Dandelion Fire (37 page)

“You have to try,” Henry said.

Tate's eyebrows went up into his hat, and his bearded jaw slid forward. “I have to? Why do I have to?”

“Because,” Henry said, “I don't know how long there will still be a Hylfing to get to. And,” he added, “even if I wait, I don't think the committee is going to be nice to me, even if every faerie here wants it. I listened to them
talking in a dream. That's why they rushed my trial, or whatever it was.”

“You dream-walked out of the room?” Roland asked. “How?”

“I don't really know,” Henry said. “I had a dream that I was in the room dreaming, and I got out in that one. The second dream.”

Roland stepped back and cocked his head.

“It doesn't much matter,” Frank said. “What did you hear?”

Henry recited virtually the entire conversation verbatim, watching the faeries' expressions as he did. At first their eyes were narrow, almost skeptical, but they widened quickly. Mouths opened, and Roland turned white between his freckles. His Adam's apple bobbed like a yo-yo.

Henry took a deep breath and finished. “When the dandelions grew out of the wall, they knew I was there, and Radulf said they had to have the meeting right away.”

“Good Lord,” said Tate.

Frank said nothing. His jaw was locked shut, and his eyes were wet with anger.

“Good Lord,” Tate said again. “Good Lord have mercy.”

Roland sat down on the floor. Henry was surprised to see tears on his cheeks. He didn't even bother to wipe them away. “We betrayed him,” he said quietly. “All these years drifting on account of cutting our own anchor.”

Frank pulled in a long breath. “The christening!” he said suddenly, and clapped his hands. “There's still hope if they fear the christening! Oh, they want you dead, all right, Henry York, because it's you or them now.”

Roland looked up and sniffed. Tate stood motionless in thought.

“We have to get to Hylfing now!” Frank said. “Now! Tate, where's the closest union hall on that bit of coast?”

“There's one just outside the south gate, but it'll be jammed with faeren,” Tate said. “And they won't have exactly posted the Hylfing loyal just there. All hostiles.”

“So where, then?” Frank asked.

Tate's eyes came back into focus. He looked at Henry and then at Frank. “Used to fish just up the coast from the bay. Kept a boat there and everything. From there, we can hoof it down or sail.”

“Right,” Frank said. “Off we go, then. Who's on shift in the main hall?” he asked Roland.

“Pius and Colly,” Roland said, standing up. “Pius is solid through, but Colly'll be mush for Radulf. He'll need distracting.”

“Hold a moment,” Frank said, and he slipped out the door.

Henry listened to his hushed voice as he spoke to the door guards. There were three loud thumps, and he slipped back in.

“Asked me to knock them so they'd get off a bit lighter,” he explained. “Up now.”

Henry collected the journals and his backpack. He tucked the knife back inside, but left the empty tuna can.

Frank led him to the door.

“Monmouth,” Henry said. “We can't leave him.”

The fat faerie scrunched up his face in irritation.

“And the raggant,” Henry added.

Faerie eyes rolled, but Henry didn't care. His heart was pounding, and questions he didn't have time to ask were racing through his head.

He stepped over the legs of his faerie guards and into the hall. As the door swung shut behind him, he looked back into the room.

“Choke up,” he said quietly, and hurried down the corridor.

stood on the ridgeline and let the wind swirl around him. The rain parted above his hooded cloak. He felt … still. Every crackle of tension in the clouds, he savored. An offshore wind was colliding with cold salt breath from the sea. The clouds frothed into dark mountains in their struggle. Litter by litter, miles up in the biting sky, they birthed lightning and groaned thunder.

All of it was building. Inside him.

The little pale city was a village compared to Byzanthamum. But it was a beginning.

The storm he had drawn sprawled over hundreds of miles. He could bring it all together. It could fall in one crushing blow, sending shattered walls into the ocean. Pounding life into sand.

The old Darius would have rushed to a finish. Now, he held his strength back. He knew he couldn't hold it forever. It must be released. He must destroy. But he could taste each life passing, he could relish each blow, each death.

The refugees outside the walls had already been
killed. But at least five thousand more lives waited inside the walls.

Every life has a flavor.

It was a thought. Not his. At least it hadn't started with him.

She was inside his head. Behind his eyes. Through his whole body.

I am greater than a cat,
he thought.

You are a dog.

He nodded, shut his eyes, and filled his lungs with the storm.

I am your witch.

“My queen,” he said aloud. He looked down at the fragile city, the city that had caused his mistress to stumble. It was nothing, and yet a man from within those walls had taken her eyes. Another had bound her in darkness.

Grapes can be trampled. Or they can be plucked singly and crushed between the teeth, moistening the tongue.

One blade of lightning fell within the walls. One unseen body crumpled, broken. Thunder climbed the ridge and quivered in his bones.

Darius relaxed, caught his breath, forced it level.

His nostrils flared. It was good, sowing the wind. He closed his eyes. Holding … death … back. Within.

The riders had been interesting. Bold fools, traveling through the dark ways. It was like riding through a dragon's mouth. Only one horse had survived, crossing
the plain in a frenzy, balancing two riders. Some small strength had even deflected the lightning.

In the end, it wouldn't matter. Every life would be accounted for. The townspeople, the animals, even the men beneath him, all but a few of the strongest wizards. As for the rest, he would let the weaker wizards expend themselves against the old, charmed walls, and if they managed to enter, then so be it. Come what may, his wrath would fall, and even the lightning would be silent in fear.

He smiled. Feeling the death of the lesser wizards the riders had managed to kill had been pleasurable to him, but not so much as the end he'd given the riders.

Darius raised his arms, fingering the wind. As he did, a single shaft pierced through it, an unwavering black arrow.

The thick-shafted arrow struck Darius in the chest, and for a moment, he felt pain. He felt the storehouse of power inside him surging to break free, to tumble down the slope flattening trees and stone.

He closed his hand around the arrow. The wood and fletching faded to dust and were carried away on the wind. Darius pinched his fingers over the wound and felt the metal head come to them. He pulled it out, dropping it to the stone at his feet.

There was a life to be sensed and ended. One of the riders no doubt. Within bowshot. Darius closed his eyes, but he felt nothing more than the awkward power of the other wizards.

A whisper. Maybe an animal, maybe a man with some small shielding around himself.

Darius opened his eyes and pushed back his hood. Down the ridge beneath him, boulders had long ago tumbled together, trees growing at angles to find the sun between them.

The sky split, and lightning fell on the boulders like hail, clustering, linking, sprawling, splaying into charges and tongues. The trees toppled. The boulders shattered. Higher up, more stone fell away and tumbled down.

Thunder shook the ridge. It shook Darius. Wizards were pushed to the ground by its drums. Darius took one step back and closed dizzy eyes.

The storm returned to its building swirl. What whisper of life there had been had now passed out of the world.

Or beyond sensing.

Henry's ears were ringing with nervous excitement. His mouth and lips were dry. He took a deep breath and hurried on, close behind Frank and Roland. Tate was following him.

They'd gone up stairs, and down more. They'd gone through long, curling corridors with floors that rose and fell beneath his feet.

If he really tried, Henry thought he could get motion sick.

They'd passed only one group of faeries. Frank and Roland had made them face the wall and asked how
their evenings had been progressing. Everyone had said,
Quite well, thank you, but a little boring,
not having seen anything at all of interest. Except two of them. They had turned and run, but they hadn't gotten far.

Henry thought they'd been stored in a closet, but he wasn't exactly sure.

Henry watched Fat Frank glide through the halls, sensing every corner, stair, and doorway as they went. Frequently, the faerie stretched out his arms, allowing his fingertips to drag along the wall or across the planks of a door. He was as nimble as he had been in the brawl on the boat, and his head was perpetually swiveling, cocking even, like he was hearing and smelling his way more than seeing. Beside him, Roland loped, his lean body looking slow and awkward next to Frank's constant motion. Tate remained in the very back with Henry, trotting and breathing loudly, apparently unconcerned with any degree of stealth.

Monmouth's door hadn't even been guarded, and he was asleep on the floor when the faeries opened it. He sat up, blinked twice, and then was immediately on his feet, grinning.

They'd gone back the way they had come, and then off into new chambers, beyond what Henry had seen. The place was like a city, and some of the corridors they crossed were as wide as roads, though Frank seemed to avoid them whenever possible. They were always filled with chatter, shouting, and even singing.

Some of the faeren people were more nocturnal than others, but Frank knew where they congregated.

Henry had actually begun to sweat when Frank suddenly froze in place. Henry and Tate ran into his back while Roland took several more steps before managing to stop.

Frank shook his head in disgust. “Shall we bang a drum while we go?” he asked quietly. “We don't have long. Someone will rat to the committee soon, if they haven't already.”

Tate wiped his forehead. He hadn't been a terribly active faerie for quite some time. Monmouth seemed unaffected by the exercise. Henry knew he couldn't possibly look as calm as the young wizard, and he couldn't erase the stitch in his side, or stop puffing.

“When do we get the raggant?” he asked.

Frank snorted. “We don't. Don't know where it is.”

Tate slapped Henry on the back. “Never go looking for a raggant, boy. It threatens them. That being their job and all.”

“It found you once,” Frank said. “It'll track you again.” The fat faerie didn't wait for any argument. “Now, if we're gonna get to the way rooms, it's time to cross the main hall. Follow close, and stop when I stops.” He looked at Henry and Roland. “No barging into me or staggering on, right?”

Henry smiled, but Roland blushed.

“Now,” Frank said, and raised a thick finger to his
lips. He widened his eyes and shook his head wildly. Then he turned, moving silently down the corridor and around a bend. Fifteen feet on the other side, there was a large door. Frank touched the hinges, seemed satisfied, and pulled the door open just wide enough for a pencil.

Tate stepped forward and tapped his arm. When Frank looked at him, he pushed him back out of sight, motioned for Roland to keep Henry and Monmouth back, and then threw the door open.

Yawning loudly, he walked in.

Henry pressed himself back against the wall. Frank's hand pressed him even further. He twisted to make room for his backpack and could see nothing. But the voices were perfectly clear.

“Who is that?” Tate asked. He sounded tired but prepared to enjoy himself. “Colly? Pius?”

“What are you doing here, William Tate?” The voice was sour and quick. “Central Mound is closed. You know that. It's been regulated. Do you have a blue stamp for night access?”

“Ha!” Tate said. “No, young Colly. No blue stamps. But then I don't want access. I was just coming to give Pius here a message”