The Dragon Book (23 page)

“Odd, that a son of such a family should end up here in these midlands. We must be further from the coast than any other point of Albion.”

“This is what my wife has told me, and I see no need to doubt her word.” The duke paused and looked mournful. “You see, she is the cousin of my first spouse.”

“Indeed so?” I tried to look encouraging, and he continued. “My beautiful Sara … Alas, she died in a plague of the yellow flux, several years ago, leaving me with three small daughters. They needed a mother, and Ilyris—the current Lady Porthlois—was the nearest female relative.”

“So you married her. A pragmatic solution.”

“It was not simply for the sake of the girls,” the duke protested. “At that time, Ilyris may not have been the beauty that her cousin was, but she was a handsome woman all the same—of mature years, it is true, but nonetheless widely admired. It is only since the dropsy came upon her that she has become as she is now.”

“And her character?”

“Firm, unyielding on matters of principle, intelligent. We spoke little of the supernatural—I have an aversion to such matters—but I believe her understanding to be considerable, as a consequence of her ancestry.”

“An ancestry which was shared by the first lady Porthlois?” I remarked. A series of possibilities was beginning to creep through my mind, which was busy sorting, sifting, sieving hypotheses …

“No—the sea priest was Ilyris’s father, whereas Sara was on the maternal side. A very old family. They have been in this area for generations—far longer than even my own family. Cygne, what must we do?” He sounded quite pathetic. I could not entirely blame him. “My wife is a monster, my daughters are in danger—what can be done?”

I stood up and drained the glass of porter. “We must act,” I said. “I have a dragon to slay.”

Returning the dragon to its point of origin had proved such a significant failure that I decided to resort to cruder measures. I informed the duke of my plans, and he paled.

“But—that would be using her as bait!”

“Quite so. But you must understand that these are desperate times. Your wife has absorbed into herself a draconian spirit. Despite any protestations she might have made to the contrary when in possession of her right senses, the brunt of her anger will shortly fall upon her stepchildren. Dragons,” I said glibly, “are territorial creatures, and greatly jealous. Your wife’s reasoning is that of a beast—a cunning beast, it is true, but a beast nonetheless. To her mind, once the children are removed, she can begin to breed.”

“A hideous prospect!”

“Quite so. However, we cannot at present tackle her in her own chamber. Your comment that she has not left her bed since the illness convinces me that this is the seat of her power. She is too entrenched there—and so we must lure her out. A combination of your eldest daughter and myself might prove sufficient, if I can convince Ilyris that I have changed sides, as it were, and have her own best interests at heart.”

“You intend to tell her that you will aid her? Will she believe that?”

“Magicians are renowned for their desire for power. I shall put it to her that with you and your heirs out of the way, she and I can assume the authority of Direfell Hall. Once she has crept forth from her chamber—her seat of power—she will be vulnerable to attack.”

The duke gave a reluctant nod. “It is risky—but as you say, this is a desperate situation. However, you will understand that I need to be nearby, in order to protect Rose.”

“I should expect nothing less.”

ROSE eagerly agreed, and her indignation was considerable. “I always
knew
it,” she told me. “Her jealousy of my beloved mother knew no bounds. No doubt she inserted herself into this household in order to usurp my mother’s position.” She lowered her voice, even more bitterly. “I should not be surprised if she had contributed to my mother’s death by the use of her filthy powers.”

“Nothing would surprise me at this juncture.”

Due to my own incarceration, it was now close to three in the afternoon, and even granted the long summer evenings, there was no time to be lost. With care, I bound Rose’s hands and led her upstairs, followed by her father, and, at a safe distance, the quavering Parch. Then I knocked on the door of Lady Porthlois’s chamber.

There was no reply. “Madam? Are you within?” I asked sharply. “I know you to be there, in whatever form you have assumed. I have a proposition for you!”

Still no answer, so I continued with my proposal. At its end, I stole a glance at Rose. Her eyes were closed, and she was whispering. A prayer, no doubt. There was a moment of silence from within the chamber, then a sudden flurry of rustling motion behind the door. A minute later the door was flung open, and Lady Porthlois came across the threshold in a rush. Despite her bulk, which I could now see included a bulbous, scaly tail, she moved with appalling speed. Beneath the incongruous mob-cap, the indigo light of the Eldritch Realm still streamed from her eyes like lamps, and she was hissing.

“Now!” I cried, and leaped forward to thrust Rose into her stepmother’s path. The duke shouted out a protest, and I spun, knocking his sword aside. Parch, demonstrating a lamentable lack of loyalty to his employer, bolted down the stairs as I stuck out a foot and tripped Richard so that he sprawled at my feet.

Rose screamed, a thin, whistling sound. Ilyris turned, opened her mouth, and emanated a beam of blue light. As a trained mage, I could hear the incantation behind it, but I doubt that Richard did. It struck Rose in the middle of her breast and clung like watery fire. I watched as it spread across the shrieking girl, encompassing her limbs and, at last, her head. Ilyris shut her mouth with an audible snap. As the light faded, so Rose withered, the golden girl shrivelling into a gaunt thing, all bones and claws, with a cluster of sharp teeth. Only the mass of hair remained. Richard made an inarticulate sound. Ripping aside its bonds, the corn-leck sprang at me, snarling. It bowled me over and we both fell down the stairs, struggling. When we reached the bottom, I hit the landing with a force that jarred my spine and left me momentarily stunned. I had a sudden glimpse of the gaping jaws and tiny yellow eyes, and then it was gone in a gush of green blood as the Duke of Direfell struck off his eldest daughter’s head.

“HOW long have you known?” I asked Ilyris, much later. The body of the corn-leck had been removed to the stables. I had taken a much-needed bath. Richard’s remaining children had been placed under close confinement, and the duke himself had retired to his chamber, to consider and to mourn.

Without the bulk of her borrowed spirit, Ilyris proved to be a large but firm-bodied woman, with assured movements. She now sat, twisting her father’s ring between her long fingers. Her face was pinched with exhaustion. “Ever since I was a girl. My father married into the family, you understand, and his clan were sea people. He knew little of the earth spirits, the corn-lecks and harvest wights. His own wife, my mother, had none of the family secret—she was human through and through. But her
sister
—Sara’s mother—was even more of a leck than the thing you have just seen. We rarely saw her, except for glimpses. She lived in the fields. Sara herself was lovely, but, as I told you, she had a wearisome personality. She died of natural causes, in case you’re wondering.” Ilyris passed a hand across her broad brow. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I was fond of the children. They are my family, after all. I was happy to marry Richard, to look after them, and they were sweet little girls. But when Rose turned thirteen, her heritage began to make itself felt. She started spending more and more time outside. I caught her coming in at dawn; she wore wildness like a cloak. The crops began to fail, because there was no one to teach Rose how to regulate her powers, and she took too much from the land. Then one of the calves was found dead, with bite marks in its throat. I tried talking to her, but she would have none of it—she spat that I had stolen her father and would pay. When I attempted to raise the subject with Richard, he simply would not listen. It was too late, and I knew that I had to act. But Rose had her mother’s magic—the warding powers that lecks use to keep the territory of their fields. She shut me in this chamber, and I could not get out—you understand that I have some magic, but not enough. I am human, after all, and
she
was not. I tried to reflect Rose’s magic back to her with the use of the mirrors, but it did not work. Yet my father was a priest, and I still possessed his grimoire. So I called upon a dragonspell that allowed me to bring through a spirit: I held part of its soul within myself, while the dragon grew from a worm on the hill. I governed its movements, made sure that it preyed upon the lecks, and the occasional sheep. Never humans. But I was aiming it at Rose—when the dragon should be fully grown, I planned to bring it here.”

“A bold but dangerous plan!”

Ilyris gave a weary nod. “And so it proved. My body was not strong enough to contain the dragon’s spirit, even in part. I told Richard that I had dropsy. If you had not acted when you did, I would probably have become a monster. I am sorry, by the way, that I trapped you in the box. I thought you were acting against me.”

“I was. But there were too many anomalies. Eventually, I configured the truth.”

“And I am grateful. You have probably saved my life and that of my husband.”

“What will happen to the remaining girls?”

“Richard has said that he will contact the Court, and they will send a mage to bring the children into captivity. It is too soon to tell if they will take the same path as their sister, but we cannot risk simply releasing them into the fields.”

“I wish you well,” I said, and meant it.

RIDING home, the summer sun lay upon the fields in sheaves of gold, as heavy as corn. I did not see anything dodging behind the stooks, nor hiding in the green hedges, but I had no doubt that they were there. I had gained both friends and enemies, not unusual for a mage. At the crest of a hill, I reined in my mare and looked back. Direfell sat in a pool of sun, its harsh edges softened by light. Across the vale, the dragon’s hill was still slightly ridged. Somewhere upon it was a tiny, bewildered worm, dreaming of greater things. A metaphor for the human condition? Perhaps, but such philosophical speculations rarely lead to a positive outcome. I turned the mare’s head around and rode for home, under the sun.