The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1 (8 page)

CHAPTER 11

“W
E ONLY HAVE TO GO over that rise, best to let the steeds walk a bit, cool down before we rest them.” P’pa’s quiet words broke Linda out of her depressing circle of thoughts.

Assassination. P’pa had forced her to think about the danger that faced all monarchs, no matter how beloved of the people. There was always someone eager to take power for power’s sake without weighing the responsibilities and need for compromise.

“What happens when we get over the rise?” She had to change the subject before she started crying at the whole idea that someone she knew,
anyone,
wanted to murder her father.

“Patience, Linda. Patience. We have to tether our mounts and walk a bit.”

They found some sturdy saplings near a stream to tie the steeds on a long rein, giving them a chance to crop a good circle of grass while they waited. If they needed, the beasts could also reach the stream for a drink.

As they neared the next rise on foot, P’pa took Linda’s hand. A big smile creased his face. He looked younger and happier than she’d seen him in a long time. All thoughts of assassins, marriage treaties, and bastard sons seemed banished for the moment.

She smiled too, happy to see him enjoying himself away from the worries and pressure of court; happy to have him all to herself. No lords demanding his ear, no Fred hovering constantly at his shoulder on the lookout for danger, no servants fussing over his appearance, no missives to write, and neither of her sisters, Manda and Josie, pestering him for attention. A bubble of pride spread through her. Today was special.
She
was special to share this secret with P’pa.

A strange sound startled her, like ten thousand birds descending in a flock, and the cackle of ten thousand flusterhens screeching in protest at having their eggs stolen. Or . . .

And then she saw movement without substance. A hint of color here and there. More than the flash of sunlight on crystal she’d seen moments before.

And a pressure in the back of her mind.

She stopped short, tugging on her father’s hand. Fear rooted her in place. At the same time her feet itched to turn and run. Run back to the fleet steeds that would carry her home to the city and safety.

P’pa firmed his grip on her hand. “What happened to your insatiable curiosity?” he asked on a chuckle.

Linda gulped. Well, she did want to know what could make such a terrible racket. Even if it did scare her.

“Look closer, Little Lindy.”

A name she thought she’d outgrown. But at the moment the familiarity, and the affection behind it, reassured her.

Sidling behind, she peeked around him into the sheltered vale, a wide bowl surrounded by rolling hills covered in lush meadow grasses and small shrubs.

There at the center sat the biggest animal she’d ever seen, ever dreamed about. Taller than two sledge steeds and broader than two more, it swung its massive head around to face her. Light danced along a single horn growing from a broad forehead. Spines marched down its back, diminishing in size and sharpness. Iridescent wings and body drew her eye. All colors swirled together, but no single definable color. And yet the bright noon sunlight reflected and pushed her to look elsewhere.

The pressure in her mind increased. Not really painful, just a bit of urgency. She pressed her fingertips to her temples.

“Is . . . is that a dragon?” she whispered, afraid the animal would see her.

(Welcome, Rosselinda, daughter to our King Darville and Queen Rossemikka. Shayla here.)

The words popped into her mind. Real and yet not. The pressure eased a bit.

“Greet her, and call her by name.” P’pa drew her out from behind him. “She won’t hurt you. I don’t think she
can
hurt one of royal blood.”

“But . . .”

“Go ahead.”

“What is her name, P’pa?” The dragon’s greeting slipped from her memory, crowded out by amazement, confusion, fear, and . . . curiosity.

P’pa laughed long and loud. “Have you forgotten the dragon lore you read and reread to tatters until I had to have the book copied, the very tales we told you to put you to sleep in the nursery?”

“This can’t be . . .”

“Yes, it is. And she will be with you forever, protect and guide you, as long as you listen.”

Rosselinda gulped and somehow found a tiny bit of courage buried deep within.

“Greetings, Shayla, matriarch of the nimbus. Greetings and . . . and welcome. I think.”

Shayla reared up on her hind legs, flapping her wings. She bugled an ear-splitting screech.

Linda slapped her hands over her ears.

Then she saw the source of the dragon’s distress. A line of lords and soldiers ranked along the hilltop. The soldiers had all nocked their crossbows and aimed at the dragon’s heart.

Linda ran to stand between the magnificent beast and the army. She stood tall and proud, as much a target as Shayla. “This is my dragon, you may not hurt her,” she yelled. “I forbid it!”

Not a single bowman shifted his aim.

“I know I told you never to use this spell, Glenndon,” Da, no, not his Da,
Jaylor
said. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to banish the headache of fatigue.

Glenndon had to stop thinking of this man as his father. But how could he? Jaylor had made the first witchball for him, a concoction of twigs and moss and magic that fell apart when it hit anything hard. Jaylor had showed him the magic in a spring flower first coming into bloom as well as how to gather dragon magic, or pull magical energy from a ley line deep within the Kardia. Jaylor would always be his Da, even if King Darville was his father.

“There is a sense of urgency in Mikka’s letter,” Mama added. “There isn’t time for you and Fred to walk to Coronnan City, or even ride fleet steeds.” Shadows darkened her deep blue eyes even though she held herself straight and strong and ready to battle dragons or rogue magicians, anyone who might threaten her family.

One by one, the family gathered in a circle around Glenndon and Fred, the awed, but not cowed, king’s bodyguard. One by one, they hugged Glenndon tightly, then joined hands to enclose them with magic and with love.

“You know how to transport both yourself and Fred safely. This is a dangerous spell; it will drain you of energy. Never try to do it without preparation and a full stomach. Never try it without a firm destination and true sense of time. Take an image from Fred’s mind. He will direct you to the best place and time to appear without alarming any mundane,” Jaylor instructed.

“Use your magic cautiously and sparingly,” his brother Lukan added. “I don’t want to have to come and save your ass.”

“Learn to speak. Please,” Valeria added. She looked healthier than she had a few hours ago by the pool, her red-gold hair brighter.

Take care of yourself, little one. You know how to conserve your strength. Don’t let Lillian bully you into overextending yourself, or your magic,
he sent back to her.
Find your own aura. It is distinct from hers.

She frowned a little as she took the hand of her heartier twin. So alike in face and form, yet so different within. He could see her flowing violet color of life energy reach out to join the tighter swirls of Lillian’s plain blue aura—too pale to ever be called magician blue. The two auras twisted and twined about each other into a complex braid. The pale, almost colorless blue dominated and overshadowed the violet.

“Take care of yourself, Glenndon.” Mama ran her fingertips along his cheek, memorizing the angle of his bones, the curve of his smile. He could barely see the color of her eyes for the tears that loomed there.

“Be careful, boy.” Jaylor slapped his back and looked away, disguising his own moist eyes.

Lukan thought something rude. But then at sixteen, his body was growing faster than his mind, or his self-control.

Glenndon twisted the image and shot it back to his brother upside down. The boy laughed out loud.

One by one his family sent him a hearty message of encouragement and sadness.

Outside the protection of the clearing, he sensed the entire staff and student body of the University gathering to add their own farewells.

I shall send messages often. Whenever I safely can.
He raised a hand in farewell.

Before he lost his courage and bolted from the family circle, he grabbed from Fred’s mind an image of a grassy plain with rolling, windswept hills, dotted with small copses, and the city just out of sight.

The world dissolved into a jolt of sparkling light, threads and streams of various life colors folded away from him.

He brought them down between two trees in the midst of . . .

“Stand down!” Darville yelled, pulling volume out of his gut. The words bounced around the vale and lost themselves in the copses, the grasslands, the chuckling creek, and the dirt.

Not a single arrow shifted position, up down, or sideways. They all remained firmly aimed at the dragon’s heart.

Magic sparkled in the air. He felt as if he had to wade through thick sludge to breathe while bright-colored dust danced around the edges of his vision.

Then suddenly his perspective tilted slightly to the left, every blade of grass and feathered helm took on sharper edges, cleaner lines. The skin of soldiers and lords alike turned opaque, almost translucent. He saw veins and arteries pumping beneath the surface covering; he watched hearts beat and lungs swell.

Dragon magic was like that.

(Protect your ears,)
Shayla said calmly. Bemusement sent her thoughts chiming in a delicate tune through Darville’s head.

He looked quickly at his daughter, making sure she heard the communication. Linda, eyes wide in wonder, nodded. Then she threw the hem of her cloak over the top of her hair and ducked down into a tight crouch, head between her knees. At the same time she waddled to the side.

Darville mimicked her action, pulling her back, behind the dragon as he did so.

Shayla reared up, wings spread to shield her king and his daughter. Then she loosed a mighty roar that threatened to down trees and sweep twigs and dry leaves all the way back to the city. Steeds reared, unable to remain grounded. Men bent double, fighting to keep their feet beneath them. One and all, they dropped their bows, swords, or pikes to cover their ears with their hands.

Two heartbeats later, the magnificent all color/no color dragon matriarch swept her wings downward once, took two running steps and launched into flapping, ungainly flight away from danger.

Two enterprising soldiers recovered enough to grab their crossbows and take aim at her unprotected belly.

“No!” Darville shouted. His command was lost in the ear-ringing aftermath of a dragon call.

The arrows flew straight.

Shayla rose higher.

High enough?

The aromatic scent of dragon magic doubled.

A blinding flash erupted from the copse behind the soldiers. The arrows turned to ash.

A backwash of magic knocked flat everyone still standing.

Above them, free of danger, Shayla loosed another screech, a deafening laugh of derision.

Who did that?! Who destroyed my plan? I needed to kill the matriarch of the dragons in order to remove magic and magicians from Coronnan once and for all. King Darville and his pets played right into my hands. All was in place. I could have manipulated his death, the end of the dragons, the end of magic. Even the Princess Royale was in position to die.