Margit gritted her teeth. She knew there was a reason she shouldn’t settle down with Marcus to produce baby after baby—as Brevelan had. She wasn’t ready to give up her magic yet. She had too much more to learn. Too many more places to go and sights to see.
“Any one of the Rover midwives will be able to tell you the child’s awareness is awakened very early in the womb. It grows eager to be out in the world, to see what all of the magic is about.” Robb finally breathed. He stood straight again and relaxed his shoulders. But Margit suspected his words were intended to reach more ears than just Ariiell’s. “The child will come early, before you are ready. He’ll tear up your insides in his eagerness to be out in the world before he is ready to breathe air and eat food. If you survive, you’ll never bear another child.”
“Is that the fate of my son? Will he ever learn to speak? Will he be able to lead a normal life?” Lanciar, the soldier from SeLenicca asked. His slender cheeks took on new hollows and shadows. “Stargods, Rejiia ate the Tambootie while pregnant. What did that do to her?”
“Your son is too young to know the extent of Rejiia’s folly while carrying him,” Zolltarn said. He reached out a hand as if to pat the man’s shoulder in reassurance. But of course he couldn’t bridge the energy barrier that separated him from the real world where Lanciar remained. “Rejiia has always been indiscriminate with her spells and her concerns for others. That is why her Rover wet nurse spirited him away from the witch. With our special links, we hope to give him a home and family that will protect him from the violent prejudice of the outside world.”
“I knew I had decided to join you for a good reason.” A half smile lighted the soldier’s face.
“King Darville has already been alerted that the child you carry is no longer qualified to succeed him,” Marcus said, strolling into the group.
Margit’s heart skipped a beat in joy at sight of him, but then slowed to its normal dull thud. She would always love this man, but her destiny lay elsewhere. A deep sigh heaved its way up through her chest. When it was gone, she felt lighter, more confident. She was in charge of her destiny for the first time in a very long time.
“When did you get back?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral and polite.
“Just now. I heard most of what Robb said so eloquently.” He looked at her longingly, then shook himself free of any lingering ties.
“No! You can’t do this to me.” Ariiell’s eyes went wide. Her pupils contracted to mere dots. Her mouth pinched. White showed around her nostrils. “I am to be queen. The coven promised. I will have all of your heads.”
No one answered her.
“You will obey me this instant. I am to be queen. My son will be king. Darville will be put to death. The coven promised.” Her voice grew louder, more shrill.
The crowd drifted away, tired of her tantrum.
“Come back here,” she screeched, tearing at her red-blonde hair. Crimson splotches showed on her neck and cheeks. The whites of her eyes dominated her face. “I am queen!” She lifted her hands in a classic gesture to throw a spell. Blue-and-yellow witchfire streamed from her fingertips toward Zolltarn’s retreating back. The flames fizzled and lost energy a mere arm’s length from her hands. Dull sparks flowed to the ground and winked out. “Where is my magic?” Ariiell fell to her knees moaning. “I have to have my magic. Oh, baby, lend me some magic.” She clutched her belly and rocked back and forth continuing her self-absorbed litany.
“Come, Ariiell. I’ll take care of you.” Lord Laislac knelt beside her, lifting her gently to her feet. “I feared this might come to pass.” He looked around at the others in apology, especially Lord Andrall and Lady Lynnetta. “Her mother succumbed to insanity. She threw herself from the top of the tower of Castle Laislac, convinced she could fly. My daughter seems to have inherited the same weakness in her mind. Her use of the Tambootie in coven ritual may have hastened her infirmity.”
Sadly, he led Ariiell back toward their second-story room in the opposite wing.
“She is welcome to shelter in our home until the child comes. We will raise it, love it, as our only grandchild.” Lady Lynnetta reached an imploring hand toward them.
“We are used to caring for . . . well, for our son.” Lord Andrall gestured toward Mardall who led the Rover children in a quiet game that involved drawing complex patterns in the dirt.
“I have an idea that might help you with that, Lord Andrall.” Jack grinned from ear to ear. “I have a rather pesky, but intelligent cat who needs a good home.”
“Before we do anything, I have to let you know that some very angry villagers are on their way here. They plan to dismantle this place stone by stone to end the tyranny of the ghost once and for all,” Robb said.
“They will be aided by a troop of soldiers with a commission from the priests in the capital,” Marcus added. “They are led by Gnuls and employ three witch-sniffers. With or without permission, they intend to capture and burn any magicians they find here.”
Jack and Lanciar nodded to each other in confirmation of that statement.
Why hadn’t they told her? Margit fumed for a bit, wishing these men had more confidence in her. She could help. She knew she could, if they’d just let her.
“We have work to do, folks,” Marcus continued. “That ghost has to be laid to rest and the curse removed from the gold before the others arrive.”
“What can I do to help?” Margit leaped at the chance to finally do something. They wouldn’t think to ask her unless she volunteered.
“That depends upon how friendly you are with dragons.” Marcus cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in an endearing gesture.
Margit needed to run to him, hold him tight, kiss him one more time. Maybe they could work things out.
But he turned his gaze elsewhere. No longer interested in her love.
The joy at her sense of freedom battled with the heavy ache in her gut. “I’ll just have to improvise to get through this.”
CHAPTER 42
“The good news is that Jaylor’s daughter is gaining strength and vitality by the hour,” Marcus told his companions from the Commune as they closeted themselves in the large suite Zolltarn had appropriated for himself. “The bad news is that Master Lyman has gone to his next existence.”
That statement felt quite strange. Marcus knew where Lyman had gone. He’d chosen a new existence but not necessarily in the way one expected.
Jack sank down on the floor in the corner. “I wanted to be there with him. He . . . he and I had a kind of kinship.”
The blank mask that descended over Jack’s features told Marcus how close the young master magician and the elder Librarian had become.
“He wanted you there, Jack,” Marcus consoled. “He said to look for him where you least expect.”
‘Probably right under my nose.” Jack’s laugh became choked. He swallowed deeply and then remained silent.
There is more to his story. I’ll tell all, later, in private. Marcus sent his telepathic message on a tight line. With all of these other magicians in the room anything more might be intercepted. Lyman had been most emphatic that his story was for Jack alone.
“This feels almost as bad as when Old Baamin died.” Robb sank to the floor beside Jack as if his legs would no longer support his weight.
“About time the old coot gave up and let someone younger and more vital govern his beloved collection of books.” Zolltarn stretched within his comfortably padded chair—the only piece of furniture in the room besides the built-in bed platform and slanted writing desk that was either too heavy to move or anchored to the floor. The chair and the bedding had come with the Rover.
“I really liked Old Lyman,” Margit said. “He understood why I preferred to study outdoors rather than in his stuffy library. He even showed me a little spell that would keep the rain off the books so I wouldn’t have to come inside.”
Marcus touched the book tucked into his tunic that Lyman had directed him to in his last moments
. One of these days, when life had settled into a pattern again, he’d have to ask Jaylor if any of his ancestors had been named Bessell. That young companion of Powwell—the author of the book—had developed an attitude of benign defiance very similar to Jaylor’s before he’d become Senior Magician. He also had an almost identical magical signature to Jaylor.
Old Lyman had known every word in every book, the name of the author, and where he’d shelved it. He probably suspected the family connection. He would indeed be missed.
‘Speaking of Old Baamin.” Marcus jumped back to the subject he needed to follow. He took a moment to survey all of their faces and to make sure he had all of their attention. “The old blue-tipped dragon who brought me here is named Baamin.” He closed his eyes a moment as he relived the exhilarating, stomach-dropping moments of flight. The sight of the thick gray fog that surrounded the monastery had troubled him at first. But the view from above had also given him a bit of understanding. The building existed halfway into a different dimension from the rest of the planet. That explained the time distortion and the weakening of magic within its walls.
He waited a moment for the others to absorb the hint he’d given them about Baamin’s new existence. Robb looked up from his fascinated gaze at his hands in his lap. He cocked his head and winked one eye. Margit didn’t seem interested at all—but then she had never known the rotund little magician who had governed the Commune and the University for decades.
Zolltarn chortled aloud. “I knew the bas . . . the master would find a way to come back to haunt me!”
Jack merely looked blank again. He was very good at that. He’d learned early and well to hide his true emotions in silence.
“You knew that one of the dragons is named Baamin, Jack,” Marcus said, almost accusingly.
“He rescued me from SeLenicca,” Jack said quietly. “He was also my father in his previous existence.” His last words sounded so softly Marcus wasn’t quite sure he’d heard him correctly.
“Your father?” Robb asked. He rolled to his knees and peered at their comrade. He used his standard pin-you-in-place-with-my-eyes look. A lecture usually followed that ploy. But this time Robb waited for an answer.
“A long story of a Rover girl seducing a very powerful magician the night before his installation as Senior Magician of the Commune. Her clan wanted a child who could break down the magical border that kept them out of Coronnan.” Jack recited the tale as if it had happened to someone else. “The woman died protecting her baby as she escaped from Hanassa. The baby disappeared. It took the dragons to find him again.”
Marcus wondered briefly if Master Baamin had known of his son. He was the only one who believed Jack as a child had any intelligence at all when the rest of the world considered him too stupid to even have a name.
“Kestra,” Margit supplied. “I’ve heard legends for years about the missing Kestra and her miracle child. We all believed them to be Rover myths with no basis in reality.”
“Kestra was my oldest daughter,” Zolltarn admitted proudly. “Jack is my grandson. And a mighty magician he is. Who else but my grandson could have brought SeLenicca to its knees, killed The Simeon, defeated Rejiia in open battle, and returned the dragons to Coronnan!” More a statement than a question.
“I had a lot of help from the Commune and from the dragons. Katrina’s love saw me through the worst of it. Simeon’s and Rejiia’s arrogance didn’t help them any either,” Jack retorted. “Don’t forget we still have to battle Rejiia and do something about her father in the tin statue.”
“With a heritage like that, no wonder you made master magician before you turned twenty.” Marcus slapped his forehead with his hand. No one knew for sure exactly how old Jack was. Well, maybe Zolltarn knew.
Robb shook his head and ran his hands across his eyes. “What does a dragon named Baamin have to do with laying the ghost to rest before the villagers and soldiers arrive to tear this place—and us—apart, stone by stone?”
“Old Lyman told me just before he died that in order to remove the curse from the gold we have to travel back in time to watch Ackerly lay the spell upon the gold. He said Jack knew how to do it.”
“The only time I did it, I had the help of a dragon.” Jack grinned. “We’ll have to solicit his help again.”
“A blue-tipped dragon named Baamin, by any chance?” Robb asked.
When had Robb become so succinct of speech?
“A dragon named Baamin helped me go back in time to view my beginnings.” Jack eased himself up, keeping his back in the corner, using the walls as a brace. “There are dangers. We may not have time to do this.”
Marcus touched the book beneath his tunic superstitiously. “It’s the only way, Jack. We have to know his ritual down to the last detail in order to reverse it. And we have to reverse it. We can’t afford to leave the gold tempting people into the gloaming. I surveyed this place meticulously before Baamin landed. There is a thick fog around it. Even without touching the gold, a person enters the edges of the gloaming whenever they walk through the gatehouse. And it is spreading, reaching down to the village.”
He let them think about that for several long moments. “Besides, if Robb and I succeed in this and in laying the ghost to rest, Jaylor will promote us to Master Magicians,” he ended on a more optimistic note.
“Going back in time is worse than being trapped in the gloaming, Marcus.” Jack looked him directly in the eye.
“Nothing is worse than that half-existence,” Robb insisted.
“Nothing is worse than having the rest of the world pass you by, where an entire week of real time feels like only a day in the spell fog. We will end the curse or die trying,” Marcus insisted.
“You may very well die. Your time in the past is very limited. The longer you stay, the harder it is to return. You fade and fade into mist until there is nothing left of you to return. You have to pick the exact time on the exact day. Lingering is not an option. Nor is repeating the process.”
“And the cost of the spell?” Robb asked.
“You become part dragon in order to go back in time. You are never fully content afterward to remain merely human. The longer you stay in the past, the more the dragon in you takes of your soul.”
“Well, then, let’s hope that Ackerly’s son recorded accurately the time and day Ackerly fought with his superiors and disappeared from the first University.” Marcus held up the little book in triumph.
A heavy vibration traveled through the floor slates. Jack blanched and braced himself as if anticipating a kardiaquake.
“We haven’t much time,” Zolltarn warned. “Do you hear that banging? That is a very angry mob trying to break down the gates to our refuge.”
“This won’t hold them long,” Lanciar said as he helped Lord Andrall shove one of the bardos in front of the outer gate. The angry shouts from the villagers on the other side of the meager barrier echoed menacingly around the gatehouse tunnel.
The noise made his head ache worse than the nightmare sounds made by the ghost last night. He’d dreamed repeatedly that Rejiia had stolen his son and was using the baby as a focus for her tortuous rituals to raise power. Rather than have the dream—vision almost—repeat endlessly he had walked the colonnade until the others roused at dawn. They, too, had wandered about heavy-eyed and listless.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Lord Andrall sat on the sloped edge of the sledge, adding his weight on the barricade. He had discarded his single piece of gold to free himself of the gloaming. But he hadn’t told Lord Laislac or any of the others in his party how to emerge from the perpetual mist.
Lanciar found the man much easier to work with when he could see him and a barrier of energy did not separate them.
The sound of men and tools ramming into the gate pounded in his ears. The wooden planks of the outer door buckled under the pressure.
“We don’t have much besides these bardos to block the outer gate. This one is all that will fit in the gatehouse. We
’ll have to close the inner portal—if it will still close—and push the rest of the sledges in front of it.” His military training quickly assessed the situation and made his decisions almost before he thought them through.
“Weapons?” Lord Andrall tilted his head.
“A few of your retainers have swords. Most of us have daggers and eating knives. We also have five magicians.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“You . . . you will kill my people?” Vareena looked ghostly pale. She swayed slightly as she wrung her hands.
“Please sit somewhere, Vareena, before you fall down,” Lord Andrall suggested. “We will do our best to spare these frightened villagers while defending ourselves.”
“Let’s just hope our magicians find a solution to the problem of the curse before they break through,” Lanciar added. Then he began directing the closing of the inner gate.
The assault on the gate came again, stronger this time. More of the wooden planks screeched and buckled. Lanciar dragged Lord Andrall off the sledge and into the courtyard. “Get that inner gate closed now. Use magic if you have to. Two more bardos ready to move in front of it!”
Just then, the flying black cat—had he heard Jack call it a flywacket?—swooped into the courtyard. It landed neatly on the stonework around the well. Before it could begin to preen its wings, it caught Lanciar’s gaze.
A blurred and confused image of mounted soldiers racing through the foothills to this lonely spot on nearly blown steeds flashed before his mind’s eye. The scene repeated itself twice more, becoming clearer each time.
Just then the four other magicians emerged from Zolltarn’s lair.
Jack stretched his arm for the flywacket to perch on. The bird/cat (or was it dragon/cat) pushed down with his wings once and glided over to his companion. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes for a moment. “I think I need a drink,” Jack said as if cursing.
The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) Page 33