by Lena Austin
Jack gave Remo a somewhat weary smile and took the lead. He stepped into the cavern and directly into the path of the light seemingly without fear.
Aneurin lingered, gesturing courteously to urge Remo forward, and Remo then understood the game. The purpose was to learn what Cadell wanted and to let him think that they were fools who went willingly into the trap. Remo, with his youthful face and small stature, appeared no older than the human prince. That appearance had caused Remo much hardship upon occasion, but here it had a use. Also, Cadell hated dragons. By the dragons showing Jack and Remo honor, Cadell would assume them “tamed” and therefore docile. Perhaps that would be his biggest error, if he did not underestimate his son.
A long, well-hewn hall led them deep underground, though the height of the ceiling above was too great for dwarf mines. The sides and top of the hall were shored up like a mine, giving Remo great puzzlement. Who else but a dwarf or gnome would live and mine in this cold, forbidden climate? Then Remo saw the reason. The wall glittered with a tiny vein of platinum, too small to be worth digging out, even for a dragon.
His heart sank, and Remo noted that poor Quenton’s hand trembled as he too recognized the metal so essential to dragon breath. The humans mined out the rare platinum to deny young dragons the ability to use their breath weapons. Especially for the largest group of dragons, the fire-breathers, platinum provided the essential first spark that lit the air from a dragon’s body. Even those who breathed other deadly substances needed the impetus of a small fire spark to provide the explosive force to push the air far enough away from a dragon’s sensitive eyes.
Without fanfare, the cavern opened up into a great room, large enough to house several dragons and their riders without anyone feeling crowded. This would have been the room where the ore was sorted, for humans wasted nothing. At the far end, near a fireplace so large several humans could stand upright within, sat Cadell the Usurper. Ostentatiously, he even wore the royal crown of state, despite it being too small to fit well upon his head. It perched there, ludicrously small, like a bright hummingbird upon a gray boulder.
Cadell nodded his iron gray head, as if counting them off to make sure the whole of his guest list had arrived. He gestured to the six chairs arranged around his throne-like seat, offering them their choice. “Sit, sit, boys. I’m sure you have a thousand questions. Wine?”
A huge tray appeared, full of wines of every description and glasses to match every need. It hovered for a moment, and then settled upon a knee table placed precisely in the center of the conversation grouping.
Jack shrugged and sniffed bottles until he found something he liked. “Thanks, Dad. I figure you won’t bother to poison us. You could have done that at any time at school.” He poured some beverage that was honey brown and saluted the man in the throne with irreverent cheek.
“Oh, so you acknowledge the relationship? Good. I do not wish to waste time explaining who I am.” The king was perfectly at ease, and poured himself a wine the color of blueberries.
“Yeah, I know who you are. How’s the leg?” Jack sipped delicately, and poured Remo a glass of fine Elven fruit wine. “Here you go, Remo. Great stuff. Dad’s not skimping on the hospitality.”
Remo winced, for Jack had to know the king had a wooden leg and it was said he was sensitive about mentioning his deformity.
The king twitched his robes aside, revealing one hairy human shank, and an intricately carved wooden leg. “Well enough, and you’re insolent.”
Jack shrugged. “Hey, sorry for not falling in with your plans to be a blood sacrifice before I was a few hours old, pal. Not my idea of a good time.”
Quenton remained standing, coming to rest his arms at the top of his chair. His demeanor was that of a relaxed and lazy human noble, but his agitation vibrated along their bond like a plucked harp string, discordant and uncomfortable. Unnerved by the mining of essential platinum and feeling more than a bit trapped, both of them fed on each other’s fears and worries until Remo grew concerned that they would broadcast their distress to anyone with the ability to hear.
Cadell threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Is that what you’ve been told all these years as to why I tried to steal you? Well, no wonder!” He put up one hand, palm out, for a brief moment. “I admit to dabbling in blood magic, but I wouldn’t kill another intelligent being. Goes against the grain, thanks. No son, I stole you to save you.”
Jack’s eyes widened, and Aneurin, who had been lingering in the outer circle, stepped forward a pace. Remo gave credit to Jack for aplomb. He recovered quickly, and sipped his wine. “Save me from what?”
“Why, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I shall be disappointed in your intelligence.” Cadell’s right hand slapped the arm of his throne. “Damn it all, Jack, do you really wish to be a second-class citizen and stud stallion to a pile of spoiled sorceresses?”
This was not how Remo expected the conversation to go, and judging by the looks on his companions’ faces all were startled by this turn of events. Aneurin looked positively white, with the firelight creating an almost skeletal appearance to his thin features. A mirror above the mantle reflected Quenton’s face of stone, not even his eyes glittered as he held his secrets close to his heart and mind.
Jack, however, did not bother to hide his astonishment. His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. Remo did not recognize the language pouring from his lips, but the rasping tone conveyed his angry thoughts well enough. Then he seemed to gather his thoughts and spoke Honalean. “You have my attention now. Tell me, what was your scheme? Raising a newborn infant would not have been easy.”
Cadell settled back in his throne. “I wouldn’t have been alone.” Lady Tilda appeared from behind a tapestry, showing another mineshaft before the heavy drapery flipped back into place. “Tilda was quite willing to help me, weren’t you, my dear?”
“Of course, darling.” Tilda walked silently and gracefully to kneel on a cushion beside Cadell’s throne, and her smile was not pleasant. Today she wore a blue gown that matched her eyes, though one could not have called it modest. It was slit up both sides to show off long, excellent legs, and the deep plunge showed off far more of her spectacular figure than it covered. Most interestingly, around her neck was a leather band similar to what humans put around their hunting hounds, even down to the small silver loop in front for a leash. Most intriguing.
Jack took in her appearance, and one side of his lips quirked for an instant. “Forgive me if I’m glad you didn’t have to resort to such measures. While my childhood wasn’t perfect, it did have moments of glory.” His smile at Aneurin was full of love and perhaps full of hidden tales.
Aneurin stepped from the shadows beyond the circle of chairs to take his hand. “Yes, it turned out well enough.”
Oh, yes, there definitely was a story to be told. That much was now clear. Jack’s eyes were haunted, and Remo wondered what horrors a child could face in the mundane world. Still, he resolved to hold his peace.
Quenton shifted behind his chair and sent a warning of his role down their bond. He stepped to the side of his chair and arrogantly planted his buttocks on the arm of another. “Yes, yes, don’t get sloppy, Prince Jack. Can’t you see the king is not finished telling you his view of events past? I for one am most anxious to hear this. Please continue, Your Majesty.” Quenton leaned forward, seemingly avid to hear more, though Remo heard his one true burning question -- where was the Stone?
Cadell favored Quenton with a narrow-eyed glance, but accepted his love’s attention as his due. Could it be possible the King of humans had not discovered Quenton was a dragon in disguise? “Thank you, Lord Quenton. My scheme, as you put it, Mikalus -- my apologies, I understand you prefer to be called Jack -- was simple, if long in the execution. My whole purpose has been to prove by any means necessary that men are worthy to be equal to women, despite some obvious differences. To that end, I intended to raise you in my home where I ruled, not a woman. I did not care if you were to be a male
or female, though a female would have suited me better, I admit. I did not plan to lose my leg that night, nor that your mother would secret you in the mundane realm to hide you after my next attempt failed.”
At that moment, Remo was struck with the similarity between Jack and Cadell. While Cadell’s hair had turned to iron gray, it fell in the same soft waves as Jack’s dark brown. Moss green and brown eyes shot with gold stared back and forth like a mirror image, one young and strong, one old and bent with age. Both were still incredibly handsome despite Jack’s starveling appearance.
Lady Tilda sniffed. “What fool sends a five-year-old wizard with a dragon nursemaid who doesn’t speak the language or understand the culture into another world so ill-prepared? Your mother deserved to lose you.”
Jack’s hands fisted at his side. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Remo wondered he didn’t hear Jack’s teeth shatter. He took a deep breath and ground out a request. “I would prefer if you did not slander my mother, Lady Tilda.”
Lady Tilda settled back on her cushion and thrust out her chin defiantly.
Aneurin shook, on the verge of pure rage. “Same here. My mother did the best she could with what she had.”
At Aneurin’s growl, Lady Tilda seemed to shrink in on herself, cowed at last.
Remo had to speak, hoping to glean more tidbits from the Usurper. “So, you wanted to steal your son or daughter to raise them in an unreal state of equality? To what end? The noblewomen were not likely to decide upon the word of two wizards that all humans should be equal.”
“I think he hoped the oppressed male nobles and other wizards would join him in expressing the wish for a more egalitarian society. I cannot say I was looking forward to stud service as if I had no preferences of my own.” Quenton shrugged. “I do like to sport, but that is not all that I am.”
Remo swallowed a snicker at the double entendre, for he knew Quenton was his, heart and soul. No female of any race had ever caught Quenton’s eye despite their many blandishments. Those dark eyes were for Remo alone and had been for well over a hundred years. Not that he’d counted.
Now it was Cadell’s turn to snort. “Nor any man, I think. While we do enjoy our pleasures, we do think with more than our cocks. Well, I considered myself a fortunate man when I discovered the world your mother had deposited you into. Lo and behold, a place where men and women were nearly equal, with some allowances made for strength or individuality. I could have sung for joy.” The king sat back in his chair with a pleased smile upon his face.
“We elected to leave you in that dreary place, Jack.” Tilda settled herself upon her cushion and took Cadell’s hand. “By that point of course, Princess Miranda was under Cadell’s care, and -- forgive me -- she served our purposes better. You were there in case we needed you, safe and sound.”
Jack toyed with his wineglass without drinking, his eyes dark and moody. “Not exactly, but I can see you’d think so.” He put his wineglass down with a sharp crack on the knee table that sat between them. “So, your scheme was to raise up at least one or more examples of wizards and sorceresses who understood the idea of males being equal to females? Did you intend to put my sister on the throne as a puppet ruler with you calling the shots behind the curtain, telling her how to change the laws?”
Remo saw easily how the plan could have worked. With Princess Miranda thoroughly indoctrinated in the concept of equality for both genders, she would have been appalled at the way males were treated. She would have been happy to change the laws. Worse, if she had failed to materialize, Jack would have served despite his masculinity and inability to produce a female heir. Such things had happened before. No doubt a substitute could be found to father an heir.
Cadell pounded his hand down on the arm of his throne. “Yes, damn them all! How could so many innocent fools thwart me? Your mother and her dragon, and then all my careful plans unraveled before my eyes when Miranda disappeared with her nurse!” He whipped out a wand and entangled Remo in a web spell before Remo could stop him. “Where did you Elves take her?” What had Jack said earlier? The jig was up.
Chapter Nine
A creak of wood sliding against wood rasped so quietly Quenton almost missed the sound. Quenton froze, afraid to even duck or indicate in any way that he had noted that ominous telltale of an arrow about to be fired. But at whom was the arrow targeted?
Remo’s eyes widened slightly. He too had heard the rasp in the stunned silence that followed Cadell’s demand. He could barely breathe with the lash of power pinning his body to the chair, but he managed a calm answer. “I don’t know where she is, though I have my suspicions. Would you care to hear them?”
Quenton swallowed. Remo played a dangerous game to bait the madman, but now that his love had pointed out the obvious, Quenton, too, joined in. “What would you do with the princess if she were to appear, Usurper?”
Jack snorted. Quenton pitied him for a moment, since his human ears could not detect the arrow’s warning rasp. “Kind of obvious, isn’t it? He’d hope to still rule through my little sister. I think you’d have a shock coming, Pops.”
Aneurin glanced over at Quenton. His ears were sensitive enough, and he had the alarmed look of one who feared the worst. He took on the stiff look of one who girded himself for battle, and drew deep breaths. Quenton was grateful for the fire-breather, for his poisonous breath could not be easily controlled; however, dragon fire might be the very thing.
Cadell kept the charming aplomb that so marked him and his son, managing to remain handsome even while furious and confident of victory. “Of course I intend to suggest to Miranda what laws to repeal and replace. If she has been raised by barbaric Elves in a forest, she’ll have not one whit of knowledge on how to rule wisely and well. She’ll need a firm hand.”
Lady Tilda’s hand crept downward toward the base of the cushion where she knelt. Her skimpy costume did not allow for a place to hide a wand, but no doubt she’d stowed it beneath the cushion.
Quenton dared not move. He prayed with all his heart that the archer behind him was friend, not Royal Guard. There was no way to know with certainty. If Quenton used his breath, he’d kill friend as well as foe. If he changed to dragon, he still could not break his magical bonds unless he killed the Usurper and somehow managed to deal with Lady Tilda as well. One move toward his wand in his wrist sheath, and either the archer, Cadell, or Tilda would have him bound as well. Quenton trembled with the need to do something -- anything!
The twang of an arrow signaled the archer had made his or her decision. The arrow sang by his head and buried itself through Lady Tilda’s arm and into the wooden leg of the throne.
Tilda screeched in pain, distracting Cadell for that critical instant that makes all the difference in battles won or lost.
Both Aneurin and Quenton took the opportunity to dive to the floor and come up as their natural selves, dragons ready to rend, with magic-resistant scales and bonded loves to defend.
Jack snatched the wand from Cadell’s hand and snapped it across his knee. He wasted no time worrying about what happened to the pieces, but struck, one half of the wand still in his hand, his fist burying itself in Cadell’s soft stomach.
Cadell fell back into his throne, jarring it. Tilda screamed once and fainted.
Remo flexed his full Elf-mage strength and broke his bonds with the same snapping sound as the wand’s shattering. He shot out of his chair, both hands full of power, not bothering with a clumsy human wand. Now his will controlled a power such as the human could not understand, and the wood of Cadell’s chair sprouted new branches that grew to bind the usurper in place. One branch grew over his mouth and acted like a horse’s bridle, permitting him air, but not speech.
The fight had taken less than thirty heartbeats.
Quenton’s pride in his Elf swelled further at Remo’s calm demeanor. Moments before, Remo had been captured and threatened. Now he appeared calmly ready for a stroll in the woods.
Remo raised his head with a smile. �
��You’ve learned your lessons well, my daughter. Come forth and meet your brother and allies.”
“Daughter?” Jack’s jaw fell open. “Um, I thought you… er, that is…” He looked at Quenton, confused, as if to ask, “But I thought he loved you?”
“Adopted daughter.” Princess Miranda stepped out from behind a pillar, her gray mottled tunic and trews and dirty face in no way hiding the moss green and gold eyes that were Cadell’s heritage, though her short hair was the bright gold of her mother’s. Even if Quenton were not inclined to such things, he could not help but notice Miranda had a most spectacular figure. Her bow was easily as large as most male Elves carried, and the muscles of her arms verified she could pull it.
Aneurin returned to human form. “So you were the sound I heard in the rocks earlier.” He smiled and bowed. “Welcome home, Princess.”
Jack snickered but held up a conciliatory hand when Miranda frowned at him. “Forgive me. The thought has occurred to me that you don’t look like you’re going to let Cadell influence anyone, much less you.”
Miranda turned a steely glance upon Cadell and snorted. “Not likely, or I’ll have him gagged. Your regency ended several years ago, Father. It just didn’t suit me to come back. I was happy living with the Elves, and I wouldn’t call any race barbaric when they have a written historical library that spans many thousands of years.”
Cadell recoiled at her sneer, but his speech remained unintelligible. His fingers drummed on his throne in a staccato beat.