A Dragon In the Palace

by William King

  A Dragon In The Palace

  Book Two of the Dragonbond Saga

  William King

  Typhon Press

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

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  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I did not trust Master Lucas. He looked like a priest and I had recently been given reason to be suspicious of our clergy. If the old man noticed, he gave no sign. He smiled, reached through the mosquito curtain draped around the four-poster bed, placed his fingertips against my wrist and counted. I did not sense any magic even though I knew he was a wizard.

  “You seem better today, lad,” he said after a few moments of mental arithmetic. “I think you’re almost fully recovered.”

  He sat down on a stool beside my bed. His blue eyes twinkled. His hair was almost as white as his teeth. He still had most of both though his face was lined and craggy. He glanced around the room, taking in the white-washed walls, the heavy wardrobe, and the elder signs on the walls before his eyes returned to me. He squinted for the shutters were drawn and the only source of light was the small magical sphere he had set hovering beside the bed before beginning his inspection.

  Responding, perhaps, to my dislike of the healer, my dragonling Red crawled beneath the covers then poked his head out and extended his long, forked tongue. It reminded me of what my little sister Yasmin used to do to me when she thought our mother was not looking.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, doing my insufficient best to keep sullenness from my voice. “When will I be able to leave this room?”

  He chuckled. “Soon.”

  There was a good facsimile of friendliness in his voice. I guessed this man was popular with his other patients. His smile widened as if he had just thought of something really amusing, but I caught a glint in his eyes, of malice perhaps, when he said, “After all, Inquisitor Franco wants to see you.”

  My heart sank. I had not liked the idea of talking to the Inquisition even before I became a sorcerer’s apprentice. And Mistress Iliana had warned me about staying out of their clutches during the brief time I had spent under her tutelage.

  The town storyteller back in Khorba had never dared imply that inquisitors were anything less than heroic or ever did anything but right. Still, listening to his tales, you somehow got the impression that it was best to avoid having their gaze fall upon you.

  Perhaps it had something to do with the burnings. I saw one once, of an old woman accused of being a witch. At the time I thought she must have deserved it; the rest of the crowd had screamed so loudly for her death. I could still remember the smell of roasting flesh.

  “Inquisitor Franco, sir?”

  If there had been any malice in his eye it vanished when he heard the concern in my voice. “There’s nothing to worry about, lad. He just wants to talk to you about what happened on the Old Road.”

  I doubted it would be so innocent. I was a student of sorcery. “I have done nothing wrong, sir.”

  He chuckled again. “You have done many things right and I’m sure that’s the way you will be treated. You saved the daughter of our noble Duke and he is suitably grateful. He will want to talk to you as soon as this regrettable business is out of the way.”

  His expression communicated that the regrettable business still must be dealt with first. I was not going to see the Duke before I talked to the inquisitor. That told me all I needed to know about priorities around the Palace. “When will I be able to speak to my mistress again, Master Lucas?”

  “After you have both talked with Frater Franco of the Inquisition.”

  So my mistress was caught up in this web too. It did not matter how jovial Master Lucas was and how little he thought this mattered. It was clear both Mistress Iliana and myself were going to have questions put to us by men prejudiced against us. None of this seemed to worry the healer. Of course, he was not the one who was going to be interrogated.

  “Really,” he said with just a hint of exasperation when he saw the way I looked at him. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  I wondered at the emphasis he put on the word you. Was it possible that I had nothing to worry about but Mistress Iliana did? Perhaps I was not the one that the inquisitors were after.

  “My mistress did nothing wrong.” The slight edge of panic in my voice told us both I was protesting too much. Master Lucas might have spent a lot of time cultivating an air of cheery confidence but he was not stupid. No mage who had lived as long as he amid the maze of court politics could be.

  “I know that, lad. You know that. Your mistress knows that. The Inquisition are fair. They just want to get to the bottom of this matter and see it does not happen again.”

  That was certainly a laudable goal. Assassins of the Crimson Brotherhood had come for the Duke’s only daughter. I had been in the right place at the right time to help prevent them from killing her. After that, my mistress and the Duke’s soldiers had slaughtered the would-be killers. It was a huge setback for whoever wanted Lady Alysia dead.

  I wondered why this matter needed so much investigation by the Inquisition. Surely any fool could see that what my mistress had done was right. It did not need their seal of approval.

  Or perhaps it did. Perhaps this was the church’s way of letting everybody know that mages were its business, politics too. Maybe the point of the exercise was to remind everybody of that. I kept these thoughts to myself. Over the past few days I had come to realise that Master Lucas was a devout man with connections deep inside the church hierarchy.

  Even the seeming simplicity of his white robe spoke of wealth. The cloth was light and cool-looking which was important in the heat. More important was the fact that it gleamed so brilliantly. Even in the Duke’s palace white clothing did not remain that way for long. It needed to be washed. Maintaining that pure appearance cost the labour of several servants and required many changes of garment.

  My mother had one dress she wore around the house and another she kept for attending church on Sunsdays. Her threadbare house dress was washed the mornings we attended service and left to dry in the baking sun until our return. She had owned it since before she was married. Master Lucas’s robes were not like that. I was never going to see him wearing anything tattered.

  “You’re looking very thoughtful,” the healer said. “And you’re staring very hard at my robe.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so white, sir.”

  “I looked the same way when I first saw Master Trent’s robes back when I was an apprentice,” Master Lucas sounded quite nostalgic. “I asked him why healers always wore white.”

  I expected him to tell me why and I was not disappointed.

  “It’s a sign of purity. Of our intentions. That the light bles
ses our work. Or so he said.”

  He noticed my sour look. “Really it is, but there are other reasons. The blood being one of them.”

  “White shows blood,” I said.

  “And you think there is no symbolism in that?”

  “Symbolism?”

  “Iliana is right. You are so sharp I forget how little education you have had.” He spoke of my mistress with familiarity, fondness and something I could not quite put my finger on, something not quite so positive. He was speaking almost to himself but I was quite sure he was aware I was listening.

  I was equally sure he wanted me to know that my mistress had spoken of me in this half-disparaging, half-complimentary way. I doubted he would have liked her to speak so about him in front of his apprentices, and I wondered at his reasons for doing it. He pulled his thoughts back from where they had been, “It’s when there is a meaning encoded in things by the image they present.”

  “Like the Duke’s banner.”

  “Yes. The Tower indicates the strength and enduring nature of his family and the Sun shows that the Holy Sun shines his approval on him.”

  I saw what he was getting at. “There’s a message for other people in it.”

  “And for him too.”

  “And what is the message of blood on white robes?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  This tactic of turning the question back on the questioner I recognised from my mistress’s teaching. I was not unwilling to play along though. “That conflict soils purity.”

  “Or that we healers deal with the blood spilled by the world.” He sounded tired when he said that. “Or, symbolism aside, it could simply be that we often need to boil the robes to get the blood out and coloured dyes run.”

  There always that mixture of practicality and poetry in the old man’s talk. In the few days he had been visiting me I had come to recognise it. It was as much part of his personality as Mistress Iliana’s distance and sarcasm were of hers.

  “Mistress Iliana says you have worked with Light, lad,” Master Lucas said. I thought about the way I had blinded Frater Xander. That had not been a good use of magic. My hand went instinctively to the wraithstone amulet at my chest.

  Master Lucas noticed that. “Take it out. We’re going to have to look at it anyway.”

  I tugged the wraithstone out from against my skin and inspected it in the soft glow of the healer’s magelight. Shadowy tendrils writhed within the smooth whiteness. It looked much as it had yesterday and the day before. It occurred to me that Master Lucas might be looking at it to see if I had been drawing on the Power. Any taint that might bring would be transferred to the stone.

  He turned it this way and that and seemed satisfied with what he saw. He dropped the stone and it swung down and hit my chest. Attracted by the glitter, Red scampered across the bedclothes and began tugging at the amulet. It took me a few moments to wrestle it from his jaws. He glared up at me as if I had robbed him of a special treat.

  Master Lucas frowned down at him. He extended his hand towards the dragonling but Red scuttled out of reach, scampering over the small hillocks made by my legs under the coverlets. “I don’t think your pet likes me.”

  “He’s like that with most people,” I lied.

  “It’s a most unusual thing to hand-hatch a dragonling.”

  “So my mistress told me, sir.”

  Master Lucas smiled but there was a note of rebuke in his voice. “Am I boring you, lad? The ramblings of the aged often have that effect on the young.”

  “Not at all, sir. I am just a little frustrated from being cooped up in these rooms, is all.”

  “I can understand that. There is a whole big city out there and you must be keen to see it. I know I was when I was fifteen summers old.”

  Frightened would have been a better description, but I nodded.

  “You’ll be out and about soon enough but for now you and I must make certain that you are fully recovered from your ordeal. You overdrew your power when you smote that assassin, and that can have terrible consequences for a mage.”

  Now he had my full attention, which I suspect was his intention. “I feel fine, sir.”

  “And you look fine, and I am almost certain that you are fine, but until I am absolutely sure of it, we must keep an eye on you. It would not do for you to suddenly collapse.”

  “Is that likely, sir?”

  He shook his head. “It is very unlikely but still we must be certain.”

  Something in his tone made me think that it was also a good excuse to keep me confined without telling the world I was a prisoner. I wondered if that was what was going on. I had not had any visitors for days, and there was this business with the Inquisition. I felt there was something I was not being told but I was not in a position to demand answers. I was a penniless servant boy at the court of the richest noble house in Umbrea.

  “Your dragonling is also a concern,” he said.

  “Red, sir?”

  “Your lives are linked now. I sense it when I am near you.”

  “You can sense it, sir? Mistress Iliana could not.”

  “Her talents lie in a different sphere from mine.”

  “You mean killing people?”

  He smiled. “You’re not the most diplomatic of youths, are you?”

  “So I have been told, by my mistress amongst other people.”

  “You should listen to her – she is a very knowledgeable woman.”

  Did I detect a note of disapproval when he mentioned the word woman? Was he one of those men who did not think that women were capable of working sorcery without being tainted by the Shadow? That could not be it. He would not have remained in the same place with a sorcerer as powerful as my mistress if he had thought that. Perhaps I was imagining things.

  “I do my best, sir,” I said.

  “She said you were sardonic also.”

  “I’ve always found my mistress to be a truthful woman.”

  He laughed as if amused greatly. “That she is. Also observant, as I could tell from our conversation, if I needed any further proof.”

  “I apologise if I have offended you, sir.” It was not in my best interests to antagonise this man. He was healing me and he obviously had connections with the Inquisition. I was letting my suspicion get the better of me and being cooped up in these rooms really was not helping.

  “You have not, lad. Believe me, I hear a lot worse things in the course of treating my patients. Sick people are often bad-tempered people.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I could not think of anything else to say.

  “Just focus your mind on getting better and keep an eye on your little friend there. I suspect he does not like being cooped up in this place either. I don’t think it would be good for him in the long run either. Dragonlings need to fly and he’s not going to be able to do much of that around here. Some people might use him for target practice.”

  “You mean the guards, sir?” I was shocked. I had not imagined anybody taking pot shots at Red. Anything bad that happened to him would probably also happen to me. Such was the nature of the bond between us. So Mistress Iliana had surmised and I had proof of it when he was stabbed and I felt his pain. I was astonished by how quickly he had healed. There was no sign of the cut now, for which I was grateful.

  “No. They are under orders not to do anything should they see a small red dragonling running around the Palace. It’s if he gets outside there might be problems. Sometimes dragonlings run off with chickens and our local farmers dislike them.”

  “I’ll try and keep him inside then, sir. Thank you for explaining this to me.”

  “You’re welcome, lad. And there’s no need to always be so polite – although it is a useful quality for a young man to have.”

  “Thank you for saying so, sir.”

  “Well, I’ve seen all I came to see. I can report to all of the people asking for you that you appear to be in rude health.”

  “People are asking for me, sir?
”

  “Mistress Iliana. Lady Alysia. A couple of the soldiers, young lads, one of them a foreigner. They are all showing an interest and that’s not to mention all of the courtiers who want to meet the boy who saved our Duke’s heir. You are quite well known around the court already. You have many admirers.”

  I could not help but hear a note of warning in his voice. Mistress Iliana had sounded the same way when she discussed the hangers on in the Ducal Palace. Maybe Master Lucas was trying to tell me the same thing in a different way. He seemed more gifted in diplomacy than my mistress.

  “Lady Alysia was asking for me?” She was the one I was really interested in knowing about.

  “It’s only natural. You saved her life. She is grateful.” I was hoping for a little more but it occurred to me that if there was this old man was not going to tell me, even if he was in a position to know, which seemed unlikely.

  “Please tell her and everyone else, of course, that I look forward to being able to talk to them soon.”

  “Of course, I will, lad. Now try and get some rest. You have a busy day tomorrow. You will talk to the Inquisitor.”

  “Tomorrow, sir?”

  “I think you’re well enough to be put to the question,” he said. He was smiling but I could not help but think that it was in poor taste. Putting someone to the question usually meant taking them to the torture chamber.

  “I hope not, sir. I mean being put to question.”

  “I could have phrased that better, but I was trying to make a joke. I must stop doing that. I am so rarely successful.”

  I did not know what to say. I felt like I was digging a pit here with every word. I hoped I had not offended him but I thought it was quite likely. And I wondered how he had really intended that joke to be taken. I detected more than a hint of cruelty beneath the physician’s polished surface. Affable as he appeared to be, I much preferred the company of Mistress Iliana.