Dragon Mage

by Andre Norton

  “Nothing’s happening,” Kim said.

  Shilo tried harder. She felt like she was on fire, but put everything she had into it. Sweat beaded up all over her, and her chest felt like a furnace was being stoked deep inside.

  “Still nothing, Shilo.”

  She pictured the writing melting and the figures of the men-monsters fading. She imagined that all the ink or paint or whatever had been used feathered like watercolors in the rain. Then she felt Kim grabbing her around the waist as she started to wobble. The candle in her hand slipped, and she just barely managed to catch it. She steadied herself and changed the grip on the candle.

  “Can’t ruin the writing, can you?”

  Shilo shook her head.

  “But you can’t give up.”

  She wasn’t about to. Shilo had wanted out of Wisconsin, had wanted to be with her dad, didn’t want him dead—but she hadn’t wanted any of this. It would be easy to quit, to go back to the dragon’s cave as fast as her legs or the ox could take her, and tell Ulbanu that there was nothing she could do … now could she please go home?

  But in Babylon she’d managed to find at least one kind of courage—courage of the spirit, and that wasn’t letting her run. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kim take a whack at the base of an egg, using his hand in a chopping motion. He mouthed “Ow!” and grabbed at his fingers.

  He had the right idea to destroy the “bowls,” even if that meant killing the dragons inside.

  “Kim, listen down that tunnel. Let me know if you hear anything.” Please, please don’t let him hear anything.

  Kim hesitated a moment before going to the passage they’d not been down. He stood sideways so he could both see her and hear what might be going on in the unknown tunnel.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  Shilo felt the leathery smoothness of the egg, the top half slightly cooler than the bottom. Her fingertips registered the temperature, and she wondered if her magic enhanced the sensations. There had to be something about the eggs that wasn’t ready. Belzu-Mar said he had to retrieve the Old One, the sorcerer who fashioned demon bowls, and who, she suspected, had written the spells on these eggs. So maybe the sorcerer wasn’t quite finished.

  She stepped to the side of the largest egg on the end and craned her neck so that she could see behind it. Shilo didn’t know what to look for, as she really didn’t know anything about demon bowls. But she couldn’t see anything amiss.

  “Wait a minute.” She held the candle as far behind the eggs as she could. The two eggs in the middle were not wholly inscribed. The eggs on the end were painted with the images and mysterious symbols and letters all the way around, and halfway up. But the other two were not complete in the back. She came around to the front again, set her candle on the floor, and gingerly turned first one, and then the other, of the unfinished eggs. Then she picked up the candle again and held it close to an egg.

  “That’s why he had to go get the Old One. Maybe the Old One’s so old he wasn’t able to finish everything all at once. Or maybe he ran out of the funny paint.”

  The fingers of her free hand danced on the incomplete edges, and she felt her chest turn into a furnace again. She closed her eyes and pictured the ink feathering, and when she opened them, she saw that the ink was indeed running and the images of the half-men, half-monsters were fading, then disappearing. So while she hadn’t been able to affect the marks on the completed eggs, she could ruin the spells by focusing on the unfinished sections.

  She knew quite a bit of time was passing because the candle was burning shorter, the hot wax dripping across the back of her hand. It hurt, but she didn’t set the candle down—she didn’t want to waste a single moment. One egg erased, she started on the other incomplete spell.

  “I think I hear something,” Kim whispered. He’d set his candle down just inside the opening and blown it out, and he was standing off to the side now, so someone looking down the tunnel couldn’t see him. “Someone talking, I think. But I can’t make out what—”

  Shilo put a finger to her lips, then concentrated harder. She was soaking wet from sweating so much, and she was exhausted. Magic took a toll, she realized, wishing it was as easy as David Copperfield and the other celebrity magicians made it look. But theirs was not real magic. More and more of the images faded and melted, leaving a shine on the shell where they’d been.

  “I hear footsteps, Shilo.”

  Panicking, she motioned for him to join her, and then whispered in his ear, her words a hurried buzz. “I know I told you not to run off ever again, but I’m taking that back. That tunnel Belzu-Mar was leading us down, well, he said that it went to the outside. And I don’t think he was lying.” She picked up one of the eggs she’d erased and held it out to him. His arms couldn’t quite encircle it.

  “Kinda heavy,” he said, looking around the side. “But I can manage.”

  She wedged her candle between his hand and the shell so he’d be able to see. The brazier gave her more than enough light in this room.

  “Take this egg outside?”

  “How about to just inside the way out?” She shook her head. “Does that make sense? Do you know what I mean?”

  “I ain’t stupid. You want me to leave it inside a doorway. Then come back for the other one, right?”

  She nodded. “Hurry, but be careful, Kim. Don’t drop it. Please, please, don’t drop it.” She glided to the passage and stood just to the side, listening intently. She heard Kim’s soft footfalls, and looked to see that he had left. She heard other footfalls, someone coming down the tunnel—two or three someones, from the sound of it. Her heart hammering wildly, she returned to the eggs, crouching at the end where the largest one was.

  She knew it wasn’t good cover, especially since someone would notice one of the eggs missing. But she couldn’t leave the eggs, and she couldn’t stop trying to use her magic. She ran her hands across the surface, deciding since she couldn’t affect the spell, maybe she could instead affect the egg itself.

  The lower half of the egg was hard, like wood, and she worried that if the spell had made it thus, there was nothing she could do about it. But after a moment, she felt the texture change slightly, becoming bumpy like a hen’s egg. She thumped it—definitely thinner. So while she couldn’t affect the writing, she could indeed affect the egg itself. How much thinner should she make it?

  Just a little, to be sure, to be safe, she decided. If the dragon hatched, it would break the bottom of the egg and ruin the bowl and hopefully any vile demon-summoning magic with it. She stretched a hand up and touched the top half of the egg, making it harder. She wanted to be doubly sure the bottom half would break. Shilo was about to take her hand away when a shriek cut through the air.

  She poked her head around the egg and saw the wide, angry eyes of Arshaka. She jumped to her feet, mouth working, but no words coming out. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Insolent worm.” Arshaka’s words were venomous, but they were soft and controlled. Shilo sensed he was ready to erupt.

  In a handful of strides he was on her, grabbing the front of her robe and lifting her, slamming her up against the dirt wall behind her. Still, his voice was low: “How dare you try to undo this? You’ve no cause for it. And you’ve no comprehension of what this is about.”

  Still she couldn’t speak, fear freezing her tongue. She didn’t blink, could scarcely breathe.

  He looked over his shoulder, at two men in gray skirts who had accompanied him. “Get the others. Go get them now.”

  They whirled on their sandaled feet and retreated down the corridor.

  “Where is the missing egg, Shilo?”

  She shrugged.

  “You’re responsible for its disappearance. Where is it?” Still a civil tone.

  In a moment there might be an army in here, Shilo thought. No doubt they’d bring chains and weapons, and might very possibly kill her.

  Wrinkles formed at the corners of Arshaka’s eyes and finally he spoke
, much louder: “I … said … where … is … the … egg?”

  Shilo heard a hissing sound, and realized it was his breath. Like a teapot left too long on the stove, he was starting to boil over.

  “The egg, worm! And what have you done with the spell on this one?” Arshaka was angry enough to order her death; she could see that in his dark, sparkling eyes. “Worm!”

  He shook her and thrust her against the wall again, striking the back of her head and making her dizzy. “I don’t need this, the eggs. I can have all of Babylon without this. But the spells, the dragons, the demons, will make all of it so much easier and more pleasant. What … have … you … done?”

  Somehow she found her voice. “I ruined your plans,” she said. “At least some of them.”

  “Some,” he admitted. He set her on her feet, but kept one hand wrapped around a fistful of her robe. He dragged her to the front of the nest. With his free hand he gestured to the two eggs with the intact spells. “But not all.”

  Please, please don’t let him discover I’ve weakened the big egg. Shilo wished Nidintulugal and her father were with her, then instantly changed that thought—bad enough that she was going to die because she’d challenged Arshaka. The priest and her father didn’t need to share her fate. She hoped Kim wasn’t coming back, and she prayed the boy could find his way to Ulbanu with one egg and then get home.

  “I’ve two eggs left, worm. Two spells to call the demons to start my blessed war. Demons from the egg will be stronger than ones summoned by mere bowls. They will grow and multiply upon their hatching. Glorious!” Spittle flecked at the corners of his lips. “You’ve not entirely undone me!” He spit at her.

  Shilo had never been spit at before, and had never been handled so badly. The back of her head hurt from when he’d shoved her against the wall, and all over she was feverish from using so much magic. Could she use her magic to hurt him in return?

  “I will kill you,” he hissed. He shook her one more time, then pushed her away so hard she flew back against the desk. The impact sent the items on it spilling and hurtling to the floor—vials of sand and ink, wooden beads that made a clacking sound like hard candies dropped on the floor of a movie theater, smaller eggs that shattered and spilled their yolks, and objects she couldn’t name fell.

  “Unless…” He stared down at her, hands clenching and unclenching so tight his knuckles had turned white. “Unless you cooperate, Southern girl … Shilo … I want to go back to Georgia. Not now, the eggs are too close to hatching. But when they’re done, and when the war has started. There are some things in Georgia, in America, that I want.”

  Machine guns. Shilo didn’t know why that thought instantly popped into her head. Grenades. Bombs. Nuclear weapons. He wanted modern weaponry—somehow she knew that, to help foster this war he was planning.

  “I can’t,” she said, forcing the words out. Her throat and mouth were so sore and hot.

  “Can’t … or won’t?” He loomed over her now, foot coming down on her robe, like he was pinning a bug.

  “Can’t. Only the dragon can send me back. And she’s certainly not going to send you back. You took her eggs!”

  He laughed, a chilling, deep sound that bounced off the floor and walls. It was like something she’d expect to hear in a horror movie, but this was so much worse because it was real.

  “Why do you need modern weapons?” Shilo pulled the warm air into her lungs. She was so uncomfortably hot. “If you have demons, why do you need weapons?”

  His eyes narrowed and he bent closer. She could smell his breath, fetid and making her gag. “Weapons and Kevlar, chemicals. Mostly chemicals, Shilo. Bottles of chemicals. Chemical warfare is far more effective than bullets, child. Think what my demons could accomplish by spreading chemicals across countries that resist me! I’ll slay the people and leave the blessed buildings intact. I’ll put those loyal to me in the buildings and cities!”

  “You’re insane,” Shilo said.

  The two men in gray skirts returned, followed by four more in similar dress, who dragged Nidintulugal and Sigmund. Shilo made a move to rise, but Arshaka planted a foot on her stomach.

  He spoke to her in English now. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind, Shilo, about finding your way back to Georgia.”

  “Don’t take him to Georgia! Don’t tell him how!” Sigmund called. He fought only feebly now, his energy sapped from struggling so much earlier. “He’s from Georgia, Shilo, and he forgot how to go back and—”

  Arshaka turned. “Shut your mouth, Sig, or I’ll crush your pretty friend.”

  Sigmund glared at Arshaka. “I should’ve never shown you that puzzle, Artie.”

  Arshaka gave him a lethal look and applied a little pressure to Shilo’s stomach. She squirmed, grabbed his ankle, and tried to push him off.

  “The boy!” Arshaka sneered. “Him first.”

  The two men wrenched Sigmund’s arms up and behind him. The man with the knife pressed it against Nidintulugal’s side to keep him from struggling.

  “Stop,” Shilo said. “Please stop. Don’t hurt him.”

  Arshaka removed his foot. “Stay down, girl.”

  “Please don’t hurt him.” She didn’t move.

  “The boy will stay healthy if you cooperate.”

  “You can threaten him, threaten me,” she said. “But I can’t get back home without the dragon. That’s the truth.”

  Arshaka looked undecided for a moment. “You realize you’re worth nothing to me, either one of you, if you can’t take me home. We didn’t need a dragon to get home when we used the puzzle before. So you can’t possibly need a dragon now.”

  “He’s forgotten how to travel, Shilo. That’s why he needs us,” Sigmund cut in.

  Shilo gave Arshaka the coldest stare she could muster. So he had used the puzzle before, maybe was from Sigmund’s neighborhood, maybe had snuck into the old man’s house.

  Arshaka steepled his fingers under his chin. “You’d best remember, Shilo, Sigmund, how to travel, or you won’t be getting any older.” He brightened, smiling wide and warmly, and he rubbed his hands together. “These eggs are not far from hatching, and if the dragon whelps survive, they’ll be hungry.” He paused and stared at Shilo. “The demons most certainly will be hungry.”

  The Hand turned to the two men who’d originally accompanied him into the chamber. “The Old One should have arrived by now. He was to finish inscribing two eggs; now he must fully inscribe only one. Siighi, retrieve the Old One and Belzu-Mar. Perhaps they do not know the eggs are so close to hatching.”

  Arshaka watched the man grab up the unlit candle, light it at the brazier, and leave. Shilo sucked in a breath. He left the way Kim had with the egg; he’d discover the men trapped in the tub.

  “It’s so hot,” Shilo whispered. Arshaka alternately watched her and Sigmund now. She propped herself up against the leg of the desk, and with one hand grabbed the front of her robe and fluttered it, as if trying to cool herself. She was worried for Kim … and for Sigmund and Nidintulugal and for everyone if the demons arrived.

  “The heat is for the eggs,” Arshaka said. “And because the coming demons enjoy it warm.”

  “Of course demons would like it warm,” she whispered.

  Arshaka didn’t see her other hand snake forward and touch the hem of his robe, didn’t know she was working her magic.

  She thought about the clay in the other room that she’d hardened around the two captured men, and thought about the nuts she’d melted and the eggshell she’d made more brittle. She felt herself growing even warmer, and she held her breath and coaxed Arshaka’s clothes to become like steel and the hem of his long robe to meld with the dirt of the floor.

  “All of it steel,” she breathed.

  “What?” The Hand felt his clothes stiffen around him, and though he tried to back away from Shilo, he wasn’t fast enough.

  She concentrated harder, and within the passing of a few heartbeats Arshaka was effectively trapped. His right ar
m was bare, and so he could move it. He tried to turn his head, but the swath of yellow material held it like his neck was in a cast. He flailed his arm furiously.

  “Kill them!” he shouted. “The priest first! Make it hurt!”

  Only one of the men had a weapon, and this was the knife that had been taken from Nidintulugal. The man drew his arm back, then thrust it forward. But Nidintulugal reacted quickly. The priest dropped, his weight pulling at his captors and ruining the man’s aim.

  The knife found flesh, but the wrong target. The blade buried itself in the side of the other man. The grip on the priest loosened, and he extricated himself by springing up and jumping back.

  “Kill the boy!” Arshaka spat. “Break his neck!”

  30

  Bad Spells

  “No! Don’t hurt him! Don’t touch him!” Shilo screamed and pulled herself up on Arshaka’s immobile arm. “I’ll kill your beloved Hand if you touch that boy!”

  This made the two men holding Sigmund pause.

  Behind them, the man who’d been stabbed clutched at his side, blood spilling out from between his fingers. The other pulled the knife out and swung it again at Nidintulugal. This time the priest grabbed the man’s wrist and brought his knee up, cracking it against the man’s arm. The knife clattered to the floor. Nidintulugal kicked at the man, sending him away, and grabbed the knife.

  The man who’d been stabbed collapsed and stopped breathing.

  “Three of you left in here,” Shilo said. “If you want to keep living, and if you want the Hand to live, you’d best listen to me.”

  “To me!” Arshaka shouted. “You’ll listen to me! She won’t kill me, you fools. She’s just a girl. She’s—” His eyes widened.

  One of the eggs, the smaller one with the complete spell, started to crack.

  “Kill the boy!” Arshaka repeated. “Do it now, I say!”

  Nidintulugal rammed the knife into the back of one of the men holding Sigmund. He tried to pull the blade free, but it was wedged too tightly in a rib. Releasing the handle, the man fell, gasping and twitching. The priest turned to the other man holding Sigmund and grabbed him below the shoulders. He fought hard, and Nidintulugal could barely hold him.