DragonCrown Saga - The Grand Crusade Part 5

"Good. You will allow me to use it when I request."

Banausic hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "As you desire. Anything else?"

"Aside from telling me what you tell him?" Contempt seeped back into Resolute's words. "When I spared your life in Okrannel, you promised to share with me what you saw on Vorquellyn."

"Svoin had not yet fallen, then you were called away."

"So you shall make good on your promise. Now."

"Here?" Banausic lowered his voice and hunched forward. "What I have to say is not meant for other ears."

Resolute gave him a bone-chilling stare. "The prince has already been brought into our circle. Look about. Who will hear you? Do you think these people understand what we are saying?"

The black-haired Vorquelf slowly nodded. "In the last quarter century I have been brought to Vorquellyn three times. It is a horrible place now-not the place we lost, but a harsh land, as if the entire island had been swept by fire, then seeded with weeds. Foul bracken overgrows everything, save where debris-choked rivers have backed up into stagnant fens. There are wildlands where creatures of unspeakable aspects roam. Their voices shatter the night and their blood stains the few streets that can be pa.s.sed. Where beauty and serenity once reigned, now the flash of claw, the rending of fang, and shrieks of pain are the norm."

While the words Banausic spoke were terrible enough, the tone of his voice stained them with agony.

Erlestoke felt a lump rising in his own throat as the Vorquelf's voice shrank. In his words the prince caught flashes of Oriosa's future if Chytrine were not stopped.

Resolute remained unmoved. "Your sentimentality is touching, but of little use to me. What was it you felt important about your sojourns home?"

"It is not my home. It is not any of our homes." Banausic's voice deepened angrily. "My first trip came after the last war, after Svoin fell. Many of us were taken to Vorquellyn, though family were left behind so we would be compliant. On that journey many of us were roughly used. Before the retreat, many places were sealed with great wards, including thecoruesci. Do you know what one is?" Erlestoke shook his head. "I've never heard the term before." Banausic tapped a finger beneath his own right eye.

"Vorquelves have eyes all of a color because we have not been bound to our homeland. We have the eyes of children, despite our age. At some point during our adolescence-which starts as young as yours, but might continue until we have seen fifty winters- we are brought to acoruesciand there bound to the homeland in a ritual. It is possible that the land will reject us, but such rejection is the stuff of legend."

"You waste words, Banausic." Resolute shook his head. "Thecoruesciare spiritual centers. You would consider them temples, but they are more-and, perhaps, less. The rituals that bind us take place in the courtyard before the Resolute's left hand tightened into a fist. "Describe the woman."

"Slender and tall, with white hair and your eyes. Obviously a Vorquelf, but different as well. She was bound to the land, though. I saw it."

The Oriosan prince frowned. "White hair, slender... she could be the one described by Alexia as being borne away from Nawal on a dragon."

"Yes, the one who saved Will's life." Resolute ran a hand over his jaw. "So did the presence of a Norrington allow her to be bound to Vorquellyn, or did her future role as the savior of the one who would redeem Vorquellyn cause the land to accept her? Or, is it some combination of both, with Nefrai-kesh playing his own game?"

Erlestoke shivered as an icy snake slithered down his spine. "I don't know which of those I dislike the most."

"Hate them all or none, it doesn't matter." Resolute looked at Banausic. "Was she able to open the coruescP."

"Not that I saw. I suspect her mother of not wanting to risk her in case the magicks sealing it could hurt her. That was the impression I gained, in any event. The land resists Chytrine yet." Banausic smiled. "Is it not as I promised you? I told you I had important information."

Resolute opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and simply nodded. Then he added, "What you have said is indeed of value. You will tell no one else what you have told me. No one, do you understand?"

"I shall not say a word, but there are others who know. Others who were there might speak."

"And admit they were in Chytrine's service? I doubt they would be so foolish. If you hear any such idiots, mark them and tell me."

Banausic's head came up and a defiant expression slid onto his face. "You are now the master of Vorquelves?"

Faster than a snake could have struck, Resolute grabbed Banausic's throat. "No, I am justyourmaster.

What you have told me is of value, and you shall be of value again. Your words confirm that our homelandcanbe redeemed. In the future, you and I will see that it is. Defy me and jeopardize that future, and you doom yourself."

Kerrigan rubbed his hands together. While there were countless spells he could have used to warm them, he opted for mere friction. Though he had been on Vael for barely half a week, in those five days he had learned much that caused him to reevaluate his life and the way he saw magick. It shifted his view of everything, at the same time both unsettling and pleasing him.

First and foremost he saw how Vilwan had hobbled itself and its pract.i.tioners. Kirun had been such a threat that the wizards had to rea.s.sure the lords of the world they would cut their power back, or be destroyed. And it was no coincidence that theMurosan Academy's magicians learned early how toduel.

They likely had begun training as a force to counter what had been seen as a Vilwanese threat.

Kerrigan imagined that the Grand Master who had followed the first DragonCrown War had fully intended for the most responsible of human mages to be able to realize their full power, if only in secret.

The difficulty was that if spells and methods were not taught early, the ability to pick them up later might not be successful. Kerrigan and the others he had trained with had clearly been schooled under other methods, but even out of a group of thirty or so-at best it seemed there were thirty of them-only he managed to excel.

He did wonder if Rymramoch's description of how the energy to cast magick worked was something the people of Vilwan had ever known. Instead of tapping the river, they drew on their own personal strength to catalyze the ambient mag-ickal energy they absorbed. Under Rym's instruction, Kerrigan learned to use his personal energy to open a link to the grand flow of magick. It took so little energy to do it that he rarely felt tired even after long hours of working spell after spell.

But using such energy required care. It would be simple for him to tap the flow to refresh himself or even warm his hands. The difficulty was that flesh was frail, but the human capacity for feeling the power infinite. A moment's flagging of attention while warming his hands would burn them off. That was the reason spells had been shaped, to define and limit the energy flows, as well as give the magician something on which to concentrate.

Spells were a means of mental discipline, and Kerrigan had been subjected to mental discipline all his life. He finally saw what Orla had been trying to teach him before she died. On Vilwan Kerrigan had been a brilliantarcanoriumwizard. In the peace and solitude of his study, given the right materials and enough time, he could work miracles. Even before he had set out on his adventures, he likely had been the most powerful human mage on the face of the earth.

But that power counted for nothing because I could not apply it where it was needed. A war was the ant.i.thesis of anarcanorium. While laboring in Orla's shadow he had done little to fight the enemy effectively. Even after her death, his efforts had been meager. He used simple spells to great effect, but until the siege of Nawal, he still had been more scholar than warrior.And, even there, I experimented more than I fought.

Kerrigan looked up around the circular chamber. It appeared to have been formed naturally, but there was enough of a taint of dracomagick present that he could not be certain it hadn't been shaped specifically for its current purpose. The floor had been finished with concentric circles of white and black marble, and he stood at the centermost circle. The significance of his being on the bull's-eye was not lost upon him.

Four thralls stood in the room along the walls. The scaled dracomorphs topped eight feet in height and rippled with muscle. In their next stage of life they would grow thicker armor, with spikes sprouting, their muzzles jutting, and intelligence brightening their eyes. While capable of speech, they were not capable of much thought, and performed all manner of menial services for their elder brethren.

Rymramoch, in a scarlet robe, stood beside the one at the east side of the room. Bok, malachite-fleshed and still quite hirsute, crouched beside him. The urZrethi no longer acted like the animal he had appeared to be when Kerrigan first met him. He did, however, remain taciturn and often squatted, adopting a posture he had come to find comfortable in his years as Rym's aide.

Kerrigan had intended to nod to indicate his readiness, but before he could, the first thrall raised a hand and threw a melon-sized stone at Kerrigan's head. Because of magicks worked on him by the Vilwanese, the young mage knew the stone wouldn't hurt him. The purpose of the exercise, however, was not to test the strength of the dragonbone armor that would rise through his skin to protect him, but to see if he could prevent that spell's invocation through other means.

The young mage cast quickly. His first spell surrounded him in a sphere of energy that tinged his vision blue. That first stone, and two more that had been thrown right after, blazed like gold in his vision. A little trail of sparks followed them even as a duller gold image preceded them, allowing Kerrigan to see where they would travel. He became instantly aware that one would miss, while the others were on target.

He drew on the river of magick and cast another spell-one he knew intimately. With barely a thought he reached out and deflected the stones heading for him, so that they would travel wide. He did the same with two more, then bent his mind to linking with all the stones. He grabbed them but did not stop them.

Instead he tethered them to himself and drew them into an orbit around him.

Another trio of stones came in, and he spun them into orbit as well. Some he sped up, others he slowed down, nudging them all until they lined up together. Another spell surrounded them, compressing them and heating them until the stone melted. He tightened the spell, using more energy to do so, and could feel the heat coming off the rock. Tighter he drew the spell, until the molten stone had been shaped into a large black ball.

Kerrigan would have smiled and been satisfied with himself, for what he had done was impressive, but he had absorbed the harsh lessons of his adventures. As he began to slow the sphere's...o...b..t, another smaller stone sped in at him. In its wake came a nasty combat spell. If the stone hit him, the dragonbone armor would manifest, preventing him from casting any spell to deflect the combat spell. If he somehow stopped the armor, the hurt done by the stone would probably be enough to destroy the concentration needed for the defensive spell.

In a split second he could feel panic rise, but he shoved it away and acted, for failure to act guaranteed failure. With a moment's concentration he flicked a last thought at the spell surrounding the sphere, then quickened the orbit to interpose the ball between him and the incoming spell. The rock pa.s.sed beneath it, heading straight for his middle. Another thought, a momentary search for a spell, then a quick smile.

Kerrigan twisted his body and the stone pa.s.sed harmlessly by.

The spell that had been coming at him hit the sphere with full force. Little blue tendrils of lightninglike energy played over it, igniting little pinp.r.i.c.ks of fire here and there. Had it hit Kerrigan, it would not have sprouted flames, but instead inflamed his nerves to a degree that he would have felt as if on fire. The spell vented itself on the sphere, then dissipated.

The manikin that was Rymramoch applauded politely. "Very well done, Kerrigan."

The young mage shrugged. "It wasn't that hard to trick your spell into believing the ball was me. I just added some things that made it share the most likely elements that you used for picking me out as a target."

Rym nodded, then gestured, and the ball came floating to his hand. "I know what you did, and that was quick thinking. Better yet, however, was the way you turned aside from the stone. Magick is not always the answer."

"So I have learned, Master."

"How are you feeling?"

Kerrigan considered for a moment, then nodded. "Good. I am not nearly as tired as I would have been had I attempted any of this back on Vilwan. Controlling the flow is more difficult than tapping it. Orla said there was a fast route to power, and that Neskartu was teaching that path to his students. Would I be wrong if I thought that meant they had no discipline?"

"They clearly have some, Kerrigan, but Neskartu was not concerned about their survival. He made them into living weapons-much as I think the Vilwanese intended you to be. The difference is that Neskartu's disciples embraced the idea willingly. Perhaps they did not understand the full consequences of their action." The puppet hesitated. "Did I say something wrong?"

Kerrigan shivered. "Orla said I had beenforged, that my destiny had been forged. You think they wanted to make me into a weapon to use against Chytrine?"

The puppet canted its head. "Look at your age; think about the special group of children you were part of. I think they wanted many weapons, but you were the best. You were even better than they could have hoped, and in you perhaps they saw a return to their former glory. Perhaps they saw a chance to have a Kirun they could control. I do not know."

"A Kirun they could control?" Kerrigan looked down at his hands and shifted his shoulders as another shiver ran the length of him. "They saw me as a thing, not a living being."

"I am certain that is the right of it." Rym tucked the ball under his right arm, then waved Kerrigan forward with his left. "Walk with me and I shall explain some things to you."

The youth looked up. "I'm not sure walking is going to make me feel better about people who thought they could shape me the way I shaped that stone."

Rym's laughter did little to ease the tightness around Kerrigan's heart. "Not my intention. Your masters were fools, clearly, but they provided you to me. I will not thank them for that, but instead be grateful for the opportunity we now have to undo things that should have been undone centuries ago."

Kerrigan fell in beside the puppet as they left the chamber. Bok followed a step behind, and after him came the thralls. The company walked down a narrow corridor leading to a grand gallery. Rym dismissed the thralls with a wave, then began the trek back to Kerrigan's quarters at a leisurely pace.

"What is it you know of Yrulph Kirun, Kerrigan?"

"He was evil. He created the DragonCrown and died before he could take over the world."

Bok gave throat to a gravelly chuckle. "It would not have pleased him to be reduced so."

The puppet nodded. "I shall trust your judgment in that matter, Bok. His easy dismissal is more an indictment than the words used to describe him. I did not know him, Kerrigan. I was not an intimate of his as Bok was, but I did hear him speak. I know of the situation that surrounded the creation of the DragonCrown."

Rym gestured with his red-leather-sheathed left hand toward the open side of the gallery. "Vael was once Vares.h.a.gul. You know dragons destroyed it because it was home to the urZrethi and they were working to free the Oromise from the depths of the earth where we entombed them. The place contained the deepest delvings of the urZrethi and down there, in the darkest bowels of the planet, we yet patrol against the return of the Oromise.

"You know little of the lives of dragons, but you have seen thralls and draco-morphs. They are the midlife stages of our being. Before that we are animals- fearsome animals and keen hunters. During our life cycle we enter and pa.s.s through every stage we have known since the dawn of everything. From eggs we hatch into fat serpents all tooth and muscle, then we grow legs and become lizard-dogs that would snack on drearbeasts. Most of the thralls remain in the depths, under the command of dracomorphs.

They patrol, and were there any real threat, dragons-full dragons, ancient dragons-would be summoned to destroy the Oromise."

Kerrigan craned his neck to look down into the deep creva.s.se that disappeared into shadows. "If there is still fighting going on down there, why don't you know what an Oromise looks like?"

"Down there we fight feral urZrethi and other creatures the Oromise created. We do not know if there are pa.s.sages into the Oromise prisons from which these things emerge, or if there are just pockets and colonies so deep we never rooted them out. We have to a.s.sume they are still trying to reach their masters, and they have to defend against our doing that, too."

Kerrigan turned toward Rym. "You said dragons trapped the Oromise down there, but I could take what you've said as meaning that they've fortified themselves down there and you're just making sure they don't get out again."

The puppet shrugged. "As is the way with ancient tales, the truth is hard to discern. Suffice it to say, our young live down there, fight and die down there. Those smart and strong enough to survive to later stages of life grow in power and size."

"How many thralls are down there? Hundreds? Thousands?"

"Thousands of legions. It is a b.l.o.o.d.y war yet, but has not always been so." Rym pulled him away from the edge and continued their journey. "There was a time when the war seemed over and a rift developed among dragons over whether or not vigilance needed to be maintained. It took centuries for things to come to a head, and no decision could be made. It was agreed that we needed an arbiter to help us decide, and we chose Yrulph Kirun to be that arbiter. He proposed the creation of the DragonCrown, into which would be worked the Truestones of our best and brightest. Through it he would know their thoughts and gain all he needed to craft a solution to the problem."

Kerrigan held a hand up. "What is a Truestone? I mean, I gather that the stone that rests in your chest is Rymramoch's Truestone. For it to be destroyed would cost you your life. How is that?"

"Dragons of sufficient learning and power are able to create a Truestone. The easiest way for you to understand it is to say that it is a physical manifestation of our soul. We can remove it for safekeeping, then venture forth on dangerous missions, for as long as it is not destroyed, we will not die."

"But, in the Congress Chamber, I saw your body, or what I thought was your body, all stiff and stonelike."

The puppet nodded. "So our bodies become when our Truestones are removed for a prolonged period of time. Those who gave theirs to their DragonCrown are well hidden and quite petrified. They a.s.sumed that the Crown would facilitate communication, and it did, but in ways unintended."

"How so?"

"Any dragon of a Crown lineage could be controlled by the Crown. The degree of control depended on how strong the blood link was. Dravothrak, for example, is a grandnephew of a Crown dragon. That is why he was linked to the fragment we have here."

Kerrigan rubbed a hand over his mouth. "No one expected Kirun could control dragons. Did he know?"

Rym looked at Bok. "You've given it much thought through the centuries."

The urZrethi shifted his shoulders uneasily. "He never gave any such indication to me, but he must have suspected, else those abilities would not have been in the Crown."

Kerrigan nodded. "How many Crown lineages are there?"

"Six."

"But there are seven Crown fragments."

Rym nodded. "There are, and therein is the mystery. Who or what gave the Truestone for the key fragment, the controlling fragment?"

"Do you think it could have been an Oromise Truestone?"

"That possibility has made restless the sleep of countless dragons." Rym slowly shook his head. "If the Crown is re-created and Chytrine's greed is what fuels it, things will be bad enough. If it is the Oromise, we are not looking at the fall of civilization as a consequence, but the end of all life. You can see, therefore, why alacrity is called for in this matter."

Kerrigan nodded. "I'll do my best."

"You'll have to do better." Rym pa.s.sed his left hand over the stone sphere and triggered a spell. The little blue tendrils of lightning played over the sphere for a heartbeat.

Kerrigan screamed and collapsed as the bolts skittered beneath his flesh. His hody shook and muscles twitched involuntarily. He tasted blood from where he uAbSen his tongue. His back bowed once, then his muscles went flacad.

The Puppet stood overhim. "When you made the ball into your mapckal *se to "nte cept your spell, you made it a conduit to yourself. That was a grave Tor I know you will bedoing your best. Just make it better. The fate of the entire world rests on your ability to do just that.

L.

Isaura sat in her chambers in far Aurolan and shivered. Though the air was cold enough to condense her breath into a white mist, the chill was not what made her shiver. She felt very alone, and that surprised her, because she had been alone before. Still, it had never been quite in this way because, somehow, she had always felt another presence out there that kept her company.

She should have been happy-quite overjoyed, in fact. Her mother's enemy, the Norrington, was dead.

He had died on Vael. Nefrai-laysh had taken much delight in describing how the young hero had leaped through a magickal wall to save the life of an old, foolish dragon. Rymramoch had long opposed her mother, and the death of a lesser enemy was traded for that of a greater. The news had been the cause of much rejoicing in the frigid north.

It had not warmed her, however. In thesullanciri'sdescription of Will Norrington, Isaura recognized the young man whose life she had saved in Meredo. Whims, the flow of magick, and pure chance had led her to the bed where he lay. She'd known instantly that one of her mother's creations had wounded him, so she undid the wound and he lived.

Until the report of his death, however, she'd not known who he was. Fear took her then because her mother had told Isaura that she would be betrayed. Isaura had hoped she would not be the one to betray her mother, then she discovered she had. She had saved the Norrington of prophecy. She had saved the person who would kill her mother.

Worse yet, his death saddened her. From the moment she heard, and perhaps before, she had felt alone.