The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1

by Irene Radford

  “Your mother let you go through with this?” Da demanded.

  Mama.

  “We decided we did not have time for her to respond. Valeria’s body was nearly dead. We brought her back in the nick of time. In such a dangerous situation, we thought it best to tell Lady Brevelan after the fact,” Linda interceded again.

  Da harrumphed and grumbled under his breath. “We’d best get that painful chore over with.” He stumbled forward, one hand reaching for Lillian, the other to rest upon Valeria’s head.

  The flywacket sat up and preened, leaning its face into his hand, demanding chin scritches. How many times had they seen Mama’s pets do the same?

  But this was no pet. This was his sister, Valeria. Already a brightness that had been missing since she was born infused her eyes.

  How much of that was Valeria healing and Lyman assuming dominance in their dual spirit?

  (Where is the nearest Tambootie tree?) Lyman demanded.

  “Um . . . Indigo told me that the Tambootie is no longer filled with nutrients essential to the dragons,” Glenndon said apologetically.

  “He told you that?” Da asked. His voice finally fell below the level of a roar.

  “Indigo tells me many things,” Glenndon defended himself. He still didn’t have the strength to stand and face his father—his Da—as he should.

  “And what do you intend to do about it?” Da asked, new respect in the way he surveyed Glenndon. Then he shifted his gaze to Lillian and Valeria. His countenance softened. “I never would have thought of this as a solution.”

  “It is only temporary. Make sure Mama knows that,” Glenndon pleaded. “We have not robbed her of Val, one of her children. Just . . . I’m not certain how to describe it, but we’re sure, that as soon as Val rests in body and mind, she will surge forth and demand her body back.”

  “If Lyman lets her,” Linda said very softly. Glenndon wasn’t sure Da had heard her.

  He underestimated the Senior Magician.

  “Is that what the problem has been all along? Val fighting Lyman for dominance?” Da roared again. High color stained his cheeks.

  Glenndon was sure he’d roused the entire palace with that question.

  The flywacket pressed itself deeper into the chair, almost hiding behind Lillian, who still cried abundantly into its fur.

  “Lyman?” Da asked in that tone of voice that made apprentices quail and master magicians look for places to be elsewhere.

  (Er, um, I may have caused the girl a little distress.)

  “What’s it going to take for you to give up and finally allow yourself to die?” Da reached to grab the flywacket by the scruff of its neck, but Lillian threw herself over the top of the animal.

  (This time, I promise I will finally join my ancestors in the void when Valeria is ready to kick me out.) He sounded repentant. Maybe. Not really (Unless there is another child in need of the breath of life from an old dragon. I’ve been around so long I am weary of life. But it is a habit that is hard to break.)

  Linda prodded Glenndon’s shoulder. That doesn’t ring true. But Lord Jaylor needs to think it is.

  You think he’s lying? He sent back to her on a tight and private beam.

  She shrugged, mimicking his own gesture. Everyone lies, some more than others.

  Why did Lucjemm’s face flash from his memory to hers?

  “I’d like to hear from Valeria,” Da said, back to roaring. His eyes narrowed in pain. “Lillian needs to know that her twin still lives.”

  (Here, Da. Tired. Hungry. Here always. I promised Lily.) The mental voice was very much Valeria, just weak and distant. Distracted.

  Da grunted something approaching approval.

  (About that Tambootie?) Lyman asked, mentally clearing his throat.

  “Not much anywhere near Coronnan City, even if it were still viable,” Da said. His eyes narrowed like he didn’t trust the old man either.

  (Then I need to visit the Well of Life. I shall draw sustenance there for a time.)

  Glenndon’s attention perked at the mention of his personal quest.

  “If you can find it, you are welcome to drink from it, long and deep,” Da said. A bite of sarcasm edged his words.

  (Come, boy, I’ll show you where to look.) The flywacket edged away from Lillian and poised to jump down from the chair. But Lillian threw herself across his back in a new spate of tears.

  “You don’t move without Lillian,” Da ordered. “She and Valeria are inseparable. You will cater to her needs as long as you are here.”

  “I think we all need to wait on that quest until we’ve eaten,” Linda said, very much in control of herself and taking command of the situation. “My Lord Jaylor, feel free to do what you must to inform Valeria’s mother of the state of things while the rest of us prepare to face the day, and what’s left of the court. I shouldn’t need to remind you that my mother should hear nothing of the night’s alarms and dramas from anyone but her husband.” She crawled upright, using Glenndon’s shoulder as a brace, but nearly sagged with fatigue when she got there.

  I’m proud of you, little sister.

  Likewise, big brother.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Lucjemm asked.

  Linda tried to loosen her clasp of his arm, but his free hand lay atop hers quite possessively.

  “If we knew what we were looking for we wouldn’t have to look,” she returned snappishly. She was tired and uncertain of many things. As much as she wanted to think of Lucjemm as a friend and potential suitor, the memory of him staring blankly while reciting the story of how the ugly snake eggs came into his household kept sliding over more friendly images.

  Everyone lies, she reminded herself. Was that story a lie, a memory, or someone, or something, manipulating him?

  Parading about the city with Glenndon, Lord Jaylor, Lillian, and Valeria/Lyman required that she appear as Princess Royale Rosselinda. She had to wear a gown in the latest fashion that she had dictated, two fewer petticoats and a straighter line to the skirt. The yards of fabric snaking around her legs annoyed her almost as much as the way Lucjemm seemed to stake a claim on her.

  She just wanted to be left alone so she could sleep.

  What had he and P’pa agreed to last night in their private meeting?

  And why had P’pa allowed Lucjemm to accompany them on magician business? The king had not allowed her any private time to ask her questions. He seemed more preoccupied than usual.

  “I grew up here. Old Baamin, my other tutors, and my classmates became my family,” Lord Jaylor muttered. “Now this childhood home is occupied by soldiers.” He scanned the protective wall encircling the building. They had walked all the way around the perimeter on the narrow path that separated it from the river.

  The old but sturdy plank bridge from Palace Isle to University Isle that they’d crossed an hour ago rose in front of them again.

  Glenndon kept his eyes on the ground during the entire trek. The flywacket sniffed everything, more like a dog than a cat. Its ears cocked and rotated every few seconds. Lillian, still weepy and slumped, had no interest in anything but keeping the flywacket in sight, preferably with her hand on some part of it. Thankfully, it kept its wings safely hidden.

  Then Lucjemm smiled at her. “Thank you for trusting me with this expedition. I know it involves magic, but since the Council no longer dictates or ignores our laws on a whim, I can fully and openly support your father in this search.” He licked his lips, reminding her of the times they had kissed.

  She couldn’t help licking her own lips in anticipation of the next kiss. Linda relaxed. This was Lucjemm, the real Lucjemm, not the enthralled personality of last night. Then she got lost in his warm, brown eyes. She saw nothing beyond his need to be with her, for whatever purpose, whenever she needed him.


  “Da!” Glenndon interrupted them with an imperious shout.

  Linda had to shake herself out of her daydream of love and companionship.

  “What have you found?” Lord Jaylor stepped from the base of the thick wall to Glenndon’s post a few yards ahead, closer to the steep river embankment.

  Linda shifted her vision from Lucjemm to what Glenndon saw. Not so difficult a task now as it was yesterday.

  Practice makes perfect, little sister.

  An entire river of silver blue sprang before her eyes. She’d expected some of the thin webbing he’d shown her earlier, not this massive accumulation. The Well? she thought back at him with more than a hint of breathless awe.

  We are close. Very close. His gaze turned to the massive wall. “Da, we have to get inside.”

  Lord Jaylor nodded curtly.

  “How?” Lucjemm asked. “The army does not accept visitors lightly.” He sounded petulant, as if he’d tried and been rejected.

  Hmmmmm. Why would he want to enter the private quarters of P’pa’s army, other than to join them? Considering his rank, and his father’s influence, he didn’t have to join the army. He could raise his own troops (or his father’s) and command them himself.

  Who did have command of the army gathering at Battle Mound? Jemmarc? Or someone else?

  Every time she convinced herself that she wanted to love this young man, be his friend at least, he did or said something that made her think twice about him and his actions.

  She separated from him to stand a little closer to her brother.

  “We can’t just waltz in,” Lucjemm said glumly.

  Linda and Glenndon looked to each other with a single thought. “Rank has its privileges,” they said at the same time.

  Lord Jaylor raised his eyebrows. “Of course, the Crown Prince and the Princess Royale may go where they will. Even General Marcelle would not deny either of you entrance.” He bowed with a sweeping gesture toward the narrow pedestrian gate—only wide enough for one person to enter or exit at a time—beside the central entrance that was broad enough to admit four mounted soldiers riding side by side, or two sledge steeds pulling a full load of supplies.

  Glenndon offered his arm to Linda. She took it. Part of her regretted leaving Lucjemm’s side. The other part of her sighed in relief that he no longer monopolized her attention.

  Lucjemm scowled so deeply that a chill stabbed her heart. Only Glenndon holding her hand tightly on his arm kept her from returning to Lucjemm’s side.

  CHAPTER 41

  GLENNDON TRIED on the bland superior countenance his father, the king, achieved so easily. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the expression, plus a rather glib Princess Rosselinda talking a blue streak, gave them ready access to the interior of the ancient compound.

  Da’s face went wistful with memories. Then anger hardened his features. He’d studied here from the age of twelve into his twenties. He should have ruled here when he became Senior Magician and Chancellor of the University; not in the wilderness in wooden buildings thrown together out of necessity to offer shelter to any who fled persecution for the crime of working magic.

  Glenndon noted the recently whitewashed stone walls, the steps swept clear of leaf litter, and the pristine iron rails on the mounts to the parapet. The accumulation of dirt in the flagstone mortar around the iron flagpole where the colors of the royal Guard snapped in the light wind seemed out of place. It looked as if no one had set foot in that area for weeks. Or decades.

  A mental prod from Da jolted Glenndon out of his musings. “It should be here. Right here!” he insisted, stamping the paved courtyard. “All of the records say over and over again that Nimbulan built this University around the Well,” he whispered. “I can see a thickening of the lines but nothing to indicate a center.”

  Linda suddenly found the pattern of lace on her sleeve hems fascinating. Glenndon touched her arm to draw her attention back to the problem at hand. “A web with a center. A circle. All webs begin with a circle and grow outward from there.” She held up for his inspection the delicate fabric that was more air than thread. It did look akin to a spiderweb.

  Circles within circles with cross ribs. Indeed Lyman/Valeria (they really needed to decide what to call the flywacket) walked a circle around the courtyard, Lillian tracing its steps cautiously.

  Linda smiled. “A circle.”

  “What?” Da asked, finally realizing that she knew something.

  “Find the circle.” Her right toe swished back and forth along a line in the paving stones. A curved line!

  Glenndon allowed his eye to follow it around to complete a circle. The stones had been cunningly set into a decorative pattern around a flagpole so that one had to look hard to figure out when they started curving away from the offset rectangles of the primary stones.

  “I don’t see anything untoward, except perhaps that the king’s standard looks a little ragged on the edges,” Lucjemm said, peering upward toward the flag that snapped in the hot wind blowing from the western plains toward the Great Bay.

  The air smelled of dry dirt, stale smoke, and city waste, without the caress of spring green; a reminder that the crops needed a good storm from the east to soak the land and clear the air.

  If Lord Jemmarc truly had a Krakatrice, could they have already begun transforming the land into desert? According to Lucjemm the big ugly snakes were still young. And there were only two.

  Or had he lied about the number and their age?

  He looked to his Da.

  Jaylor lifted his head and sniffed the air. I have fought and killed half a dozen of the beasts, just this year. Robb and Marcus an equal number—each. Lucjemm may have seen only two very young snakes, but there are more. Many more. They have already begun to change the weather.

  Lillian and Valeria completed their circuit of the courtyard. “Valeria says that something smells wrong,” Lillian whispered to Glenndon. Her eyes were still red from crying, but her voice was sound.

  “It looks wrong too,” Da said. He began walking a spiral inward to the flagpole, making sure he stepped squarely in the center of each paving stone, avoiding the small spacer pieces that allowed the curve in the pattern.

  “What is different from your student days?” Glenndon asked.

  “Everything and nothing.” Da wrenched around to face him. “I need to find a way to fix this.” He pointed down, at the center of the circle pierced with the flagpole.

  “What, Da?”

  “Look. Really look at what lies beneath your feet, boy. I thought I taught you better than to be satisfied with the surface explanation.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Lucjemm said, leaning against the flagpole. But he did shift his feet constantly, like the paving scorched him through his elegant courtly boots.

  “You can’t see what we see,” Glenndon muttered. “You wouldn’t look even if you knew how.”

  Linda stepped away from him and closer to Lucjemm. She frowned.

  Glenndon didn’t have time or attention to deal with her adolescent emotions that shifted and swirled with every thought. He had to figure out what—

  “Stargods! Is the flagpole iron?”

  “Of course it is,” Lucjemm sneered. “Highest grade steel from the palace foundry to withstand exposure to salt air for a long, long time. I believe polishing the pole is a reward rather than punishment among the soldiers.”

  “No wonder,” Glenndon didn’t dare finish the statement aloud. Too many mind-blind soldiers loitered around the courtyard and leaned out of windows inspecting the spectacle of the Crown Prince and his sister inspecting the flagpole.

  That cursed flagpole. “How long has it stood there?” Glenndon asked.

  “It was erected after the Leaving,” Da said. He set his steps to spiral outward again, still car
efully laying each foot flat in the center of each stone, turning the decorative paving into a ritual maze, not unlike the one at the University next to their home.

  “What do you see?” Linda asked, finally controlling her thoughts and focusing.

  “Ground and center yourself. Close your eyes. Steady your breathing,” he coaxed. She might share everything he knew, and he everything she knew, but she didn’t always know what to do with the information.

  She obeyed, easily falling into the first stages of a trance.

  “Stargods!” She flashed him an image of a churning mass of blue. Worse than any maelstrom I’ve ever heard about. Deeper too. Deeper than the surface lines you showed me. No wonder the Tambootie trees aren’t thriving. Their roots don’t grow deep enough to tap the essential energy. What a mess!

  A mess that’s getting ready to blow, Glenndon sent back. “The only thing keeping it from erupting like a volcano is that iron pole. Somewhere on the other side of Kardia Hodos, raw, untamed, wild magic will explode and destroy all in its path,” Da whispered as he completed his spiral walk back to the main paving stones.

  A smirk of satisfaction crossed Lucjemm’s face so quickly Glenndon wasn’t sure he’d seen it. A quick glance toward Linda and he knew she hadn’t. Maybe he only imagined it. Maybe . . .

  He didn’t know what to think, only that they needed to retreat to the palace and plan. They needed the collective wisdom of the Circle.

  But Da had broken the Circle, just as Father had broken the Council.

  They were on their own with this crisis.

  And so the beginning of the end of magic is here, beneath my feet. I cannot see this well as Glenndon and my Princess do. I do not want to see it. And yet I sense that something is different beneath the paving stones in this mysterious circle. It is almost as if they roll and shift over wet sand. Unstable.

  Whatever is here, whatever is wrong here has upset the dragons and the magicians. I must make sure their unease continues.

  This is where I will bait my trap. This is where I will stage the final battle.