Dragon Novels: Volume I, The Read online

  The little bit of magic left in Jaylor quivered in reaction to the derelict.

  “I need to find the road into the mountains.” Jaylor started to push back his stool. He’d had enough of the smoke and the steed-piss ale. It was time to move on.

  One-eye stopped Jaylor’s retreat with a look. The undamaged organ gleamed black in the dim light. The smell of Tambootie smoke tickled Jaylor’s nostrils and lifted the top of his head to the cave roof. He silently mumbled an armoring spell before the odor sent him into the void between the planes of existence.

  This old man suddenly reeked of the aromatic smoke. The old books in the library cautioned, repeatedly, to beware the stench of burnt Tambootie wood. A rogue magician intent on evil usually lurked behind it.

  Old One-eye cast off his semblance of inebriation. The stench of Tambootie smoke intensified.

  Jaylor tasted copper on his tongue. Tambootie trees always grew near veins of copper. The smoke must be infiltrating his entire body!

  He pushed away his natural panic while he reached into the well of magic within him. It was dry. He was too tired to think. Instead he blinked his eyes, shifted his feet to a stronger position, and found another source. He strengthened the spell with a silent image, more precise than the formula of words.

  In his mind he clothed each portion of his body in armor. He began with his vulnerable torso, spreading the protection upward and outward. Iron could douse a Tambootie wood fire. Iron would smother the smoke. His head cleared. He felt stronger, more alert now that his protection was complete.

  Not precisely a traditional answer to the problem, but the University needed any magician they could find, even one who used rogue methods to accomplish traditional quests.

  “Someone’s got to find the dragon nest, keep track of it until we see if we need to hunt them out.” Jaylor sought desperately for an explanation for his actions.

  “Can’t find a dragon without the witchwoman. She guards the path into the mountains.”

  Silence greeted that statement. None of the villagers looked too happy, least of all the carpenter.

  “What witchwoman?” Jaylor dismissed the concept of witch. Women just couldn’t gather magic.

  “Our witchwoman, the one who guards the dragons,” One-eye explained.

  “She’ll sell you a potion for the coughing disease or help your woman get with child.” The barkeep was looking into his mug rather than at Jaylor. “All she asks in return is some new thatch or help with the plowing.”

  “Or a piece of your soul.”

  Jaylor had seen plenty of old crones during his wandering, forgotten widows living on the outskirts of villages. Most did midwifery. Some were skilled herbalists. That was the extent of their so-called magic.

  Inside his head he heard cackling laughter. The high-pitched mockery denied his University trained assumptions. Tambootie smoke drifted around him once more. Jaylor’s magic armor shriveled. He slapped a patching spell into his protection. The holes spread, the metal dissolved.

  He shifted his feet once more. Energy and power seeped upward through his body. Stability and sanity followed the renewed magic.

  ‘I’ve dealt with witches before.” He turned on his heel to leave the cave before anything else stripped him of more magic.

  “I’ll bet you have, magician.”

  “What did you call me?” Jaylor swung back to face One-eye. The other men seemed frozen in time and space.

  “I called you what you are. Magician. Watch out for the witch and her familiars. She has a wolf who will tear out your heart while she shreds your soul and leaves you living. You’d best kill the beast right off.”

  Noon sunshine shattered into a thousand bright colors around Brevelan. She looked up through the shade of a leafy tree into the brilliance. One hand sought the silky ears of the wolf at her heels while the other shaded her eyes. The huge canine sat blinking his yellow eyes in contentment as he eased his injured foot. Brevelan cuddled the weight of the animal against her side. Affectionately, he grasped her hand in his mouth. No tooth penetrated her skin.

  “Good morning, Shayla,” she called to the fleeting shadow that streaked across the blue sky.

  ’Tis past noon. The pragmatic words formed in Brevelan’s mind, just as the magnificent image of the speaker did. A swirl of all colors, that were really no color at all, formed into a faint winged outline. Shayla might be as small as an insect or as large as Krej’s castle. Brevelan had no idea which.

  “Did you have a good hunt?” She spoke openly for her own benefit while she threw the thoughts to her friend.

  The picture of a fat cow appeared in her mind.

  “Oh, Shayla,” she sighed. “Some farmer is going to be very upset when he finds the carcass.”

  We didn’t leave enough for him to find.

  “We? When did you hunt with other dragons? You’ve been alone longer than I have.” Something akin to loneliness snaked through her. Her golden companion whined to remind her that she wasn’t really alone.

  “You’re right, Puppy. I have more friends here in the forest than I ever did at home.” She stooped to hug the wolf. “Still, it would be nice to talk to someone who talks back occasionally.”

  I talk back.

  “Too much sometimes. Who joined your hunt?”

  The image of three huge male dragons appeared. One had blue tips on his transparent wings, another was red-tipped, the third still had the silvery gloss of adolescence clinging to the delicate wing vanes. One day soon those silver vanes promised a green glow.

  The images hovered in a background of erotic purple. “Shayla! You shameful thing. Three at once.”

  The more fathers, the larger and stronger the litter. There was no embarrassment in the dragon’s thoughts. She merely communicated a fact.

  Suddenly the clearing around Brevelan’s hut filled with children. A gangling blond teenager stood by her side, a babe suckled her breast. She felt the tug of its tiny mouth relieve the aching pressure of heavy milk. Off by the door, twin girls, with mops of red curls, giggled while plaiting a basket of fragrant grasses. Another boy, also red-haired, chopped wood while his younger brother built stacks of kindling. Only the oldest was blond.

  As blond as the golden wolf whining in distress. Brevelan sagged with relief when the illusion vanished as quickly as it had come.

  Did that ease the thing you call loneliness?

  “No! It made it worse.” Brevelan’s entire body ached with grief for the babies she would never have. She looked up once more. She couldn’t lie to Shayla.

  “I thought we were too close friends for you to spin your dragon dreams on me. Haven’t you led enough innocent wanderers astray?” Brevelan forced indignation. Inwardly she wept for the figure of a dead man she had found last fall. Shayla’s illusion had danced him through the forest until his skin hung from him like rags.

  Stargods, but the man’s death-smile haunted her still. Perhaps my visions prepared you for him.

  “Who?”

  The one who comes.

  “The barkeep,” she mused. “He promised me an ell of good cloth for the infusion I prepared.” She’d caught him sneaking a glimpse of her breasts as she bent over the hearth. That had probably helped him satisfy his wife more than the tea.

  Not the swiller of poison. Shayla was emphatic. You should have given him a tincture of wazool root. The dragon named a powerful laxative. Her thoughts were bright pink with humor. Then, still in a lighthearted tone, the dragon added: Prepare yourself for the one who comes. Him.

  The image of a tall man carrying a gnarled walking staff flashed through Brevelan’s mind. He appeared in the distance with the sun behind him. The glowing light of sunset outlined his long frame while it hid the details of his features.

  Brevelan forced herself not to tremble in memory of the same image waking her in a cold sweat from deep sleep.

  “Him.”

  The one in your dreams.

  “The one who brings destruction.” Th
e vision had come to her three times. Only terrible portents of the future came in that number.

  Her mind was empty. Shayla was gone. Back to her lair to sleep off the exertions of mating and hunting.

  Chapter 2

  Jaylor dumped a bucket of water from the village well over his head. Icy droplets penetrated his unkempt hair and beard. His eyes cleared as some of the smoky stink washed away. Removing the stench from his clothing and hair would be another matter.

  He drank long from the next bucket, rinsing the rancid taste of ale from his mouth. The air around him was clean and cool after the closeness of the cave.

  When he had arrived in this village, he was too relieved to find habitation with drink and hot food to pay much attention to the place. Slowly he turned to survey the homes of the men who’d been in the pub.

  Hovels. All the dwellings were as poor and as ragged as the men. A scrawny pig rooted around the edges of the village. He’d never seen such a skinny creature!

  Now he felt guilty for eating the hot pasty and drinking their horrid ale—even though he’d paid good money for them. He felt as if he’d robbed the villagers of basic sustenance.

  It had been a hard winter for everyone. Food stores rotted from too much rain. Privation always brought out diseases that thrived in the cold damp. Yet the weather was never cold enough to kill the pestilence and stop the rot.

  Surely this village was in a better situation than most. The Great Bay lapped the foot of the cliff below the village. Fishermen had easy access to the bounty of the bay that fed Coronnan. Heavily forested foothills rose behind the rooftrees of the cottages. Wood should be plentiful for fishing boats, housing, furniture, and heat. Behind the houses he spied extensive fields and pastures spreading out beyond the village.

  In the center of the village stood the ceremonial Equinox Pylon. A cluster of five poles, sparsely decorated with oak branches and faded ribbons. Where were the fronds of everblue, bright with new life, the first shoots of grain and new garlands of ribbons to celebrate the coming of the most fruitful season?

  This was the first village he had encountered where life was so tenuous they didn’t sacrifice the best of the new for the equinox or even have garbage for a pig!

  Was this the result of a dragon stealing their food supply, too heavy taxation, or evidence of a neglectful lord?

  Krej, lord of this province, donated thousands of drageen every year to the poor, to the study of healing arts, and to the priests of the Stargods. The nobility in Coronnan City considered him a good and generous man. Perhaps he should have donated some of that money to his own province.

  Jaylor put aside his questions. His quest came first. Where was he, and where should he go next? “Go find a dragon, indeed.” He snorted. “As if they grow under rocks. More likely they roost on the top of the blasted Tambootie trees.”

  From memory he drew a map of the kingdom in the air before his eyes. Green lines glimmered in nothingness as he sketched the sweep of the Great Bay on the east, a long chain of mountains curving from northwest to southeast. Coronnan River wound from those mountains through the central plains to open out into a wide delta filled with islands and aits. Entrenched among the largest islands created by the river’s merging with the bay, Coronnan City presided over all shipping and commerce in the kingdom. Twelve provinces, equal in resources if not area, radiated out from the capital.

  He had started his quest at the University in Coronnan City. A blue dot appeared on the map at the head of the bay. A line wandered away from that dot on the map to track his journey east and south. At each stopping place, the blue line widened a tiny bit. He dredged from his capacious memory every detail of every village along the way, the size, wealth, location, and the number of poles in their Equinox Pylon. Most Pylons consisted of three poles, scrupulously maintained with flowers and fruits in due season.

  Five poles denoted ancient prominence. So why wasn’t this Pylon revered?

  As Jaylor had wandered south through Faciar, the groups of dwellings had become farther apart. The trader-roads had been well maintained, and usually there was enough to feed a stranger. Especially if he had news from the capital.

  A stranger wasn’t turned away as long as he wasn’t a magician. Distrust of that elite order of talented men ran rampant beyond city and castle walls. No wonder Baamin had ordered Jaylor to guard well the nature of his quest and his status as journeyman magician. The secretive old sot knew the mood of the country better than Jaylor had expected.

  Conditions were worse here in the south. Hostility toward everything from the capital was so strong Jaylor could see waves of hatred almost without magic. No one cared about news from Coronnan City, the king’s waning health, or their obviously absent lord—Krej, first cousin to the king.

  Something was very wrong here. He hadn’t even had to ask about local dragon lore. These people seethed with it. As if the winged creatures embodied all of their problems. Had they even seen enough of their lord to know that he should be taking care of them?

  Rumors in Coronnan City said that Krej’s latest philanthropy was sponsoring sculptors. He collected life-sized figures of rare creatures to display to deprived children who had no other way to view the wonders of Coronnan. Did Krej have a dragon? One made of precious glass perhaps? No. Even Lord Krej, second in line to the throne, couldn’t afford an entire dragon made of glass.

  “Stranger.” A soft feminine voice broke his concentration.

  With a word and a quick gesture the glowing map, evidence of his magic talent, disappeared. Only then did he turn to face the owner of the voice, the barmaid.

  In the dark cave of the pub, the girl’s dirty face and ragged clothes revealed little but too thin limbs, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. The noon sun revealed a lush bosom.

  “Stranger, my da sent a pasty and some ale to see you on your road.” She arched her back so that her breasts threatened to burst through the threadbare homespun of her bodice.

  This girl was so thin and bedraggled that all she roused in him was outrage that she had been reduced to such a level.

  Women, girls, always they tempted him; with their loveliness, their scent, their generous curves. Their mere presence usually made him forget he was a magician born and bred, and as such forbidden to take any woman. If he gave into temptation, he would lose his magic. And because he was forbidden to lie with any woman, all of them became more desirable.

  “Give my thanks to your da,” he replied politely. It would probably be considered an insult to refuse, even though he knew they couldn’t afford to be so generous.

  “Must you leave so soon?” Her eyelashes fluttered.

  “My journey is a long way from ending.”

  “It’s festival tonight.” Her finger traced the neckline of her garment.

  Stargods! Last night, not tonight, had been festival. The girl was lying. For while he’d heard that some barbaric peoples celebrated on both the night of the equinox and the first full day of spring, no one in Coronnan followed that custom.

  Slowly, she outlined the dip and curve of her breasts with a lingering fingertip. Her lips pouted prettily while her eyes wandered toward the sparse decorations on the Pylon.

  “Aren’t you celebrating a little late this year?” Jaylor asked through clenched teeth. Her invitation touched him with panic rather than desire. A close regard for the movements of stars and planets, sun and moon was among the most sacred duties of magicians and priests alike.

  He had spent the night in the hills outside of town, determined to avoid the temptations of festival. If the celebration had gotten out of hand, he might have awakened in the morning to find his magic reduced or gone altogether just because he hadn’t resisted what spring and the fertile women offered.

  “Tonight is festival,” the girl insisted. Her eyes traveled to the cave opening of the pub as if seeking answers. She avoided looking at the Pylon. She couldn’t lie while her eyes rested on this ancient symbol of the movement of sun and moon and sta
rs.

  “Does your da think me so simple I can’t read the skies? I learned to follow the passage of sun and moon as an infant. Either your priest is lax or the world spins in a different path here in the south.” He glanced at the cave opening, too, with his mind. There was a shadow there his eyes couldn’t see.

  “You must stay.” The girl’s color rose and she twisted her hands in her skirt.

  “Why?”

  Her voice rose to a whine. “I . . . I was told you must stay.” She swallowed and dropped her voice to a purr that might have been seductive in a whore less desperate, less pathetic. “I can make the evening quite pleasant.”

  Jaylor squinted in the first stage of a truth spell. Shock waves rolled back on him. Echoes of his own magic reverberated against his body. He gritted his teeth until his toes stopped tingling and he could stand upright without effort.

  The girl was armored!

  Who in the village was powerful enough to throw such a strong spell? The same person who had ripped holes in his armor earlier. The person in the shadows of the cave. Was the one-eyed derelict a rogue magician?

  He whirled to face his adversary but found only sunlight flooding the doorway. The shadow was gone. Where did it go?

  The voice of his inner guidance hummed a warning. He needed to get as far away from here as possible, and quickly.

  A cloud of roiling, red-orange fog, that was trying to be green as well, erupted from the doorway of the cave. Gathering speed, the magic mist flowed over the ground. It passed the rooting pig. The animal stilled, its life frozen in time until the cloud moved away. Jaylor knew that if he were caught in the magic mist, he, too, would be imprisoned by it.

  The ground beneath him reached out and grabbed his feet. Frantically he searched his memory for a spell of release. None of the spells he’d so painstakingly memorized came to him. In desperation he tried to picture the books in the library. There was one on the back shelf that should help. In his mind he saw the book float from its shelf. The cover opened, pages turned. They were all blank.