The Dragon of Trelian (31 page)

FOR A LONG TIME THEY WERE
too terrified to do anything other than crouch huddled together in the darkness. They hadn’t given much thought to where they had run — at least, Meg hadn’t — and she wasn’t entirely sure where they had finally stopped, some dusty nook in a seldom-used corridor, somewhere on one of the lower levels of the castle. They had run as long as they could, then collapsed against the wall and waited for Sen Eva to find them. And now that it was finally beginning to seem that perhaps they had lost her after all, Meg tried to force her mind back to rational thought. And action.

“Calen?” she whispered.

He cringed slightly at the sound of her voice, and then she cringed in response to his sudden movement. They waited. When Sen Eva didn’t emerge screaming from the shadows, he said softly, “Yeah.”

“What . . .” She didn’t even know what she wanted to ask. What was going on? What had just happened? What was true and what was a lie and what were they supposed to do next? Then she seized upon the most immediately answerable question. “What is the book? Will it help us?”

Calen looked down as if surprised to find it still in his hand. Gently he pulled the fingers of his other hand away from her grip; she suspected he had let the spell go long before. She leaned in toward him as he opened the cover.

“I think it’s a journal.”

“Hers?” That seemed too good to be true. Surely she wouldn’t have recorded all her crimes in a book for them to find. Oh, if only.

“No. Someone else’s. A mage.” He squinted. “Mage Devorlin.”

Meg blinked in surprise. “But — that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Do you know who that is?”

She nodded. “He was King Holister’s mage, during the trouble with Lysetta’s disappearance. Holister had him put to death after the failed assault on Trelian.”

Calen shook his head and muttered something about bloody history and violence. Meg went on. “Why would Sen Eva have his journal? Surely it should have gone to his apprentice, or . . . well, someone else.”

Calen had begun flipping through the pages. “I think this is how she learned. Without being initiated into the order. He kept very detailed notes. And I think this is only the last of several volumes.” He pointed at a notation scratched inside the front cover. “But to learn and practice without any real guidance or supervision . . . It’s madness. So dangerous.”

“Well, it sounded like she did have supervision. That man in the — the hole in the air. . . .”

“Portal.”

“In the portal. Maybe he taught her, somehow.”

“Could he be Mage Devorlin?”

“No. He’s dead, remember?”

He gave her an impatient look. “Not everyone who is supposed to be dead is actually dead, it seems. We’re not, for instance. Neither is Wilem’s father, apparently.”

He had a point there. “I don’t know. I suppose anything is possible at this point.” She shook her head in frustration. “But if that’s all it is, Mage Devorlin’s journal, I don’t think it’s going to be enough. Even if we could prove she had it in her possession, which we probably can’t now that we’ve taken it away, just having it doesn’t prove she’s actually been doing magic herself.”

“Meg,” Calen began.

“No!” She punched her fist into her thigh. The pain only made her angrier. “It’s not fair. This was our only chance. We took a terrible risk, and we almost got caught — oh, Calen, I almost got you killed
again
— and after all of that we still only have our own word against hers!”

“Meg!”

“What?” She was shouting, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care. What did it matter now?

“Look.” He was holding up the book.

“What?” she said again. She looked closer. The page was covered in what she assumed was Mage Devorlin’s small, cramped, precise lettering, complete with little diagrams and charts and arrows she guessed illustrated whatever magical point he was trying to make. But along the margins, underneath sketches and squeezed into the spaces between paragraphs, there was more writing. Writing that seemed far more recent, judging by the quality and freshness of the ink. Writing in long, flowing script that seemed instantly and naggingly familiar.

She looked up to meet Calen’s gaze. His eyes were alight with hope and a strange, harsh humor. She imagined her own face mirrored his expression.

“She added her own notes,” Meg whispered. “That’s her handwriting. I’ve seen it. She’s written countless documents since she’s been here; there must be tons of them we could use to compare. . . .” She was almost too excited to go on, breathless with the sudden resurrection of their plans. She took the book from Calen’s hands and turned to various pages at random. There were notes detailing failed attempts at reconstructing specific spells. Notes on variations of reagents and incantations. Notes on all manner of things that could leave little doubt that Sen Eva was fully engaged in the secret and illegal practice of magic. “Oh, Calen,” Meg said. “We do have her. This has to be enough.”

“We have to get it to Mage Serek.”

All the fear and desperation that had drained away minutes before came rushing back, now that there was something to lose again. “How can we? Surely she’ll be watching for us now.”

“Maybe I can try contacting Mage Serek again. I mean, with my mind. But, um, not quite yet.” He looked at her apologetically. “I’m not used to doing so much magic at once. It takes a certain kind of inner strength and energy, and I can’t . . . I need to rest. Just a while longer.”

“Of course,” she said. “Take as much time as you need, Calen.” But inside she was burning with impatience, and he probably knew it. Every moment they waited was another moment for Sen Eva to find them, or find some way to stop them, or at least find some way to escape. And they had to catch her. Catch her and stop her once and for all. Or else they’d never be able to rest, always knowing she was out there somewhere, waiting to come back. . . .

That made her think of Sen Eva’s incomprehensible conversation with the mage in the portal. He had spoken of coming back. Of Sen Eva
bringing
him back, somehow, whatever that meant. He had spoken of a lot of things that didn’t seem to make any sense. Like Wilem’s father. And brother. It had sounded as if he had promised Sen Eva that he’d bring her dead son back to life if she helped him by doing whatever it was she was supposed to do. That couldn’t really be possible, could it? Dead was dead. And Wilem . . . something about Sen Eva’s fear of Wilem learning the truth. But he was in on her plans to kill Maerlie — they knew that. Meg couldn’t even pretend there was a chance he was somehow innocent in all this. But clearly there was something Sen Eva was keeping from him. She tried to think back on everything the strange mage and Sen Eva had said to each other.
It wasn’t my fault,
Sen Eva had said.
He wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t my fault.
Was she somehow responsible for whatever had really happened to Wilem’s father and brother? That would explain why she would make up that lie about Meg’s father having them killed.

There was a sound in the stairwell above them. Meg felt her heart freeze in her chest. It was probably just some errand boy. But they couldn’t know for sure. They had to get to Mage Serek. Now.

Silently, she took Calen’s hand and pulled him farther down the dim hallway. They found another dark pocket of shadows and crouched there, waiting and listening. The sound, whatever it had been, did not come again. Meg put her mouth close to Calen’s ear. “How’s that resting coming along?” she whispered. “I don’t mean to rush you. But, you know . . . evil unmarked mage trying to find us and kill us and everything.”

Calen looked at her, his expression a painful mix of amusement and affection and regret. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’m just not strong enough. We’ve got to think of another way.”

There was no other way. If he wasn’t strong enough to cast, they certainly couldn’t go wandering the hallways. They’d be visible and unprotected. She squeezed his hand tightly. “Could I . . .
help
you somehow? Like the way we worked together to summon Jakl? Could you use my strength to call Mage Serek?”

She could see him thinking about it. That had to mean it wasn’t impossible. Otherwise he would have refused immediately. “Please, Calen,” she said. “Let’s try.”

“But I’ve never —”

She smiled at him gently. “I know. You’ve never tried this before. It could be very dangerous. You don’t know what effect it could have on me. You’re worried about hurting me. I understand. But I want you to do it anyway. We’re out of options, Calen. And we need to do whatever it takes to stop her. You know we do.” She took a breath, then went on, no longer smiling. “I didn’t hesitate to put you in danger when I thought it was our only chance. I have far fewer reservations about risking myself. And we cannot wait any longer.”

She watched him taking in her words, watched him accept that she was right. No harm in one last little push, though. “Besides,” she added, putting the journal down beside her and offering Calen that hand, too. “Don’t forget I’ve got Jakl’s strength, too. Surely between the two of us, we can lend you enough to send your little mind-message to Mage Serek.”

Calen smiled at her choice of words. Then he nodded and took her other hand. “All right.”

He closed his eyes. After a second, Meg closed her eyes, too. She reached out for Jakl and felt him awaken to her attention. Then they waited together.

She felt a tentative brush at the edge of her awareness. Calen, trying to find his way. She tried to make herself steady and open so he could take what he needed.
For Maerlie,
she reminded herself.
And for all of us.
She didn’t know if Jakl could possibly understand what they were trying to do, but she felt him behind her, supporting her, ready to lend her strength. And then, slowly, she felt a sort of . . . drawing out. It was strange, but not unpleasant. Something was flowing from her, through her hands, into Calen’s. Into
Calen.
He inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. Whatever he was doing, it worked fast; she felt weaker already but made sure not to let it show. She knew Calen would stop instantly if he thought he was taking too much from her.

Softly, like the barest whisper, she felt him reaching out to Serek. The mage responded instantly, as if he’d been waiting. His sending was stronger; she could actually hear his words in her head.
Calen, where
— he seemed to stumble, and she sensed his attention directed her way.
Who — Idiot boy, what are you playing at? You can’t —

With an effort, Calen broke into his master’s exasperated tirade. Meg’s perspective was so . . .
odd.
She could feel Calen feeling his way through the spell, learning how to send the words almost as he spoke them.
Can you help us? We have proof. But she’s coming.
. . .

Serek’s anger and frustration cut off abruptly.
Stay there. I’ll find you. Don’t reach out to me again.
Then the connection was gone.

“Wow,” Meg murmured, suddenly exhausted. “He’s angry a lot, isn’t he?”

“Meg? Meg!” He released her hands at once, nearly pushing them away. “Meg, are you all right? Did I — did I hurt you?”

She shook her head carefully. “No. No, I’m all right.” She smiled thinly, wanting to reassure him. He didn’t need to know she had been on the edge of losing consciousness for a moment there. Now that he’d let go and stopped the flow of — whatever it was — he had been taking from her, she thought she’d be all right. She felt Jakl gather himself protectively around her and sent him a burst of gratitude through the link. “That magic stuff really does take a lot out of you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, well . . .” He was still searching her face, trying to make sure she was really okay. “It gets easier with practice.”

“So now . . . we wait?”

He nodded. Then he gave her a tired half-smile. “Care to place a wager on who finds us first?”

She thought for a minute. “My money’s on Mage Serek. Seems the safest choice. Besides, if I’m wrong, we probably won’t be alive long enough for you to collect.”

Calen barked a short laugh and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. He picked up the diary again, looking through the various notes and diagrams. Meg shifted so she was sitting beside him, then closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. It was almost peaceful, sitting in the dark on the cold stone floor, waiting to see what would happen next. She was too tired to be terrified. She hoped Calen was too tired to be terrified, too. She hoped Sen Eva was too tired to find them. Actually, she hoped Sen Eva tripped in the dark and fell down some hole into the deepest levels of the dungeons, where no one would ever discover her. Well, no, that wouldn’t work, because they wouldn’t know what had happened and so they’d have to keep worrying about whether she would show up eventually. Better to hope that she fell out a window and impaled herself on a pointy fence post in front of the castle where everyone could gather around and watch her die a slow and horribly painful death. Or perhaps —

“Slaarh,” Calen said suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what Sen Eva said to the portal mage, didn’t she? Something about the army of slaarh and men trained to handle them?”

She tried to remember. “Yes, I think so. Do you know what those are?”

“I think that’s what those monsters are called. Look.” She opened her eyes and looked at the pages of the diary he was holding in front of her. Along with a detailed list of instructions she didn’t understand, there was a rough sketch of a creature that looked very much like the garden monster and the thing that had attacked them in the air. “So that’s what we saw,” she said. “An army of slaarh. Coming to kill everyone or whatever that terrible portal man intends them to do. Wonderful.”

“I think Sen Eva is responsible for bringing them here. I mean, I don’t think they’re natural creatures. I think she summoned them from somewhere else. These instructions talk more about portals, and how to bring things through. . . .” He trailed off, reading.

Meg frowned. “So why doesn’t she just bring the portal mage through as well? That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”