Daughter of Regals (8 page)

Whatever its meaning,
however, the Dragon bearing itself majestically above Scour’s head and snorting
flame spelled an end for me. Any Mage capable of creating Reality was strong
enough to take the realm for himself at whim. And a Creature hidden among Queen
Damia’s adherents—no, in the queen herself, for how could she appear so certain
if one near her were stronger than herself and therefore a threat to
her?—would be similarly potent.

Yet for that moment the
sight alone contented me. Regardless of the outcome, I was blessed that such
beauty had come to life before me and stretched out its wings. But others in
the ballroom were less pleased. With a distant piece of my attention, I heard
Count Thornden’s harsh cursing—and his sudden silence. Scour’s display was as
much a threat to the lord of Nabal as to me. Now I realized that Thornden had
been demanding a response from Brodwick. And Brodwick had begun— A gust tugged
at the hem of my dress. With a cry of grief or anger, I tore my gaze from the
splendid wheel of the Dragon and saw Thornden’s Mage summoning Wind.

More guests fled the
ballroom, some shrieking; an image of true Wind was not a form of
entertainment. But already their cries were scarcely audible through the
mounting rush of air, the loud, flat thud of the Dragon’s wing-beats, the
furnace-sound of flame, the Creature’s roar. People called Ryzel’s name,
demanding or imploring intercession. The chandeliers swung crazily against
their chains; whole ranks of candles were blown out. Thornden barked hoarsely
for more strength from Brodwick.

The Dragon was far from
its full size, and Brodwick’s exertion was likewise less than the blast of
which he was known to be capable, the hurricane-force powerful enough to
flatten villages, to scythe down forests. But within these walls his Wind had
no free outlet. Rebounding from all sides, it made such chaos in the air that
the Dragon’s flight was disrupted: the Creature was unable to challenge its
attacker.

Scour had been buffetted
from his feet; he lay facedown on the floor, his cassock twisted about his
rigid form. Yet he had not lost concentration. His fists pounded out their
rhythm—and the Dragon continued to grow. Soon Brodwick would need a full gale
to hold back the Creature.

An instant later, Count
Thornden staggered forward. As strong as a tree, he kept himself erect under
the force of the Wind. His huge hands gripped the hilt of a longsword—he must
have snatched it from one of his attendants. Struggling step after step, he
moved toward Scour.

If he slew Queen Damia’s
Mage, it would be a terrible crime. Before the coming dawn, he would find himself
in open warfare with Lodan—and perhaps also with Canna, for no ruler could
afford to let such murder pass unavenged. Even a Regal would not be able to
prevent that conflict—except by depriving Thornden of his throne in punishment.
And yet I grasped during the space of one heartbeat that Scour’s death would
save me.

I did not desire safety
at the price of bloodshed. During that one moment, I tried to call Thornden
back by simple strength of will.

Then I saw that his
attention was not fixed on Scour. Whirling his blade, he aimed himself at the
Dragon. He meant to throw the sword, meant to pierce the Creature’s breast
while it wrestled against Brodwick’s Wind, unable to defend itself.

The sight tore a cry
from me: “Ryzel!” But I could not hear myself through the roar of Wind and
Dragon.

Yet the regent loved all
Creatures as I did, and he did not withhold his hand. Prom him came a shout
such as I had never heard before—the command of a Mage in full power.

“ENOUGH!”

Wrenching my gaze toward
him, I saw him upon the stair with his Scepter held high and his strength
shining.

Without transition, the
work of the other Mages disappeared. Between the close and open of a blink,
both Scour’s work and Brodwick’s were snatched out of existence. dismissed.

The instant cessation of
the blast pulled Count Thorn-den from his feet in reaction. Among the remaining
onlookers, people stumbled against each other and fell. Of a sudden, there was
no sound in the ballroom except muffled gasping and the high clink of the
swinging chandeliers. Scour snatched up his head; Brodwick spun toward the
stair.

For the first time,
Ryzel had shown what could be done with a Scepter of true Wood. He had declared
the best-kept of his secrets for all the plotters in the realm to witness: his
branch of the Ash enabled him to undo magery.

Did it also enable him
to unmake things which were Real?

Near me, Queen Damia
continued smiling, but her smile appeared as stiff as a mask. King Thone stood
motionless as if without Cashon’s support or advice he feared to move.
Unsteadily, Thornden regained his feet and began snarling curses.

Mage Ryzel lowered his
Scepter, stamped his heel on the stair beside him.
“Enough,
I say!” He
was fierce with anger. “A Dragon is a Creature, worthy of homage. Real Wind is
among the first forces of the world. Such things should not be mocked by these
petty conflicts. Are you not ashamed?”

“Paugh!” spat Thornden
in retort. “Be ashamed yourself, Mage. Will you now pretend that you do not
desire the rule of the realm for yourself?”

“I will pretend nothing
to you, king of Nabal,” Ryzel replied dangerously. “I am regent now, as I have
been before. You know the truth of me. I will not accept warfare among the
Three Kingdoms—neither here nor upon the realm.”

He did not say that, if
he had desired the rule for himself, he yet lacked means to take it. He had
shown only that he could counter the actions of other Mages. The power to
dismiss images was not the power to force others to his will. Such things did
not need to be said; given time, even Count Thornden would understand them for
himself.

The situation required
me to speak, before Thornden provoked Ryzel further. Stepping away from my
chair, I addressed the guests. I was relieved that my voice did not shake.

“My lords and ladies, we
have all been astonished by what we have seen here. Wine and other refreshments
will be brought to restore you.” I knew that the steward would hear me—and
would see that I was obeyed. “When we have recovered the spirit of the
occasion—and when the chandeliers have been relit”—.I glanced wryly up at the
ranks of wind-snuffed candles and was rewarded with a scattering of nervous
laughter—”the ball will be resumed.

“For the present, I will
leave you a while. I must prepare myself for my coming test.” Also I required
time to think. My need to be alone with my thoughts was acute, so that I might
try to find some grounds for hope.

Bowing to the
assemblage, I moved to the foot of the stair and asked Ryzel, “Will you
accompany me, Mage?”

“Gladly, my lady,” he
replied gruffly. He appeared grateful that I rescued him from a difficult
circumstance. I took his arm, and together we ascended from the ballroom.

Behind us, the shrill
rasp of Scour’s voice rose suddenly. “Beware Mage! You tamper with that which
you neither understand nor control.”

Ryzel did not turn his
head or hesitate on the stair, but his reply could be heard clearly from one
end of the hall to the other. “I will always beware of you, Scour.”

I felt a tremor of
reaction start in the pit of my stomach and spread toward my limbs. So that I
would not falter, I gripped his arm harder. He gave me a glance which might
have been intended as reassurance or inquiry; but we did not speak until we had
left the stair and traversed the passage to my private chambers.

There I stopped him. I
did not mean to admit him again to my rooms—or to my thoughts—until this night
was ended and all questions of trust had been answered. Yet some matters
demanded discussion. Leaning against the door to steady my trembling, I studied
his face and said, “Mage, you were able to dismiss Scour’s Dragon. Therefore it
was not Real.”

He did not meet my gaze;
his face appeared older than my conception of it. Dully, he said, “Only one who
can make the Real can also dismiss it. Perhaps I succeeded only because the
Reality of the Dragon was not yet-complete.”

“You do not credit that.”
I masked my fear with asperity. “If Queen Damia holds command of such Magic,
why has she not simply proclaimed her-power and demanded rule?’

He shrugged. “Perhaps
Scour’s discovery is recent and requires testing. Or perhaps his capacity to
make and unmake a Creature is limited.” Still he did not look to my face. “I am
lost in this.”

And you are afraid, I
thought in response. Your plans are threatened. It may be that you seek to
defend them by deflecting me from the alternative. Stiffly, I said, “No. If
what you suggest is true, then I am altogether doomed. I will not waste belief
on that which must slay me. Rather, I will concern myself with the casting of
images.

“If Scour’s Dragon is
not Real, then there is indeed a true Dragon alive in the realm—a Creature such
as the Regals were, capable of concealing itself in human form. Is that not
true, Mage?”

He nodded without
raising his head.

“Then who
is
this
Dragon? Is it not Queen Damia herself? How otherwise would she dare what she
has done?”

That brought Ryzel’s
eyes to mine. Fear or passion smoldered in his brown gaze. “No,” he said as if
I had offended his intelligence. “That is untrue. Damia is not such a fool, that
she would play games when only direct action will avail her. There is some
chicanery here. If she  is a Creature, why has she not simply taken the realm
for herself? No!” he repeated even more vehemently. “Her daring shows that the
Dragon is neither someone she can control nor someone she need fear. Her
caution demonstrates that she does not know who the Creature is whose image
Scour casts.”

It was a plausible
explanation—so plausible that it nearly lifted my spirits. It implied that I
might still have reason to hope and plan and strive. But I did not like the
bleak hunger and dread in Ryzel’s gaze; they suggested another logic entirely.

Abruptly, before I could
find my way between the conflicting possibilities, he changed his direction. “My
lady,” he asked quietly—almost yearning, as if he wished to plead with me—”will
you not tell me now how Thone and Cashon came to be parted from each other?”

He surprised me—and
confirmed me in the path that I had chosen. If I had known of his power to
dispel magery earlier, I would not have needed to outface King Thone.

But Ryzel had kept his
secret even from me. Carefully, I met his question with another.

“Before he died, the
Phoenix-Regal spoke to me of you. He said, ‘He is the one true man in the Three
Kingdoms. Never trust him.’ Mage, why did my father warn me against you?”

For an instant, his
expression turned thunderous, and his jaws chewed iron as if he meant to drive
a curse into my heart. But then, with a visible effort, he swallowed everything
except his bitterness. “My lady, you must do as you deem best.” His knuckles on
his Scepter were white. “I have merely served the realm with my life— and you
as well as I have been able. I do not pretend to interpret the whims of Regals.”

Turning on his heel, he
strode away from me.

He had always been my
friend, and I would have called him back, but that I was unable to refute my
own explanation for the apparently unnecessary indirection of Queen Damia’s
plotting. Her various ploys might be the caution of a woman who did not know
the true source of Scour’s Dragon. Or they might be the maneuvers of a woman who 
was still bargaining with Mage Ryzel for the rule of the Three Kingdoms.

In my heart, I did not
accuse him of malice—or even of betrayal. His fidelity to the realm was beyond
question. Yet he believed that my Ascension must fail. How then was he to
prevent the Kingdoms from war? How, indeed, except by allying himself with one
of the monarchs and settling the power there before the others could defend
themselves?

Perhaps he was in all
truth as true a man as my father had named him. But it was certain to me now
that I could not trust him for myself.

So I went alone into my
chambers; I closed and bolted the doors. Then I hugged my arms over my breasts
and strove not to weep like a woman who feared for her life.

For a time, I was such a
woman. Without Ryzel’s support I was effectively powerless. And he had indeed
been my friend. Every man or woman must place trust somewhere, and for years I
had placed mine in him. In league with Damia against me? I would have felt
great anger if I had been less afraid.

But then I thought of
the Dragon Scour had evoked in the air of the ballroom, and I grew calmer. All
Creatures were perilous, and among them a Dragon was surely one of the most
fearsome. But the Real danger of that lovely strength made the more human risk
of my plight seem small in contrast—wan and bearable. My life was a little
thing to lose in a world where Dragons and Gorgons and Wyverns lived. And
also—the thought came to me slowly—the restoration of any Dragon to the realm
was a boon to the line of the Regals. If the Basilisk-Regal had in fact slain a
Dragon, then that crime was now made less. My sires had less need for grief.

And while the identity
or allegiance of the Creature remained hidden, I was not compelled to despair.

When I was steadier, I
was able to think more clearly about what I suspected of Mage Ryzel.

I saw now that although
my life was small my presumption had been large. For no other reason than that
I was my father’s daughter—and that he had named me Chrysalis in prophecy—I had
been prepared to risk the realm itself on the test of my Ascension—the same
realm for which the Basilisk-Regal had shed the blood of the last Dragon. But
that willingness was indefensible; it was a girl’s pride, not a woman’s
judgment. Ryzel was wiser: behind my back, he sought, not to deprive me of
hope, but to keep the Three Kingdoms from war if I failed.