The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  Heinox waited until they’d come to a full and complete stop before announcing, “I’m down.”

  “That hurt,” Vicia complained, and Heinox agreed, but the dragon was really too sleepy for conversation. What did it matter where they were, anyway? They were no longer in the air. Moments later both heads slept.

  Seagryn had a little more trouble. It had been months since he’d slept anywhere but in the wonderful bed he shared with Elaryl. He felt certain sleeping on the ground again would take some getting used to. Besides, something was troubling him — something he couldn’t name. He strained his weary mind to bring it to consciousness but felt himself fading. Despite his discomfort Seagryn just couldn’t keep his eyes open …

  Chapter Four: DRAGON’S PET

  SEAGRYN woke with a start, fully aware of what his mind had been struggling to tell him. “It didn’t need to happen,” he gasped aloud. He could have protected Bourne from burning, if only he’d been thinking as a powershaper!

  In the shaper wars that had been waged constantly in the One Land prior to its breakup, wizard after wizard had learned to apply to whole armies the ability to cloak themselves from view. In his first skirmish, Seagryn had done so intuitively — in his first major battle he had hidden an entire fleet of Haranian ships from Sheth and the approaching Armada of Arl. Had he thought, he could have simply prevented the dragon from seeing Bourne —

  What he’d learned about shaping the powers had come less from other wizards than from his own experience. In fact, Nebalath had once told him that no shaper could teach another how to shape. But he did remember one piece of advice the old powershaper had given him the morning of that first battle. “Shaping is manipulation of powers, of perceptions, of objects, of outcomes, or of persons by an act of the will, and everyone does it to some degree. Some of us are just better at it than others. The essential gift of the true shaper is imagination. Free yours, Seagryn, and use it!” Seagryn covered his eyes, crushed now by an enormous burden of guilt. Why had he not applied his imagination to the rescue of Bourne?

  He struggled to his feet. Every muscle of his body felt the soreness of yesterday’s long travels — most especially his backside and his fingers. Riding a dragon was no easy task. And yet he hardly noticed the physical pain for the mental anguish that preyed upon him. He shook his head in dismay, only marginally aware of the long, light-brown hair that hung down over his face. He’d obviously overvalued the contribution he could make through his abilities. As a wizard, he was an utter failure. What good was the gift of powershaping when he didn’t have the sense to use it?

  “I’m hungry,” a menacing voice growled behind him, and Seagryn turned suddenly to face the dragon’s two heads. He’d slept last night within a ring formed by the necks of Vicia and Heinox — extremely secure quarters, he reasoned, as long as one was on friendly terms with the beast. As he pushed his hair back out of his eyes, Seagryn thought regretfully that he was, indeed, on good terms with this monster — too good. He needed to do something about that.

  “I said I’m hungry!” Vicia growled again, more loudly.

  Seagryn said, “I heard you.”

  “You promised me a feast!” the dragon accused — or Vicia did, at any rate. Heinox appeared to be still asleep.

  Seagryn knew, now, what he would do. He would ride the dragon everywhere, pretending to show it new feeding places while ensuring that the beast ate no one. “If you’ll wake up your other head we’ll get started.”

  Heinox opened the eye closest to Seagryn and gazed at him. “What other head?”

  “Oh. You’re awake.”

  “Of course I’m awake,” Vicia snarled. “I’ve been talking to you, haven’t I? Climb on and show me this city!” The dragon was not in good humor.

  *

  Vicia-Heinox was in a far worse mood five days later when, despite crisscrossing the countryside again and again, he hadn’t spotted a single person to engage in dinner conversation.

  “Where are they?” the dragon screamed. “It’s as if every human habitation has disappeared from the face of the earth!”

  “It does look exactly that way,” Seagryn agreed, clinging grimly to his perch. By now he’d grown accustomed to this spot behind Heinox’ ears. It seemed to have shaped itself to his body — or was it the other way around? He could see that his fingers had started to wear grooves into the scales of the wrinkle he gripped.

  “You’re not keeping your promise!” Vicia roared.

  “But I am,” Seagryn argued calmly, telling a half truth. In fact, they had flown over numerous cities, one at least twice. But each time, Seagryn’s better eyes had spotted the buildings before the dragon did, and, by a combination of distractions, confusions, and cloakings, he had managed to shield each city from the twi-beast’s view. Thus they had soared twenty feet above the spire of the tallest building in the capital, right over the downtown square, and all the time the dragon had been complaining about how parched and empty the ground below appeared. Seagryn’s heart had pounded throughout the flight — just because the dragon couldn’t see a tower didn’t mean it couldn’t knock one down if it flew into one — but he’d managed to steer the beast through the maze without mishap.

  None of this prevented the populace of Lamath from seeing the dragon — and being terrorized by the sight. And all who saw it also reported that a man wearing priestly green rode on one of the dragon’s heads. Within days the whole of the nation would know who he was — and not Lamath only, for early in the week Seagryn often directed the dragon over the sparsely settled Marwand. But he knew his native countryside better and carried in his head memories of maps he had studied while in school; during the last two days he’d tried to keep them over Lamath. Most of southern Lamath was covered by the Telera Desert, and fewer habitations meant he had less work to do. His own energy was fading, for he was himself growing hungry; he’d had food packed in his satchel, but not enough for a week. He’d eaten the last of it days ago.

  “I am starving!” Vicia-Heinox roared savagely, and Seagryn roared back.

  “I am, too!” As he’d become better acquainted with the dragon, he’d also grown less intimidated by it. Since the heads bickered with one another constantly, his own griping tone of voice seemed to fit right in. “We flew over a herd of moosers early this morning! Why don’t we go back and eat them!”

  “Why is it you want me to eat moosers?” the dragon whined. “I don’t like to eat moosers!”

  “You haven’t tried moosers!” Seagryn scolded. He knew he sounded exactly like a parent urging a child to eat her peas. In fact, he felt like a disgruntled parent at the moment.

  “I do not eat moosers!” Vicia-Heinox proclaimed emphatically. “I eat persons!”

  Seagryn sighed heavily. “All right, then. I guess we’ll just have to keep looking.” They didn’t find any. Seagryn made certain of that.

  Late that afternoon Seagryn decided to take a chance. He’d wanted to try it for days but hadn’t dared. He found it remarkable that the dragon continued to allow itself to be guided by him, but since it did, he steered their flight over the Rivers Region. They sailed high above a beautiful tree-lined lane, at the end of which sat a mansion — a tiny thing from this height. Vicia-Heinox never saw it since Seagryn wouldn’t allow them to fly close enough to put Elaryl in danger, but there it was — there she was. So near, he thought to himself. Overwhelmed by grief, Seagryn sat forward and shouted in Heinox’ ear, “Turn to the left — there’s got to be a city south of us somewhere!”

  The dragon banked away, and for the last few hours of sunlight they flew above the empty expanse of the Marwilds forest, passing over only an occasional cabin or wayside inn …

  *

  Nebalath stood in a corner of the tiny back room and listened carefully to the proceedings. No one saw him, for he had cloaked his presence in order to listen in. This was a secret meeting of a society of assassins, sworn to murder the maker of the dragon. They supposedly possessed information about
the dragon’s habits that Nebalath wanted to know. The more he listened, though, the more convinced he became that they knew no more than anyone else.

  He controlled his frustration. The quest to find Seagryn had grown larger than he’d anticipated. While he was still anxious to find help for Dark, he’d now become fascinated by Seagryn’s involvement with this twi-beast creature. The trouble was, no one seemed to know anything with certainty. He’d never heard so much misinformation in his life, especially concerning power-shapers. He’d even heard his own name evoked once or twice among the lists of most hated villains in the world — and he’d not done any tiling at all! But the strongest vulgarities were all reserved for Seagryn. Nebalath remembered how the man had been caroled with praises on the night of his victory in the Rangsfield Sluice — public opinion certainly changed quickly. Of course, that had been down in Haranamous, and this was Lamath, but Nebalath had no question that Seagryn would be hated just as much there, once this Vicia-Heinox began consuming Haranian peasants, too. But where was the dragon? From the people he’d talked to, it was everywhere. And everywhere the dragon went, the man was sure to go …

  Nebalath’s initial meeting with Elaryl had been a surprise for both of them. Naturally, she’d been startled by his sudden appearance in her bedroom, but no more than he. Nebalath had hastily explained how he came to be there — how he had been in the House of Talarath once before, and hadn’t this spot been a courtyard then? If people kept changing their houses, how were wizards to know where to appear? She had graciously forgiven him. Nebalath found himself surprised by her combination of beauty and good sense and lowered his opinion of Seagryn. It baffled the old wizard that Seagryn would be fool enough to leave such a woman for any reason! He was also impressed by her loyalty. She appeared to be the only person who believed that what Seagryn was doing with the dragon was designed to help humanity, not hurt it.

  That squared with what Nebalath remembered of the man. Seagryn was intensely moral — to the point of being obnoxious about it. And while Nebalath had heard dozens of accounts from people who’d seen the dragon overhead with Seagryn aboard, no one said they’d actually seen anything burned or anybody eaten.

  Until this man, that is — Yammerlid — who was being sworn into a secret society.

  “You actually know Seagryn the dragonmaker?” asked the apparent leader of this covert band.

  “I’ve known the stinking mudgecurdle all my life,” Yammerlid answered savagely, and Nebalath winced at the epithet for personal reasons. “We grew up together, and he was always the same as he is now — a slime, a false friend, ingratiating himself with those in authority, but caring only for himself!

  “I recognized that in him — others didn’t. My best friend, a brilliant boy we all looked to for leadership, seemed to lean particularly on Seagryn for advice, even though I warned him regularly of Seagryn’s duplicity. Eventually Seagryn conspired to cut me out of the group, and no matter what I did from that point on, people would always believe him over me. I recognized at a young age,” Yammerlid growled dramatically, “that I had made a powerful enemy.”

  Since Nebalath didn’t believe him, he wasn’t surprised that others hadn’t believed Yammerlid either. But he could tell this man had convinced himself of the truth of his own story, and it did provide an interesting glimpse into Seagryn’s early life. He leaned forward to listen.

  “There was a girl,” Yammerlid continued bitterly. “We all loved her — all of us — but she loved our leader. Seagryn pretended not to care, pretended that his long conversations with her were only those of a friend and not a lover, but I knew better. He was after her for himself. One day I caught him with her on the far side of the greensward. He had thrown her onto her back and was forcing himself on her, so I leaped upon him. Suddenly he turned himself into a monster every bit as repulsive as this dragon he’s now made, and charged after me! He had his huge head lowered and his horn aimed right at my — right for me, and naturally I turned and ran, but my friend heard us coming. As I raced past him, I shouted the truth — that Seagryn was in fact a magic user and that he was out to kill us all! My friend tried to save me from the monster’s charge — but only skewered himself upon that vicious horn.”

  Yammerlid paused for dramatic effect — he certainly had the attention of his audience, Nebalath noted, whether his story was true or not.

  “Naturally, I gave the alarm throughout the whole town — but Seagryn disappeared that very night. I told my story, but the girl refused to back me up. It wasn’t until last year that anyone really paid attention to old Yammerlid — when word that Seagryn truly was a magic user began to seep back into our district. I tried to warn them! I told them he’d eventually return to take his vengeance and that we needed to prepare — but they wouldn’t listen to me. Oh no!

  “And now he’s come, bringing his dragon with him! He burned our village — his own village! — and allowed this horrible twi-beast to swallow some of our finest citizens. I determined then and there that I would do everything in my power to stop him.” Yammerlid leaned forward toward the rapt faces of his listeners. “I know, for a fact, that Seagryn is the key member of the Conspiracy!”

  The leader of the secret organization suddenly laughed, and Yammerlid jerked his head around to glare at him. “What are you laughing at?” he demanded.

  “There’s no such tiling as a Conspiracy.” The man chortled. Then he turned suddenly very serious. “There are only this Seagryn and this dragon. And our responsibility concerning both is quite clear. We must destroy them!”

  Nebalath shook his head in surprise. There was a Conspiracy, and he’d been a member of it. He knew most of these secret assassination squads had first been organized in reaction to rumors of the Conspiracy’s existence, but he also knew that Paumer’s spies had infiltrated most of them. He took a long look at the leader …

  Yes. He’d seen him before. While he didn’t know his name, Nebalath knew the face well, for this was an employee of the House of Paumer. The merchant liked to boast that he had his finger in every secret organization throughout the six Fragments. If so, this man was certainly one of Paumer’s chief “fingers.” Nebalath remembered hearing the man report such doings to Paumer immediately before meetings of the Grand Council. And he wondered: How far was this little tavern on the edge of the Marwilds from Paumer’s nearest palace? Uda had said the Conspiracy was to meet somewhere in the Marwand during this week …

  The leader was speaking somberly, and Nebalath leaned forward to listen. “Do you, Yammerlid, swear to sacrifice yourself in pursuit of the dragon and his hated maker, to pour your life out as a poison potion, a bitter drop for the dragon and his hated pet to drink? You are to answer ‘I so swear.’ ”

  “I so swear,” Yammerlid said fervently, and Nebalath dismissed the man from his mind. Yammerlid was of that fanatical type so convinced of the truth of their own obsessions they become one-dimensional bores. Nebalath was far more interested now in this leader. It made sense that he would report this meeting to Paumer immediately — perhaps before the Conspiracy met?

  The spy left the tavern secretively, as befitted his purpose for being there, and trekked south through the woods, completely unaware of the cloaked wizard who trailed him. Nebalath had determined he would follow wherever the fellow led.

  *

  Seagryn awoke disoriented and hungry. While he remembered clearly that he’d been riding a dragon’s head for a week, he couldn’t recall coming back down to earth the night before nor the last time he’d eaten a good meal. He lay on his back with his eyes shut, feeling too miserable to open them and face yet another day. Nevertheless, he knew he had to; the sun was shining down on his face, and duty called.

  He opened his eyes. Then he sat up in shock and looked around, feeling suddenly very unprotected. He’d grown accustomed to sleeping within the pen made by the twi-beast’s two necks, but the dragon was gone. He jumped to his feet, wanting to run but not knowing in which direction. He realized
that his knees were wobbly. “Probably from the hunger and the strain,” he told himself quickly as he staggered around in a full circle, searching the sky for the dragon.

  Sharp mountain peaks rose to either side. He appeared to be in a valley — a high valley, judging from the thinness of the air. The sun had just topped another towering mountain to the east, and he held his hand up to block the light and studied the landscape for some clue to his whereabouts.

  There! Halfway up a cliff was a huge structure of some sort, one he didn’t recognize but felt somehow that he should know. It seemed to hang upon the mountainside as if it had been stuck there with some sort of glue. The floor of it hovered at least thirty feet in the air, while the top of the structure rose a hundred feet above that and was topped by battlements. It had white columns below and a line of shuttered windows above, and it looked deserted — its white paint was chipped and peeling. What was it? Where was he? More worrisome, where was the dragon?

  He heard a screech in the air behind him and whirled around to see the beast dropping toward him out of the sky. A tremor of fear rippled through his empty stomach. Was this his last moment? Had the dragon grown weary of the game at last, and was he about to be eaten? He decided once again that there was no point in revealing his terror. Instead, he scolded, “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is to wake up in the middle of no place and find yourself all alone?”

  “No,” Heinox answered honestly as the flapping of gigantic, leathery wings stirred plumes of dust up into Seagryn’s face. “I can’t recall ever experiencing that emotion.”

  “I certainly can’t,” Vicia agreed, burping contentedly. Seagryn frowned.

  “Of course, I can’t remember very much at all,” Heinox admitted, philosophically rolling his eyes skyward.

  “Then again, who needs to?” Vicia smiled and burped again. He stretched his long neck to its fullest extension and rolled his head about on the end of it in a gesture of preening relaxation that worried Seagryn considerably. Every previous morning the twi-beast had awakened in a terrible mood, horribly hungry and ready to leap immediately into the sky to search for something to devour. This morning it looked — frill. “By the way,” Vicia added, tipping sideways to aim one eye down at Seagryn from high above him. “We’re not in the middle of no place. We’re in the middle of every place.” Heinox nodded in agreement.