Dragonsight

by Paul Collins

  ‘I don’t see why you can’t do this everywhere we go,’ Zimak grumbled. ‘It’s a lot easier than risking being seen.’

  Jelindel closed her eyes momentarily. ‘For the hundredth time, Zimak. Magic use leaves an aura. A signature visible to other sorcerers and adepts, showing that it’s being used and by whom.’

  ‘Then why use it?’ Zimak said.

  Jelindel said to Daretor, ‘I’d ask you to hit him if I thought it would knock sense into him.’

  Daretor smirked. ‘I’m loath to knock my own body about. But White Quell it’s tempting at times. Perhaps it’s not all Zimak’s fault. They say those who eat too much think less.’

  Dremari was crowded. The city was in the middle of the Solstice Festival and the streets were clogged with locals and visitors. There were merchants, street vendors and entertainers of every kind. Circus acts, fire-breathers, jugglers, dancers, musicians, food sellers, trinket vendors, herbalists, refreshment stands, and outdoor cafes jostled among processions and horse-drawn floats. Moving through the city was difficult and Jelindel doubted they would find accommodation.

  Yet the packed crowds also helped hide them, and what they were about.

  After numerous enquiries they found an innkeeper who, in exchange for two gold oriels, allowed them to sleep in the upper section of his stable. The fact that it was filthy and stank of horse dung made no difference to the price he charged.

  ‘If you want to haggle,’ said the man, ‘go some place else. There’s plenty will think the stable a fine place to rest their heads this night.’

  Jelindel paid, but they did not retire immediately. They found a booth in the corner of the taproom, not far from the warmth of a welcoming fire, and ordered drinks. They also managed to secure what food the scullery maid was willing to serve at this late hour. It was little enough, but after fighting the crowds for several hours they were ravenous.

  They ate, drank and relaxed like all the others around them, then in furtive whispers they discussed plans.

  ‘There has to be some path or portal down to the realm of the Stone People,’ Daretor insisted.

  ‘Obviously, but is the path open to mere mortals?’ Zimak asked, looking pointedly at Jelindel. ‘Besides, Fa’red isn’t going to hang a sign on a door somewhere, that says, “This way to Stone People”.’

  ‘White Quell forbid anything should be easy,’ Jelindel murmured. ‘Nor do we know how far their domain is beneath Dremari. It might be a hundred yards or ten miles. I can work a portal charm, like those which lead to paraworlds, but it would have to carry me to the right place. I would hate to end up inside a block of granite.’

  ‘Then there’s only one thing to do,’ Daretor said.

  Jelindel nodded. ‘We must pay Fa’red a visit.’

  Zimak snorted. ‘Gah, that’s a great plan. You don’t seriously believe for one minute that he’s going to tell you anything useful? You could chop him up into tiny pieces and torture them individually, yet he still wouldn’t admit anything. Look what happened the last time you trusted him.’

  Jelindel cocked a weary eyebrow. ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

  Zimak was about to say he had no idea when a slow wide grin broke across his bulbous cheeks. ‘I’m glad you asked,’ he said.

  ‘Look, I’m the brains behind this. So I shouldn’t have to actually do anything,’ Zimak said in a hurt tone. ‘That’s what generals have captains for.’

  Jelindel glared at him icily.

  ‘No, you can forget it,’ he insisted.

  Her eyes bored into his.

  ‘Oh, fine then,’ he snapped. ‘Have it your way. You always do.’

  ‘You’re a sweetheart,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Finally, a confession,’ said Daretor.

  Jelindel became sombre. ‘This is still very dangerous. So take it seriously.’

  ‘My middle name,’ Zimak said gloomily.

  ‘Zimak Danger Chubby,’ Daretor said. ‘If it weren’t my body, I would propose a toast to your ill health.’

  ‘But it is your body,’ Zimak said. ‘You’d do well to remember that. I might just let it go further, so much so that not even your fanaticism will get it back into shape.’

  ‘Why you little snake rat –’

  Jelindel stepped deftly between them. ‘If you want to fight, do it against an enemy.’

  Daretor dropped his clenched hands. ‘Then find a way to switch our bodies so I need no longer look at him,’ he seethed.

  ‘One thing at a time, Daretor,’ she said. ‘We’re going to need Osric’s help. If I can trust you two alone for five minutes, I’ll fetch him.’

  Daretor thumped Zimak on the shoulder. ‘Send Lord Chubby here. He needs the exercise.’

  ‘I could squash you like a fly,’ Zimak threatened.

  Jelindel left them to their bickering, hoping that neither would mangle each other’s body. Not permanently, at any rate.

  They left the stable after dark. This was more by habit than necessity since the streets were brightly lit for the benefit of the festival revellers and were, in any case, packed. The sheer numbers afforded better camouflage than any amount of darkness could have provided.

  They moved slowly, going with the ebb and flow of the crowd. They stopped now and then to sample wares on stalls, to watch street performers, or listen to diatribes by incensed citizens that stood on soap boxes at street corners, all with missions to save the world.

  Despite the gravity of the situation and the days inexorably passing, they enjoyed the festive spirit that gripped the streets. Jelindel walked hand in hand with Daretor, and Zimak kept a moody silence.

  In this way they crossed several city blocks and came close to the castle, which was, uncharacteristically, open to the public. This was a rare event, only occurring three times a year. Along with dozens of sightseers they strolled into the castle grounds where more tents and side shows had been set up, along with a long tent displaying a visual history of Dremari and its illustrious royal family. It was, most knew, pure fabrication. But it was also standard procedure for new would-be dynasties replacing overthrown houses.

  As they wandered amongst the tents and hawkers, Jelindel suddenly nudged Zimak, indicating a portcullis with her eyes. In a low whisper she said, ‘The inner courtyard lies through there.’

  Zimak scowled. ‘And how am I to get to it? Fly? Why, there must be two dozen guards that I can count, and more inside maybe.’

  ‘One day, Zimak, you will hopefully learn to look for the silver lining instead of perpetually seeking the rain,’ Jelindel said.

  ‘I had a rotten childhood. You spent little enough time in the D’loom marketplace, and if it hadn’t been for me you’d have rotted there.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jelindel. ‘Although I’m sure our poor scribe friend, Bebia Ral’Vey, would have something to say about that. He did provide us with security and shelter, after all.’

  ‘Tch,’ Zimak scoffed. ‘You call his table shelter? It was me who kept the bully boys away from you. And Daretor who led you to the mailshirt that released the magic in you.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You owe us, Jelindel.’

  ‘Enough!’ Daretor growled. ‘Is there a way for Zimak to get in there?’

  ‘Let’s keep wandering. Some method may present itself.’

  They continued their apparently aimless wanderings around the outer courtyard. As Zimak had pointed out, the portcullis, thick, heavy, and presently lowered, was well guarded. No entry could be hoped for there.

  Jelindel looked up at the inner wall. It rose at least twenty-five feet and what embrasures it possessed were narrow. It was designed for shooting fire arrows and scrutinising the enemy, not wriggling through.

  Half an hour later they were in a large brightly coloured tent in the shape of a tower. It was some eighteen feet tall and bedecked with pennants and ribbons. The three paid the huckster, who ushered them inside. Madame Mooska sat at a small table, ready to divine their futures.


  The soothsayer smiled when she saw her customers. They were perfect. Just the sort of country bumpkins she liked. She waved them to chairs. A lamp of milky crystal sat on the table – the fabled Crystal of Hegiza’a, or so she claimed. Madame Mooska had no idea where Hegiza’a was or even if it existed, but it impressed people.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ she said huskily. ‘I am Madame Mooska. Now, which one of you wants to go first?’

  ‘I will,’ said Jelindel gravely.

  ‘Place your hands on the table so that the Crystal of Hegiza’a can pick up your vibrations.’

  ‘Vibrations?’ Zimak asked frowning.

  Daretor nudged Zimak in the ribs and he lapsed into silence, looking bored.

  ‘I am going to foretell your future, dear,’ said Madame Mooska dramatically.

  Jelindel shook her head. ‘Actually, I came here to foretell yours.’ Madame Mooska looked at her, confused. Then she jumped in alarm. The Crystal of Hegiza’a was glowing. She stared at it. ‘It’s never done that before.’ She looked up at Jelindel, suddenly suspicious. ‘What do you mean you’ve come to tell my fortune?’

  ‘You are going to meet a very powerful adept, who is going to put you to sleep,’ Jelindel said. ‘When you wake up you won’t remember any of this.’

  ‘Now just one moment –’ Before Madame Mooska could remonstrate further, Jelindel waved her hand and the woman froze, her mouth open, the spittle still gleaming on her lower lip. Then she collapsed slowly and gracefully.

  Jelindel stood up, businesslike. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get to work.’

  Zimak swallowed. ‘Is it going to hurt?’

  ‘Hopefully not not much, anyway. I mean, not a lot.’

  ‘Oh, you’re the Archmage of Reassurance, you are.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Daretor said impatiently. He opened a pack and removed a series of poles that fitted into one another, each containing several holes. He then poked smaller rods through the holes, forming a crude ladder.

  Meanwhile, Jelindel murmured a charm. Zimak started to feel queasy. Suddenly he went limp, as if he had no bones in his body. His flesh distorted, losing shape.

  Zimak wailed softly. ‘I don’t like this …’

  ‘Shhh. It’s only for a few minutes. Besides, it was you who gave me the idea back in Ishluk. Does “Dissolving bones and leaving behind one big pile of useless human sludge” ring a bell?’ she asked merrily.

  Speechless with fright, Zimak watched as Daretor positioned the ladder against the back of the tent, which abutted the castle wall. He scrambled up and felt about till he found a narrow slit window. He quickly cut a hole in the tent then scrambled back down and picked up Zimak as if he weighed only a quarter of his normal weight.

  With Jelindel steadying the ladder, Daretor climbed back up and pushed Zimak, now rubbery and flexible, through the embrasure. Zimak moaned, feeling his body contort and compress. It was not a pleasant sensation, but in a moment he was through the aperture. He dropped with an odd, heavy plop onto the stone flags. And there he lay for some time.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Daretor hissed.

  ‘If you can call this all right, yes.’

  ‘Take care,’ Daretor said, and disappeared.

  Zimak was on his own. He moved his head slightly and surveyed the passageway. It was clear for the moment.

  Some time later he felt his bones knitting together. If he thought the earlier sensation was strange, it was nothing compared with the itch that wracked his body as it healed.

  It was part of the plan that Zimak be discovered. Later that evening he was found inside the highly secure and strictly off-limits inner courtyard. He was immediately surrounded by a dozen guardsmen. As they rushed him he raised his hands. Blue shafts of light rippled from his fingertips, sending the guardsmen sprawling. Zimak had no sooner congratulated himself than a mesh net dropped from above, entangling him so thoroughly that he fell headlong to the ground. The more he thrashed, the tighter it became.

  Zimak managed to twist his head far enough around to look up into Fa’red’s face.

  ‘We meet again,’ said Fa’red, smiling. ‘Guards, you know what to do with him.’

  They dragged Zimak to an interrogation cell. He was left unbound, with the door wide open. He did not even get up off the bunk. He was sure that the door had some manner of trap spell.

  After several minutes, Fa’red came in. ‘You seem to have gained some wisdom in your travels, Zimak,’ he observed. ‘Along with a taste for lots of food, by the look of you.’

  ‘Is this the reception I get?’ Zimak asked, trying to sound incredulous. ‘I was under your protection when those dragonriders captured me, poisoned me, and forced me to do their bidding. I escape, return to Dremari as would a loyal devotee, and this is how I get treated. Like a common thief!’

  Fa’red’s brows came together. ‘Don’t try my patience, boy. I can flick you out of existence with the merest thought.’

  ‘Do it,’ Zimak challenged.

  Fa’red stared at him. A muscle in his neck flexed once then relaxed. ‘I see. You are warded against the lesser forms of magic. Interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen that configuration before. But you are not immune to cold steel, I feel.’ He whipped out a dagger and held it to Zimak’s throat.

  ‘Hie, Fa’red,’ Zimak said, tensing his neck. ‘I returned by my own free will and this is the thanks I get.’

  Fa’red whispered in his ear, ‘Where is she?’

  ‘You should know. You sent her there.’

  ‘Do not play games with me, you little miscreant. Where is she?’

  ‘Right now, she’s here in Dremari. In a few hours, however, she will be in the domain of the Stone People. I came to warn you, but –’

  Fa’red laughed in a forced manner. ‘She doesn’t know where they are.’ The blade nicked Zimak’s throat, and he squealed.

  Zimak slowly raised his hand, palm up. Fa’red watched it as a rat would watch a snake. The hand flipped over and his index finger pointed down at the floor. Then it came back up and waggled at Fa’red.

  ‘The Stone People’s realm is beneath Dremari. She knows. The blade, Fa’red. You’re cutting me.’

  Fa’red eased the blade from Zimak’s neck. Blood trickled down the steel. ‘Well, wonders will never cease. You may yet prove of value to me.’

  ‘Praise indeed,’ said Zimak, dabbing his neck.

  Fa’red regarded him. ‘I confess that I am somewhat confused by your presence.’

  ‘I imagine you are,’ said Zimak, scowling at the blood on his fingers. ‘The Farvenu are your friends. Hospitable bunch.’

  ‘Invited you to dinner, did they?’ Fa’red laughed.

  ‘Breakfast actually.’

  ‘They do love their food.’

  ‘The feeling wasn’t mutual.’

  ‘Shall we get down to business?’

  ‘As you like.’

  ‘What are you doing here? And please don’t tell me you returned here voluntarily.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Zimak tried to looked hurt.

  ‘Really? You expect me to believe that you’re suddenly willing to betray your friends?’

  ‘Who said they’re my friends? And who said anything about betrayal?’

  Fa’red stared at him, his mottled face expressionless. ‘Continue.’

  ‘You want the dragonsight.’

  ‘I’ve renounced it, as you know. I too am bound by … certain rules.’

  ‘By subterfuge, yes,’ said Zimak. ‘But what if the dragonsight were given to you freely?’

  Fa’red thought about this. He could not conceal his excitement. Nevertheless he scowled.

  ‘And why would you give such a precious relic to me?’

  ‘Money, riches, power, why else? I might add that I was set to become the Dremarian princess’s consort, a king in waiting if you like.’ He looked about the cell as though he could see beyond the thick grey stones. ‘If not for that vixen Jelindel, I would be r
uling Dremari right now as its rightful king.’

  ‘Had the Preceptor not swept through and slaughtered everyone in sight,’ Fa’red commented dryly. ‘That aside, you seek power. Is that all?’

  ‘Is that all? No, that’s just a start. There’s also the little matter of an antidote.’

  Fa’red waved a hand dismissively. ‘That can be arranged. I am not yet convinced.’

  ‘What’s there to be convinced of? We’re not seeking the dragonsight for our personal gain. And I have no doubt, unlike my colleagues, that as soon as we hand it over to that wretch Rakeem, he will either have us murdered on the spot or let the poison do its work. Either way, our futures seem rather predictable right now.’

  ‘So you wish to make an alliance?’

  ‘Hie, Fa’red, it’s as easy at that. The dragonsight for the antidote and some trifling remuneration.’

  ‘Where is the witch?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  Zimak considered. ‘Won’t.’

  ‘I could extract the information.’

  ‘You could, but by then she’ll be gone. She might even have the dragonsight.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Fa’red. ‘Getting to the realm of the Stone People would only be the first step. There would be further hazards.’

  ‘As you know, Jelindel’s very resourceful.’

  Fa’red sighed heavily. ‘At best she’s an extremely talented Adept 9. Even now I suspect her luck is due to run out.’

  Zimak pursed his lips. ‘She knows more than she shows.’

  ‘And from whom did she obtain this knowledge?’ Fa’red leaned forward ever so slightly.

  ‘A dragon,’ Zimak said and was surprised at Fa’red’s reaction. Indeed, the archmage appeared positively unsettled. ‘Do we have a deal?’ he added, pushing a little. Fa’red scowled and paced about the cell, tugging his beard.

  ‘Well?’ Zimak pushed.

  ‘Let me think!’ Fa’red almost shouted.

  ‘I –’ Zimak began, but Fa’red waved him peremptorily to silence and strode for the door.