The Silent Dragon: Children of The Dragon Nimbus #1 (28 page)

Glenndon offered his arm to Linda. She took it. Part of her regretted leaving Lucjemm’s side. The other part of her sighed in relief that he no longer monopolized her attention.

Lucjemm scowled so deeply that a chill stabbed her heart. Only Glenndon holding her hand tightly on his arm kept her from returning to Lucjemm’s side.

CHAPTER 41

G
LENNDON TRIED on the bland superior countenance his father, the king, achieved so easily. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the expression, plus a rather glib Princess Rosselinda talking a blue streak, gave them ready access to the interior of the ancient compound.

Da’s face went wistful with memories. Then anger hardened his features. He’d studied here from the age of twelve into his twenties. He should have ruled here when he became Senior Magician and Chancellor of the University; not in the wilderness in wooden buildings thrown together out of necessity to offer shelter to any who fled persecution for the crime of working magic.

Glenndon noted the recently whitewashed stone walls, the steps swept clear of leaf litter, and the pristine iron rails on the mounts to the parapet. The accumulation of dirt in the flagstone mortar around the iron flagpole where the colors of the royal Guard snapped in the light wind seemed out of place. It looked as if no one had set foot in that area for weeks. Or decades.

A mental prod from Da jolted Glenndon out of his musings. “It should be here. Right here!” he insisted, stamping the paved courtyard. “All of the records say over and over again that Nimbulan built this University around the Well,” he whispered. “I can see a thickening of the lines but nothing to indicate a center.”

Linda suddenly found the pattern of lace on her sleeve hems fascinating. Glenndon touched her arm to draw her attention back to the problem at hand. “A web with a center. A circle. All webs begin with a circle and grow outward from there.” She held up for his inspection the delicate fabric that was more air than thread. It did look akin to a spiderweb.

Circles within circles with cross ribs. Indeed Lyman/Valeria (they really needed to decide what to call the flywacket) walked a circle around the courtyard, Lillian tracing its steps cautiously.

Linda smiled. “A circle.”

“What?” Da asked, finally realizing that she knew something.

“Find the circle.” Her right toe swished back and forth along a line in the paving stones. A curved line!

Glenndon allowed his eye to follow it around to complete a circle. The stones had been cunningly set into a decorative pattern around a flagpole so that one had to look hard to figure out when they started curving away from the offset rectangles of the primary stones.

“I don’t see anything untoward, except perhaps that the king’s standard looks a little ragged on the edges,” Lucjemm said, peering upward toward the flag that snapped in the hot wind blowing from the western plains toward the Great Bay.

The air smelled of dry dirt, stale smoke, and city waste, without the caress of spring green; a reminder that the crops needed a good storm from the east to soak the land and clear the air.

If Lord Jemmarc truly had a Krakatrice, could they have already begun transforming the land into desert? According to Lucjemm the big ugly snakes were still young. And there were only two.

Or had he lied about the number and their age?

He looked to his Da.

Jaylor lifted his head and sniffed the air.
I have fought and killed half a dozen of the beasts, just this year. Robb and Marcus an equal number—each. Lucjemm may have seen only two very young snakes, but there are more. Many more. They have already begun to change the weather.

Lillian and Valeria completed their circuit of the courtyard. “Valeria says that something smells wrong,” Lillian whispered to Glenndon. Her eyes were still red from crying, but her voice was sound.

“It looks wrong too,” Da said. He began walking a spiral inward to the flagpole, making sure he stepped squarely in the center of each paving stone, avoiding the small spacer pieces that allowed the curve in the pattern.

“What is different from your student days?” Glenndon asked.

“Everything and nothing.” Da wrenched around to face him. “I need to find a way to fix this.” He pointed down, at the center of the circle pierced with the flagpole.

“What, Da?”

“Look. Really look at what lies beneath your feet, boy. I thought I taught you better than to be satisfied with the surface explanation.”

“I don’t see anything,” Lucjemm said, leaning against the flagpole. But he did shift his feet constantly, like the paving scorched him through his elegant courtly boots.

“You can’t see what we see,” Glenndon muttered. “You wouldn’t look even if you knew how.”

Linda stepped away from him and closer to Lucjemm. She frowned.

Glenndon didn’t have time or attention to deal with her adolescent emotions that shifted and swirled with every thought. He had to figure out what—

“Stargods! Is the flagpole iron?”

“Of course it is,” Lucjemm sneered. “Highest grade steel from the palace foundry to withstand exposure to salt air for a long, long time. I believe polishing the pole is a reward rather than punishment among the soldiers.”

“No wonder,” Glenndon didn’t dare finish the statement aloud. Too many mind-blind soldiers loitered around the courtyard and leaned out of windows inspecting the spectacle of the Crown Prince and his sister inspecting the flagpole.

That cursed flagpole. “How long has it stood there?” Glenndon asked.

“It was erected after the Leaving,” Da said. He set his steps to spiral outward again, still carefully laying each foot flat in the center of each stone, turning the decorative paving into a ritual maze, not unlike the one at the University next to their home.

“What do you see?” Linda asked, finally controlling her thoughts and focusing.

“Ground and center yourself. Close your eyes. Steady your breathing,” he coaxed. She might share everything he knew, and he everything she knew, but she didn’t always know what to do with the information.

She obeyed, easily falling into the first stages of a trance.

“Stargods!” She flashed him an image of a churning mass of blue.
Worse than any maelstrom I’ve ever heard about. Deeper too. Deeper than the surface lines you showed me. No wonder the Tambootie trees aren’t thriving. Their roots don’t grow deep enough to tap the essential energy. What a mess!

A mess that’s getting ready to blow,
Glenndon sent back. “The only thing keeping it from erupting like a volcano is that iron pole. Somewhere on the other side of Kardia Hodos, raw, untamed, wild magic will explode and destroy all in its path,” Da whispered as he completed his spiral walk back to the main paving stones.

A smirk of satisfaction crossed Lucjemm’s face so quickly Glenndon wasn’t sure he’d seen it. A quick glance toward Linda and he knew she hadn’t. Maybe he only imagined it. Maybe . . .

He didn’t know what to think, only that they needed to retreat to the palace and plan. They needed the collective wisdom of the Circle.

But Da had broken the Circle, just as Father had broken the Council.

They were on their own with this crisis.

And so the beginning of the end of magic is here, beneath my feet. I cannot see this well as Glenndon and my Princess do. I do not want to see it. And yet I sense that something is different beneath the paving stones in this mysterious circle. It is almost as if they roll and shift over wet sand. Unstable.

Whatever is here, whatever is wrong here has upset the dragons and the magicians. I must make sure their unease continues.

This is where I will bait my trap. This is where I will stage the final battle.

I alone will bring about the end of the domination of mankind by the dragons and their evil minions, the magicians.

I shall miss my friend Glenndon, though my lovely tells me I need no friends but her and her consorts. And Glenndon is a magician through and through. I cannot leave him alive to challenge me for the throne.

And Linda . . . ? My beloved Linda. I must find a way to keep her safe.

CHAPTER 42

G
LENNDON LOOKED HASTILY over his shoulder to make sure Linda had not followed as Da led him deep into the tunnels in search of the archives of magical texts. For once in her spoiled life she had obeyed the strict admonition to remain safely in her room and keep Lillian with her. She had obeyed, under vehement protest, only because she had an important task at hand.

Da needed the flywacket to help him with something once they found the hidden room. Lillian would remain separated from her twin for only a short time. Where they journeyed tonight presented danger, a danger Da would not subject Lillian to.

And if Linda stayed behind, then Lucjemm would too. As much as Glenndon liked Lucjemm, thought of him as a friend, he was mind-blind. This chore did not belong to or involve him.

When Glenndon turned his attention back to following Da, keeping his eyes on the small circle of illumination provided by the magical glow ball in Da’s hand, Lyman joined them from a side tunnel. He chirruped a greeting and trotted easily ahead of them, nose twitching from side to side, tail up but only half bristled, ears flicking back and forth. Not much would get past his senses unnoticed.

“Not far now,” Da said quietly. He followed a faint ley line. This close to the Well it should be thicker and fatter. The abundance of lines did not mean they gained potency or size.

For a moment Glenndon despaired that they would ever restore magic to its rightful place in Coronnan.

Then he remembered that Da had led him beneath the river and he couldn’t breathe. The thought of all that water above them seemed to crush his lungs.

Surely Da would not allow that to happen. He was the most powerful magician in all of Kardia Hodos. He could keep the walls from collapsing. If Glenndon helped him. Could any amount of magic keep the crumbling stones intact? They didn’t have enough magic; not with the ley lines running so deep and the Tambootie trees losing potency and the dragons failing to thrive and breed . . .

“Stop stalling, Glenndon. These tunnels have stood for almost a thousand years. They won’t collapse now,” Da said angrily.

“A . . . a thousand years? What keeps the mortar intact?”

“Old-fashioned technology from the times of the Stargods. Keep up now, we’re almost there. Old Baamin showed this place to me once, before he died. The turnings are complicated and hard to find. I’ll get lost trying to find you if you don’t keep up.”

Lyman let out a squeak that could have been suppressed laughter.

Glenndon forced himself to memorize the maze Da entered. Right, right, left, left, ignore six side tunnels which all carried a rune of no exit, then left again and two quick rights that took them almost into a complete circle. His sense of direction faltered. This deep belowground his contact with the magnetic pole dimmed to unreliability.

“Ah, here it is,” Da said on a note of triumph.

Lyman pushed his nose against one of the ubiquitous ragged cracks that outlined a door. He snuffed in an affronted manner. He should be able to open the thing.

Da laughed at his indignation. “When you come back to us as your true self, you will be able to open this door, Valeria.”

Black fur bristled. Whoever was in that body didn’t quite believe him.

Da placed his right hand on the proper stone and pushed. This entrance was meant for magicians with dominant right hands, not kings who preferred the left.

The door creaked and groaned as it swung on its pivot. Glenndon had become used to the noise and the motion. Indeed, if it had been silent, he’d have questioned its placement and the recent lubrication of its hinges. Lyman darted into the room as soon as the opening was sufficient to allow his body to pass, nose twitching wildly.

“Lyman knows what we need. He’ll lead Valeria to it quicker than I could find it,” Da said. “I hope she remembers when she becomes human again.”

Glenndon peeked through the opening in amazement. Da stood near the door, glow ball extended to ignite some form of illumination in the ceiling. The archives in the palace tower were big, three stories of books on shelves around the wall and on freestanding shelves.

This room dwarfed that collection by a factor of four. The shelves stretched inward for half a mile, at least, farther than he could see in the dim light. And it smelled dry. Dry as dust. Not a bit of mold anywhere.

“How are they preserved?” he asked, pushing past Jaylor to scan the titles on the first available shelf to the left of the door.

“Magic, what else?” Da cocked his head and raised an eyebrow with mischief sparkling in his eyes. “We took as much as we could at the Leaving, but that is only a fraction of what remains. Many more texts were lost in the Burning during Nimbulan’s last years. The head of the University at the time decided all references to solitary, rogue magic had to be eliminated. A clever journeyman who went rogue rather than follow the man of limited vision hid books before the fire started and stole many others right out of the flames. He added more books over the years as he found them. I believe he put the stasis spell on them. The books waited, and waited, until they were needed again. Old Baamin discovered the place. He and Ambassador Jack renewed the spells. I added my own bit of preservation when Old Baamin died.” Da hung his head in respect for a beloved mentor and friend.

“Strangely, the original rogue magician had a red and blue braid as his signature too. He might have been an ancestor of mine.”

“I think Lyman found something,” Glenndon alerted Jaylor.

“So he has. I think Lyman may have added texts over the centuries as well. What I want is a letter written long, long ago by Kimmer, a scribe of the South. It meant little or nothing to me at the time. Now it might give us some clues about the Well of Life.” Da reached down to take a thin scroll tied with blue ribbon from Lyman’s mouth, much like from a dog returning a fetched stick.

“I am entrusting this place to you now, Glenndon. You must make sure its existence remains secret and renew the spells as necessary.”

Glenndon gulped in awe of the huge responsibility the Senior Magician and Chancellor of the University, his Da, entrusted to him.

“What does it say?” he croaked around the lump in his throat.

“The light is too dim and the ink faded. I think we need to find some place above, but private, to read it.” Da rubbed his eyes like they hurt or were greatly fatigued.

“Let me see if I can make sense of it, since you won’t admit that your eyes are aging.” Glenndon held out his hand for the scroll. At the same time he conjured a glow ball of his own, bigger and brighter than the one Jaylor held. “We can’t get more private than this place.”

Da gave it to him without protest, almost with relief that they might be able to decipher it here, where it was protected and they had no audience.

Glenndon unrolled the first bit and scanned the writing. It looked perfectly clear to him, even if the script was old-fashioned. He cleared his throat and began reading the words of a man who had lived in the time of the Stargods. Some believed he might have been one of the three divine brothers. Others dismissed such a blasphemous notion. He was only named for the youngest of the three.

My dearest brothers,

I have safely returned to my beloved Coronnan and to the clearing.

Glenndon skimmed a long bit about family, love, and travels to places he’d never heard of. Then a phrase caught his attention.

As for the devastation caused by Hanassa and her delusions of dragonhood . . . The river valley recovers slowly from the raw magical energy poured upon it through the iron pipe. Years, nay, decades must past before the area in and around the delta returns to its former lush productivity.

I have noted depletion of the ley lines. I do not know if the lines will recover or not. The dragons do not know either. They grieve at the destruction of so many Tambootie trees. They retreat to their mountain lairs, refusing to breed until the trees return to feed them. I believe the element contained within the Tambootie that is essential to the dragons is unknown to modern science.

Adieu,

Your loving brother,

Kimmer

P.S. the baby does indeed have the O’Hara blue eyes. Tell Mother that her first grandchild looks just like her.

“Da, does—does this me—mean what I think it means?” Glenndon asked. His ability to speak complete sentences deserted him with his disbelief in what he read. It couldn’t be. And yet here were the words written by . . .

“I think it does, Glenndon. Kimmer, the simple scribe of the South was one of the Stargods, and they devised the clearing with its protective barrier opened by a song.” He sounded shaken.

“And the blue eyes? Many magicians have midnight blue eyes, they seem dominant among us. Does that mean we are all descended from the Stargods?”

“That would seem to be the implication. None of it made sense when I was twenty. Now I’m afraid the rest of the letter tells us the dangers we face. We have to get that iron pole out of the Well. Quickly. But carefully. Who knows what kind of firestorm will erupt with the removal.”

“May we sit for a moment?” Glenndon pushed his Da toward a stone bench against a wall between two stacks of shelves. It looked as if it was meant for a casual reader to peruse documents.

Jaylor heaved a sigh of relief as he rested his back and knees. “I don’t know if quickly is fast enough to get that pole out. But with all of the energy coursing through it, you and I will not be enough to contain it and push it back where it belongs.”

Lyman rubbed his face against his leg and purred. Idly Jaylor reached down and scratched between fuzzy ears. “Yes, I know that Lyman has much knowledge to help. It’s raw muscle and joined talents we need.”

“You must bring the Circle of Master Magicians here to Coronnan City. Now. As fast as we can summon them and they can transport,” Glenndon said.

“I cannot trust all of them. I fear Samlan has taken many of our best and most learned members . . . and set up a rival circle elsewhere. He might sabotage our efforts for sake of revenge.”

“Are there journeymen you can promote to master? We need numbers and loyalty more than skill.”

Da’s eyes lighted. Some of the weariness passed away. “Yes. And the first promotion will be yours. Tonight you must row over to Sacred Isle and in the morning find your journeyman’s staff.”

Excitement leaped through Glenndon. His hands started shaking the rolled parchment until it rattled. “You know, Da, if I am a journeyman magician, I cannot become king.”

“Do you want to become king?” Da arched one eyebrow again.

“No. I never did. I came to my father out of duty.”

“I know, son.” Da clasped his shoulder with deep affection. “But your presence here will give the king and his daughter time. That is all we truly wanted from you. Time. Besides, you and I need be the only ones who know of your status.”

“But I will be a true journeyman?”

“Yes. And I give you that promotion with pride. You have earned it. And this sojourn in Coronnan will be your journey. Now let’s get back to the palace. We have much to do.” He rose from the bench. The lights dimmed.

“The letter, Da?” Glenndon asked.

“We leave it here. One more secret among many that magicians must carry in their hearts.”