The Dragonswarm (6 page)

Another followed the first, and then a deep voice I knew too well called, "Isabelle Eliade, are you there?"

I heard her father farther down the hall. "She might be anywhere," he said.

"This late at night?" the soldier asked. "I think not." He knocked again. "Isabelle Eliade! You may be in grave danger. Come to the door."

It was the voice of Othin, an officer of the King's Guard and a truly terrible man. I wanted to stop Isabelle, to keep her from him, but I dared not make a noise. I heard her cross the chamber, heard her pull the bedroom doors almost closed, and heard her open the hall door just as a new clamor began.

I leaned against the wardrobe doors. I longed to push them open, if just a crack, but I didn't dare. Othin had a fearsome reputation as a tracker and thief-catcher, and he had a personal grudge against me.

I was no mere mortal, though. Trapped in the darkness, I found the stillness I could never summon for Master Seriphenes. I took on the same wizard's sight that had allowed me to move the earth by sheer will, but now I used it just to look.

To the wizard's sight, the wardrobe's walls were as nothing. Instead of the paper-thin fabric of reality, I saw the underlying energies and powers—true reality. I saw the shape of earth and water and willpower that had been made into the cabinet around me, but it was a tiny, insubstantial thing. Beyond I saw the frilly carpets and frail tapestries, and beneath both was heavy, hard-hewn stone half a step away from raw elemental earth.

And blazing bright within the room beyond was the lifeblood of four figures. I saw Isabelle and Othin, the baron and the king, all clustered in her sitting room. I couldn't read the flare of vibrant power to distinguish one form from the other, but I knew Isabelle. She stood closest to me, but I think I would have known her shine anywhere.

"Father," she said, a little breathless. "Your Highness! What can I—"

Before she could say more, one of the other figures brushed roughly past her and into her private rooms. That one had to be Othin. My fists clenched at my sides and my jaw ground painfully. He had dared to lay a hand on her. I wanted to lash out at him.

Instead I held my place and cowered in the darkness. I expected her father to object, but he stayed as meekly silent as I. The king spoke as though nothing had happened.

"My dear Isabelle, look how you've grown!" he said. There was brittleness to the cheer in his tone.

"Hard years have passed since last we met," she answered, and her voice was cold. "In fact, I'm surprised you could find the time to visit us with such pressing business on your hands."

I kept an ear turned to their conversation, but most of my attention was fixed on Othin. I watched him move through the room, searching. He started at the wall opposite me, peeking behind a folding screen then checking the window latches.

"Hard years indeed," the king was saying. "The rebellion hardly broken before the dragons came upon us."

"The City's under siege," the baron said, his voice grave. "And Tirah has been attacked as well. Timmon tells me his wizards have the power to hold them off, but not enough to turn them away."

"Not near enough," the king said. "And so far we have only faced attacks in threes or fours. We have news from distant corners where flights of twenty or more dragons attacked as one. The news grows darker every day."

"Then why have you come here?" Isabelle asked. She hurried on, more diffidently, "Surely these threats outrank even your generous love for this family."

The king gave a great weary sigh. "Alas, they do," he said. "But there's another threat among them: an assassin who stole boldly into my palace at Tirah, and perhaps even summoned the first of the dragons that attacked me."

My lips peeled back at the king's accusation, and I watched Othin move on through Isabelle's room. He checked the bed, the reading nook, and the fine mahogany chest.

The king went on without pause. "The boy is a fugitive. Expelled from the Academy and hunted by the Guard. He's dangerous and bloodthirsty. He speaks clever lies and leaves a trail of death wherever he goes."

Othin moved methodically around the room, and I could see him coming toward me. Of course he had suspected the wardrobe from the first. It was the only suitable hiding place in the room. But as long as I was hidden here, he had been safe to check the rest of the room. He came now toward the last refuge in the room.

And I could see all three of the others shifting, watching his progress. The air was heavy with expectation and nervous fear. The king's voice fell into that atmosphere like hissing venom, "And I fear he has found favor in this house."

I stretched the fingers of my right hand, aching for the feel of a sword's grip, and forced a slow, calming breath. Othin stopped just outside the wardrobe. I reached out my will to the energies around me, and time seemed to slow.

I could have formed a sword from the stones of the wall, or from the attenuated earth energy in the wardrobe's walls. My arms still throbbed with the pain of the effort I'd expended, but there was strength enough left for one more strike. I was sure of it.

A fire burned in the hearth, too. It seemed tame on its bed of stone, but there was more than enough heat there to consume the soldier—and his master as well, if it came to it. For one slow beat of my heart I focused on the dancing flame and felt Othin's dismal presence on the other side of the doors.

But I'd had my chance to turn these men to ash, and far more to gain then than I had now. I shook my head, one swift motion, and felt a sharp tension ease between my shoulders. My breath came more easily, too. I pulled my attention closer, spread the fingers of my hand, and focused my will on the seeds of earth in the wardrobe's doors.

The gap between the doors stood straight and clear as the edge of a blade. I focused on a spot near waist height, where the door's handles would be, and pulled the substance from both sides across the gap, binding them together. It worked, and as I saw Othin's arm extend toward the door I stretched the seam, up and down, until the substance of the two doors merged into one unbroken piece.

He jerked on the handles. Both doors rattled on their hinges, but they did not give at all. He spat an angry curse and pulled again, heaving so hard the whole wardrobe shifted on the stone floor, but the doors held. He cursed again, more vicious than the first.

"Here, now!" the baron snapped. "There is a lady present."

"Indeed," the king said, not at all chastising. "What have you found?"

"The room is clear but for this cabinet," Othin said. "I see no lock, but the doors will not budge. Perhaps some magic—"

"No magic," Isabelle said hastily. "It is an old piece, and warped."

"It must be checked," the soldier said. Then added, "For your safety, of course."

"Of course," the king said. "Try again."

He did and heaved the wardrobe half a pace across the floor. I'd have feared him toppling it, but given the sheer weight of the thing it was remarkable he could move it at all.

I could hear the strain in his voice when he said, "It is no good. The doors are stuck fast."

"I see," the king said. "Well, we can send some guards in case he's there, but I doubt the boy would be lurking in these chambers. Even a scoundrel would not stoop to shame this girl's honor. Is that not so?"

Othin snorted. "Send for a sharp ax, and let me open these doors."

"Father!" Isabelle cried, genuinely afraid, and I had to stop myself reaching for the burning coals of the fire. I saw the baron move closer to her, soothing, and I felt some of the anger ease in my chest.

"I assure you again, Timmon, we have seen nothing of the boy since he returned from the day's ride. He certainly would not trespass in my daughter's private chambers."

"Far more likely he's drinking at Duncan's common room," Isabelle said. "Have you looked there yet? Or in his
own
rooms?"

"We have guards there, yes," the king replied. "And some can be sent to scour the tavern as well. Othin."

"Your Highness?" Othin asked. Just two words, but they tread close to rebellion, so rich with defiance. "I believe—"

"We will post guards for the girl," Timmon said. Then he added, "For her safety. Consider, Isabelle. Where else might he be?"

"He might be in this chest," Othin growled. He slammed a fist against the wooden panel an inch from my face. "Get me an ax."

"An ax will be got," the king said, treating the soldier to the same chill tone he'd offered Isabelle before. "And guards will be stationed. But here and now, you have your orders."

I saw Othin still as a tracery of living fire, the heat of his anger and passion, and it flared brighter for four heavy heartbeats. My whole body tensed as I watched to see what he would do. I stretched my will toward the fire, I clenched my hands in ready fists. I poised myself, ready to strike if he chose to break down the doors by the sheer force of his fury.

But then his anger cooled. I saw him fall back a pace, and then he turned back toward the other three. He said softly, "Yes, Your Highness," and left the room.

"Do send four men to guard the room," the king ordered as Othin slipped past. "And...send one to find an ax. Just in case."

From the corridor beyond, I heard Othin say again, "Yes, Your Highness." And then he was gone.

The three left in her sitting room stood some time in awkward silence. Then at last the king said, "You must understand what a threat this boy represents."

"I have seen it demonstrated," the baron replied. "He is a master of no small power."

"Precisely!" the king said. "And reckless. And defiant of authority."

"He sounds a great nuisance," Isabelle said, sounding bored. "If it please you, I have found this day's events quite tiring."

The king hesitated again. At last he said, "For your safety—"

The baron hurried to say, "I'm sure your guards are quite sufficient to the task."

I saw the flash of fury before I heard the outraged bellow. "You dare to interrupt your king?"

"Not in the least." The baron laughed. It sounded fragile to my ears, but his voice was still steady. "I only hasten to reassure your majesty. You seem greatly troubled—on my humble family's behalf—and I regret that mightily."

"I shall see to my own concerns, Burton." But the flash of anger was gone. "We shall speak of this more."

"Of course," the baron said. "And of the hunt for the murderer as well. I'll place all my household staff at your disposal."

The king
hmph
ed lightly, but he seemed mollified. The baron took some confidence from that. "Let us go and speak with my steward. He should have some word for us by now."

They turned to go. I raised my hand toward the wardrobe doors and began undoing the bonds I'd made. The baron and the king both headed to the outer door...and stopped when four new shapes arrived. The guards. They started to move into the sitting room, but the baron objected. "Oh, my lord, please." His tone wheedled in a way utterly at odds with the man's personal power. "For my daughter's honor, do not place them
in
her chambers."

"You seem too little worried, Burton," the king said. "Far too little for the safety of your daughter and your house." The words were an accusation, the tone sharp as a skinning knife.

It took the baron a moment to find his answer. I held my breath, straining to catch every last word.

"My lord," he said at last, "through all these many years, you've never let me down. You've offered such protection to my house, I
cannot
fear so long as you are here."

I felt my lips peel back in an angry snarl. The king and all his army had left this town to die, besieged by the rebel army. If not for my intervention, they would all be starved or murdered by now. Yet the baron was forced to pretend gratitude—

And the king saw nothing wrong. He sighed, long and loud, and clapped the baron companionably on the back. "Oh, good Burton. Oh, at last I understand. And of course that stands to reason. You've never known the dangers I've so often kept away."

The king chuckled, then barked to the guards. "The corridor will do. But watch this door for your life, and remember your instructions."

They withdrew. The king and baron left as well, and Isabelle closed her outer door. She stood for a moment, leaning close and likely listening, but I could see no subterfuge in the corridor. The guards stood at attention, and the other two faded down the hall.

I let the bonds on the wardrobe doors dissolve and pushed back out into her room a breath before she came in. She closed the inner doors with great care, then turned to me. My wizard's sight failed me then, my concentration shattered by the expression on her face. Her eyes were wide with fear, her breathing hard and hot. She threw herself against my chest, and I wrapped my arms tight around her. She shook with little tremors. I hated the king.

"Hush," I said soothingly, smoothing her soft hair. I whispered near her ear. "You were so brave and clever and strong. You saved my life."

"He never," she started, too loud and gasping. She choked it off, then caught her breath and said through clacking teeth, "He has never spoken to my father like that. He has never looked at me—" She shuddered, head to toe, and I squeezed her close again.

"It will be well," I said. "But this is what we spoke of in your father's study. This is
why
I must be gone."

She nodded, a frantic little motion, and sniffed lightly. "I understand," she said. "I'll come for you."

"Isabelle—"

"No," she hissed, suddenly fierce, and her fingers gripped too tightly on my arms. "I will come to you." I tried to argue, but she gave me no time. "I'll wait until it's safe. But I will come to you." Her voice shook with silent sobs, but she spoke with certainty. "I'll meet you beneath the twisted tree."

I pushed the hair back from her face. Tears in my eyes now, I smiled at her. So strong. So brave. "I love you, Isabelle."

"I love you, too."

"Be safe," I said. "Wait until he's gone. And take special care with Othin. He is not a man of reason."