A Darkness of Dragons

by S. A. Patrick

  “That is Alkeran,” said Underath. “The courtyard is his, and his alone. Do not speak to him. He is quick to anger.” They re-entered the castle, coming to a room where shelves of books filled the walls, potions and their ingredients cluttered tables, and sheets of paper littered the floor. “Here is my study. Keep the dust to a minimum, and tidy my papers. Beyond that, touch nothing.”

  Wren bent down and picked up some pages, looking at them with fascination. “Should I keep your writings ordered somehow, sire?” she said. “These notes are on necromancy, while these are on the history of prophecy.”

  “You can read?” said Underath.

  “My parents taught me.”

  “How quaint to teach a girl something so useless to her! Just tidy the papers into one neat pile.”

  Wren betrayed no emotion, save for a brief narrowing of her eyes. She nodded, and looked with interest at the bookshelves, reaching out to them.

  “Do not touch the books!” warned Underath.

  “As you wish, sire,” said Wren.

  (The smoke of the fire weakened, to disappointed sounds from those watching. Alia reached for her pouch and threw another handful of powder into the flames. The smoke billowed up again, and the images began to re-form.)

  The days passed. Wren, wearing the simple clothes of a maid, entered rooms filled with dust and spiderwebs, and she cleaned them; she cooked, she ate, she slept.

  One day she went to Underath’s study to retrieve his dinner plates. She heard snoring. Underath was asleep in his bedroom.

  Cautiously she went to his desk. A great leather-bound volume of magic was lying open. She began to read it, concentrating hard. Then a light of understanding filled her eyes.

  Again and again, as she collected the dishes from Underath’s evening meal, she listened for the snoring and read what she could. At one point, deep in thought, she reached out to a spoon without touching it. She read aloud from the book and the spoon wobbled. A smile of utter delight crossed her face.

  Day after day, she read; day after day, she could do more. She lit a candle without using a flame; she repaired a broken plate with words alone.

  “Sire?” she said, as she brought Underath lunch one day. “I have heard it said that Sorcerers often take on an apprentice, yet I know that you never have. Will you ever do so?”

  “Perhaps,” said Underath. “Young men of talent are rare, though. Ah, lunch! Good.” He started to eat. “Actually, I have something to tell you. I’ll be gone for a week. I shall ride Alkeran to a distant land, so you shall be alone. You have nothing to fear in this place, and I shall see you soon.”

  When she returned to her room, Wren cheered. A week to study freely!

  Once Underath had left on his journey, she began to scrutinize his most precious books late into the night. In her room, she stood before an old ragged mirror: “Sire? And what if I was to ask…to be your apprentice?” She closed her eyes. “You can do this, Wren, you can ask him when he’s back.”

  Finally, a shadow in the sky announced the return of the griffin, and of Underath. She went to greet him. The door to the courtyard opened, and standing beside Underath was a woman of cold beauty. When the woman laid eyes on Wren her smile contained nothing but malice.

  “I have news, maid!” said Underath. “I am newly married! This is my wife. I have sought a companion even longer than I had sought a servant – a wife wise enough to keep within touching distance of my superior intelligence. I shall have no more need of a maid after today, but I will pay you well for the work you have done these last few weeks.” He tossed a pouch of coins to her.

  Crestfallen, Wren still had the courage to speak. “I was…I was going to ask to be your apprentice.”

  Underath laughed. His wife raised a sinister eyebrow. “You?” said Underath. “A girl?” He patted his wife’s head, as if she was a pet. “It’s not even right for a woman to be a Sorcerer, let alone a simple girl! Now run along and prepare a celebration meal for us!”

  She did as she was asked. When she brought the first tray of food to the study, Underath guided her through to another room, one that used to be empty but which had been transformed into a dining room. An impressive table was laid out with plates and cutlery.

  “See how I’ve been making changes to the castle already?” said Underath. “Nothing is too good for my beautiful wife!” He saw the food Wren carried – a wonderful-looking pie, bread, and soup. He smiled. “Thank you, maid. I know you’re disappointed, but I wish you well, in all you do.”

  “I’ll bring your best wines for the meal,” said Wren. “And I’ve made some desserts, too.”

  She brought the rest of the food and drink to the dining room. Underath’s wife was there, smiling her malicious smile.

  “There’s no need for you to tidy after, maid,” said Underath. “I grant you the night off, to let you gather your things ready to leave at dawn.”

  But that was not Wren’s plan.

  She returned later and, as she’d hoped, there was snoring from Underath’s bedroom. This was, of course, why she’d made her meal with such care. They had eaten well, and now they would sleep well, too.

  Silently she went into the study and chose four of Underath’s books on sorcery, smaller ones that she could carry more easily. She crept out of the castle into the gloom of dusk, dressed in the red-ringed skirt she’d worn when she first arrived.

  She froze when a voice spoke up behind her.

  “If I’d not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it,” said Underath. “You were right, wife!”

  Wren spun round. Underath was standing there, his wife by his side.

  “I told you she couldn’t be trusted!” said the woman. “Look! Look what she takes from you!”

  Wren hung her head, angry and ashamed. She dropped the books and the pouch of coins at her feet. “Keep your books. Keep your money. I can become a Sorcerer! I’ve always known it! I only ever came here because I wanted to learn!”

  Underath shook his head. “I thought you were loyal,” he said, obviously hurt. “Go. Go.”

  “This is betrayal, my love!” said his wife. “She’s the lowest kind of vermin! A rat! Why not make sure she never forgets it, dearest?” Grinning with malice, she placed her hand on her husband’s arm.

  Underath’s expression was one of sorrow and regret, but it changed: oh so slowly, it changed. His eyes hardened, and he took on a look of spite and rage.

  He muttered some words and began to wave his hands. A purple glow appeared round the tips of his fingers. He cried out, his arms pointing straight at Wren. The purple glow became impossibly bright and hurtled towards the girl, exploding around her.

  The light faded, and when it was gone there was only a rat with a red-ringed tail. It squeaked in terror as it ran off into the trees, chased by the cruel laughter of the Sorcerer and his bride.

  The sparks subsided. The smoke from the bonfire was now just ordinary smoke.

  Wren hung her head. The silence was uncomfortable.

  Eventually Alia cleared her throat. “Ahem,” she said. “Yes. Um. There are details that don’t quite match the account you gave, Patch.”

  “Don’t I know it,” said Patch, glum. He turned to Wren. “Kidnapped, were you? Wealthy parents, eh?”

  Wren looked tearful. I was desperate for your help in Patterfall, she signed. It seemed like such a little lie.

  Patch shook his head. “And you tried to steal his magical texts?” said Patch. “I can’t believe this.”

  Wren gave him a defiant stare. What? she signed. Are you upset that I can’t reward you for your help? Is that why you became my friend? For the money?

  Patch was dumbstruck by the accusation. “Well!” he said. “Well, then…then I…” He felt very angry indeed, but he had a sudden fear that, perhaps somewhere deep down, he was guilty as charged. He hoped not.

  “Enough!” said Barver. “You would risk your lives to save each other! Here we are, on the cusp of a cure for Wren
, and you squabble over things that don’t really matter!”

  Long seconds passed before Wren and Patch found they could bear to look at each other.

  “Sorry,” muttered Patch. “I just thought you’d be more honest with me than that. Friends don’t have secrets, isn’t that what you said?”

  There was a sudden crump from the fire. Everyone backed away as flames grew again, and colourful sparks exploded outwards with a loud bang.

  “Something more for us to see!” said Alia. “Shush! Shush!”

  The images in the fire resolved themselves, along with the sound of rock grinding against rock, and the cracking of masonry.

  Patch’s face filled the image in the smoke, coughing as the dust of the attack on Tiviscan Castle filled his cell.

  “Uh oh,” said the real Patch, looking at the features of his past-self looming above him.

  Alia seemed confused for a moment, but then she looked at Patch and mimed throwing the parcel into the flame. “A little of you has crept into the spell, it seems,” she said. “Looks like you were a prisoner somewhere. Wait a moment…is that Tiviscan dungeon? It is! You’re a criminal?”

  “It’s fine, Alia,” said Tobias. “He—”

  “You knew?” she said.

  “I did. There’s nothing to worry about, we just—”

  Suddenly Tobias stopped talking. He stared at the fire, as did Alia.

  As did all of them.

  “Aye!” came a voice.

  There in the smoke’s magical images, the prisoner in the Iron Mask lay, his injuries obvious. His hands came up and tore at the mask, which swung open and fell to the floor.

  “Aye…” said the thin-faced man, coughing up blood as past-Patch drew closer. “Aye…am…I…am…” The man swallowed and took a breath. “I am not the Piper of Hamelyn.”

  Then the dragons came. The man was taken, the expression on his face one of simple relief. He was thrown into the circle of fire the dragons made for him, and he perished.

  With perfect timing, the images died and the smoke retreated. The bonfire’s centre collapsed in on itself.

  Everyone was staring at Patch, even Wren. Especially Wren.

  Patch coughed. “Um,” he said. “Ah. Yes. Didn’t I mention that bit?”

  You accused me of dishonesty, eh? signed Wren. Take a look at yourself, you big dolt! She hopped off his shoulder and went over to Barver, who was glaring at Patch.

  Tobias seemed stunned. “You told nobody about this?” he said. “Even when you found out that Alia and I were part of the Eight, you still said nothing?”

  Patch looked around at all the accusing eyes. “What should I have done? I’m supposed to be in the dungeons until I die. You want me to start blabbing about the Hamelyn Piper’s last words, and get thrown back into a cell? I’m happier not doing that, thank you!” He folded his arms and scowled.

  Alia, who’d been pacing furiously up and down, stopped and looked at Tobias. “The Mask was off him,” she said. “He could say anything he wanted, and lie without restriction.”

  “You saw the same thing I saw,” said Tobias. “You saw his eyes. Did it look like a lie?”

  “Insane, then,” snapped Alia. “He forgot what he was, perhaps. I don’t know.”

  Tobias looked at her, a terrible doubt in his eyes. “Could we have imprisoned the wrong man?”

  “Impossible!” said Alia. “We caught him with his Pipe, we knew the Songs he’d played! And the witnesses! The townsfolk of Hamelyn identified him, as did the child who was left behind—”

  “The boy with the limp?” said Barver.

  Alia gave a deep sigh. “That poor young soul.” She clenched her fists. “You’d only need to see the look on that child’s face to know we’d caught the right man.”

  “But his last words!” said Tobias, agitated. “He’d been trying to say that sentence, to deny he was the Piper of Hamelyn, for almost a decade!”

  Alia put a hand on his shoulder. “You torture yourself for no reason, Tobias. Think back to the end of our quest. Think back!”

  Tobias took a long slow breath, trying to settle himself. “We’d tracked the Hamelyn Piper down, in the Ice Fields near Port Hagen,” he said. “He defended himself with a display of Dark Piping that was beyond anything I’d seen before.”

  Alia looked at him with an affection she’d not shown until now. “That was the day you got your scars. I thought I’d lost you—” She drifted to silence for a moment. “The Hamelyn Piper was caught in the same blast, yet he escaped uninjured.”

  “But we had hurt him,” said Tobias. “When we found him again, he was dazed, bewildered. Barely able to speak. But the evidence was clear: he was the Hamelyn Piper.” He nodded, the uncertainty gone from his face. “Whatever he said just before his death, it means nothing. We must listen only to the evidence, and the evidence speaks with one voice. It was him!”

  Patch was trying hard to believe that the prisoner’s last words had meant nothing, but he was finding it difficult. There was something else worrying him, though – something Alia had mentioned. “Wait,” he said. “You said you got his Pipe when you caught him, and you knew what Songs he’d played. In all the stories I heard of the Eight, the Pipe had been destroyed, so the history of its Songs was lost. Which is the truth?”

  Alia and Tobias shared a long look.

  “She was, um, mistaken,” said Tobias.

  Alia frowned at him. “The Hamelyn Piper is dead,” she said. “Perhaps the time for secrecy has passed.”

  “Alia,” said Tobias, in a cautioning tone. “We both took a vow.”

  Alia looked to the ground, thinking. At last she shook her head. “We found the Pipe,” she said to Patch. “And it told us what had happened to the children.”

  Barver, Patch and Wren looked at Alia, open-mouthed with shock.

  Patch eventually managed to speak. “You know what happened to them—?”

  “The Hamelyn Piper had tried to destroy his Pipe before he was caught,” said Alia. “There were only fragments left. Rundel Stone attempted to extract the history of the Pipe’s Songs from those fragments, even though we all thought it was impossible. But he found two Songs of immense power. One had been played on the night the human children disappeared. The other was played after the dragon children were taken. I saw Rundel’s face crumple as he found out the truth. I watched as his heart grew cold and bitter. Hope had left him.”

  Barver was staring at her. “What happened to the children?” he said. “What happened?”

  “Don’t, Alia,” said Tobias. “Please.”

  Alia ignored him. “Both were Songs of execution, old Songs that were once used to carry out death sentences. For the dragon children, it was the Song of Endless Sleep. This slows the breathing of the target until they fall unconscious and die. For the human children, it was the Song of Dispersal. The children of Hamelyn were obliterated, their flesh and bones scattered like dust across the skies.”

  Barver gasped. “And the Pipers’ Council have known this all along?”

  Alia nodded. “Yes. And the dragon authorities, too.”

  Patch shook his head. “But the Mask was going to force the Hamelyn Piper to answer that question! If they already knew the answer, what was the point?”

  “The Mask’s question wasn’t about the fate of the children,” said Alia. “We already knew their fate. It was about why he had done it, these senseless acts, these atrocities… Why? To get that answer, the Hamelyn Piper had to live – yet if the world knew the children were dead, his execution would have been impossible to stop! Then, the question of why could never be answered. So the Council ordered the fate of the children to be kept secret. The Dragon Triumvirate were reluctant to agree, and brought us to the brink of war, but they did agree in the end.”

  “And now it is over, at last,” said Tobias. “The Triumvirate must have decided that no answer would ever come, and when the opportunity arose they made their move and killed the Hamelyn Piper. Whatever the Cou
ncil does in retaliation for the attack on Tiviscan, they’ll be secretly relieved that their most hated prisoner is dead.”

  “Even so,” said Patch. “With his final words the Hamelyn Piper denied his guilt. Surely you must tell the Pipers’ Council about this?”

  “I will tell Rundel, and let him decide what to do,” said Tobias.

  “But you can’t tell him about me!” said Patch. “Right now I’m listed among the dead. If he found out I’m alive, it would condemn me to a life of being hunted!”

  “I’ll not mention you,” said Tobias. “It seems fair that we keep your secret, if you keep ours. I’ll just say Alia conjured a way to see the Hamelyn Piper’s final moments, and she told me what she’d heard.”

  “You think you could fool Rundel so easily?” said Alia. “Such magic needs a willing witness, and he’ll want to know who that witness was.”

  “I’ll tell him you have invented a new magic that needs no witness,” said Tobias.

  “He’ll not believe you,” said Alia.

  Tobias thought for a moment. “He’ll believe it if you tell him,” he said.

  Alia looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You want me to wait around until Rundel wakens and speak to him? Just to keep this lad from the dungeons? Not likely! I have better things to do!” But the faces around her – Barver, Wren and Patch himself – were looking at her with the pleading expressions normally found on cold kittens or hungry puppies. She glared back at them, defiant at first, but her defiance gradually ebbed away. “Oh very well!” she snapped.

  Tobias nodded. “It’s decided, then. We’ll let Rundel choose what to do, when he awakens.”

  The word “awakens” made Patch think of sleep; he couldn’t hold back a yawn, and the yawn spread to Wren, and then Barver.

  “The night is deep,” said Alia, looking up to the moon. “Sleep, everyone. Especially you, Wren.” She bent down and gathered the pieces of paper she’d brought with her, which were covered now in circles and arrows and hastily scribbled words. “I have my notes to study, to seek a flaw in Underath’s curse. I will see you at dawn!”