The Dragon of Trelian (11 page)

Serek stopped pacing and leaned against the far wall. “Candles,” he said. “Now.”

Calen closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Lighting candles was one of the first acts of magic an apprentice learned; not only was it relatively easy, and a good stepping stone to more difficult magics, but it was also highly practical. Quickly he visualized the candles he wanted to light — two fat, solid cylinders of wax on the desktop, the iron candelabra on the table across the room, the ring of candles set into the simple chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A gentle push, a flicker of mental energy, and he felt them all burst into tiny flames at once. Opening his eyes, he was rewarded by the soft glow emanating from each source of light.

“Good,” said Serek. “Now the fireplace.”

Same principle, just bigger. Calen reached into himself to draw upon a slightly greater amount of energy. He extended one hand toward the fireplace; not necessary, really, but it helped him to focus. He sent the gathered energy, barely visible as a faint, golden flow of light, out through his fingers across the room and into the small pile of kindling. At the whoosh of the flames, he looked back to Serek expectantly.

“Doors.”

Calen smiled; he liked this one. Objects could fairly easily be manipulated to move in ways they were used to moving. He reached out with his mind to the three doors off the study — the main door; the side door, which led to Calen’s own small room; the back door, which led out to the yard — and pulled them all shut with one satisfying slam. The candles flickered wildly, then recovered.

“Good,” Serek said again. “Now —”

But just then the door to the main hall burst open again, and one of the king’s household guards staggered through, panting. “Sorry,” he managed between breaths. “Sorry Mage Serek, to — to interrupt —”

“Gods, man, what is it?”

The guard swallowed and seemed to get a better hold on himself. “There’s been an accident, an attack — a man wounded. Your skills are required.”

Serek was striding toward the door before the guard had finished speaking. “Calen,” he said over his shoulder, indicating that Calen should come, too. Serek grabbed a pouch of medicinal herbs and powders hanging on a cord near the door, then took off down the hall on the heels of the guard, who had broken into an unsteady run. Calen leaped from the chair and ran after them. The pleasant warmth of the magic energy from his exercises was driven out by a chill of dread. What had happened? He knew he’d find out soon enough, but he couldn’t help imagining various possible scenarios as he ran, unseeing, past the tapestry-lined walls.

The guard led them out toward the main castle gate, where a small crowd was clustered around a figure lying on the grass. The guard who’d fetched them pushed some of the gathered people aside to clear their way.
New uniforms?
Calen thought distractedly as they approached the wounded man. The style was that of the Trelian Royal Guard, but the color was wrong, too dark, sort of a blackish red —

Then he realized it was blood.

He stumbled to a stop as Serek and the house guard dropped to their knees on either side of the fallen man. He appeared to be unconscious. Someone had wrapped thick strips of cloth around his torso, but the blood had soaked through both cloth and what remained of his tunic. Serek swore, tearing open his pouch of medicines.

“We could not stop the bleeding,” the house guard said quietly.

“Unwrap the bandages,” Serek commanded as he pulled assorted items from the pouch. “I need to see the wound.”

The guard paled but began to gently unwrap the sodden cloth. Several people standing nearby turned away. Calen stared, horrified, as the layers of covering came off to reveal an enormous gash across the man’s chest. The edges of the wound were dark and angry-looking, and blood continued to well up from within, refusing to congeal.

“What happened?”

The other guards looked at each other uncertainly. “We don’t really know,” one said, finally. “We were returning from patrol when they set upon us. Bandits, we thought at first, although we’d never expected them this close to the castle. But then something came at us out of the woods. Something . . .” He shook his head. “Some
thing.
I don’t even know how to describe it. It was huge, and — wrong.” He looked at the other men again, as if for support. “It was no natural creature, sir. None that any of us had ever seen. We think the bandits themselves actually drove it off; at least, it fell back when they did, but not before it took a swipe at Roeg. It seemed only a shallow wound . . . but there was so much blood, and when we reached the gate, he suddenly went white and fell to the ground —”

Serek waved his hand impatiently, silencing the man. “Calen.”

Calen swallowed and walked over to kneel beside Serek. This close, he could feel a terrible heat radiating from the fallen guard. He could also see spidery thin red lines in the man’s skin, branching out from the wound.

“What’s wrong with him?” Calen whispered.

“Don’t ask questions,” Serek snapped. He handed several vials to Calen and tossed the pouch with the rest of its contents to the grass. “Find the bloodleaf and terric powder and set the rest aside.” Serek closed his eyes and placed his hands a few inches above the man’s chest.

The house guard peered uneasily at his comrade. “Can you save him, sir?”

Serek’s mouth tightened irritably. “Don’t you ask questions, either,” he said without opening his eyes.

The guard opened his mouth again — perhaps just to apologize, unless he was a particularly stupid man — but at a warning glance from Calen he shut it without speaking and sat back on his heels. Calen nodded. Once Serek made it clear that he didn’t want to be interrupted, it was very,
very
unwise to say anything else. That danger averted, Calen hurriedly turned his attention to the vials. The bloodleaf was easy to recognize. The large red-tipped leaves were wrapped tightly around one another inside the glass container. The terric powder was a bit harder — it looked a lot like snowdust, and confusing the two would be extraordinarily bad, although he couldn’t remember exactly why. Thank the gods Serek hadn’t asked him to identify anything too difficult or, even worse, suggest which medicines to use. Memorizing reagents and their uses and effects was one of those things Calen had always considered a waste of time. Why memorize something you could just look up in a book or chart whenever you needed to? Clearly he’d never really thought it through before. The man on the ground — Roeg, the other guard had called him — didn’t exactly have time to wait for Serek to page through reference material in his study.

Calen found the terric and held the two vials out to Serek, who was muttering to himself as he moved his hands slowly through the air above his patient. The mage was gathering information, trying to determine the nature of the injury — Calen could just see the faint white tendrils of energy flowing between Serek’s hands and the wound. The man groaned and tossed his head, although he still didn’t seem to be awake. Serek opened his eyes and frowned. Looking up, he picked out two of the other royal guards who were standing around watching. “You and you. Come here and hold him down.” Glancing at the house guard, he added, “You, too. What we’re about to do is going to be painful, and it’s essential that he remain still.”

He noticed Calen holding out the vials. “When I tell you, start sprinkling the terric into the wound. There’s a poison at work, and if we don’t stop it, nothing I do will save this man.” Calen nodded, tucked the bloodleaf vial between his knees, and then carefully opened the terric powder. He could smell its acrid odor and tried desperately to remember if this was one of those powders that was dangerous to inhale. Probably Serek would have warned him, but if it was something he was already supposed to have learned . . . Calen breathed discreetly yet forcefully out through his nose and held the vial as far away as he could.

The guards Serek had selected — one appeared to be the patrol unit’s captain — were all in place, one holding the man’s legs and the other two each gripping an arm and shoulder. They nodded at Serek to confirm that they were ready. Serek held out his hands again over Roeg’s chest. Serek didn’t speak, but Calen felt the hair on his arms and neck standing up in response to the sudden flow of energy. He’d seen Serek heal minor ailments before, but this felt different, not like healing energy at all. Calen let his eyes unfocus, a trick he’d discovered long ago that would sometimes let him better “see” a spell at work. Different kinds of spells involved different kinds of magic energy — sometimes he could just feel the difference, as a person might note a difference in the weight of the air before a storm — but he’d found that color was usually the best clue to puzzling out something Serek was doing. This wasn’t something Serek had ever taught him — on the contrary, Serek had never even mentioned the significance of colors relating to magic, probably because he didn’t want Calen using the colors as a shortcut. Why teach your apprentice a shortcut when you could make him waste hours studying the long way around?

The man groaned again and tried to move, but the other guards held him fast. Another came forward to grip his head as it tried to turn.
Red,
Calen thought suddenly, as images of energy began to take shape at the edge of his vision. Why would it be red? Healing energy was green, or golden . . .

“Now, Calen,” said Serek. Calen jerked himself back to the task at hand. He tipped the vial and began sprinkling the thick powder onto the exposed wound. As the first particle touched Roeg, he began to scream. The guards held him tight, but it was clear that he was trying to arch his back and pull away from the pain. Calen glanced at Serek, wondering if he should stop, but Serek remained focused on his own efforts. Well, he’d warned them it was going to hurt. Calen swallowed and kept pouring. The man’s screams became even more intense. The other men looked at each other nervously. Calen didn’t blame them. He felt sickened by it himself. The guard seemed to be in such agony.

Only Serek seemed unaffected, and Calen couldn’t help but admire his focus.
Like stone,
he thought again.

The man’s voice was beginning to go hoarse. One of the guards spoke hesitantly. “Please, Mage Serek. Can’t you stop now? The pain, it’s killing him.”

Serek didn’t respond. Calen doubted he had even heard. Apparently the guard had the same thought, because he swallowed and tried again. “Please —”

“Be quiet!” Calen hissed. He understood the guard’s concern, but distracting Serek certainly wasn’t the answer. They had asked for his help, and now they had to accept it, whether they understood what he was doing or not. The guard glared angrily at Calen but did not speak again.

Finally Serek looked up and told Calen to stop pouring. Calen tipped the vial up immediately, with relief. The man’s screams tapered off to exhausted whimpers.

“Now,” said Serek, “take three leaves and lay them across the wound, covering as much as possible.”

Calen winced as the first leaf touched the man’s flesh, but there was no reaction from the guard. Either the bloodleaf didn’t hurt or Roeg had passed out completely again.

“Will he be all right?” the house guard asked.

Serek looked down at the leaf-covered gash. Roeg seemed to be breathing easier, but the edges of the wound peeking out from behind the leaves still looked swollen and unhealthy to Calen’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Serek said finally.

The captain sighed heavily. “I’ve got to make my report to the king.”

Serek nodded and rose to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”

The captain gave orders for the wounded man to be carried to the infirmary, then he and Serek started toward the castle. As the guards set about their work, Calen gathered up Serek’s supplies and returned them carefully to the pouch. He knew better than to try to follow or ask any questions. Serek would tell him more later, or he wouldn’t. In the meantime, he might as well use this opportunity to get back to the library and start his dragon research. It was strange — only a day ago, he knew he would have been sullen and furious at being left behind yet again. But today everything was different. Suddenly he felt invested in his own future in a way he’d never experienced before. He had a purpose — two, actually. He was going to prove to Serek and himself that he could master whatever challenges Serek set before him and become the powerful, successful apprentice he knew he could be.

And he was going to find out everything he could about dragons for Meg.

Yesterday he had been alone, and not particularly happy with his lot.

Today he had a friend and a secret. And a spark.

MEG SAT AT HER DRESSING TABLE
and began to brush the tangles from her hair. Now that her errand-girl clothes were safely bunched into a ball and stuffed in the back of her wardrobe, her face was clean, and she was dressed more appropriately (in the pale blue gown with rose satin trim that Morgan had given her for her last birthday), she supposed she looked a little more like herself again. Even if sometimes lately it was hard to remember which version of herself was the real one.