The Dragon of Despair (67 page)

“Good tales, old tales, but surely you do not think that Consolor Melina believes them?”

“You believe the story of how the Sword of Kelvin Mountains were raised, O wise Lapidary,” said Toriovico. “That is why I began there—with the origin of the dragon. I think that not only does my wife believe the tale, she believes that she can achieve what even the great wizards of the Founders’ time did not dare to do. She plans to awaken the Dragon of Despair and make it her weapon against her enemies.”

Columi gasped.

“And I am not entirely certain,” Toriovico concluded, “that she will not succeed.”

Although Toriovico succeeded in convincing Columi of the validity of his theory, showing him various sections from old books and scrolls and even quoting him portions of the Restorer’s journal, he could not convince the Lapidary that he knew enough.

“You need to know precisely where Melina is going when she ventures on one of these subterranean jaunts,” Columi said stubbornly. “As I see it, there are two ways in which we can manage this. She can be physically tracked—preferably by some agent other than yourself—or you can continue to trace her through books and records.”

Torio nodded, though he liked neither option. The one meant more people entering into his secret. The other was slow and tedious. It might also attract unwanted attention, especially if Melina had allies among the Illuminators who provided librarians for Thendulla Lypella.

He shared his concern with Columi, who nodded and looked distinctly unhappy.

“I, too, had considered those problems,” he said, “but I feel it is essential that you know more precisely what she has discovered before you act against her. What if Melina has found someone who could do the rite in her stead? Restricting her actions might precipitate disaster rather than preventing it.”

The image that arose then was so horrible Torio put it from his mind immediately, but he did not disregard his counselor’s words.

“Very well. We shall pursue both courses of action,” he said. “You shall be my agent among the books. I will have a parcel delivered to you here.”

Columi looked both alarmed and gratified.

“My vision, Healed One,” he said hesitantly, “is not what it was….”

“You have spectacles,” Toriovico replied brusquely. “Use them. If our concerns are correct, this is no time for one who has aroused Melina’s ire to be careful with his vision. You might lack life soon enough.”

Columi realized the truth in this and offered no protest.

“And as to tracking Melina?” he asked cautiously, as if he feared that task would be put on him as well.

“Your words about regarding what allies Melina may have gave me an idea,” Toriovico said. “One of her closest confidants is her maid, Tipi. I shall convince her to be my informant.”

Columi looked dubious, but offered no objection.

“If that does not work,” Torio went on, “I shall speak to someone on my staff of watchers. Surely not all of them have been suborned.”

Columi nodded.

“You will not trail her yourself?” he asked, clearly wishing reassurance.

“I did not promise that,” Torio said, a trace bitterly, “only that I shall not go alone.”

With that, Columi had to be content.

KICKS AND BLOWS
herded Grateful Peace and Edlin from the sewer tunnels, up and into rougher tubes of fire-melted stone. From the change in the surrounding construction, Peace deduced that he and Edlin were being taken into the little-used natural caverns beneath the northern edge of Thendulla Lypella.

The odor of sulphur and the rough, jagged basalt that tore boots and clothing alike made these regions supremely unpleasant. Indeed, Peace doubted that any but advanced members of the Sodality of Lapidaries ever descended to these regions—any but they and a thoroughly inquisitive Dragon’s Eye, and none of them had dared penetrate too deeply.

Idalia stalked ahead of her prisoners, seemingly unaware of their harsh treatment by her servants, yet Peace didn’t doubt that she was aware of every kick, every blow, and that in some perverse way she gloried in each one.

He had never realized how much his sister hated him, and her hatred bruised and battered his soul. Had Idalia always hated him or had Kistlio’s death been what pushed her from resentment—he had been aware of her resentment—into hatred?

Peace wanted to ask, but feared that his words would emerge in the piping voice of the little brother rather than the sardonic inquiry of the man. With his mind fragmented through the dozens of throbbing hurts upon his exhausted frame, he believed in the possibility of that transformation. The terror that somehow he could be forced into that younger self kept him mute.

Beside Peace, Edlin staggered forward, head bent, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Once the crossbows had been lowered, he had made some effort to fight free. Edlin’s valor or idiocy—Peace was really not certain which—had resulted in his being beaten nearly unconscious. Only later, when Idalia delegated some of her servants to go out and bring Firekeeper back, did Peace wonder if Edlin had once again sacrificed himself to gain his adopted sister time to escape.

Yet for all his greater injuries, Edlin did not labor under such strain as did his companion. The pride the young man felt in having helped Firekeeper escape was visible even in his bowed shoulders. Yet neither this nor Edlin’s immunity to Idalia’s particular scorn were his greatest protection.

Ignorance was Edlin’s armor and shield while knowledge blew into Peace’s face as might a high wind. With every step, the onetime Illuminator must struggle against what he knew—and what he feared.

Peace knew that these fire-sculpted caverns had been the conjuring place for the earliest magics of the Founders. The caverns had been abandoned by the First Healed One, and all but forgotten by successive generations. Peace possessed no superstitious fear of magic as did the Hawk Havenese. His fear was real, rooted in belief, respect, and trembling awe. To be taken into these reaches, to be shut into a side cave, and see it sealed from without against his escape, these shattered his nerve as physical torment and psychological quandary had not.

The former Dragon’s Eye collapsed onto hands and knees and took no comfort that the floor had been polished to some smoothness so the basalt did not abrade his palms. That smoothness meant this cave was among those the Founders had turned to their use and the proximity to such mysteries made him tremble and sink into black nightmare.

Grateful Peace came to himself to find Edlin crouched beside him, dabbing a rag dipped in water onto the worst of his cuts.

“How long?” he whispered.

“A bit,” Edlin replied, his voice soft and the words distorted by his swollen lips. “Hard to say, really. They left us lanterns and there’s water from a seep, even a clay cup. Here…”

Peace felt his head gently tilted and a cup placed against his mouth. Obediently, still trying to sort nightmare from truth, he drank. Edlin brought him more water and he drank again. The water tasted strongly of various minerals, but was no more unpleasant than some of the draughts offered by various baths throughout New Kelvin.

His thoughts cleared somewhat, and he struggled to sit up. Edlin assisted him and in the pale light Peace saw the youth wince as pressure was put on his arm.

“Is it broken?” Peace asked.

“I don’t think so,” Edlin replied. “Throbs every time my heart beats. Wish Cousin Jared were with us.”

He paused, glanced about their prison, and amended.

“Then again, maybe I’m gladder he’s not.”

Peace found himself admiring the irrepressible spirit that wouldn’t stop chattering even through broken lips. He fought to rise to Edlin’s example.

“We’re somewhere beneath the northern portion of Thendulla Lypella,” he said. “How are we guarded?”

“Pretty well,” Edlin replied. “The cave has a door, hinges and everything. Old-looking. I don’t think we’re the first to stay here. I listened at it and there’s at least two men out there. Heard them talking—not New Kelvinese or Pellish, though.”

“I understand several languages,” Peace said. “Let me listen.”

Stiffly, every limb aching as if he’d aged years with the passing of a few hours, Peace moved over to the door. The planks, he saw, were old, showing evidence of having warped and bent so that there were cracks between them. He didn’t doubt that the planks themselves were solid and didn’t waste precious strength testing them.

Although he heard some sound without—the squeak of leather, a damped clanking of metal, a guttural cough—the guards were not conversing. Peace thought about calling out to attract the guards’ attention, but decided against this. He and Edlin had at least the illusion of privacy, and should use it to their best advantage.

Most important, perhaps, would be to learn just how real that privacy was. The cave seemed solid, but spy holes could have been drilled in any number of places. The presence of the lanterns also argued that they were being watched. Darkness would have been a fine tool to use against them, making it impossible for them to investigate their prison, even for them to find the water that had provided such a distinct comfort. His aching injuries reminded him that if their enemies were granting them light, it was not out of the goodness of their hearts but because they had some advantage to gain.

Limping over to the seep, Peace tore a rag from his robe and began systematically to wash his various cuts and scrapes. While attempting to seem completely distracted by this, he let his gaze rove. A crack in the door would offer the most obvious peephole, but its very obviousness would prove a disadvantage. Ideally, a second vantage, one that overlooked the back of the cave, would be ideal.

He was only partway through his examination, accepting Edlin’s help in treating those injuries that were out of reach, when muffled sounds from the corridor drew their attention.

Holding up a finger for silence, Peace limped over to the door. Its thickness muffled what he could make out but he distinctly heard several voices, two of which, at least, were female. He felt a chill down his spine, for he knew to whom at least one of those voices belonged. There was no mistaking that cadence, silky yet commanding.

He turned to Edlin and hissed, “Melina!”

There was no time for more before a snapping and clattering of metal announced that the door was being opened. With the creaking of unoiled hinges as herald, Consolor Melina swept into the cell.

Marriage—or at least New Kelvinese styles in clothing, Peace thought cynically—apparently agreed with Melina, for she seemed taller, more slender, and even more commanding than he recalled. The dark green robe the new Consolor of the Healed One wore made her silvery blond hair seem to glow with a faint inner light, and her facial ornamentation served to emphasize her crystalline blue eyes.

Peace knew enough to avoid the direct gaze of those eyes, no matter how compelling they might seem. So, though he longed to glower at Melina, he only gave a perfectly correct bow, then focused his gaze over her shoulder.

Prudent as this tactic was, it meant that Peace could not avoid the smoldering gaze of the person who stood directly behind and slightly to one side of Melina. There Idalia waited, her expression mingling restrained fury and anticipation in equal parts. When her gaze met his own, Idalia’s lips parted in an involuntary hiss of pure hatred.

Edlin had taken part in numerous discussions over just how Melina managed her particular form of magic. There had been differences of opinion on the fine points, but all had agreed that Melina’s eyes were central to her control of another person. Therefore Peace was not worried that Edlin would make some careless mistake. However, he wasn’t certain how the young man would react when at last confronted with the woman who had been responsible for so much in so little time.

Indeed, Peace thought it completely possible that the youth would say something like, “I say! Sacrificed any children to the silk spider gods? What?”

Edlin surprised him, however. From the corner of his eye, Peace saw Lord Kestrel give the Hawk Haven equivalent of a courtly bow—one nearly as deep as he would have given his own queen. After in this way acknowledging Melina’s elevated status, Edlin said in a fairly good approximation of his usual breezy tones:

“I say. You’re looking fine, Consolor Melina. Those robes really look classy. You’ll be the envy of all the ladies when you make the diplomatic rounds.”

Apparently, Melina was as surprised as Peace by this greeting, for she paused before replying.

“Thank you, Lord Kestrel, but I do not think the other ladies will be as quick to change their established fashions as you might believe.”

Edlin responded with an easy, drawing-room laugh.

“If you were doing the convincing, Consolor Melina,” he said, “it might be different.”

Be careful, you young fool!
Peace thought, momentarily panicked that Edlin might decide to push his teasing further.

Melina said nothing for a long moment. One did not need to be Grateful Peace and possess his long education in the interactions of men and women to realize that the Consolor was adjusting to their apparent composure.