by R. D. Henham
Jace decided that he’d jump on three. One. The rope wove up and down with the pressure of his legs. Two. Jace leaned into the bounce, aware that he would need every bit of thrust to make the revolutions. He had to have enough power to flip him four times in the air, but not so much that he didn’t land squarely on the rope once that last somersault was completed. Jace was ready. He’d practiced even more than his father, and he was lighter, younger, more agile. This was going to work, and he was going to be famous. More, his father’s name—the Pettier name—would once again be redeemed, and his father’s legacy would be secured!
Thr—
“Hold!” The voice cracked through the air like a whip. Jace’s foot slipped in shock, jolted up by the rope despite his sudden attempt to freeze. His concentration ruined, Jace felt everything tilt around him. The rope snapped beneath the balls of his feet, pitching sideways, cracking against his ankle as his leg twisted to the side. The world reeled, faces in the crowd blurring into a haze. Jace hurled one hand out to try and catch the wire as he fell past it, but the rough rope brushed against his fingertips.
Stupid! I was stupid to try. The thoughts exploded in his head with the sickening reel of sudden one-way flight. The image of his father lying on the floor beneath the rope, gasping for breath, his back broken, flashed into Jace’s mind. I wanted to make Dad proud, to redeem our name, to wipe away the fear … I was an idiot … an idiot …
A horrible, painful jerk shook Jace’s frame, and suddenly his fall slowed. He hovered above the ground, breeze rippling his hair as he floated softly back and forth like a feather. Jace squirmed around in the strange grip of magic as the ground swept nearer, drifting up to meet him. While upside down, he stared at the people in the highest bleachers, eye to eye with their screaming children. The crowd was on its feet—not quite for the reason he’d planned on getting them there—staring in shock and horror. Worver was standing in the aisle, frozen in amazement. Everyone gawked as a man in flowing white robes stepped over the wooden edge of the ring.
“Hold,” the man in white robes said again. “I am here to arrest that woman.” His finger jabbed out, focusing on Belen. She gasped, and two of the clowns nearby stepped forward as though to protect the delicate dancer. Jace watched it all as he slowly sailed down under the wizard’s power. “You should never have returned to Solamnia, Belen.”
“Arrest her? On what charge? Who are you?” Ringmaster Worver puffed up, settling his hat low against his brow. He stepped toward Belen, placing an arm around the dancer’s slim shoulders.
“My name is Mysos, of the White Robes of Palanthas. The charge is murder.” The wizard settled his arms over his chest and Jace hit the ground with an echoing thud.
CHAPTER TWO
ace wrung his chalked hands. Everything had gone wrong—his trick, now this. What was that White Robe doing, and who did he think he was? Jace glared at Mysos as the wizard walked among them, but Jace said nothing. Mysos’s dark eyes were as hard as flint chips. His robes had seemed white and clean under the spotlight, but now Jace could see that they were stained by travel.
Worver made the clowns escort the audience off the circus grounds—the people didn’t get their money back, of course, but everyone was given paper pinwheels for the children in order to apologize for cutting the show short. The expense was minimal, but the embarrassment was tremendous, and stress showed in every etched line of the ringmaster’s face. He shooed performers from his wagon with wide swipes of his top hat, thumping more than one when they moved too slowly out of the way. “Nothing to see here,” he snarled at them. “Get back to your tents and wagons. We’ve got another show tomorrow morning, and I’ll dock the pay of anyone who comes in late or unrehearsed!” His threats were enough to scatter most of them, but some, such as the enigmatic mesmerist with the strange eyes, were less impressed. Ebano simply pulled his silky purple robes tight about his shoulders and glared down the bridge of his dark nose at the shorter ringmaster.
Worver sighed at Ebano, pushing past with a mutter. “Useless old fool, can’t even speak a proper language. Hautos!” Worver called to the minotaur strongman. “Keep everyone away from the door.”
“Jace, come with me. I don’t want to go alone.” Belen didn’t let go of his arm, her eyes wide and frightened. Worver nodded subtly, eyes glancing from the boy to the wizard as if gauging how much Mysos would let the circus folk do.
Jace gulped, but nodded. He tried to straighten up and puff out his chest—he wouldn’t let anything hurt Belen—but under Ebano’s hawklike eyes, he deflated. What was an acrobat going to do against a White Robe of Palanthas? Do cartwheels for him? Also, he couldn’t stop looking at Belen. A murderer? Really? The idea was outrageous. Hautos stepped in front of the crowd, crossing his thick arms over his bull-like chest. The brass ring in his pierced nose twitched with eagerness. He clearly wanted to fight someone, and from what Jace knew of him, Hautos didn’t particularly care if it was Mysos or Ebano. The glaring minotaur didn’t like anyone who used magic—and he did his best to make sure everyone knew it.
Leaving Hautos and Ebano outside the wagon, Jace, Belen, Mysos and the ringmaster clambored inside, closing the door behind them.
Once inside, Worver’s carefully constructed facade fell instantly. He started fuming, steam practically rising out from under his head. Mysos, on the other hand, was coolly confident, keeping Belen always in his sight like a hawk that had spotted a rabbit. Jace stood awkwardly, mostly because Belen refused to let go of his arm. The glitter on her cheeks was smudged. “Don’t worry,” Jace whispered. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“Preposterous,” Worver was already saying before Mysos even had a chance to repeat the charges. “Belen hasn’t killed anyone.” Glowing eyes floated in the dusky light as the ringmaster’s strange pet followed him to the back of the wagon. It chattered and leaped from the floor to the desk to his shoulder, its tail twisting around its master’s arm as the odd, slick-furred beast scolded them all. “There there, Tsusu,” Worver soothed his pet. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, never you fear.” The creature chirruped and rubbed its head against his hand.
“Do you know this woman so well,” the White Robe rumbled, “that you would risk your circus, your livelihood, and the well-being of all those who work here—on her word?” When the ringmaster quailed, Mysos allowed himself a thin smile. “Let me tell you a story, ringmaster, about a small town of Solamnia not far from here. Angvale is only a few hours to the south, within the wood of Fairbranch. A quiet village. A peaceful folk.”
“Sounds like a nice place,” Jace muttered.
Mysos had good ears. He turned to face the young high-wire walker. “It was, until it was destroyed by a dragon.” Jace stopped dead in his mental tracks. Dragon? As in the War of the Lance? As in, fire in the sky and cities burning? That kind of dragon?
Worver’s top hat slipped between his fingers, thumping to the floor. His pet squeaked in surprise, dodging, then climbed up onto Worver’s shoulder. The ringmaster stammered, “Wait, wait. A dragon? There’s no dragon here! You said Belen—”
“Belen is a dragon. The dragon, in fact, that destroyed Angvale,” Mysos said.
Worver choked. Belen whitened. Jace thought he heard a snort of surprise from outside the door. Jace could hear Hautos shuffling just outside the door, his heavy hooves scraping on the wooden stairs. In a few breaths, everyone in the circus would know. The White Robe continued. “The dragon attacked without provocation and without warning. She was relentless. She was brutal. None within the village survived. The tale was told only by those who lived far outside the village and saw the dragon flying overhead.” Mysos stared at the quaking Belen and said, “Once the dragon murdered everyone in the village, she took human form in order to hide from her crimes, and fled Solamnia. But I set a spell that would tell me if that dragon ever set foot here again—and now she has. I have followed the trace of that spell here. It leads”—he stared down at her—“to you.”
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br /> Mysos turned his head, allowing Belen to escape his cold stare, and fixed his eyes on the ringmaster. “You will deliver Belen to me, Master Worver, or I will take her by force.”
“I didn’t do it!” Belen gasped. “I haven’t killed anyone!”
“But you admit you are that dragon?” Mysos was stern.
“I’m not a dragon!” Belen said, her muscles clenched. “At least, I don’t think … I don’t remember …” She fell silent, her gaze falling to the floor.
Wringing his hands, Worver moaned, “It can’t be true. You must understand, Belen is very well loved here. Why, I’ve practically taken the girl in as my daughter. She’s never shown any sign of ill temper or vice. We found Belen wandering in the woods to the south of here, during the circus’s last pass through this area—nearly five years ago, I believe it was. The poor young girl was confused—she had no memory of her past, her name, or what she was doing there. We took her in—”
“Very kind of you,” Mysos murmured satirically.
“… Offered her a warm bed, a safe haven. In return, she worked for the circus. First she performed odd jobs, but it became quickly clear that she had a great talent. Thanks to her, and the rest of my fine performers, our circus has gone from obscurity to … to … renowned!” Worver tugged at his coat nervously. “I don’t know if you saw her perform, my lord wizard, but Belen is an exceptional dancer, one of the best I’ve ever seen. She’s made the circus a great deal of money. She’s been sweet, gentle … honest …” Worver fumbled for words.
Mysos was impatient. “And you never once asked where she came from?”
Stiffening, Worver snapped, “We’re a circus, not a magistrate. A lot of people here have questionable pasts. More than a few of them are running from something. I don’t ask questions.”
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I do.” Mysos turned away from the ringmaster, evoking another hiss from Tsusu. The White Robe addressed Belen sharply. “Belen, do you deny that you are a dragon?”
“Don’t ask me—I don’t remember!” Belen answered. “The ringmaster is correct. I have no memory beyond when I first saw the circus. My first memory is of seeing circus tents through the trees and making my way toward them. I was wandering in the forest, wearing nothing but rags. I was hurt—my legs and arms were cut, torn by forest brush, we think. I know that I was upset, but I don’t remember why. There’s nothing before that.” Belen was standing firmly on widespread feet, but her legs were shaking and her hand still gripped Jace’s arm. She opened her mouth again to say more, but her voice failed, and she fell quiet, eyes blazing.
Jace couldn’t stand to see his friend so shaken. “Sir wizard,” he addressed the mage. “What proof do you have that Belen is responsible?” Mysos seemed to realize that Jace was in the room for the first time, taking in the boy’s brightly colored tights and wind-rumpled hair with a quick assessment. “She’s my friend, and she’s always been kind—to me, and to the people of the circus. We can’t just let her go with you unless we’re sure you speak the truth.”
When the wizard spoke, his voice was somewhat kinder. “You’re the tightrope walker, Jace Pettier, aren’t you?” Jace nodded, surprised that the wizard knew his name. “I was a fan of your father’s when I was a child. His death was a very great tragedy, son. You have my sympathies.” Jace blinked at the unexpected kindness, surprised to see a bit of humanity beneath the White Robe’s stony demeanor.
“My spell used these to track the dragon.” Mysos reached into a pouch at his side, drawing forth three shining objects that Jace thought at first were silver coins. Mysos placed them in Jace’s hands. They were lighter than money—thin and supple, with the texture and resilience of leather, not metal. “These are dragon scales. They were collected at the village, and they belonged to the silver dragon that attacked Angvale. I took them from the ruins of the buildings that were destroyed, where the dragon had scraped herself on the rubble. On that day, five years ago, I cast a spell on these scales to help me find the dragon, but she had passed beyond the scope of my magic. A few days ago, the tracking spell began to work again. Watch.”
The wizard moved one hand through the air above the scales, and a soft white light emanated from them. A pale, greenish smoke rose from the three silver crescents, hovering in the air before drifting directly toward Belen. Jace stepped back and forth, holding the scales in his palm. No matter where he moved them, the smoke continued to drift toward the young woman. “They began to smoke when she re-entered Solamnia,” Mysos explained. “I simply followed the direction of the magical compass until I arrived here. While she was performing, I walked around the edge of the stage. I’m quite certain the trail leads toward your friend.”
Belen made a soft noise, her attention focused on the scales. “But if I was really a dragon,” she whispered, “wouldn’t I remember?”
“Shock, most likely.” Mysos’s voice was hard again, but not as angry as it had sounded before. “These scales are silver, as was the dragon that shed them. Such dragons, metallic dragons, are creatures of good. For one to perform such a horrible act of vengeance and cruelty is entirely against their character. Nevertheless, this dragon performed a horrible, villainous act. Villagers on the outskirts of town saw the silver dragon sweep through the trees, attack buildings with its claws, and rip the village apart. Only a few escaped with their lives. The rest … were lost.
“I myself saw the cold, snowy traces of a silver dragon’s breath in the wreckage, and the unmistakable marks of dragon claws in the ground. If any other dragon had been in the area that day, those fleeing villagers would have seen it—there would have been some other mark.” Mysos spoke matter-of-factly, arms folded. “There was only one dragon, and the village was destroyed.”
“All … dead?” Belen whispered, her face paling. “Everyone in the village?”
“Destroyed or eaten by the dragon,” Mysos answered. “Only a few who were far away, out in the forest, escaped. They said they saw a silver dragon swooping down over the trees toward the village.”
“That’s no proof at all!” Jace blurted out. “They didn’t actually see the dragon do anything. Even if it was Belen, she could have been there to fight some other evil. Belen, do you remember anything about this village? Anything at all?”
“I’m trying,” she said, squeezing his hand. “There’s nothing but darkness. I can’t remember.” She looked up at him, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t imagine destroying an entire village, killing all those people, even if I had the power to do so. It just doesn’t feel right. I wouldn’t hurt anyone, Jace. If it was me, I must have had a reason. I must have been tricked, or under the power of some evil magic.”
On Worver’s shoulder, the slick-furred gray animal crooned. “There, there, dear,” Worver said, patting Belen’s hand. “I believe you. These charges sound completely ridiculous.” Belen grasped Worver’s hand, and the pudgy man smiled beneath his thick handlebar mustache. “We’re not going to let you go without a fight, my dear girl, I can grant you that.” The ringmaster’s words were brave, but his eyes flicked to Mysos as if he expected the White Robe to take out a ruler and smack him across the back of his hand for such impudence.
Jace stepped forward. “Master Mysos? Since Belen’s been here, she’s been good to everyone. She helps with chores, goes out of her way to watch the children when other people are rehearsing, and she’s never so much as hurt a fly. You can’t arrest her when she doesn’t remember anything.”
“Oh, can’t I?” Mysos raised a thick eyebrow. “And why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be fair!” Jace argued. “You can’t have a trial if she can’t remember anything. Belen gets a chance to argue on her own behalf, right? If she can’t justify what happened or find witnesses to prove her story, then it’s just a sham. You said silver dragons don’t do this kind of thing. If someone forced her into it, or faked her attack, then they’re the real criminal.”
Mysos pondered this. “Well,
the circumstances are highly unusual. But still, I have proof these scales found at the ruined site belong to her. I have witnesses that place her at the village of Angvale on the day it was destroyed, and I have clear signs of a dragon attack on that village. That is enough proof for most judges to convict.”
“Not if she can’t argue her side,” Jace said quietly. “You said you respected my father. Then you must have known that he had a reputation as an honorable man. I ask you to trust my word as you would have trusted his. Give us a little time to help Belen remember what happened. We won’t run away or hide, but let us look for the truth.” Jace met Mysos’s eyes squarely. He tried not to bite his lip, hoping the White Robe’s dubious look would fade. “The circus isn’t supposed to leave this area for three days. Give me three days to help her remember.”
“And if I do?” The wizard raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Then I promise that I’ll go with you—willingly,” Belen offered. “If I really did what you claim and hurt all those people, then I should be judged for it. You won’t have any trouble with me.”
“No, Belen, really, I must insist.” Worver stood up, starting at the idea. “This man means to lock you away—or worse! I can’t allow it, no matter what the cost, my dear. You can’t leave the circus. It’s your home—we’re your family.” The ringmaster paced in front of them, clearly upset.
“Master Worver, it’s the only way.” Belen looked up at him. “You’ve been like a father to me for five years, but you can’t protect me from my past. Someone has to find out what happened. I’m going to go into those woods where I was found, seek out the village, and discover the truth.”
“My goodness, no! Let me ask Hautos to look into it. Find a priest to cast an augury.” The ringmaster floundered, mustache drooping. “You shouldn’t risk yourself. It’s very dangerous out there in those woods!”
“It has to be me,” Belen said in a very small voice. “It’s my history. If I am a dragon … well, who knows? Remembering that can’t be all bad, can it? And if I can help right this wrong, then it’s worth risking whatever danger is out there. Don’t worry, ringmaster. You’ve been so good to me, giving me a home here in the circus, helping me when I was hurt and lost. I won’t forget that, but I can’t ignore this either, nor let someone else look into it for me. This is something I have to do for myself.”