Daughter of Regals and Other Tales Page 6

  Whatever its meaning, however, the Dragon bearing itself majestically above Scour’s head and snorting flame spelled an end for me. Any Mage capable of creating Reality was strong enough to take the realm for himself at whim. And a Creature hidden among Queen Damia’s adherents—no, in the queen herself, for how could she appear so certain if one near her were stronger than herself and therefore a threat to her?—would be similarly potent.

  Yet for that moment the sight alone contented me. Regardless of the outcome, I was blessed that such beauty had come to life before me and stretched out its wings. But others in the ballroom were less pleased. With a distant piece of my attention, I heard Count Thornden’s harsh cursing—and his sudden silence. Scour’s display was as much a threat to the lord of Nabal as to me. Now I realized that Thornden had been demanding a response from Brodwick. And Brodwick had begun— A gust tugged at the hem of my dress. With a cry of grief or anger, I tore my gaze from the splendid wheel of the Dragon and saw Thornden’s Mage summoning Wind.

  More guests fled the ballroom, some shrieking; an image of true Wind was not a form of entertainment. But already their cries were scarcely audible through the mounting rush of air, the loud, flat thud of the Dragon’s wing-beats, the furnace-sound of flame, the Creature’s roar. People called Ryzel’s name, demanding or imploring intercession. The chandeliers swung crazily against their chains; whole ranks of candles were blown out. Thornden barked hoarsely for more strength from Brodwick.

  The Dragon was far from its full size, and Brodwick’s exertion was likewise less than the blast of which he was known to be capable, the hurricane-force powerful enough to flatten villages, to scythe down forests. But within these walls his Wind had no free outlet. Rebounding from all sides, it made such chaos in the air that the Dragon’s flight was disrupted: the Creature was unable to challenge its attacker.

  Scour had been buffetted from his feet; he lay facedown on the floor, his cassock twisted about his rigid form. Yet he had not lost concentration. His fists pounded out their rhythm—and the Dragon continued to grow. Soon Brodwick would need a full gale to hold back the Creature.

  An instant later, Count Thornden staggered forward. As strong as a tree, he kept himself erect under the force of the Wind. His huge hands gripped the hilt of a longsword—he must have snatched it from one of his attendants. Struggling step after step, he moved toward Scour.

  If he slew Queen Damia’s Mage, it would be a terrible crime. Before the coming dawn, he would find himself in open warfare with Lodan—and perhaps also with Canna, for no ruler could afford to let such murder pass unavenged. Even a Regal would not be able to prevent that conflict—except by depriving Thornden of his throne in punishment. And yet I grasped during the space of one heartbeat that Scour’s death would save me.

  I did not desire safety at the price of bloodshed. During that one moment, I tried to call Thornden back by simple strength of will.

  Then I saw that his attention was not fixed on Scour. Whirling his blade, he aimed himself at the Dragon. He meant to throw the sword, meant to pierce the Creature’s breast while it wrestled against Brodwick’s Wind, unable to defend itself.

  The sight tore a cry from me: “Ryzel!” But I could not hear myself through the roar of Wind and Dragon.

  Yet the regent loved all Creatures as I did, and he did not withhold his hand. Prom him came a shout such as I had never heard before—the command of a Mage in full power.

  “ENOUGH!”

  Wrenching my gaze toward him, I saw him upon the stair with his Scepter held high and his strength shining.

  Without transition, the work of the other Mages disappeared. Between the close and open of a blink, both Scour’s work and Brodwick’s were snatched out of existence. dismissed.

  The instant cessation of the blast pulled Count Thorn-den from his feet in reaction. Among the remaining onlookers, people stumbled against each other and fell. Of a sudden, there was no sound in the ballroom except muffled gasping and the high clink of the swinging chandeliers. Scour snatched up his head; Brodwick spun toward the stair.

  For the first time, Ryzel had shown what could be done with a Scepter of true Wood. He had declared the best-kept of his secrets for all the plotters in the realm to witness: his branch of the Ash enabled him to undo magery.

  Did it also enable him to unmake things which were Real?

  Near me, Queen Damia continued smiling, but her smile appeared as stiff as a mask. King Thone stood motionless as if without Cashon’s support or advice he feared to move. Unsteadily, Thornden regained his feet and began snarling curses.

  Mage Ryzel lowered his Scepter, stamped his heel on the stair beside him. “Enough, I say!” He was fierce with anger. “A Dragon is a Creature, worthy of homage. Real Wind is among the first forces of the world. Such things should not be mocked by these petty conflicts. Are you not ashamed?”

  “Paugh!” spat Thornden in retort. “Be ashamed yourself, Mage. Will you now pretend that you do not desire the rule of the realm for yourself?”

  “I will pretend nothing to you, king of Nabal,” Ryzel replied dangerously. “I am regent now, as I have been before. You know the truth of me. I will not accept warfare among the Three Kingdoms—neither here nor upon the realm.”

  He did not say that, if he had desired the rule for himself, he yet lacked means to take it. He had shown only that he could counter the actions of other Mages. The power to dismiss images was not the power to force others to his will. Such things did not need to be said; given time, even Count Thornden would understand them for himself.

  The situation required me to speak, before Thornden provoked Ryzel further. Stepping away from my chair, I addressed the guests. I was relieved that my voice did not shake.

  “My lords and ladies, we have all been astonished by what we have seen here. Wine and other refreshments will be brought to restore you.” I knew that the steward would hear me—and would see that I was obeyed. “When we have recovered the spirit of the occasion—and when the chandeliers have been relit”—.I glanced wryly up at the ranks of wind-snuffed candles and was rewarded with a scattering of nervous laughter—”the ball will be resumed.

  “For the present, I will leave you a while. I must prepare myself for my coming test.” Also I required time to think. My need to be alone with my thoughts was acute, so that I might try to find some grounds for hope.

  Bowing to the assemblage, I moved to the foot of the stair and asked Ryzel, “Will you accompany me, Mage?”

  “Gladly, my lady,” he replied gruffly. He appeared grateful that I rescued him from a difficult circumstance. I took his arm, and together we ascended from the ballroom.

  Behind us, the shrill rasp of Scour’s voice rose suddenly. “Beware Mage! You tamper with that which you neither understand nor control.”

  Ryzel did not turn his head or hesitate on the stair, but his reply could be heard clearly from one end of the hall to the other. “I will always beware of you, Scour.”

  I felt a tremor of reaction start in the pit of my stomach and spread toward my limbs. So that I would not falter, I gripped his arm harder. He gave me a glance which might have been intended as reassurance or inquiry; but we did not speak until we had left the stair and traversed the passage to my private chambers.

  There I stopped him. I did not mean to admit him again to my rooms—or to my thoughts—until this night was ended and all questions of trust had been answered. Yet some matters demanded discussion. Leaning against the door to steady my trembling, I studied his face and said, “Mage, you were able to dismiss Scour’s Dragon. Therefore it was not Real.”

  He did not meet my gaze; his face appeared older than my conception of it. Dully, he said, “Only one who can make the Real can also dismiss it. Perhaps I succeeded only because the Reality of the Dragon was not yet-complete.”

  “You do not credit that.” I masked my fear with asperity. “If Queen Damia holds command of such Magic, why has she not simply proclaimed her-power and d
emanded rule?’

  He shrugged. “Perhaps Scour’s discovery is recent and requires testing. Or perhaps his capacity to make and unmake a Creature is limited.” Still he did not look to my face. “I am lost in this.”

  And you are afraid, I thought in response. Your plans are threatened. It may be that you seek to defend them by deflecting me from the alternative. Stiffly, I said, “No. If what you suggest is true, then I am altogether doomed. I will not waste belief on that which must slay me. Rather, I will concern myself with the casting of images.

  “If Scour’s Dragon is not Real, then there is indeed a true Dragon alive in the realm—a Creature such as the Regals were, capable of concealing itself in human form. Is that not true, Mage?”

  He nodded without raising his head.

  “Then who is this Dragon? Is it not Queen Damia herself? How otherwise would she dare what she has done?”

  That brought Ryzel’s eyes to mine. Fear or passion smoldered in his brown gaze. “No,” he said as if I had offended his intelligence. “That is untrue. Damia is not such a fool, that she would play games when only direct action will avail her. There is some chicanery here. If she is a Creature, why has she not simply taken the realm for herself? No!” he repeated even more vehemently. “Her daring shows that the Dragon is neither someone she can control nor someone she need fear. Her caution demonstrates that she does not know who the Creature is whose image Scour casts.”

  It was a plausible explanation—so plausible that it nearly lifted my spirits. It implied that I might still have reason to hope and plan and strive. But I did not like the bleak hunger and dread in Ryzel’s gaze; they suggested another logic entirely.

  Abruptly, before I could find my way between the conflicting possibilities, he changed his direction. “My lady,” he asked quietly—almost yearning, as if he wished to plead with me—”will you not tell me now how Thone and Cashon came to be parted from each other?”

  He surprised me—and confirmed me in the path that I had chosen. If I had known of his power to dispel magery earlier, I would not have needed to outface King Thone.

  But Ryzel had kept his secret even from me. Carefully, I met his question with another.

  “Before he died, the Phoenix-Regal spoke to me of you. He said, ‘He is the one true man in the Three Kingdoms. Never trust him.’ Mage, why did my father warn me against you?”

  For an instant, his expression turned thunderous, and his jaws chewed iron as if he meant to drive a curse into my heart. But then, with a visible effort, he swallowed everything except his bitterness. “My lady, you must do as you deem best.” His knuckles on his Scepter were white. “I have merely served the realm with my life— and you as well as I have been able. I do not pretend to interpret the whims of Regals.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode away from me.

  He had always been my friend, and I would have called him back, but that I was unable to refute my own explanation for the apparently unnecessary indirection of Queen Damia’s plotting. Her various ploys might be the caution of a woman who did not know the true source of Scour’s Dragon. Or they might be the maneuvers of a woman who was still bargaining with Mage Ryzel for the rule of the Three Kingdoms.

  In my heart, I did not accuse him of malice—or even of betrayal. His fidelity to the realm was beyond question. Yet he believed that my Ascension must fail. How then was he to prevent the Kingdoms from war? How, indeed, except by allying himself with one of the monarchs and settling the power there before the others could defend themselves?

  Perhaps he was in all truth as true a man as my father had named him. But it was certain to me now that I could not trust him for myself.

  So I went alone into my chambers; I closed and bolted the doors. Then I hugged my arms over my breasts and strove not to weep like a woman who feared for her life.

  For a time, I was such a woman. Without Ryzel’s support I was effectively powerless. And he had indeed been my friend. Every man or woman must place trust somewhere, and for years I had placed mine in him. In league with Damia against me? I would have felt great anger if I had been less afraid.

  But then I thought of the Dragon Scour had evoked in the air of the ballroom, and I grew calmer. All Creatures were perilous, and among them a Dragon was surely one of the most fearsome. But the Real danger of that lovely strength made the more human risk of my plight seem small in contrast—wan and bearable. My life was a little thing to lose in a world where Dragons and Gorgons and Wyverns lived. And also—the thought came to me slowly—the restoration of any Dragon to the realm was a boon to the line of the Regals. If the Basilisk-Regal had in fact slain a Dragon, then that crime was now made less. My sires had less need for grief.

  And while the identity or allegiance of the Creature remained hidden, I was not compelled to despair.

  When I was steadier, I was able to think more clearly about what I suspected of Mage Ryzel.

  I saw now that although my life was small my presumption had been large. For no other reason than that I was my father’s daughter—and that he had named me Chrysalis in prophecy—I had been prepared to risk the realm itself on the test of my Ascension—the same realm for which the Basilisk-Regal had shed the blood of the last Dragon. But that willingness was indefensible; it was a girl’s pride, not a woman’s judgment. Ryzel was wiser: behind my back, he sought, not to deprive me of hope, but to keep the Three Kingdoms from war if I failed.

  Though it pained me to do so, I resolved that I would accept whatever he did and be content. If I were truly the daughter of Regals—in spirit if not in Magic—then I could do no less, so that the innocent of the Three Kingdoms would not be lost in an abhorrent contest for power.

  I wished sorely to be a woman of whom no Creature would be ashamed.

  I had intended to remain in my rooms until midnight drew near, but after only a short time a servant came to my door and knocked. When I replied, she reported that Count Thornden desired a private audience with me.

  My new calm did not extend quite so far; but the matter could not be shirked. While I held any hope for my life, I was required to walk the narrow line of my position, and so I could not afford to deny the lord of Nabal a hearing which I had earlier panted King Thone.

  To the servant, I named a meeting-room in which a tapestry concealed a door through which guards might enter if I had need of them; but I did not immediately leave my chambers. I gave the guards a moment to be made ready—and myself an opportunity to insist that I was indeed brave enough for what lay ahead. Then I unbolted my doors and walked trembling to Count Thornden’s audience.

  I trembled because he was as large and unscrupulous and lacking in subtlety as a beast. And because I could not imagine what prompted him to request speech with me.

  At the door, I nearly faltered. It was unattended—and should not have been. But I did not wish to betray my fear by refusing to meet the lord of Nabal until I was sure of my protections. Gripping my courage, I lifted the latch and went inward.

  At once, a large hand caught my arm, flung me into the room. The back of the hand was dark with black hair, and its force impelled me against the table. Regals had often sat there with kings and counselors; and the peace of the realm had been preserved. I stumbled, and the edge of the table caught my ribs so that I gasped.

  The room was lit with only two candles. Their flames capered across my vision as I fought to regain my balance, turn toward my attacker. I heard the door slam. At the edge of my sight, a massive chair seemed to leap from the table to wedge itself against the door. As I turned, a backhand blow took the side of my face with such force that I felt myself lift from my feet and sail toward the wall. With my hands, I broke the impact; but it was strong enough to knock me to the floor.

  While the room reeled and all my nerves burned with the pain in my face and chest, Count Thornden came looming over me.

  Tall and bestial, he spat an obscene insult at me. Candlelight reflected in the sheen of sweat on his heavy forehead. I fear
ed that he meant to kick me where I lay, yet I was slow to realize the danger. How does he dare this? I asked through the shock of my pain. Is he too stupid to fear my rescue by the guards of the manor?

  But the door to the meeting-room had been unattended.

  Glaring down at me, he snarled, “No, I will not do it.

  You are too plain and puny for any man’s respect, my lady.” In his mouth, that my lady was a worse insult than his obscenities. “And you have no Magic, my lady. Your Ascension will fail. I have been advised to offer you marriage—so that we may rule in alliance—but I will not demean myself by wedding such baggage.”

  “Fool,” I panted up at him. Still I did not understand the danger. “Fool.”

  “Rather,” he rasped, “I will render you unfit for any man or marriage. Then you will cleave to me in simple fear and desperation, because no other will have you, and my kingship will be accomplished at the cost of one small pleasure”—fury and hate were lurid in his eyes—”my lady.”

  I was rising to my feet, off-balance,, unable to dodge him. In one swift movement, he grasped the white muslin at my shoulders and stripped it from me as if it were only gauze, as meaningless as my pretensions to the rule of the Three Kingdoms.

  “Guards!” I shouted, recoiling from him. Or tried to shout; my voice was little more than a croak. “Guards!”

  No guards came. The tapestries in the chamber hung unruffled by the opening or closing of any door which might have brought men with swords and pikes to my aid.

  Count Thornden grinned his corrupt hunger at me. “Already I am king in effect if not in name. None who consider themselves your friends dare oppose me. You are lost, my lady.”

  Brutally, he grabbed at me.

  I eluded him by diving under the table. I had none of the skills of a warrior, but I was well-trained at physical sports. Hone the body to sharpen the mind. Mage Ryzel had taught me. And he had betrayed me: no one else in the manor had authority to command the guards from their duty. I rolled under and past the table. There I flipped to my feet.