that smirking lad who’d been introduced to them at the last meeting, had sidled into the room and was looking at them strangely. Jarnel met the boy’s eyes. The lad quickly looked at the floor.

“You’re —” Jarnel began, aware that he’d forgotten the name but pretending to search for it.

The boy’s eyes stabbed back upward immediately, and his jaw tightened. “Ognadzu!” he snarled, obviously offended. “I’m as much a member of the Grand Council as you are!”

“Of course you are, Ognadzu,” the Prince of the Army of Arl said, taking careful note of the lad’s passion while pretending to ignore it. “Nominated as the second voice from Pleclypsa, by your — father? Wasn’t it?” While he took no pleasure in further alienating the boy, this seemed a good opportunity to learn more about the merchant. Young Ognadzu’s vehement response surprised him.

“I’m not my father’s puppet, if that’s what you imply! I’m my own man, and no one makes my decisions but me!”

Jarnel responded with an exaggerated widening of the eyes and looked over at Chaom as if for support.

Chaom still wore his knowing expression. “You see?” he asked.

“See what?” Ognadzu demanded, and Jarnel turned his gaze back to the boy. How very like the hideous pyralu this son of Paumer was — all fangs and stinger. It occurred to Jarnel that his own king had probably been a boy much like this one. He was saved from having to reply when Paumer bounced nimbly back into the room.

“I apologize for my children.” The merchant smiled. “I’ve — I’ve taught them to speak their minds, and they do. Regularly!” He gave a nervous laugh and continued, “Of course, I’m proud of that, in a way. They’ll be excellent leaders. Are excellent leaders already,” he corrected himself, smiling brightly at his bristling son. “Now if you gentlemen are ready, we’ll journey to the place of meeting.”

“Where is that?” Chaom inquired pointedly. “Or are
servant
s privileged to know such things?”

Jarnel picked up on Chaom’s tone and amplified it. “You see, Paumer, Chaom and I are somewhat bothered by your proprietary air.”

“Proprietary air?” Paumer grinned. “Toward what, may I ask?”

“Toward the Grand Council!” Chaom said. “You act as if it’s just another arm of your trading house!”

Paumer’s smile vanished, replaced by a chastened look of utter humility. “Oh. I feared as much. You were offended by Uda’s outburst. I’m so sorry ...”

“Your daughter has nothing to do with —”

“Oh but she does! Those colors. My fault. I’m so sorry ...” Paumer repeated, shaking his head. “I thought we had simply agreed that, since my organization is the only link between all the fragments, I would have to serve as the message-bearer. But —” Here Paumer sighed sadly. “— I can see how the humiliation of wearing servants’ tunics would prey upon the honor of such warriors as yourselves.”

Jarnel looked to Chaom, but Chaom shook his head. They had heard this speech before and knew Paumer would now deliver all of it whether they interrupted him or not.

“Perhaps this is why the two wizards seem to have lost interest as well. And who could blame them,” Paumer pleaded dramatically. “They, after all, are among the powers of this world and, like you, they’re accustomed to honor and respect. Which is their due! Being nothing but a simple businessman myself, I cannot say I understand such feelings fully. It has ever been my lot to wear the simple tunic of the common trader I am, while — but enough of that. I do want you to know that I shall submit wholeheartedly to any decision of the Grand Council as to what my role within it is to be. I am unimportant. The goal of reunifying the One Land — that is all that’s worthwhile!” Paumer ended his passionate appeal with a fist clenched over his heart.

What a performer, Jarnel thought to himself. Even so, he knew that Paumer believed every word of it — including the line about humility. Jarnel had long been a student of the art of self-deception, and Paumer practiced it well. As to the goal of reunification, the general would not allow his cynicism to dim his commitment to the ideal. He wanted peace. He, too, would willingly sacrifice himself to attain it. “I didn’t mean to offend, Paumer,” he soothed, playing the uncharacteristic role of diplomat. “Shall we get on our way?”

The merchant clucked his tongue in self-deprecation as he examined their livery and his own. “If you don’t mind traveling a little further in these demeaning costumes ...”

“We’ll manage,” Chaom grunted. “Where to?”

“Inside again. But don’t worry,” Paumer added quickly in the face of Chaom’s groan. “I’ve given Garney special instructions not to admit the lad who plagues us.”

“In that case, he’ll have already arrived.” Jarnel shrugged.

“Not this time.” Paumer chuckled. “I have it on excellent authority that he’s been seen very recently in the Marwilds on the far side of the mountains. Dark has no way to get inside!”

Jarnel nodded doubtfully. “We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” Paumer promised. “Let’s be off.” A few moments later they had become part of a Paumer House pack-train headed up into the South Gate.

They met much traffic — traders, mostly, coming from the west with pack animals of their own, carrying goods picked up in the vast Marwilds. Few of these deigned to greet them, since free traders not yet absorbed into Paumer’s vast enterprise avoided all contact with his operations. None of these merchants had ever been close enough to Paumer to recognize his face and, since the man wore the tunic of a common servant, they all ignored his affable smile. This seemed to please Paumer enormously. “You see?” he gloated to Jarnel. “It’s better than being cloaked by a wizard!”

The general nodded wordlessly and turned his head to look at the scenery. As they climbed higher into the pass, they saw more and more ruins of the old capital. By all accounts it had been a gorgeous place, a beautiful giantess astride the crossroad of the world. Jarnel wished he might have seen it in its glory. But internal strife had set it afire, and an epic siege had starved it into ruin. Built to embrace both people and ideas, it had none of the attributes of a good citadel. The royal family and those loyal to it had withdrawn into a vast system of tunnels carved into the northern face of the pass, and the rest of the population had fled — the religious folk to the northern farmlands, the magic-minded to the tangled forests of the west, and the commerce-oriented to the warm-water ports of the south. And what was left? Only these ruins and the few still loyal to the One Land concept who dwelt in the darkness of the tunnels — the Remnant.

“Tragic,” Jarnel muttered.

“What’s that?” Paumer asked, but Jarnel shook his head.

“Is Dark coming?” Uda called up from her palfrey near the end of the column.

Paumer scowled and turned around in his saddle. “I told you I don’t want to hear any more talk about Dark!”

The girl ignored her father. “I hope he does come,” she murmured with obvious excitement. “I want to see him.”

“He’s nothing special to look at, believe me,” Ognadzu told his sister. “If he manages to get in, you’ll see what I mean.”

Jarnel frowned. Did the little girl expect to attend their meeting along with her brother? He avoided looking at Chaom. He didn’t think he could tolerate yet another meaningfully arched eyebrow. Paumer was turning this grand Conspiracy into a family affair.

“Dark said he’d be with us,” Chaom reminded them all, “and his words always prove true. He also promised to bring with him a new powershaper. In the absence of Nebalath, I count that a hopeful prospect.”

“Nebalath is not coming?” Jarnel exploded, reining in his mount and turning to face his military rival. “But he’s one of the founders of our effort!”

“He ... he says he’s getting old —” Paumer explained apologetically.

“He’s no older than you or me!” Jarnel turned back to glare at Chaom. “Why do we even bother to meet! If Nebalath has withdrawn, we’ve no one to balance against Sheth!”

“My point exactly.” Chaom nodded.

“Why wasn’t I told Nebalath had withdrawn!”

“Please, Jarnel,” Paumer soothed. “We’re almost up to the Central Gate —”

“All our labors have failed! I’ll never hold the bear in check now!” Jarnel gazed soberly at Chaom and shook his head. “The Pyralu will sting your capital within the week.”

“Wait! Listen,” Paumer pleaded in the same conciliatory tone. “There’s no way of our knowing what Nebalath will do, nor Sheth either! They’re
wizards
, Lord Jarnel, not people! At least not people like us. Why, Nebalath might suddenly appear among us right here! The old shaper can toss himself from place to place by a simple act of will — I’ve seen him! Certainly he’s done stranger things. And if he doesn’t show — well then, we must make some plan to deal with his absence. Am I not right?” the merchant appealed to Chaom, who shrugged and nodded in agreement. Paumer looked back at Jarnel and widened his eyes imploringly.

The Pyralu General studied the merchant’s face. How could this sniveling coward have bent the efforts of so much of the world to his own ends? “Ahh,” Jarnel muttered to himself as he discovered the answer to his own question.

Paumer looked puzzled. “What was that, my Lord Prince?”

Jarnel understood it now. Paumer trapped his opponents into underestimating him. Jarnel reminded himself once again never to trust this cringing merchant and always to keep a careful watch upon him. “I understand much more clearly now, Paumer,” the general said at last. “You’re absolutely correct. We must plan for every eventuality.” He lightly spurred the flank of his horse, and the column started upward once again.

After all the years of burning and scavenging only one structure remained in the Central Gate. The Outer Portal of the One Land rose from the floor of the mile-wide pass to a height of two hundred feet. While its pillars and towers had not been painted in many years, it nevertheless made an impressive picture, squatting beside the sheer cliff of the Central Gate’s northern face. Jarnel scanned the peeling battlements. He saw no guards, but he knew they were there. At least a dozen bowmen concealed themselves beneath those ramshackle shutters on the third tier. Garney wouldn’t drop the staircase until he could see their faces clearly. They rode under the lip of the creaking facade and dismounted.

After a moment of silence they heard a metallic crunch somewhere above them, followed by the sounds of a turning wheel and huge links of chain clanking through a metal casing. The bottom dropped out of the Outer Portal. It took several minutes to crank it down, but soon they faced a wooden staircase a full forty feet wide.

“They’ve painted it,” Jarnel muttered. “I wonder why?”

Paumer grunted as he led his mount to the rampway on the right side of the staircase. It was coated with pitch to give sure footing to pack animals as they ascended into the darkness. Once the column had climbed inside, the staircase cranked up behind them, closing out the outside world once again.

Garney, Doorkeeper of the Outer Portal and a member of the Grand Council, stared down at them from the top of the ramp, his eyes glowering. “You’re late,” the sharp-faced little man snapped. Garney took his council responsibility seriously, as seriously as he did keeping the door. Jarnel had never seen him smile.

“Terribly sorry,” Paumer lied smoothly, “but we had an animal go lame on us and we were forced to destroy it. Are the others here?”

“The
king
,” Garney said forcefully, “is waiting.” It obviously miffed the little man that Paumer would place priority on a mere committee meeting.

“Ah, yes.” Paumer sighed, smiling wanly. “Let’s go greet the king.” The entourage bowed its way into the dome-shaped throne room. The king of the One Land sat casually in his jewel-crusted throne atop a dais raised thirty feet into the air.

“You can rise,” he called down, and they all craned their necks to look up at him. “Keeper of the Outer Portal, remind me of who these people are ...?”