The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1 (29 page)

CHAPTER 43

D
ARVILLE SEEMINGLY STROLLED around the palace grounds. General Marcelle impatiently matched his strides to the king’s. “We must maintain the appearance of calm,” Darville said out of the side of his mouth. “We are prepared. No need to transfer our concerns to the others.”

Fred, Darville’s silent bodyguard, moved easily two steps behind and to the right, leaving the king’s dominant left hand free to wield the broadsword he wore easily. They were all well armed since the sightings of rebel troops massing on the mainland near Battle Mound. An army that reportedly grew by the hour with peasants who feared magic more than death and retainers ordered to arm and march whether they wanted to or not.

Fred kept one hand on his sword grip, the other fingering a wicked-looking dagger. A dozen throwing stars bristled from his leather jerkin. Darville was willing to bet he wore mail beneath the fine linen of his shirt. He knew the leather thong entwined with his three-strand queue was well knotted and tipped with metal weights to become another weapon.

“I found no trace of the shop with the eggs at the back of Market Isle,” Fred said quietly. “I left two men in civilian dress to watch for a return of the owner. In case he departed in a hurry at first whisper of royal Guards on the island.”

Darville nodded acknowledgment.

“I have ten squads patrolling the city. They are checking and oiling the latches on every bridge, even the rarely used ones that look as if they have fallen into disrepair but haven’t,” Marcelle replied. His gaze flicked right and left, taking in details, noting shadows out of place and malingerers.

Darville noted them too as he surveyed the massive gates at the primary entrance to the royal household.

Fred saw more, he had no doubt. The bodyguard had trained for nearly two decades to see what others dismissed.

“I want archers in and atop every one of the towers. Keen observers along with them who can also maintain firepots.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ve already ordered firepots taken to every observation point.”

“And summon the FarSeers from the port.” He knew the port authorities secretly kept a team on hand.

“Done, Your Grace, though I haven’t heard back from the Port Master. He may insist on an actual order from you to admit he has men and women who use magic to see beyond the horizon.”

Their path took them around the training arena. The enclosed courtyard was full of men drilling while waiting their turn to bout. They honed sword edges, adjusted the balance of throwing axes, or lifted and thrust spears into bales of hay. Some practiced throwing battle stars into a target; from either hand, sideways, even backward.

“I don’t see Lucjemm,” Darville said. Disquiet made the space between his shoulder blades itch.

“He requested permission to accompany Her Highness into the city. I made certain he was well armed,” Fred replied.

“Why has Linda gone shopping? I thought she’d want to be here, training to defend her mother and sisters if we are attacked.” Darville paused, staring at the sword fights without really seeing them.

“Are you certain she is shopping?” Marcelle asked.

“Knowing Her Highness, I suspect she is patrolling in her own way, checking the state of the city, looking for possible weaknesses,” Fred added. He’d escorted the royal daughters into the markets often enough to know their routines.

“Of course. She has grown up so much this year I sometimes forget that she has a mind of her own. Miri and Chastet have become little more than decorations that mask her true purpose.”

“Her Highness is more than a girl. A young woman now, a beautiful young woman with thoughts of romance and her own destiny troubling her.” Fred looked uncomfortable with that admission.

“Every time she saunters off on her own mission, I wish for my obedient little girl again. She is worrisome.”

Fred snorted. “She has never been obedient, except when it suits her purpose.”

“And Prince Glenndon? He should be here too,” Marcelle added. He looked uncomfortable discussing the princess so intimately.

“I sent my son on an errand.” Darville replied.

Marcelle opened his mouth ready with new questions.

“A private errand that does not concern you.” At least that was how Jaylor had explained their secret foray into the tunnels deep beneath the city.

“You’ll like Market Isle,” Linda said gently to Lillian. She kept a firm grip on the other girl’s hand as they walked briskly toward the bridge that separated Palace Isle from Ambassador’s Isle. Miri and Chastet lingered slightly behind them. Linda pushed aside the guilt that crept toward her heart. She’d neglected her two friends badly these past few weeks, spending most of her time adventuring with Glenndon and Lucjemm.

Her ladies just weren’t as interesting as the two young men. Especially Glenndon, who had become closer to her than her sisters since their minds had blended during the magic spell. Lucjemm offered her a chance at settling her eligibility to inherit the crown. If only she could be sure he’d rule beside her and not try to take the crown away from her.

“How do you keep from getting lost?” Lillian asked, trying to turn around and around to get her bearings. A spark of interest flashed across her eyes, the first time they’d brightened since her twin had become a flywacket.

“Easy. The palace is at the center of the islands, the largest of them,” Miri said haughtily, as if the question were stupid.

“Market Isle is to the east, closest to the ports on the Bay,” Chastet added, equally dismissive of their young charge in a simple homespun dress.

There are no stupid questions, only stupid people who refuse to ask when they need to know something.
Papa’s words came back to Linda from a long-ago lesson in politics.

“We grew up here.” Linda tried to soften Miri’s haughty attitude. “We learned the arrangement of the city bit by bit as we explored in wider and wider circles. I bet you can find your way through the forests at your home where we would be totally lost.” She glared at her two ladies, ready to send them packing if they continued with this . . . this jealousy.

That stung her. She had neglected them sadly. And now that she needed their help, she wondered if she had the right to ask. Friendship carried a responsibility just like royal blood and loyalty to the principles of fair and honest government.

At the moment she didn’t know which responsibility was greater. She leaned toward her friends, hoping their love for each other would carry them into adulthood and through additional responsibilities together.

“I really need your help,” she whispered to them. “You are the only ones I can truly trust with this quest.”

Miri and Chastet smiled and nodded, seemingly satisfied—for the moment.

They continued on their way, exchanging only idle chatter. Linda ran her fingers around each bridge latch on either end of the span. So far they’d all been recently oiled. She also caught signs of random boards weakened or split. If a heavy troop of soldiers managed to get onto the bridges before they were destroyed by a retreating populace, they’d probably break those boards and get stuck, or fall into the muddy river.

The water looked shallow and sluggish. Shouldn’t it be running fast and clear with spring rain and snowmelt?

Before she had time to figure out that question they crossed onto the island that bustled with brightly colored merchant stalls. As usual the permanent storefronts with rich fabric and lace, custom-made boots and shoes, and jewelry lined the cobbled street closest to the bridge leading to the homes of the wealthy nobles, ambassadors, and royals.

Miri and Chastet lingered in front of a display of fine silk damask in rich jewel tones. Another day Linda would have been tempted as well.

“We need to find the eggs,” Linda whispered to her ladies and Lillian.

“The produce stalls are that way,” Chastet said, waving toward the west, the embankment closest to the boats bringing food from the interior of the continent. It was empty today. The few stalls left open had only a few wilted vegetables and no breads. Most of the merchants had closed up shop hours ago. A number of them looked dismantled.

Further evidence that something was wrong with the farms and the river.

“Not the kind of eggs you can eat!” Linda protested, reluctantly returning her gaze to the ladies and Lillian. “These are special eggs, magical eggs, about so big.” She put her two fists together, one atop the other. Briefly she described the red and black monstrosity Lucjemm had showed her.

Miri’s and Chastet’s eyes went wide with wonder and fear. Did Linda see a glimmer of pride in their expressions as well? Pride that she trusted them with this important mission.

“We need to spread out and look in each and every stall, especially toward the ports. The eggs come from the east, by ship.”

Her ladies hesitated before they nodded agreement. Lillian studied the cobbles.

“Whatever you do, do not touch the egg if you find one. Come find me instead.”

“H . . . how will we find you?” Miri asked. Her voice was so low Linda had to strain to hear her.

Linda hadn’t thought about that. She’d gotten so used to
knowing
where Glenndon was, that she assumed everyone could find anyone just thinking about it.

Think!
she told herself.
Think like P’pa. Or Glenndon.

Drawing a deep breath for courage she looked at all three of her companions, except Lillian, who still refused to meet her gaze. “Miri, you take Lillian. She has a magical talent so she can seek me, mind to mind. Chastet, you come with me. I can find Lillian’s mind. If worst comes to worst, we’ll meet back here when the Temple bells ring for afternoon prayer.”

Lillian shook her head. “Don’t leave me, Highness,” she pleaded, eyes still firmly on the ground.

“We have to do it this way. We don’t have time to search the entire island if we stay together. We have to finish this today and report back to the king.”

“I’ll take care of you, Lillian. I promise.” Miri took the girl’s hand gently. “And when we get back, I’ll let you try on some of my gowns. We’re almost of a size, I’m sure we can find something that fits you that you can wear to court.” She fixed Linda with a telling gaze and turned away, toward the lesser stalls on the way to the exotic portside establishments. “Does anyone call you Lily? You’re so pretty and fair, I think that fits you better than Lillian.”

“I like Lily. My twin calls me that. But no one else does. Do you have old gowns you aren’t wearing anymore in lavender and pale green? Val likes darker purple, and no other shades, but I like to mix . . .”

“Looks like we’ve been dismissed,” Chastet muttered.

“Looks to me like she’s taking better care of our troubled guest than I ever did,” Linda muttered with regret. “Come. We have to find those eggs before afternoon prayer.”

Two hours later Linda and Chastet stood before the same gaudy tent Lucjemm had taken her to. They’d approached from the south, having found nothing resembling the red and black egg. Miri and Lillian came into view two alleys north. Miri shook her head in disappointment.

They all looked and acted tired, dusty, and much in need of rest and refreshment.

“We saw some porcelain and jeweled decorations in blues and greens and white,” Miri reported. “Nothing like what you described.”

“I smelled no magic in the eggs we saw,” Lillian added, but she refused to look up. She was hiding something.

Now was not the time to ask. Too many people jostled them. Any one of them could be paid to eavesdrop. Had she seen that short pudgy man in shades of clashing yellow and orange before?

Linda frowned as she scanned the jumble of odd wall hangings, ornaments, bits and pieces of metal, beautifully sculpted but of little, or at least little discernible, use. The wooden casket with soft lambswool lining was nowhere in evidence. Neither was the merchant who offered the diverse collection for sale.

“Excuse me,” Linda called, hoping someone, anyone, hid behind a black and red tapestry at the back of the tent. “Is anyone here? Do you have any exotic eggs for sale?”

“Sold ’em all,” came a quavering and elderly voice. “Young lord bought all three. Every time I have one of those cursed eggs for sale, he buys ’em. Pays more than they’re worth.”

Linda grew cold all the way past her bones to her stomach and heart.

CHAPTER 44

“D
A, WHAT AILS YOU?”

Jaylor roused from the miasma of fatigue to focus on Glenndon. He stumbled on the last step before the landing at Glenndon’s room. “I’m missing something,” he mumbled.

“Besides Mama?” A wry chuckle escaped Glenndon as he held Jaylor’s arm with one hand and opened the pivoting door with the other.

Jaylor didn’t want to admit how tired he was, or how grateful for Glenndon’s supporting arm. “I always miss your mother, even when she’s only a half mile away.” He leaned heavily against the wall while Glenndon closed the door and straightened the tapestry over it.

“So what are you missing?” Glenndon rounded on him, arms crossed firmly across his chest while he inspected Jaylor.

“Not sure. Something flitting around the edges of my awareness, like a moth battering against a lighted window, then disappearing when I go to investigate.”

“Know the feeling.”

“Something about the iron flagpole.”

“We’ll figure it out once I complete my quest and have my staff. But there is more wrong with you than an uneasy feeling.” The boy shoved his shoulder under Jaylor’s arm and led—half carried—him toward the bed.

“I’m just a little tired. You should eat and rest before your quest tonight.” He negotiated the two steps up to the bed. Were they truly unstable or was that just his knees shaking? Then he gratefully sank into the soft mattress.

Stargods, he wished Brevelan was here to soothe him with her quiet songs and hearty broths. She made it so much easier to think through troubling problems.

“When did you sleep last?” Glenndon asked, too discerning for his years. “Or eat for that matter?”

“I . . . I don’t quite remember. I’m not truly hungry, just empty.”

“Your pulse is racing and unstable. Rest while I order food. Then you sleep. Then I bring in Maisy. She used to be a midwife, now she’s a seamstress. What she is, and always has been, is your spy.”

“You’re getting too observant and used to princely authority,” Jaylor muttered.

“Practicing for when you retire and I take over the University.” Glenndon flashed a cheeky grin.

“Looking forward to that day. Do you think the palace kitchen can come up with something as homely as yampion pie?”

“They keep it on hand for me. Not as good as Mama’s but the best thing for restoring a body after throwing a big spell.”

“And . . . and since your mama isn’t here to object, a chicken?”

“Of course. Perhaps some slices of wild boar as well?”

“Wake me when it comes. And don’t let me sleep too long. I need to be ready . . .” He wasn’t sure if he finished that sentence or not before sleep claimed him.

Can we fly?
Valeria asked the dragon she shared this strange new body with.

(I have been with you since the beginning,)
Lyman reminded her.

She winced mentally. He’d always been in the back of her mind, but she hadn’t known he was there. Not really. Just sort of an uneasiness whenever she thought too hard or got too tired to sleep.

But slept she finally had, long and hard, until she awoke in the strange library room underground. She remembered nothing of the hours that had passed since the . . .

(Transformation.)

I know you can read my mind since we are one mind now. But can we fly?
She groomed her right front paw while she waited for a response. They had performed the task of finding that strange letter for Da and Glenndon. Lyman had needed her help sniffing it out. No one but Lillian expected anything more of them at the moment.

I have always longed to fly. I dream of it sometimes.

(I have not flown since . . . since I was little more than a dragonet. I do not know that I remember how.)

Oh,
she sighed with disappointment.

(I too have often longed for the freedom of the skies.)

Can we try? Just a short flight to begin. We don’t want to get too tired and be stranded far from the palace.
And Lillian. Valeria wished mightily that Lillian could join them in this adventure.

(I know a place to launch into an updraft. That will help,)
Lyman agreed.

Valeria allowed him command of the cat body, and they scampered up and around and along corridors until they found a door propped open with a much-folded lace-edged handkerchief covering the lock so it would not latch. For half a moment Valeria longed to stroke the fine linen and dainty lace.

Such luxuries belonged to a princess, not to the humble daughter of a magician who spent most of her days working in her mother’s garden, getting her hands filthy and giving her nails ragged quicks.

(Our princess and her adventurous brother have made entry easier for Indigo, and now us,)
Lyman said.

At last Valeria had an excuse to rub her whiskers against the soft cloth. She sniffed the handkerchief to see who had handled it last.
Lucjemm was with them.

(That boy is everywhere the princess is!)

I do not like him. He smells of lies. Why does the king trust him with his daughter?

(As a very young man, many generations ago, I had a tutor who quoted a very old text. ‘Keep you friends close, your enemies closer.’)

Valeria had to think about that for a moment.
Know thy enemy. Da says that a lot in strategies class.

(You are very young to be taking strategies. Isn’t that class reserved for journeymen?)

Who said I was a student of strategies? Doesn’t mean I haven’t listened in.

(Then use your excellent brain to open this door and keep the lock block in place.)

Valeria had to study the problem.
I don’t think there is a way.

Lyman heaved a heavy sigh; their entire body rippled with the expulsion of air.
(Very well then. We shall have to return by a ground entrance or an open window.)

Thinking together, they used extended claws to pull the door open just enough to insert an entire paw, and then squeeze their body through a narrow opening. The handkerchief fluttered downward onto their back. Valeria luxuriated in the way the silky fabric caressed their fur for a long moment before shaking it free so that it landed off to the side, away from foot traffic. She didn’t want it to get any dirtier than necessary.

The long spiral staircase looked strangely familiar.

(I have been here before. Many centuries ago. You have not.)

In her own body, Valeria would have trudged up those endless stairs, one by one, her feet dragging heavily, her lungs laboring. Actually she never would have attempted the stairs, insisting Da or Glenndon carry her.

(That is why you never grew stronger. You never tried small steps, only big ones that exhausted you. So you never tried at all.)

A bit of guilt stung Valeria.
Everyone expected me to keep up, all the time. When I couldn’t, they kept pushing harder until I had to insist on giving up before I got sick.
That didn’t sound exactly right, but close enough.

(We can’t fly if I can’t trust you to keep going.)

Oh. But I do want to fly, even if only a short way.

(Short we shall keep it.)

I smell Indigo.

(He was here with the princess and her escorts. He marked the way for us, almost like he knew we would come.)

Dragons don’t regard time like people. They let it flow forward and back. We plod along a straight line, ignoring all other possibilities.

(Who told you that?)

You did. In a dream. I dreamed of flying,
she replied on a chuckle.

(I have been chained to human bodies for so long I forgot that. Now I have the chance to be a dragon again. If only for a few moments.)
Lyman stopped beside a narrow door leading off a narrower landing. He stood on hind feet, placed paws on the wooden panels, and leaned all of their weight against the portal. A latch clicked and then the door popped outward, swinging easily.

Before it could swing shut again they leaped through and onto a flat roof that overlooked a rose garden two stories below. Palace towers rose around them like so many giant trees, stretching toward the sky. Some bore conical roofs, others open parapets with crenellated barriers.

Valeria gasped at how high they were, higher than she’d ever climbed in a tree. But her view of the city and the Bay was blocked by tall buildings and those towers.

Lyman lifted their head to sniff the breeze. Valeria smelled grass and plowed fields and the brackish river. The land smelled dry. Had they had any rain recently?

(We fly west,)
Lyman said. Their whiskers twitched, helping them judge the strength and direction of the breeze.
(Warm, off the plains. We’ll have a good updraft.)

Shouldn’t the air move inland from the Bay?
she asked, puzzled by all the weather lessons Mama had taught her and Lillian.

Rather than answer, Lyman stretched their wings. The air caressed the sensitive flight feathers. Their feet didn’t want to stay anchored, so they took five running steps toward the eaves, growing lighter, more buoyant with each stride until the updraft caught them just as they stepped off into . . .

Nothing.

The land fell away below them. Lyman found a path around a sand-colored tower with a red roof, then over the enclosed training arena where men bashed each other with blunted swords, and up over the palace wall.

Higher and higher he flew until the delta islands shrank to dull dots surrounded by the river sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

Isn’t this far enough?
Valeria asked as the river bent to the north. Fields of bright green stretched below, on and on until they faded to dull brown at the horizon a long, long way away.

(Glory in the wonder of flight before your hesitation and fear takes control of your mind. Enjoy yourself. Let me take charge. This may be my last flight ever.)

I’ll make sure we fly again before we transform back to my body.

(We may not have time. Time is a wonder, and a menace.)
He paused for a long moment, flapping their wings when the updraft shifted. They rose up to catch another and glided onward.

I don’t know, Lyman. We need to go back. Now.

(Just a few moments more, little one. Trust me.)

Valeria wasn’t sure about that. This seemed too risky. She didn’t want to collapse with fatigue so far from the palace and help. She looked for a good place to land where she could rest. A hilltop maybe to make launching into flight easier?

What’s that?
Valeria pointed toward an array of colored tents and banners spread out behind one of the rolling, rounded hills.

(The enemy.)

We have to go back!

(I can’t. I’ve stretched our strength too far.)
They dropped awkwardly, faster and faster, as the pull of the land overcame the wind’s ability to hold them aloft.

I was afraid of this. I’m never going to trust you again.

They stumbled and rolled when they met the crisp meadow grasses.

Sharp pain jolted up their front paws to their shoulders and spine. Valeria sighed at the return of familiar aches. Lyman remained strangely silent.

Nothing hurt as long as she lay still. The tiniest movement sent spasms of sharp pain the length of her spine.

“Well, what do we have here? A bit of magic that must be destroyed? Or a spawn of dragons that threatens my soldiers?” a young man of noble bearing sneered as he strode from the encampment toward them. A thick black snake draped about his neck, flicking its red, forked tongue at them, glaring at them through beady red eyes. As it writhed to stay in place, three pairs of leathery wings unfurled and refolded.

A bubble of magic littered with black and red sparkles enclosed both the snake and the young man. No mundane weapon could penetrate that shield to harm either of them.

“Yes, my lovely.” The young man stroked the snake with affection. “The magic in the cat’s blood will feed you well. We will grow stronger when you feast upon it.”

We have to run. We have to warn the king!

(We can’t move. Our hind legs aren’t working right.)