Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

Kerrigan thought back. The spell had used three fluids, all thick. The first had been ruby red and the second ivory. He’d not seen the third, but it had smelled of mint. “The ivory liquid, that was of dragonbone?”

“It was. Used first was earthsblood, a rare concoction known to few and fewer yet are those who can prepare it. It changed you enough to allow the binding of the dragonbone to you.”

“And the third? It smelled of mint.” Kerrigan shivered. “It numbed the pain from the other two.”

“Some unguent. It is not vital, but recommended so the recipient can concentrate enough to cast the spell. I will say, to have one as young as you cast it is remarkable.”

Kerrigan started to smile, but thought better of it. “I did what was required of me. They just asked if I could cast it, then had me do so.”

“So, you cast the spell without thought of the consequences?”

“Well, I…” Kerrigan frowned and hunched his shoulders. “I had ventured into Yslin, into the bad section of that city, and had been beaten badly. I could have been killed. And before that, pirates had tried to kill me and had shot me with an arrow. My masters decided I needed protecting. They showed me the spell, asked me to cast it, and I did. I didn’t know what it would do to me.”

Rym canted his head slightly to the right. “And if you had, would you have cast it?”

Kerrigan shrugged. “I was afraid then, so I probably would have. Your demonstration before, with the rocks, reminded me that even protected, I’m pretty vulnerable.”

“It disturbs me that you were given this spell to cast without being told its consequences, but your answer does please me. You are honest about your fears. It also speaks well of you that none of the spells you were preparing to cast earlier were of a violent nature.”

The young mage’s head came up. “How do you know that? I never cast any of them. You could not know what was in my mind.”

“Ha.” It came as a single low sound, not as much ridicule as surprise. Bok echoed it deeply, chuffing along insensibly until the flick of a finger silenced him.

Rym turned in the chair and brought his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. “You have been trained on Vilwan and you should know that Vilwan now is not as it always was. In the time of Yrulph Kirun, the way in which magick was taught, and the understanding of it, was different. Because of the methods and understanding, someone like Kirun could do the things he did. He understood enough of magick to be able to create that spell, and you know it had elven and urZrethi components to it.

“Think on this, Kerrigan Reese. While you are very special and quite adept at magick, how is it that a man, centuries ago, could have created that spell and yet, now, on Vilwan, you are the only man who has mastered the art of healing spells? You have not yet seen a score of years, yet can do something that learned mages four times your age cannot. Do you know why?”

Kerrigan started to answer that they just couldn’t grasp that sort of magick, but he knew that was not true. “They are not given the knowledge needed?”

“Not only that, but they are taught to believe it is impossible for them to learn such spells. After Kirun, after the bloodshed, Vilwan knew it had to police its own or the world would destroy it. They denied to men things that men had done before, and within two generations the hobbling of human mages was complete.”

“Then why am I able to do these things?”

“To fight fire, they decided to set a fire. Now, however, they fear you.” Rym pressed his hands flat to the table. “And I have cause to fear you, for that second taint on you. How far down the path of Kirun have you ventured?”

“None. I haven’t.” Kerrigan raised his hands and the blanket slipped off his shoulders. “Aside from that spell, which I didn’t know was his, I’ve done nothing.”

His host’s head came up. “If this is true, why do you bear the stink of the DragonCrown about you?”

Kerrigan hesitated. “I don’t know…”

Rym rose to his feet, his hands still on the table, but flames wreathed them, blackening the table around them. “Do not lie to me, child. You do not want to try me or my patience. Tell me what you know.”

“But if you are working for Chytrine…!”

The masked mage snarled in some guttural language and the urZrethi became very agitated. Bok bounced in his corner and that long left arm suddenly sprouted spikes from its hand. The urZrethi started to creep forward.

“Bok, no!” The mage looked his servant back into its corner. Once he had retreated, cradling his mace-hand to his chest, Rym looked up at Kerrigan again. “Adept Reese, either you have come in contact with pieces of the DragonCrown—prolonged and personal contact—or you are working on creating your own DragonCrown. Either is madness for someone of your youth. The former might slay you, the latter certainly will and by my hand. Tell me now, do I kill you, or do I help you remain alive so we can end this madness?”

Will’s first sensation upon waking was the searing pain in his throat. He tried to swallow, which didn’t help. Then the tickle in his throat made him cough, which amplified the hurt and brought him upright, snapping his eyes open. His left hand rested on the straw-tick mattress and his right hand clutched at this throat.

A high, keening wail filled the room. Qwc, who had been holding a half-completed braid of a temple lock, was jerked from the pillow and whipped through the air. He tumbled as he let go, the braid lashing the left side of Will’s face, then crashed down between Will’s ankles. He landed awkwardly, half on his head and shoulders, then slumped to the side.

The Spritha quickly regained his feet and tried to look dignified as he smoothed his antennae. The effort failed miserably, which sparked laughter from Dranae, Lombo, and Peri. The three of them, arrayed around the room, tried to stifle their mirth, but happy sounds burst out from behind their hands.

Will laughed once, sharply, which sent a dagger through his throat. He groaned and flopped back on the bed, his chest heaving with chuckles, his body twisting, and both hands on his throat. He wanted to stop laughing and stop the pain, but he couldn’t.

Qwc scrambled up onto his chest and stood there balancing like a sailor on a pitching deck. “No hurt, Will, no hurt, no. Sorry, so sorry. Stupid Qwc, stupid.”

Will screwed his face down tightly to fight the pain, then snorted and let his body ease. He opened one eye and saw the green Spritha standing there, all four hands pressed to his cheeks, and almost started laughing anew. He closed that eye again and swallowed, finding the pain slightly lessened.

Dranae spoke from his corner. “Qwc, come off his chest and let him breathe. If he is able to laugh, he is in no mortal danger.”

A whirring buzz filled the room and the Spritha hovered in the air for a moment before flying off toward the foot of the bed. Will listened for the sound to diminish, then risked opening his eyes again. He saw Qwc half-hidden behind Lombo’s head, peeking out through his dark mane as if it were underbrush.

Peri crouched beside the bed and smiled at him. “You don’t have to talk, Will. Probably best for you not to.”

The thief nodded, but hazarded a whisper. “Lady Snowflake. Where?”

The Gyrkyme blinked her big amber eyes. “Who?”

Qwc again launched himself into the air. “The lady. Qwc saw the lady. White, white, white.”

Will nodded. “Lady Snowflake.”

“There’s none such here, Will.” Dranae eased himself out of the chair in the corner and approached the foot of the bed. “King Scrainwood came and an argument began, so Qwc sent us from the room. Next thing we knew, you appeared at the door to Kerrigan’s room, your neck healed, and you collapsed. We tucked you back into bed and you’ve slept well past noon.”