The Dragon of Trelian

by Michelle Knudsen

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Don’t think of it as taking a hostage. Think of it as arresting him for questioning.”

  Meg’s parents looked at each other, considering. Maerlie still looked appalled. Calen guessed that the old Meg wouldn’t have been quite as enthusiastic about this idea. Surprisingly, it was Morgan who spoke next.

  “I think it’s the best option we have,” she said. “I don’t like it, either, but Sen Eva might hesitate to act against us if she knows we’re holding her son.”

  King Tormon nodded. “I am forced to agree,” he said. He turned to look at Calen. “That was good thinking, Calen, and I thank you for suggesting it.” Calen nodded, a little awed to have the king speak to him directly.

  “Now,” the king continued, “we must —”

  Calen felt it just before it happened, a subtle change in the air around them. Serek did as well; Calen saw his master’s head jerk up, his attention broken away from the diary at last, but too late, too late, too late. As before, Calen acted without thought, flinging out one hand in a protective gesture before him and pushing Meg behind him with the other. He was casting before he had even looked up to see the spell, and so by instinct and blind random impulse he thrust up some kind of shield, attempting to block whatever was coming. He tried to make it big enough to cover everyone, but he was too slow, or else she was too fast. His own hand had barely finished its desperate casting arc when Morgan, Maerlie, and the king and queen fell silently to the floor. And Serek — Serek stumbled, his own protective spell half-formed and failing before him. The mage shook his head, dazed. Calen lifted his gaze to meet the cold stare of Sen Eva Lichtendor, who stood just beyond the doorway at the top of the stairs. Then Wilem stepped into view behind her, his face grim and determined. Calen felt Meg clutch his shoulder painfully, but she did not say a word.

  So much for getting to Wilem first. Calen stole a glance at Serek. The mage had stopped shaking his head, which was good, but was still on the floor, which was less so. He must not have been able to fully block Sen Eva’s spell. A small, bitter part of Calen swelled up with pride and a mean sort of joy at the notion that he had been able to resist Sen Eva’s magic while his master had not. Calen did his best to ignore it. Despite what his selfish, secret heart might want to believe, he knew he wasn’t stronger or more skilled than Serek. Quicker, perhaps. Although even that probably wouldn’t be the case if not for Serek’s magically granted burst of energy at the bottom of the stairs. . . .

  Calen groaned inwardly at his incredible stupidity. The prideful little voice inside him fled into a shamed silence. Of course. Serek hadn’t exactly been operating at full power. He’d certainly had to use some magic to locate them, and although Calen didn’t know for certain how Serek had given him and Meg their strength back earlier, he suspected it had involved taking on some of that weakness himself. Calen felt as strong as he might have after a full night’s sleep, which could mean Serek was feeling as though he’d gone without a night’s sleep. Which hadn’t left him enough strength to counteract Sen Eva’s magic.

  Which left Meg and Calen completely on their own.

  Sen Eva stepped forward, though Calen noticed she was careful to stay far beyond arm’s reach. Wilem hovered protectively behind her. Calen could practically feel Meg’s hatred burning within her at Wilem’s approach.

  “You children have proved to be far more trouble than I ever would have imagined,” Sen Eva said mildly.

  “What have you done to my family?” Meg asked in a barely controlled voice.

  Sen Eva looked down at where the others lay unmoving. “Relax, Princess,” she said. “They merely sleep, to give me some time to decide what to do with them. And with you, of course.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Calen wasn’t fooled. She’d already made her decision about them, at least. But would she really dare to kill the king and queen and their two eldest daughters as well? How could she imagine she would ever get away with such a thing?

  “I hope you realize,” she went on, looking back at Meg, “that if you had not interfered, only one of your sisters would have had to die. Now . . . that may no longer be the case.”

  Before Meg could respond, Serek spoke quietly from the floor beside them. “Do you know what the Magistratum will do to you when they find you?”

  Sen Eva sneered with disdain. “Your Magistratum cannot touch me. I exist outside of their pointless laws and restrictions. How can you stand to allow yourself to be bound and hobbled by their decrees? There is so much more —” She checked the rising emotion in her voice, then went on more calmly. “The one whose laws I follow knows what true power is, and how foolish it is to pretend to be less than we are. Why should we not do all that our abilities allow us to?”

  “Do not dare to include yourself in our number,” Serek said coldly. “You know nothing of what it means to dedicate yourself to the magical arts.”

  All amusement vanished from Sen Eva’s face. “You are wrong, Mage Serek. I know better than anyone.”

  “She’s right,” Meg said suddenly. “Sen Eva has sacrificed many things to her magical studies, haven’t you, Sen Eva? Why, you’ve had to live this whole secret life, and then there’s the bowing and scraping before that creepy portal mage who’s been teaching you —”

  Sen Eva’s face was white. She took a step forward before she could stop herself. Be quie —” she began, but Meg continued right over her. Calen glanced at Wilem. He was looking at his mother with confusion, and what might be the beginnings of concern.

  “And there’s something else, something I’m forgetting.” Meg went on. “Oh, right. Your poor dead husband and son. You haven’t yet told Wilem the truth of that, have you?”

  “I know your father helped kill them,” Wilem said, but his eyes shifted between Meg and his mother with something less than certainty.

  “How do you know?” Meg asked him. “Because she told you? She never told you about her secret mentor, did she? Why not ask her what else she might be holding back?”

  “Be quiet!” Sen Eva screamed, raising her hands before her. Calen braced himself, hoping he could hold his shield against whatever she sent next. But before she could release her spell, Wilem put his hand on her arm, and all the strength and fury seemed to suddenly drain from her.

  “Mother,” he said softly, “is — is there more you have not told me?”

  An expression of such heartbreak passed over Sen Eva’s features then that for one moment Calen almost felt sorry for her. She turned and grasped Wilem’s hands between her own. “You were too young to understand at first,” she said earnestly. “That’s the only reason I didn’t tell you everything right away. But you’re right, you’re old enough now — I can see that. When we’re finished here, I will tell you the rest of it, every last thing — I promise. . . .”

  Wilem was shaking his head, slowly and with apparent regret. “Tell me now.”

  Sen Eva struggled with obvious effort to put some of her former authority back into her voice. “Don’t be foolish, Wilem. We must deal with our enemies before anything else.”

  Wilem said nothing. He looked desperately unhappy as he stood there, watching his mother’s face.

  Finally, she dropped her eyes and whispered, “It wasn’t my fault. I was still learning, you see. From the books. And I had been so careful. And Tymas knew, he knew he was not to disturb me while I was working. He ran in, burst through the door, and before I could even shout at him to stop, he had crossed the circle and — and —” She glanced up at Wilem’s frozen features, then quickly away again. “I was learning to open portals. But the books were vague, you see. I had to discover much by trying things out. And this particular day, the portal had opened on someplace I hadn’t seen before. When — when Tymas crossed the circle, he broke the protective spell and there was something — something alive. It took him. Before I could even scream, it grabbed him. Snapped — snapped his neck. Right there, while I watched.”

  Wilem swallowed, then asked with difficulty,
“And Father?”

  “He came chasing after Tymas. When he entered the room and saw what was happening . . . he threw himself after Tymas, trying to save him. It was already too late, but he just . . .” She paused but did not risk looking up again. “The portal closed after he went through. I spent years trying to find him. I searched relentlessly, opening doorway after doorway, certain that if I could just find the right one, I could get your father back. But then I found — someone else, instead. And he knew so much. So much more than even Devorlin had known. He was a true mage, not one of the spineless pack animals that call themselves mages today. They had exiled him, you see, because he refused to let them place limits on his power. And he promised to help me. He found your father; he showed me. He promised to return him to us.”

  And now she did look up, reaching out one hand toward Wilem’s shocked and horrified face. “He told me that with magic, all things are possible. He said he could bring back your brother as well.”

  Wilem jerked away from his mother’s touch as if burned. “My brother — my brother is dead.”

  Sen Eva shook her head, so eager to convince him that she could not see his revulsion. “But don’t you see? He doesn’t have to be. We can have him back, Wilem. Your brother. And your father. We can be a family again. That’s what all of this is for. A trade, of sorts. There were things my master needed me to do, and then, he promised —”

  Wilem backed away, his eyes bright with pain. “You lied to me.”

  “Only because I didn’t want you to share the burden of the truth, my love. And is a lie such a great crime compared to what we would have achieved?” Sen Eva’s voice was growing hard again, her pain slowly thickening into anger. “What harm in a lie, if it could bring your brother back?”

  “What harm?” Wilem whispered. “I was going to kill —” He looked over at Maerlie, still unconscious alongside her sister and parents. He shook his head again, as if trying to clear it of this new information. “Everything I’ve ever believed has been a lie. You said we were carrying out Father’s wishes. You said we were doing what he and the old king had wanted. Your secret magic, all the plans, you told me it was for the greater good. For Kragnir, and for Father’s memory, and for revenge . . . but there is nothing to take revenge for, is there?”

  He looked sick. “They didn’t kill Tymas. You did. But you made me hate them. You made me —” He shot an anguished look at Meg, then back at his mother. “You were going to make me a murderer. . . .”

  “Yes!” Sen Eva screamed at him. “Yes! And why not? What life is worth more than that of your own father? Your own brother?”

  Wilem seemed to have nothing left to say. He only stared at her, his grief and horror plain and undeniable. Sen Eva took one more faltering step toward her son. He recoiled with loathing, as if she were a poisonous snake about to strike.

  The motion seemed to wrench something out of her. She threw back her head and screamed, a wordless outpouring of rage and pain and loss.

  And from someplace far away — but oh, not far enough — something answered.

  Calen shuddered. He knew that sound. It called again, and this time it was closer.

  Sen Eva whirled, turning her back on her son and staring at Meg with eyes that seemed to glow with pure and powerful hatred. “You,” she said, advancing slowly toward them. “You have taken my second son from me.”

  “Mother, no —” Wilem began.

  Without even a glance in his direction, she reached back one hand and sent a burst of deep blue light at him. Wilem fell bonelessly to the floor.

  Calen watched, ready — oh, gods, he prayed he was ready — as the familiar red glow once more formed between Sen Eva’s slowly moving hands. She sent forth the spell, and it shattered against the shield he still held up firmly before him. Then she sent another. And another. He didn’t recognize most of them, and couldn’t spare the attention required to try; every shred of his concentration was channeled into maintaining the shield. Dark, swirling missiles of color came quickly, one after another, and slowly, very slowly, Calen felt his strength beginning to wane. His stupid little voice didn’t even try to convince him that he had the strength to outlast Sen Eva.

  He felt Meg press against his back, as if to help support him. Sen Eva smirked contemptuously at this and increased her barrage, continuing to mutter incantations with barely a pause for breath. And then, against his ear, he heard the slightest whisper of Meg’s voice. “Hold on,” she said. “Jakl is coming.”

  Sudden hope flared within him, swiftly tempered by fear and doubt as another of those soul-wrenching screams pierced the air. Jakl wasn’t the only one who was coming.

  “Sen Eva,” Meg called from behind him, her voice already stronger and deeper with the approach of her dragon. “Give over. What can you hope to accomplish? Even if you kill us all, no one will believe that Kragnir had anything to do with it. You will not get your war.”

  “Stupid child,” Sen Eva spat, still casting. “There is more than one way to keep countries at war. There are a hundred ways. A thousand!”

  “But will those other ways still please your master? Surely all this secret treachery was for a reason. Will open war through some other means still be enough to win you your rewards? You have enough blood on your hands. Let this go!”

  “No!” Sen Eva screamed, throwing renewed force into her spells. Calen staggered, and now Meg really was supporting him. “I will have my son returned to me! I will —” She broke off, words and magic both, staring at the sky behind them.

  Calen didn’t dare turn, but then the dragon’s shadow passed over them and Jakl circled around, drawing Sen Eva’s full attention. Calen couldn’t blame her.

  The dragon was magnificent. Terrible and terrifying and astoundingly beautiful. Surely he couldn’t be any bigger than he’d been the day before, but he seemed to fill the entire sky, his wings stretched out to full size, his long neck reared back as if to strike, his powerful jaws held wide to show his many, long, sharp teeth.

  Sen Eva turned slowly, keeping the dragon before her. She was recovering from her shock already and raised her hands to cast anew. With dismay, Calen noticed that she didn’t seem to be tiring in the least. He himself was nearly out of strength. He didn’t dare try to cast anything at her, even while her back was to him; he was afraid that if he let go of the shield, he wouldn’t be able to re-create it. Meg, on the other hand, was fairly glowing with power and energy. She stepped past him, no longer concerned about staying within his protective field, staring raptly up at Jakl with pride and love and joy plain upon her face. The dragon screamed in triumphant fury, and Meg screamed with him. Then her scream changed to one of horror as Sen Eva thrust her hands forward. Meg couldn’t see the poisonous red glow that came shooting forth, but she knew what Sen Eva was doing all the same.

  But the spell parted around Jakl without touching him. Calen exhaled in relief. Apparently what he had read about dragons being resistant to magic was not an exaggeration. Meg must have felt the resistance; she was laughing now, and Calen managed a shaky smile. Perhaps it was going to be all right after all.

  Sen Eva seemed temporarily at a loss. Then she looked at Meg, and back at the dragon. A terrible understanding came into her eyes, and she turned away from Jakl and raised her hands toward Meg once more.

  Meg froze. Calen lunged toward her, desperately willing his shield to grow large enough to enclose her. He knew Meg was only a few feet away from him, but the distance seemed so much greater than that, and he was moving so slowly — he felt as if he were trying to push his way through day-old pudding. Jakl screamed again, stretching his mouth open wide and sending forth a blast of hot air. Meg gasped in anticipation, and Sen Eva stumbled with the force of the dragon’s breath. So did Calen, falling back with a grunt beside Mage Serek on the cold stone. Serek seemed barely conscious, still fighting the effects of Sen Eva’s sleep spell. Sen Eva, no match for Calen in clumsiness, turned even as she caught herself, her own shield half formin
g before she realized what Calen had already seen, what Meg could feel too, judging from her fallen expression: it was only air. Jakl still didn’t have his fire.

  Sen Eva dropped her shield, laughing. “Children,” she said, almost fondly. “Even your dragon is only a child.” She was still smiling as she raised her hands toward Meg once more. Meg didn’t try to run. She stood and faced her enemy, tears of anger and frustration shining in her furious eyes. Calen knew he couldn’t get to her in time, but he tried anyway, pushing himself up and forward in an awkward, lumbering half-run, half-crouch. Jakl was turning in the sky, perhaps planning to launch himself at Sen Eva to kill with claws what he could not burn with fire, but there was no way he’d be in time, either. Sen Eva’s fingertips began to glow as the red power grew again between her hands.

  And then Wilem’s hand reached forward and grabbed his mother’s ankle, pulling her off balance. Her spell flew wide, passing harmlessly above Meg’s head.

  This time she did fall, and in her surprise she did not manage to thrust her hands out before her in time; one forearm slammed against the stone with a crack that made Calen wince. Her face whitened, but she did not cry out. Calen doubted she was even truly aware of the pain. She twisted around to stare at her son, whose fingers still gripped her left ankle. Most of his body lay motionless, not yet recovered from whatever Sen Eva had cast at him before.

  “No,” Wilem said, forcing the words with obvious physical effort. “Mother, I cannot allow it.”

  She opened her mouth but seemed unable to speak. Her eyes were wide with shock and grief and madness.

  Calen reached Meg at last. He grabbed her wrist, probably too hard, but he didn’t care; he wasn’t letting her out of range again. Sen Eva would remember them in a moment, he was sure.

  For now, however, she was still staring helplessly at Wilem. She began to raise her hands toward him, then winced and allowed her right arm to hang limply at her side. With her left she slowly pointed her shaking fingers at her son’s face.