by Thomas Locke
“Where are you, then?”
“Inside Port Royal,” Alembord said. “Crouched within the enemy’s shadow.”
“He is there?”
“We have seen nothing, save fear on every face,” Edlyn replied. “Come sunrise, we will know for certain one way or the other.”
Jaffar demanded, “How large is your army?”
“All such discussions must wait,” Bryna interrupted. “Our ally is growing impatient.”
She vanished, and when she returned once more, the entire room cried with shock. For there in the third mirror stood a dragon. Or part of one. He remained at some distance, but even so he could not fit his entire head into the frame. He shifted back and forth, inspecting them first with one eye then the other as he chattered.
Jaffar said, “The dragon greets you and is glad to see you are still alive. He was uncertain you would survive this long.”
Edlyn replied primly, “We are harder to kill than we may appear.”
“Let us hope our enemy feels the same way,” the dragon replied. “I greet you, Mistress of the Three Valleys orb. It is good this young one can rely upon your wisdom and guidance.”
Edlyn bowed low. “All my childhood dreams are now alive before my eyes, good sir.”
The dragon allowed Dally to introduce her company and offered gallant words to each in turn. When it was Alembord’s turn, the dragon said, “I am very glad to see you again, Captain, serving this company in their direst hour. You represent the finest of human virtues. Stalwart in the face of odds you understand better than all the others combined. Courageous when you have every reason to fear. Armed only with steel when you know the enemy can melt your weapons with a glance. Loyal to a queen who has no throne. Trusting the guidance of an untrained woman because others call her an adept. I salute you.”
Alembord bowed, his jaw clenched tight. “You do me great honor, lord.”
“When this is over, we must meet. Tell Hyam I said as much. Or the Elven queen.”
“I shall cherish that as a reward and honor both, my lord.”
The dragon then turned to Dally and announced, “I have uncovered spells ancient as the wind. I think they may help you in your quest.”
47
The day started with no real dawn at all. Dally had never before witnessed a storm off the sea. The tempest carried a powerful energy. Every breath filled her with a sense of possibility. Even while her mind remained caught by so many fears, her body was growing ready for the next step, the coming battle.
When she came downstairs, she found Connell and Edlyn crouched together at the long pantry table, their heads bent over a diagram Connell had drawn upon a scrap of parchment. Edlyn had pushed back the dark by lighting the kitchen’s every candle and lantern. Otherwise the downstairs rooms were silent and cold. Myron arrived next and used a puff of magic to start the kitchen fire. Dally found it comforting to go out into the rain and hunt about the empty chicken coop for a few forgotten eggs. There was so much danger imbedded in the coming hours, so many harsh choices. Collecting eggs was a very familiar task. It reminded her of how far she had come, from a lonely kitchen wench to a woman with purpose. And friends. And a future. Perhaps.
Dally returned to the kitchen and gave Myron the fourteen eggs, then Connell greeted her with another dose of the dragon’s elixir. When she had forced it down, he said, “You are looking much better.”
“I feel it.”
As he turned away, he added, “And more beautiful.”
Dally wished she knew what to say. How to respond to such an unexpected gift. But all she could do at that moment was smile.
Alembord came in while they were making tea and slicing bread. He shook the rain off his cloak and hung it by the fire. Edlyn handed him the first mug of tea and asked, “Did you find what you sought in your nighttime wanderings?”
“I did indeed.”
Edlyn glanced over to where Dally was laying out cheese and salami and great clay jars of pickled vegetables. “Then there is hope on this grim day.”
Dally wished she could share Edlyn’s optimism. She wished she could see beyond the coming assault to a time of safety and peace. But just then she found it necessary to retreat from their talk of strategy and attack and escape. She saw how fear tightened the young mages’ expressions and knew she probably looked the same.
Connell waved her over. “Come join us.”
She sat beside him and stared out the open rear door. She found it astonishing how a simple squall could erase the summer morning. The wind carried a wintry chill and the light was dismal. The empty rear yard only added to the sense of peril and dire endings.
“What a fine beast,” Connell murmured. The words drew Dally back around. Connell was slicing sausage with his knife and feeding every other bite to her unnamed wolfhound. “I have never seen such a mix of beauty and strength.”
Dally watched the man more than the dog. She saw Connell’s innate goodness and quiet strength.
Connell set down his knife and stroked the dog’s white streak. “They are ferocious, yes?”
“Norvin has seen one smaller than these bring down a full-grown bear.”
“Norvin is . . .”
“The mayor of Honor,” Dally said. “A good man. His dogs are known far and wide for their intelligence and their loyalty.”
Connell picked up his knife and sliced another piece and gave it to the dog. “I believe it.”
“Connell.” She took a breath. “This dog is yours.”
Dally had no idea others were listening until all movement ceased, all chatter.
He lifted his gaze. “Dally . . . are you sure?”
“I am. There is a rightness to this.”
Edlyn settled a hand upon Dally’s wrist. “There is indeed.”
After breakfast they entered the home’s deepest cellar and recharged their wands. Port Royal was located over a very strong juncture of power. As they worked, Edlyn described how the city had once been the capital of an empire where magic was a component of everyday life. Port Royal was supposedly not as old as Emporis, she explained, but after so many centuries it hardly mattered.
They set off soon after. They all wore their warrior mage uniforms beneath oilskin cloaks taken from the guard station. Alembord and his four guards carried the same long pikes as the city patrols. Myron handed traveling lanterns to his mages but did not light them. Those were for later.
They halted by the manor’s outer gates. Alembord surveyed the group and said quietly, “For Shona.”
“Queen of a realm soon to be released from shadows,” Myron said.
“Leader of a people she will help make free to hope again,” Connell said.
“Where magic is used to foster the people’s lives and futures, and release them from the unseen burden,” Edlyn said.
They waited then. Dally felt the fear clench her entire frame, but she knew she needed to add her voice to theirs. She managed, “Where the races of this world are united and at peace.”
Alembord unlocked the outer portal. He pointed his wolfhound over to Dally. She expected him to make a request then—to keep his animal safe, bring it back—and she dreaded hearing the words, for she had no intention of starting such a perilous day with a lie.
But Alembord merely said, “To your stations. Wait for our signal. Do your duty to the best of your ability. Then we gather at the meeting point. Now go.”
48
Dally walked with Connell and Edlyn. Nabu and Connell’s wolfhound padded ahead of them. Alembord’s and Edlyn’s dogs took up the rear. Dally found the odor of their wet, feral heat a comfort. Connell carried a long coil of rope, while Edlyn had a leather satchel containing food and the dragon’s elixir slung from her shoulder.
The curfew was still in place, so they kept to side streets as much as possible. Twice they spotted squads marching down the larger avenues. Which meant their timing was perfect, according to Edlyn. Soldiers weary from guarding a wet wall through an empty night
were being replaced by guards drawn from their warm, dry beds. There was always a bit of friction at the change of shifts, a few minutes of confusion and too many bodies crammed along a narrow passage. Some would be impatient, others reluctant, everybody cold and wet. Perfect.
When the inner keep came into view, Edlyn began searching for the house Alembord had identified. She quietly tested each doorknob in turn, then walked on to the next. Directly ahead of them loomed the wall of the inner keep. And beyond that, unseen from their vantage point, stood the royal treasury. Watch fires gleamed from the ramparts, their light ruddy and feeble against a dawn that refused to appear. Dally watched Edlyn try yet another door and listened to her heart beat as fast as the falling rain.
“Here,” Edlyn said, and shoved open the portal. “Inside.”
The front of the house was one large room, with a long counter running a few paces removed from the left wall. The chamber smelled of flour and old bread and disuse. Behind the counter rose a pair of huge baking ovens. The building was cold and dusty and dark. But at least it was dry.
Edlyn told Connell, “Alembord found stairs to a deep cellar in the back room. Go make sure we’re in the right building.”
Connell left and soon returned, bearing a battered pail that splashed as he walked. “The stairs are there. And a hand pump that still works.”
The waiting was not as difficult as Dally had imagined. Edlyn unpacked her sack and prepared a second breakfast. She said, “Dally, take the dragon’s elixir. Then we should eat.”
Connell watched Dally shudder her way through another dose, then handed her a ladle filled with fresh water. He told Edlyn, “I am far too frightened to eat anything myself.”
“Oh, hush your nonsense.” She passed him bread with cheese and sausage. “There is no telling when we might have another calm moment.”
“Did Alembord sleep at all?” Connell asked.
“A few hours, perhaps.” She gave Dally her portion. “Alembord is a warrior. He has been trained to go without sleep. And food. And the slightest hint of safety. And still be ready for battle.”
Dally asked between bites, “Did Alembord find another house for his team?”
“A private residence directly across the main avenue from your tower,” Edlyn replied. “It appears there are empty buildings everywhere in Port Royal. Another symptom of the realm’s diseased state.”
Edlyn handed around portions, which they fed to the dogs. Connell observed, “You sound almost happy.”
“My entire life has been spent under the enemy’s shadow,” Edlyn replied. “It is good to be taking the initiative.”
Dally asked, “Despite all the risks?”
Edlyn smiled as she fed a slice of sausage to Alembord’s wolfhound. “Your plan is a good one, lass. Never fear.”
“Our plan,” Dally corrected. “It’s yours as much as mine now. Maybe more.”
Edlyn stroked the dog’s silver fur. “Not long now.”
As they waited for the bells to announce the end of curfew and the changing of the guard, the rain abruptly intensified. Water began falling in an almost constant sheet. Dally opened the front door and stood watching the sight. Edlyn and Connell walked over and joined her. The rain fell so hard they could not see the buildings across the narrow lane.
“This is not a natural storm,” Connell said.
“No,” Edlyn agreed. “This is marvelous.”
Dally asked, “Do you think the dragon is behind this?”
“If so, you must hug him for me the next time you meet,” Edlyn replied.
Dally tried to imagine embracing a beast whose left eye was larger than she was. Then somewhere in the distance, a bell began to ring. And another. More and more bells tolled softly, almost lost to the rushing water. The sound was as feeble as the dawn light.
Edlyn said, “We should begin.”
49
The rear of the bakery was split into living quarters and a far larger workspace. Rain blanketed the barred rear window and drummed hard on the roof. The cellar door was where Alembord had said, thick and oak and bound by iron strips. As Edlyn lit her wand, Dally’s senses were filled with the fragrances of clove and cinnamon and mint. They descended into a cellar carved from bedrock. When Dally’s foot touched the stone floor, she felt as well as heard the drum of rushing water from below. Both the sound and the vibrations rising through her legs were much stronger here, inside this underground storeroom.
Then in the distance, louder than the bells and rain, they heard a rolling thunder.
Edlyn rubbed her hands together in undisguised glee.
Connell said, “Shouldn’t we . . .”
Edlyn held up her hand. Wait.
Dally stood there, panting in time with the dogs.
Then Edlyn said, “What do you hear?”
“Nothing,” Dally replied, for the sound of rushing water was gone now.
“Precisely,” Edlyn said. She shifted over to stand in the center of the cavern. “Dally, take the dogs and stand well back. Connell, apply your hottest flame to the floor.”
They bored a hole through the stone. Twice Dally offered to help, and both times Edlyn ordered her to stay back. The second time, Connell looked up long enough to grin and reply, “We’re after an opening, not a blast that might well take down the house.”
“Pay attention to your work,” Edlyn snapped, drawing him back around.
The floor glowed red-hot, turned molten, and fell into the depths below. Dally ordered the dogs to stay, stepped forward, and peered through the opening. The liquefied stone briefly illuminated a cavern broader and higher than the cellar, then hissed softly when it touched the distant floor and went out.
Edlyn paused long enough to tell Dally, “Go back upstairs. Check on everything, lock the front door as best you can, and shut the cellar door on your way back.”
The rain fell even harder now. It drummed upon the roof like a waterfall. In the distance, Dally heard faint screams and shouts.
When she returned to the cellar and reported, Edlyn said, “Do be sure to thank the dragon for us.”
“We’re ready,” Connell said. “Dally, come tell me if the dogs can survive such a drop.”
He turned the wand’s gemstone into a beacon, then directed the light down into the hole. Dally leaned over, the stone edge still hot through her wet shoes. “Yes.”
“Are you certain?” Connell’s head came down close to her own. “It looks very deep.”
Edlyn joined them and said, “I suppose we could rope their chests and lower them one by one.”
“There’s no need,” Dally said. Far below, trickles of water illuminated the stone floor. “I once watched a wolfhound jump down from the roof of the village hall.”
Connell straightened and said, “We’ll lower you first, then send the dogs down one at a time.”
The rope lashed to Dally’s waist ground softly as it slid over the hole’s rough edge. She could hear Connell and Edlyn huffing from the effort. She landed with a soft splash.
Edlyn said, “Draw your wand and speak the words I gave you. But softly, softly. We are simply after a little light. Then tell us what you see.”
She did so, then replied, “A huge empty tunnel that goes on forever in both directions.”
“Splendid,” Edlyn said. “Now call your dogs.”
Once the four wolfhounds were safely down inside the tunnel, Connell lowered Edlyn by himself, then anchored the rope and slid down. He splashed in the water puddled along the floor, then examined the tunnel. “Well.”
“Well indeed,” Edlyn agreed.
“I had suspected we’d all be dead by now.”
“You thought no such thing,” Edlyn chided, but in a good-natured tone. She paused as a scream echoed from far overhead, loud enough to be heard above the sound of falling rain.
“Not long now,” Connell said.
50
According to Edlyn, in the city’s earliest epoch, back when magic was considered a vital
component of everyday life, it was decided that a river flowing through the city’s heart ran the risk of flooding the streets. So the river was diverted underground. It was a feat of engineering skill and magical design, one that required dredging a lake outside the city walls, then burrowing a gigantic tunnel from one side of the city all the way to the sea. The tunnel was designed so as to flow directly beneath the inner keep, granting the palace a constant and unending supply of fresh water.
And then, over time, the tunnel and its history were forgotten by all but a few mages with access to the oldest of scrolls.
Alembord and Edlyn’s plan was devastatingly simple. Block the tunnel. Halt the flow of centuries. Grant Edlyn and Dally and Connell access to the royal treasury from the one direction no one might suspect—underground.
And by flooding the streets, they hoped to create enough havoc to escape.
Edlyn said, “All right, my dear. Time to try the dragon’s first spell.”
“Perhaps you should cast it,” Dally replied.
“Stuff and nonsense. The dragon made them a gift to you personally.”
“Dragon spells,” Connell said. “This conversation is drawn from my earliest legends.”
Dally said, “You heard the dragon same as me.”
“Actually, we only heard what you repeated to us,” Edlyn replied. “And that was intended as backup. We all know of your astonishing abilities with spellcraft.”
“I only know two spells.”
“Three,” Connell said, pointing to the light still streaming from her wand.
“Four. Let’s not forget your recharging of the wand. All of which you performed perfectly.” Edlyn held up her hand. “Listen carefully, my dear. Spell-casting is not merely a repetition of words. You draw the energy into what you speak. You weave the power into your words.”
Dally did not respond.
“I was Mistress of the hidden orb for thirty-two years. In all that time I have never seen an acolyte take to spells so naturally.”