When Dragons Rage

  “Your analogy will suffice, however weak. Overdyeing, then, would be a more integral form of patching. You would weave more magick through the item to draw a searcher away from the stain, making it appear to be part of some other pattern.”

  Kerrigan nodded. “I guess so, yes.”

  “And cleaning?”

  The young mage shifted uneasily on the bed. “That I am not sure of. It would require getting into the fabric of the spell, separating out the tainted aspects, and substituting something else—which may or may not have its own taints. Just taking the time to get in to identify the taints and their parts and what they do in the spell would take a long time. Crafting replacements would take a long while as well, and then actually doing the cleansing, well . . . That would be very difficult.”

  “But could it be done?”

  Kerrigan’s shoulders rose and fell abruptly. “The trick is keeping other taints out. In a ritual setting, in an arcanorium where all was calm, where all ingredients were pure, where all outside influences were eliminated, it might be possible to minimize those things.”

  “And might it be possible to fashion yet another spell, a thaumaturgical simulacrum, that would actually insert trace influences such that your weaving could have the racial taint of an elf, or the training taint of someone from Caledo?”

  The young mage’s eyes opened in surprise and his head went back, banging off the headboard again. “Ouch!” He rubbed at the rising lump on his head and let the pain disguise his surprise. If someone could do that, they could hide the intent of a spell, taking a mage off-guard completely. They could lay blame for something on someone else. They could do almost anything.

  “I guess that would be possible.”

  “It might be necessary. The question for you is this: are your spells identifiable as being cast by a human, or do your elven spells seem elven?”

  “I don’t know.” Kerrigan frowned. “Why is that important?”

  Bok grunted as if that were one of the most stupid questions he’d ever heard.

  “In your analysis, you’ve forgotten one very important thing. It is this: how are you going to detect all these aspects of spells?”

  “With a spell.”

  “Very good. Now, with the patch idea, you have a spell hiding aspects of another spell. What if the patch is reactive? What if the patch is a spell designed to send a different message back to the caster depending upon aspects of the spell being used to monitor it?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Take Will, for example. You can see the scars on his throat, yet the spell you cast on him does not reveal him as changed at all. Clearly, from the scars, from the magick that accompanied his oath and the spilling of his blood, he is different.” Ramoch opened his gloved hands. “You used an elven diagnostic spell on him?”

  “It’s the best one I know.”

  “It’s the only one likely to be cast on him in your company, isn’t it?”

  Kerrigan nodded slowly. “Human diagnostic spells work fine for assessing trouble, but the elven is better. UrZrethi would be another possibility, but unlikely.”

  “So, a spell masking what was done to him that reported back null results in response to human, elven, or urZrethi spells would effectively hide what was done to him. And any other dimensions of that spell that might reveal the identity and intent of the caster.”

  “Yes, exactly.” Kerrigan slowly began to smile. “And any masking spell that was used to hide a fragment of the DragonCrown might similarly be tailored to deflect spells depending on the race of the person using it, the school of magick, or the very spell itself.”

  Rym Ramoch clapped his hands. “Splendid; you have it.”

  “Do I?” Kerrigan frowned again. “I’m actually pretty confused. I have the key to learning what happened to Will? I have the key to finding the DragonCrown? I have the key to hiding the taint on me?”

  “Some of all.” The crimson-robed mage pressed his fingertips together. “Among those dimensions you mentioned, there is some overlap. The taint of the Dragon Crown is mostly tied to the source of your magickal energy. It is an item of power and has poisoned the source of your power. When you draw on your personal strength, it bleeds into the spells. When you are summoning other energy, there is much less of the taint. It is good you are here in Caledo because the magickers here rely on a ritual purification before working important spells. You will learn this from them, and flood pure energy into yourself. That should burn out most all of the DragonCrown taint.”

  “And the armor?”

  “That should be the least of your worries. There are few who would recognize the spell, and the sense of intent you give it is entirely different from the previous user.”

  The younger mage stared intently at his new mentor. “If I heard you correctly, I could assume you were around when Kirûn was alive.”

  “You could, and you could be wrong. Recall my mention of simulacra previously. A simulation might not be exact, but sufficient for my purposes.”

  That defense, Kerrigan noticed, was not a denial.

  “Your first job here will be to cleanse yourself, Adept Reese. Listen to what they tell you to do and follow their instructions completely. This is one spell you will not need to modify. Not yet, at least.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “But someday?”

  “If all goes as planned, yes, but this is far afield from where we need to be now.”

  “And after that?”

  “I would have thought it would be obvious.” Ramoch cocked his head slightly to the right. “Mask spells identify searching spells through particular dimensions. Once they know what the spell is, they know what results to let it report. You need to fashion your own spell that will confound the masks and allow you past them.”

  “I can see that. With your help, I’m sure I can do it.”

  “You’ll have to do without my help.” Ramoch held a hand up. “No one can know I’m here, Kerrigan. Though Caledo’s people are stalwart, there are those who are agents for the enemy. If Neskartu learns I am here, there will be yet more trouble than any of us want. I will come to you as I can, but my presence must remain a secret.”

  “But . . . If I need you?”

  Ramoch stood and bowed in his direction. “You may think you need me, Kerrigan Reese, but you are wrong. All you need is already inside. I am but a catalyst—for now, anyway. Nothing you will face here will require more than your native caution and intelligence. If that were to change, you would have my help.”

  Kerrigan snorted. “So if I don’t see you, I can handle anything I face?”

  “Yes, that, or I’ve been slain by the enemy.”

  “That’s not much comfort.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be.” Ramoch laughed. “There is little comfort to be had in these dire times. Accept that as a fact, then work to change it.”

  CHAPTER 47

  W ill shivered in the grand chamber the Murosans had given him. The one thing he’d liked about Bokagul was that the rooms had been small enough that he had been able to keep warm. While the coverlet on the big bed was quite thick, he wished the bed was closer to the fireplace, and that the fireplace was bigger and that a fire was already roaring away. The chairs nearest the fireplace did look comfortable, and he eyed the bed’s coverlet and considered just wrapping himself in it and fashioning a bed of sorts from the chairs.

  The servant who had led him to the room had wandered off, promising to bring back wine and some bread, so Will didn’t even look up from his fingertip exploration of the coverlet’s thickness when a faint knocking came at the door. “Come in.”

  “Forgive my intruding, Lord Norrington.”

  Will’s head came up and he turned, having recognized the voice. As he saw her, however, he hesitated. He knew it was Sayce because of the silver-and-amethyst mask, but without that he’d not have identified her. Instead of her red riding leathers, she had donned a simple gown of deep blue and loosely belted it with a knott
ed white rope. Her shoulders had slumped slightly and her eyes were downcast. She bore a silver tray with a pitcher of wine and a single earthenware cup, along with a small round of bread and some cheese.

  Will crossed quickly to her and took the tray. He set it on the table between the chairs at the fireplace and turned to welcome her, but she’d already sunk into one of the chairs. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

  She shook her head and her red hair veiled her face for a moment. Tears ran from beneath the silver mask and dappled the breast of her gown. Sayce pressed her left hand to her mouth, then swiped roughly at the tears.

  “Please, Will, forgive me. I didn’t want to do this in front of you.”

  “What is there to forgive?” Will sank to a knee before her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “Physically, no, but in my heart.” She sniffed, then raised her gaze enough to look into his eyes. “My father, he was terribly angry with me for having gone off. He has accounted the deaths of each of the Lancers to me, personally. It didn’t matter that they volunteered to go. I will have to apologize to all of their families—I planned to anyway, you know I would have—and I have been stripped of my rank. He almost disowned me.”

  The sorrow in her voice sank fangs into his heart. Will started to twist the ring she’d given him off his finger, but she closed her hands on his. “No, Will, no, you keep that. That estate was mine to give, and I am happy it is yours. I do not regret what I did, not a bit of it. I did what I did to save Muroso. You’re here, and that is all that matters.”

  “Princess, I can’t keep it.” Will swallowed hard, scarcely believing his own words. Had he stolen the ring, he would have considered it his by right, and would have claimed to the grave that it had been passed down to him through generations and that any hint of theft was a gross insult. “Please, I am not suited to being a lordling.”

  Sayce smiled. “You are far more noble than those born to it. I have seen this. You have changed my way of thinking, you know.” She shifted again, and her smile broadened. “And here, when I am despairing, you make me laugh. You make me feel . . . you make me feel happy.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t . . .” Will fell silent for a moment, finding himself tongue-tied. It was more than that, though. An odd flutter ran through his belly. Heat rose, and he could feel his cheeks burn. His mouth went dry. He stood slowly, drawing his hands from hers, both reluctantly and knowing, somehow, that he had to.

  He turned back to the pitcher and cup. “Would you like some wine, Princess? There’s only one cup.”

  Her voice softened. “If you would share your cup with me, I would be honored.”

  Will nodded mutely and poured. He didn’t like the fact that his hand was shaking as he poured, and fought to hold back the tremor. He set the pitcher back down, turned, and, extending his left hand, offered her the cup.

  She made no move to take it. Instead, her hands rose to the back of her head, where she slipped the knot holding the silver mask on. Sayce drew it off timidly, then looked up at him. “Will, do you think I am pretty?”

  He could say nothing. The bruise on the left side of her face had faded to yellow, but in no way marred her beauty. Her straight nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw combined with blue eyes, fair skin, and red hair to make her a vision of loveliness. When she had worn the courtesy mask while recovering he had seen much of her face, but its lace had hidden the playful spray of freckles over her cheeks and nose.

  She immediately glanced down. “You don’t have to say anything. Your silence says it all.”

  “No, wait, Princess . . . no.” Will started forward and some of the wine sloshed. It didn’t hit her dress, but drenched his hand and sleeve.

  And then she was there, placing her right hand over his left, gently and firmly covering it, steadying the cup. Her left hand met his outstretched right. Her fingers wove into his and brought that hand to her lips. She kissed the back of his hand softly, and again.

  “Princess . . .”

  Her voice came breathlessly. “Will, you saved my life. You will save my nation. You have changed the way I think about life and the way of the world. I went to Meredo looking for someone to save the world I knew, and found someone who has given to me a whole new world.”

  She eased the cup from his left hand, then drank. She smiled, then kissed him. He tasted wine. Her hair brushed his face and her body pressed against his. The wine, her scent, the soft clinging of her dress to his legs, even the pressure of the belt’s knot, joined the sensation of her lips on his to all but overwhelm his senses.

  Will circled her waist with his left hand and drew her more tightly against him. More than just his body responded to her. For the first time in forever he didn’t feel cold—he felt about ready to combust. And as her thighs shifted against him, she could not fail to notice his response.

  In his mind, while this was sudden, it seemed so appropriate. He was a hero. She was a beautiful princess. He had saved her life. He would save her nation. Why would she not love him, not want him, not want to show her gratitude to him? That was the way of things. Such unions had been recorded in hundreds if not thousands of ballads and certainly would fit in the cycle of songs about Will, the King of the Dimandowns.

  Yet even as part of him was seeing her affection as his due, another tiny part rebelled. He had already seen that life was not a cycle of songs. While he had saved her life, while he did like her, why would she like him? Because he was kind to his men? Because he shed his blood in her defense? Those things could be said of countless people, and the majority of them would have been citizens of Muroso. In some ways it made no sense, but the emotions and desires roaring through him gave him no time to think.

  She deepened her kiss and they moved together away from the fireplace, toward the bed. How the cup ended up on the bedside table Will was uncertain, but her unburdened right hand sank fingers into his hair, her fingers redolent of spilled wine. They tightened in his hair, tugging a bit, getting him to lift his chin so she could kiss his throat and beneath his left ear.

  Then the bed caught Will across his hamstrings and he sprawled back. He started to sit up, but Sayce pressed him down with a hand to his belly. As he relaxed, she withdrew her hand and her dress came off over her head, leaving her naked save for the loop of white rope slanting down across her waist.

  He had thought her beautiful before but, standing there naked, she simply took his breath away. Delicate breasts peaking at rosebud nipples were dusted with freckles. From strong shoulders through the narrows of her waist and the flare of her hips, her creamy flesh seemed almost luminous. She brought her left knee up to the edge of the bed, and he marveled at the play of muscles on her thigh.

  “Do I please you, my lord?”

  Will nodded and fire spread through him. “Very much so, Princess.”

  “Good. It is my desire to please you even more.”

  With incredible care and delicacy, she removed his clothes and covered his exposed flesh with soft kisses and tender caresses. She bid him lay back as she crawled onto the bed with him, crawled onto him, and began kissing him anew. She moved up and down over him, her fingers, her hair, her lips, and tongue igniting every fiber of his body.

  And then she pressed him into her and lowered her hips to his. Sayce kissed him heavily and deeply, tasting his mouth, stealing his breath as her body rocked forward and back, her hips rising and falling. Sometimes her body’s urgency betrayed her, speeding things, but as his breath became ragged she slowed again, transforming quickness into fluid motion. She moved with him and against him, their bodies slipping over and past each other as the dew of exertion coated them.

  Finally, after an eternity that ended all too quickly, Will’s passion erupted. Sayce clung to him more tightly and sucked at his neck even harder as her own body shook and shuddered. His groans covered her moans, but he could feel them against his neck, and the vibrations from them echoed the rapid hammering of his heartbe
at.

  They lay there together, hard breathing slowly tapering into easy, restful respiration. At some point Will fell asleep. He did not know for how long, but when he awakened, Sayce slept with him, pressed against his right side, the coverlet pulled up over both of them. When Will sought to stir, she just burrowed more tightly against his side and murmured something. He could not understand the words, but the tone and the warm caress of her breath on his chest coaxed him back to sleep.

  Just before dawn Sayce awakened him with a kiss, then pressed fingers to his mouth. “My dear, dear, Will, I have to leave you. I did not intend to stay here all night, but . . . but I could not bring myself to go.”

  He kissed her fingers. “You can stay.”

  “No, Will, I can’t. If my father were to learn I had stayed with you . . . Oh, no, Will, it’s not that. I can see the hurt in your eyes. No, my father has incredible respect for you. It’s me he thinks so little of. He would tell you that I am unworthy of the affections of one so important.”

  Will blinked. He knew he was still half-asleep, but it made no sense for her father to think she wasn’t worthy of him. More like the reverse. “Princess, your father can’t think that of you.”

  She laughed a little and kissed his right shoulder—the one she’d slept on. “He does—right now anyway. He has in the past, but his ire will fade. Then, Will, then he can know, but not before. If he were to be really angry, he might send me away and I couldn’t bear that.”

  “No, I’d not want that, either.”

  Sayce smiled broadly. “Will, when we see each other, we must be circumspect, but in private . . .”

  “You will come back?” He tried to keep the disbelief from his voice, then blushed. He was fairly certain such a question was never asked, at least in that manner, by any of the heroes of epic songs.

  “Come back? Of course. Oh, Will, were it not for my father, I could not be torn from your side. I think I . . .” She fell silent.