The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2)

by Robert Don Hughes

  Seagryn was stunned. Sheth, working in concert with the Power? “Then — I should go help him?”

  Dark rolled his eyes. “Whether you should or not is up to you, Seagryn. I can only tell you that you will.”

  “Right.” Seagryn nodded, working his mind for the proper question to ask next. “And this plan … Will it work?”

  “To do what?” Dark asked, his eyes slightly lidded.

  “To destroy the dragon!”

  Dark looked at Seagryn thoughtfully. Sadly? He couldn’t tell. Finally, the lad spoke. “Yes. Sheth’s plan will destroy the dragon …”

  Seagryn felt as if the boy drew his words out to summon from him some further question — but what?

  “And am I to work on this plan as well?” Nebalath asked.

  Dark turned to face the older wizard, his expression impenetrable. “No.”

  Seagryn felt tremendous pressure to ask exactly the right question and to secure precisely the right information. His understanding and appreciation of Dark’s dilemma grew rapidly, for he realized now how difficult it must have been for the boy to bear that same responsibility for all the adults around him. “Do we go directly from this place to where Sheth is?” he asked.

  “No,” Dark said flatly, shaking his head.

  “Then where do we go?” Nebalath demanded.

  “And do we go together?” Seagryn put in.

  Dark still shook his head. “You don’t go together, but you both go to Haranamous.”

  “But why?” Seagryn frowned.

  The more questions he answered, the less expression Dark put into his voice. He seemed to realize that his words alone were provocative enough without his adding any emphasis to them. “Because of something you learn from me.”

  “What?” Nebalath demanded, sensing danger behind Dark’s flat tone. “What do we learn? Is there danger to the city?”

  “There is danger to the city.” Dark nodded, apparently relieved to have been asked.

  “What is the danger?” Nebalath shouted.

  “Ognadzu will inform the dragon that Sheth is in Haranamous and give the twi-beast instructions how to get there. You race from this place together to defend the city against the dragon.”

  “When?” Nebalath hounded the boy, grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him.

  Dark didn’t look at either of them now. He fixed his gaze someplace on the floor, even as Nebalath shook him from side to side. “The battle takes place tomorrow …”

  Nebalath disappeared. The normal crack of the air rushing to fill the place he’d stood seemed exceptionally loud this time, and Seagryn jumped, shocked by it. Dark, of course, was not.

  Seagryn waited a moment, but Dark didn’t look up at him. “He didn’t ask if we win,” he finally murmured.

  “No,” Dark told the floor, “he certainly didn’t.”

  Despite the young prophet’s attempt to cull all expression from his words, this reply sounded ominous. Seagryn hesitated before going ahead to ask the obvious follow-up question. Still, he reasoned, if Sheth’s plan to rid the world of the dragon was going to succeed, and Sheth himself said he needed Seagryn’s help to enact it, then that would certainly guarantee his survival, so … “Do we win?” he finally asked.

  When Dark’s eyes finally rose to meet his, they were utterly empty, like a stranger’s eyes. It was as if the boy had made himself someone else. “Who do you mean by ‘we’? And what do you mean by ‘win’?”

  Seagryn understood. “It’s not going to be that simple, is it?”

  “It is not,” Dark soberly agreed.

  “Do we — Nebalath and I — drive the dragon from the city of Haranamous?”

  “You do,” Dark answered. He offered no elaboration.

  “If this battle takes place tomorrow, and I’m to be there, I guess I’d better take my tugolith shape and begin running northward now. Am I right?”

  “Only you would know how long it takes you to get from place to place in that form. But that is what you choose to do, so — yes.”

  Seagryn nodded and sighed deeply. Not even a full day’s rest … “I’ll be off then. But before I go — will I see my Elaryl safe again?” He asked the question plaintively, pleading for a favorable answer but suggesting he expected the worst.

  “You will.” Dark nodded — and he smiled.

  Enormously relieved, Seagryn bolted for the door but grabbed the doorjamb to stop himself and peered back inside at his friend. “You can’t imagine how much better that makes me feel. Thank you, Dark!” As he rushed down the stairs, he barely heard the boy prophet calling after him.

  “Never thank me until you’ve lived through what I predict!”

  It didn’t matter what else he predicted, Seagryn thought to himself. For if he was to survive a battle with the dragon tomorrow, and if Sheth’s plan was to result in the destruction of the dragon, and if Elaryl was to be safely returned to him, then all was right with the world. Seagryn even had appreciative thoughts for the Power who had apparently arranged all this. Buoyed by good news, he could run all night to Haranamous if need be.

  “There you are!” Kerily said, standing in the entry way to the mansion amid a large group of people, including her daughter. He rushed toward them as the woman continued, “Uda here told me you’d arrived last night, but I apparently missed you at breakfast. It seems that in deference to Dark’s faith, my daughter wants a cleric to officiate at this wedding. That goes quite against my better judgment, but if she wishes — I can manage. Where are you going?!” she scolded, for Seagryn had as politely as possible pushed his way through the group, and he headed now for the door.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I must be off.”

  “But you will officiate, won’t you? I said you will …” But Seagryn could not reply. He was out the door and gone. Kerily whirled around to face Uda, who waited expectantly for her mother’s inevitable explosion. “That’s what I despise about these Lamathian clerics!” Kerily shouted. “They never have time to help people in need!”

  Chapter Fourteen: BURNING WIZARD

  SEAGRYN lumbered northward along the road to Haranamous, and the traffic scattered to let him pass. Not many of those who scrambled aside actually knew what to call him, but anyone with eyes could see he was a huge, sharp-horned monster who was moving very quickly. Only a few lacked the good sense to get out of his way. These were mostly wagon drivers who seemed to believe they owned the road. He did his best to be polite, but when one driver of an eight-horse team became particularly belligerent, Seagryn speared the side of the man’s wagon and tossed it into a ditch. It wasn’t that he was trying to be nasty; he just had a date to fight a dragon and he couldn’t afford to be late.

  When he wasn’t dodging to avoid stepping on pedestrians, Seagryn thought about that upcoming battle. They would win, Dark had said. Or rather, they would drive the beast from Haranamous. What did that mean, exactly?

  Seagryn made a mental list of the magical abilities he knew how to use. He wondered why he and Nebalath could not simply combine to cloak the city from view. After all, he’d managed in that way to keep Vicia-Heinox from consuming the capital of Lamath. Why couldn’t Haranamous be hidden as well? Was it because of the directions provided to the dragon by this upstart son of Paumer? Seagryn struggled to remember the boy’s name but could call to mind only his snarling face. What had King Haran done to cause the surly lad to send the dragonburn down upon his land? More to the point, what could Seagryn and Nebalath do to stop it? After the battle with the Emeraudes, he’d been forced to face the fact that he possessed only a limited collection of magical weapons. He too often failed to use his imagination. Would he remember to use it tomorrow?

  Twilight drove most travelers from the road, but Seagryn couldn’t stop. As he trotted by a cozy roadside inn, he cast a longing glance at the warm light streaming from its windows and wondered about the people bedded down there for the night. Were they on their way north to Haranamous? Would they arrive in the capital city i
n time to become victims of the impending disaster? He thought momentarily of stopping to warn the inn’s occupants but decided against it. He was in a hurry, after all. Besides — why should they believe him? Better to spend his energies helping Nebalath avert the crisis. His resolve renewed, Seagryn sprinted ahead more quickly.

  Hours later, running headlong into the pitch-blackness, Seagryn happened upon a group of highwaymen who’d apparently barricaded the road. He’d learned long ago that tugoliths suffered from night blindness, but in this instance the robbers suffered rather more. His forequarters splintered the barricade before he saw the thing, and the half-dozen rogues who manned it fled the scene screaming. He’d been feeling rather hungry from his daylong race, and he realized with horror that the tugolith in him wanted to chase one of these thieves down for a midnight snack. He resisted the urge by promising himself a large breakfast at the tables of the Imperial House and struggled to run even faster.

  Not long after dawn’s first rosy glow, he spotted the battlements of that castle on the horizon. The rest of the journey seemed to pass much more quickly. He terrified a few early rising townsfolk before taking his human form again at the palace entrance. He cloaked himself to prevent his being stopped and questioned by the Imperial guards, but once inside immediately removed the cloak in the face of a fusillade of protest from the castle itself.

  — That hurts! the Imperial House of Haranamous informed him before launching into a series of uncomplimentary statements regarding his parentage. Seagryn ignored the diatribe.

  “Where’s Nebalath?” he demanded quietly of the wall in the hallway.

  — Upon the roof. The castle sniffed. Which is the only place where magic can be practiced without giving this House intense pain! Truly sensitive powershapers have always understood that fact and adjusted their actions accordingly! Only the uncouth have been gauche enough totally to disregard the feelings of this House —

  “I’ll certainly try to do better,” Seagryn mumbled as he hurried past the great hall. The aromas that issued from its doorway caused him to pause — he remembered promising himself breakfast — but that would have to wait until he’d talked to the older wizard. He dashed up the steps of the main staircase.

  He found Nebalath standing atop a turret on the northwestern corner of the Imperial House. The man studied the northern horizon intently as he grumbled, “So. You finally made it.”

  “It was a long run,” Seagryn said. “I started right after you left.”

  “I know.” Nebalath nodded. “I’ve been back there twice since you left. I’m to tell you that Fylynn is very angry that you just left her there without saying good-bve —”

  “She was still in bed —”

  “And that Kerily has forgiven you as long as you’ll agree to perform the wedding. By the way,” he added, finally looking Seagryn in the face, “she’s decided that you’re to wear red.”

  “I’m to what?”

  “In the wedding.” Nebalath smiled grimly, turning his eyes back to the north. “I can visualize that. Seagryn in red.”

  “And when is this wedding to be, finally?” Seagryn asked, shielding his face from the morning sunlight and peering northward himself.

  “If Dark knows, he isn’t saying,” Nebalath said wearily.

  Seagryn had the strong impression that what Dark had said to Nebalath had not been cheerfully received. He hesitated before asking, “What does Dark know? Any further information about today’s battle?”

  “Not much.” Nebalath shrugged.

  Seagryn frowned. “What are you not telling me?”

  Nebalath finally looked at him, and the old wizard’s eyes were hard. “Things you don’t need to know.” His gaze drifted back across the battlements to the mountains from whence the dragon would come; then softly he added, “Things I didn’t need to know.”

  Seagryn thought he understood the older man’s feelings. He’d often reacted with the same depression to Dark’s revelations. “The lad went too far again, did he?”

  “No,” Nebalath said, raising his eyebrows. “I did.”

  Seagryn waited, but the old powershaper didn’t elaborate. Seagryn knew better than to push. He leaned across the battlement and looked down at the dark river swirling around the base of the palace. “Very well. If there’s anything you feel I do need to know, I’ll rely on you to tell me. Until then, perhaps we should spend our time together talking about strategy?” He looked at Nebalath, and the older man shrugged his shoulders in acquiescence. Seagryn plunged ahead. “I’ve been thinking about how best to deal with this beast. I probably know Vicia-Heinox as well as anyone, and I wonder if we might exploit the difference between the two heads.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Nebalath said flatly.

  “I mean simply this: we’ve discussed at length how the beast was made. You know the two heads don’t always agree, or even always get along —”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “I’ve seen them fight one another for control of their body!” Seagryn argued. “So I wonder. What if you take one head and I take the other?”

  Nebalath considered this proposal without much apparent enthusiasm. “A kind of divide-and-conquer tactic?” he finally murmured.

  “Right,” Seagryn said, with forced optimism. “Since you have far more battle experience than I, as the dragon approaches us, you take the head on the right. That’s Vicia, the more mean-spirited of the pair. I have a special relationship with Heinox, the head that will be to our left —”

  “She’s an old girlfriend, right?”

  “Something like that.” Seagryn nodded, wincing. “In any case, Heinox has always seemed more willing to listen to reason, so —”

  “So you’re going to try to talk one head out of attacking us while I do shaper-battle with the other head. Is that it?” Nebalath’s tone of voice made the plan sound grossly unfair.

  “Have you a better idea?” Seagryn asked, trying hard not to take offense at Nebalath’s attitude.

  “Yes,” the older man said, and he turned to look Seagryn squarely in the face. “Let’s go eat breakfast.” Then he turned on his heel and trotted down the staircase.

  Seagryn pursued him. “Was breakfast your better idea?” Seagryn asked. “Or do you intend to explain your plan when we get there?”

  Nebalath seemed intent on avoiding the subject altogether. “The Imperial House has stopped talking to me,” he said. “I did a little shaping in my room and it took offense.”

  “This House has never had much use for me,” Seagryn muttered, looking up at the chandelier that hung high above the spiral staircase. He wondered if the castle could make it fall on someone if it chose.

  “That’s only because it doesn’t know you. Unfortunately, it appears now that it won’t ever get the chance. After you,” Nebalath added, gesturing for Seagryn to proceed him into the great hall.

  “What do you mean by that?” Seagryn asked, blinking in surprise.

  “Why don’t we eat?” Nebalath said brightly. “Dark knows how long it might be before we get the chance again …” The older wizard smiled mysteriously and waited for Seagryn to move.

  “Yes, he probably does,” Seagryn murmured. He hesitated in the doorway, deeply concerned by Nebalath’s apparent state of mind. What had Dark told the man? But once again, he sniffed the enticing aromas wafting from the Imperial kitchens, and he could resist them no longer. “Let’s do eat …” he muttered, and went in.

  They found a quiet corner of the great hall and made it quieter by their presence. The population knew Nebalath well and avoided him as much as they could. Many also knew Seagryn by sight, and those who didn’t were soon informed of his identity in hushed whispers. Common people didn’t go near powershapers if they didn’t have to — one never knew what a wizard might do next. Two wizards together could signal only one thing — trouble. So while they ate in the company of hundreds, Seagryn and Nebalath enjoyed absolute privacy.

  Or rather, almost abs
olute privacy.

  — This House is waiting for an apology, the Imperial House stated flatly through a sweating of its walls.

  “From whom?” Nebalath grumbled. “Him or me?”

  — Both of you have exercised injurious abilities within these walls! While this House has little means of comparing its condition to those of you who must live within a sack of flesh, some in times past have suggested that the feeling is similar to that of a human ulcer.

  “I’ve never had an ulcer,” Nebalath mumbled, savoring a strip of bacon.

  — It hurts, the walls said emphatically. Or so this House has been informed.

  “We’ve both practiced shaping within you because we’re both interested in preserving your life,” Nebalath told the House as he spread a still-warm loaf of bread with butter. “What’s left of it,” he added. Seagryn had been about to bite into a piece of fruit, but now he frowned instead. The castle’s unexpected response sharpened his concern.

  — Is this House alive? it asked. Or merely conscious? For the periods of consciousness are slipping away. There are times now when this House sleeps as it did before Nobalog’s first spell awakened it.

  Nebalath saw Seagryn’s expression and nodded. “Have you noticed it?”

  “Noticed what?”

  “That the powers are withdrawing,” Nebalath said. “Don’t you recall how our shaper powers seemed restricted on the island of the Emeraudes?”

  “Of course.” Seagryn nodded. “But I thought we attributed that to the mental abilities of the green cats themselves.”

  “We did,” the older wizard agreed. “But now I wonder. While you were waiting for a boat ride home, I toured about the old One Land, and became more than a little puzzled by the seeming inconsistency of my own abilities. There are places in the northern Marwilds where I can now do things I could never do before. In other places — here in Haranamous, for example — my own shaper powers seem limited indeed. And the Imperial House is right. There are times, now, when it seems to be in a daze.”

  Seagryn expected some sharp retort from the House, but none came. Instead, it listened quietly to their conversation, rather like a patient waiting for a pair of healers to agree on a treatment. “Do you have any explanation?” he asked the older wizard.