Dragonhunters

by Sabrina Chase

  “That’s past praying for, love. Think of it this way—‌now they will perceive you as merely the beautiful wife of this odd author that keeps getting invited to royal functions. I’m sure this won’t be the only time we come here, after all.”

  Ardhuin tried to calm her pounding heart. “True, but…‌I wish there were some other way.” She instinctively raised one hand to a nonexistent veil but stopped when she saw Dominic’s look of reproof. She took his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten my promise. No more shadow hats.”

  He covered her gloved hand with his own for a moment. “I am sorry I teased you. This is difficult for you, I know.”

  “Perhaps I will grow accustomed,” Ardhuin said, not really believing she ever would. “Eventually. After hundreds of visits with my husband the famous author, such a favorite at the court.” She smiled mischievously at the look of embarrassment on Dominic’s face.

  “Madame, monsieur—‌if you would follow me?” One of the court servants stood before them, bowing. Dominic gave her a significant glance, and they left the salon in silence.

  They followed the servant through several hallways and corridors to a small antechamber, where a Queen’s hussar waited, resplendent in his dark green uniform rich with gold braid. The hussar, in turn, guided them through more hallways and finally to an ordinary room somewhere in the depths of the palace. Ardhuin was completely lost and only hoped any nefarious spies would be as confused as she was.

  The hussar opened the door for them but made no announcement of their names. Inside, Queen Anne was seated at one end of a large oval table, still in her formal gown from the soiree but with her jewels removed. Seen close up, without the bevy of ladies–‌in–‌waiting and other court functionaries, she seemed quite ordinary: a short, round–‌faced lady with brown hair who would not have attracted any notice in a linen cap selling fish in the market. Ardhuin had the strong notion, however, observing the direct gaze and the graceful but firm way she invited them to be seated, that the Queen was very much in command and that grace could transform to power without a moment’s hesitation.

  I should be more like that. Ardhuin glanced at the three older men also seated at the table. She noticed that no one else was in the room, and with her growing understanding of politics realized this was a very confidential meeting indeed.

  “My minister of magics, Louis Trégor.” The Queen indicated the man to her left, who had long black hair and a weary expression. “And the minister of war, the Marquis de Chouchenn, and of detection, Pierre Jodoc.” The Queen gestured to Trégor.

  “Madame…‌magistra.” Trégor fidgeted with a monocle on the end of a black ribbon. “I regret to say that despite your assistance, our allies have still been unable to decide on replacements for your missing colleagues. Alba, for example, points out they have no reason to think Alastair MacCrimmon is dead. He has frequently made long journeys to distant locales. The difficulties with the Preusan succession you are already aware of,” he said, his expression growing even more weary, “and Her Majesty was just informed the Ostri government has only now discovered their Mage Guardian is dead.” He rubbed his forehead as if to dispel a growing headache. “The Low Countries, on the other hand, have so many candidates for the post they cannot decide among them. I will say, only within the walls of this room, that I fear none of them may in fact be suitable. With all due respect to those present, the Low Countries appear to prefer rank over ability.”

  The war minister bristled at this, but the Queen merely seemed amused.

  “I do not understand this stubborn reluctance to face facts.” Jodoc clenched his hands into fists on the table. “As long as Denais remains at large, all of the Allies are endangered. And as powerful as Madame is,” he added, bowing to Ardhuin, “Bretagne cannot continue to allow her to be the only Mage Guardian in Aerope. Especially since we have not found the agents that attacked Peran. My men discovered traces of their presence near your home, and they could still be here and plotting mischief, under the control of the geas.”

  “The danger is real,” agreed de Chouchenn in a deliberate tone. “We are not on such a hair trigger as Preusa, and we have taken precautions to prevent false orders to our generals. We know Denais’s goals, and we need a full number of Mage Guardians to prevent them. If he uses the geas, what can we do?” His earlier hauteur had been replaced by real worry.

  Ardhuin spread her hands. “What do you want of me? This seems to be more of a question of diplomacy than magic. Judging from the effect I had in Preusa, anything I attempt would be likely to make things worse.”

  At this the Queen did smile, discreetly hiding her mouth behind one small hand.

  “I don’t think it was that bad,” Dominic murmured.

  “Von Koller might have been convinced to throw me in the river if I was on fire, but he would require a period of reflection before taking action,” Ardhuin whispered back. “And he wouldn’t be happy about it.”

  “If we can add even one new Mage Guardian, one without the political or, shall we say, personal irritants associated with ours, the matter changes. We wish you to go to the Low Countries and assist them with their selection,” said the Queen.

  “They have an old custom, long in disuse, of awarding magical rank by trial,” said Trégor. “They are considering reviving it for the purpose—‌not announced as such, of course! We have encouraged this, and said we would send our own magicians to compete to show support.”

  Ardhuin saw Dominic start in alarm. “I thought the purpose was to find more help, not put her in additional danger!”

  “Of course Madame Kermarec would not compete herself,” Trégor added hastily. “By attending as an observer she can evaluate candidates, and your particular talents, Monsieur Kermarec, would also be extremely useful.”

  Ardhuin considered this for a moment. “But how would my presence assist your goal? I would not be nominating or judging the trials, would I?”

  “We are hoping you can advise likely candidates so they can succeed,” Jodoc said bluntly. “This is allowed under the rules of the competition. However, it would produce a bad impression to have a Bretagnan helping Low Country magicians to win. You would need to be in disguise, and for your own safety as well. The competitions do not permit women to attend even as observers, and the fewer connections made between you and magic the better.”

  “When I was in Preusa, I went about openly at the Imperial Palace.” Ardhuin’s voice faltered. Who had seen her—‌who knew what she was?

  “The knowledge that you were a Mage Guardian was kept secret from all but a few, and Preusa has much more stringent controls on information officials are allowed to mention in public, with severe punishments. Also, you had the good sense to go about in company with your now–‌husband, and we have encouraged the rumors that he is in fact a magician but an eccentric one who prefers to be thought merely an author.”

  Ardhuin opened her mouth to protest this was hardly an improvement, but Dominic merely sighed, raising a hand in acknowledgment. “A role I have played before. I hope the rumors are true about buildings in the Low Countries rarely having cellars.”

  “Here are the names of some promising magicians. They do not have official mage rank yet, but by our standards they are sufficiently skilled for it. Our information is not complete, and there may be others present.” In addition to the folded paper, Trégor handed Ardhuin a small book, like a memorandum, bound in dark red leather. “We also thought we should have some means of communication. This has a code that can be used for telegrams.”

  “Though we do have agents in the Low Countries, it would be best for you to avoid them,” added Jodoc.

  “When does this competition take place?” Dominic asked.

  “In two weeks’ time,” said Trégor. “We will arrange the proper invitations for yourself and a guest.”

  “I still think we should provide some kind of a guard,” grumbled de Chouchenn, glowering at Jodoc. “It’s too
risky for our only Mage Guardian to be walking around without a proper escort or protection.”

  Jodoc shook his head. “A guard would immediately attract attention, and magistra Kermarec has the means to defend herself quite well. We must use the utmost discretion to not reveal our weakness.”

  “I regret the necessity of imposing on you in this way,” the Queen said gently, giving Ardhuin a direct look. “But for the reasons my advisers have stated, it is necessary. Do your utmost to find a mage acceptable to the Low Countries and yourself.”

  She rose, and everyone followed suit. De Chouchenn opened the door, where two hussars waited outside. The Queen left the room with her guards.

  “I will escort you to your carriage,” said Trégor, to Ardhuin’s great relief. She had been wondering how she would ever find her way back to a part of the palace she recognized.

  She took Dominic’s arm and followed the minister of magic. As they passed a small alcove near the room they had left, she felt Dominic stiffen.

  “Who is there?” he asked sharply, nudging Ardhuin back down the hallway, away from the alcove. Trégor had whirled around, his hands raised. “No, wait! It is a…‌child? Shadow, Ardhuin.”

  Ardhuin quickly flicked the counterspell to dispel the avoidance magic present where he was pointing. A small boy, perhaps five years old, was looking at them with a combination of awe, trepidation, and curiosity. He had soft brown curls, bright blue eyes, and was clutching a toy soldier in one hand.

  “Prince Hervé!” Trégor gasped, his eyes wide. “What are you doing here alone?”

  “I’m not alone; I took a guard.” The boy solemnly held up the toy soldier. “Marie said a magician would bring Maman a baby soon. And one of the green soldiers said Maman was meeting a very big magician tonight and I wanted to see him and the baby.”

  Trégor looked even more agitated. “Such an imagination…‌the hussars would never speak of such matters in his presence,” he dithered, sweat visible on his forehead. “It must not be known the Prince was here…‌or you, and I dare not leave him by himself. Will you please stay with the Prince?” As soon as Ardhuin nodded, Trégor ran off.

  Prince Hervé gave Dominic a grave look. “How did you see me? I hid really well. Nobody else can find me when I hide.”

  “You are very good at hiding,” Dominic agreed, in a gentle tone, “but I am very good at seeing the kind of hiding you do. Did you perhaps hide near the hussars, too?”

  The Prince squirmed. “Maybe a little.” He gripped the toy soldier even harder. “Are you going to tell them about the hiding?” He took a step closer to Dominic and looked up at him, desperation in his eyes.

  Dominic glanced at her, shrugging, and Ardhuin winced. Here was another dangerous matter her great–‌uncle had not seen fit to teach her. To many in the aristocracy, magical talent was considered…‌not exactly demeaning, but not something to be proud of either. She did not feel up to informing the Royal House of Bretagne that the Prince had magical talent, not when her own status was so new. They would have to know eventually, since such an early manifestation was a strong sign of power, but perhaps the revelation could be delayed.

  “If we don’t tell anyone, will you promise not to hide to do things you know you are not supposed to do?” Ardhuin asked.

  The Prince scrunched up his face, clearly upset, but nodded. “I promise,” he whispered.

  “That’s a good boy,” Dominic said, and was rewarded by a princely hug at knee level. He ruffled the boy’s hair, smiling down at him. “Your plan was a clever one, but I’m not the magician you are looking for.”

  “What kind of magician are you then?” Prince Hervé asked, apparently willing to accept a substitute.

  Dominic bent down and gave him a meaningful look. “The kind who keeps secrets.” Ardhuin stifled a laugh at the Prince’s expression of sudden understanding, and Dominic winked at her.

  Trégor returned shortly thereafter, with a trio of hussars. The young Prince went off with the guards without protest, only glancing over his shoulder at Dominic and Ardhuin as he left.

  “I am afraid the Prince is extremely curious and active,” Trégor said in some agitation as they continued on their way. “It has become nearly impossible to keep him from escaping his nurses and wandering all over completely unsupervised.”

  A carriage without insignia was waiting outside the side door, and Dominic handed Ardhuin in before jumping up himself.

  “Poor little fellow,” he murmured when the door was shut. “And I thought my life was thin of adventure at his age. He has to make do with hiding behind curtains.”

  “When they discover his magical ability his life will become exciting enough for anyone,” Ardhuin said. “I doubt he will enjoy it, however.”

  “Is that why you agreed to keep silent?”

  Ardhuin nodded. “He most likely discovered how to do aversion on his own, just as I discovered illusion. I hope I made the right decision. If he learns any dangerous magic before his talent is known—‌but it is unlikely he will encounter any here. It is a risk, I suppose, but he should be allowed the possibility of being just a child a while longer.”

  Dominic sighed, sinking back against the carriage cushions. “It is a pity that all that work we did to help find new Mage Guardians was wasted. I was hoping you would have colleagues by now to help with the work.”

  “To stop Denais?”

  He shifted in his seat. “That, and…‌then it might be possible for you to decline to assist, if it were necessary for you to remain at home…‌”

  Ardhuin blinked as his meaning became clear. “You want a Prince Hervé of your own,” she murmured, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

  He gestured with his free hand, his glance flickering between her face and the window. “I know you have a grave responsibility. I’ve known it from the beginning. I do not wish to appear selfish, but…‌yes.”

  “It is perfectly natural. You have been many years without a family.”

  “You do not object?” His eyes searched her face intently, a faint crease between his brows and concern in his voice.

  “I suppose I never thought children would be possible for me. It hurt to even dream…‌no, how could I possibly object? If we can settle the Low Countries, that will at least be a start. I am only sorry my obligations impose so much on you and your wishes.”

  Dominic drew her closer. “We are together in this, as always—‌and I can write anywhere. Besides, I have always wanted adventure.”

  Chapter 3

  Sonam stumbled on the uneven road, blinking to clear his vision. There was so much green in this place it overwhelmed him. Even the lowlands of Bhuta looked sparse compared to this. He stumbled again, fighting a wave of dizziness. Something was wrong—‌but he could not stop now, so close to his goal. The house named Peran was on this very road, according to the people of the town.

  Perhaps it was the unaccustomed sunlight. Sonam had preferred to travel at night as much as possible, to avoid notice from any enemy that might be tracking him and to hide his unfamiliarity with the countries he traveled through. To save his dwindling funds and for even more concealment, he had removed his spirit disguise and hired on as a cook on a merchant ship. The ship he chose made the transit between the Ynde trade–‌city of Ghot and Alba, stopping at the Bretagnan port of Sanmalo on the way. The polyglot sailing community simply assumed he was Cathan, and Sonam took care to avoid any real Cathans who would know he was not one of them.

  He had thought it would be a simple matter to once again assume his spirit disguise for the rest of his journey, but he had not taken into account the geilo fondness for star–‌metal. Master MacCrimmon had told him of trains and how to use them, but he had not mentioned they were made entirely of star–‌metal. His disguise was unworkable while riding them. Sonam did the best he could with the magics the master had taught him for avoiding notice, but quickly purchased local clothing so he would not have to hide so much of himself.

&n
bsp; Sonam shivered, even though the day was warm. He had not felt well for some time, since leaving the ship. Perhaps it was the strange food, or simply fatigue. He had been traveling as fast as he could for weeks now, and the strangeness of everything around him was tiring too. Soon he could rest.

  He caught a glimpse of a roof through the trees, and his heart beat faster. It was as the people described—‌a large house, the color of sand, with gates of the ever–‌present star–‌metal before it. The gates stood open, and Sonam walked up the drive. The air was rich with the sweet scent of flowers somewhere he could not see. He was wearing his spirit disguise, to be cautious. The high shaman Oron had never met him, so Sonam’s true face would mean nothing to him.

  Sonam reached out to the door, intending to knock, but the invisible power of a namas wall stopped his hand. He smiled, now sure he had found the right place. But how was he to make his presence known? He looked about and saw a long metal chain with a brass pendant at the end shaped like a hand. It hung from a bracket on the wall of the house, and it appeared to be attached somewhere inside.

  Sonam reached for the chain and pulled. He was starting to feel faint. When had he last eaten? He could not remember. A bell sounded inside the house and not long after, the big door was opened by a dignified man with thin grey hair.

  “Yes, sir?” the man asked politely.

  “Please excuse, but I seek one…‌” Sonam desperately tried to remember how the master had pronounced the impossible name the shaman used in daily life. “Ayeves More Layss.”

  A look of concern passed over the older man’s face. “My sincere apologies…‌I must regretfully inform you, sir, that Magister Morlais is deceased, and has been for over a year.”

  Sonam felt his knees buckle, and he could barely breathe. Dead! “But the protection, it is still strong,” he gasped, pointing at the house and its namas wall before he recollected himself.