Authors: Elizabeth A. Lynn
“And does he invite folk to visit it often?”
“No. Never.”
“Have you been there?”
“Once.”
“Does he go there often?”
“Occasionally. Not often. He never stays long.”
“The next time he goes to the tower, if you know, tell me. Especially if it is late at night.”
That evening, as was his custom three nights every week, Karadur ate in the guards’ hall. Those who had been on the previous morning’s hunt recounted it, with some embroidery, to those who had not. The boar’s head appeared, on a plate, with a cooked duck egg neatly substituting for the missing eye, and was admired, and eaten.
After the meal, the tables were drawn back, and the young men challenged each other to wrestle. “Sing something,” Karadur suggested lazily to Azil. The two men sat side by side, shoulders brushing, near the fire. A decanter of red wine stood near them, with one cup. A rosewood harp lay propped against Azil’s knee.
Azil brought his harp onto his lap. “What would you hear?”
“Whatever you like.”
Azil plucked the melody of ‘The Red Boar of Aidu.’
“The red boar came from the forest; the red boar came to the hills; his tusks were iron and his breath was fire and his bellow toppled the castle spire; O the red boar, the red boar of Aidu.”
The firelight pulsed in time to his strokes. His low voice was clear and strong. The soldiers pounded on the tabletops, and sang the chorus.
Karadur did not sing, but when the song ended, he touched the musician’s shoulder a moment. “Sing another.”
“Sing ‘The Ballad of Ewain and Mariela,’ “ called someone.
The others groaned derisively. “Don’t listen to him, he’s lovesick,” yelled Devlin. “Give us ‘Dorian’s Ride!’ “
Azil said, “I need to retune for that.” He bent over the pegs. A string snapped, lashing upward. “Damn. I’ll get another.”
“No matter,” Karadur said. “Let it go.” His strong fingers caught the singer’s wrist. A torch flared as one of the doors opened.
Lorimir Ness, the garrison’s swordmaster and senior captain, stood framed momentarily in the doorway. Karadur beckoned to him. The captain crossed the hall to his side. “My lord.”
“How serious were the injuries in Chingura today?”
“Nothing too bad, my lord. A shoulder gored, and a broken leg. Macallan rode to treat them.” Macallan was the Keep’s physician.
“Good.” Karadur’s face grew thoughtful. “Lorimir, set a guard at the foot of the tower stairs tonight. Someone unimaginative.”
“Lennart,” Lorimir said. “He has no imagination whatsoever.”
“No one comes to the tower chamber without my explicit permission.” Karadur glanced into the leaping shadows. “I don’t see my brother tonight. Is something wrong?”
“Not that I know of, my lord. Do you want me to send to find him?”
“No, let it be,” Karadur said. With a slight bow, Lorimir left him. The young men, still eager and noisy, had begun to tease each other into an archery contest. He watched them for a while. Then: “Come,” he said abruptly to Azil.
Giving his harp into Ferlin’s care, Azil rose and followed his friend from the hall and across the courtyard. The sky beyond the castle walls was a deep dark blue. The autumn stars glittered in Karadur’s hair.
Later, well past midnight, the dragon-lord rose from the bed they shared. He dressed in the quiet darkness. As he turned toward the door, Azil lifted his head from the pillow. The room smelled faintly of applewood. Drowsily he said, “Kaji? Is all well?”
“It is. Lie still.” The dragon-lord trailed warm fingers across the recumbent man’s chest. “I am going to the tower. Don’t follow me.” He closed the door behind him.
Azil rose on an elbow.
Ferlin the page curled on his pallet in the hall, snoring softly. Lennart, the guard at the foot of the tower stairs, bowed as Karadur passed. He climbed the narrow stairs to the octagonal chamber. Within, he stood a moment. The little room was dark, though moonlight through unshuttered windows touched the floor planks with silver. A lamp on a low table flared at his glance. Tapestries threaded with gold decorated the chamber walls. Wood for a fire lay neatly crossed in the hearth.
A rectangular table in front of the unlit fire held three items: a lump of gold, a shallow bowl, and a knife. The dragon-lord crossed to the table. Lifting the knife, he tested its edge against his thumb. The blade was razor-sharp.
He set it down again. A shadow fell over the light. Dark wings emerged slowly out of polished stone. A dragon-shape arched against the ceiling beams. It was a presence he knew: he had seen it all his life, though as far as he knew, no one else had ever seen it, save Azil Aumson, and once or twice, Tenjiro. “Father?” he said softly.
But the shadow, as always, did not respond. Drawing a long breath, Karadur looked at the hearth. Yellow flames burst along the edges of the wood.
In the bedroom, Azil groped swiftly for his shoes. Then, with care not to disturb the sleeping page, he hurried along the corridor to another chamber. The door opened before his hand touched the wood, and Tenjiro slipped out to face him. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was fully dressed.
“He’s gone to the tower. He told me not to follow,” Azil said. “And he told Lorimir to set a guard on the tower stairs tonight. Someone unimaginative.”
“He said that?” Tenjiro closed the door. “Good. Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
But Tenjiro did not answer, only hastened along the corridor to the rear stairs.
In the tower, the air was brilliant, bright and hot as the heart of a fire. Within it, as in the still center of a maelstrom, Karadur gripped the lump of gold. Fire ran along his big frame like water down a sluice. It poured in a controlled stream into his fingers. Slowly the lump took the shape of an armband fashioned like a dragon, fanged, bat-winged, jaws open, talons extended.
In a small chamber in the deepest cellar of the castle, Tenjiro and Azil sat across from each other at a square table. A torch flared fitfully from a wall sconce, but despite the smoky heat it gave, the room was cold. Tenjiro leaned his head against the chair back. His long, ringed hands moved slowly, weaving a complex pattern into the smoky air.
“You will help me, Azil. I will make a little box, a little magic box. You are his friend, you love him. I need that love. Give me your love, your loyalty, your fidelity, so that I may feed it to the box, my little dark box...” The soft, light words, like an incantation, wound about Azil’s mind. He slumped boneless to the table. Cold spilled into the chamber. Merciless, it licked his bare skin, kissed his eyes, entered his lungs. Darkness closed about him like an imprisoning fist.
Karadur set the armband on the table. It pulsed with fire; beneath it, the thick oak began to char. Positioning his left arm over the bowl, Karadur took the knife and sliced his forearm. Blood dripped into the bowl. He scooped the band from the scarred table and dropped it into the bowl. The blood spat and frothed.
Churning, bubbling, the darkness flowed through Azil. As it left him, it took form, acquired edges, shape, weight. A small black box rested on the table in the cellar. Tenjiro’s hands stilled. Then, changing the pitch of his voice, he began to chant. A deep hum seemed to rise from the earth. It spiraled up the stairway to the courtyard, the kitchens, the stables. The dogs in their cages began to snore. Horses slept in the stable. Chickens slept in their pens. Sentries nodded at their posts. Lennart’s knees buckled; with a soft snore, he slid to his knees and then to his side.
On the rampart overlooking the main gate, Lorimir nodded and woke and nodded again, until, infuriated by a weakness he could neither explain nor control, he set the point of his dagger against his rib, so that the flare of pain would wake him if he slept again.
The hum crept upstairs, to the tower chamber. The fire died. The alabaster lamp sputtered, went out. The sorcerous murmur intensified. It closed Karadur’s eyes and buckled his knees. He fell, boneless as the boar. His hand opened; the armband tumbled from his grip.
Tenjiro, rising, put a hand on Azil’s shoulder. “Azil. Get up.”
Azil opened his eyes. His body ached as if he had been running, or fighting. Tenjiro bent over him. Tenjiro had done something ... some magic. A terrible lassitude held him immobile. “Up!” came a soft, irresistible command. He struggled to his feet.
“Listen to me,” said that light, clear voice. “We will go to Karadur’s chamber now. We will take his talisman from him. You shall take it; I need every fiber of concentration to maintain the sleeping spell. If Kaji wakes before the talisman is in the box, he will burn the castle to ash around us. Once the talisman is in the box, you will go. The grooms are asleep; you’ll have no trouble getting horses. The binding spell will hold for an hour or two.” Tenjiro’s long hands moved irresistibly as he spoke. “It’s time. Bring the box.”
Azil’s head was thick and muzzy, as if he had taken a dose of the sleeping potion Macallan kept to treat the sick or wounded. Obediently he lifted the black box.
“It’s cold,” he said, meaning the box. “Why is it so cold?”
“It is made of void. It eats light.”
The two men climbed the long stairs from cellar to kitchens to the upstairs chambers. Servants lay sleeping in hallways and chambers. The cook lay prone like a worshipper before his stockpot. One of the scullery boys snored at his feet. Old Lirith, chief of the castle women, a huge woman, massive and elegant, lay sprawled in utter indignity at the foot of the main stairs. Blood pooled in a pocket below her white hair.
Tenjiro halted. He reached a hand out. Then, drawing back, he moved past her. The somnolence that enveloped Dragon Keep from foundation to flagpole grew stronger as they moved. It lay heaviest at Karadur’s door. Tenjiro whispered a word.
The chamber door opened. They went in. Karadur lay motionless on the floor. Against the dark cloth of his shirt, a small golden circle flashed bright as a star.
“Open the box,” Tenjiro whispered. Azil tipped up the lid of the black box. Inside was lightlessness, absence, a chill blackness that sucked light out of the air and devoured it. “There is the talisman. Take it,” Tenjiro said. “Put it in the box.”
Azil walked to Karadur, and knelt. He lifted the shimmering band with both hands, wincing as he did so, put it in the box, and shut the lid. Karadur’s eyelids opened. With a harsh sound, he tried to sit upright. “Go!” Tenjiro said. Azil went out the door. Tenjiro said two words. Karadur tensed. A look of strain crossed his face.
Tenjiro said softly, “Farewell, dear brother. No, you cannot move, Kaji, so don’t trouble to resist. Or, no, go ahead, fight! Struggle with all your force. It will tire you out.”
“Tenjiro, what are you doing?”
“Leaving, dear brother. You cannot pretend to care. You think I don’t know how you hate me?” He touched the scar lines on his cheek. “In our mother’s womb you tried to destroy me even before our birth, just as you killed our mother. When you could not, you took what should have been mine.”
Muscles stood out like ridges through Karadur’s shirt. “Tenjiro, you cannot believe that. A child in the womb makes no choices. I did not choose to be eldest. And by all the gods, I did not desire our mother’s death!”
“So you say,” said Tenjiro contemptuously. “I do not believe it. I have never believed it. I should have been the changeling child. I should have been eldest. I would have been dragon and wizard, both. Can you feel the chill, the weakness in your heart, Kaji? Do you like my little box? I made it especially for your little dragon. It will eat your little dragon, Kaji. It will eat your heart.”
“Tenjiro, don’t do this.”
“It’s done. By darkness and by ice, I bind your power.” Below, in the Keep’s deserted courtyard, a horse whinnied. Karadur closed his eyes. His muscular body tightened with effort. The lamp began to glow. The wood in the hearth burst into flame. Tenjiro’s face whitened with surprise and sudden terror. He said a string of sibilant words, very fast. Karadur gasped, and slumped. The lamplight vanished; the fire hissed, and died as if doused in water. Tenjiro Atani laughed malignantly, and stretched his spine like an athlete too long confined. “Ah, I have you! Struggle as you will, Kaji. I learned my lessons well, this year.”
The door to the chamber opened. Azil stuck his head through. He said tonelessly, “Tenjiro, the horses are ready, we can leave.”
Karadur lifted his head, “Azil?” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Azil, don’t go with him. I don’t know what he has told you, but whatever it is, it is not as you think.”
“Shut up, Kaji!” Tenjiro said. “I don’t want you to speak to him.” His supple hands wove swiftly. “There, now you can’t. Azil, wait for me in the courtyard.” Without looking at the man on the floor, Azil left the room. “It’s too late, Karadur. What, do you love him? He betrayed you. He is mine, now. Don’t worry; I will punish him for you. I will care for him with the exact tenderness that you have used toward me.” His face no longer resembled his brother’s. His eyes were wide and black. “Unfortunately, I suspect I cannot kill you, just as you could not butcher me in our mothers womb as you desired. But I can take everything you care for, and I will. Let us see who shall be Dragon! Fare ill, brother mine!”