The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1 (22 page)

He rolled his eyes at her as if she were the stupidest and rawest of apprentices. Well, she was. She’d never even seen magic worked. Never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of performing such an intense spell.

“Does this make me a magician?”

(Anyone can gather magic from a purple dragon,)
Indigo reminded her.
(But there is more to you than you know. You could have done this alone, needing only your mother’s guidance. I just made it easier.)

“Cut the circle, Linda,” Glenndon demanded.

With no knife or scissors available, she stretched out her hand and stabbed the light with her fingernail. The magic shredded and dissolved as she slashed her hand downward.

Only then did she hear pounding on the door and shouts from the landing outside. “The witchsniffers have found sorcery. Black sorcery!”

Her hand hurt as Glenndon pushed aside the latch. Blood dripped to the floor from both of them.

CHAPTER 32

“M
IKKA! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Darville demanded as he shouldered his way through the opening door. Silent and observant, Fred followed no more than half a step behind, where he always was in time of trouble. Dimly, Darville noted that Linda and Glenndon were on their feet, but not looking well. “Lucjemm said there was magic in the wound.”

His rapidly beating heart and sweating skin told him he’d had too much drink. But he needed another. Now. Without it he couldn’t think clearly, calmly.

His head pounded with a sharp ache from temples to nape and back again.

Mikka lay back on her couch, calmly reading yesterday’s dispatches, as if nothing untoward occurred.

“Certain herbs and poultices will counter simple magics,” Old Maisy said, bustling toward them from the back room—the bedroom where another hidden entrance led to the tunnel system. Darville and Mikka had happily explored them when newly married.

Maisy carried a pile of gauze and linen. The tip of a cat’s bushy black tail disappeared around the corner of the doorway as the seamstress swished her skirts.

A cat in Mikka’s rooms? Strange occurrences indeed. Mikka hadn’t allowed cats anywhere near her since Ambassador Jack had found a way to separate her from the cat spirit that had shared her body for years.

“And simple magic it was, hurried and unpracticed,” Maisy whispered so that only Darville and Mikka heard. “Now, Your Highness, I need to bandage that wound, so sit yourself down on that stool and I’ll be about finishing up.”

Both Linda and Glenndon stared at their hands: his left, her right.

“Those look more like knife gashes than magical burns,” Lord Jemmarc said, pushing his way into the room behind Darville.

“And what would you know about magical burns, my lord?” Only old Maisy could get away with such bold talk among the nobles.

Darville smothered a laugh behind a cough into his crooked arm. Laughing made his headache worse. He needed a drink to banish it.

Mikka shared an amused gaze and a half smile with him. They’d known the not-so-ancient and not-so-decrepit seamstress a long time.

“Well . . . well, only what I’ve read,” Jemmarc blustered. “But burns don’t bleed.”

“And sometimes one has to lance or even cut out alien infections,” Mikka said. She laid the pages on the couch between her and the back, out of sight of any who might steal a look. “Now what is so important that you felt you must break down my door and invade the queen’s privacy?” She gave the men crowding behind the king a malevolent gaze.

“The witchsniffers . . .” Lucjemm began.

“I thought I sent them home,” Darville snarled.

“The wound had magic in it all right,” Maisy said. She shoved Glenndon upright from his exhausted slump on his stool and began fussing with bandages. Linda she ordered to remain in place beside her brother with only a tilt of her head.

Both children obeyed, instantly and without protest.

“Unreliable, them witchsniffers. Can only smell magic present, not how good, bad, or indifferent, cain’t even tell who’s a throwing the spell, or if it grew out of somethin’ else.”

Darville whirled to face the middle-aged couple with glazed eyes and right arms swinging in uncontrolled, wide circles. “Return to your homes. Today. This hour,” he ordered them, his need for a drink making him angrier than he should be. “You have done your duty. I now discharge you. You are never to return to the city. Ever!”

They blinked rapidly, coming out of their trance. “Yes, Your Grace,” the man said on a bow. His wife curtsied. Both held out their hands, palm up.

Lady Anya appeared out of nowhere and placed a small silver coin in each palm. Fists closed greedily about the payment. The lady kept her head high and chin bold, deliberately avoiding eye contact with her king. He had no way of knowing if she’d taken it upon herself to reward the couple or if Mikka had discussed it with her first.

Darville decided the action was wise. They obviously had been promised money upon completion of their job and wouldn’t leave until they had it. But who had hired them?

His gaze rested on Jemmarc.

“Who are you trying so hard to protect by dismissing the witchsniffers, Your Grace?” Lord Jemmarc asked, matching the king stare for stare.

“Who are you trying so hard to accuse, without legal grounds?” Darville replied. “Last I heard, witchsniffers were dismissed as unreliable . . .”

“By an old servant with questionable talents beyond her skill with a needle and thread,” Laislac added.

“Dismissed as unreliable by Nimbulan the greatest magician of all time, and the first to make covenant with dragons for their magic. King Quinnault agreed and made it law. Three hundred years ago,” Darville informed them. For a half a moment his head cleared of pain.

“But . . .”

“Read the law for yourself,” Darville spat. “Or find a priest to read it if you can’t. Witchsniffers rely upon ley line or rogue magic to fuel their powers. Only dragon magic is legal in Coronnan. Reliable magic gathered by many magicians who can add their powers, one to the other. Rogue magicians cannot gather magic and add their talents one to the other. Therefore, our magicians, with the consent and blessing of the dragons, can impose ethics, honor, discipline, and the law upon any rogue who takes their power beyond acceptable limits to manipulate any other being.”

He speared with his gaze each of the lords and servants who had followed him from the Council Chamber. “You are dismissed. I have no further business with you today. Possibly not for the rest of the week. Or the year!” If he got rid of everyone maybe he could take the time to drink his headache into oblivion.

Fred emphasized his words by placing a hand on each of his weapons, dagger and sword. He glared at each man in turn, making sure they knew that he was ready to follow his king’s orders with his weapons. He needed only the slightest provocation.

“Your Grace, you cannot dismiss the Council of Provinces. You are the first among equals, not a dictator!” Andrall protested.

“Try me,” Darville roared. “You have invaded my wife’s private apartments when she is ill. You accuse me and my family of performing illegal magic when one or all of you employs illegal witchsniffers as your tools of accusation. I should have arrested them. Be grateful I do not arrest all of you. I am done with you. All of you.”

Mikka shot him a quelling glance. Not good for a king to lose his temper. He pushed aside her silent advice. Sometimes a man, and a husband and father, had to lose his temper to make sure the rest of world knew how serious he was.

“I dismiss the Council and the court until further notice.”

Caught you! The king fell directly into my trap. Now I will control the Council through the ones I have already manipulated. We have an army to enforce our rulings. We shall meet in secret while we gather more armed men. Within days, a week at the most, they will depose Darville, marry me to his daughter, and proclaim me king. Then I will make sure that no magic of any kind ever enters Coronnan again. I shall lead the dragon hunt myself, guided by my lovely, my true consort.

CHAPTER 33

“B
REVELAN!” JAYLOR SHOUTED from across the clearing into the cabin. He watched her shift in her rocking chair, the one he’d made for her when they were first married and she carried Glenndon inside her.

“Yes, my love?” She looked over her shoulder, stilling the to and fro of her chair.

“I need the girls.” He shouldered his way into the tiny room that used to be the entire cabin, but now served only as kitchen and workroom. He dropped a kiss on top of her head and gave her chair a gentle push.

“Supper will be late without their help,” she replied, looking up to claim another kiss with her lips to his.

Valeria and Lillian rolled their eyes at each other again.

“Time to teach Sharl the fine art of rolling pie crust. I need Valeria and Lillian to observe and witness,” Jaylor said, letting his hands linger on Brevelan’s face.

“What about Lukan? Isn’t it time he took over some of Glenndon’s responsibilities?” Brevelan asked, stilling her chair once more.

“I trust the girls to report accurately and not embellish their account with supposition and drama. Lukan will be there as well. But he can’t say much of anything without turning it into a grand saga. Sometimes I think he stole all of Glenndon’s words.” He retreated, shaking his head and beckoning the girls to follow.

Lillian looked reluctantly at the perfect pie crust she’d begun to roll flat. “I suppose we’d best go with you, Da.”

Valeria pushed aside the mangled mess of her own attempt. “Maybe Sharl can salvage something out of . . . out of this.” She slammed the hard lump of flour and oil back into the mixing bowl. “I’d rather watch master magicians at work than cook any day.”

Jaylor led them uphill toward the University, careful to match his long, anxious steps to their shorter ones. Valeria clung to his hand, keeping Lillian close to her side as well. But before they’d gone half the distance her breaths came short, sharp, and shallow.

Jaylor picked her up, cradling her against his shoulder as he would a much smaller child, without breaking stride. “We have got to do something about your lungs, Val,” he whispered. “I promise that when this business is done, we will consult with the dragons.”

“Shayla will want me to stay with the dragons.”

The image of a huge nest lined with soft fur, protecting her from the wind, flashed past from memory, to his mind, gone almost before he grabbed hold of it.

A dream?

(A dragon-dream. Remember the import of dragon-dreams, more real than real. A prediction and a warning,)
Baamin whispered into the back of his mind.

“Your Mama had a dragon-dream,” he said to both girls, not sure why the vivid vision given to the love of his life was important now. “Shayla showed her living quite happily in the clearing with me and six children when she was unsure if it was safe to love me.”

“But now she carries a seventh child,” Lillian replied softly.

“Outside the dream. Outside time and reality,” Valeria picked up the thought in a chanting cadence.

“Is it safe?” Lillian finished.

“Maybe ’tis time for you to spend some time with the dragons and figure it out.”

“Not without Lillian,” Valeria insisted.

“Shayla has had twins in previous litters. I’m sure she’ll understand why you must stay together.”

Valeria drowsed, a heavy but comfortable weight in his arms. “You’re safe, Val. I’ll keep you safe as long as I can.”

“Here is your usual hiding place.” Jaylor eased Valeria to her feet, beside the everblue tree with its lower branches almost level with the ground, hiding a sunken recess next to the trunk.

“Now scuttle deep and hide yourself well. I need you to watch the other masters. All of them, even the ones you think you can trust. Lukan is across the way.” He hoped. The boy had become sullen since Glenndon left and Jaylor didn’t know why. “Your brother will watch too.”

“What are we watching for?” Valeria asked, sliding to her knees and catching her balance on her father’s knee before crawling beneath the tree.

“I need to know who is shocked when I speak, who sidles away, who leans forward a bit.”

“Who is loyal to you and who is eager for power beyond their ability to use it?” Lillian asked.

“Exactly. Now keep quiet and don’t let Lukan distract you. Hide your auras as well as your thoughts and your bodies.”

They both nodded and sought familiar depressions in the Kardia they had scooped out during countless eavesdropping sessions. Instinct born of a lifetime together, never more than a thought apart, they joined hands and minds. Then they watched.

Half an hour later, Jaylor led the masters into the circle in the University courtyard. All the masters, not just the twelve most senior. They too joined hands, and the dome of power shot upward. A weak dome without the essence of Tambootie grounding it. Some of the masters had eaten of the tree, but the magic within the leaves had grown less potent over the years. It did little to actually increase magic within a magician’s body. Thinking it did helped their minds overcome some physical limitations. But not enough.

Jaylor knew how to work around those who’d become dependent upon the drug.

Do you see that?
Lillian asked. Her mind pointed toward the circle.

There are gaps!
Valeria added.

Wondering how the girls spoke to him so clearly from outside the dome of power, Jaylor followed tendrils of blue lightning around and around the dome, seeking the source of the incomplete joining. The bolts of power tried to jump across open spaces, completing the protective bubble. They spluttered into shards of empty blue dust, dropping to the ground within the circle.

That’s how the girls got into his mind. He kept the connection open as he watched the magic try to complete its purpose.

Two factions,
Valeria warned him.
Two colors vying for dominance.

Ah, Samlan’s yellow and orange reached out and around Jaylor’s blue and red. Three masters on each side of Samlan added to his control of half the circle.

They’d eaten Tambootie leaves. Jaylor knew that without magic. He could smell the aromatic spice in the air. He’d ordered the men to forgo the drug tonight. He needed a clear head for the entire spell, without the backlash headache hitting him twenty minutes into the proceedings.

He and those loyal to him didn’t need the Tambootie because they trusted each other. Twelve men and women, six on each side of Jaylor, added firmer centering to the dome. Of the other eight masters, all men, their support wavered back and forth, never attaching to either side for long.

Samlan’s magic and aura seemed to writhe and swirl in random patterns.
He’s uncertain of the loyalty of his side,
Jaylor thought.
He trusts the Tambootie but not himself or his followers. That’s his flaw.

Can we push the wandering ones over toward you, Da?
Lillian asked him.

No, we mustn’t interfere even if we could influence them. I told you to watch, and watch you will,
Jaylor told them firmly.

“I understand that some of you question my decision to send Glenndon to the king’s court,” Jaylor said. He projected his words around the circle, made them more powerful and commanding with magic.

“You’ve been spying on us!” Samlan protested, pounding his staff for emphasis, nearly breaking the circle in his agitation.

“Should I have been?” Jaylor returned. His shoulders relaxed a bit and his focus narrowed to the opposition leader. Instigator.

“Who dares speak against a master?” Dennilley asked, his question neutral, deflecting anger away from the circle.

“My source of information is mine, not yours,” Jaylor said. “The problem remains that a master magician questions the decision of the Senior Magician and Chancellor of this University of Magicians. Questions and subverts without bringing the questions to me.”

“You sent a damaged apprentice to the king. A master should have been sent as counselor,” Samlan insisted, standing firm and determined, ready to acknowledge his discontent.

“Who said the king asked for a counselor?” Jaylor quirked an eyebrow.

When he did that, he was in control. The meeting proceeded as he planned.

“Then a journeyman, tried and true . . .” Samlan retorted. “Not an apprentice who cannot speak. Even if he is your son.”

Jaylor gulped. He felt Valeria reach out in comfort to him. He pushed aside her empathy. She had to observe.

We have to do something,
Lillian wailed.
He’s letting his grief speak for him.

Stargods,
he hated losing Glenndon to the king. Hated that the child he’d raised truly had been sired by another man, his best friend.

Jaylor drew a deep, restoring breath, banishing all his emotions.

He lifted his head, no longer bowed down by his heavy emotional burden. “I have my reasons for sending Glenndon. The king has his reasons for specifically requesting the boy by name. You need know nothing more,” he said, firmly. Some of the undecided masters joined their power to his side of the circle, giving it a deeper blue and more vibrant red hue.

“That isn’t good enough, Jaylor,” Samlan spat. “
We
have decided ’tis time for magic to return to court.”

“We? Who is we, Samlan?” Obviously Samlan had reverted to his old ways of not paying attention to much outside of the University except his own desires. Surely he should have heard by now how Darville paraded Glenndon about the city as his acknowledged son and heir.

“Those of us who know that you are too young, too involved in your family, to continue as Senior Magician.”

“My family?” His words came out cold, emotionless. His head began to ache and his face flushed as he fought his temper.

A subtle shift in the colors back and forth. The sparking tendrils trying to jump the gaps flew furiously.

“True magicians forsake the joy of family for the duty to serve the land and the king,” Samlan parroted sanctimoniously.

“My family?” Jaylor said a little louder, a little angrier. “What of your family, Dennilley? And yours, Robb? Marcus, is Vareena expecting your third or fourth child?”

Samlan snorted. “They are far too young to remember the days of proper magic before the Leaving.”

“I remember the
myth
that a magician loses his powers if he takes a wife. Or mistress,” Robb said quietly. “That is how Krej wormed his way into political power using magic. He left the University just before his promotion to journeyman. He married and begat numerous children. Everyone
presumed
he had no magic. Their ignorance nearly destroyed Coronnan when he murdered and manipulated people, as well as dragons.”

“I remember the myth,” Marcus added. He and Jaylor exchanged a knowing glance. “I remember the days when women of magic were dismissed as myth and legend as well. My wife would take exception to that. Seems to me, Samlan, she brewed the potion that rid you of the lung infection that hung on for six months two winters ago.”

“So would mine,” Robb said proudly. They grinned at each other.

“Women,” Samlan spat. “They corrupt true magic. They cannot gather power from dragons.”

“Times have changed, Samlan,” Da broke in. “Most of us have families. As to the charge that I am too young to be Senior Magician, I shouldn’t have to remind you that I was handed the job, over my protests . . .”

“You did not protest very long or hard . . .”

“I accepted when Lord Baamin, my predecessor, passed on the job to me on his death bed. The circle confirmed me before his body was cold. You were not present at the time. You were still a journeyman, even though you are older than me.”

The dome of power shifted again. Samlan’s half took on the deeper and darker hues of more men joining their power to his. But the numbers of those who jumped back and forth diminished to only a few. Jaylor and Samlan commanded near equal numbers of supporters, divided by age and prejudice.

“This does not settle the matter of why you sent Glenndon to court. A totally inappropriate choice of representative,” Samlan insisted. “And you did not consult any of the other masters.”

“The king’s request took the decision out of my hands. Glenndon’s presence at court has nothing to do with magicians or magical politics . . .”

“He is a magician. His presence at court, a place denied to the rest of us, has everything to do with magical politics!”

Oh, no,
Lillian gasped.
Look, look at the circle. Even Marcus and Robb are now siding with Samlan.

Da, your pride keeps you from admitting the truth. If you’d just tell them the truth behind King Darville’s summons . . .”

“Enough. ’Twas my decision and mine alone,” Jaylor shouted, the headache more in command of him than he wanted to admit. His voice bounced against the tall wooden walls of the University and wrapped around the circle of men. He lifted his left hand from Marcus’ shoulder and shook off Robb’s restraining grip. The dome of power cracked and sizzled at the abrupt severing, without proper grounding or careful cutting.

Men recoiled at the flaring whips of power that had no anchor or goal. They flung hands across their eyes in protection from the snarling and snapping magic.

Lillian and Valeria sank deeper into their nest. Across the compound Lukan rose up from his own post and hastened away, ducking and slapping at stray sparks. He whimpered in pain as one slashed his cheek, drawing blood.

“I break this circle as I dismiss the Circle of Master Magicians,” Da said. “We will not meet again until we can meet in harmony and unity.” He turned and stalked away from the University, downhill toward the clearing, his family, and his home.