The Dragondain (17 page)

“She did?” Lily shook her head. “I—don’t think . . . I only corrected her mistakes. I’m not magical.”

“Would you be willing to give it a try?” asked Dubb.

Cora closed her peerin, looking suddenly interested. “Lily, have you ever tried to form a peerin?”

Lily tried to form her first peerin the very minute Uncle Ebb had first described what one looked like, and probably a thousand times since. But she never tried to form one on Dain.

Lily shook her head.

“No one ever makes a peerin the first time out, Cora,” said Raewyn. “Not even your Bree could do that.”

Dubb ignored this. “Would you be willing to give it a try?” he asked again.

Lily didn’t see why not. “Cora? Could I cause any harm?” Lily asked.

Cora pursed her lips. “In the beginning, it’s hard to do much of anything. If you were indeed able to form a peerin, then later, after many years of study. . . . Do you really want to give it a try?”

Lily stepped over to where Cora and Raewyn stood and held up her palms.

“Like this, right?” she said nervously, placing her palms together, fingertips to wrists, as Cora had done. “What should I think about?”

“It’s hard to describe,” began Cora. “It’s like opening a window onto the world beneath our own.”

“A private window,” added Raewyn, “allowing you to see what may lie hidden beneath.”

Lily tried to imagine peeling open a layer.

“Look beyond your hands,” Raewyn continued. “Focus on something beyond your hands.”

“How can I do that if my hands are in the way?”

“Focus on Tavin’s leg,” said Cora. “Use your imagination.”

Lily tried to focus beyond her palms, on Tavin’s leg. Slowly she tried to pull her palms apart. But they would not slide.

“I can’t pull them apart!” said Lily.

“Yes, you can,” said Cora, softly. “You just need to relax.”

Lily tried harder. “I—can’t—it’s like they’re glued together.”

“Don’t talk,” said Raewyn. “Just concentrate.”

“Remove everything from this room, Lily,” said Cora, “except my voice and your peerin. Now, listen carefully to what I say—”

Lily’s hands pulled apart with a sudden jerk. She stumbled forward and would have fallen had Dubb not caught her.

Lily looked up sheepishly at Cora. “I failed, didn’t I?”

“Not by my standards,” said Cora. “I think you nearly formed your first peerin.”

Outwardly, Lily managed a polite smile. But inside, she knew this near-accomplishment complicated things. A lot. “But only the Dainish can form peerins. And I’m . . . I’m from Pennsylvania,” Lily finished.

“Be that as it may, perhaps your parents are
not
,” said Cora.

Lily didn’t like the sound of that. Her parents had always seemed so . . . normal. She’d certainly never seen them form a peerin, or do any magic. But then, she hadn’t really formed a peerin either. Her hands were just kind of caught. Maybe her palms were sticky.

“What were you going to say, before my fingers came apart?”

But before Cora could answer, Keegan Hoarfrost shuffled into the room, bearing a large book. Marred, who had him by the arm, swiftly guided Keegan toward the tall chair that Raewyn was pulling up to the table.

“We’ve started,” said Marred to Raewyn.

Raewyn’s face paled. She nodded, and Marred left the room.

“Started what?” asked Lily, but no one would answer her.

Raewyn kneeled next to Keegan. “Are you well?” she asked.

“I have traveled better, and every bone in my body aches, but I’m in one piece.” Keegan withdrew the book from under his arm. “I will need a writing table. If anything new comes to light, I would be negligent in my post not to record it.”

Raewyn pointed to a small podium in the corner. Dubb shelved the book lying on it and quickly moved the podium to Keegan’s side.

“Hello, Ms. Winter,” said Keegan, putting on a pair of spectacles. He unstoppered a pot of ink and tentatively dipped a quill. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello,” said Lily, looking curiously at Keegan’s book.

“It’s an account of those unfortunate enough to have possessed Curse,” said Keegan. “A curious volume, and terribly incomplete. I’m but the latest in a long line of contributors. But if I’m not mistaken, we have far more pressing matters at hand.”

Keegan placed the book on the podium, struggled to his feet, and leaned over Tavin. Raewyn worried her hands, and Dubb stepped closer to the table.

“Do you know what it is?” asked Raewyn quickly.

“Oh, yes. Yes. I do. I have seen it many times before, but not quite like this.”

“Can you cure it?” asked Dubb.

“No. I’m afraid the time for that has long passed.” Keegan glanced at Raewyn. Her face was a ghostly shade of white.

“What did I miss?” she stammered.

“It would have been a difficult thing to detect in the early stages, when something could have been done about it. I missed it myself, if you remember.”

Raewyn’s shoulders fell. “What is it?”

“He has the poison,” said Keegan. “Soon, the death-bloom will show all along here.” He traced a line across the scar on Tavin’s leg with his forefinger.

Raewyn’s face twisted in horror. “You’re mistaken.”

“But Keegan, Tavin told us that wound was from the claw of a dragon hatchling,” said Dubb.

“More likely the poisoned blade of a dread-knight,” said Keegan.

“But that can’t be!” cried Raewyn. “If what you say were true, it would have bloomed long before this. And where are the telltale signs?”

Keegan prodded the flesh about the scar. “The scabbard has delayed the onset, but it was not able to overcome the poison. The cut was not a terrible one, but spore delivered by the blade has gone deep. You should burn him soon.” Keegan looked at Dubb. “Your fire must be
hot
, or you risk infecting us all.”

“No,” said Raewyn. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t have the marks.”

Keegan’s gaze traveled up and down Tavin’s body. “I suspect the scabbard has done more than just slow down the poison’s progress. Most likely, the telltale marks have been displaced.”

He drew back Tavin’s shirt. The exposed skin was pallid, and the only marks were old scars, of which there were many. “They may be farther up the leg. I can’t tell without removing his armor. But if you wash the grime off his feet, you may find something there.”

Raewyn grabbed a rag and dipped it into a wash bowl, then ran it across Tavin’s feet. Underneath the grime, across the top of his foot, were the unmistakable dark marks that accompany a death-bloom.

“He lied!” exploded Dubb. “He lied to me!”

“
It
lied!” Keegan admonished him. “It! Don’t you forget that!” Keegan turned to Raewyn. “I assume the reason for Tavin’s restful state, for his lack of agony—this is your doing?”

“Yes.”

“You must release him. I wish to speak with them before he goes.”

“Release him?”

“Yes. We may yet learn something of importance here.” Keegan sat down and took up the quill.

“If I release him, you won’t find Tavin. The day we dragged him from the field, he and Curse were both already speaking gibberish.”

“What do you mean, ‘both’?” asked Dubb.

“Was Curse speaking through the sword?” asked Keegan.

“They were both speaking through Tavin, but their voices were still different enough that I could tell them apart. Not that what they were saying made much sense. I thought I could strengthen Tavin and bring him to the surface, but Curse swamped him like a drowning man in a bog. I couldn’t pull Tavin free. By the time we arrived here, Curse was all that remained. And it was in a
very
foul mood.”

“You mentioned gibberish,” said Keegan thoughtfully. “Are you certain they weren’t speaking another language?”

“It didn’t sound like a language to me. At first, I thought the blackmage must have somehow gotten through Tavin’s defense, maybe thrown some kind of babble spell on him.”

“Gotten through a Dragondain’s protection?” said Keegan. “These are indeed dark times, Raewyn, but, let us hope, not so dark as that.”

“Well, there was one moment,” said Raewyn. “When I looked in his eyes, I thought I could see Tavin. It was like he was trying to tell me something—only for a short time, but he was consistent.”

“Consistent?” said Keegan. “How so?”

“He just kept repeating the same gibberish. He made one particular sound over and over.”

“Do you remember it?” asked Keegan.

“Yes, he said—” When Raewyn spoke the sound, the moon coin pulsed on Lily’s chest, and the word “where” flowed into her mind. She surveyed all the faces in the room to see if the word meant anything to them. But no: only she had heard it.

“Where,” said Lily, but no one heard her. She repeated it. But again, no one was listening.

“Tavin was saying ‘where,’” she said loudly.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Lily.

She stepped forward. “Raewyn,” urged Lily. “What else did he say?”

Raewyn raised a hand to her forehead, and shut her eyes in concentration. “It was . . . he would . . . oh, by the moons! He said something that sounded like my name, like he was talking to me—” Raewyn placed a hand over her mouth and let out a small sob.

“Raewyn, what did he say?” pleaded Lily.

“He
was
saying my name, but in a strange accent—sometimes once, sometimes twice, and then, then he would say—” Raewyn uttered the words, and Lily heard, “You’ve got to help me.”

She didn’t understand how, but somehow she knew the sentence was a jumble of many languages and dialects. When Lily repeated the words aloud, making sure to speak in the common tongue, Raewyn stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the table behind her for support. “Oh! What have I done?” Raewyn looked to Dubb, then to Cora. “What have I done?” Dubb moved swiftly to Raewyn’s side and helped steady her.

“Did he say anything else?” asked Lily slowly.

Raewyn’s eyes welled up with tears. “The only other thing he would say was—” And Lily heard, “It’s not too late.”

Lily said nothing.

Raewyn began to sob. “What did he say?” She knelt down before Lily. “You don’t understand. At one time or another, Tavin has saved the life nearly everyone I’ve ever loved. You have to tell me. What did he say?”

Lily shook her head.

Raewyn was begging. “Please, please,” she sobbed.

Lily swallowed. “He said . . . ‘It’s not too late.’”

Raewyn crumpled to the floor.

“I’ve killed him,” she sobbed. “Oh, Dubb, I’ve killed him. I’ve killed Tavin. Lily, if only you had been here earlier.”

“Raewyn,” said Keegan gently. “I’m sorry, but I must try and talk with Curse. May I release your spell?”

“Keegan,” interrupted Dubb, “you may get Tavin to talk, but Curse’s hold will be so strong you won’t be able to trust anything he says—even if you think you’re talking to Tavin. Do you understand that?”

Keegan regarded Dubb. “I’ve know Curse since Wari first came to me.”

“Wari? Why do I know that name?”

“Maybe you remember her better as Wari the Inept?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“History can be so cruel,” continued Keegan. “Did you know that before acquiring Curse’s sword, Wari was known as Wari the Cunning? She was a talented fighter in her day. I’m afraid I was of little help to her. Later, when Storri came to me—”

“Storri . . . Storri the Stumbler?” asked Dubb.

“Yes. Only in his day, he was known as Storri the Swift. Although, truth be told, some of that was the doing of his scribes. Still, he was far from being a stumbler before Curse.

“Curse has long been a riddle to me,” Keegan mused. “One I’ve worked hard to solve, but it guards its secrets jealously. You see, I believe Curse is very, very old. Far older than any living thing I’ve met, and that is saying something.”

Lily stole a glance at Cora, who raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.

“One thing is certain,” said Keegan. “Curse will know if a dread-knight was involved. And
that
is of the utmost importance in the here and now. Where did it come from? Did it cross over from Darwyth? Does it live here on Dain? Has Curse had dealings with it before? Are they in league?”

“The answer to any one of those questions would be of great value,” acknowledged Dubb, looking at Raewyn. “Tavin would want us to know.”

Raewyn nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “But it will take me a little time to undo the spell. I spent half the night placing it upon him. Do we have the time?”

“No. I think not,” said Keegan. He passed his open hand over Tavin’s face, and instantly, Tavin began writhing on the table, gasping, grunting, and struggling with his bindings. His eyes fluttered open, but he was disoriented.

“Tavin,” said Keegan in a commanding voice. “Tavin, tell me about the dread-knight.”

Tavin’s face twitched with pain. His head whipped around to face Keegan. He let out a high cackle, and when he spoke, it was in a strange language.

“That’s the gibberish I was talking about,” said Raewyn.

“It said, ‘I rather hoped you were dead,’” said Lily.

Tavin’s eyes shifted to Lily, and recognition kindled in them. His face changed, and Tavin clutched his balled fists to his chest, rocking side to side to face Lily better. Savagely, he flung his head back and forth, as though trying to clear his vision, flicking sweat from his knotted hair.

A bit of Tavin surfaced. “Lily,” he said in a low voice, the odd accent faint. “Where,” he croaked.

Lily took a small step forward. “You’re in Raewyn’s house. What does she need to do?”

Tavin shook his head violently. He reached out one of his shaking, balled fists. “Where,” he repeated, and his eyes rolled back in his head, showing the whites. His head banged heavily on the table.

“Tavin!” called Keegan. “Tell me about the dread-knight.”

Tavin’s head twisted toward Keegan. Despite his mighty effort, the real Tavin had submerged again. When he spoke this time, the strange, heavily accented tongue was strong. The very last word he pronounced was clearly “Keegan.”

“Curse recognizes you,” observed Dubb. “Lily, what did it say?”

Lily blushed. “I’m not going to repeat that, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t want Keegan talking to Tavin.”

“Tavin!” said Keegan. “Tavin, did you know this dread-knight? Had you met with him before?”

Tavin arched back his head, the muscles in his neck straining. He beat his balled fists together and spoke to no one in particular.

Lily continued to translate, “‘Do not trouble yourself with the dead.’”

“Tavin doesn’t know, does he?” asked Keegan. “But you do, don’t you, Curse?”

“‘Demented. Insane. He is useless now, useless. So close. Now let us die.’” And some of the fight went out of Tavin’s body.

“So close to what?” Lily asked Curse.

Tavin’s face fell sideways toward Lily, his eyes narrowing.

“Little maggot, you live?” said Curse.

“So close to what?” Lily repeated.

Tavin’s eyes blinked. “I’m fading,” and he laughed a cruel laugh. “Are there no more?”

Lily felt her recent memories roiling in her head. Did she have what she needed to solve the puzzle? Had she heard and seen all the clues? She felt like a fisherman with too few lines in the water.

Lily looked at Cora. And suddenly, she had it.

“I know what Curse needs to live,” Lily said to Cora in the common tongue.

Cora nodded her head and gave Lily an encouraging smile.

“And I know something else.” Lily stepped closer and looked into Tavin’s eyes. She willed herself to speak in the exact manner of Curse, but in trying to bring the words from her mind to her tongue, she realized it was too difficult. Picking one language she could tell was very old, she asked, “Why is Tavin so important to you?”

“In seeking his end I have found my own,” whined Curse.

“You went to destroy the dragon clutch.”

“Foul, poisoned beasts! Kill them! Kill them all!”

“But you found something else that night, as you were coming back, didn’t you? You found a dread-knight. So you set out after it. What happened next?”

“I meant to kill it. But Tavin failed me. The dread-knight cut our leg.”

“You mean
Tavin’s
leg,” said Lily, anger rising in her voice. “And you didn’t say anything because you wanted Tavin to die.”

“Yes. No. It was a mistake!”

“So, if I save Tavin’s life, I’ll be saving yours as well?”

Tavin’s head stopped swaying back and forth.

“It’s too late,” said Curse, without much conviction. “Too . . . late . . . ?”

Lily smiled. She knew that if she didn’t want Curse to know what she was truly thinking, she would have to feign total confidence. “Of course, it doesn’t matter to me either way. The two of you are one, and much too dangerous. You’ve already tried to kill me once.” Lily steeled herself. “I’d feel much safer if you both were dead!” she spat.

Tavin’s eyes began to twitch from side to side. “How would you save us?” asked Curse, and Lily knew it had taken the bait.

“
Tavin
, Curse. I would be saving
Tavin
,” said Lily. “You would just be coming along for the ride.”

She moved away from the table and stood behind Dubb, biding her time, peering around him to watch Tavin’s face. Curse briefly pleaded to each person in the room, then turned to Lily. “Why do they not answer me?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” said Lily. “It’s almost like you’ve forgotten how to speak their language.”

Tavin’s body began to strain again under the bindings, muscles rippling across his frame.

“Save us! You must save us. You do not know what is at risk,” Curse implored.

“You are beholden to something—or some
one
, aren’t you?” asked Lily. “But you failed somehow.”

“I didn’t know,” whined Curse. “I didn’t know he was the last. I cannot allow the last to fail.”

“Who, or what, are you bound to?”

Tavin thrashed. “Not allowed to say! It is against the way I was spoken! You must save us if you can. You must!”

Lily stepped out from behind Dubb. “No! You tried to kill me! Die!”

“I have failed!” it wailed. “All is lost!”