Their lives were somehow linked. How? Why?
The vision faded. The future was an element he could glimpse but not know.
A shimmering crystal of power winked at him. (Now you are ready!)
All of Jack’s past, good memories as well as bad, returned to him. He winked back to the core of crystalline power tinged with blue around the edges and continued his journey.
Enhanced by the land, he pulled more power from the moon and the sun, growing beyond them to the stars and distant galaxies. He saw more planets circling their suns, felt more lives that would never touch his own in real time and space. He joined and became a part of all life and rejoiced in the fullness of being.
Gradually the crackle of a small campfire, the cool wind and his stiff back touched his awareness. He sank back into his body, refreshed and renewed.
Lanciar’s return was less graceful. His body jerked and slumped. He twisted his neck stiffly and stared numbly at Jack, mouth agape, eyes wide. “No wonder you were able to sense the rockfall before anyone else. If that is a sample of who you are, no wonder The Simeon sent me looking for you.”
“That’s . . . I never . . .” How could Jack explain that this was the first time he had expanded himself so far and so fully? “I saw the dragons. I know how to find them,” he said instead.
“I didn’t notice a dragon. I saw only a shimmering haze around everything and lines of blue crisscrossing beneath us.” Lanciar stared at the remnants of the fire, still stunned by his awesome experience.
“Beneath us?” Jack glared at Lanciar with magic-sharpened senses. “There is no power in SeLenicca. Every magician knows that.” So he hadn’t looked for it. Suspicion grew in Jack. The power dimmed within him in response to the negative emotion. He didn’t care. There was enough left in his body’s reserves.
“You saw it, too!” Lanciar protested. “Not all over like in the rest of the planet. Pockets of power, raw power that hasn’t been honed and fine-tuned by contact with magicians.”
“We can’t be in SeLenicca if there are ley lines. Where have you led us? We’ve twisted and changed direction often enough we could be in Hanassa for all I know.” Jack controlled the urge to throw a truth spell over his companion. He wanted to know the depth of Lanciar’s betrayal first.
“I swear to you, by the vision we both shared, that we are in SeLenicca. All you have to do is march to the other side of this pass and question the inhabitants of the village. They speak SeLenese. The men cut their beards square. The women braid their hair in four-strand plaits. This is SeLenicca!” Lanciar’s aura flared with blue truth. He believed what he said.
“Then something very strange is happening in your land.” Jack swallowed deeply while he organized his thoughts. “Nimbulan burned out all of the power in SeLenicca when he established the border three centuries ago. For three hundred years, none of the ley lines had begun to recover. Why would they now?”
“I hate this,” Darville whispered to himself.
“Think of it as cauterizing a wound,” Mikka whispered back at him. “If we do not cleanse the problem now, the poison will spread until all of Coronnan is diseased and crippled!”
“So fierce, my queen?” Darville kissed her hand, then placed it atop his forearm in preparation for their formal entrance into the lesser audience chamber.
“I enjoy trials and executions no more than you, beloved. Remember we seek justice not vengeance.”
He was grateful for the gentle pressure of her fingers against his own. She gave him the courage to mask his anger. Justice. He had to remember that.
Margit, Mikka’s maid, had detected an herbal combination in this morning’s porridge. A healthy woman who wasn’t pregnant wouldn’t notice anything more than a strange taste to the cereal. Mikka would have miscarried, possibly with dangerous hemorrhaging if she’d eaten it. No one else in the palace reported anything strange in their breakfast.
The Gnuls had to be neutralized now.
The major officials of the court bowed as the royal couple moved toward the thrones on the dais. Lord Andrall stood to the right of the thrones. Jonnias and the Marnaks to his right. Behind the senior lords, Fred and a cadre of Darville’s elite troops blocked any retreat through the back door. Another cadre had orders to move into position by the main entrance as soon as the royal couple passed through it.
No one smiled. No hands reached out with petitions. The mood of the court reflected the grimness of Darville’s purpose. The full court would not have been assembled so hastily except in a dire emergency.
“They all have to know what is happening to Coronnan. I can’t keep this private within the Council of Provinces,” he muttered to give himself the courage to face the assembly.
“The lords would hide the ugliness behind secrecy,” Mikka reminded him. “None of them have any concept of the reality or the consequences of their petty schemes and manipulations. You must force them to face this issue.”
“Bring in the evidence and the prisoner,” Darville commanded when he reached the dais.
The guards shifted position enough to allow a stoop-shouldered man of middle years wearing hand and foot manacles passage to the center of the chamber. Two grim-faced guards in palace green escorted him on either side. A ragged hole in the prisoner’s tunic, above his heart, revealed to all the place where his badge of office had once resided. Upon first examination of the man’s crimes, in the chill hours before dawn today, Darville had ripped the insignia away in disgust and despair.
“Where is the evidence?” Darville reminded his men.
The sergeant opened his mouth as if to protest. Darville scowled at him, daring him to disobey. The sergeant signaled to the privates waiting in the corridor.
Expressions carefully schooled, the foot soldiers carried a shrouded litter between them into the audience chamber. All around them, gently born men and women gasped in horror and withdrew from the stench of a three-day-old corpse. Escape from the grim proceedings was firmly blocked by battle-hardened men.
“You will all hear this prisoner’s tale.” Darville lifted his voice to parade-ground levels. “You will all witness my judgment.”
Grimly he whisked the sheet off the dead body for all to see the wreck of a once human face and form. Patches of skin had been burned away. Multiple stab wounds had ripped open his chest. Blood coated the open mouth where the tongue had been cut out and stuffed back in backward. One eye was missing.
The king covered the body once more before he lost control of the hot bile in his throat. From the sounds at the far end of the long room, others succumbed to their revulsion.
“State your name and your former office, prisoner.” Fred stepped forward and faced the man in chains.
“Caardack. I was senior magistrate of the city of Baria in the Province of Sauria,” he whispered, never lifting his eyes from his chains.
“Louder. Speak loud enough for all to hear.” Fred prodded the prisoner with a short club.
Caardack almost doubled over at the touch of Fred’s weapon. Evidence that he’d endured more than one beating since being taken prisoner. He repeated his statement a little louder.
“Tell your tale, simply and clearly. The entire court needs to know how far from law and order our people have fallen.” Darville sank onto his throne. Mikka placed her hand on his and squeezed gently. He had to endure this. For the good of the country, Caardack had to name his confederate in public. The court needed to see the perfidy of one of their own.
“I have been magistrate of Baria for twenty years,” Caardack said proudly. He stood a little taller and straighter as he leveled his eyes on the king. “Always I have striven to be fair and just and maintain the laws of my king and the Stargods.”
“Why, then, did you proclaim this man’s death an accident not worthy of further investigation?” Fred pointed to the corpse.
Caardack looked furtively around the chamber, keeping his mouth firmly shut.
“Tell us why, Caardack. I promi
sed you leniency only if you named those who ordered you to ignore death by torture. Illegal torture. Death perpetrated by a small cult of fanatics against a man in my employ!” Darville barely kept his voice below the level of a scream. He couldn’t let the court see him lose control. Not yet. Not until the true criminals were revealed once and for all.
“ ’Tisn’t a small cult anymore,” someone muttered to Darville’s right.
“Numbers of followers do not make the crime of murder acceptable, Lord Jonnias.” Darville stared directly at the man who had plagued him for years.
“I was told that the spy was executed lawfully,” Caardack defended himself. “I was also told to proclaim the death an accident so as not to panic the populace.”
“If ’twas a lawful execution, why wasn’t it carried out in public by the king’s order?” Fred threatened Caardack with the club once more.
“I do not question orders from the nobility.”
Gasps and murmurs rose through the court. Men and women eyed each other suspiciously. Mikka bowed her head in sadness.
“As magistrate you have the right to question anyone,” Lord Andrall said softly.
Caardack looked in fear at the four lords standing to the king’s right. “If I had questioned Lord Marnak, I would have died as hideously as did the king’s spy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lord Marnak the Elder protested. “Baria is in Sauria. I govern Hanic. What interest have I in your city?” He stepped backward, hand on his sword. Two guards grabbed his arms from behind. He struggled to free himself from their grasp. “Hands off me! I am an anointed lord. You may not touch me.”
“My orders supersede yours, Marnak.” Darville rose from his throne and stalked to stand in front of him. “Laws handed to us from the Stargods forbid taking a life without due course of trial. The dead man was under my protection.” On the day he died so hideously, the spy should have been fleeing Coronnan with Darville’s gold to save himself from the Gnostic Utilitarians he had infiltrated. “You had no right to bring him to trial without my consent, so you had him murdered.”
“He was a spy,” Marnak spat. “A filthy spy sent to betray the rightful worshipers of the Stargods. Keeping our temples pure of magic gives us the right to protect ourselves from such as he. And you!”
“Father, no,” Young Marnak backed away from the accused lord. His burn-scarred face took on a more horrible expression than usual. With no eyebrows or lashes left, his wide open eyes gave him a fishy look. “Our loyalty to the crown must never be questioned. Rejiia . . . my wife . . . ah . . .”
Hot anger narrowed Darville’s vision to the elder Marnak’s haughty face. The room and the gathered court faded from his awareness. His fingers itched to draw his sword and plunge it into the man’s wide body.
Control yourself. Mikka’s voice invaded his thoughts. Calm. Think quiet peace.
Visions of softly flowing water through woodlands. Calubra ferns swaying in the breeze. Shy wildflowers peeking out from shady glades.
“Lord Marnak the Elder, Governor of Hanic, I order your immediate arrest for the crime of murder. I will investigate charges of treason at the same time.”
“Not treason, Your Grace.” Lord Jonnias positioned himself between Darville and Marnak.
“Treason,” Darville repeated. “When Caardack’s full story is told at trial, all of Coronnan will know that the Gnostic Utilitarian cult seeks to set aside the dragon-blessed monarchy and the Council of Provinces. They want to set one of their own on the throne as absolute ruler of Coronnan. Since my ancestor, Darville I, ended the Great Wars of Disruption, the only person who can dissolve the Council of Provinces is a monarch consecrated by the dragons.” He turned and stared at the entire court. “All of you saw and acknowledged the dragon at my coronation.”
Shuffling feet and rustling fabric were the only sounds in the room. The story of a blue-tip dragon blessing Darville’s coronation had grown into a legend, sung in taverns and on street corners across the land. Most of the people in the chamber had witnessed the event.
“Does anyone question that an attempt to assassinate me or my family is treason?”
Eyes opened wide with alarm and chins dropped as reality struck the members of the court. This was no game of gossip and intrigue for power and influence. Darville raised the question of murder of one of their own! By one of their own.
“We believe otherwise,” Marnak interjected. “ ’Tis treason to allow you and your witch-queen to rule. We must reestablish rightful government from the temple. The dragons have deserted Coronnan. The old laws protecting magicians are no longer valid.’
“What right have you to accuse my wife of witchcraft? What evidence do you produce to back your claim?” A pulse pounded in Darville’s temple. Not once in nearly four years of marriage had Mikka thrown a spell. Yet the rumors persisted.
“Everyone knows she has bewitched you.”
“Everyone does not know that, Marnak. What everyone knows and the truth are rarely the same thing. I have had enough of rumors and whispers. There will be no more of them!” he bellowed, almost beyond control. “The next person to accuse the queen without evidence will follow you to the dungeons.”
He swallowed heavily and breathed deeply, praying for calm. When the red mist cleared from his eyes, he leveled his gaze upon Marnak once more. “Speak no more until the trial, Marnak, lest you condemn yourself without the benefit of trial.”
“I do not care for your petty justice, King Darville,” Marnak sneered. “I shall die a martyr.”
“Only if I let you die.”
Marnak paled. Jonnias swallowed repeatedly.
Darville heard the gasps of dismay from the crowd. He didn’t care if they believed him capable of the kind of torture his spy had endured. He wanted them to think about that horrible death and know revulsion against those who caused it.
“I promised Caardack a short term of prison and penance, instead of death, if he named the leaders of the Gnostic Utilitarians. I can offer you the same clemency, Marnak. But only if you tell us all who gives you orders.”
“I take my orders from the Stargods.”
“Perhaps you will tell us who you planned to raise up as ruler of Coronnan after my assassination?”
Marnak looked hastily toward Jonnias, then back to his king. Jonnias edged away, his skinny legs trembling.
“I have vowed to die before I reveal the identity of our sacred leader.” Marnak bowed his head in submission to his fate.
“What about you, Jonnias? Have you taken the same vow?” Darville drew his short sword as he whirled to face the other lord. He stopped the blade a hair’s breath from Jonnias’ convulsing throat. Two burly guards kept the man from retreating further.
“I know nothing of this,” Jonnias protested. His voice cracked with fear.
“Then you did not commission a new crown of gold and rubies from goldsmiths in Jhabb? Their ambassador thought you had. He also showed me a contract, written and signed by you, for ten thousand mercenaries to invade the capital city upon my death. They are to take orders from no one but you.”
Jonnias slumped.
“Are you the sacred leader of this cult, or do you take orders from someone else?”
Jonnias remained defiantly mute.
“Take them away,” Darville said. Sadness and relief dragged at his shoulders. He looked back to Mikka, still sitting quietly on her throne. A brief, sad smile touched one corner of her mouth.
“A formal trial against Marnak the Elder of Hanic and Jonnias of Sauria will begin at dawn. If they are found guilty, I will sentence them according to the law.” He knew he’d have to order their deaths.
Marnak was right; they would die martyrs. Without leaders within the Council of Provinces, the cult would fade for a while . . . until some other power-hungry fanatic rose among their ranks. Whoever truly directed the cult would not remain in secret isolation long.
“What about me, Your Grace? I had nothing to do with the conspi
racy.” Marnak the Younger tugged at Darville’s sleeve.
The king stared at the offending hand clutching the black silk of his shirt until the young lord removed it. “We will discuss your situation after the trial. If you are not guilty of aiding an attempt to put me aside in favor of Jonnias or any other potential leader, then you have nothing to fear.”
Marnak blanched and bowed as he stepped hastily away.
Chapter 21
Jaylor sat before a fire at the far edge of Brevelan’s clearing. Years before he had cast a summoning spell from this very spot. Then he had held a multicolored cat in his arms. Mica’s rhythmic purr had aided his concentration in guiding the tiny flame through the glass toward his mentor, Baamin, in the University of Magicians. Tonight he held a feisty tabby with a torn ear who was just a cat. No princess with magic in her soul had borrowed this cat body.
The purring tom dug his claws into Jaylor’s thigh, bringing him back to the important task of stroking fur in rhythm with his breathing.
Mica had often done the same when she had aided his spells. For all of her human intelligence, Mica had adapted to her cat body and instincts very well. Rosse, the cat who had inherited the princess’ body, hadn’t been quite so adaptable.
And now the two spirits were joined in Rossemikka’s human body.
He sighed, still missing Darville. The necessary silence between them had gone on much longer than either had expected. Margit’s reports of the king’s and queen’s daily activities didn’t feel the same as speaking directly with his best friend.
Enough speculation on the politics. Jaylor had news for his two journeymen. Yaakke was alive! The ball of witchlight had left a magic trace in the same direction Marcus and Robb had taken. He must contact the boys tonight, before they slipped around the armies guarding the pass and entered SeLenicca.
Jaylor had a feeling that his former apprentice was in trouble. Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent such an unorthodox message after three years of silence.
I am Yaakke and I am alive.
Alive but not well; not returning; not capable of sending a normal summons spell.
Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Page 85