Sparks Fly: A Novel of the Light Dragons (12 page)

The three men left, leaving me standing in the room with a man of my height, with brownish blond hair and a little goatee. I stared at him for a few seconds, my mind whirling with worry and fear and anger.

“We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” the man said with a slight Welsh lilt. “I’m Elliot Holland.
And I’m happy to help you locate your son, if you can use my assistance.”

I looked him over carefully, too frazzled to care if I was being obvious or rude. “What are you? I mean, you’re not a dragon.”

“I’m a knocker.”

I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He laughed. “A knocker is a Welsh being, traditionally heard warning miners from danger, although we also have the reputation of being somewhat troublesome. These days, we mostly concentrate on talking.”

“Talking to who?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Birds, mostly, although I can understand some four-footed beasties.”

I stared at him for a moment, and then shook my head. It didn’t matter who he was or what he could do—I wasn’t about to turn down an offer of help. “I’m delighted to meet you, happy you and Pavel have hooked up even if Baltic is being a poop about that whole thing, and will welcome your help.”

Nico came in as we were stuffing a few necessary items in bags. He was immediately distraught and blamed himself for Brom being abducted.

“I don’t have time for this,” I said, shoving two bags at him. “I know you’re sorry, and you can come with us if you want, but you have to pack quickly.”

He was off before I finished the sentence, hurrying with the bags down to where Ludovic was waiting at the car, promising over his shoulder he’d be packed in three minutes.

I briefly explained the situation to Angela before going to stand by the car, rubbing my arms against the chill of the evening air.

Brom would be all right. He just had to be.

T
he town of Tarraco was tiny, tucked away in a mostly inhospitable, arid, and mountainous region in the north of Spain. It was also very remote, and as we drove slowly up a dusty, rutted track that led from the town proper, climbing in zigzag fashion to the remains of a medieval fortress perched high above the valley floor, I began to think that Gareth was cleverer than I had previously given him credit for.

“This place is gorgeous,” I said, unable to help but admire the Romanesque architecture of the fortress. “I love how the buildings seem to tumble down the slope of the hillside, and how they are clutched by those immense spires of rock. It’s as if the fortress were born of the earth, not put there by man. Baltic, I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

“No,” he said, pointing to the side when Pavel, who was driving our car, squinted in the darkness. “Dauva is not a Spanish castle. There, Pavel. We will stop there. They may see the lights of the cars if we are any closer.”

The second car, containing Holland, Savian Bartholomew, and a still-distressed Nico, pulled in behind us. Savian, Holland, and I were all fine despite no sleep and the predawn hour; the dragons, however, looked rumpled and grumpy, as was usual when they were forced to take a portal that utilized a tear in the fabric of space.

“I never understood why dragons have such an aversion to portals,” I said softly to Baltic, smoothing back his hair, and brushing out the wrinkles in his soft linen shirt. Even his clothing looked annoyed at having been forced through a portal.

“It disturbs us.”

“Yes, but why? Other beings have no issues with it.”

“Dragons are superior. Elemental beings don’t like portals, either. You will enter the front of the fortress with Nico and Holland, mate. Pavel, the thief-taker, and I will slip in the side. Do you remember your instructions?”

“We are to distract and subdue Gareth, if possible without putting Brom in harm’s way, or in the worst-case scenario, draw Gareth and Ruth away for a few minutes so you can locate Brom and release him.”

Baltic nodded. “And?”

“And?” I searched my memory for any other facets of the hastily concocted plan that had been borne of the half-hour drive from Tarraco. “I don’t remember anything else.”

“And you will not put yourself in any danger, or try to deal with Gareth yourself.” His hands were hard on my shoulders as he frowned into my eyes. “I will not have you harmed any more than I will my son.”

I licked the tip of his nose. “A sentiment of which I approve, and will be happy to reward once Brom is back with us. The same goes for you, too, you know.”

“I am a wyvern,” he said arrogantly as he turned me and gave me a gentle push toward my team of rescuers.

“Who can still be hurt or killed. You just remember that.”

Baltic, who had already moved off into the darkness, lifted his hand to show he heard, before disappearing into the inky shadows.

I turned to my companions. “Shall we?”

We picked our way carefully up the track, trying to avoid making noise that could warn anyone of our presence. Baltic guessed that Gareth would have some sort of security arrangements put into place to detect the arrival of any visitors, but I wasn’t so convinced—intricate plans and attention to detail were never my bigamous ex-husband’s forte.

“If we’re lucky,” I said as we walked under a gorgeous stone arched doorway that opened into a grassy area below the bulky tower complex that made up the still-standing section of the fortress, “Gareth will think he’s so incredibly clever, no one could ever find him here. I wish I could see the detail of the carvings better.”

“Carvings?” Nico looked startled for a moment, then nodded his head as we clung to a drunken line of a curtain wall. “Ah, on the
castillo
. Eleventh century, I believe. Moorish influence. The sun should be up in an hour; perhaps we’ll be able to see them then.”

I bit my lip, not speaking of the fear that held me in such a painful vice: that we wouldn’t be able to free Brom.

We climbed higher, approaching the dark bulk of stone and brick, walking slowly to give Baltic’s team time to scale the side walls before any alarm of our approach was sounded.

“Too late,” I said ten seconds later as a harsh voice called out in Spanish for us to halt.

We stopped, our hands up to show we were unarmed as two men emerged from either side of a broken chunk of the curtain wall. They were armed with long, wicked-looking
daggers, and as soon as they drew close, Nico said under his breath, “Ouroboros dragons.”

“Who are you?” the bigger of the two dragons demanded to know.

“I am Ysolde de Bouchier. I want to see my son,” I said in my haughtiest tone, wondering like mad why Gareth had chosen to become involved with outlaws, dragons who had been kicked out of, or voluntarily left, their septs, and thus were no longer recognized by the weyr. Gareth had no love for dragons, and for them to be here now…The penny dropped at that moment. “You’re part of Thala’s tribe, aren’t you?”

“Come,” the man said, gesturing toward me with the dagger. Nico and Holland closed protectively around me, but I shook my head at them and walked in the direction indicated.

“Is Thala here? I always got the impression she didn’t get along with Ruth and Gareth, but if they went running to her for protection, then I guess I was wrong. She’s here, isn’t she? She’s the one really behind this kidnapping. I just know it. She must have convinced Gareth to do her dirty work, knowing that Baltic and I would come to rescue Brom. Well, you can just tell her for me that I am not going to let her get away with this. No one messes with my family.
No one!
”

I worked myself up to a fine fit of anger by the time we made it into the main part of the fortress, not in an attempt to intimidate the dragons—I knew full well they weren’t scared in the least by us—but in order to keep my fear squashed down to a minimum.

“You go here,” the dragon said, pulling me toward the larger of two square stone towers. “La Torre de la Reina.”

“The tower of the queen,” I translated, looking up as we entered the twin arched doorways. The tower looked to be about three stories tall, the outside illuminated by solar lights stuck haphazardly into the rocky ground.
Lovely twin arched windows, and columns with trapezoidal capitals intricately carved with elaborate scenes of battles graced the exterior, while inside it was much cooler, and scarcely furnished with just a few pieces of sturdy-looking antiques. “All right, we’re here. Now, where’s my son? Where’s Thala? I have a few things to say to her.”

The dragons didn’t answer me, shoving us none too gently up a curved flight of stone steps. I waited until I reached the first landing to sidle away, asking again, “Where’s my son? I’m not moving one more foot until I see Brom!”

“You go,” the dragon said, shoving me again.

“Not one more step! And if you touch me again, I’m going to scream my bloody head off!”

“Ysolde,” Nico said with a warning, his green eyes glittering in the dim light. “I think perhaps we should go wherever it is they want to take us. You wouldn’t want to attract the
wrong
attention.”

I bit back the urge to yell for Brom, and nodded, allowing myself to be pushed up more of the stairs. Baltic, I knew, must be in the compound, using Savian’s sterling skills to locate Brom. I didn’t want to do anything to pull them away from that. This was why, three minutes later, as a very solid wood and iron door was slammed shut on us, I turned to face the two other men who were locked with me in the airless, stifling room. “Great. Now Baltic is going to have to rescue us, too.”

Nico and Holland moved quickly over to the shuttered window, pulling open the wooden slats to peer down the wall of the tower. “We can’t jump.”

I came over to look. “Really? It’s only three stories. We could do that easily. I’ve jumped out of a second-story window without breaking anything…. Oh. Damn.” The ground beneath the window dropped away dramatically, punctuated with jagged spires of rock that erupted
almost painfully from the earth. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Pavel says you are a mage?” Holland asked.

“Kind of,” I said, looking at the door. “My magic isn’t very reliable, not even after Dr. Kostich lifted the interdict that was meant to keep me from using it.”

Holland looked confused. “I thought dragons could not use arcane magic?”

Nico gave him a wry grin. “They’re not supposed to. But Baltic and Ysolde seem to be the exceptions to the rule.”

“Baltic doesn’t use magic very often,” I explained. “I was trained by the head of the Otherworld himself, Dr. Kostich, but my magic is…well, as I said, it’s not very reliable. Still, it’s worth a shot. If nothing else, it’ll be another distraction, and that can only be good for Baltic.”

“I think we’d better get out of the way.” Nico hurried over to a large wooden chest that lurked in the corner, big enough to hide a body in, turning it on one end, and moving so that the chest blocked sight of him.

Holland watched closely as I placed both hands on the door, trying to get a feel for its composition, and for any magic that might have been placed on it to keep us on one side of it.

“No wards or anything,” I said, shaking out my hands and taking a deep breath. “All right, I’m going to give an unlocking spell a try. Holland, given what happened to Aisling’s demon Jim when he stood next to me the last time I cast a spell, you may want to go hide behind the chest with Nico.”

“What happened to the demon?” Holland asked.

“It lost its preferred form. Took Dr. Kostich to fix the problem, and I died during the process. Baltic was
furious
.”

Saying nothing, Holland just ran for the chest as I
drew a circle on the floor and called the quarters, beginning with the east. “Heart of storms, I call upon you to aid me now. Heart of fire,” I said, turning to the south, “I call upon you to give me strength. Heart of tears, I call upon you to give me wisdom.” Finally, I turned to the north. “Heart of iron, I call upon you to bend all to my will.”

“You might want to duck down,” Nico said as Holland peeked over the top of the chest. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your head.”

“Erp.” Holland disappeared.

“I wish May were here,” I said, taking another deep breath, trying to put all thoughts of worry and fear and anger from my mind. “She does this so much better. Here goes.”

My dragon fire, normally banked, grew in intensity as I pulled on it, but that alone didn’t give me the force I needed to form my will into action. I knew the quiet place in my mind where I used to access arcane magic was gone, driven out, I suspected, by the dragon that was waking within me. Rather than fight that loss, I simply pulled hard on Baltic’s fire, reveling in the power it brought with it as it roared through me and joined with my own lesser fire, merging into a force that lit up my mind. I cast wide my arms and spoke the words, channeling our merged fire as I did so:

The air within the room gathered itself, silence lying heavily over us for the count of four, then with a soft
whump
, the air exploded outward in a brilliant flash of white-blue light, knocking me backward a good two yards into the wall.

“I’m all right,” I said, shaking the stars from my head as Nico rushed toward me, helping me up. “I’m fine; just had the breath knocked out of—by the love of the saints!” I stared at the door, wanting to simultaneously scream and throw large, heavy objects around the room in a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums. “Why can’t
any
of my spells go right?”

Holland had moved to the door and was considering it with his head tipped to one side. He reached out to touch it. “It’s…it’s glass.”

Mentally, I ran over the spell. “Turn to my hand and let me see, all that goes beyond. Oh, very funny, magic! Ha-ha-ha.
Let me see
, indeed.” I marched over to the door, which was indeed now made of glass, thick, wavery glass approximately three inches thick, and bound with the same iron bands as the wooden version.