“Flame?” Raven’s sword wavered. “Flame is a snake.”
“I thought so, too, but I was wrong. Flame is a dragon. I think that’s why he’s been so cranky lately. I think he’s been going through metamorphosis.”
“Meta what?” Raven took a step closer, his mouth tightening. “Raine, there’s blood on your face. You’re hurt.”
Raine touched her forehead and her fingers came away sticky with blood. “Oh, that. The ugly cut me on the ear.”
Raven frowned. “The what?”
Raine pointed to the struggling manikin in the dragon’s claws. “The ugly. More like a doll from hell, if you ask me.”
“That’s not a doll,” Brefreton said, easing closer to peer at the ugly. “That’s a golem. Interesting. Very, very interesting. ʼTwould seem the rumors are true, and Glonoff is consorting with demons. Strictly forbidden, of course, but then, Glonoff’s never been one to play by the rules. Still, I didn’t think even he would go so far.”
“Bree,” Raine said, holding onto her thinning patience. “What are you talking about?”
“Magic of the darkest kind. Unless I’m much mistaken, this golem was woven from your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Yes.” Brefreton gave her a look of reproach. “I told you there’d be trouble when you cut it. But never mind. Where was I? Oh, yes, the golem. Glonoff fashioned it from your hair and then placed a demon—a djegrali, as it were—inside it. Mindless things, golems, and pure evil.”
“It tried to kill me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Brefreton said. “And because it was made from your hair, you can’t escape it. Probably been following us for weeks, just waiting for a chance to get a crack at you.”
“Tro.” Mauric looked sick. “How did it get aboard the ship?”
“I fear that I am to blame,” Raven said. “When I returned to the village this morning, the longboat was missing. Because of the storm last night, I assumed it had come unmoored and drifted away, so I caught a ride back to the ship with a fisherman. Now I’m thinking the golem took it.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry, Raine.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Raine said. “Fortunately, Flame was here.”
“There’d have been no need of a dragon, if the crew hadn’t been soused.” Raven glared at the group of slack-faced sailors crowding the doorway. “Instead, I return to find them pigeon eyed, with their heads in a barrel.”
Gertie jostled her way into the cabin. The troll had shed her robe and boots when they’d reached the southern coast of Finlara, and her shaggy fur was spiky.
“Here, now, son, no need to chivy the lads for having a bit of fun.” She groaned and clapped her paws over her eyes. “I’m seeing dragons. Must’ve drunk more ʼn I thought. Hasn’t been a dragon in Tandara since before the Maiming.”
“You’re not seeing things, Mor,” Raven said. “The dragon is Flame.”
The troll lowered her paws. “Flame’s a dragon?”
“Aye,” Brefreton said grimly, “and Glonoff sent a golem after Raine.”
“A golem, you say?” The troll’s bloodshot gaze focused on the struggling creature in Flame’s talons. “Repulsive little bugger, ain’t it?”
“Definitely,” Brefreton said. “How do we get rid of it?”
“Good question.” Gertie stroked one of her tusks. “If we don’t destroy it completely, it will regenerate. Dragon fire should do the trick.”
“Dragon fire, Mor?” Raven looked pained. “Must we really set fire to my ship?”
“Calm down, boy. You and Mauric skewer the thing, and Flame will burn it to cinders. No harm done.”
“Skewer it?” Mauric looked blank.
“With your swords, boy,” Gertie said. “It’ll be like roasting squab over a bed of coals.”
Raine cleared her throat. “There’s just one problem. We don’t know that Flame can breathe fire.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “He’s a dragon. You think he blows daisies?”
Taking the golem from Flame, Raven and Mauric held the writhing tar baby between their swords.
Raine took the dragon’s whiskered snout in her hands. “I want you to burn the ugly, Flame. Do you think you can do that?”
Flame nodded. The ugly tried to hurt Morven. That makes Flame feel hot inside. Flame will burn the ugly.
“That’s my good boy.”
Lowering his horned head, the dragon pursed his lips and blew a stream of fire at the squiggling golem. The flame was delicate and precise, like a miniature blow torch. The golem’s head caught fire and began to melt, and the stench of burning hair filled the room.
“Tro,” Mauric said, coughing.
“Hold it steady,” Raven said as Mauric’s sword started to dip.
Flame carefully bathed the golem in dragon fire until the creature was consumed. The little man shrank and puddled between the two swords until only a waxy lump remained. A last blast from Flame, and the remains of the golem turned to ash.
“We’ll seal what’s left of it in a jar,” Gertie said. “If it doesn’t regenerate in a day or two, that should be the end of it.”
Raine threw her arms around the dragon’s neck and gave him a hug. “You did it, Flame.”
Morven is happy?
“Morven is very happy.”
Flame yawned. Flame is glad. Flame is tired now.
He curled up on the floor beside Raine’s bed and closed his eyes.
Mauric chuckled. “Will you look at that. He’s gone to sleep.” He stiffened suddenly. “Tro, Flame’s a dragon.” He grabbed Gertie and spun her around. “Gertie, Flame’s a dragon.”
“Of course, he’s a dragon,” Gertie said, looking much astonished. “What ails you, boy? Have your brains made a boat of your skull and gone sailing?”
Mauric released Gertie and looked wildly around the room. “Where’s Gurnst? Has anybody seen Gurnst?”
He took off at a run and pushed his way out of the cabin, shouting the helmsman’s name.
“What’s in Kron’s name’s gotten into the boy?” Gertie demanded.
“You said it yourself,” Brefreton said. “There haven’t been dragons in Tandara for a very long time.”
“What of it?” Gertie said. “This is hardly news.”
“Flame’s been shedding the past fortnight and more.” Brefreton grinned at the troll. “I suspect young Mauric has realized there’s a fortune in dragon skin under Gurnst’s bed.”
Chapter 5
King’s Bay
Ten days after the golem attack, the Storm slipped into the Strait of Gorza with her lights extinguished and her sails lowered. It was well past midnight, and Raven stood at the helm, scanning the dark sea. The Vilkanni, savage Torgali pirates, prowled the strait in dreggs, small, flat-bottom ships equipped with a flutter of triangular sails. Darting out of the small bays and coves that dotted the Torgal coast, the Vilkanni swooped down on their prey in groups of three or four, ransacked the hapless vessels and sailed away, leaving ruin in their wake.
The Vilkanni, or Viles, as they were commonly known, were indiscriminate, attacking Torgal herring drifters, private cutters, and merchant barks alike, though they rarely approached Finlaran ships or any vessel flying the silver and black. A Finlaran pennant snapping in the breeze next to the red and gold flag of Esmalla or the Valdarian purple was a clear warning to the raiders that Death awaited them on board.
The rowan’s practice of hiring out his men to stand guard on merchant ships was longstanding, serving dual purposes of economy and comity. The merchant and his wares were protected from the Vilkanni scourge and the rowan’s men lined their purses with extra coin, while the rowan’s beneficence was firmly established, and his army’s repute for ferocity was reinforced. More importantly, the rowan’s troops didn’t languish at the Citadel, growing fat and lazy on the king
’s stores and drinking his ale.
In his early years at the Citadel, while working his way up the ranks and before he’d become the captain of his own ship, Raven had done his share of mercenary work. He was well acquainted with the Viles…and they with him. Were this a normal run, he’d sail into the Gorza in full daylight with the Vilkanni white flag and its skeletal black horse flown upside down in scorn. But today he was taking no chances. The Storm’s cargo was too precious.
Dipping their oars soundlessly into the black water, the crew rowed. The ship navigated the narrow waterway without incident, and the coiled tension in Raven’s gut eased.
“Hoist the sails,” he shouted, and a group of sailors hurried to jump the halyards.
The faint scent of soap and damp fur alerted Raven that Gertie was near. The troll had recently bathed, and she was fragrant.
“Couldn’t sleep, Mor?” he asked, without turning his head.
“Wanted to talk to you before we reach the Citadel. Find out what’s eating you.”
“Hmm, let me see. The Eye is lost and Tandara is on the brink of war.”
“You’ve been to war before.”
“Many times. But this war, I fear, will be different.”
“That ʼud be Glory’s influence. Madam Portent’s faffling is enough to swerk anybody.”
“She’s been right, so far.”
Gertie snorted. “Even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then. She didn’t know about Flame.”
“Flame surprised everyone. There’s a dragon in my hold. Merciful gods, think on it. My ship, my responsibility, Mor. And that’s just the beginning. Have you any idea what the Dark Wizard is offering for your capture?”
“A sizable sum, I would imagine.”
“Ten thousand magraks. That’s the price on your head, and the strait teeming with Viles.”
“You’re not worried about a few pirates. Is it Squeak’s curse that has you chaffed? That’s done.”
“Not quite.” Raven patted the pouch dangling from his belt. “I’ve one last batch of seedlings to plant.”
“What? Why in skelf didn’t you dump the lot at our last stop?”
“It doesn’t work that way.” Raven hesitated, uncertain how to explain the strange compulsion Squeak had placed on him. “They must be sown in the right place, with the proper words. The seeds…speak to me.”
“I’d keep that to myself, if I were you, son. Makes you sound soft in the head.”
“Believe me, I know.”
“If it’s not the curse, what’s got you bedeviled? Is it the gossip about you and Hedda? By Kron, I hear one more word of that tripe, and I’ll have the rumor monger’s head for a shit pot.”
Raven chuckled. “Easy, Mor. This is not my first visit home since the scandal. I’m accustomed to the whisperings.”
“Codswallop, that’s what it is. As if you’d wave your prick at the evil shrew.”
“Thank you, Mor. If I’ve seemed distracted of late—”
“Distracted? You’ve been surly as a borg with the toothache.”
“Surly then. If I’m surly, it’s because I’m accustomed to charting my own course.”
“You ain’t the only one muddled. Reba’s pulling the strings in this affair, and I don’t trust that red-haired harpy.”
“Hush, Mor. The gods have long ears. Why do you mistrust Reba?”
“Other than the fact that she’s a—”
“Mor. Please.”
“Blister it, she sent Bree to Urp after Raine. Who told her about the girl?”
“The Circle of Seers, perhaps?”
“Nay, those windsuckers didn’t know about Raine any more than the rest of us. I’m beginning to wonder if Reba’s consorting with Glonoff. Remember the day Raine went into the woods?”
“I’m not likely to forget it. I turned into a troll.”
“I’m sorry, son.” She laid a heavy paw on his shoulder. “You’ve fought tooth and nail to prove yourself a Finlar, and then you go and find your halmo. Hidebound, your father’s people, and idiotish when it comes to magic. Be patient. They’ll come around.”
“Bugger that. I’m tired of trying to prove myself.”
“That’s my boy.” Gertie slapped him on the back. “You’re more like Finn than you know.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that. What was he like?”
“Wild and reckless, and devilish as they come. Mauric reminds me a bit of Finn in his youth. He has the same roguish gleam in his eyes.” She sighed. “Finn and I had some good times before he settled down and married.”
“Thirty wives would slow any man down.”
“Twenty-three, but never mind about that. If finding your halmo ain’t the problem, what’s got you scorched?”
“Think on it, Mor. Bad enough I’ve got wizards and dragons and the Mother of Finlara on my ship. I’ve got her to worry about. By Tro, I’ll be glad to reach the Citadel and hand her over to my father.”
“Don’t thrash yourself about Raine. It’s not your fault. The girl has a rare knack for mischief.”
“Mischief? The little fool almost got herself killed. Going into the forest…demons and dark wizards, and I don’t know what all.”
“Ah. That’s the way of it, is it? Word of advice from an old troll. You’re going about it the wrong way.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you? Then you’re more like your father than I thought—boar blind and stubborn.”
“Glory says I get my stubbornness from you.”
“Does she now? If I listened to your aunt, that might keep me up at night, but I turned a deaf ear on her blatherings years ago.”
They stood in comfortable silence, listening to the slosh of the sea and the creak of the sails.
“You were saying something about Raine?” Raven nudged the troll, after a while.
“Eh? Oh, right. Brain like a sieve, at times. Raine and I had a talk a few days back, and she told me something interesting. Glonoff thinks the gal is his doom. Told Raine as much to her face.”
“Raine? That’s cracked.”
“Not if she can wield the Eye.”
“That’s a big ‘if,’ Mor. Who put that maggot in Glonoff’s head? Was it Zared?”
“That humbug? Nah, I don’t believe it. I think it was a demon. I think a demon told Glonoff about Raine, too.”
“And you think Glonoff turned around and told Reba?” Raven shook his head. “Reba wouldn’t consort with Glonoff. She hates him almost as much as she—”
Raven broke off, embarrassed.
“Go on. You can say it. Reba loathes me, and I know it,” Gertie said. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual, but my question remains. Blast it, if Glonoff didn’t tell her about the gal, who did?”
Raven was troubled. “In truth, I cannot say, but there has to be another answer. Get Bree to ask Reba. He and the goddess are on good terms.”
“Not anymore.” The troll chuckled evilly. “He lost her god stone.”
“Tro, I forgot. Poor Bree. He’s already looking over his shoulder every moment, expecting you to pounce.”
“Jittered, is he? Good. Next time, maybe he’ll keep his trodyn paws off my brandy.”
“My brandy, Mor, that you filched from my stores.”
“For shame, son, begrudging your mother a bit of the sauce.”
“I know. I’m a terrible person. So, when do you plan to spring the trap on Bree?”
Gertie looked around, then leaned in close. “There is no trap, but don’t tell Bree. It will do him good to stew in his own juices for a change.” She yawned. “Night, son. Glad we had this little talk. Think I’ll have a lie down.”
“Night, Mor.”
* * * *
The next morning when Raine left her cabin, Mauric was waiting
for her on deck.
“Flame still asleep?” he asked.
“He’s stuffed himself.” She shuddered. “Those poor sheep. It was horrible.”
“Flame is a predator. He can’t help what he is.”
“Tell that to the sheep.” Raine regarded him narrowly. “Why the sudden interest in Flame?”
“A dragon is a rare and precious beastie, and I’m a Finlar,” he said in a lofty tone. “Naturally, I’m concerned about him.”
“Concerned about his skin, more like. Did you and Gurnst settle your differences?”
“We did not. After all his grousing about Flame’s shedding, the miserly hoodpick refused to share the booty.”
“Flame left his skin in Gurnst’s berth, not yours,” Raine said. “Anyway, you’ve nothing to complain about. I’ve seen the bundle of dragon skin you’ve collected. It’s huge.”
“Found loads of the stuff in the hold,” he admitted. “But not to fret. Quiet as a mouse, I was, poking around down there, so as not to wake the sleeping darling.”
“Very thoughtful of you, I’m sure.”
“I’m a thoughtful fellow.” He drew her to the rail and pointed to a distant promontory of weathered cliffs. “That’s Sea Watch, my home, so named because of the view. See that bluff with the tower of stone? That’s Eagle Point. From there, you can see the Torgal coast and the sea in every direction for leagues. The Lindars have held Sea Watch more than three thousand years.”
“That’s quite a legacy.”
Mauric grunted in acknowledgment. “See that jut there? My youngest sister, Tyra, loves to sit on the shingle and stare out to sea. She’s a fierce thing and seventeen now.”
“And your other sister?”
“Luanna is the elder, and a little more than a year older. When last we parted, she wasn’t speaking to me.” He sighed. “I dismissed her dancing master. He was dangling after my mother and sisters, so I showed the chitty-faced weasel the door. To hear my mother and Luanna tell it, I’ve ruined my sister’s chances at court.”
“Court?”
Raine gripped the rail as Mauric’s words hit her like a dash of cold water. Since awakening on the Storm, she’d been too busy to give their destination more than a passing thought. She should have, she realized with dismay. The Rowan of Finlara was a powerful man, and she would soon be within his purview.
A Muddle of Magic Page 6