The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1

by Irene Radford

  Having a friend was almost as good as having Lukan at his side, sharing much of the same activities as at home. He’d never had a friend before, didn’t need one with Lukan around.

  Glenndon had observed the shifting loyalties, agreements, and disagreements. Lukan would have noticed them first and made a joke about it. Glenndon thought he knew who sided with whom, who stood by the king even if they disagreed with him, and who would never agree to anything the king said. Lukan would have known instinctively.

  But were any of the conflicting loyalties strong enough to trace back to the assassination attempts upon King Darville? Would Glenndon be able to spot the next one before it happened? Because where there was one attempt, surely there would be another and another, until the murderer was either caught or successful.

  S’murghit! He needed Lukan here, now, to help him observe and figure it all out.

  CHAPTER 28

  I WARNED MY LOVELY that this day would come. She did not listen. She likes to think she controls me. But today she agreed. We send no more eggs to the far reaches of Coronnan. We will leave one small tangle of the newly hatched at the base of the mountain pass near Lake Apor to harass the army gathering there. The others must remain close to the city with us.

  The hateful magicians have murdered too many. We can no longer rely on spreading terror around the land. We had hoped to send the peasantry into a panic when the king’s troops did not deliver them from this evil, and then they would flock to my army.

  Instead they have begun to hope the magicians will protect them, as they have for months now. They trust the magicians to save them.

  Filthy magicians. They are not trustworthy at all. Everyone should know not to trust a magician. They work in secret and follow their own plans for mastery of Coronnan, all the while bowing and smiling and letting fools think that magic and magicians are their servants.

  I will change that soon. I will keep the eggs and the hatchlings close at hand to assist my army. We will change the land back to a natural sere desert later, when we have conquered the city and the nobles.

  “Are you sure this is the right way?” Lucjemm asked, clinging to the rough stone wall supporting a spiral staircase.

  “Yes,” Linda replied, tripping lightly up the timeworn steps—a widdershins spiral, since the kings of Coronnan all the way back to the first one, Quinnault, had been left-handed. If under attack a king would have the advantage backing up the stairs with his off hand against the wall and his sword arm free to fight an opponent below. “P’pa pointed out this tower the day we came through the keep from the stables.”

  Now she understood why men wore trews. She found them much easier to move about in on this circuitous route. And the boots! So much better traction, warmth—even in high summer the stone walls radiated cold they’d absorbed during countless winters—and support on her feet. She needn’t fear stubbing her toes when she tripped over skirts. And she would trip if she’d worn skirts.

  This oldest part of the keep enticed her, even more than the belowground tunnels. Here she had just as many hidden places to explore, but above ground, and with the occasional window to peer out of to find landmarks and orientation. She paused by an arrow-slit opening halfway up the spiral. All she could see was the Bay. Lots and lots of Bay with no land between here and there. Ah, that meant they were in the East Tower, tall enough to shadow the few islands that lay between here and the port. They were on the right track. To the left, six steps up, should be an opening onto the roof of the servants’ quarters—a broad flat space used in the past to call dragons.

  Indigo scampered past her, not pausing as he rubbed his face against her leg. He stopped at the landing and issued something that was halfway between a normal cat’s meow and the growl of a much bigger animal. She flipped the latch on the wooden door and pushed it open for him. He bounded onto the platform and lifted his head into the constant wind off the Bay. His nose worked furiously gathering every scent.

  She pulled the door closed but didn’t latch it.

  The roof was here. That meant their destination should be only one more landing above that.

  The next step up was too shallow for her foot and tilted alarmingly to the right. She fell forward to grasp the next riser since there were no handholds anywhere; even the windowsill was shallow and too smooth for anything but bracing a longbow.

  Thank you, M’ma, for agreeing that for this adventure I needed to wear boy’s clothing.

  Lucjemm steadied her back as she righted herself. She flashed him a grateful smile. For a moment they stood staring at each other, not much caring how much time passed.

  Glenndon marched stolidly past them carrying a flickering torch. The few windows offered too little light in this enclosed space. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground, paying more attention to the stones beneath their feet than the route.

  “Glenndon?” she touched his arm slightly. “What do you see?”

  “No path.”

  A tangle of glowing blue lines appeared in her head. Then it disappeared and he replaced the image with the open top of the tower with its crenellated wall. From there he could see far and wide, seek out whatever those blue lines were. She shrugged, much as he did when at a loss for words.

  In the brief vision he caressed Indigo with a casual hand, the flywacket enhancing his search.

  He flashed a grin, teeth shining clean and white in the dim light. Then, he plodded on, eyes still on the ground.

  “This way.” She tugged on his sleeve. “We have to exit on this landing.” Hardly a landing, just an extra-wide step that barely accommodated both her feet at the same time. The boys, with their bigger feet, would have to balance precariously here.

  Glenndon looked puzzled, dragging his eyes away from the ground reluctantly. “No . . . door,” he said.

  “Not unless you know the secret.” She smiled hugely, happy to know something he didn’t.

  “I really don’t like this place,” Lucjemm said behind her, still standing on the step below her. “It’s enclosed, too old. The stairs twist the wrong way. Too mysterious. Who knows what kinds of poisonous spiders and lizards and things are hiding in the cracks and crevices? Perhaps we should go back for more torches. And weapons . . .”

  “P’pa said it was safe. So it’s safe,” Linda insisted. Boys! All muscle and brave talk in the arena with a sword in their hand. But give them an adventure and they became absolute gray scurries when confronting the unknown.

  She, on the other hand, was excited to explore the home of her ancestors, where they’d fought and died, loved and given birth, argued and stood fast for their beliefs.

  Grabbing the torch from Glenndon, she moved it, splaying light on the seemingly blank wall. The stone walls angled inward, and the steps grew shallower yet. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Glenndon and Lucjemm with their backs pressed hard against the outside wall. A window above them cast enough golden light to put them in deep shadow, barely visible even with a lit torch.

  Fading into the stones like dragons . . .

  The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight up. Flusterhen bumps popped out on her skin beneath her tunic sleeves.

  When she turned back to face the wall, she found a thin straight line where the stones should have been staggered.

  “See, it’s a dead end. We need to turn back,” Lucjemm said, already sliding downward, his back still against the wall. His boots fit better lengthwise on the narrow steps. But the deep indentation in the middle threw his balance off.

  Linda stretched her hand toward the wall, palm out, trying desperately to keep it from shaking, and hoping she remembered the detailed instructions P’pa had given her for opening the secret door. The lords had come here not too long ago. Surely where they trod, she could follow.

  “Breathe,” Glenndon whispered in her ear.


  “Easier said than done,” she muttered. Then she pressed her palm flat against the third stone from the left of the straight line, five stones above the floor.

  Nothing happened.

  “Left hand,” Lucjemm reminded her. “The king is left-handed.”

  “Right.” Linda switched hands and pressed again. Something ground and groaned, moving reluctantly.

  “Harder,” Lucjemm sighed. “You’re such a puny thing I doubt you could move a cobweb.”

  “Puny!” Just to show him she wasn’t, Linda applied all of her weight to the stone.

  The door pivoted inward. She stumbled after it, scraping her shoulder against the dressed stones that only looked rough and uneven.

  Magical illusion?

  A soft glow in the center blossomed like dawn sunlight, growing in intensity to fill all the available space of the huge room that took up nearly the entire tower interior (no wonder the stairs were so narrow). She saw little beyond row after row of freestanding stone shelves, reaching twice her height, lined up with only a narrow space between them. Books and scrolls, small caskets and large wooden boxes were jammed together in no seeming order. Except . . .

  Peering down one row after another, it looked like the back of the room had more order, and more cobwebs flowing in blankets around the books. The front of the room was a mess: fewer cobwebs, but less order.

  She thought she spotted a trapdoor in the ceiling, in the exact center of the circular room, but couldn’t be sure. The wooden planks were light-colored wood, reflecting the glow downward so that details eluded her. She imagined another whole story with nothing but records up there. A true treasure trove of information.

  Linda placed her torch into a wall bracket to the left of the door that sat solidly sideways, showing no inclination of moving again without aid. Good, they shouldn’t be trapped in here.

  Glenndon touched her shoulder and pointed to a path of scuffed footprints in the dust.

  “I see. But the lords who came here last were looking for maps. We need records of the Council meetings.”

  “Won’t they be near the door, the last things shoved in here?” Lucjemm asked. Curiosity seemed to have overcome his fears as he poked at stacks of scrolls resting on the nearest shelf.

  “Probably.” She turned her attention to examining a different set of scrolls three steps farther along than the ones Lucjemm stabbed at with a finger, as if poking a nest of desert snakes.

  “Labels,” Glenndon said. He picked at the edge of a shelf with his fingernail. A shower of impacted dirt fell to the floor revealing markings in the cleaner stone.

  “Of course, labels.” Lucjemm shook his head. “Our ancestors weren’t stupid. Devious sometimes, but not stupid.”

  Linda picked at her own shelf until she saw numerals. “This one is from the year before the Leaving. And the shelf below is from the end of the year before. I guess they started shelving at the bottom and worked upward until they ran out of room then started over at the bottom on the next row.” She looked upward. She’d need help to find anything near the top.

  Lucjemm followed her gaze upward. “If you sit on my shoulders, Your Highness, you should be able to reach the top.” He blushed in the golden light.

  “You needn’t be so formal in private! I whacked you on the bottom with the flat of my blade yesterday. Call me Linda.”

  “Yes, but, very well.” He knelt down beside her, bracing his hands on the edge of the shelf.

  She took a deep breath and swung one leg over his shoulder. Definitely not a place or time to wear skirts. Then bracing herself with her hands on the shelf she’d just examined, she swung the other leg over. When firmly settled, he heaved himself upward with a groan and a tilt.

  She squealed in alarm. He righted himself and steadied her by clutching her ankles.

  They both giggled in relief.

  “What do you see, Your . . . High . . . er . . . Linda,” he asked lightly.

  “Well, I am higher than I was.” She grinned at her pun.

  Her fingernails tore as she unmasked more numerals. Filth encrusted her cuticles and embedded deep beneath the quick. She kept looking.

  Lucjemm moved at her direction, occasionally tilting her just enough to make her grab his hair for balance. Then he yelped and righted himself. They both smiled at the game. She touched his hair gently, smoothing the strands she had displaced.

  A flitter of dark movement brushed the edge of her vision. She turned to find Indigo on the top shelf, casually inspecting her progress. He purred encouragement but offered no other help.

  “Oh, here’s the date.” She reached up to grab a thick tome bound in red leather right beneath Indigo’s extended paw.

  “Found it,” Glenndon said, brandishing a stack of loose pages as he peered at her over the top of the shelving unit from the other side. He reached over and extracted the red book for her. “Important too.”

  “How’d you get up there?” she asked in wonder.

  “Climbed.” His glance strayed to the possible trapdoor in the ceiling, and then downward where another might lay. They exchanged a look that promised another day they would explore those possibilities. With or without Lucjemm?

  Indigo leaped to the ground on Glenndon’s side of the shelves. He landed on top of the trapdoor with a hollow thud and began pawing at the boards, claws extended to scrape away accumulated dirt and reveal the outline and handle.

  Glenndon disappeared down the other side of the shelves.

  Linda heard his footsteps aim for the exit. Indigo followed him, not taking care to keep his paws silent on the wooden floor.

  “I suppose this means I have to put you down,” Lucjemm said. He sounded reluctant.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Or I could carry you back . . .” They both closed their eyes at the thought of tumbling down that long spiral staircase.

  “Put me down, please.”

  Slowly he crouched until his knees rested on the floor. Linda swung her legs free. Before she could steady her balance, he rose and grabbed her waist.

  They stood face-to-face, close enough to share a breath. Her mouth opened to say something, anything to break the wonderful, mesmerizing moment.

  He dropped his lips to hers. Gentle. Tentative.

  She savored the sensation. Warmth and excitement climbed upward from her belly until she had to close her eyes to keep dizziness at bay.

  Then the light around them faded and they heard the door grind on its pivot. “Leaving now,” Glenndon said around a chuckle. “Come now, or never!” His footsteps retreated rapidly down the stairs.

  Laughing, Lucjemm grabbed her hand, and they dashed to keep the door from closing, together.

  CHAPTER 29

  KING DARVILLE TOYED with aligning the parchment sheets on the black glass in front of him. He pointedly ignored the cup of beta arrack beside him. He’d fortified himself with strong liquor before coming to this meeting.

  Sunlight caught and danced prisms from the magnificent stained glass window above the ceremonial table. The Coraurlia in the center of the table reflected the colors around the circular room. The crown, the table, and the window were the most precious objects in all of Kardia Hodos; the glass could only be forged by dragon fire. No other flame blazed hot enough to burn out the impurities in the sand. Every man-made attempt at making glass resulted in cloudy shards so brittle it proved useless.

  Of late the dragons gave their assistance reluctantly. And then only in the presence of a trusted magician.

  The men seated around the table made a point of resisting the presence of any magician in Coronnan. If any of them knew that Darville’s son and heir possessed a magnificent magical talent, they ignored it. They found the stability of a confirmed male heir preferable to confronting and examinin
g their fears.

  If they knew the truth about what Glenndon had found in the archives, they’d . . . he didn’t know how they’d react. Not well, to say the least. The children had found more than he’d expected, exactly what he needed. Did he dare use it?

  He had to in order to bring disparate loyalties together.

  “My lords,” he opened the meeting of the Council of Provinces. “I have sent Prince Glenndon and Master Lucjemm into the archives.” He nodded to the two young men who sat back from the table on stools. They faced each other over a portable table with inkwells, spare quills, and other instruments necessary to a scribe.

  No need to tell the lords that the Princess Royale had accompanied them. They wouldn’t understand that she was more important to him than just a daughter. He expected she watched and listened from her spyhole behind him—with or without her ladies.

  “What were they searching for?” Lord Jemmarc asked casually. He leaned back, hands relaxed on the padded arms of his chair. His family crest, worked in fine needlepoint, looked brighter and newer against the time-darkened wood of his chair. He’d inherited his title and honors from Lord Krej less than twenty years before. Rather than perpetuate Krej’s disgrace, Jemmarc had chosen a new crest, depicting mountains and waves rather than mountains and an impregnable castle.

  Jemmarc seemed more relaxed than Darville had seen him since he’d dismissed his wife. Perhaps his sister’s stepdaughter had come to court to succeed Lady Lucinda. What was the girl’s name? Darville was surprised Lord Jemmarc had not yet approached his king for permission to marry her.

  “I sent our scribes in search of the Council proceedings from the time of the Leaving. I wanted to know for certain what had actually transpired in these chambers on the day the magicians took themselves into exile.” Darville tapped the stack of loose pages before him.

  “And what did you find?” Andrall asked, leaning forward. He kept his face bland, but the thrust of his neck and twitch at the corner of his right eye revealed his eagerness.