The Lord of Illusion - 3 (29 page)

Lord North smiled his cherubic smile, obviously pleased to finally discuss what he thought most important. “We still have spies in Terrahame. Malcolm has long been a trusted consort of Annanor’s. I hesitated to ask him to risk stealing it, as the information he provides of the elven lady seemed more crucial. But now—”

“Can this Malcolm wield it?”

“Ah, I do not know, Dominic. He has wisely refused to touch the thing.”

Dominic scowled. “You know it is but a carefully cultivated rumor of the elven lords that if anyone touches a scepter they are destroyed.”

“I have touched the silver scepter,” offered Wilhelmina, the warrior-woman from Bladehame, “and it did me no lasting harm.”

“No
lasting
harm,” repeated Lord North. “I will not risk my spies unless I am forced to. And more than one human who lacked enough elven blood in their veins to touch it
has
died.”

Drystan focused his gaze on the golden scepter in his hand. “It is possible to touch the scepter, then, but not necessarily have the power to wield it.”

“Absolutely. It depends on the level of elven blood and magical powers one inherits. But it is risky, since one can never be sure they possess enough until they attempt it.”

Drystan nodded. His own magic had proven to be erratic. But strong. When Roden of Dreamhame tried to touch him with the scepter, Drystan had felt the threat of death from the thing. But perhaps the elven lord’s ill will lay behind the destructive power Drystan had felt. Since Grimor’ee had given the scepter to Camille, he felt nothing evil from it. Indeed, it now sat quietly within his hand. As if it slept.

Or tried to fool him into believing it was harmless?

“So even if we acquire the brown scepter,” continued Dominic, “we must still find someone to wield it.”

“And the silver and gold,” added Lord North.

Drystan set the golden scepter on his lap and removed his one remaining glove. Camille clasped Drystan’s upper arm, those rainbow-colored eyes searching his face, as if she read his very thoughts.

“No,” she whispered.

Giles glanced at them distractedly, then turned back to Lord North quickly enough. “What of your attempt to find orphans powerful enough to wield the scepters?” he asked.

“We have found several who appear to carry a healthy amount of elven blood.” North’s heavy features sagged. “But I fear that, like Lord Hawkes, they have lived beyond the barrier of magic for too long. Even if they have the power to wield a scepter, their magic may be too erratic. And they would have to touch a scepter first. We have no sure guarantee it will not kill them, and some of them are so very young… The risk is too great.”

Drystan took a deep breath. Now or never. He turned and looked into Camille’s eyes, his heart swelling with love for her. Did he love the Rebellion more? Could he risk leaving her to face the world on her own, in the hope he could free thousands of slaves just like her?

Again, it appeared as if she could read his thoughts. Fear still shimmered in her eyes, but Camille gave him a slight nod and gently squeezed his arm. She did not like it, but she understood.

“You have no right to make such decisions for others,” said Drystan.

And he wrapped his bare hands around the golden scepter.

Dominic nodded, but the rest of the circle startled at his action. Giles erupted from his chair, a strangled sound catching in his throat as he stared down at his foster son.

The room fell silent, the muted sound of dragons battling overhead filtering past the flame-covered walls.

The golden scepter felt warm in Drystan’s hands, and for a moment he felt the thrum of powerful magic, heard a faint whisper in his head. “It did not kill me,” he breathed.

Camille let go of his arm, sagged back against the cushions of the settee.

Giles opened his mouth as if to yell, but quickly snapped it shut and collapsed back into his chair, the green mark upon his face livid against his paled skin.

General Dominic Raikes leaned forward and raised a pale brow. “But can you wield it?”

Drystan squeezed his fingers around the scepter, which now felt cool against his palms. “I… I think I felt the power for a brief moment.”

“Close your eyes. Feel the smooth weight of it in your hands.
Will
its magic to come to your call.”

Drystan complied with Dominic’s instruction, a part of him idly thinking about such an astonishing turn of events. At one time, he would have given anything to
not
hear the voice of a scepter. But now…

Drystan gripped the wand even tighter. His heart rose. He had dreamed of having enough power to make a difference in the fight for England’s freedom. If he could actually wield the scepter, and not just hold it in his hands, his dream could actually become true.

But of course, now that he wanted a scepter to speak to him, it refused to do so.

Dominic shook his head in resignation. “You hear nothing… feel nothing.”

Drystan nodded.

“Ah, well. Bravo for taking the risk, Lord Hawkes.”

“But does it follow,” mused Lady Cecily, “that one must be able to wield the power? Would it still be possible to open the doorway by just joining the seven together? As long as we can find someone to hold them, we might still be able to open this portal.”

The room grew quiet once more.

Lord North turned his sharp gaze on Wilhelmina. “Would you be willing to hold the silver scepter?”

She winced, and then gave a negligent shrug. “Of course.”

The leader of the Rebellion rubbed his hands together. “Then all we will need is for someone to hold the brown. Events force me to ask Malcolm to try. As Drystan has so dramatically pointed out, it is not my right to make the decision for him. Even if he cannot wield it, he can hopefully carry it to… where?”

“The Seven Corners of Hell,” said Lady Cecily. “For that is where the opening to Elfhame is located. If we lack the full combined power, at least we will have a better chance of success if we stand near the doorway.”

“That makes sense. What do you all say?”

Giles stood, the sword at his side shivering in his scabbard. Drystan gazed at it warily. All his life, it had been an ordinary sword. But Giles had told him often enough of its magical properties, and he did not doubt it still thirsted for blood.

Giles laid a hand on Cecily’s shoulder. “We have been to the Seven Corners of Hell, and it is a mad place, with a chaotic clash of power we barely survived. And even getting there will not be easy. We have to get through Breden of Dewhame’s and Annanor of Terrahame’s armies, and I do not doubt the other three elven might also stand in our way by the time we manage to make it to Oxford. Or am I the only one who will point out our ages? With the exception of Drystan and Miss Ashton, we are all past our prime.”

“Which means I am doddering,” snapped Dominic, “since I am older than all of you.”

Giles shrugged.

“But your elven blood makes you all look and act much younger,” soothed Lord North. “And your powers can ease the journey.”

Dominic ignored him and stood and faced Giles, his black scepter clenched in his hand. Red fire curled from the tip of the wand, dancing around the half-breed’s body, twisting about his arms and legs. He glowed with power, with the might of his elven blood.

King George gaped, and Lord North coughed.

Lady Cecily intervened. “This display is not necessary, General Raikes. You know very well my husband is protesting only because he fears for my safety. I have tried to break his habit of protecting me, but it appears it has become ingrained in him. No one here has any doubt you are up to the task.”

Camille squeezed Drystan’s arm and murmured, “So, that is where you get it from.”

Giles glanced down at the two of them as Drystan shrugged in resignation, and his foster father’s bluster abruptly faded as he thumped back into his chair. “I still say it is a mad venture. We have no guarantee we will even open this doorway… and only a guess about what might happen if we do. The dragons say Elfhame is a peaceful place, and the elven lords breached the barriers between the worlds because they longed for power and glory and chaos. But what if they are lying just to return to their home? What if all elven-kind are as evil as the seven who conquered our world? We shall not be able to stand against them.”

“Then we shall close the door,” replied Dominic, the red fire still curling about his body fading to a glowing white. “Besides, what is our alternative? Sit here and wait for the other three Imperial Lords to join the army already waging war against us? We have no chance of defeating them. I would rather grasp at even a slim hope, than none at all.”

Lord North cleared his throat, his intelligent gaze turned inward, as if he were only partly paying attention to the disagreement. “There are many things that could go wrong. Which means we shall have to plan carefully. Malcolm may not be able to steal the brown scepter, so I will have to send more spies with an affinity for Annanor’s powers of earth to aid him.” He glanced up at Drystan. “I will ask for volunteers among the orphans.”

“And Dorian of Verdanthame must agree to the plan,” said Dominic, sitting next to his lady again. “But I have no doubt they will think the venture worth the risk. And I daresay they will have a much easier time of it reaching Seven Hells, for they both are nearer to Lord Hawkes and Miss Ashton’s age.” He shot Giles a disgruntled look.

Giles rolled his eyes.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Dominic’s face before his usual mask of impassivity replaced it. “But we shall leave Verdanthame vulnerable, without Dorian’s scepter to defend it. And Firehame, as well. We must travel quickly, for if we fail to open the doorway, we must return to defend our people.”

Drystan swallowed. He could guess the direction of Dominic’s thoughts, and the means he intended to propose for their journey. Besides the elven lords’ dragon-steeds, England’s skies had remained relatively clear over the years. The elven preferred the humans to do their fighting, not their magical creations. But with the war, and the scepters in the hands of half-breeds, it seemed the skies would now be teeming with flying beasts. Drystan glanced at the quiet golden scepter in his hand. “I do not know how I managed to keep my illusory dragon long enough to get here, and I do not know if I can create such a being again.”

“Do not worry, Lord Hawkes. We shall not rely upon an unpredictable spell… or luck, which is surely what aided you across the battle lines. You may have concealed your entrance to Firehame from most, but the elven lords cannot be fooled by a spell unless it has been cast with the power of three scepters. Fortunately, we have three to wield.”

“I can create our dragon-steeds,” offered Lady Cecily. “With my affinity for the sky, they should fly true… and perhaps be easier to land.” She gave Drystan a gentle smile.

Joscelyn gripped the lavender scepter a bit tighter. “And I can enspell them with a gem which will cast an illusion to hide us from the Imperial Lords.”

“And I can forge them in fire to combine our magics,” said Dominic, “and give our beasts the gift of fire’s breath. We have our mounts… now to our route.” He gave Wilhelmina and Samson Cavendish significant glances. Since they were former champions, Drystan assumed they both had kept the same positions as generals in Firehame’s army. Samson’s next words proved his assumption. His gravelly voice rang with authority.

“We shall have to get through Breden of Dewhame’s army to get to Oxford, but since we’re flying, we need only worry about his water-dragons, and although they cannot compare to our mounts, it would be best to avoid conflict.”

“I daresay I would not want to try and fight on dragonback,” agreed Lord North.

“You are staying here,” growled General Cavendish.

“Now see here—”

“He is right,” interrupted Dominic. “You and the king must stay. You must coordinate your spies, and the people will need the king for support. And it will help conceal the fact of our departure. If Breden of Dewhame and Annanor of Terrahame become aware of our absence, they will not wait for the other elven lords to join the war. They will attack with full force.”

Drystan blinked. He had been wrong about who presided over this meeting, for both the king and Lord North offered no further argument.

General Dominic Raikes turned his midnight gaze back to the other generals. “We stay sharp, avoid any flocks sent to patrol the skies. It should take less than a day to reach Oxford, if we fly high and fast. I believe I can keep some of my magic focused here at Firehame, and I believe Dorian can keep his own greenery animated to hide his absence from Verdanthame. We will leave on the morrow. Will you bless our mission, Your Majesty?”

The king gave a regal nod. “I pray you will be able to open this doorway, but if not, may you all return safely home.” His lip quirked. “If this fails, we will need all of you to devise another wild scheme for England’s freedom.”

Drystan smiled, just as they all did, save Dominic, who appeared to rarely smile at all.

But Drystan’s smile abruptly faded as he realized perspiration had started to bead his brow, and he glanced down at the golden scepter in his hand. It still seemed lifeless, but he could sense the enormous power it could command. It reminded him of his past life. Of his fits. And of his current failure to possess enough power to wield it. With a grimace, he wrapped it back up and stowed it into his pocket once again.