Dragon Wizard (5 page)

Lucille looked back and forth between her father and Krys as she took a step protectively between the two. She raised a hand, but it seemed to take her a moment to unravel the gender confusion packed in King Alfred's
outburst. It wasn't completely his fault. Krys didn't dress the part of a handmaid—warrior order or not—but it did make it a little easier not to sympathize with him.

In the end Lucille just ignored it and pressed on. “Lucille was attacked!”

That got his attention. “What?”

“One of the guests, Prince Daemonlas, cast some form of magical—”

“My daughter, is she all right?” All emotion leaked out of his voice, and he enunciated every word as if each one threatened to spin out of control.

“She's alive.”

I could see in his eyes that he understood the magnitude of what remained unsaid between those two words. He lowered his hand, which he still had raised in Krys's general direction. I could hear his knuckles pop as he made a fist.

“What happened?” He left a space between the two words with room enough for even more left unsaid.

“A magical attack from Prince Daemonlas,” Lucille said. “He rose to present his toast and read from a scroll that held some form of enchantment. The magic was aimed at Lucille.”

Lucille described what happened in detail beyond what I could have seen. I realized that, unlike me, she had suffered no blackout. She had witnessed the rampage as the dragon prince had torn apart the banquet—starting with trying to roast her and/or me. An attack that would have been fatal if not for Brock's timely but ill-advised intervention. The king stood in stony silence as Lucille related the disaster; the scion of Lendowyn
royalty laying waste to counts, barons, and diplomats before crashing through the remaining stained glass to fly off into the night, Sir Forsythe in pursuit.

When she was done, he asked, “The elf is dead?”

“Run through by Sir Forsythe.”

“And the knight was the only one to pursue my daughter?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and walked slowly around to collapse into his throne.

“Your Majest—”

King Alfred silenced her by raising his hand. “No more,” he whispered. “You've said enough.”

He glared at nothing for a few moments before clapping his hands sharply. A servant came out of nowhere and the king snapped, “I want all my ministers in here, now.”

The servant clicked his heels and withdrew before I was aware of him as much more than a shadow against a dusty tapestry behind the throne.

King Alfred said, “You can go.”

“What?”

“I have a war to plan.”

“Your Majesty?”

He sighed. “Go.”

“But what about your daughter?”

“Do not . . .” His voice snapped violently, but trailed off as he stared into Lucille's face. He shook his head. “You don't understand, do you, Frank?”

“Understand what?”

“You can't unswing a sword.”

“But she's under some kind of geas. A magical compulsion—”

“That matters to no one outside this room. To everyone else, Lendowyn has begun a war. And once in a war, your only options are win or surrender.”

I felt Lucille freeze and I wished I knew what she was thinking. I felt certain that she had not anticipated her father's reaction. I didn't blame her. She may have grown up noble, and may have a much greater talent for leadership than I had ever shown, but she was still young. Friction with reality hadn't managed to smooth off all the rough edges of idealism in her. I don't know if her experience as a dragon accelerated or retarded the natural growth of cynicism, I just knew that, from where she stood on that journey, her father had traveled beyond the horizon ages ago.

She gathered herself and said, “Your Majesty, let me take an expedition to Fell Green. If we have a wizard examine Prince Daemonlas's scroll, we might find out how to reverse what happened to Lucille.”

“Frank, I don't want you anywhere near any wizards right now.”

“But, Lucille—”

“Frank, I don't say that plan lacks merit.” He held out his hand. “Give me the scroll. I will have it examined. You will remain in Lendowyn Castle, safe and out of mischief.”

Lucille froze again. I imagined that she ran a series of arguments through her head, and they all ended the same way. She had been so used to winning arguments with her father that she hadn't thought through the
implications of having such an argument as Princess Frank. Not that she was wrong in her reasons for the deception. I'm quite sure that if King Alfred thought that the one in dragon skin was yours truly, he'd at the very least write me off completely to concentrate on his new war—if not go out of his way to find the resources to hunt me down.

“Uh,” she said, “I will have it brought up as soon as everything's unloaded.”

The king frowned and closed his hand. “Make sure you do. And no magic, understand? We do not need things becoming more complicated.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head and backed out of the throne room.

She left the king to have his emergency war council with his ministers, the elf-prince's scroll still tucked into her belt, where she had stashed it when we had left the Northern Palace.

Lucille threw herself down on the mattress in my—our—bedchamber and groaned.

“Your Highness?” Krys had followed us into the room. Rabbit and the others hung by the still-open door. “I'm sorry for speaking out of turn.”

“What?”

“To the king, interrupting—”

“Oh, that?” Lucille sighed, rolling onto her back to stare into the shadowed canopy above us. “Don't worry about it.”

“If I hadn't angered him . . .”

“You think that had anything to do with—” Lucille laughed. “You don't know my father. This was my own doing, outsmarting myself.”

“Outsmarting yourself?”

“By posing as Frank. Sure, I've kept Father from ordering the head of the dragon. I just overlooked the fact that Frank doesn't have much chance of convincing him to do anything.”

“You could tell him the truth.”

Lucille shook her head. “Except he'd just see it as Frank attempting to manipulate him. No, we're going to
leave him be, for the moment. At least he doesn't seem more ill-disposed toward Frank than he usually is.”

“There's nothing we can do now?” Krys asked.

Lucille looked back at Krys and the three others. I felt the hint of a smile on her face. “Now what would Frank do in my position?”

The girls looked at each other, but didn't say anything.

“Honestly,” Lucille asked them.

“Honestly?” Krys asked.

“Yes.”

“Don't you know?” Laya asked from the doorway.

Lucille swung her legs down so she sat on the edge of the bed and nodded. “We'll need five horses prepared, provisions to get at least as far as Fell Green.”

Rabbit grinned.

Laya patted Rabbit on the shoulder. “I don't think that will be a problem.”

“It wouldn't be the first time we had to slip out of this castle in a hurry,” Krys said. “It'll be even easier with all the workmen and supplies going in and out.”

“We'll need a few other things,” Lucille added.

“The scroll,” Krys said.

Lucille pulled the parchment from her belt. “We have that.”

“You didn't give . . .” Laya started to say, trailing off. Next to her, Thea giggled.

“You were already planning this,” Kris said, a hint of admiration in her voice.

“Frank has been a bad influence on me.” Lucille tucked the scroll back in her belt. “However, we'll need two other things.”

“What?”

“First off,
Dracheslayer
—”

“That black sword with the glowing red writing?” Laya asked.

“The one that protects against dragon fire,” Krys said.

“Yes. It's locked up in the armory but—”

Krys nodded. “If we hunt down the dragon—Frank or not—having that makes sense.”

“I can get into the armory,” Thea said, still giggling excitedly.

Laya tilted her head at the young girl. “She's good with locks.”

“I'm sure,” Lucille said. “Just take someone who can carry the sword, it's rather large.”

“I can carry it.” Thea's lower lip came perilously close to a pout.

“I'll go with her,” Laya said. “You said two more things.”

“The other thing we'll need is the Tear of Nâtlac.”

NO! By all that is holy, unholy, or ignored by the gods! BAD IDEA!

I screamed at the top of my mental voice. No way should we be anywhere near that thing. Even if the spell that the elf-prince cast hadn't been obviously of a piece with Nâtlac's evilness, there was no predicting how that jewel would react to whatever had happened to Lucille, much less myself or whoever the dragon was now.

Right then, I might have started thinking about who now currently inhabited the dragon's skin, if I hadn't been overwhelmed by the effort to make Lucille hear me.

Listen! I'm here! Don't touch that thing! Think of how badly things went last time!

Of course, Lucille didn't hear me. Worse, of the four girls, the only one who even looked as if she might realize how bad an idea it was happened to be Rabbit. She looked at Lucille with her head cocked like she couldn't quite understand the crazy words coming from her mouth.

I kept screaming in our skull to no effect as they solidified the plan to slip away from Lendowyn Castle.

“The horses will be the easy part,” Krys said. “The stable hands pasture them early in the morning when they clean the stables. If five of them are led off, it will be hours before they're noticed missing.”

“They won't be pastured with saddles on,” Lucille said.

“No,” Krys answered. “But we have the rest of the night to grab those, saddlebags, provisions, and stash them in the woods out by the royal pasture. With Rabbit, I think we'd be ready to meet you off the main northern road about an hour after dawn.”

Lucille looked at Laya and Thea, “Is that enough time for you two?” The girls looked at each other and Thea nodded enthusiastically.

“I think we can manage,” Laya said.

“Good.” She looked at Krys. “We'll meet up with you and Rabbit an hour after dawn.”

“We'll have the horses ready.” She turned to go with the others.

“Krys?” Lucille asked.

“Your Highness?” She paused.

Lucille looked at the girls by the doorway and said, “Give us a moment alone.”

Laya and Thea looked at each other while Rabbit reached out and closed the door. Krys turned around uncertainly, a worried look on her face. “Is there a problem? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just wanted to apologize for my father.”

“Really? I did speak out of turn.”

“Not that. I wanted to apologize about him calling you ‘young man.' He's older, and his vision isn't . . . are you laughing?”

Krys snorted and shook her head. “No, Your Highness.” She spoke through a very tight-lipped expression that tried not to be a smile.

“You
are
laughing.”

Krys sucked in a breath and said, “You don't have to apologize for him.”

“Am I missing something?”

You just haven't spent much time with Krys.

“You do notice how I look?” Krys said.

“A lot of girls look boyish.”

“And dress? And cut my hair?”

“Well . . . You're
trying
to look like a boy?”

Krys suppressed another laugh.

“I'm sorry,” Lucille said after a moment. “I didn't realize.”

“It's fine,” Krys said. “Sometimes I think Frank's the only one who understands me.” The mention of my name drained all the levity out of Krys's voice and her expression went slack and pale.

Lucille grabbed her shoulder. “We'll get him back.”

You don't have to. I'm still here!

Krys nodded and gave an unconvinced, “Yes.”

“You go and get things ready so we can help him.”

Krys took a step back and nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.” Her grim smile contrasted with eyes that were shiny and red. She turned on her heel and left us to go with the others.

Lucille paced around alone in the bedchamber lost in her own thoughts. I wished there was some way I could comfort her, hold her hand, or at least tell her I was still around.

She stopped at the window and looked out at the northern night sky. “I wish you were here, Frank.”

I wish you knew I was here.

“You know more about this thieving outlaw stuff than I do.”

The girls know what they're doing.

“You could tell me what I'm doing wrong.”

Like taking evil magical artifacts?

She sighed and threw herself back on the bed without disrobing.

“We'll figure this out, Frank. I promise.”

Get some sleep. You're still exhausted and it's only a few hours till dawn.

She didn't need my encouragement. Her eyes were already closed and I had the strange sensation of being able to hear myself snore before following her into slumber.

•   •   •

We didn't have time to dream. I heard shouting and commotion and shot up from bed, blinking sleep from my eyes. I ran to the window where I heard shouting and galloping hooves. Looking out past the construction
below my window, I could see the front gate open to admit a small crowd of disheveled riders who shouted at the guardsmen with some urgency.

I couldn't make out all they said, but I could hear the word “dragon” quite clearly.

Oh crap.

It was about this time I realized that I had done all this under my own power. At least, I thought I had. Once I came fully awake and tried to move consciously, my body remained where it was.

Lucille's body.

She blinked a few times and shook her head. Then she glanced at the purple sky. “Too early,” she whispered.

She turned around and headed out of our bedchamber.

I decided that our dash to the window was so obvious and reflexive an action that I had just convinced myself that I'd been in control. That realization unleashed a crushing wave of self-pity. The illusion of autonomy, however brief, made it much much worse when I couldn't so much as blink an eye on my own.

I barely paid attention until Lucille met the newcomers at the entrance to the inner keep of the castle. Once I focused on where we were and what we were doing, Lucille was in the midst of a ragged rabble of wounded guardsmen and commoners from one of the border towns near the Northern Palace.

Apparently the Dragon Prince hadn't exhausted his hostility on our banquet. He had taken his aggression out on at least one village.

Lucille kept questioning the victims, as if trying to poke
some hole in their story. I tried not to listen. I had seen the kind of destruction they talked about, the last time a truly evil soul inhabited that dragon's body. I understood Lucille's panicked attempts at denial. I'd felt similarly back then because I'd thought the dragon had been her.

By the Seven Hells, it's not me!

While Lucille stood in the courtyard with the refugees, a guard came out of the keep and called for the spokesman of the “latest group” for an audience with the royal war ministers.

“Latest group?” Lucille repeated.

Another nearby guard overheard her. “Yes, Your Highness. This is the third.”

“From the same town?”

The guard shook his head. “No. Three different towns. They all arrived in the past hour or so. From the north, east, and west.”

“What about the other two? What happened?” I know Lucille had the same worry I did. Had troops already begun to move against Lendowyn? But if it was in response to the attack at the banquet, that reaction would have been impossibly swift. If the refugees were reaching Lendowyn Castle now, the attacks would need to have been within hours of the incident at the Northern Palace. Other kingdoms wouldn't have had time to receive the news, much less rally an armed response.

The guard's explanation was only slightly more plausible. “Dragon attacks,” he said.

“Three towns? He attacked three separate towns in one night?” Lucille's voice came uncomfortably close to hysteria. “How is that even possible?”

She had a point. Leveling a village takes some time. I had some trouble imagining how our dragon could pull off a trio of attacks at once.

Before the guard had a chance to elaborate, someone screamed. Everyone turned in that direction, toward a commotion by the main gates. Next to us, the guard drew his sword.

By the closed gate, the crowd backed away. One man was being half led, half dragged away. He still screamed, weakly now, cradling his right arm. That arm was blue-white below the elbow, and glittered slightly in the growing dawn light.

Frozen? What the—

Lucille turned from the injured man to look at the main gate. Wisps of unnatural fog seeped through, between and beneath the timbers of the gate. As she watched, fans of frost spread across the wood, wrapping it in the same glittery blue-white that had coated the screaming man's arm. In moments, the gate seemed frozen solid behind a wall of icy fog. Fog that seemed oddly localized and refused to burn off in the dawn sunshine.

In another few moments, the fog became dense enough to completely hide the gate itself from view. The swirling mists now seemed to be lit from within, the cold blue light source appearing from some place much farther away than the gates immediately behind the fog.

There was something strangely familiar about it all.

Lucille stepped forward.