Northern Storm ac-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

Of course, other wizards and their pupils had sought and gained Planir’s approval to compare their own deliberations with the dead Cloud Master’s recorded wisdom. Velindre scowled as she tried to put names to the faces who had trooped up and down past her door. She was paying the price for ignoring them now. No matter; she’d just have to make a list. Sitting at the empty table, she opened a drawer to find parchment inside and one of the steel-tipped reed pens Otrick had favoured, but when she flipped the brass top of the inkwell open, she found that the crystal vial offered only a stain of dried darkness. Lightning flashed and thunder followed, a crack as if the sky itself had split. Rain lashed the lofty tower, a buffeting wind howling at the tall windows where she had stood with Otrick, listening rapt as he revealed so many mysteries of the magic that they shared. The rascally old wizard’s reputation as the finest Cloud Master Hadrumal had seen in an age was no idle boast. Velindre gazed out of the window, lost in memory as the storm raged unheeded.

  Though there was the one crucial mystery he had never shared with her. Otrick had been able to summon dragons. Well, one dragon, at least—a creature of cloud and fury only loosely under his command. That much he had admitted to her in the warm intimacy of one chilly midnight, moonlight lancing through the snow falling slowly outside the narrow window to spill on the coverlet like the fall of her long golden hair on the pillow. She’d never seen it herself, but mages who had no reason to lie swore to it. Besides, Otrick had never lied to her. Now Dev had seen a dragon. Dev, who would lie black was white and fire was water if it would serve his purposes, which were rarely honourable and always self-interested. But she had seen it for herself, so that was hardly an issue. And this wasn’t one of those rare beasts glimpsed above the most distant northern peaks where not even the hardiest Mountain Men could claw out a living. This was a dragon born of fire threatening to set the Aldabreshin Archipelago ablaze.

  And Dev had been fighting mysterious wild mages down in the uncharted southern reaches of the Aldabreshin Archipelago. Did Planir know about this? Surely such news should have been brought before the Council of Hadrumal? Untamed magic was a threat to every mage, those in Hadrumal and those living less exalted lives among the mundane populace of the mainland. What would Kalion make of such news? What use would he make of such news, and the realisation that Planir had kept such a secret from the Council?

  The memory of the dragon’s burning eyes drove such thoughts of petty alliance and connivance out of her head. Had the dragon been summoned by some wild wizard, using whatever lore Otrick had kept such a close secret? How else could it have come there?

  Dev wanted to know how such a thing could be done.

  Why? To confront this mysterious mage with a dragon under his own command? Could he do it, if he had the lore? Was he strong enough in his wizardry to make such a challenge? Dev had certainly been talented, and supremely arrogant besides, when they’d both been apprentices in Hadrumal. What had he learned during his years of snooping around the Archipelago? What could he have discovered in realms where death was the penalty for using magic?

  Otrick had been able to summon dragons but he was dead and ashes in a funerary urn. Dev wanted to know how to summon dragons but he might very well be dead and food for the fishes of the southern seas. Who else was thinking about dragons, across the whole of wizardry? No one, not as far as Velindre knew.

  What if she rediscovered this lore? What if she learned how to summon a dragon and bend it to her will? More than that, what if she was the one who put paid to this wild magic coming up from the south, saving Hadrumal from a threat more destructive than any whirlwind? Wouldn’t that earn her a place on the Council as of right? Wouldn’t that make Planir choke on his choice of Rafrid for Cloud Master? Wouldn’t that silence the whispers behind hands raised in the libraries and the sniggers behind her back as she passed through the halls?

  So where was the lore? Velindre’s gaze slid to the door leading to Otrick’s spartan sleeping chamber. It wasn’t a memory of that winter night that spurred her to her feet but recollection of a distant summer. She had been revelling in the first maturity of her magic and in the flattering attention of Otrick, then in his prime and so different from the callow youths who were her fellow pupils. Walking slowly across the study, she pushed at the bedroom door.

  She had been asleep under a thin linen sheet, no coverlet necessary in the still heat that was slow to fade even in the late watches of the night. Something had woken her and she had found herself alone in the bed. Otrick had been sitting in the window seat, relaxed in his nakedness and absorbed in his writing. She had watched him for a few moments before falling asleep again. His hair had still been dark then, not yet faded to the icy grey of his latter years. Not that white hair had made him look any less piratical or diminished any of his appetites.

  Cross with herself, Velindre brushed aside such reminiscences and walked quickly to the window seat. She threw aside the long, flat cushion and tried to lift the planking beneath. After a sharp tug, the wood came free and she summoned a tongue of magelight to illuminate the hollow beneath. Small books bound in brown leather were stacked in piles ten deep. She reached for the topmost, then, changing her mind, delved deeper, down to the bottom of the hidey-hole.

  She stood up with her prize and crossed over to sit on the bare mattress of the bed, flicking through the pages to see Otrick’s familiar irrepressible scrawl, now sorely faded. The magelight blinked out at the snap of her fingers and reappeared to hang by her head, shining a fierce light on the open book. Returning to the beginning of the journal, Velindre began reading with steady concentration. Some considerable number of pages later, a note caught her eye.

  Dragons would appear from time to time among the crags of the Cape of Winds that is the last reach of southernmost Tormalin. No one knew where they came from. Few knew the secret of killing them. Those that did could live like kings for a year on the proceeds, if they ever brought the spoils back to a safe harbour. That’s what Azazir has been saying, anyway.

  Velindre turned the page and read on, oblivious to the storm tearing the clouds to rags and drenching the city beyond the windows with rain.

  Chapter Seven

  Is this my death? Burned to oblivion with magical fire? No one foresaw that for me.

  What does it mean for Chazen, for Daish, for all those of my blood? Will this portent be robbed of its force if no one knows the manner of my death?

  White light blinded him, searing through eyes screwed tight shut. Heat enveloped him, hotter than the murderous noon of the dry season’s height, menacing and oppressive. It was pressing in from all sides, through his armour, through the padded tunic beneath, to scald his skin with his own sweat. This can only be the start of the pain. How bad will it get before I am truly dead?

  He felt as light as ash blown on the wind. There was no hard deck beneath his feet, nor cold sea drowning him even as it quenched the all-consuming fire. Then Kheda found one sensation to puzzle him as he waited for the final agony. Whoever is holding my hand is going to break my fingers if they’re not careful.

  The light went out like a snuffed candle. Kheda’s legs buckled and he fell to his hands and knees, feeling soft leaf mould instead of deck planking. The smell of hot metal prompted confused recollection of a visit to Ulla Safar’s famous foundries. Raising a shaking hand to scrub the dizziness from his eyes, he burned his forearm on the breast of his hauberk, the sweat coating him hissing against the hot steel. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit.’ Dev’s profanity slowly penetrated Kheda’s bemusement.

  The warlord opened his eyes to see the wizard frantically unbuckling his sword belt. The steel of Dev’s hauberk was blued all across the front, like one Kheda recalled a novice warrior leaving incautiously close to a hot fire.

  He couldn’t help himself. Kheda laughed, but as he sat back on his heels, his own chain mail seared the back of his knees even through his trousers. He scrambled to his feet with a curse of his own as Dev began struggling out of his hauberk, doub
led over and shaking himself like a wet hound. ‘Let me help.’ Risala stretched out trembling hands towards Kheda, the blue of her eyes rimmed with white and her jaw clenched tight.

  No, it’s too hot.’ Kheda used the tail of his belt to push the leather back through the buckle, dark curves scored on the leather by the hot brass. Bending over, he shed the hauberk in one swift movement. It hit the ground with a rushing rattle and a faint charred smell. Kheda straightened up, panting, and ripped off his steaming under-tunic, the cotton blackened. The touch of the gentle breeze on his bare skin was both welcome and painful.

  How did we get here? Magic—it must have been. One more debt you owe Dev. One more taint to foul you.

  They were in a small clearing in the middle of a dense tangle of forest.

  No, don’t.’ He caught Risala’s hands as she moved to embrace him. ‘I’m burned. Are you?’ he asked urgently.

  No,’ she said with belated realisation.

  ‘You can thank your lucky stars you weren’t wearing any armour.’ Dev stood bare-chested like Kheda, holding well-muscled arms away from his sturdy body. ‘Curse it, this smarts.’

  Keeping hold of the hand that wore Shek Kul’s ring,

  Kheda kissed Risala’s fingers fervently. Better burned than dead.’

  ‘You’re the healer. Can you see any plant that will take the sting out of this?’ The wizard’s barbarian skin was distinctly paler where his clothes habitually protected him from the sun. His back and chest were an angry red just short of blistering.

  ‘Leatherspear, that’s what we need.’ Kheda looked around for pale-green spikes tipped with black among the clustering rustlenut saplings. He swallowed, his throat dry and rough. ‘And water.’

  ‘Where is it?’ Risala looked up, squinting through the tattered canopy of a spinefruit tree for a glimpse of the dragon. She was shaking faintly, her fingers still entwined with Kheda’s. ‘And where are we?’ Dev didn’t seem to hear them, eyes distant, face twisted with fury. ‘The bloody thing sank my boat, my AmigaV A furred vine coiling up the spinefmit tree burst into crimson flame.

  ‘Dev!’ Kheda said sharply.

  ‘I traded the length of the Archipelago in that boat for ten years and more,’ the wizard growled, looking up at the obstinately empty sky.

  The vine disintegrated in a flare of scarlet fire, leaving a black score wrapped around the tree.

  Kheda crossed the glade in a few rapid steps. ‘Dev!’

  ‘Cursed bloody worm!’ The black furrow in the grey bark began to smoulder, edges glowing golden.

  ‘Dev!’ Kheda slapped the wizard hard across the face, his hand ready to add a back-handed blow. ‘Get a grip on yourself!’

  ‘Before you set this place alight,’ Risala added harshly Dev blinked and the unreasoning rage faded from his eyes. ‘You obviously don’t know how dangerous it is to hit a wizard in a temper.’

  ‘I’m surprised you lasted ten years in these islands if that’s what happens when you lose your temper.’ Kheda nodded at the charred spinefruit tree.

  ‘A lot you know.’ Dev rubbed a hand over his bald head and winced.

  ‘Where are we?’ Risala moved to the edge of the clearing.

  ‘On the island where we first saw the dragon,’ Dev said heavily. ‘A wizard can only use magecraft to go somewhere he’s already been. I didn’t think there’d be anyone to see us here.’ His expression challenged them both.

  ‘You could hardly take us back to the residence, I suppose,’ Kheda acknowledged tersely. Appearing out of thin air in a blaze of magic would take some explaining. Would Itrac believe some obliging eccentricity of the dragon had thrown us home? Or would she just have you killed, for the sake of the domain, since you were so plainly suffused with sorcery, warlord or not, willing or not? ‘Someone will send a ship from the fleet to look for us, once we’re overdue . . Risala broke off, biting her lip. ‘But they’ll be looking for us in the wrong stretch of the sea.’

  ‘Which at least is a problem we can do something about,’ countered Dev, his anger still simmering. ‘Or would you rather have been burned to cinders by the dragon?’

  Kheda looked to the north, the sea hidden by the scrubby forest. ‘The fleet will have seen the dragon, I suppose, even though we were out of sight.’

  ‘Do you think they believed all that goose grease about you needing to take the omens around an empty horizon?’ wondered Dev.

  ‘It was the truth,’ retorted Kheda. ‘And I’ll continue to seek all the guidance I can in the earthly and heavenly compasses until you come up with something better with your magics and your barbarian friends.’ Though I saw no omen to give me any clue we were about to be attacked. Was the dragon already bearing down on us, corrupting the patterns of nature?

  ‘Well, I can get us back to the residence now.’ Dev rubbed his hands together and grinned. ‘If you can think of a likely spot where we can arrive unseen.’ He shifted his gaze to Risala. ‘And if you can come up with some tale to explain how we got there, mistress poet.’

  ‘This carrying us away with magic, that’s what you did before.’ The girl looked at the barbarian mage, frowning. When that wild mage found you and me spying on him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dev shrugged.

  ‘That was just you and me and not nearly so far as this,’ Risala said slowly. You couldn’t have kindled a candle after that. You were exhausted.’

  ‘But this time your magic’s getting away from you, Dev.’ Kheda gestured at the scarred spinefruit tree. ‘Here and before, when you tried scrying on the beach. What’s going on?’

  ‘We may not know much about wizards but we know you.’ Risala fixed the barbarian with a piercing stare.

  Dev opened his mouth and then shut it, as if he had changed his mind about what to say.

  We tell Aldabreshin children that someone who opens their mouth and then forgets what they were going to say was about to tell a lie. Does the same hold true for barbarians?

  Kheda pressed Risala’s hand against his thigh.

  ‘It’s the dragon,’ the wizard said finally. ‘It’s a magical creature. It has a magical aura. I drew on the beast’s own magic to get us here. I don’t think it even noticed.’ He grimaced, rubbing the back of one hand across his forehead. ‘I’ve got a heartache, but nothing worse than I’d deserve after a late night drinking white brandy. I’ve enough magic within me to cany us somewhere closer to the ships. How about that for an idea?’

  Kheda looked at Risala. ‘When he did this to you before, did you end up parboiled in your own sweat?’ She shook her head and he looked back at Dev. ‘Then why did it happen this time?’

  Dev looked at him for a long moment. Sable finches chattered insouciantly in the trees. ‘It’s like I said: the dragon has an aura. My magic got away from me with that much raw elemental fire filling the air. That’s the element I have an affinity with.’ He sounded more resigned than angry, then his voice strengthened with his usual cockiness. ‘And now, forewarned is forearmed. Believe me, keeping my hide whole as a wizard in the Archipelago has taught me more fine control of discreet magic than any mage of Hadrumal possesses. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It had better not,’ Kheda said stiffly. ‘If it does and you’re seen, you’ll be hunted till some mob has skinned you alive and nailed your hide to a pole. And I won’t be able to lift a finger to save you.’

  ‘Can’t we get off this island without magic?’ Risala walked a few paces away and looked from one side of the clearing to the other. ‘And come up with a story to explain where we went? The sooner the better.’ She glanced at Kheda. ‘Word of this dragon will fly around the islands faster than the beast itself. If rumour that you’re dead follows, your whole rule could be fatally undermined.’

  Kheda nodded grimly. ‘And if some courier dove takes that rumour beyond the domain, who knows who will chance the danger of these waters for the sake of claiming our pearl harvest..’

  Could Janne talk Sirket into sending Daish warriors?

&nbs
p; He resolutely set aside such worries. ‘We have to get back to the fleet. If they’ve seen the dragon, they’ll have fallen back to the rendezvous point on the far side of Dalao.’

  ‘Unless the dragon sank them, too,’ Dev inten-upted with a scowl.

  ‘We just have to hope the beast didn’t.’ Kheda sighed heavily.

  ‘That’s a wager we’ve no choice but to take,’ agreed Risala.

  ‘We can build a raft, but we’ve the current to cross.’ Kheda looked reluctantly at Dev. ‘Could you use your magic to save us from being swept away?’

  Never mind that,’ said Dev brutally. ‘We need to go hunting whatever wild mage summoned this dragon. You’ve no notion what a wizard could do with that amount of power to call on. He’ll take this domain away from you in a matter of days and there’ll be nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘But we killed all the wild mages,’ protested Risala with a touch of despair.

  ‘What if we only killed those who were strong enough to make a fight of it?’ countered Dev. ‘You saw how they fought among themselves, to the death. I reckon there was someone with the sense to keep his head down.’

  ‘Are you about to tell me you told me so?’ asked Kheda savagely. ‘That we should have killed all who were left and sooner than this?’

  Is this my fault, for turning my attention to rebuilding Chazen before we had fully reclaimed it?

  ‘A magebom with even the slightest power could have hidden himself from all your hunting parties.’ Dev waved the irrelevance away. ‘He probably hasn’t much power of his own, or we’d have seen him lead some fightback before now. But if he’s mastered this trick of summoning a dragon, that’s all he needs to change that. Drawing on the elements around them, that’s the basis of this wild wizardry, that’s why it’s so crude,’ he commented with contempt. ‘With a dragon’s aura at hand, he’s got all the power he could ever use. He can do pretty much anything he fancies.’

  ‘Only as long as he’s got some way to stop the dragon eating him,’ said Risala with faint hope. ‘How does he do that?’ Kheda looked warily at the barbarian mage.