“Do not kneel, Maxal. You are not like Torvald here, you are a victor. A Mage.” The Abbot congratulated him, and he even earned a slightly inclined head from Prince Vincent himself.
“Here, Ganna.” The prince took off one of the small golden rings from his own right hand, and set it on the boy’s palm. It was too big for Maxal, but I could see the boy was too afraid to do anything but hold his hand there in shocked awe.
“Th- thank you, your highness, your holiness,” Maxal’s voice, a high-pitched, almost girl-like tone said.
“The throne remembers those who serve it well, as I am sure the Gannas have and will for generation to come,” the prince purred at him.
“Yes, your highness,” Maxal said, not out of apparent love or fealty but, I thought, fear.
“That is enough for tonight, students. You have shown the prince what you are made of, and you have some new tales of splendor and power to tell your loved ones,” the Abbot said, this time genially. “You may return to the monastery, where you will return to your normal duties tomorrow morning.” Behind me the students started to shuffle and stand up from their protesting and aching knees. I was about to do the same but the prince interrupted me.
“Your holiness? The Torvald boy did disrupt your lesson, and should be punished, I feel,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “Have him stay out here for the night, kneeling in that spot so he has time to think about the perils of disobeying his superiors.”
Really? What? I felt a surge of Torvald anger, and would have stood up there and then and denounced him, did I not remember what father had advised me: Trust no one. Keep to yourself. Keep yourself unseen. I couldn’t pick a fight with the Prince of the Middle Kingdom, and launch my clan into war. I had already let them down too much this night. I had failed to make the torchlight move. I had failed to become a Mage of the Order, and privy to the innermost secrets of the Order’s magic.
I hung my head in shame – not at disrupting the Abbot’s lesson, but at not being a better son to my father, and worthy Torvald heir. He had sent me here on a mission, and I am already failing at it.
“As you wish, my prince,” the Abbot said, pausing for a moment to regard me with a steady stare. He flicked his fingers like he was flicking away dust and grime, indicating that the matter of me was out of his hands now, and that there was nothing that he could do about it. A piece of my heart hardened against him. What was that you told me about unwanted children having to be strong? I thought insolently. He had never said that we had to be strong together though, in the way that Dorf, Sigrid, and Char had.
I tried to ignore my creaking knees and shivering body as the rest of them returned to the life and light of the Draconis Monastery, leaving me alone in the cold, dragon-haunted dark. I nodded, very slowly, making sure that the Abbot saw me do it. I would kneel out here on the top of Mount Hammal, all night if I had to, and afterwards I would be strong. I may have failed to become a Mage, but now I was sure that I knew what my father really wanted of me. He wanted me not to just understand the secret source of the Draconis Order, he wanted me to steal it, so that we Torvalds could use it to topple Prince Vincent.
Even though the prospect of such an undertaking was huge – both stealing the source of their magic, and helping to dethrone the prince – I felt a curious sort of peace settle onto my heart. Tomorrow I would start by finally getting up into the Abbot’s own tower, and seeing what I could take.
Chapter 11
The Worries of Char Nefrette
It was just no use – I couldn’t sleep. After everything that I had seen on the mountaintop, there was no way that my brain was going to settle down enough to catch the sleep I needed. I felt like a lightning bolt, buzzing and flashing.
“Char?” Sigrid murmured, rubbing her eyes blearily from where she sat up in her bed. It was still dark, hours and hours before dawn, but I had been unable to sleep ever since we had made our way back from the Abbot’s first lesson in ‘dragon magic.’
Dragon magic? Huh! I thought in annoyance. Just what did anything that we were shown have to do with dragons? Not that it wasn’t impressive, of course, in its own way. But when I thought of the natural grace, speed, and strength of the growing Paxala, then that, to me, seemed the real magic. Not an old man’s conjuring tricks in the night.
“Char? What’s got into you? Are you getting up to talk to snow or whatever?” Sigrid was grumbling, reaching for her flint and tinder to light a candle.
“Shhh!” I said quickly. “Please, don’t light a candle.” It will only draw attention to the fact that we’re awake up here, I didn’t add. I was feeling anxious and nervous about everything I’d seen this night, especially the way the prince had singled out Torvald just because of a mistake. It made me realize that what I’d thought was my high degree of caution here at the monastery had actually been far too simple and childish. Really, I should be worried for drawing any attention, even for the slightest infraction. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out the real reason I was waking so early!
“Well, I don’t see why not – as I’m awake anyway, but all right.” Sigrid groaned, thumping her head back on the pillow.
“I’m sorry, Sig,” I said to her. “I just can’t sleep after, you know, last night on the mountain.” I was also worried about what I had seen must mean for my father. If the Abbot Ansall was so friendly with my uncle, then that meant he would use the monastery’s magic against my father, didn’t it?
“Yeah, I know,” Sigrid said, “Poor Torvald, huh?”
Torvald. I remembered the boy, getting in trouble just because of me, it seemed. “Yeah. It seems like they really don’t like him at all,” I said glumly. At least I wasn’t so alone in being regarded with so little respect here, I thought. Not that I was really ever alone at all. I had Sigrid here, and of course I had the beautiful, noble, and inspiring Paxala. But none of them had the childhood I had, my mind stubbornly pointed out. I had been caught between the courtly world of my father, the watchful scowls of his official wife, and the world of my mother’s people. One side wanted me raised as a lady – but never expected me to become one, and the other thought that I was wasting my time ‘with all this Three Kingdom politics.’
Maybe the Torvald boy went through similar. A tool on someone else’s chess board. Maybe I’ve finally found someone who can understand—I resolved to be a better friend to the boy in the future, we were both outsiders here, really. Hated in our own ways; him for being half Gypsy, and me for being half Mountain-folk, and ‘wild.’
“But not only that – the suit of armor? The boulder?” Sigrid said, in awe.
“Yes, it was certainly…spooky.” I said, thinking about the way that the objects had floated past our eyes. And then came the torch-flare. I remembered feeling something, a flare of energy rising through me like the call of the dragons at first light – but, no. Surely not. They would have signaled me out like Ganna if I had. “Well, I didn’t make the torch flame move,” I said out loud.
“Me neither,” Sigrid commiserated, her voice drowsy. “It’s a shame though – how great would that be, huh? To have all of those magic powers like the Abbot does?”
“That is, if they would let us use them,” I muttered sulkily, thinking about the way that we girls had so far been treated up here. At least, I thought all this aggression and disregard towards us was because of our sex. In a way, it was easier to think of it as just Greer and the Abbot and the prince being ignorant and arrogant towards us rather than the idea that they might resent us for other reasons.
Because my father is a prince. Or because I’m from the north. Or because they see me as a bastard child.
“What? Why wouldn’t they… Oh.” Sigrid caught on.
“I don’t know, I’m just tired,” I said. “Maybe they would train us as Dragon Mages if we had the talent for it, but I keep thinking about how the Quartermaster wasn’t even going to let Lila, probably the best skirmisher of all of us, the chance to train as a warrior. Do the dragon
monks just hate girls, then? Would we even be here if it weren’t our fathers forcing us to come?” I grumbled.
“Well, I wouldn’t, for sure.” Sigrid said, and her voice in the darkness sounded amused. “If it weren’t for my father sending me here, then there is no way I would be here! I would much rather be out riding my father’s horses.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, although there was something about this that left me feeling a little put out and insulted. Why couldn’t I be a dragon monk if I wanted to be? I mean, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be one, but I at least wanted the same chance as anyone else.
What I really want is the chance to learn about Paxala, I thought, with sudden clarity. She was fascinating and strong, and funny, and good company too. If that meant I had to stay here and train to be a dragon monk (or would that be Dragon Nun, I wondered?) then I was prepared to do it even though, I realized with another flash of insight, I would rather leave here with Paxala. That would be the best of all possibilities.
Sigrid yawned loudly from across the room and turned in her blankets. “If you’re going to get up anyway to talk to the frost or whatever it is that you weird mountain people do,” her muffled voice said, “could you at least rekindle the embers in the fire before you go?”
“Southerner,” I chided her, but did as she asked anyway. There were still a few embers left glowing, and it didn’t take much kindling and dried leaves to get a small fire burning again. I waited until the fire had taken, added a couple of the heavier seasoned logs and then the metal grate over the opening, knowing that the fire would smolder and burn through the logs, releasing heat into the room until we had a chance to get up and go down to breakfast.
We, I thought, as I stretched and walked to the window. There wasn’t going to be a chance to get out onto the mountaintop and to the lake and Paxala this morning, not after last night.
“No Char? No ham?” The reptilian words appeared in my mind as if I had dreamed them, and I shook on my feet, breathing through my nose. Had I dreamed them? Or was that Paxala sharing her thoughts with me? From this far away!?
“No ham.” The words returned (a little sulkily) and I could feel the dragon’s annoyance flowing towards me, as did another person’s as well.
“What’s that? You’re huffing and puffing like a dragon.” Sigrid groaned. “Some of us have to sleep, we’re not all part-mountain, you know?”
“Yeah, sorry. It’s just… the floor is cold,” I said, grabbing my things to get changed and rush towards the door.
“Oh, you do get cold then? Have you tried being quiet and sleeping in a warm bed like the rest of us?” Sigrid said in tired annoyance, and I heard a whump as she rolled over to bury herself even deeper into her blankets.
After getting dressed and grabbing my things, I stood on the cold landing outside our dormitory room and tried to think this new thing through. So, the dragon could share her mind with me, and she could do it from even a very great distance away. ‘Paxala?’ I tried, thinking towards her.
No reply.
It’s just too risky to go, I thought to myself. What if there are other dragon monks out there, cleaning up, or keeping an eye on Torvald? After our night-time lesson, my morning escapes to the distant lake suddenly seemed very dangerous indeed. Was it usual for the Abbot to go out at night? Had he ever seen me out in the dawn? Had he ever followed me? I had thought that I was alone up there, and the only person who was crazy enough to walk out onto Dragon Mountain alone, even with native dragons roaming around!
No, I couldn’t go to Paxala this morning, but there might be something else I could try. Paxala…? I thought, not even knowing if I could get a response or not.
There was silence inside my own head. Maybe I was doing it wrong. I had never initiated contact with her yet, anyway. Not all by myself. Was there something that a human had to do? A magic word? How did Paxala do it? Could she think a spell, even if she couldn’t speak one?
‘Char.’ I felt suddenly enfolded by invisible reptilian warmth, as if she were here right next to me. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing at the sheer joy of it. I had done it! I had managed to talk to the dragon just using my mind!
‘Char can always talk to me, here. Here is us,’ Paxala said. What did she mean by that? But I didn’t want to waste time worrying, when poor Neill could be out there starving to death.
‘Paxala, there’s a boy, stuck on the mountain. Can you keep an eye on him, somehow? Fly over him? Near him? But… You will have to be quiet. As silent as a mouse.’ My heart thumped in my chest. ‘Don’t go near if you smell or hear any other creature, you hear? You cannot get caught by Zaxx or the Abbot.’
‘Yes, Paxala can fly nearby, quieter than a mouse, more silent than the wind itself. Even if friend-Char won’t bring ham.’ The dragon twittered in my mind, before withdrawing just as suddenly and just as easily.
‘I promise that I will bring extra when I can!’ I tried to thank her. ‘But don’t let him know that you are there. No one can know that you exist…’
No reply in my mind, but I could feel her agreement somehow, like a nudge or a gentle shove in the back of my mind.
“Thank you,” I whispered, knowing that I would have to pay her, when I could. If there was one thing I had learned about dragons during my time with Paxala, it was that a dragon never felt indebted to anyone or anything. That seemed to be one of the reasons why it was so difficult for a large enclave like the crater to exist. Zaxx demanded that the other dragons obey him; but none of the others felt indebted to him, making fights and even dragon killings much more likely. I knew that if I asked for some service from Paxala, I would have to pay in kind at some later date, no matter how much food I’d brought her over the past year. She had never asked it of me—I had done it freely. But for now – I had to think about what all of this meant; Paxala, our sharing of minds, Lord Vincent, dragon magic… What did it mean for my father? Could he use it to his advantage?
But I couldn’t risk leaving the Dragon Monastery until tomorrow, until I’d planned and deliberated a way to see Paxala. For all I knew there were Dragon Mages out on patrol, keeping watch over Torvald, or not. Instead, my footsteps took me to the Library, where Greer had me working most of my free time. He thought it was a punishment, but he didn’t realize that it was also one of the few places in the monastery where I could think, in peace, and without being disturbed. I would go to the Library to learn as much as I could about dragons and speaking to dragons with your mind. There had to be old stories somewhere, right? It must have happened to others before me, hadn’t it? And if anyone catches me and asks me what I am doing, I will just say that I am studying. Which was true, in a way. The perfect disguise!
Chapter 12
Strange Visitors
‘You will never be a true Torvald.’ Rik was laughing, shoving me so hard that I fell backwards, straight out of my father’s halls and to the muddy, churned up floor of a battlefield. It was cold, and every muscle in me hurt. The clan room where I had been standing was gone, and instead all around me there was mud, bodies, and broken weapons.
‘How are you going to be fit enough to rule when I am gone?’ came the gruff voice of my father, as he appeared, looming over me, his russet-blond hair contrasting with my dark Gypsy coloring. He moved back out of my sight, leaving me in the deep mud. Above me floated grey clouds, interspersed with clear blue sky. It was peaceful in a way, just to concentrate on that sky and not the mud and death and war all around me.
‘Skreayar!’ A sudden sound split the air, as a shadow cut across my vision. It was gone almost as fast as it had arrived, but in my heart, I saw what it had to be. A dragon. A mighty, crimson-red dragon.
Instead of scared I felt excited, and opened my mouth to call to it but for some reason I couldn’t. When I brought my hand up, intending to touch my face to find out what was wrong with my mouth instead all I saw was a stone fist where my hand should be. I had been turned to stone. I was never to fly or to meet a real dragon. I h
ad failed my father, and my blood was not good enough for my brother either. I was just another stone puppet, ready to be used and directed by the Abbot and the prince…
‘Skreayar!’ The same call once again, and this time the dragon swooped lower and faster, growing larger and larger in my sight. It was not gold, nor white or blue, but a red dragon and it seemed to be flying straight for me. Its mouth was a nest of sharp fangs, and it opened them to swallow me whole…
“Torvald?” Voices on the mountaintop. “Neill?”
I was not lying on a distant battlefield, and neither was I being stalked by a dragon. Instead I was frozen, kneeling on the unforgiving rocks, my body long past the point of shivering and now slowing down into the gentle caress of sleep.
“By all the sacred roads and stars!” someone cursed, and I found that I knew the voice. That cannot be. I must still be asleep.
Hands grabbed me by the shoulders, lifting me up and as soon as they did, pain exploded down and around my thighs and legs as blood surged again. I cried out, before biting my mouth down against the pain. I would not show weakness. I could not, I would not. “I will be a worthy leader of my clan. I will show the Abbot how strong I am…” I said, my teeth chattering as I forced the words out.
“What madness is this? He’s raving! What have you done to my nephew?” It sounded for all the world like Lett Shaar Anar, the brother of my long-dead mother. You are a dream, uncle. I tried to laugh, but the pain coming from the lower half of my body was too real.
“Not me, friend, but the ones down there in the monastery. Here, we must rub the blood back into him, and get him warm,” said another dark shape in the predawn light. It too, I recognized. Jodreth? I opened my mouth to confirm, but my teeth only chattered. I could not stop the shivering now, even though as I had knelt through the long night I had gone past shivering. Now it was uncontrollable and threatened to shake me to pieces.
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