Dragon Blood-Hurog 2 (18 page)

She stared at me a moment, then said baldly, "The reason I knew how to get into the Asylum is because Alizon is not the heart of the rebellion—Kellen is."

"Kellen?" I said, startled. The king's brother—I remembered a quiet-spoken, clever boy a few years older than I. My heart began to race with a shard of hope. Kellen was legitimate: moreover, he had been

terribly wronged by Jakoven and had a just cause for rebellion. With Kellen, the rebellion Alizon was leading was much more likely to succeed.

"He's been in there a long time, Ward," Tisala said. "Since it was first built. We left him there because it was the safest place for him—Alizon knew we'd have to wait for success, too. But it's been too long. He's not insane, but … " Her voice trailed off.

"Not exactly healthy, either," I finished, inwardly shuddering at the thought of spending years in the Asylum. "How long has it been?" Kellen had disappeared sometime after my father beat me stupid; I couldn't remember exactly when. But I knew it had been a long time.

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"Over ten years," she said.

What I thought must have shown on my face, because she continued, "It's not as bad as what they did to

you: Mostly they leave him alone. We've been looking for a safe way to get him out. Oreg said he'd try it,

with your approval."

There was a plea in her voice, and I realized she was worried that I would refuse. "If Oreg can get him out, we'll do it. We can take him to Hurog if no one has a better plan. I think the dwarves will agree to transporting him to a safer place."

I swung my legs to the floor, but was taken with a fit and couldn't do anything more for a while. When I

steadied enough to pay attention again, Tisala had pressed me back on the bed and was crooning to me.

"I'm fine," I said. "Would you get Oreg and bring him here?" She looked at me, but I couldn't tell what she was thinking. After a moment she left I must have slept, because it seemed like I only blinked my eyes and Oreg was waiting. Tisala wasn't with him.

When he saw he had my attention, he said, "Tisala has told you of the man they want me to get out of the Asylum."

I nodded. "It needs to be done—if you can do it without risk to yourself."

"It's the risk to you I'm thinking of," he replied frankly. "If a man disappears from the Asylum the same day you get out, the king will assume you had something to do with it."

"I'm not exactly his favorite Shavigman anyway. It doesn't matter now. In the end, if we get Kellen out, the chances of my surviving to a ripe old age increase tremendously." I waited a moment, then said reluctantly, "I hate to ask it of you, but I think it's our only chance. Alizon's

rebellion needs a hero—and Kellen, as I remember him, might just be the man to pull it off." He gave me an odd look and said, "I don't expect you to kill me again and use my bones to destroy Jakoven, Ward. Quit feeling guilty about a deed that happened centuries before you were born. You can ask anything of me without guilt. I'm old enough to refuse if I wish." I nodded, then said, "Jakoven's found Farsonsbane."

Oreg's head snapped up and his eyes began to luminesce as they did when he was agitated. "Are you sure?"

1 described it briefly, then said, "I don't know what he intends to do with it—I'm not sure really what it does. But while he had me in the Asylum he used my blood to call it to life. Something happened, but it wasn't what he expected."

Piece by piece Oreg pulled the whole story out of me. He dismissed my belief that some of the effects I thought I felt when in the Bane's presence were from the drugs they fed me.
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"Blue," he exclaimed. "And the magic changed?"

I squirmed but told him, "It recognized me."

"Blue," he muttered, and rubbed his cheek absently. "I've never heard of it doing that."

"Neither had Jakoven. That's why I'm sure he'll come after me—or some Hurog, I don't suppose it matters which one of us." I had a terrible thought. "Father and his father left by-blows all over Hurog. I'm

going to have to warn them."

"How did he anoint the stone with your blood?" asked Oreg. "Did he use a ceremony—"

"No," I said. "He just cut my arm, dribbled blood on a cloth, and rubbed it on the stone." Oreg frowned and sat down beside me. "What kind of cloth? Linen, cotton, silk?"

"I don't know," I said, but I closed my eyes and tried to remember the feeling of the cloth on my cheek.

"Not silk. Linen, maybe."

"Was there anything else on the cloth? Was it clean?"

"Clean," I agreed, then said, "Or it was to start with. He wiped my face with it—and I was pretty filthy."

"Sweat," murmured Oreg, then he stiffened. "Not sweat,
tears.
Tears, Ward. Did he have your tears on the cloth?"

Oreg wouldn't think the less of me—he'd known too much pain in his long life—so I admitted what any son of my father wouldn't have acknowledged to anyone else. "Yes."

"Ha," said Oreg triumphantly, rising to his feet and fisting a hand melodramatically to the ceiling.

"Take

that, you bastard. Ha!" He turned to me with a grin. "Bet that Jakoven forgot he'd wiped your face—or modern mages have forgotten the power of a tear."

"So what did it do?" I asked.

Oreg, still grinning, shook his head. "I have not a clue. But it will change the nature of the Bane—you said it recognized you."

I nodded. "Almost the way Hurog recognizes me when I come home." He was quiet for a while and then said soberly, "Farson was the grandson of my half brother, did you know?"

It's one thing to know that Oreg is ancient. It's another to understand what that means. But with a little effort I managed to keep my jaw from dropping.

"He was stupid, unthinking, and angry at being part-blood dragon with nothing but a bit of magic to show for it," said Oreg. "He was the first born of Hurog who could not take on dragon form, and was obsessed with dragons because of it. Farson killed three dragons to make his toy, and bound their spirits to the blood gem for all eternity—I've always thought it was a variant of the spell that bound me to Hurog, but Farson wasn't as good a wizard as my father was. If I held that stone, I'd be worried about
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how tightly the spirits of the dragons were still bound into obedience." Oreg grinned nastily. "Maybe we

won't have to worry about Jakoven long."

"Can you get Kellen out of the Asylum?" I asked.

Oreg nodded. "If he's not in the same section you were in, I'll be able to do it somehow. I told his man to meet us on the road near Menogue after he'd heard Kellen was out." He paused. "You know, he's going to have the same problems proving himself that you have had." I laughed. "No. No one has ever accused Kellen of being stupid—just insane. It's not at all the same thing. A stupid ruler is much more of a problem than an insane one."

"We'll have to wait until you're fit to travel before we get him out," Oreg said. "That will give Beckram a

chance to get Ciarra out of Iftahar."

"He'll have to get out more than Ciarra, Oreg," I said. "You'll have to tell Duraugh and Beckram about Kellen. Hurog is under snow by now, and it'll be a difficult place to besiege until spring. Iftahar, though,

will fall to Jakoven as soon as he thinks to take it—which won't be long after he finds out Kellen has flown."

I thought a minute. "Tell them there's grain to feed a thousand people for six months at Hurog. If Duraugh thinks we need more, Beckram will have to bring it with him."

"I'll tell them," Oreg promised. "Since we're stuck here until you can travel, they'll probably beat us to Hurog. We'll have to send a messenger to Hurog and warn Stala to expect company."

"Right," I agreed. The thought of staying longer in Estian made my knees turn to water. I tried to hide my

fear and come up with an alternative, but I had no greater trust in my abilities than Oreg did.

"The king will wonder if we send Beckram off by himself tomorrow," I said. "If we all leave Estian tomorrow, he won't know we've sent Beckram ahead. We can camp on Menogue instead. No one goes there, so unless Jakoven sends out someone to track us, Menogue should be safe." Oreg's nostrils flared white even in the dim light of the room. His memories of Menogue were not fond.

"What of Aethervon?"

"It was the Tamerlain who allowed me to face Jakoven without the effects of his mages' herbs. I think Aethervon will allow us refuge. The Tamerlain told me that there are a few people there now. It sounds as if Aethervon has been recruiting for some reason."

"Don't trust in the gods," said Oreg.

"No," I agreed. "I don't expect him to help fight off Jakoven, but that shouldn't be necessary. Jakoven will be planning a proper vengeance—pursuing us won't be a priority until we break Kellen out." I yawned and Oreg shooed me back under the covers and I sent him to his own bed. I hadn't slept much since my imprisonment in the Asylum, and I was too tired to stay awake any longer. The dream started innocuously. I waited in a large chamber more grandiose even than the one the dwarves had devised at Hurog. My feet rested upon a deep-piled rug that covered a malachite inlaid marble floor.

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The door in front of me opened and a pale-faced Tallvenish nobleman whom I recognized vaguely
from court entered and fell to one knee before me.

"Ah," I said. "So kind of you to answer my summons promptly. You told me once of a
Hurog-born whore that you frequented."

"Yes, sire," he agreed. "She died a while back."
There was no servility in his voice, and I decided it might be necessary to teach him better—but for now

I had a use for him. "She had a child by the old Hurogmeten."

"So she claimed, sire. The Hurogmeten certainly visited her a time or three, sire. I saw him there
myself."

"A Hurog boy bred back to Hurog should concentrate the blood," I murmured to myself before
turning my attention back to my informant. "How old would the child be now?"
The man looked blank for a moment. "I don't know, sire. He was ten, maybe, when I saw him last." A boy, I thought, excellent I liked boys.

The thoughts that accompanied my words woke me and sent me dry-heaving into the chamber pot next to the bed. I sat on the cool floor and sweat ran down my back.

Jakoven. I'd been in Jakoven's mind. Though the scent was dissipating, I could still smell the magic that had overlaid my room when I awoke. Whose magic, I could not tell, but I decided it meant that I had dreamed true. Those thoughts could not have come out of my head, not from me.

"They did not," said the Tamerlain from the corner of my room. "You dream true dreams sent by Aethervon. They are meant to aid you."

Gods, I thought, Jakoven is after a child.

"I owe you thanks for your help," I said, wiping my mouth with a cloth lying on a small table next to a basin of water. "And for the dreams, if I can get to the boy before Jakoven does." She purred and rolled over like a playful kitten. "No thanks are necessary. It is we who are the debtors." She left before I could say anything in reply, and I stared at the place where she had been. I wanted nothing more than to slink back to Hurog and hide in the snow-shielded hills until the gods called me to my rest—but I would not leave a boy to Jakoven's clutches, nor would Jakoven leave me in peace. It was a long time before I crawled back under the covers and tried to get more sleep. I was troubled again with dreams, but these were more normal nightmares born of the Asylum. I dreamed of terrifying monsters that attacked me over and over while I tried to hide in straw that fell away

from my fingers. But a soft voice that reminded me of green apples and clean rain drove the beasts away

and guarded me while I hid in safety.

I dreamed of a gem that hovered in the air above me and dripped red blood on my chest. I tried to roll
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away, but I was restrained on the leather-covered table. The blood became a flood drowning me, and I awoke with a gasp.

"It's safe, Ward," said Tisala's voice from the darkness of the room where I slept. She shifted uncomfortably and I made out the outline of a wooden chair set against the wall opposite my bed. "Go to

sleep."

Somehow, knowing that she was there allowed me to do just that.

9—WARDWICK

Survival is not a pretty business.

I awoke in a black mood. Yesterday it had all seemed so unreal, but this morning I remembered bleakly all of the humiliations of my captivity. I didn't remember everything clearly, mostly bits and pieces, but that was enough. I remembered losing control of my body in every possible way, remembered pleading with Jade Eyes both to stop and not to stop. I felt filthy and used.

Tisala slept backward on the chair, her arms folded over the back with her chin resting upon her forearms. I didn't want her to see me, somehow certain that what I'd done under Jade Eyes's hands would be written upon my flesh.

Quietly I pulled on the covers until they cloaked my miserable self. If I'd had a knife at hand, I'd have slit

my own throat.

The door opened and Oreg, whose light footsteps were unmistakable, came in.

"All right, Tisala," he said. "Time for a changing of the guard. There's a bed with your name on it on the

other side of the wall.

"Ouch," she said, and I heard the legs of the chair shift on the wooden floor. "Though mind you, anyone

who falls asleep on guard-duty deserves to be stiff."

"Go sleep," Oreg said, and I heard from his tone that he was fond of her. "I told you I slept just across the hall, you didn't need to stay here."

"Yes, I did," she said, yawning. "He watched over me under similar circumstances." He waited where he was until she'd shuffled out and the door shut behind her.