Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

“Do I?” Kerrigan frowned again. “I’m actually pretty confused. I have the key to learning what happened to Will? I have the key to finding the DragonCrown? I have the key to hiding the taint on me?”

“Some of all.” The crimson-robed mage pressed his fingertips together. “Among those dimensions you mentioned, there is some overlap. The taint of the DragonCrown is mostly tied to the source of your magickal energy. It is an item of power and has poisoned the source of your power. When you draw on your personal strength, it bleeds into the spells. When you are summoning other energy, there is much less of the taint. It is good you are here in Caledo because the magickers here rely on a ritual purification before working important spells. You will learn this from them, and flood pure energy into yourself. That should burn out most all of the DragonCrown taint.”

“And the armor?”

“That should be the least of your worries. There are few who would recognize the spell, and the sense of intent you give it is entirely different from the previous user.”

The younger mage stared intently at his new mentor. “If I heard you correctly, I could assume you were around when Kirun was alive.”

“You could, and you could be wrong. Recall my mention of simulacra previously. A simulation might not be exact, but sufficient for my purposes.”

That defense, Kerrigan noticed, was not a denial.

“Your first job here will be to cleanse yourself, Adept Reese. Listen to what they tell you to do and follow their instructions completely. This is one spell you will not need to modify. Not yet, at least.”

He arched an eyebrow. “But someday?”

“If all goes as planned, yes, but this is far afield from where we need to be now.”

“And after that?”

“I would have thought it would be obvious.” Ramoch cocked his head slightly to the right. “Mask spells identify searching spells through particular dimensions. Once they know what the spell is, they know what results to let it report. You need to fashion your own spell that will confound the masks and allow you past them.”

“I can see that. With your help, I’m sure I can do it.”

“You’ll have to do without my help.” Ramoch held a hand up. “No one can know I’m here, Kerrigan. Though Caledo’s people are stalwart, there are those who are agents for the enemy. If Neskartu learns I am here, there will be yet more trouble than any of us want. I will come to you as I can, but my presence must remain a secret.”

“But… If I need you?”

Ramoch stood and bowed in his direction. “You may think you need me, Kerrigan Reese, but you are wrong. All you need is already inside. I am but a catalyst—for now, anyway. Nothing you will face here will require more than your native caution and intelligence. If that were to change, you would have my help.”

Kerrigan snorted. “So if I don’t see you, I can handle anything I face?”

“Yes, that, or I’ve been slain by the enemy.”

“That’s not much comfort.”

“I didn’t mean it to be.” Ramoch laughed. “There is little comfort to be had in these dire times. Accept that as a fact, then work to change it.”

Will shivered in the grand chamber the Murosans had given him. The one thing he’d liked about Bokagul was that the rooms had been small enough that he had been able to keep warm. While the coverlet on the big bed was quite thick, he wished the bed was closer to the fireplace, and that the fireplace was bigger and that a fire was already roaring away. The chairs nearest the fireplace did look comfortable, and he eyed the bed’s coverlet and considered just wrapping himself in it and fashioning a bed of sorts from the chairs.

The servant who had led him to the room had wandered off, promising to bring back wine and some bread, so Will didn’t even look up from his fingertip exploration of the coverlet’s thickness when a faint knocking came at the door. “Come in.”

“Forgive my intruding, Lord Norrington.”

Will’s head came up and he turned, having recognized the voice. As he saw her, however, he hesitated. He knew it was Sayce because of the silver-and-amethyst mask, but without that he’d not have identified her. Instead of her red riding leathers, she had donned a simple gown of deep blue and loosely belted it with a knotted white rope. Her shoulders had slumped slightly and her eyes were downcast. She bore a silver tray with a pitcher of wine and a single earthenware cup, along with a small round of bread and some cheese.

Will crossed quickly to her and took the tray. He set it on the table between the chairs at the fireplace and turned to welcome her, but she’d already sunk into one of the chairs. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

She shook her head and her red hair veiled her face for a moment. Tears ran from beneath the silver mask and dappled the breast of her gown. Sayce pressed her left hand to her mouth, then swiped roughly at the tears.

“Please, Will, forgive me. I didn’t want to do this in front of you.”

“What is there to forgive?” Will sank to a knee before her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Physically, no, but in my heart.” She sniffed, then raised her gaze enough to look into his eyes. “My father, he was terribly angry with me for having gone off. He has accounted the deaths of each of the Lancers to me, personally. It didn’t matter that they volunteered to go. I will have to apologize to all of their families—I planned to anyway, you know I would have—and I have been stripped of my rank. He almost disowned me.”

The sorrow in her voice sank fangs into his heart. Will started to twist the ring she’d given him off his finger, but she closed her hands on his. “No, Will, no, you keep that. That estate was mine to give, and I am happy it is yours. I do not regret what I did, not a bit of it. I did what I did to save Muroso. You’re here, and that is all that matters.”

“Princess, I can’t keep it.” Will swallowed hard, scarcely believing his own words. Had he stolen the ring, he would have considered it his by right, and would have claimed to the grave that it had been passed down to him through generations and that any hint of theft was a gross insult. “Please, I am not suited to being a lordling.”

Sayce smiled. “You are far more noble than those born to it. I have seen this. You have changed my way of thinking, you know.” She shifted again, and her smile broadened. “And here, when I am despairing, you make me laugh. You make me feel… you make me feel happy.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t…” Will fell silent for a moment, finding himself tongue-tied. It was more than that, though. An odd flutter ran through his belly. Heat rose, and he could feel his cheeks burn. His mouth went dry. He stood slowly, drawing his hands from hers, both reluctantly and knowing, somehow, that he had to.

He turned back to the pitcher and cup. “Would you like some wine, Princess? There’s only one cup.”

Her voice softened. “If you would share your cup with me, I would be honored.”

Will nodded mutely and poured. He didn’t like the fact that his hand was shaking as he poured, and fought to hold back the tremor. He set the pitcher back down, turned, and, extending his left hand, offered her the cup.

She made no move to take it. Instead, her hands rose to the back of her head, where she slipped the knot holding the silver mask on. Sayce drew it off timidly, then looked up at him. “Will, do you think I am pretty?”

He could say nothing. The bruise on the left side of her face had faded to yellow, but in no way marred her beauty. Her straight nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw combined with blue eyes, fair skin, and red hair to make her a vision of loveliness. When she had worn the courtesy mask while recovering he had seen much of her face, but its lace had hidden the playful spray of freckles over her cheeks and nose.