Dragon’s Quest

by Lena Austin

  Now Quenton resumed the tale. “She was an honorable woman and a good sorceress. She recognized the stone’s power, and though she could not free herself of it, she united the humans and forced peace upon Honalee for the first time. She was the first queen of Honalee. Upon her death she saw to it the stone was returned to us so others less scrupulous would have no chance to control dragon kind.”

  A long, low whistle expressed Jack’s understanding. “Yeah, I can see why you dragons would want that rock back, especially if Cadell stole it. Such a thing would be right up his alley.”

  “So what does this have to do with befriending Jack?” Aneurin put in. “We’ve tried to make it very clear that Jack doesn’t want to be associated with his father, and even actively opposes him.”

  Remo nodded and raised his head from Quenton’s warm shoulder. Now he must dance delicately toward a truth Jack would not like. “This is known, though it is always good to hear such statements often. Remember that the stone has the spirit of the once-mad wizard within it? The wizard still loves the dragon race, and will in times of crisis seek one of his own kind, hoping that a human will prove to be an honorable hero to protect and love dragons as he does.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his face became blank and lax. “Cadell only thinks he has the stone. It’s bonded with a human, hasn’t it?”

  Quenton sighed. “Aye. It has.”

  Aneurin sat still as stone. His eyes flickered once to his bonded, and then studied the floor as if he would find the answers in the sanded wood beneath his feet.

  “Shit.” Jack’s face fell, and he resumed his agitated pacing. “Great. Just fucking great. Why can’t I be an ordinary dragon-riding, gay wizard instead of an heir to the throne foretold hero? You guys act like I’m some sort of messiah. Glorious destinies usually end with glorious funerals. I don’t walk on water or do funny things with loaves and fishes, either.”

  Remo burst out laughing. “You’ve been listening to too many bards, Prince Jack. I don’t know what a messiah is, but since you fear it so, I think we can safely assume you will not be one. They may not exist here.”

  Jack ground his teeth, then chuckled. “I’ll remember to keep my mouth shut.” He sent his coffee cup away with a flourish. “Okay then. If the damned stone has bonded to me, then you need me for something.”

  Aneurin stood away from his post and marched to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his bonded love.

  “What a magnificent pair they are,” Remo mused. Like shadows of dark and darker still, with pale wraith-like skin, one with eyes of translucent gold and the other pair deep forest moss. Not like the legends of golden-haired princes fighting off terrible evils, but mortal and accessible.

  Quenton grinned and strode forward to clasp Jack on the shoulder. “Your task is the easiest and the hardest, my friend.” He paused and swept his arm to encompass the night out the windows. “Point the way.”

  Both Jack and Aneurin looked about in confusion.

  Coaxingly, Remo whispered, “You are the lodestone, Jack. Only you can point to the Dragon’s Stone unerringly, no matter how far away.”

  Quenton looked at them both in exasperation. “Lift your hand and point, Jack.”

  “Back off.” Jack’s growl surprised them all. “I’m under enough pressure here.” When no one moved, he raised an eyebrow. “Back away, please.”

  Remo wondered at the light of mischief in his eyes, but obeyed, dragging the stunned Quenton with him.

  “You too, lover dragon. Do me a favor and guard the door. I’m going to feel pretty silly if this fails.” Jack patted Aneurin’s cheek and gave him one quick kiss. “We may need saddles.”

  “I think not, Prince Jack. The Stone has manifested here. It would be reluctant to leave you.” Quenton leaned casually against the wall and folded his arms.

  “The stone had no choice! I was forced to give it to Tilda after the trial.” Sighing, Jack stepped to the center of the room, lifted his arm, shut his eyes, and spun like a child’s toy. He hummed a few bars from a nonsense child’s verse, “Ring around the Rosie.”

  His song surprised even Jack himself, and yet it fit in a weird way to be singing a medieval song about the symptoms of the Black Plague. For when he finished the verse, his finger pointed up and away to the mountains above the school.

  Jack opened his eyes and looked grimly outside the window. “Figures. Up into the mountains, where legend has it dragons cannot survive the cold. I know a few species of dragon can indeed survive up there, but I’m not sure cold drakes and ice dragons would be cooperative right now. Anyone got a spare yeti?”

  “Huh?” they all chorused.

  “Never mind. Flying is still faster than climbing before the dragons go into torpor. I’ll teleport a few supplies in. Come on, Aneurin. Leave them alone for a few.” Jack strode purposely for the door and wrenched it open.

  Obediently, Aneurin followed his love out. “Why?”

  Jack’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I figure Remo will not waste this opportunity to fly, and I think wyverns are cold-hardy to a certain point. Since we need Quenton hale and hearty, he can’t piss Remo off.” He waved a dismissive hand in Quenton’s direction. “Situation is reversed, old boy. Start sucking.”

  Chapter Seven

  The massive wooden doors creaked like an old woman’s bones and twice as loud. No light flared up, no sleepy stableman’s voice called out asking who was there.

  Quenton whooshed out a breath in relief. One final obstacle before they flew into the mountains, and for him, the most terrifying. He eyed Prince Jack with envy, for Jack at least had both parents he could say he knew well enough to like or dislike. Quenton could not say that, and wondered if perhaps he was better off not knowing. His booted feet crunched softly in the hay littering the floor. Before he and Aneurin changed form for flight, they needed certain things to be found only here.

  Aneurin’s voice filtered as soft as a breeze into his mind. “Jack wants to know if you’re sure this is where they keep the fur-lined cloaks as well as the saddles. He found the saddles and has teleported mine and one that should fit you outside.”

  Remo’s butt wiggled right next to Jack’s as they rummaged in a deep trunk. His Elf’s decision to ride on his back instead of flying at his side both relieved and disappointed Quenton. Relieved, because wyverns were so irascible and noisy. Disappointed because he so desperately wanted to be free in the skies with his little love.

  Silently, two glowing silver eyes rose above the wall next to the storage shed where Jack and Remo moved to the next trunk, oblivious to the danger. Only those shining ovals showed in the faint lamplight, but Quenton swallowed, knowing who they belonged to -- Watash, the dragon bonded to that crazy wizard DeAngelo, who taught dragon riding lessons at the school.

  Gathering up his courage, Quenton tried bravado. “Gentle folk…”

  “Shhh!”

  A loud hiss followed. “Is this some foolish student prank?” Watash was definitely not amused. “Tell me I do not need to call DeAngelo from his slumbers to discipline you four miscreants.” He sniffed the air. “Oh. Hello, son. You need a bath.”

  Quenton jumped back several feet and landed in a pile of hay. Shock drained his face of blood, and he lay where he was, unable to maintain any pretense of dignity. “You… you know who I am?”

  Jack, Remo, and Aneurin all crowded outside the shed door, looking sheepish. Jack muttered in a strange voice, “Cheese it, boys. It’s the cops. The jig is up.”

  Watash gave Jack one snort of laughter and turned back to Quenton. “Of course I do. Hang on. Let me put my book down. Then you boys can explain to me why you’re skulking around stealing saddles long after dark.” His head disappeared, and a loud thunk signaled the book’s closure.

  Remo glided over in that peculiar Elven silent stalk and gave Quenton a hand up so he stood on his own two feet. “Told you a bath would be wise.” He stood shoulder to shoulder with Quenton. “I thought dragons didn’t care abou
t who sired them?”

  Quenton licked his lips. “I care.” Oh, yes, more than he wanted to admit.

  “As do I.” Watash walked around the corner of his stall and into the open area outside the storage sheds. His iron gray hair was as full as a lion’s mane and his overall appearance matched, save he wore dark blue clothes. A powerful old lion, still full able to rend and tear, but preferring a place in the sun to rest. “Maybe I’ve lived too long among humans. Now out with it. I shall not ask again.”

  Jack stepped forward. “We think we know where the Stone is, Watash.” His arm pointed unerringly toward the mountains to the east. “Up there.”

  Watash rubbed his chin and smiled when Aneurin stepped protectively beside Jack. “No need, Aneurin. No need at all. So you did bond with it, did you? Sounds like we need a bit of a skull session. Come to my stall. Who wants coffee, tea, or beer?”

  While they all acquired their choice of beverage from the stove or chill chest, Watash made himself comfortable in one of the many chairs available. “I spend most of the year here, so bigawd I’m comfortable with good lamps and furniture for guests. Too bad I can’t have a proper nest, though. Coins are singularly inadequate without a few gems to make it pretty.” He waved expansively at his coppery bed of coins.

  Jack sipped from his choice of a huge fired clay mug filled with coffee. He gave a sigh of contentment and took a chair near Watash. “Okay, pal. You sounded completely unsurprised that I’ve bonded with the Stone. Why?”

  Aneurin saluted Watash with his mug of tea. “I can answer that in part. The teachers have suspected it since the Trial, Jack. DeAngelo would have been informed of the possibility, and told to watch Watash for signs of control.” He paused and waited for Watash’s nod. “Not to mention the way all dragon kind seems to flock to our company despite our being the worst students.”

  Watash shrugged. “That’s the long and short of it. DeAngelo has been spending a lot of time being ingratiating to that…” He drew in a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. “The headmistress. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I, son? Something’s not quite right about this.”

  “Yes, sire. I agree, but I cannot put a fang into this meat.” Quenton paced. “In all my years in the royal palace, I have seen no despotism, no blood rites, only quiet management and an air of waiting. What was he waiting for?” Quenton studied Prince Jack. “You?”

  Remo folded his arms. “The usurper may have made a serious mistake if he thinks he can corrupt Prince Jack.”

  “Thanks, I think,” Jack muttered and got up to pace. “I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich. Rich is better, but I’ve got that anytime I want. Love?” He grinned at Aneurin. “Got that, too.”

  Watash took a healthy slug from a bottle of beer and burped yeastily. “Damn me if I can puzzle it out what bait he’ll use on you. Money, sex, and power cover the basic greed of all humankind, and you have all three in your grasp already. The next step would be to threaten Aneurin in some way, but this would be foolish on his part. Unless he can get Aneurin badly injured -- difficult at best -- then it’s unlikely.” He huffed out a breath of smoke. “Add to this you can summon all dragon kind into that cave, and I hope he’s aware we’ll remove the remains with a sponge. I’d love to go with you, but I’m a bit slower in my old age. Besides, you know DeAngelo. He’d take over, and I can’t just walk out on my own bond mate.”

  Remo’s eyes narrowed at Watash, but he shrugged. “Understandable, Watash. Don’t trouble yourself. Just tell us where the fur-lined cloaks are stored, and we’ll let you get some sleep.”

  “Last shed on the north wall. You’ll also find some good lanterns, some rope, dried foodstuffs, water skins, weapons, and a well-stocked herbal pack. Occasionally, DeAngelo takes a recalcitrant student group on a live-training adventure. They usually come back with their attitudes much more inclined to obey orders.”

  Aneurin and Remo took themselves off in the direction of the shed. Watash followed Jack and Quenton out to where the saddles lay on convenient benches where the wet dew would not make them uncomfortable. He even helped Jack adjust the school saddle until it fitted Quenton’s dragon form about as well as could be expected, then helped them distribute supplies and weapons.

  Jack patted the last strap into place on Aneurin’s purple body and saluted Watash with a cheeky grin. “If we don’t return in two days, send out the posse, will you?”

  Remo clambered up on his dragon saddle for the first time, grunting with the effort and tangling himself in his bow until he settled. “What would we need a cat for?”

  Watash chuckled, but Jack remained stone-faced, even grim. “Posse is a type of rescue party, my friend. Let’s get airborne. We’re wasting the cover of darkness with all this chit-chat.”

  Aneurin and Quenton jumped into the wind simultaneously, snapping wings open with a disregard for the shower of dirt and pebbles below as they struggled to get aloft in the thick, cold night air.

  The icy wind made thinking difficult, and Quenton had not flown much in the past twenty years. He’d pay for this night with sore muscles. Quenton waited until they were out of range of easy communication, and whispered in Remo’s mind. “Are you as suspicious as I am of what just happened?”

  The Elf mage growled back into his mind, “If you’re only suspicious, then I’m a brownie. You’re smarter than that. Watash was coerced. Want to bet they have the old wizard? The only way to threaten a dragon is to harm his weaker bondmate. Watash was aching to go with us, and was hoping we’d ask our dragon instructor to accompany us. Tell Aneurin, so he can tell Jack.”

  Quenton nodded, and his eyes unfocused as he passed on the message.

  “We’ve got to go back and rescue DeAngelo!” Jack raged in his saddle and tugged futilely on his saddle handle.

  “Wait, listen to the rest, Jack.” Aneurin wisely ignored the agitated yanks on his saddle and flew for the cavern now locked in dawn’s shadow.

  Quenton relayed all this back to Remo and fervently wished for willow bark tea. He was getting a headache, and his flight muscles stabbed like knives in his chest. When this was all over, he intended to get back in flight form if it killed him.

  Remo, bless him, put the rest succinctly. “Jack, the wizard DeAngelo would be out of his dragon’s reach. They’d take him to the caverns where the cold would kill an older dragon like Watash.”

  Jack released his saddle and snarled at the ever-approaching dark maw of a large cavern entrance that whistled with the icy dawn wind. “I don’t get it. Why do anything to the old guy? He’s loonier than a goony, but harmless. And why tell Watash to encourage us to go?”

  Even Aneurin’s voice shivered, now. “Because they want us up here for some reason, and DeAngelo was going to stop us or warn us. Remember what Watash said? DeAngelo had been sucking up to the headmistress? Watash was displeased with the headmistress. I’ll bet she’s the primary kidnapper. She’s made it clear she’s very loyal to Cadell.”

  Quenton nodded, surprised at this weaving of known facts, but he was much more anxious to put his claws down on that solid ledge and furl his aching wings. He groaned as he did so, and stepped politely aside so Aneurin could land. “Excellent deductions, Aneurin, and worthy of a dragon spy. I’ll nominate you to replace me at court, since you’ll be there anyway when Jack is crowned.”

  “Crowned my ass.” Jack jumped down to Aneurin’s foreleg and thence to the ground, as effortlessly as a dragonrider of legend. “I don’t want to be king. Come on, scaly butts. Transform so we can get you into these fur-lined cloaks.”

  Aneurin transformed quickly and practically fell into the cloak his mate held for him. “There is something to be said for being a mammal, and I mean besides a hairless ape’s opposable thumb.”

  Shivering enough to make his bones rattle, Quenton managed a change with difficulty, but Remo was there waiting with his cloak. All Quenton could do was keep his teeth from breaking with the force of the chattering they did. “Shouldn’t we be qui
et?”

  His darling Elf wrapped him tighter in the cloak and fed him a sip of warm tea from a small skin. All he could see of him were those grass green eyes and the tip of his nose in his own furs, but he could hear the amusement in his voice. “Why bother? They know we’re coming.”

  A light flared from deep within the cavern, arresting their attention.

  Jack sighed and tucked his wand up his sleeve. “Yep, they sure do, and we’re already in deep shit.”

  Chapter Eight

  Remo opened his mouth, intent upon easing the prince’s fears and adding a word or two of caution to see what game the usurper played. The light gave warning that they were not only expected, but also awaited. Somehow Remo doubted they’d be served tea and canapés.

  Jack edged away from the light, and his half-smile was calculating. “Assume the worst and hope for the best, gentle folk.” He assumed a pleasant demeanor, but the crafty smile remained for an instant more. “Remember, since Cadell knows we’re coming, there’s no sense in hiding. He could have destroyed us at any time. After all, he’s the king. Therefore, he wants something. Our duty is to find out what it is he wants.”

  Aneurin studied the rocks above the cavern, but he nodded at each salient point. The gray stone rock and maw of the cavern did not look interesting in the slightest. If anything, the foreboding darkness cloaked everything in a depressing fog of sameness.

  Never let it be said Remo’s dragon love was slow to understand a warning. Quenton’s half-smile was as intelligent and full of guile as Jack’s, and they appeared as alike as brothers despite their myriad differences. Black and moss eyes glittered like dew in the morning, then went as innocent and sweet as a young fawn. Remo shivered to see the duplicity possible when humans and dragons decided the cause was worth skirting the edge of dishonor’s sharp blade. Humans could be so blithe about deception it amazed Remo still. Yet by his silence Remo gave consent, so he agreed once more to share the duplicity.