The Gate of Bones (22 page)

Isabella gestured to Jonnard to sit, and so he did.

“I have asked Fremmler to join us for a few moments as I have an assignment for him.”

“Indeed.” Jonnard looked the man over quickly. Fremmler was one of the many disgruntled outlaws who'd joined them fast enough when given the opportunity to raid the society he'd been forced away from. He seemed no more aware of what Isabella wanted from him than Jon was. Jon steepled his fingers and eyed his mother, unsure of what she had in mind.

“We have an abundance of stores, and it is my understanding that many villages here about are a bit short, despite the bountiful harvest. Therefore, I am preparing to send Fremmler to the city to broker sales to those in need.”

Fremmler's heavy jaw dropped in undisguised surprise.

Jon laughed. “Mother dear, that takes balls indeed, to sell them back what we have stolen from them.”

Isabella smiled tightly at him. “We cannot live by grain alone. Why let it spoil if they need it? Fremmler here was a trader in good standing not too long ago.” Her sharp gaze resettled on him. “I take it you still have contacts in the guild?”

“A few.” He cleared his throat. “Milady, I am no longer a trader.”

“You are my trader if I say you are. If they want stores, it's you they'll have to deal with. Is that understood?”

“Understood, indeed. How long have I to make the deals you want? And how do I get your acceptance of the terms I negotiate?” Fremmler quickly dropped his roughness and slid into the smooth, assured role he'd been born and educated to fill.

“I'll make arrangements for you to communicate, have no fear of that.” Isabella tapped a citrine crystal shard lying on a nearby table. It glittered and shifted under her touch.

Fremmler looked a bit wary, but bowed again.

“Don't worry,” said Jon with a huge grin. “That one won't cast Lightning.”

“Good. Very good.” And Fremmler looked a bit happier.

“As to what I want . . .” Isabella leaned forward and began to rattle off what she considered acceptable amounts to buy and deliver the shipments of goods she was willing to sell, while Jon sat and watched his mother with undisguised amusement and admiration. When she had finished and dismissed Fremmler with his crystal, she waited until the audience room door shut firmly and the sound of retreating footfalls disappeared entirely.

“You will, of course, follow and ensure his . . . safety,” Isabella murmured.

Jon nodded as he stood. The prospect of getting out of the fortress for a bit beckoned welcomingly to him, and there were a few things in his father's journals he could now investigate without her questioning his journey to Naria.

Isabella raised her chin. “As for the other . . .”

“I have found a small thread, a faint contact, that I am trailing, Mother. In a few days, interrupted by this task, I shall have a most satisfactory answer for you.”

She put her hand up and touched his cheek fleetingly. “Excellent. Most excellent.”

He nodded as he took his leave for the evening. Her fingers on his skin had been as cold as ice.

 

Jason found Tomaz standing on a desert hill in Arizona, his arms outstretched to a setting sun although he'd sent him through to Dubai on the Gulf of Arabia, it seemed his Magicker elder had wandered far on his own. As he touched, and brought him through, the two crows on his forearms bated their wings and cawed harshly at him. He startled at the birds.

“Tomaz, I'm sorry! Let me send them back.”

“No, no. They wished to accompany me. This is Midnight, and his mate, Snowheart.” Tomaz bent a finger to the second crow and rubbed her chest where a tiny white blaze of feathers marked her. He raised both arms, sending the crows into the air, where they spread their wings and circled high in the Haven sky. Tomaz nodded, as if satisfied, then turned to Jason and grasped his arm in greeting. “Good work, as always.”

Touching Tomaz filled him with a brief surge of energy, refreshing after the tiredness which had been haunting him lately. He let the warmth surge through him gratefully.

“Henry back yet?”

Jason shook his head. “I'm having a little trouble reaching him. I'll rest and try again in a bit. Gavan wants everyone home. The roof is done, and we're celebrating.”

“Indeed! That is good news. Come with me and we'll find Gavan.”

His knees almost felt too wobbly to walk, but Jason swallowed that down, and found that he felt better with every step he took, stretching his legs to keep up with Tomaz as they crossed the vale. Early morning's bright sunlight bathed them, giving a lie to the time of year, and the Iron Mountains stood in rusty, jagged relief behind the academy. Overhead, the two crows dove at them, cawing in what seemed to be avian humor as they swooped low, barely clearing their heads. Tomaz waved them off with a string of Navajo in a jovial voice.

Jason found Ting and Bailey trying to string loops of netted crystal shards about the trees close to the outdoor kitchens, in spite of the fact the sun shone brightly. He reached up and tied the strands at the branches each pointed him to, although both often talked at once, confusing everyone, till they finally got the job finished and both girls sat down laughing and shoving at each other. Lacey ran up with a squeak, dropped something in Bailey's lap and scampered off again. Jason watched the little pack rat disappear into the undergrowth with a flip of her tufted tail.

“Aren't you afraid she's going to wander off?”

Bailey shook her head. “Not anymore. We have this rapport, now, and she feels I'm her home. I do worry that something might snap her up, though. She's not as nocturnal as she used to be, and thank goodness for that. I worry about owls!”

“She will be fine,” Tomaz reassured, hugging both girls in one embrace and making them laugh even harder, before wandering off in search of Gavan who was evidently taking another ward check with Trent about the academy.

Ting took a deep breath, waggled a finger, and all her tiny crystal shards lit up. The trees sparkled with a dancing light effect. “Oooooh!” breathed Bailey. “It looks even better than we thought it would.”

Ting leaned back, her face paling. She looked at Bailey, then gave a tiny shake of her head, and Bailey grew quiet.

Jason realized something between them had just gone unsaid, and he wondered what it was, but if they wanted him to know, it
would
have been said. He reached up and tightened one last bit of light strand. “Stef and Rich ready to go to Naria?”

“Gavan put that off till this evening, but he said they could stay over. Stef thought that was great, he gets two lessons that way, it seems. Anyway, we're about ready, just waiting for Henry.”

“Then,” stated Jason, “I'd better get him.” With a wave, he went off to the small, quiet glade in the valley where he could concentrate best, often talked to the Dragon about things, and could be alone to do what he needed to do. Sitting on the small boulder and finding it pleasantly warmed by the sun, he crossed his legs and composed himself, and thought about Henry and the Dragon Gate carved into the side of the Iron Mountain. Henry with his pleasant face, usually smiling behind his glasses unless he was looking befuddled over the effect of some Magick he'd just tried that had gone wrong, Henry with his ability to talk tech and Magick with the best of them, Henry who ranked among the best of best friends and who loved his family wholeheartedly. . . .

He caught the sense of him then, a glow of welcome, followed by a tinge of sadness as Henry felt his touch and no doubt began shouting his good-byes to his family. There came that moment when, like looking into a pool of water, he could feel himself looking at someone/something
else,
then that solidified into looking at Henry, all trussed up like a pack mule and hanging onto a chain of packages and burlap sacks, with one free hand to hold out to Jason. He grabbed Henry's hand as he swung the energies of the Dragon Gate open wide. He could feel the power surge of both worlds, like an immense tidal wave coming in, even as the other came in as well, both meeting with a tremendous clash and the archway of those energies a doorway through which he pulled Henry back to Haven.

Henry fell on him with a grunt and the weight of a collapsing grocery store. Jason slid off his boulder onto the soft, browning autumn grass, surrounded by cargo of every imaginable size, shape, and weight, and prayed nothing was heavy enough to break bones.

He sat up carefully, reaching out to right Henry who appeared about to disappear forever among his own bundles. “Good grief. Now I know what a ton of bricks feels like. Did you bring the kitchen sink back, too?”

“I brought back anything anyone could ever want or even think of!” Henry said proudly, if a bit out of breath, as he got to his knees, then clambered to his feet. “No kitchen sink, though, 'cause Gavan says we won't have real indoor plumbing for a while. He doesn't want to interfere with the natural technological growth of Haven.”

“Right.” Jason dusted himself off as he stood and stepped around the tangle of knotted ropes that linked Henry to all his cargo. He had to grin, he couldn't help it, Henry had managed to bring back package after package of . . . well, he couldn't begin to guess what it all was.
Stuff.

Two pink rectangular boxes tied together with string dangled from his left wrist and smelled delightfully like . . . like . . . Jason reached for them.

“Ah-ah!” Henry cried and danced away from him. “That's a surprise.”

“This whole mess is a surprise.”

“Well, this is surprise-er,” Henry declared. He let out a whoop then as the sound of running feet descended on them, and an academy of Magickers fell on both of them. “Mind the boxes!” Henry yelled just before the welcoming crowd overwhelmed him.

 

“This,” declared Ting proudly, “is courtesy of Laura Squibb, Henry's mom, who remembered that Jason's birthday is right about now, give or take a few days.”

Everyone gathered close, their mouths beginning to water at the smell of the goodies inside, their plates and napkins in hand, waiting.

“And so,” Bailey finished up, waving a cake knife about, as she stood over the big opened pink boxes, one proudly displaying a vanilla cake with fine gold-and-green balloons and sprinkles all over and a second chocolate cake with marshmallow crystals all over it, “in honor not only of Jason's thirteenth birthday but in view of the fact that he is growing as if he's raced through fourteen and straight into fifteen . . . Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday—and Happy Birthday!”

A resounding cheer echoed around the academy as Bailey began to slice up the cakes and serve everyone eagerly lining up for their share.

S
O, THEN TRENT SAYS, for about the fifth time, ‘Did anyone else notice that the trading capital is called Naria, almost like the mystic country Narnia from the C. S. Lewis books?' and Stefan growls at him, ‘Yes, and if you point that out one more time and I don't get to go, you're going to spend the rest of your days here twisted up like a pretzel and thrown in the bottom of some wardrobe.' ” Jason laughed as he licked some frosting off his already incredibly sticky fingers, and the Dragon let out an appreciative chuff of white smoke, not quite a laugh, more like a little chuckle, but that was all right.

“And this Narnia. A dangerous place?”

“Always, and steeped in wonder. Trent's point, of course, was that he thinks the writer C. S. Lewis might have somehow peeked into
here
and used his visits as a basis for his books, but I think that's far-fetched, and even if he had, it wouldn't have anything to do with Stefan. Nor did the books mention anything Like the people and places we've met.”

“I see.” The dragon took another dainty nibble off his huge slab of birthday cake and tried to ignore Jason's sidelong glances as if he might still be a bit hungry. In fact, he cupped his taloned paw about the plate and slid it a bit closer to his chest, hoarding it. “And then what did you all do?”

“Oh, we goofed off. Trent and I got into our favorite sword fight, from the pirates movie—ah—play that we love . . . there's a bit . . .” Jason jumped to his feet, picking up a long branch from the ground to brandish like a sword. “One guy is the honest young hero, and the other is the pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, who is a bit crazy and very sneaky. So they're fighting away, and it's a good fight. Our hero is a very good swordsman, but Sparrow seems to be a bit better, and a little surprised by his opponent. Anyway, the hero doesn't like pirates and is trying to bring Jack to justice and Jack is trying to escape, but doesn't really want to hurt the hero. So it goes like this—” And Jason acted out the swordplay bits he'd memorized, his muscles stretching in forms taught him by Madame Qi and his own efforts. “Then Sparrow does this, which is totally punk, and he has the hero up against the blade, and the hero says, ‘Cheating!' and Sparrow looks at him, and shrugs and says, ‘Pirate!' which of course he is, meaning that naturally he'll lie and cheat, that's what pirates
do
so it's not really cheating, it should be expected . . . and the two guys kinda look at each other, shrug and grin, and go back to fighting.” Jason laughed as he dropped his willowy stick and plopped back on the ground.

“You admire this pirate?”

“Yes and no. He's very smart and he tricks everyone, so I couldn't live like that, but it's his wits that keep him alive. And, in the end, he helps everyone out.”

The dragon's forked tongue flickered out and he took another small nibble of the cake. “Seems you admire him a bit, though.”