The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus)

by Irene Radford

  “You may sit there.” Lokeen waved Robb toward an armchair made of the same wicker.

  He sat carefully, his thighs protesting the change. A low table carved in delicate spirals and inlaid with iridescent shells rested between them. Before Robb could sit back and rest, the lady scooted forward from the shadows with another pair of slippers for him. He gratefully accepted her help in removing his tight boots from sweaty feet. A shake of her head warned him not to use the table as a footrest. Apparently only the king was allowed to lounge here.

  “Here is King Darville’s reply to your earlier letter. I need you to decipher it.” Lokeen produced a folded parchment from an interior pocket. The forest green wax seal had been broken and torn away, leaving only a stain on the thin and worn parchment. “Maria gave it to me this morning. The seal was broken already. She read it before realizing it needed to come to me. I do not recognize the hand that wrote it.”

  “King Darville has many clerks. They write. He signs,” Robb explained. But he recognized the precise letters formed by his old friend and journey companion Marcus.

  Robb took the piece of parchment and laid it flat upon the table. A quick scan showed him hints of a hidden message beneath the written words. He doubted Lokeen or Maria had noticed that. “What makes you think there is code in these words?” he asked.

  “Because the words do not give me the answer I need!”

  “Lady Ariiell has refused your proposal,” Robb said flatly, reading more carefully. He’d need to ground and center himself and go into a half trance to find the magic within the ink. Did he dare?

  “Which she can’t do,” Lokeen said. His mouth twitched in anger. “Your own laws state that such a decision must be made by her father or guardian. Her father signed a marriage treaty with me. What does she truly say?”

  Any sense of friendliness or affability evaporated from Lokeen, though he maintained his casual recline.

  The steward brought a tray with a wine decanter, two cups, and two plates filled with spiced meat, dates, olives, and a mild goat cheese. The lady brought a second tray piled with fresh, warm flatbread. Delicacies Robb had enjoyed for a few days while in the tower room, but not in the dungeon. He forced himself to wait for Lokeen to select a few morsels before grabbing his own portion.

  They ate in silence a few moments.

  “Eat more, especially the meat. I know you need fuel to work magic,” Lokeen said, his eyes nearly closed as he peered at Robb.

  “I do not want to abuse your hospitality.”

  “Then eat all your stomach can hold. I need you whole and hale to tell me what that letter truly says. There has to be a code or magic or something!”

  Robb wrapped several slices of meat and cheese in the bread and ate his meal in small bites, knowing the big gulps that tempted him would upset his stomach and weaken his magic. Then he drained his cup of wine before leaning against the chair back and breathing deeply. He closed his eyes and sought a connection to the Kardia beneath his feet. Slowly he felt the pulse of the land, the tug of the magnetic pole, and an inner sight that made all the objects around him transparent, yet sharp in detail.

  Magical strength trickled into him.

  And then . . .

  And then . . . a flood of the special energy he had craved to gather for moons.

  A dragon. A dragon flew nearby, granting him access to magic. All he could gather and store in that special place behind his heart.

  Thank you. Robb here.

  (Verdii here. You are welcome. Lukan sends greetings and wishes for patience.)

  When had Lukan ever been patient about anything?

  Then the elusive presence of the dragon withdrew.

  But Robb had replenished his strength and soothed his aches. He made himself ready to see what he could see within the letter.

  “The lady is most adamant that she is damaged goods and not worthy of the honor you grant her with your proposal,” Robb chanted, as if reading between the lines of the letter when he actually invented a new message, one more to the king’s liking. “She says that she needs time and quiet to meditate deeply and reevaluate her place in life before she can enter society again. She will not taint Your Majesty and your kingship with her soiled presence. There are other, more worthy ladies closer to you.”

  He’d seen the true message, the one meant for him, encoded with magic by Marcus. Help is coming. Learn all that you can, any way that you can.

  He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes fully to face the king.

  Strangely Lokeen did not give in to the rage that burned in his cheeks and blazed in his eyes. “Closer to me. Yes, yes, I heard that a lady arrived by ship this morning. Perhaps she is destined to become the new love of my life and my queen. We shall seek her out when we return to the city in two days. After we have visited my farm. I will introduce you to my breeding stock. Soon I will have enough Krakatrice to rule all of Kardia Hodos, not just this little city-state and Coronnan. All of it. On my own authority and not secondhand power granted me by a royal wife. Henceforth I shall be the only royal in the entire world, and my sons will inherit. We will not depend upon women anymore.”

  “If you will not need a strong queen in your future plans, I wonder that you seek to marry now,” Robb said, feeling his way through this, one word at a time.

  “I will need strong sons to follow me. Not the bard who rejects his princely duties and prefers to wander in poverty and sing silly songs. And definitely not the son who follows Helvess.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “STARGODS, I THOUGHT it was hot outside!” Lukan said as he wiped sweat off his brow. Glowing embers in a central raised fire pit showed him the interior of a blacksmith’s workplace. Three walls stood open to the street. Tall stone columns supported the slate awning. The fourth wall must be the back of the smith’s home. In the shop, heavy tools lined up neatly along the wall, each one on a designated hook. The workspace was filled with buckets of water—from a pump in the corner against the house—a huge bellows to infuse air into the burning coals, and a well-worn anvil set upon a flat stone so that the top reached waist high on the man pounding a piece of metal flat.

  The smith turned to face Lukan, Skeller, and Chess as they stepped beneath the slate awning.

  Lukan reared back in surprise. A young woman, maybe almost as old as Skeller, but as tall as Lukan himself and broader at hip and shoulder, with thick thighs outlined by her black leather trews, stared back at him. She’d twisted her pale blonde hair into a thick knot atop her head. Soot lined her brow and cheeks. Sun and fire had given her a deep and ruddy tan.

  “I see you’ve found the one you have searched for these many moons, Chess.” Her voice was nearly as deep as a man’s, probably in the tenor range. “A magician I presume by the staff. A bard as well.” Then she peered more fiercely at Skeller. “The bard?”

  Skeller blinked, looking around warily for eavesdroppers before nodding. His eyes skidded past the shadow in an alley that might or might not be a tall, thin man with a scarred face.

  “Gerta, this is Lukan, the journeyman I told you would come, eventually,” Chess said as he took a place beside the bellows and peered closely at the fire. He reached up and pulled down the lever. A slight whoosh of air puffed into the embers, sending white flames briefly through the hot coals. “Skeller you seem to know. Friends, this is Gerta, daughter and journeyman to our master smith Gordo.”

  The proximity of the castle tower told Lukan why his fellow magician had taken refuge here when Robb had told him to run. Close enough to monitor traffic in and out of the castle, as well as gossip, and give him useful employment to keep body and soul together.

  “You’ll be needing food and drink,” Gerta said, thrusting her tongs and the piece of metal she’d been working into a bucket of water. Hissing steam rose up. Only when it had dissipated did she pull out the half-formed hearth hook and examine it. “Can’t leave this now. Da’s in the marketplace selling the wares. You can provide for your friends. I’l
l come consult with you when I finish.”

  “How much does she know?” Lukan asked as they rounded the corner of the smith’s home and entered the single ground floor room that served as kitchen and living space. A narrow staircase along the back wall led to a loft that encircled the big room. In the dimness, he thought he saw partitions between sleeping areas, no doors; each “room” opened to the central living area with only lacy ironwork forming a fence. Not a lot of privacy.

  “Gerta and her father know everything I know. They don’t like King Lokeen any better than the rest of the city. But as long as the bastard controls the guards and the army they can’t overthrow him,” Chess spat.

  “If the king had kept women in his army or palace guard, they’d have the right to overthrow him,” Skeller muttered. He eased the harp case off his shoulders and set it reverently in a corner, behind a chair, where it would not get kicked as people moved about the room.

  The entire political hierarchy puzzled Lukan. He’d never heard of women holding more power than men. But if more of the women here were as big and strong as Gerta he could understand why. He had to think a moment to remember if the women he’d passed in the marketplace had also equaled men in stature. Some, perhaps. Not all.

  Chess pulled up a trapdoor and jumped into a shallow space beneath the floor. He pulled out three tall, capped jugs and just as nimbly hopped back up. Then he set about dishing up some strange foods and familiar-looking soft, white cheese. Goat probably. “Bread’s still fresh from this morning,” he said, removing the cloth covering several flat disks of the lightly browned delicacy. Lukan’s mouth watered. He’d eaten this version of bread aboard ship and learned to love the nutty flavor and light texture. But what they’d had on ship was usually stale, almost moldy, and strictly rationed, as they did not bake while at sea.

  “I’ll cook properly at sunset and we’ll dine on the roof, to catch the cool sea breeze,” Chess continued to explain.

  “Salty olives, sweet dates, and light bread,” Skeller hummed in delight. “I haven’t eaten so well since I left here more than six moons ago.”

  Lukan harrumphed. He knew Lily was an excellent cook. She’d fed the man she loved quite well on caravan. Skeller himself equaled or surpassed Lily in food preparation. Different foods, but still good.

  Why was he defending Lily in his own mind? He’d never liked the idea of her and Skeller as a couple. The bard was nearly eight years older than she!

  The same difference in age between Mama and Da. And she’d been sixteen when they met and married, the same age as Lily now.

  “How long before Robb comes back to the castle?” Lukan asked, to shift his mind away from thoughts of family. He’d determined long before the start of this adventure that he didn’t want or need his family any longer.

  “Probably not for two days,” Gerta said, coming into the room and grabbing a handful of the brown olives, pickled in wine vinegar and sea salt. “Maybe three days. Depends how far Lokeen needed to go. They rode into the pass along the river. My guess is they’re headed toward the farm on the high desert plateau. Two days up. A night there, then an easy ride downhill for a day to come back.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?” Lukan asked, snagging another piece of bread before she ate the last of it.

  “Get to know the city, every hidden alley, every road out, and every boat fit to sail the ocean so we can escape once we’ve freed Robb,” Chess said, his chin firming in determination.

  “Trust me, riding a dragon is fun,” Linda said brightly.

  Souska looked at her skeptically. “Why do they have to be so big?” She scanned the sky above the University courtyard, biting her lower lip so it would not tremble. Her knapsack, filled with the remedies Lily had asked for as well as a few others that Maigret thought beneficial, and a single change of clothes for Souska, weighed heavily on her shoulder.

  Three days they’d needed to gather and prepare everything. She hoped there were enough people left alive in the village to test these remedies.

  Then she heard a new rush of wind that did not disturb the treetops north of the open space. She cringed, reaching for Linda’s hand to steady her.

  “Always trust the dragons,” Maigret said from the other side of Linda. “No matter what your instincts say, trust the dragon. This one is Krystaal, a young female. She needs experience out by herself before she seeks a lair of her own in another decade or so. She has flown with her brothers but never completed a task with humans on her own.”

  “Krystaal,” Souska tried the name on her tongue and in her mind.

  “Remember to greet her properly every time she comes to you, even if it is only in the back of your mind,” Maigret said, also scanning the skies for a glimpse of a dragon wing. “Once you establish a strong connection to her, she will never be far from your call.”

  Summer sunlight shimmered in a vague distortion far to the south. Souska gulped and took a step sideways closer to the older apprentice and their mistress.

  “Buck up, girl. The dragons have little respect for a coward,” Maigret admonished her.

  “They won’t eat you,” Linda added.

  “Easy for you to say. You have royal blood. They can’t hurt you,” Souska argued.

  Linda chuckled. “No, they can’t. By bonds of tradition, blood, and magic, they won’t hurt me. By bonds of friendship and trust with the entire community of magicians, they will not harm a human, unless that human is directly trying to destroy something or someone they love.”

  “And they love the land of Coronnan and all her people,” Maigret finished for her. “Actually, I’m not certain they would hurt a human even then. Krej imprisoned Shayla into a statue of glass. After Jaylor freed her, she did not attempt any revenge except to leave Coronnan for a time.”

  (Krystaal here. I will keep you safe, little magician,) a voice said into the back of Souska’s mind. It sounded as light and clear as tiny bells set to dancing by a breeze.

  “Souska here,” she replied, hoping she’d remembered the proper phrasing.

  “Do you hear her?” Linda asked.

  Souska could only nod at the tremendous honor. A dragon had spoken to her. Her. A simple country girl who had a way with herbs and almost no magic at all.

  Then she saw the dragon, for real and true. A scintillating rainbow of colors dropped from above the rooftops, backwinging to guide her descent into a precise landing on hind feet in the middle of a circle described by twelve flat stones, each marked with the sigil of a master magician.

  A smile curved Souska’s lips before she remembered to be afraid. By then she was too entranced with the way light reflected off the crystalline fur into glorious prisms. A trace of silver still limned Krystaal’s wing tips and spinal horns. Other than that, she looked nearly mature.

  “You’re bigger than Indigo, Krystaal,” Souska whispered, remembering the purple-tip dragon who had helped the entire University of Magicians break the mage-driven storm that had nearly destroyed Coronnan.

  (Of course I am. He is a litter younger than I.) The dragon shook herself all over and settled her wings against her body. (And he is merely a purple-tip. Stunted. I am female, destined to become matriarch.) She dropped her front legs to the ground and turned an eye full of swirling colors to peer directly at Souska. Her spiral forehead horn came within a foot of grazing the girl’s hair.

  Souska desperately wanted to step away from that horn. It would pierce her through like any warrior’s lance or spear.

  Linda’s firm grip on her hand kept her rooted in place. “I told you she won’t hurt you. Though she might try to intimidate you.”

  A dragon chuckle sounded in the back of Souska’s mind. A deeper and more mature voice. (Shayla here. Don’t let her intimidate you. That chore is reserved for me.)

  “Dragon humor is different from ours,” Maigret said. “It will take time to learn to appreciate it.” She stepped forward, hand outstretched to stroke the dragon’s long nose. “Maigret here, Krystaa
l. May I touch you?”

  (Of course. I won’t bite. Hard.)

  Souska nearly jumped backward.

  “Not funny, Krystaal,” Linda admonished the young dragon. “Linda here.”

  (I know you well, Princess Rosselinda, daughter of Rossemikka and Darville. I was among those who flew over Coronnan City in celebration of your birth.)

  “Princess no longer. I am Apprentice Magician Linda now.” Linda lifted her chin proudly. “I claim my name and title because I have earned it, not because I inherited it from my parents.”

  Krystaal closed her magnificent eyes and bowed her head an inch or two in respect.

  Souska let a tiny bit of awe replace the fear that kept her knees trembling and sweat streaming down her back and across her brow.

  “Are we ready?” Maigret asked, still stroking the dragon’s head in long caresses of her hand.

  (Yes. I am to take the littlest magician upon my back and fly her to where Journeyman Lily awaits us.)

  “I . . . I’m ready,” Souska said quietly.

  Linda squeezed her hand. You must say it with confidence and believe it, or you’ll never climb onto Krystaal’s back.

  “I’m ready,” Souska said more firmly. And yes, she was closer to believing it, just by saying it.

  Maigret lifted the knapsack from Souska’s shoulder and hung it by the carry-strap around two of Krystaal’s neck horns. “Now place one foot here,” she indicated the dragon’s forearm. “Grab this horn, and swing your other leg over her back. Just like mounting a steed.”

  “I . . . I’ve never ridden a steed.”

  “Oh, well. Just do it and appreciate the loving gentleness of your dragon, because she is much more patient and tolerant than any steed I’ve encountered,” Linda said.