Dragon Sleeping (The Dragon Circle Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

“Enough talk,” Thomas ordered from the front of the line. “Gettin’ close.”

Todd didn’t like this silence any more than the earlier one.

E
ven the greatest wizard in all the seven islands would have to sleep.

Nunn laughed, half from the feeling of power within, half from the giddiness of exhaustion. Furlong’s energy had revitalized him, given him the kind of warmth he could only get from those fully alive. But he had so many uses for that living energy, and that small portion of him that held onto its humanity needed regeneration as well.

There were so many things to control. –Too many, perhaps. Even when the two dragon eyes—his two eyes, more a part of him now than those feeble orbs in his skull—even when the eyes would let him split his consciousness in two, it was not enough. So many pieces, and all had to be manipulated before the dragon arose to reclaim his seven jewels.

And that pitiful woman—that meddling woman—Smith. Oh, she had a certain raw power, which was undeniable. She might become a formidable foe if given time to learn the arts. But it was time that Nunn was not ready to give. Soon, after he had rested, he would gather his awareness into a single sphere and cause the old crone to wither in front of all the others. Nunn chuckled. Oh, yes, that would be most pleasant. Her death screams would be so satisfying. He would attend to it first thing, after he had rested.

A second giggle came from within him, from a throat that wasn’t his.

Nunn felt the familiar shiver as the separation began. If Furlong’s life had filled his veins with warmth, Zachs’ passage through his form filled the wizard with ice and electricity. Nunn took a ragged breath, steadying himself against a chair, letting his whole self be taken, if only for a second, with the pleasure and the pain. Zachs had stayed within him, sharing in Leo Furlong’s gift, but the wizard had things for his creature to do. A single scarlet flash, and Zachs would flow out from his brain to regain his almost solid flesh. The wizard always considered this moment a sort of rebirth. His light-child was leaving him, ready to do Nunn’s bidding.

“They hurt me,” the light-creature whined. “Zachs will kill them all!”

“No, you will not,” Nunn replied with more patience than he felt. It would not do to let his exhaustion lead to anger. “You will find those among the newcomers who have escaped. And you will bring them to me, one at a time.”

“You want the girl!” Zachs cried in sudden excitement. “You need Zachs to get the girl!”

Nunn took a deep breath. Everything his creature said made him want to fly into a rage. It was his exhaustion, surely, or maybe that the light-child told the truth. It was more difficult to reclaim Mary Lou than he had imagined. Even with two dragon eyes, he could only get the faintest hint of her whereabouts. Then, when he had sent some of his creatures to capture her, it had not gone well. He lost too many of his troops, too quickly.

Not that it really mattered. Nunn controlled so many, he could attack the Anno a hundred times, killing every one of them, and smashing whatever childish device they had contrived to cloud his vision. Except for the dragon. Nunn had to be ready for the dark one, whenever it chose to appear.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I want you to bring me the girl.”

“Yes! Yes! Nunn will let Zachs capture them all! Zachs gets to bleed them! Zachs gets to feed!” The light-creature screamed with pleasure, and disappeared.

Nunn sat heavily on the pallet he used for sleep. Things would be simpler after he had captured all the newcomers and had a chance to study them, and to dispense with those that had no special talents. Their little lives would give Nunn strength for what was to come. These little setbacks would seem very small once he had rested.

Nunn would have everything, after he had slept.

“I
know one thing,” Evan Mills said to the neighbors grouped around him. “I’m not going to take this anymore. I don’t think any of us should.”

“Just like that?” Carl Jackson laughed derisively as he paced around the others.

“Mr. Vice-principal. You’ve been running your students’ lives too long. Just what do you expect us to do?” Margaret Furlong looked up from her misery.

“What would Nunn do to us if we tried—” She couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence.

“Nunn isn’t here now, is he?” Mills retorted, more toward Jackson than Mrs. Furlong. Every time Jackson spoke, Mills wanted to have less to do with him than the time before.

“I’m not sure it’s as simple as that,” Constance Smith interrupted from where she still sat upon the bench. Everyone, Jackson included, stopped to listen to her. In a way, she had become their real leader.

“It’s difficult to remember exactly what happened,” she continued. “One minute, Nunn was leading us to his hut. Perhaps we even stepped inside. And then?”

No one tried to explain the rush of events that had followed.

“I can’t argue that Nunn can do remarkable things,” Mills answered after a moment of silence. “But he only seems to be able to do them for a very short period of time. Have you noticed that he limits his time among us, abruptly appearing and disappearing?”

Jackson rolled his eyes at that remark. “What are you talking about? So he can show up here whenever he wants to! And look what happened to Leo!” He smacked his fist against his open palm. “That guy Nunn can do anything!”

“That’s certainly what he wants us to believe,” Mills replied quickly. “But I think his entrances and exits are designed to startle us. He’s obviously a man with great power in this place, but I don’t know where his power ends and his sense of drama begins.” Mills looked at the unconvinced faces gathered around him.

“Look.

Mrs. Smith has been able to stand up to him, and she has barely begun to understand her own potential.”

“We
are
out in the woods again,” Joan agreed with the slightest of frowns. “Constance seems to have completely stopped whatever Nunn was doing to us.”

Good old no-nonsense Joan. Of course she’d see what Mills was talking about. Now, if he could only convince the others, maybe they could do something constructive.

“And this time,” Mills pointed out, “we’re all alone.”

Rose Dafoe turned to look outside their little group. “The soldiers are gone, aren’t they?”

“Actually,” Harold Dafoe admitted, “I’d feel better if the soldiers were here. They seemed to know when Nunn was going to do something. Why aren’t they guarding us, anyway?”

“Perhaps it’s because we actually beat Nunn,” Mills insisted, “if only for a minute. I wonder if anybody’s ever done that before. It might have been the one outcome he didn’t expect.”

“And how long will that last?” Jackson shot back. He started to pace again. “I imagine someone like Nunn doesn’t make many mistakes.”

“He seems able to show up whenever, and wherever, he wants to,” added Harold Dafoe as his eyes followed the restless Jackson.

“I think Evan has a point,” Constance Smith said softly. “Nunn is powerful—far too powerful for me. But he does seem to have his lapses. I think we’d be foolish if we didn’t take advantage of them.”

“Advantage?” Rose Dafoe asked. She patted nervously at her well-combed hair.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mills answered. “I say we leave here together. See if we can find the kids, and maybe even that fellow with a mustache who visited us last night.”

“But look what Nunn did to Leo,” Margaret Furlong insisted. “Won’t Nunn get angry if we try to leave? What will he do then?”

“Poor Leo,” Mills agreed. “I imagine Nunn will do that sort of thing to all of us if we stay here. And to our children as well, if he can catch them again.”

Rose nodded her head at that; little, no-nonsense lines formed at the comers of her mouth. “I want my children back.”

“We all do,” Joan agreed. “Nunn hasn’t been able to find them, either. Maybe, if we get out of his camp, he won’t be able to find us.”

Constance Smith considered this. “There may be some way to find the children, but only if we leave this place. There’s something about this place where we stand that—isn’t right.”

“Nunn will kill us,” Harold Dafoe whispered.

“There’s no way to tell what will happen next in a place like this,” Mrs. Smith continued. “The best we can do is guess. And not give up.”

“Nunn rules through fear,” Mills added. “If we let that fear overcome us, he’s won.”

“So what do we do,” Jackson demanded, “just walk out of here?”

“I don’t see anybody stopping us,” Joan replied, looking sharply at Jackson. Mills was glad that others were getting annoyed with his attitude.

“I’m afraid somebody will have to help me,” Mrs. Smith said, her tone suddenly apologetic. “I still can’t walk very well.”

Mills looked around, but saw no sign of the litter the soldiers had fashioned to bring Mrs. Smith here.

“We’ll just have to take turns carrying you,” Mills said with a smile. “Harold, why don’t we put our arms together and give Constance a seat of honor?”

“Well,” Harold murmured. He shuffled forward slowly, as if reluctant to do anything at all. “Where do you want my arms?”

Mills showed Dafoe how they could grasp each other’s arms above the elbow to give Mrs. Smith a firm place to ride while distributing the weight between the two of them. It seemed to be the most dignified way to transport her. After a bit of fumbling, they got their arms organized and squatted before Mrs. Smith. Joan helped to guide the old woman the few steps from the bench to her new seat, and Mills and Dafoe rose to a standing position with her between them. They could probably travel some distance with her weight distributed like this. She was remarkably light. Mills guessed she couldn’t weigh much above ninety pounds.

“Let’s go, Harold,” Mills said.

“I guess so,” Dafoe agreed.

“Let’s get out of here for good,” his wife insisted. Harold tried to smile. Her resolve seemed to get him moving a little faster.

Jackson already started to pace ahead of them, while his silent wife held back with the rest of the group. Joan walked over to Margaret Furlong and helped her to stand and join them.

They started to walk toward the surrounding forest.

Harold grunted. “Trees are farther away than I thought.”

“No, they’re not,” Mrs. Smith said from her perch between Dafoe and Mills. “The trees just aren’t getting any closer.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson demanded from the front of the line.

“Carl?” she called to him. “Would you be willing to run on ahead to the edge of the woods? Maybe you can find an easy way in among the vines, or a trail we can take.”

“Sure,” Jackson replied with a bit of surprise. “I guess so.” He trotted on ahead, twenty, fifty, a hundred feet.

The trees seemed farther away than they had before.

“What the hell?” Jackson yelled. He broke into a run, as if he might be able to catch the forest with speed.

“Carl!” Mrs. Smith called out. “Never mind! It’s no use!” Jackson broke off his charge and turned, taking great gasps to try to force air back into his lungs.

In half a dozen steps, he made it back to the group. “What’s going on here?” he said softly.

“It’s another one of Nunn’s illusions,” Mrs. Smith replied. “I didn’t realize it until now. I think we did enter his home, after all, and we’re still there. He only fashioned the illusion of the camp to get us to relax.”

“Have us let down our guard,” Harold Dafoe added, looking quickly around as if he might catch a glimpse of what really surrounded them beneath the illusion. “Why did I listen to you? What’s Nunn going to do to us now?”

“Nothing,” Mills said. “He still isn’t here, is he? He’s left us here while he takes care of other things.”

“Take care?” another voice called to them. “Oh, Nunn will take care of you, all right. Just—” The voice broke off in a fit of coughing.

A figure stepped out of the forest before them. It was the Captain. Mills hadn’t recognized him at first. He looked like one of those emaciated famine victims you saw on the evening news. His shirt was gone, and so was his attitude. But the two scars still sat on his now sallow cheeks.

The Captain more staggered than walked as he approached. Mills half wanted to rush out and help the other man, but he imagined he’d get no closer to the Captain than he did to the trees.

The Captain looked up at the neighbors. His smile no longer held any hint of certainty. “Have to—sit,” he managed. His legs shook, and then collapsed beneath him, throwing him to the ground. He groaned.

“Oh, God,” Dafoe whispered. “This is what’s going to happen to all of us!”

Somehow the Captain pushed himself up to a sitting position. “An interesting coincidence—” he managed. “Finding you here. I imagine—you’re looking for a way out—as well.”

Mills stepped forward. As he suspected, the Captain grew no closer. Still, even if they couldn’t meet, maybe their old adversary could give them some information.

“Captain?” Mills called. “Where are we?”

“Um? Now?” A spasm of pain crossed the Captain’s face before he continued. “In a room. Just another one of Nunn’s rooms. He has so many rooms.”

“So we are in his fortress? Nunn’s castle?” Mills didn’t know what to call it.

“Just another room,” the Captain answered. “Nunn’s saving you.”

“What?” Jackson demanded. “What do you mean—saving?”

“Maybe that isn’t so bad,” Dafoe added hastily.

The Captain tried to laugh but ended up coughing. “You are kept very safe. He has uses for all of you. Just like he used me.” His head fell back as his body was racked by another spasm. “Using me. Made a little mistake. Never should shoot someone—without permission.”

Mills tried to make sense from the Captain’s ramblings. “Nunn is punishing you for shooting Sayre?”

“Never should,” the other man agreed. “Bad Captain.” His lips trembled as he tried to smile. “So I’m bringing him back.”

Constance Smith quickly asked the next question. “Bringing him back? What do you mean?”

The Captain spasmed again, but when he spoke this time, his voice was stronger.

“I know about all of you. You stood by while they did those things to me.”