Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (27 page)

Hmmmm,
she thought. Fenelon’s magic was far stronger in the chamber. By all rights, he should have won this battle. His essence dominated the struggle.

But there had been another, one whose essence did not feel right.

Frowning, Etienne opened her eyes. The third aura was not an aura at all. Merely something that existed and should not have. She wished there was more of it to test, but alas, its actions were overshadowed by all that occurred, and its true essence lay carefully hidden from her probing under a heavy cloak of almost non-perceivable spells.

“Mistress, come see what I’ve found!”

Shona’s voice floated down from quite a distance. Etienne had to brush the entire manse with mage senses to locate her pupil. Shona’s soft aura ranged higher above Etienne than a single flight of stairs. Still frowning, Etienne left the hall and made for the stairs. She climbed several flights before she found Shona standing over a place in the corridor, one hand stretched. The floor at her feet harbored a smattering of sticky blood.

Blessed Brother be merciful
, Etienne thought, reverting to an old vow. She put her own hand out. Not Alaric, thank the gods, though a hint of his essence was here, laced through with pain and fear.
Poor lad
, she thought. Curiosity drove her to wonder whose blood it was. Not that of the unnatural thing she had felt below. Just that of a mortal man. Etienne signed with relief.

“There’s more in here,” Shona said, and gestured towards the door that held court at the end of the corridor. “Come and see.”

Etienne followed the lass into a circular room. To her right, a smashed instrument lay scattered like a ravaged carcass. Shona knelt and picked up a piece. A psaltery.

“It’s not Alaric’s,” Shona said, sounding relieved. “But he was here, and he was frightened.”

Frightened was putting it mildly in Etienne’s opinion. Raw terror filled the chamber. Heightened emotions always left strong traces of essence, which was why bloodmages stole lives to feed their craving for the essence of others when their victims were at the apex of fear, anger or passion. But Alaric’s essence had not been stolen, and she found no immediate hint of Tane’s presence here either, though bits of the unnatural creature were present. This did not mean the bloodmage had not been in this chamber. Merely that he had hidden himself and the magic in this place.

Etienne’s gaze fell on the center of the room. A chair lay overturned and beside it, a lute. She started forward to examine them, mage senses stretched to the fullest. And stopped when she felt the power that ranged in the stones at her feet.

“You see it now too, don’t you,” Shona said. “It’s marked and cloaked to keep him from knowing it is here…but he felt it anyway. They underestimated his sensitivity to such things.”

“You sensed all that child?” Etienne said.

Shona’s cheeks flushed as she nodded. “Alaric was here…he was terrified…and then he just…disappeared. As though he’d been swallowed. Like he had stepped into a void or some sort of gate that’s gone.”

“That’s not possible,” Etienne said. “Alaric does not know how to cast a gate spell yet. Fenelon had only begun to teach him the very rudiments of that spell.”

“It’s not really a gate spell,” Shona said, frowning in concentration. “It’s something smaller…different.”

Etienne nodded. Shona was right. Alaric did seem to have just disappeared into some sort of hole.

Fenelon was not going to like hearing that.

TWENTY EIGHT

Tane waited until they were half a league out of Caer Keltora before ordering the carriage off the road and into a wooded copse. Only after the bloodmage had stepped out of the carriage did Vagner dare move. The demon stroked the trunk as though offering reassurance to its occupant then crawled out and stretched stiff legs.

Tane ordered the bandits about as though he were their general. They hurriedly dragged the trunk out of the carriage, nearly dropping it.

“Careful!” Tane shouted. “Don’t damage that!”

Vagner wondered if it was the bard’s well being or the value of the ensorcelled trunk that invoked Tane’s anger. Those spells had taken much time and effort to set, for Tane was thorough. The demon waited out of the way, arms crossed over the tiny chest, frowning. A wind cut through the trees. It fanned the demon’s hair and sent a shiver racing across pale, furless flesh. Vagner refused to complain, but a blanket would have been nice just now.

Tane closed his eyes and drew essence to open a spell gate. Vagner could see a courtyard in ruins, an overcast sky and the moss splattered stones of a keep. An old tower, long ago abandoned to stoats and ravens, it had served as a bandit hole before Tane discovered it. He had been putting it to personal use for years before he ever summoned Vagner. Most mageborn would have avoided the place, for its cellars held a void. Tane, however, found that anomaly useful, especially where mageborn prisoners were concerned.

The bandits ambled through, taking the trunk and the horses. The carriage, they abandoned. It was stolen anyway. Vagner took his time. The demon did not want to be too far from the trunk, but neither did he want to be anywhere close to Tane. The temptation to attack the bloodmage from behind sat hard in the demon’s stomach just now. Better he did not give it credence. He trailed along at the end of the procession with slow, deliberate steps, tiny fists clenched at his sides. If Tane noticed this angry posturing, he gave no sign. He seemed more concerned with telling the bandits where to take his prisoner once he had closed his magical gate.

The bandits tracked into the keep. Some stopped to bed the horses in the stalls while others began to set up in the lower hall. Tane shouted
“Loisg”
as he passed the fire pit, and flames rose to birth heat and light among the dusty shadows which did not benefit from the gloomy grey casting its feeble light through small upper window slits. Two bandits struggled to haul the trunk along in the bloodmage’s wake. He headed for the circular stairs at the base of the tower. One set rose to his private chambers. The other set descended into the womb of the earth. Tane chose the latter route, and Vagner brought up the rear of this small parade, ever curious to see what was about to happen to their precious cargo.

The bandits swore under their breath as they struggled to make the narrow turns with their cumbersome burden. Tane called mage light, for all the good it did. But at last, they reached the lower steps and followed him through an equally narrow corridor, requiring the tallest among them, including Tane, to stoop. For that moment, Vagner felt grateful to lack his true size, though for a demon, that mattered very little. They could shift size according to need and space.

At the far end of the corridor stood a small door. Tane pushed it open and stepped inside, straightening up. He moved aside so the bandits could come through. Vagner stopped in the door to watch.

This chamber was set up on two levels, consisting of a dais and a pit. Stairs descended into that depth. The lower area was three times as large as this ledge and twice a man’s height below its edge. In the glint of magelight, Vagner could see shackles on nitre-coated walls. The odor of rotting vegetation and ancient piss choked the air. Not the most pleasant place in Vagner’s opinion, made more so by the fact that the whole area of the pit was a void. No hint of essence or magic could be found or used there. The perfect prison for detaining one of the mageborn.

“Well, now,” Tane said as the bandits gingerly lowered the trunk to the dais. “Let us see how our little songbird has fared. Be ready. He may come out fighting like a hawk.”

Tane touched the lid. It possessed no obvious latch, but as he whispered his spell, the lid opened readily when he raised it.

Nothing happened. No explosion of magic. No shouts of rage. Only tiny whimpers such as a terrified child would make. Vagner dared then to sidle over next to Tane and peer inside.

Alaric Braidwine lay coiled into a human knot. His knuckles were bloody and his flesh was damp with fever. His eyes were closed. He did not move, save to breathe and shudder like a dreaming dog.

“Interesting,” Tane said. “Lift him out of there.”

It took work. The young bard remained limp as a rag puppet, never once opening his eyes. Tane frowned, touching the youth’s forehead.

“Very interesting,” the bloodmage said. “He is in shock.”

“Shock?” the demon blurted. “Is he dying? Shouldn’t we fetch a healer?”

“He’ll recover,” Tane said, giving Vagner a sidelong glance of amusement. “You need not worry like a woman just because I am keeping you in the guise of one.

Vagner frowned and backed away, not pleased to have that reminder thrown his way.
Were I myself
…

“You,” Tane said and pointed to the larger of the two bandits. “Pick him up and take him down there, and you go fetch a couple of blankets and some bandages and salve. I won’t have him catching his death before I am through with him. Vagner, you will stay here in the cell and keep watch over our
guest
. He will not be able to escape the pit—my spell will see to that—but I will not underestimate him again.”

“I’m hungry,” Vagner said.

Tane frowned. “Then I’ll have a sheep sent down to amuse you.”

The larger bandit hauled Alaric over one shoulder and carried him down the steps while the other rushed out of the cell to fetch the blankets and bandages. Tane walked along the top edge of the stairs, laying a ward attuned to the young bard’s essence and left.

Vagner sighed and watched the larger bandit leave as well before the demon settled into a corner to do as he was bid.

He hoped they wouldn’t forget his sheep.

~

Etienne and Shona returned to the infirmary to find Fenelon up and pacing the ward like a trapped wolf.

“Well, what did you find?” he said, practically leaping on both women as they came through the door.

“So glad to see you too,” Etienne said with a smile.

Fenelon rolled his eyes. “All right! Hello, my love. Now what did you find?”

“Practically nothing,” she said. “It’s as if he simply vanished.”

“I should go see for myself,” Fenelon said. “You may have missed something.”

He started for the door, only to stop and step back with an agitated glower.

“Do you mind?” he said and gestured to the opening with one hand.

“Has Mistress Miranda released you from her care?” Etienne asked.

“Look, I’m fine!” Fenelon said. “There was no need to lock me in here like a prisoner.”

“Oh, yes there was,” Etienne said and crossed the room to touch the door frame and whisper the names of the warding glyphs in proper order to banish them before turning back to him. “Had I not done so, you would have worsened your injuries.”

“It would have been worth the risk,” he said and hurried out of the room. “For Alaric’s sake…”

“And what good would you be to poor Alaric if you had bled to death, Fenelon,” Etienne said, following him as he marched down the corridor and made for the infirmary exit. “Our flesh is mortal. We may live long, but we can die of foolish injuries and blood loss as easily as any of the mortalborn. Besides, I did what I did because I know that under roguish exterior lies a kind and generous man. I know how much you have come to care for Alaric himself, even if you are not terribly good at letting him know it.”

“He’s a friend, Etienne,” Fenelon groused. “Of course, I care for him. He’s bright, intense, intelligent. He’ll make a great Master Mage, an excellent addition to the Council. I want to see that happen, and not just because he is my first apprentice and it would be good for my reputation…”

Etienne smiled. “Yes, we must always consider your reputation, must we not?”

He stopped abruptly, turning back to face her. One sharp look from those blue eyes shot in Shona’s direction. “Go find yourself something else to do until we send for you,” he said.

Shona blinked, looking amazed.

“Go to the gate circle and wait for us,” Etienne said in a more soothing manner. “We’ll meet you there shortly.”

Shona curtsied and hurried away, her cheeks high with color. Etienne watched the girl go before meeting Fenelon’s angry stare. “All right,” she said, crossing her arms and letting her staff stand on its own. “Have your say.”

“You, of all people, should know I am not self-serving or selfish,” he said. “I care about the world at large far more than any mageborn alive. There’s far more at stake here, Etienne, than Alaric’s life. If Tane Doran is involved, no good will come of this. He’s dangerous and ambitious, and like all bloodmages, he will stop at nothing to have what he desires, and damn what is good for the rest of the world. He will use torture and death to get what he wants now. Well, I’m not going to let that happen to Alaric, no matter what that old hag or Turlough or Alaric or anyone else says or thinks about me…”

He stopped, heaving as he turned away and leaned his back against the wall. There he stood and glared at the floor, his face racked with a multitude of emotions. Etienne sighed.

“Just what happened between you?” she asked. “Less than a few days ago, you were the best of friends…”

“What do you mean?” Fenelon said and his face flushed a darker hue.

“Between you and Alaric…and who is that old hag?”

Fenelon took a deep breath. “Marda Alfrey,” he said.

“I thought you and Marda were old friends. She knows your father.”

“Aye, but when she died, she said a slew of awful and untrue things about me to Alaric. She convinced him I was using him.”

“And what did you do to confirm her lies?” Etienne asked.

Blue eyes flashed deep with ire. Etienne remained stoic, refusing to back down.
Come on, Fenelon, don’t think you can hide the truth from me
, she thought. He trembled as though he were about to start his tirade anew, then abruptly, he turned and smacked the wall with the flat of his hand.

“All right, so I got a little idiotic,” he sputtered. “I was speculating what this Dragon’s Tongue might be and why we should go after it, and Alaric got…stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Etienne repeated, letting her brows rise quizzically.

“The Dragon’s Tongue must be what Tane is after,” Fenelon said defensively. “Why else would he have killed Ronan Tey and kidnapped Alaric…and I suggested…” He paused when Etienne cocked her head. Fenelon sighed. “Okay, so maybe I got a little over eager when I suggested we should find the Dragon’s Tongue ourselves. Next thing I knew, Alaric was accusing me of using him and…”

“Was he there when Marda died?” Etienne asked softly.

“Well, yes…”

“And you didn’t actually give him time to finish grieving, or to think her words through before you started hounding him, correct?”

“I suppose,” Fenelon said.

Etienne sighed and brushed his roughened cheek with one hand as she smiled. “No wonder he believed her,” she said. “Patience with others has never been one of your virtues, Fenelon.”

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I,” Fenelon said, his voice subdued. “Our friendship is over all because of me…and now he’s in Tane’s hands, and if I had not given him the reason to distrust me, he might have listened to me instead of…” Fenelon closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the stone wall. “Maybe Alaric and Marda were right about me. Maybe I do use people. Maybe I’m no less greedy and impulsive and blind than Turlough…”