Dragon’s Stone

by Lena Austin

  Lucynda smiled in relief, and the dragons relaxed. His mother waggled her fork in his direction. “In truth, you are a wizard, and so in a unique position. You are outside the normal --” She looked at Draig and added a few words Jack didn’t know.

  Draig hurriedly swallowed and finished for her in English. “She means social strata. Wizards and sorceresses have their own hierarchy. This is one of the reasons why we are so insistent on the school, Jack. Your ability to control magic is determined by levels of tests to demonstrate your power. Without the royal seals, you’re considered just above a peasant hedge wizard, and that status is only gifted to you by virtue of your birth and what little was witnessed by Lady Tilda. Such poor control is just what keeps most men in low status. You’ll have to prove you’re better than that, or you will be treated as most men are in Honalee.” Her glance flicked to one of the servants, who arranged more serving dishes on the sideboard.

  Aneurin’s mind voice filtered in, though he kept shoveling in food with single-minded intensity. “Males are assumed to be lacking in self-control, Jack. Some even consider us less intelligent, with notable examples. Reverse everything you’re used to. Males are the home keepers, child tenders, and service staff. Females hold all positions of power, and it’s enforced by the laws.”

  Jack put down his fork slowly as the full weight of this revelation settled in his stomach like cold lead. He was used to being the object of prejudice because he was gay. That he could deal with, even if he didn’t like it. Sexual orientation was not obvious unless you made it deliberately so. He’d seen even the worst raging queen “straighten up” when necessary. There was no disguising gender. Jack swallowed. Hard. Images of being black prior to the race riots of the 1960’s fast-forwarded through his head. His left hand, thankfully out of sight in his lap, curled into a fist.

  Aneurin jerked back, probably from the backlash of his rage. Plates and loose objects on the table rattled, as his anger translated into a magical manifestation.

  He took a deep breath. “Excuse me. I need to take a walk.” Jack forced himself to keep his voice calm, even though he could hear the icy sarcasm he couldn’t disguise. He stood and threw his napkin on the table. One thing was clear. He had a mission beyond learning magic to protect his mother from a king bent on revenge, even above keeping him from breaking small objects whenever his emotions were out of hand. He had to prove his own worth. Now he wasn’t just some abandoned orphan, determined to show the world he had a right to a place in it. Now he was part of an elite group of men who had the chance to prove equality of the sexes, or some shit like that. His head hurt.

  Lucynda managed a regal nod, though she kept a wary eye on the rattling candlesticks. Aneurin and Draig both gave him sympathetic looks.

  Jack stalked out of the room and slammed out the front door into the cool night air. His thoughts were so chaotic Jack didn’t care where he went. He marched in a straight line toward a copse of trees just beyond the tilled areas of the gardens. No one was outside, and Jack made his way into the concealment without anyone noticing.

  Without a clue how he would do it, somehow Jack had to prove men were equal. He stared up at the stars. He’d never given equality of the sexes much thought. Equality was a part of his life. “Where are you, Susan B. Anthony? Billie Jean King? Any advice?”

  He found a large tree, leaned up against it, and slid down until his backside hit the grass. “Let’s see. Mission one: get my magic under control. Check. Mission two: protect Lucynda from Cadell. How I’m going to do that, I haven’t a clue. Okay, one day at a time on that one. Mission three: prove men are equal to an entire medieval matriarchal society.” He threw his head back against the tree and saw more stars than there were in the night sky. “Boy, am I out of my depth.”

  Chapter Five

  Jack clamped his mouth shut to keep his teeth from chattering and hung on with grim determination to the odd iron loop that served in place of a saddle horn. He was more than grateful for DeAngelo’s advice to wear gloves and his wraparound sunglasses. At least the saddle was the epitome of comfort and design, even if it was essentially a stuffed square cushion strapped to Aneurin’s body. A secure buckled harness kept him firmly in his seat. Festooned with large decorative iron rings on the sides and behind, the saddle pad also served to hold the sturdy leather bags containing his clothes and wizard stuff.

  In front and slightly to his left, DeAngelo waved and pointed down at a mountain lake any artist would give his left nut to paint. His black saddle, tooled with the familiar wings of Harley Davidson, had a set of motorcycle handlebars Jack eyed with envy. He even had black leather saddlebags hanging off the damn thing. Crazy old coot was a laugh and a half to hang with, and loyal to a fault.

  Jack patted with satisfaction the brown leather bag containing his new camp percolator and six large bags of Seattle’s best coffee, as well as the special travel mug DeAngelo had presented him with when they’d stopped by to pick up the saddle. Jack could survive anything as long as he had a coffee supply, even going to fucking school.

  “Hang on. We’re going to land.” Aneurin’s mind voice was excited.

  Aneurin and Watash made a sharp turn to the left. Jack could now see what DeAngelo pointed at. It wasn’t the lake, but a collection of stone buildings. Some were large and three stories high, others were squat single buildings, and one familiar dragon hangar. Extensive gardens, manicured and perfect, surrounded one building that also boasted a huge courtyard. Down by the lakeside, a gathering of people and dragons looked like some sort of medieval fair was in progress. He saw jugglers and an airborne stream of flame like a fire breather from a circus. The dragons lounged outside the mayhem in the sun or swam in the steaming lake. From the look of the way it bubbled, the lake was formed from hot springs.

  “Quite a party going on down there.” Jack still wasn’t used to the telepathy thing, but even if the wind whipped away his voice, Aneurin heard him just fine.

  “That’s not a party. Watash tells me that’s where the prospective students gather before something called the Trial of Wizard’s Choice. DeAngelo says to land there and wait. Soon you’ll be called to the main building and tested to see if you do have mage ability.” Aneurin backwinged, landing with only a small jolt outside the main circle of tents.

  Jack dismounted. Trampled flat by the passage of both dragon and human feet, the meadow they’d landed in was bare of grass, and the steamy breeze from the lake was warm enough for him to shed his coat. Now that he was on the ground, the actions of the other students became clear. Some breathed fire like circus acts, some juggled objects by waving a wand, and others made things appear in mists. The crowd had the appearance of teenagers showing off. Meeting other student wizards wasn’t appealing, and Jack seriously considered joining one fellow he saw lounging under the trees with a book in front of his nose. The solitary one had the right idea.

  Instead, Jack turned his attention back to what Aneurin had said. “I’ll be called? What about you?”

  His pal laughed and changed form, shedding all his burdens in a heap where his back had been. He disentangled himself from the straps. “I’ll probably hang around with Watash for a bit. I’m in school, too, so to speak. He’s promised to tell me what to expect from the riding lessons.” He gestured toward the pile of their belongings. “He did tell me servants would be along to get all this later, once you’ve passed the Trial.”

  Jack grimaced and studied this weird half-medieval world. The trees, grass, and mountains could have been anywhere in Europe, maybe the Alps or something, except for the steam rising from the lake. The word trial to him meant courts, lawyers, and criminal charges. He was spooked enough with the gender segregation thing. “Couldn’t they call it a test? What kind of test?”

  Aneurin shrugged and grinned. “Stop worrying. You win either way, don’t you? If you don’t pass their test, then Lucynda teaches you to control your magic. If you succeed, you’ll learn here.” He bent and kissed Jack gently.

/>   “Trying to distract me with kisses, lover dragon?” Jack’s lips tingled and twitched into a smile. He hated feeling this insecure, and itched for a bit of action. “I wish they’d get this over with.”

  Over Aneurin’s shoulder, Jack saw a man approach the guy reading in the shade of a large oak. Whoever the intruder was, he didn’t seem friendly. When the reader looked up, the newcomer snatched the book from his hands. Jack knew what a school bully was, and the reader seemed much smaller than his attacker.

  Maybe he overreacted, but Jack hated bullies. The little short guy didn’t stand a chance, and Jack wasn’t going to just stand by and watch. He raced over just in time to hear the bully snarl, “You don’t belong here, Remo. Why don’t you go home?” The bully snatched at the little guy’s cap.

  Jack gave the short skinny Remo marks for pluck. He evaded the bully’s hand and slapped at it. “It’s none of your business why I’m here, Quenton. Leave me alone.”

  They both turned as Jack moved to stand by Remo, Aneurin right behind him. Geez, the shrimp even wore thick, gold-rimmed glasses. Whoever picked on short, skinny nerds in glasses deserved a punch in the mouth, so Jack glared at the muscular brunet named Quenton. “Yeah, why don’t you go back to bragging with the other wannabes? Go breathe fire or something to show off instead of picking on guys shorter and weaker than you.”

  Quenton’s lip curled. “You defend his wish to be here? Who are you to claim that right?” He tossed his greasy dark curls like some queen from Georgetown.

  Remo gaped at Aneurin for a moment as if he could tell what Aneurin was. However, he was not afraid of standing on Jack’s other side with his chin lifted. Nerd or not, the guy had balls. He pushed his glasses further upon his nose and spoke regally. “That’s an impertinent question. You’re no better than any other here, Quenton.”

  Jack curled his hands into fists, ready to knock this Quenton flat if it came down to brass tacks. Arrogant bastards like him Jack understood, especially when they were dressed in leather and silk. He caught on to the fact that Quenton might be noble, or at least rich. “Just call me Jack, and I don’t give a damn about rank, privileges or other manure like that.”

  Quenton’s eyes widened, and then narrowed speculatively. “We shall see.” He reached over and snatched off Remo’s cap.

  White hair spilled out from the cap, obscuring Remo’s face but not his ears. His pointed ears. He brushed his waist length hair out of his eyes and stood glaring defiantly at both Quenton and Jack. “Is there a law against an Elf wishing to learn human magic, now?”

  Jack grinned, happy to finally meet an Elf. In fact, the cryptozoologist in him burned to talk to an Elf, but there were more important things at the moment. Jack shrugged cheerfully. “I wouldn’t know, and I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, you can study any damn thing that interests you. Knowledge is never wasted.”

  Quenton threw the cap to Remo. “You’ve a great deal to learn, Jack. We’ll see if you pass the Trial before continuing this conversation.” He turned and stalked off.

  Remo maintained dignity and bent to stuff his hair inside his cap before shoving it on his head. “So do you,” he whispered to the retreating stiff back.

  Jack put his hands on his hips and watched Quenton angrily shove between two tents and lose himself in the crowd. “Nice guy. Hope he doesn’t end up as a classmate.”

  Aneurin tugged on Jack’s sleeve to get his attention. “Now that’s over, I’ll take my leave and wait for word of your success. See you tonight.” He kissed Jack once more before starting the long walk to the dragon hangar.

  Remo’s eyes followed him for a few moments. “Your dragon, Sir Jack?”

  “Just Jack, thanks. Yeah. We’ve been together since I was born, more or less. His name is Aneurin.” Jack walked over and picked up Remo’s book, unsurprised to find it was written in an alphabet he couldn’t hope to read. “Is this Elven?”

  The Elf accepted the book and closed it. “Yes, of course.” Then he smiled shyly. “Honalean isn’t your primary language either, is it? You use words I do not know.”

  Jack gave Remo his best goofy grin. “You caught me. Hey, I’d rather hear about your people, if you don’t mind. I’ve got coffee if we can get a fire going. You can tell me anything you want me to know.”

  Remo’s grin grew wider and friendlier. “I do not know what this coffee is, and I would tell you many things, but I think the time of the Trial is at hand.” He pointed to a gray-haired fellow resplendent in deep blue robes. It took Jack a few moments to recognize DeAngelo, walking purposely toward them.

  They waited until DeAngelo came up to them, his robes swishing in the grass under the tree. Jack grinned to see the old biker looking like a storybook wizard.

  DeAngelo winked at Jack and bowed formally to both of them. “As per the protocols, all noblemen and non-humans are requested to take the Trial first. Will you both follow me? Servants will attend to your luggage.”

  Remo’s snowy eyebrow shot up, and he bowed gracefully. “Indeed? Well, then. Please lead us, good wizard.”

  Jack caught on, and did his best to bow, though he was sure he didn’t do it as well. He stepped in to walk companionably by Remo’s side, determined not to lose a chance for a chat with an Elf. From the surprised glance Remo shot him, he assumed he’d violated some protocol again. Screw their protocols.

  DeAngelo snickered at Remo’s shocked look. “I’ve no objections to you two coming in together, but you’ll each face your Trial alone. Is that clear?”

  Remo blinked and shot Jack an unfathomable look. “Of course.”

  Jack shrugged. He couldn’t understand why Remo was acting like he’d been accorded some honor, but Jack really didn’t care if he was breaking some sort of pecking order rule. “Clear as a bell, DeAngelo. Lead on.”

  The Elf smiled gently as they were led up the path through manicured gardens, but kept his thoughts to himself until they reached the gray granite steps of the largest building. Remo tugged on Jack’s sleeve. “You’ll want your wand, Jack.”

  Startled, Jack pulled his wand from the arm sheath DeAngelo had strapped to Jack’s left forearm. “Why?”

  DeAngelo chuckled and opened the door. “You may not need it, but we’ll want to check it for mage properties. Here, give them to me.”

  Remo pulled his wand from the sleeves of his robe. For the first time, Jack noticed Remo wore a loose overcoat of a robe in blue silk, covered with silver embroidery. The front was open, and beneath he wore matching blue and white pants and shirt. Even his boots were blue. He handed his white wood wand over with a short, polite bow.

  Jack gave the old biker wizard his simple brown wand, feeling strangely shabby in his jeans and tee shirt with the words “Lost in Thought. Please send a search party” emblazoned on the front in English. It was his private joke for DeAngelo and Aneurin. The old wizard had laughed like a loon this morning, but hadn’t made Jack change into robes.

  DeAngelo led them through the front entrance and through a large set of double doors to the right. Four other nervously fidgeting men sat in chairs, all dressed in robes heavily decorated with gold and silver embroidery. One of them was Quenton, who studiously ignored the newcomers and contemplated his fingernails. His ploy might have worked if his hands hadn’t been shaking.

  Odd objects like folded cloth, a candelabrum, a rock, and things Jack couldn’t name covered a long table. Three thrones sat on the dais behind the table. Lady Tilda graced one, her baby pink robes covering her enormous chest. DeAngelo took one, and an old man who looked so frail a strong wind might blow him away occupied the other throne.

  Remo and Jack looked at each other and shrugged. They crossed the floor and took two chairs where they’d have a clear view of what happened.

  Lady Tilda stood and stepped regally over to stand behind the tables. “Good morning, my lords. This is the Trial of Wizard’s Choice to determine if you have the necessary skills to learn from us. We will call your names one by one. At that
time, please come forth and choose an object.” She consulted a paper before her. “Lord Cale Aurelian, you are first.”

  A blond guy who would have fit every fairy tale description of the perfect Prince Charming rose from his chair and stepped confidently forward. He paced up and down the table for a few minutes, and then reached out to grab a fancy jeweled sword. He presented it to Lady Tilda with all the grace of a born courtier.

  Lady Tilda tsked, and said coldly, “You failed. My apologies to your family, Lord Cale, when you return to them.” She pointed airily out the door, and watched Prince Charming leave with his head bowed. She laid the sword aside and consulted her scroll. “Lord Quenton Beakmire.”

  Quenton marched forward defiantly, but took his time studying the contents of the table. Briefly, Jack caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were glazed and not really focused on any one object. Finally, he moved with deliberate care and touched a pile of yellow folded cloth. He seemed to nod to himself, and then took it to Lady Tilda as if he carried a treasure.

  Lady Tilda accepted the cloth and laid it aside. “Pass.” She pointed to a set of doors behind the thrones. “Go through those doors. Servants will show you to your rooms. You may spend the next few hours unpacking.” DeAngelo handed him his wand as he passed by the thrones. The doors closed softly behind him.

  Jack folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Great. Dipshit made it. What had he done that Prince Charming hadn’t? Jack watched as two more noble lords tried their luck. Both chose objects after a quick study of the tables, but only Quenton hadn’t looked at the objects themselves, but unfocused his eyes. Maybe he’d looked for something unseen? The two nobles each failed. What the hell had Quenton done? The spirit of competition was on Jack, and he couldn’t let the slimy bastard win. Then it hit him. Something he’d read. What the hell -- he’d give it a shot when his turn came.