Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (32 page)

“There are seven major voids in Keltora,” Turlough said, and as he moved a hand over the map, dark spots appeared among the green. “Twelve medium sized voids and more than four dozen minor ones. The largest covers an entire lake while the smallest sits in a closet in a temple of Diancecht.”

“I’m only concerned with those that lie north,” Fenelon said.

Another wave of Turlough’s hand brought the north into greater focus. Etienne counted two large spots and two dozen lesser ones.

“That leaves approximately twenty-six,” Turlough said. “The largest one sits under a mountain in a tomb where an Old One is supposed to repose. The other large one is in an open field where no grass will grow.”

MacMartin’s Bald?” Fenelon asked, one brow rising.

“Yes,” Turlough said in a tired voice.

“It would have to be some place less obvious,” Etienne said. “Surely Tane would not go to a place where word of his presence could get back to the Mage Council.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Fenelon agreed. “Therefore, we should concentrate on isolate voids just large enough to hide several people. Possibly these voids would be connected to old ruins or castles.”

“Hmmmm,” Turlough said and shifted his hands over one another above the map. “That would reduce the number to six which are the right size. And at least four of those…” He tapped points of the map as he spoke. “…are in isolated ruins.”

“Exactly the sort of place I would hide myself if I was a bloodmage,” Fenelon said. “Ruins are avoided by more sensible folk.”

Then we must not be terribly sensible,
Etienne mused privately.

“In that case, your choices are Fallon’s Tower, Dun Ferlie’s Tower, Morrigan’s Tower and the old Greenwall Temple,” Turlough said.

“A lot of towers,” Etienne said.

“Peel towers deserted after the Unification or torn apart as the aftermath of Keltoran clan wars,” Fenelon said with a grin. “The Keltorans have never really stopped fighting among themselves. They’re just more civil about it than they used to be.”

“I’d be rather careful saying such things here, if I were you,” Turlough said. “Considering you and half the Greenfyns have the same coloring as most Keltorans…”

“They can tell the difference, Uncle,” Fenelon said with a wicked grin. “I don’t run around wrapped in multiple ells of a tartan wool plaidie.”

“Who knows, it might suit you to do so,” Turlough said in a dry voice, and Fenelon raised eyebrows. “Now get out of here. Go find your apprentice and let me go back to bed.” The High Mage sounded weary. He started for the door then paused. “Oh, and Fenelon. I will expect you to deal with Tane Doran. Do I make myself clear?”

Fenelon’s face went grim. “Trust me, Uncle,” he said. “Killing Tane Doran will be my pleasure…”

“Just do it right, Fenelon,” Turlough said. “And one other thing…”

“Yes…”

“Your apprentice…if there is even the slightest hint he may have let Tane Doran get the better of him and turn him towards a darker path, I want to know. I am still not wholly convinced he is not part of this.
 
Good night to you both.”

Fenelon fairly bristled, but he had no chance to retort in outrage that the accusation was absurd. Turlough had already left the chamber.

“Damn him,” Fenelon growled. “By the Black Winds of Annwn, how dare he think that of Alaric.”

Etienne shook her head and took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Alaric needs us.”

Fenelon nodded, starting for the door with her close at hand.

Four places to the north,
she thought.
Oh, Alaric, I hope you are all right.

THIRTY THREE

When Alaric first awoke, he could not move. He discovered very quickly he didn’t want to. His forearms and chest sang a hearty protest, and his own voice moaned in sympathy. Muscles began to spasm in mockery of his attempts to lie still. He coiled himself into a knot, stifling groans in the thick wool blankets—his only protection from the damp ground—and prayed for the pain to go away.

“Easy now,” A soft female voice instructed in a whisper. “Just ride it through.”

Etienne?
Shona?
Alaric blinked. Hope rose in him, and he focused on the shadowy figure silhouetted by the glow of mage light.
No, just Vagner,
he thought. He would have jerked away had it not hurt just to consider such abrupt actions.

“Are you thirsty?” the demon asked.

“What do you care?” Alaric whispered hoarsely and closed his eyes.

“Because it will be my hide that is stripped and tanned into a pair of boots if you perish before Tane has what he wants from you.”

“Then he might as well kill me now,” Alaric groaned. “Because I can’t give him what I do not have.”

“In that case, he will just kill you slowly,” Vagner said. “And that would be such a shame.”

Alaric heard water dribbling before a cool cloth touch his face. He opened his eyes again. The childish countenance before him wore concentration and concern.

“Why?” Alaric asked.

“Why what?” the demon said.

“Why would that be a shame?”

“Here have some water,” the demon said and gently raised Alaric from his bedding. The small body moved around to support him, and a lithe hand brought the mug to his lips. It held water, clear and clean, and Alaric suddenly wanted to drain every drop of it quickly, but his hands shook too much to force the mug to the sharper angle necessary. He had to sip it slow because the demon would not allow him to do otherwise. Still, Alaric drained the container dry. Vagner took the mug away and lowered Alaric back down. The creature reached for a tray that held bandages and salve, bringing them closer to make use of them.

“You didn’t answer my question, Alaric said.

“You are not my master,” Vagner said. “I am not bound to answer you unless I wish to do so.”

Alaric sighed. “Oh….”

Vagner opened a pot of salve and sniffed the contents, then put an experimental finger into it. “Hmmm. One of the bandits said this was good for burns. Smells a lot like old sheep fat…”

Alaric grimaced.
Nothing worse than “country cures,”
he thought.

“Oh, well,” the demon said, and with unnatural gentleness, began to apply the salve to the burns. Alaric flinched and hissed at first, but in spite of its smell, the salve did soothe the blisters and stings enough so Alaric could draw deeper breaths.
As if I want to,
he thought bitterly. This place really did smell awful.

But he could sit up, at least, without feeling like every muscle would scream as it tugged the crisscross of wounds decorating his forearms and chest. Tane worked most diligently to slide that heated blade just under the tender skin and find the nerves. Alaric closed his eyes, not wanting to remember. He opened them and looked at the demon who busily packed the supplies away.

“Why would it be such a shame?” Alaric asked once more.

“Why would what be such a shame?” the demon said, rising to stand over Alaric.

“Why would it be such a shame for Tane to kill me?”

The demon’s eyes narrowed so the feral predator showed behind the sweet mask of a child.

“When I was but a demon youngling,” Vagner said, “I learned a song. A very simple song. My demon mother heard a human mother sing it to her offspring and noticed how the human child went to sleep. Being vexed with her own rowdy brood, my mother thought to try this human trick on us. And while my brood mates gave it no attention, for they could neither eat it nor tear it apart, I was enraptured by the rare beauty of the sound. I don’t know why, but it gave me great pleasure.”

Alaric cocked his head, intrigued. “You like music?”

“Like is such a shallow word,” Vagner said. “The pleasure I feel in the presence of song is the same pleasure I feel on a full belly or when rutting another demon. It fills every part of me. It satisfies and soothes me. It feeds something deep inside me.”

“Then, you love music?” Alaric said and laughed just a little. “I never thought a demon could care about such a thing.”

A faint glimmer of hurt darkened the demon’s eyes. “Then you know very little of demons,” Vagner said and started for the stairs.

As Alaric watched, the creature crossed the dais unhindered. Alaric frowned. Had Tane forgotten to set the barrier spell?

“I only know what I am told,” Alaric said and worked to sit upright, swaying like a frond. His head took off in circles, and he fought the dizziness. “And what I have recently experienced in your company. Quite frankly, before you came along, I can’t say as I’ve ever met a real demon.”

“Oh, and just what have you heard?” Vagner said in a mocking voice, never turning around to look at Alaric as the creature puttered in the corner.

“That demons eat people,” Alaric said. He made his way to the stairs and caught hold of the edge for balance. Quietly, he climbed them.

“Demons eat many things,” Vagner said. “Including one another. We’re no different from humans in that respect.”

“We don’t eat each other,” Alaric said.

“Really?” Vagner said. “Meat is meat to a demon. Greater demons devour lesser demons all the time…and if humans do not eat humans, explain to me what the Haxons are eating when they cut out an enemy’s heart and devour them.”

“Haxons are barbarians,” Alaric said. He put forth his hand and met an invisible barrier at the top of the stairs. “Oh, horns,” he groused quite unintentionally.

Vagner turned back, now carrying a tray of bread and cheese. The demon shook its child’s head from side to side and let a sardonic smile curl one corner of its mouth.

“Humans have all the answers,” Vagner said. “Haxons eat the hearts of great and worthy enemies because they believe it will transfer the enemy’s strength into them to do so. Did you know that?”

Alaric shook his head and sat down on the stairs. Wearing a smirk, the demon crossed the invisible barrier without stopping and offered Alaric the contents of the tray.

“Tane’s spell is set to stop you alone,” Vagner said, sitting down. “No one else is even affected by it.”

“But…he removed it when the bandits came down to fetch me.”

“They are stupid men and don’t know any better,” Vagner said. “Now eat. You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” Alaric said. He selected a piece of cheese and tore it into tiny chunks.

“Tane knows the extent of resistance you have to physical pain,” the demon said.

“Very little,” Alaric muttered and stuck the cheese in his mouth to chew on it.”

“Little or not, you have not yielded what Tane wants, so he will try another method today.”

Alaric stopped chewing and frowned. He swallowed the cheese and asked, “What other way?”

Vagner smiled and touched a finger to Alaric’s forehead. “He will go in here.”

“He’ll find nothing of any use to him.” Alaric shook his head and sighed.

Vagner frowned. “And just why persist in denying you told the Greenfyn you know the Dragon’s Tongue Key. I was there when you boasted of learning it from Ronan Tey.”

“But I have no memory of that song or of saying I knew it,” Alaric protested, clenching his fist. “I don’t…” He paused as uncertainty crept into him. What was it Fenelon said Alaric did that day in the library? Sang a song he could not possibly know? “At least, I don’t think I know it.”

But could that be what is hidden behind the wall inside my head
? He’d sung that strange song when he touched the demon skin map. That happened before Alaric fell under the fever…after he learned there was a wall in his head.
Horns, is it possible I really do know such a song
? He glanced at the demon’s stoic expression.

“Tell me the names of the songs I mentioned that night,” Alaric said.

“You said you knew
The Battle of Brenhorn, The Mist in the Willows, White Maiden’s Lament and Down Among the Rushes,
” the demon said.

Alaric shook his head. “And I could sing any one of those except
The Dragon’s Tongue Key.
”

“How does
The Unicorn Wood
go?” Vagner asked, looking absurdly hopeful.

“There’s a well within the wood,

Hidden from the eyes of man.

The Unicorn goes there to drink,

Deep in the Unicorn Wood.

She has a horn of purest white,

Hidden from the eyes of man.

And with it makes the water pure,

Deep in the Unicorn Wood…”

The clatter of the door lock stilled Alaric’s song. He turned with a gasp. The demon looked acutely irritated.

Tane and his bandits were entering the cell.

“Awake at last,” the bloodmage said. “And moving about too. Good.”

He waved a hand over the head of the stairs and muttered the release spell. Dread seeped into Alaric again. He lurched to his feet and let the tray fall as he backed down the stairs.

“And just where do you plan to run to?” Tane said as he nodded to the bandits. “Bring him up to me…and don’t hurt him unless you absolutely have to.”

Tane turned and left the cell as though sure his orders would be obeyed. The bandits traded leers and started down the stairs to fetch their quarry. They shoved Vagner aside in passing. The demon snarled at them like a terrier.

Alaric stumbled across the chamber. He was wishing he had some sort of weapon when he spotted the scolds bridle. Seizing it up, he spun around just as the first man laid a hand on him. Alaric shouted and lashed out with the leather. It caught the bandit’s ear, and he lurched sideways with a startled cry, tumbling into his companion. Both men went down in a heap of tangled limbs and curses.

I did it!
Alaric thought excitedly. Tossing the scold’s bridle away, he bolted for the stairs. Vagner did nothing to stop Alaric as he raced out of the cell.

The stairs were dark, and while Alaric was tempted to use magelight to negotiate them, he feared the spell would alert Tane. So he ran half stumbling, arms and chest stinging as his own sweat rolled in to mingle with the salve that had protected him from his own injuries. His determination to escape overpowered his pain. Alaric ran, spurred to greater speed by the sound of angry voices to his back. The bandits were after him.
Horns!

Alaric reached the upper door, pushing it open, and bolted into a long hall with a fire pit. He took but a moment to get his bearings before he bolted towards the outer doors.
Oh, please, Arianrhod, don’t let there be bandits at those doors,
he pleaded silently as he skirted the firepit.

Five long steps past the fire pit, Alaric hit a second invisible wall. The force threw him back, nearly knocking the breath out of him as he landed on the hard floor. For a moment he lay stunned.
Oh, horns,
he thought and pushed off to get back on his feet. His nose bled and a tickle of salty blood rolled into his mouth and down his chin.
Go!
 
Forget your nose.
Find another way out.
You’re mageborn, by the Silver Wheel.
Start acting like one!