The Broken Dragon: Children of the Dragon Nimbus #2 (31 page)

Val cocked her head and looked at her sister curiously. Lily felt her twin’s mind seeking her thoughts. Deliberately she cut them off.

“I won’t stay here any longer than I have to,” Lukan said. Finally his angry clenching relaxed, as if making the decision sent his anger elsewhere.

“I have to stay,” Linda said. “The University is where I belong at the moment. It is where I need to be. At least until Glenndon opens communications again. I don’t know if my father will call me home to help rebuild or not.”

“It’s been five days . . .” Lily hesitated lest her constant worry over her brother’s silence bleed over and divert her from this other task.

Linda shrugged. “All of you . . . go if you must. I won’t say anything until after you’re long gone. But I need to stay here. I also need an end to the nightmares. If this rogue magician taps into the mind of someone more vulnerable than any of us . . .” She stared long and hard at Graciella and Ariiell, knowing who was the most vulnerable among them. “Someone else might not realize they were being manipulated and do precisely what Samlan wants.”

“We can’t allow that,” Val said.

Graciella and Ariiell nodded in agreement.

Linda rose gracefully and retreated, brushing leaf litter from her robe as she walked.

“That just leaves when and how we leave,” Skeller said, putting his harp into its carrysack with gentle care, as if the instrument was the most precious thing in his life.

Lily doubted she could ever be more important to him than the harp. And that saddened her.

“Val, are you rested enough to transport yourself and one other?” Lukan asked.

“Stargods, yes! People have done nothing but stuff food into me and make me lie down for another nap since we got home. I can take two if I have to.” She looked around the gathering, fixing each of her companions with an assessing gaze, weighing mass and ability in each of them.

“I know the spell,” Ariiell said.

“How did you . . .” Lukan protested. He looked ready to jump up and pound something, or someone. “That spell is the Circle’s biggest secret.”

“I had to show it to her to get Lily and me home,” Val said defensively. “It was necessary.”

“The dragons can make her forget it when we’re done,” Lily said.

“I can carry two,” Ariiell continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “But I’m not sure I’ll be much use afterward. Sanity is hard work and I get tired of responsibility very quickly.”

“Do you know the spell, Lukan?” Skeller asked, amusement coloring his voice. Had he learned that wry chuckle from the dragons?

“Of course! What kind of son of my father would I be if I didn’t eavesdrop and learn things on my own? He’d never teach me anything so I learned to mimic everything and figure it out myself.”

“When do we do this?” Lily asked. In her mind she organized her pack, and Val’s, with a change of clothes, medicines, bandages, food, waterskins, a cook pot . . . all of the little things necessary for a long journey without a caravan full of supplies to rely on.

“Midnight,” Val and Lukan said together.

“Betwixt and between, neither one day nor the other. The time when the world grows quiet and the dragons reign,” Skeller said/sang, composing music as he spoke.

“The dragons . . . ?” Ariiell looked frightened.

“The dragons will know what we are doing. But they also know how to keep a secret if they approve,” Lily replied, knowing in her heart that Indigo eavesdropped as they spoke.

“And will they approve?” Graciella asked, looking more frightened than usual.

(I am with you always,)
Indigo said in the back of Lily’s mind.

Lily and Val cocked their heads in identical listening poses. “They approve and will watch over us,” they said together.

“Don’t bet on it,” Lukan grumbled.

“S
’MURGHIT, WHAT IS
that smell?” Mikk gagged, burying his nose and mouth in his sleeve as he stepped into the palace forecourt for the first time in a week. Last night Glenndon and King Darville had agreed that the flood had receded below the base of the palace gates outside. This morning the protective wall of magic had shown signs of breaking down, as water inside the palace began leaking out slowly along the bottom of the bubble.

But there was still a foot or two of water in the courtyard.

“That smell is the dead, lingering to remind us of what we have lost,” King Darville said sadly. He lifted his face toward the sky, but he kept his breathing shallow. A gesture sent a dozen men scattering around the walls of the palace and the old keep in search of . . . an end to this disaster.

But the challenge of rebuilding was daunting. Coronnan would be a long time in recovering.

“It doesn’t smell much better out here than in there,” Glenndon said, pointing back toward the palace. He looked like he needed to cover his face, as Mikk did. One glance at his father and he endured without protection. But Mikk saw him weave his fingers in a now familiar pattern while his mouth moved, whispering a nonsense rhyme. Within a moment he’d balanced the acids in the air with a base scent similar to clean grass and fresh ocean breezes, achieving a faint smell of freshness in their immediate environs.

Mikk repeated the small ritual for himself and managed to come up with fresh baking bread. Not sweet like he wanted, but at least enticing rather than hideous.

The scent of yeast and flour made his stomach growl. Just that little spell ate up the small bit of fuel his scant breakfast of grains and boiled water granted.

“That smell can’t be healthy and we can’t keep it at bay forever,” Mikk said, peering through a crack between the great double gates. The force of the water had pushed them out of alignment so they couldn’t close completely.

That brought back the memory of struggling to close the gates between the river and the cistern. He bowed his head and grieved anew for General Marcelle. He wondered if the well had refilled with fresh water seeping through natural filters in the limestone. They could certainly use some fresh water in the palace, for drinking, and cooking. He didn’t think there’d be enough to bathe a thousand people.

“No, leaving dead people, stranded fish, and rotting plants in the open is not healthy. And we have to do something about it before we can begin the rest of the cleanup,” King Darville replied. He walked over to the gates and gave the sagging one a shove outward. It scraped and groaned against an accumulation of dirt and debris on the outside. “We’ll have to clear this before we can do much of anything.”

“Part of the obstruction is the remnants of my wall of magic,” Glenndon grumbled. He scanned the walls. “The spell is eroding. But there’s still enough of it intact to keep us from leaving, or communicating with the outside world.”

“Can you take the remaining wall down now?” King Darville asked, kicking at the debris sifting in through the small opening between the gates. “The river retreats. Much of the city should be accessible, if there’s anything left. I doubt the bridges survived even after collapsing them.”

Mikk looked at the mess with a bit of trepidation. He really did not want to have to inhale a vast quantity of this foul air to reverse the spell.

“Mikk and I will take care of that right now, sir,” Glenndon said, grinning wickedly at his cousin.

Mikk’s heart sank to his belly.

“It won’t be so bad,” Glenndon slapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked weakly, knowing he had no way out. Every bit of magic he’d read about seemed to demand a price—and he’d read a lot more this last week, combing the archives for reading material when there was not much else to do except wait for the water levels to return to normal.

“Bring me one cup of fresh water so I can wash the ceremonial table clean of my marks,” Glenndon replied.

“I’ll look in the cistern,” Mikk replied and dashed in the direction of the kitchen courtyard and access to the city water supply. He stopped just short of the stout metal doors set deep into a stone shed sticking out from the exterior wall and still part of it. Stinking, squishy mud and rotting grasses and seaweed nearly covered the entire courtyard. He’d have to dig his way through half a foot of the stuff to get to the cistern, then hope none of it had seeped into the water.

He sighed in regret as he looked about for a tool. Nothing about magic was easy or provided a shortcut without cost.

“The pump in the kitchen draws water from the cistern,” Glenndon said quietly, coming up behind him.

“Oh. I thought . . . I hoped . . .”

“You hoped you’d find General Marcelle alive and lurking down there, safe and sane.” Glenndon clutched Mikk’s shoulder as they shared a moment of grief. “I hoped the same. But I know he couldn’t stagger to the end of the tunnel and climb onto dry land from the river end. Not with a knee so badly damaged he couldn’t climb the palace steps. Nor could he get back to this side of the doors, not if you latched them properly. I know you did. I shared your dream of that final thud of the crossbars dropping into place.”

“How . . . how could you share my dream?”

“I’m not sure. As horrible as yours was, it was better than my own nightmare of climbing jagged cliffs with hungry waves lapping at my feet and making the rocks too slick to cling to.” He swallowed deeply and looked up. His free hand trembled.

“I’ve had that same dream,” Mikk admitted. “I’ve also dreamed of being set adrift in a small boat on a stormy sea and needing rescue. I thought perhaps I was reliving my fears that some of our people took to their boats, hoping to ride out the flood rather than flee.”

Glenndon froze in place, barely breathing. Then he fixed his penetrating, golden gaze on Mikk. “Did you feel compelled to rush out to rescue one man set adrift?”

Mikk gulped, not liking the path his thoughts took. “Yes,” he breathed.

“So did I. There is more going on than just our fears preying on our dreams. I need to talk to Da . . .” He stopped. “I don’t know if Da survived.”

This time Mikk pressed his cousin’s shoulder in shared grief. “From what I know of dragons, I think they have more answers than we do.”

“Yes. Let’s get that cup of water and open the paths of communication. Da always told me that when all else seems hopeless, talk to the dragons. They may be able to help us clear off the dead bodies. Or at least bring us a few tons of salt to sanctify a mass grave.”

“Where would we bury them all? There must be thousands!”

“The dragons will know. We can’t just dump them all into the ocean. Their remaining relatives need to know where they are, need to mourn, need a place to memorialize this event.”

Mikk nodded glumly and trudged after Glenndon. They had a lot of hard work to do. Messy work. And he didn’t know if Geon had survived to help.

Strange, this was the first he’d thought of his servant since running from the University to the palace over a week ago. He’d probably stayed at the University rather than take the risks Mikk needed to take.

Some bodyguard!

Inside the kitchen, three steps up from the courtyard, they found more stinking mud on the floor and small sticks and dead fish piled in the corners and along the walls. A flurry of frogs hopped quickly out the door the moment they spotted a path to freedom. This area had probably drained a day or two ago, trapping the frogs when they could no longer swim under the doors.

Nearly gagging, Mikk made his way to the pump in the scullery off the main workroom.

“Looks like they took your orders to heart and carried all the food and supplies up to the fourth story,” Glenndon said, kicking at a knot of rotting green stuff, too slimy to tell what it had been originally.

The pump handle was dry. At its highest position it was about level with Mikk’s shoulder. Right now it was frozen about halfway. He placed both hands on top of it and pushed down. It wouldn’t budge.

“Let me try. I’ve got a bit more leverage in height and shoulder,” Glenndon said, moving in front of Mikk.

Mikk stepped aside gratefully while his cousin leaned hard on the pump handle. It moved about two inches down and stayed there. Its own weight should have pulled it lower.

“It’s stuck,” Glenndon stated the obvious. “Probably got gunk in the pipes and it’s too dry from not having worked in a week.”

“The scullery lads pumped the cistern nearly dry, filling every bucket, tub, and cup with fresh water before the flood. I doubt any sludge could get into the pipes,” Mikk replied, eyeing the contraption suspiciously. He tried to think through the method and mechanism for drawing up water.

“Maybe if we both put all our weight on it,” Glenndon suggested.

Together they managed to push the handle all the way down. Mikk’s feet dangled a few inches off the ground as he heaved himself up. Once down it stuck there.

“Under it. Put your shoulder into it,” Glenndon ordered. They both crouched low with the handle resting on their shoulders and heaved upward. The handle moved a little easier.

“Again.” Up and down. Up and down. Mikk pushed and pulled until he saw black spots before his eyes.

“One more time, I hear something gurgling,” Glenndon shouted with glee.

Mikk couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He hadn’t worked this hard since his first time in the practice arena with a sword that was too long and heavy for his ability. Glenndon broke a sweat but still looked strong and eager.

Three more pumps and a tiny trickle of lime-white water wandered out of the spout. Another five cleared the water of residue. At that point Mikk shoved a cup under the pump. Glenndon pushed down one more time and they had enough fresh clean water to reverse the spell.

Mikk fought the urge to drink it down. That would come later. When they all had enough to drink.

From the protection of tree branches ten feet off the ground, Lukan listened as Skeller plucked chords on his harp, matching his voice to the core note. Then he tried another, moving his voice up and around the scale expertly. Eventually he changed to single notes and he sang in a clear and pure baritone, “You can climb back to the Kardia in safety,” he said, plainly, without a trace of a song. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Lukan dropped through a familiar pattern of hand- and footholds until he hung by his hands from the lowest branch and let go, falling only a few inches until his bare feet found purchase among the layers of moss and leaf litter.

“How’d you know I was up there?” Lukan asked, dusting off his callused hands. “No one thinks to look up.”

“I do. Ever since your sister showed me my first dragon flying overhead. She taught me to sing with your friends.” Skeller strummed a new tune that reminded Lukan of birds flying strong and free, accompanied by an odd chord that could have been a dragon screech sweetened up a bit.

“Lily.” Lukan let his sister’s name hang between them.

“Don’t worry. My intentions are honorable toward Lily. If she’ll have me.”

“And if her family won’t have you?” Lukan tried raising one eyebrow in skepticism, like Da.

He steeled his heart against the hurt of grief. He shouldn’t feel this strongly about Da’s passing. Except that Da had taken Mama with him. He’d never see his mother again. Never hear her gentle admonishment to stand straight, to wash his feet, to . . . to watch over his little sisters as they roamed the forest around the Clearing.

“The decision is Lily’s, not yours,” Skeller said flatly.

“Family is important to Lily.” Lukan had to remind himself that he had a smaller stake in keeping all his siblings together, helping each other, advising each other. Loving each other.

Something stronger pulled him away from them. More than a yearning. A genuine need to be out in the world alone. Alone. The family would take care of themselves without him. As they had always done.

The family was scattering, like autumn leaves fleeing before a chill wind.

“Family should be important. I hope I can earn your trust, if not your love.”

“You come from . . . elsewhere.”

“Amazonia. Yes, our traditions are different. Our government is different. Our fashions are different.” He flipped his fingers through the shoulder-length light brown hair. “But my people are not at war with your people. My own family is . . . less than loving and united. I have few reasons to return. Those reasons are weaker than my reasons for staying with Lily. Except . . .”

Lukan nodded abruptly, understanding, but not fully accepting the explanation. Now he needed more from the wandering bard who had traveled far and seen far too much.

“The other day, you said you ran away from your mother’s funeral . . .”

“Yes.” Skeller’s face became a blank mask, hiding his true emotions. He was too good at that.

“I . . . I need to thank you for making me think before I ran. I’m glad now that I stayed, at least for the funeral.”

“It seemed important. I was older than you when Mother passed. I’d been following caravans for a few years, singing my way around the continent. I thought I’d learned somethings about myself, and my family. I thought I needed to return to them and begin talking about all the reasons I needed to return. But I never thought about reasons to stay
with
them. Turns out I arrived mere hours before Mother stopped breathing after ten years of being an invalid. Ten years of barely having enough energy to talk to her sons, let alone hug us.”