The Lord of Illusion - 3 (26 page)

“Giles?” prompted Camille. Drystan had mentioned him before.

“My foster father in Wales. He fell in love with Lady Cecily, and the two of them stole her father’s blue scepter and brought it to the orphans’ castle.”

Camille frowned. “You say it so casually, Drystan, as if stealing a scepter was a commonplace event. Yet now I see where you received your passion for the Rebellion. Perhaps you were destined to take the golden scepter. I think your foster parents would be proud of you.”

He seemed to garner some confidence from her words, for he firmed his mouth and narrowed his eyes. The dragon swung its head back around and picked up its pace.

“You are right,” he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. “It responds to my commands.”

Camille glanced over her shoulder. The dragon’s tail no longer swayed from side to side, instead it stuck out behind them as straight as an arrow. She looked at Drystan and gave him a smile. “Well done.”

He dipped his head as if he meant to kiss her, and she frowned when he froze, his eyes shifting to glance at the road ahead of them.

Now what?

Camille turned. A sliver of ice burst through the snow on the road in front of them, bringing the dragon to an abrupt halt. The beast veered to go around it. Another sliver broke through the crust. Drystan cursed. The beast dodged it, but another grew, seeming to pierce the sky. And another, and another…

“This is no wild magic. It is a purposeful trap.”

Drystan did not reply. She could almost feel his concentration as he sought to direct the dragon around the growing obstacles.

But soon, the road ahead became a prison of upside-down icicles, with a hairsbreadth between the soaring columns.

He leaned forward, pushing her flat against the golden scales as the dragon attempted to fly. Drystan must be using magic to keep them anchored to their seat; otherwise the beast’s attempts to fly over the imprisoning bars of ice would surely have thrown them. Camille felt the wind from the beat of its wings, but it could not easily take flight from a standing position. Still, it managed to launch itself forward and up, shattering the ice, shards of crystal peppering their heads and shoulders.

More icicles grew, and the dragon plunged through them as well, until their progress became a jumping, lurching, crashing journey of falling ice. Their horse never would have made it this far, but Camille prayed they had a chance of breaking free on the back of a dragon.

She had shielded her eyes, but at Drystan’s sudden shout, she uncovered them.

They had reached the border. Roden’s spell extended from sky to land, for a sheer wall of ice plunged downward several miles in front of them, like some enormous bubble surrounded the sovereignty of Dreamhame. And in front of that barrier gaped a deep and dark chasm.

Icicles no longer blocked the road. For the road had disappeared into that miles-long gap. The dragon teetered on the brink of it, wings backpedaling as it tried to prevent them from falling over the edge.

Drystan sat very still as the dragon swayed, and Camille could almost hear him thinking.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I have noticed my magic comes to my aid when I desperately want something for
you
.”

The dragon swayed back on its haunches. She prayed it would win its battle against gravity, and spoke to distract herself from the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “W-what about when the bandits attacked?”

“I did not think to use magic. As I said, I am not used to having it, to calling it at need. I have relied upon my sword for far longer. But all of the other powerful illusions I have created—the demons, the Arabian tent, springtime in the garden—have all been to help you. When the elven lord threatened
me
, I could not gather a shred of my magic.”

The dragon tipped forward yet again. Camille could not help the shrill tone of her voice. “And?”

“And you reminded me that my tutor told me the creation of any spell required strength of will more than anything else, which is why powerful illusions take more energy. Where you are concerned, my willpower knows no boundaries.”

They swayed backward as one. “Where are you going with this, Drystan?”

“I can break through Roden’s illusion.”

His voice rang with confidence. He believed he could do it. And she trusted him with her life. As they swayed forward yet again, the dragon’s wings beating ferociously at the alarmingly new perilous angle, Camille said with forced bravado, “There is only one way to find out.”

And then she closed her eyes and hoped his unpredictable magic would continue to hold if the dragon actually managed to fly.

Eleven

Drystan knew he could do it, as surely as he knew his own heart. But Camille’s voice held a hint of doubt.

She was the bravest woman he had ever known. Even though she had scared him witless, he felt glad she defended herself against the bandits. It changed her. A new confidence lay in the set of her mouth, the slope of her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with an inner dignity.

She had learned not to fear him. Perhaps now, she would no longer fear any man.

They toppled over the cliff, and Drystan’s stomach rose up into his throat.

He looked at the dragon’s leathery wings, willing them to beat faster.

They did.

He tightened his grasp on a golden scale with one hand, his other still holding Camille’s hip. Fie! He had finally thought to untangle his arm from beneath her clothing, but he could not quite manage it, for the dragon took to the air, a sudden lift that pushed the breath from Drystan’s lungs.

He felt a moment of jubilation at the wondrous freedom of flight, but it quickly faded as they bobbed across the chasm. The dragon struggled to keep them aloft, and although Drystan had read about the principles of dragon flight, he lacked any experience to guide the beast in the proper way to manage it.

It appeared the dragon had an instinct for flight, however; otherwise they would have already plunged to the bottom of the gap.

Drystan glanced down into an abyss that appeared to have no end and quickly looked up. The view improved only slightly, for he faced the solid wall of ice cutting Dreamhame off from the rest of England.

He had read that dragons used air currents in the higher skies to allow them to coast for long distances, for the sheer size of the beast made staying aloft difficult. Granted, the dragon he had created looked puny in comparison to Grimor’ee, but the concept still held. So Drystan willed the dragon to fly higher, for it did not matter whether he broke through the barrier ahead or above them.

If he failed, it would be a disaster regardless.

As they climbed upward, he tried to imagine a hole within that barrier of ice, but could not envision it. The ice looked too solid, too real. He already felt the drain on his strength from maintaining his illusory dragon and keeping them glued to its back, and did not know if he had enough magic left to summon even a small crack in the elven lord’s enchantment.

The wall grew closer. He felt Camille tense.

“For her,” he whispered, his words tossed away and over his shoulder from the wind of their flight. “I will do this for Camille. I must.”

He felt a burning sensation from his pocket but ignored it, his entire being focused on breaking a hole through that ice.

And a small crack appeared.

Too small for their beast to fly through.

Drystan gritted his teeth. The break must widen enough to allow them through. It would. His world narrowed to that small crack, willing it to melt about the edges. To widen.

The dragon let out a scream, the sound of it very close to the one in Drystan’s mind as they flew into the break. The tip of a wing slid along the ice, disturbing the balance of the beast, who overcompensated, causing its other wing to slide along the glassy surface. They bounced back and forth as if in some wild gale of wind, until Drystan worried that despite his magic, they would be flung from the golden scales to fall far, far down, beneath the earth into the blackness of the chasm.

How thick was the damn ice?

White abruptly clouded his eyes. Drystan shook his head to dispel it, realized the dragon’s flight had just as suddenly become a smooth glide.

They broke through the mist. No, a cloud, for now he looked down upon a fluffy layer of what he had before seen only
above
his head. Then the white shredded to a fine layer and disappeared, and he saw the sheet of ice below them, and then that, too, vanished from view.

Drystan went over the mental map in his head, trying to adjust it to the actual view of England’s landscape. They had left the sovereignty of Dreamhame, also leaving Stonehame, Bladehame, and Terrahame behind, which lay to the east of Roden’s realm. They briefly passed over Dewhame. Even in the dead of winter, water trickled a path through the snow. To his right lay Bath and the palace of Imperial Lord Breden, although it was too far for him to see the mad elven lord’s palace of steaming water and fountained hills. But they soon left the land of the blue scepter behind, and flew into the realm of Firehame. Drystan caught a glimpse on his left of the forest within Oxford, called the Seven Corners of Hell, where Viscount Thomas Althorpe had discovered the source of magic and a doorway into the fabled land of Elfhame.

A maelstrom of magic sundered Oxford’s forest, shooting flames into the sky, waves of water, volcanic ash, and colors of green, silver, gold, and lavender sparkles. All seven of the elven lords’ sovereignties met within that mad forest, the conflicting magics resulting in a chaos that Giles and Cecily had barely survived.

Drystan made sure to guide the dragon far away from the sky above it.

Then they flew over a land riddled with pockets of fire, trees of flaming leaves that melted the snow around them into pockets of brown. A journey that would have taken them days would now take them only hours.

Drystan relaxed, rubbed Camille’s hip, which would surely carry bruises from his hold upon it during their crazed flight.

She leaned back against his shoulder, the tips of the fur of her hood tickling his chin, and said, “I am free.” Only the wind of their flight brought the words to his ears.

Drystan gave her a gentle squeeze. He had been so focused on gaining their bearings that he had not thought of how Camille must be feeling. Leaving Dreamhame must have been a liberating experience for her.

“You will never be a slave again,” he swore, leaning close to her ear so she could hear him.

The dragon climbed high enough to catch a current, creating a smooth ride for its passengers, but the chill of the higher skies near froze the moisture in Drystan’s eyes. Feeling a confidence in his magic he never had before, he created enormous fur blankets to wrap around Camille, to half-lay over his face against the frigid air.

Drystan had not been aware of her trembling until she stopped.

“It smells different up here,” she shouted against the wind.

It did. A sharp odor that stung his nose.

She glanced down. “We are in Firehame already?”

“Aye. We should reach London in a few hours.”

“And then it will begin.”

Begin? For Drystan, it started the moment he had first dreamt of her.

He longed to tell her about the land of Firehame, and what he knew of the half-breed General Dominic Raikes, who had killed and taken the elven lord Mor’ded’s identity, and who had fooled the other Imperial Lords for years. About his secret wife, Lady Cassandra, and their son, Alexander, who had seduced Imperial Lord Lan’dor’s champion, Wilhelmina, and stolen the silver scepter of Bladehame.

When they reached Firehame Palace in London, they would meet the living legends behind the Rebellion. Drystan’s curiosity flared with excitement about meeting the people he had only read about.

But the pounding wind did not make for easy conversation, and his desire to educate Camille about the people she would be meeting would have to wait.

So he pulled the fur lower over his face, trying to get some feeling back into his nose, the tip of which had gone numb several hours ago, and occasionally glanced down at the snow-covered land, making sure the dragon kept to his bearings.

He held Camille tenderly, relishing the feel of her in his arms. They had become even closer over the last few days. The danger and their reliance on one another cemented the bond between them. Drystan just wished he could banish the niggling doubt that ate at him. In all of his dreams, it had never occurred to him that she would not eventually fall in love with him. That she would think herself incapable of doing so.

Would the bond he had tried so hard to develop between them hold until she—?

Something large flew straight up past them. He caught a glimpse of brown wings from the corner of his eye. Drystan directed his dragon to a circular pattern, slowly climbing higher up into the ether.

Camille tensed at the same time Drystan saw them. A flock of brown dragons just ahead, on a straight course to London. They did not have the size and power of Kiz’rah, Annanor’s dragon-steed. The elven lady must have created them with magic, like the one Drystan rode. They would act on instinct or the instructions of their master. So if Annanor had sent them to Firehame while she waged her siege against Verdanthame, her attention would be divided, and her beasts would serve only to harass Firehame. Until Verdanthame fell.

Drystan urged his dragon to go faster, to keep up with the flock ahead of them, but not to overtake them. What would they find when they reached London? And how did Verdanthame Palace in Norwich fare, under the rule of the half-breed Dorian? What other magical forces had Annanor already launched against them?

He could only guess Verdanthame’s fate, but at their speed, it did not take long to discover how Firehame Palace prospered.

Not as badly as Drystan feared.

From their vantage point, he could tell that Breden’s water magic struck at both Firehame and Verdanthame from the sea on the south and east. Waves jetted in the air, a blue haze off in the distance. Verdanthame Palace lay too far away to see if it still withstood the siege, but Drystan could see a wall of seething green off to his left, an occasional crack of brown running through it as Annanor of Terrahame used her power of earth to break through Dorian’s verdant defenses. It appeared that the half-breed still managed to hold his territory against the elven lady.

But the land of Firehame had been ravaged by Breden of Dewhame’s water magic, and some of Annanor’s earth ruptures also spread into the sovereignty. Ponds of water replaced the pockets of fire that had formerly marked Firehame’s lands. The pristine snow began to blacken the farther they flew toward London. Drystan could see the blue-uniformed soldiers of Breden of Dewhame’s army destroying farms and villages, and as they neared their destination, the swell of the army grew larger, ringing the outskirts of Firehame Palace.

Drystan could smell the blood and death, even at this height. The images the scepters had sent him in his dreams became real.

He felt tempted to turn the dragon’s head back around, to take Camille away from danger. But she had sworn herself to the cause, had made her own decision regarding her destiny. He could do naught but support her, and ignored the impulse.

Besides, the freedom of England may very well depend upon the knowledge they carried. When the three other elven joined their magic and army to the battle, Firehame would fall. And then Verdanthame would no longer be able to hold.

Drystan slowed the dragon as they neared London. The brown dragons had already joined the ranks of the beasts that circled the sky. They dipped into a lake near Breden of Dewhame’s war banner, and rose with a bubble of water clutched in their talons. They dropped it upon the ring of fire protecting the city, but only a brief flash marked the spot where it splattered. General Dominic Raike’s magical warding of fire still held.

Camille turned, her eyes wide with fear and dismay. “Will your spell of concealment hold until we enter the palace?”

“My…?” Drystan snapped his mouth shut. He had been so concerned about what lay below them that he had not considered how they would cross the battle lines to reach Lord North. They now flew over Breden’s army, and no call to arms had been raised against them. Perhaps the elven lord thought they were allies, since they rode on a golden dragon from Roden of Dreamhame’s sovereignty.

Or perhaps Camille was right. Drystan had been thinking only of keeping her safe, and perhaps his magic responded to his will by concealing them. He’d had the knack of making himself almost invisible in Wales; indeed, he thought it proof of the power of his magic. But he did not hold as much of the gift as he would have liked. It had been proven to him time and again since entering England.

Unless he used his magic for Camille’s sake. Perhaps it had risen to her aid once again.

“Do not worry,” he finally replied. “I will get us into the palace.”

She nodded with complete confidence and turned back around. Drystan smiled weakly. Despite his bravado, he couldn’t really be sure of anything. If Breden of Dewhame thought them an ally, Dominic of Firehame would as well, and launch an attack against them.

Drystan feared his magic could be no match for Dominic’s.

As they neared the heart of London he could see Firehame Palace, the yellow flaming walls a beacon of refuge for the Rebellion. Dominic’s winged fire-lizards protected the skies against Breden’s water dragons and Annanor’s creations. Although the lizards might lack the glittering scales and more fearsome countenance of the illusory dragons, they spat liquid fire that ate through scale and turned water to harmless mist.

The elven lords had not sent their true dragons into battle, so their creations did not have the power to be much more than a nuisance to Dominic’s own lizards or the black-coated soldiers of his army below them.