Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

“Quite a lot to think about. Did you come to any conclusions?”

“Things you already know, I think, since you detected the taints on me.” The rotund mage shifted a bit and drew his legs in under him. “If I could learn to identify the sort of taint the DragonCrown left on me, I might be able to fashion a spell that could locate that same taint in others or on others. If an item like that leaves footprints, then we might be able to follow them.”

“Very good. That would be most useful.” Rym nodded solemnly. “We shall start you learning how to do that. Once you can see the taint, however, you have to learn to do something before you can track it.”

“What’s that?”

“Erase it. If the taint allows you to track others, others might track you because of yours.”

Kerrigan frowned. “But the need to erase the taint suggests others can identify it. Wait. I already know you can do that. Are you telling me that others might be hunting me because of it?”

“I do not know if they are or not. The simple fact is this: if you were hunting an animal, you would approach it from downwind, so your spoor would not alert it to your presence. Anyone who has a portion of the DragonCrown could be powerful enough to detect your approach.”

The young mage nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, of course.”

“Good, a first lesson learned.” Rym clapped his gloved hands and Bok appeared at his shoulder. “Bok, a meal for Adept Reese, then warm clothes. We will be going out.”

Kerrigan’s eyes brightened. “Out?”

The hooded mage nodded solemnly. “Yes, to reunite you with your companions. I have determined to my satisfaction that you are not a threat to the world. With my instruction, however, you will become a threat to Chytrine. The sooner your training begins, the better events will be for us all.”

King Scrainwood’s announcement had stunned Will. After a moment’s reflection, the transparency of the king’s strategy made itself manifest. Will had refused to do Scrainwood’s bidding, so Scrainwood found someone who would. He’s a scheming snake who will wriggle after a year and a day in the grave .

Will had known such people in the Dimandowns, but there it was expected. In the Dim you trusted people only when you could see them, and still you assumed they were plotting against you. There wasn’t much to be had in the Dim in terms of wealth or power, but folks were still greedy no matter what.

Greed, it struck Will, was a universal vice. Chytrine clearly was greedy for all the south offered. Scrainwood was greedy for the power that went with controlling the Norrington. Others had their own motives for wanting things done, and nobility seemed no proof against greed.

Will had returned to the Rampant Panther in something of a daze, and news of what had happened had clearly preceded him. While the innkeeper was still respectful, Will had gone from being “my lord” to “sir.” When he asked for a mug of steaming wine to warm him, the man told him the price. Will overpaid, then crossed to the fire. He sat closer than anyone else could bear, and did not mind that the heat kept others at bay.

Can it be that I am not the Norrington ? All he had been through seemed to substantiate his claim. His mother had died in a fire from which he’d been rescued. He’d recovered a piece of Vorquelven treasure. In the mountains of Gyrvirgul he’d been tested and the sullanciri that was his father had been drawn to him. Even his grandfather had claimed him. That he was a Norrington was not in question.

His being the Norrington, on the other hand, suddenly wasn’t so clear. The prophecy was a thing of magick, and just by seeing part of a mural Oracle was painting of her vision of the future, he changed things enough that her vision shifted. Had being bitten changed things? Had Lady Snowflake’s healing him changed things?

Before him his father, Bosleigh Norrington, had been believed to be the Norrington. Resolute had even warned him that he might not be the person named in the prophecy—that lot might fall to one of his children. Could it be that the mantle was shifting, and might land on someone else’s shoulders?

He didn’t think so, but the hint of doubt plagued him.

Sitting there, drinking the burning liquid, he thought back on all he’d endured. The battles, big and small, against gibberers and pirates, vylaens and dragons. He had almost been slain, twice, by sullanciri . He’d seen dragonels and draconettes. He’d been to Gyrvirgul and seen the Gyrkyme at home. He’d been to Okrannel and Wruona and Loquellyn. He’d been to Fortress Draconis and fought on the long retreat. He’d done so many things in the name of the prophecy, and now it was all a mistake?

It cant be . He started to growl, but the scars on his neck hurt. I can’t let Scrainwood’s games make me doubt the truth .

“I must speak with you, Will Norrington.”

The thief looked up slowly. Princess Sayce stood there, the heat steaming snow off her cloak and boots.

“I need your help.”

Will frowned. “Didn’t you hear King Scrainwood? I’m not the Norrington. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“Ha!” She snorted and drew a crude chair from a table, then sat in it, with the chair’s back against her chest. “Do you think I’m so feebleminded that such a denial could drive me off?”

Something in her voice, something in the way she offered that challenge, stopped Will from snapping off a smart remark. He would have preferred to be left alone but, at the same time, he didn’t want her to go away. He needed time to get himself back under control or he needed perspective to look at his situation anew. Since she’d not grant him the former, he’d look to her for the latter.

He leaned forward, keeping his hands wrapped firmly around the tankard’s barrel. “Princess, I am an illiterate thief from Yslin. I can make a rhyme as easy as I can tell you that you have no more than twenty gold crowns in your purse. I know you rode a long way to come find the Norrington and bring him north to save your nation. No one who is feebleminded could or would do that.“

She nodded and the firelight danced golden highlights over her red mask. “Then you know I don’t care about the games King Scrainwood is playing.”

“How do you know it is a game?”

“It’s obvious.” Sayce waved all other possibilities away lightly. “By morning we will have horses and provisions and can be away for Caledo. Gather your friends and we shall be off.”

“That is not going to happen.”

Her pale blue eyes narrowed. “I thought you understood how important this is to my people.”

“I do, but you’ve got to understand why it’s so important that you make the right choice here.” Will looked over at her, meeting her stare openly. “You came to get the Norrington. King Scrainwood says I’m not it. You say that’s nonsense but let’s suppose, just for a moment, that things have changed and he’s right. For a while my father was the Norrington. Maybe my turn in that role is over. You take me away, and it could be I’m not the one who will save your nation. You didn’t come here for just a symbol, you came here for the fulfillment of a prophecy. What if I’m not it?”

His question stopped her for a moment. “You must be, though. Don’t you know?”

“It’s magick! How am I supposed to know?” Will swept a thick hank of hair back. “It’s not like I have a scar on my forehead or some weird birthmark or anything. Just because my father is a henchman for an evil empress doesn’t mean I’m a hero. I mean, I know the songs. I know the legends. It’s just easier in the legends.”