Dragon Blood

7—TISALA

The section of the asylum where mages were kept was not very large, and Tisala found Ward in the second cell she cleaned. He was huddled in the corner of the room, half covered with straw.

She said his name tentatively because even with the skylight, it was dimmer in the cell than it was in the torch-lit corridor; and because, though it was hard to believe that there were two blond men of such stature in this particular section of the Asylum, it was harder to believe that Ward would ever cower from anything.

She shut the door and he came instantly to his feet with the speed and grace that always surprised her in such a large man. The maneuver put his face in the light briefly and she couldn't deny it was he. He wore little more than a loincloth and in less than two weeks he'd lost a stone of weight.

"Ward," she said a second time, realizing he must have been putting on an act. She'd never seen him act a part before, though she knew he was very good at it. The extreme weight loss worried her, but at least he was still whole. Her own recent experience in Jakoven's power sent her gaze to his hands, but she counted five fingers on each hand with one dirty nail apiece.

But he still didn't say anything, just stared at her. Goose-flesh crept up her neck, and she knew he wasn't acting. The fear she read in his eyes was real.

Ward was afraid of her. The realization stunned her into tears. Her Ward wasn't afraid of anything. Instinctively she stepped closer to him.

He held up a hand that shook slightly, but the palm-up gesture was universal.

"Tis." He said, his voice a slow grumbling growl that held more than a touch of menace. "Stay back." Then in a soft voice, almost a whisper, he added, "Please?"

For an instant she was hurt, but then reason took over. Whatever they had done to Ward, it had not made him slow of body. His rush to stand up had been quick. She'd been in too many fights to miss the heavy breathing and vibrating readiness. Whatever the cause, she'd frightened him. She had him cornered. She didn't really believe he would hurt her, but she backed away.

She took her eyes off his face because eye contact could feel threatening. Some visceral part of her protested the move, recognizing the danger he presented. But, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him relax marginally.

As she cleaned the cell, Ward slid back down the wall until he was crouched the way he had been when she'd come in. He drew the straw around him until it covered his legs and was scattered over most of the rest of him.

Tisala was careful to wipe her eyes and blank her face when she left Ward's cell. The other inhabitants of the wizard's block were more recognizably hurt, showing cuts and missing pieces. In one of the cells, the guards held the prisoner, who alternatively laughed and cried, while she cleaned.

There were many things that she despised about Jakoven, things that had authored the painful decision creating the distance between her father and her. But though his sins were legion, she had never hated him before today.

Tisala strode through the darkness of the tavern toward the back corner where Oreg waited for her.

She sat across from him and leaned forward. "You've got to get him out of there."

Oreg lowered his eyelids so she couldn't read his reaction, but his voice was mild. "If you found him—I can get him out."

Relief washed over her. Oreg would get him out. Of course he would.

"I didn't think anyone could lose so much weight in such a short period of time," she said. "He's lost at least a stone."

"Working magic can do that," said Oreg. "Tell me about what you saw."

With a handful of questions he got more information out of her than she remembered noticing, the way Ward's eyes had appeared black rather than brown, his swift coordinated movements contrasting to his slurred, labored speech.

Finally, Oreg tossed a silver coin on the table—too much, but Tisala didn't protest. She just took the arm he offered her and strode out of the tavern by his side.

He walked with controlled violence. Tisala didn't disturb him with talk because she felt the same need for action, the same fury. She hadn't forgotten that they'd met at the tavern so she could take Oreg to meet with Rosem, but she didn't want to take him there in this mood.

They walked through a small area shopping district, and he paused in front of a building with a mortar and pestle over the door, an apothecary shop. It was locked up tight at this time of night, of course, though there was light above where the proprietor doubtless lived.

"Herbs," said Oreg abruptly. "There are herbs that can make a person overwrought and confused. You said that he was not otherwise hurt."

Herbs suggested that the condition Ward was in was temporary.

"I told you the cell wasn't well lit," she said, "but I would have noticed any sizable wound or bruise. They're keeping whatever damage they're doing from showing." Maybe it was all herbs, she hoped.

"I'll get Ward out tonight," said Oreg. He resumed walking. His pace was still quick, but it was no longer urgent.

The air smelled of horse manure and other, even less savory, city smells, but it was clean and pure compared to what she'd been smelling all day.

"Tell me," said Oreg, "about the Asylum wing where Ward is. You said the king's wizards have a laboratory in the mage's wing."

"Yes, but I didn't see inside. It's kept locked."

He questioned her about little details, which side of the corridor Ward's cell was on, how many cells there were, about how big each cell was. Some things she knew, others she guessed, and a few she could only shrug about.

"Do you have time to see my friend?" she asked when she thought he was through questioning her.

He looked vague for an instant and she knew he'd forgotten.

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important," she said.

"Fine," replied Oreg abruptly.

They walked a few blocks before Tisala found a street she knew, and it was well after full dark before she located Rosem's home.

She knocked at the door, three times in rapid succession so Rosem would know who it was, then entered without waiting for him to come to the door.

Rosem was seated at his table in front of the fire eating stew from a wooden bowl. He looked up once, a single sweeping glance, and gestured at the bench that spanned the length of the table across from him.

She took a seat and Oreg sat beside her. Rosem ate his dinner and didn't speak a word until he'd sopped up the last of the stew with a piece of dried bread. Tisala knew that he'd been using the time to assess Oreg, though he'd appeared to give his full attention to the wooden bowl he held.

He set his bowl aside and folded his arms across his chest. Without looking directly at Oreg, he addressed Tisala. "He's Hurog-bred."

"The old lord fathered a lot of us," said Oreg. "As did his father before him."

"Ward was the first wizard born into that family in living memory," continued Rosem. "Are you the second?"

Tisala frowned at him. What was he doing? She'd told him that Oreg was a mage.

Oreg smiled with boyish charm. "So they say."

"Rosem wants to know if you can get another person out of the Asylum," said Tisala before Rosem had time to really antagonize Oreg or vice versa. "He's not in the same wing as Ward."

Oreg's smile didn't change, so Tisala added, "Remember, without Rosem, I wouldn't have been able to find Ward."

The smile went out like a candle and Oreg said, "I can get another person out—if Ward agrees. But when I get Ward out, we won't linger here. Have your man put this on." Oreg opened his belt pouch and set a wooden bead on the table.

It was the size of a prune pit, painted with yellow and red designs and strung on a leather thong. Tisala had seen a number of barbarians—Shavigmen, she hastily corrected—wear such charms for luck while she had been at Hurog.

Rosem shook his head. "He won't be allowed to keep it."

"Can he hide it in his chambers, then? That's the only way I'll know where to get him, unless you want me to wait until you, yourself, are with him?" Oreg's voice was unfailingly courteous.

"I'll find a place to hide it. Don't you want to know who we want you to get out?" Rosem's voice was level with suspicion.

Oreg shook his head. "It doesn't matter. If I get Ward out of the Asylum, anyone else we get out can't worsen his position with the king."

"Kellen," Tisala said. "Jakoven's younger brother."

"I was wrong," said Oreg after a bare instant. "Rescuing Kellen Tallven will definitely take Ward off Jakoven's list of who is to be invited to important social events—except, of course, Ward's own execution."

Tisala couldn't help a quick grin.

Not knowing Oreg or Ward, Rosem said, "So your answer is no."

"I didn't say that," said Oreg. "It'll be up to Ward, but since he has a wide band of stubborn stupidity that would do credit to a mule when the question of right and wrong is concerned, I expect he'll agree. You understand I can't say for certain until I have Ward out. Once I have him, I'll get Kellen out immediately so security doesn't tighten."

"I'd rather you not use his name so freely," said Rosem. "Being a wizard, you know about scrying."

Oreg snorted. "Being a competent wizard, I can keep Jakoven's pets from listening to any of my conversations. They'll not learn of your plans for Kellen from me."

"Tell me where and when to meet you after you've gotten him out," said Rosem.

Oreg hesitated. "Menogue," he said at last. "At the path before it begins the climb to the hilltop. I'll meet you there the evening after your man escapes. It should be very soon—so make sure he gets that charm."

"First thing tomorrow," agreed Rosem, closing his hand over the little bead until his knuckles turned white.

Tisala closed Rosem's door behind them and hugged her arms together as the chill night breeze cut through her clothing.

"He's not usually so abrupt," she said, setting out for the mansion where Ward's family would be waiting. "He's just worried."

"Jealous," correct Oreg, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Jealous?" she asked.

"Rosem has Tallvenish body servant written all over him. His duty and honor is to protect his lord, but he has to go to a mage for help."

She thought about that for a moment. "Maybe a little," she said.

Rosem had engineered an escape once, years ago. It had failed, and the resulting chaos made it perfectly clear to everyone involved that if the king believed there was a real chance of his brother escaping, he'd forget about oracle warnings and kill Kellen. If Oreg wasn't successful, Kellen would die and it would be Rosem's fault. But Kellen was already dying in that little cell. "I still think it's mostly worry," she said.

When Tisala followed Oreg into the library at Lord Duraugh's rented manor, they found Tosten waiting for them. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and he rubbed them wearily, setting aside the battered harp he'd been fingering.

"I found him," she told Tosten in a voice suitable to a house where people were sleeping.

"How was he?"

She looked away and said, "Oreg thinks they are using herbs—he wasn't himself." The image of Ward trying to bury himself under the straw haunted her, and she didn't see any reason to share it with his brother—especially when the effects were, she hoped, temporary.

Tosten turned to Oreg. "But he'll be all right?"

"I'm getting him out tonight," said Oreg in oblique reply. "Help me move this furniture, I need a clear space on the floor."

By the time they'd cleared the floor, Lord Duraugh, looking more tired than Tosten, had come up to see what the noise was.

Oreg produced a sheet of vellum and made Tisala stand over his shoulder as he drew the section of the Asylum where Ward was. When he was finished he had a fair map. Then he picked Tisala's memories to pieces again. She found she remembered details she couldn't possibly have: how many stone blocks there were between each doorway, where the paint was scratched on the inside of Ward's cell door, the shape of the lock.

When he was finished with her, Tisala sat down abruptly on a bench and realized he'd used some magic on her—she could feel its absence now that it was gone.

Without a word, Oreg took a piece of charcoal and began marking the polished wooden floor.

"What are you doing?" Tosten's voice startled Tisala. She'd forgotten he and Duraugh were in the room, too.

"Transportation spells without a definite destination are difficult in the best of times." Oreg replied. "This" — he paused in his drawing to gesture at the marks he'd made on the floor—"will help me return here if something goes wrong. Hopefully I'll be able to get myself to where they've stashed Ward, and then I can get us both out."

"They have the area magicked to prevent someone doing just that," said Duraugh. "I've asked a few friends about it—discreetly."

"Jakoven's pet wizards don't have the power to ward it against me," said Oreg contemptuously.

Tisala had watched her father's mage use symbols to work magic before, but there was something different about the way Oreg moved—like the difference between watching an artist and a talented amateur. Oreg never stopped to look something up in a book, never paused in the detailed lines he placed on the floor, though she could barely see the marks in the dim light. He never had to stop and go back to redraw anything. Even so it took him quite a while before he was satisfied.

After setting aside the charcoal, he jumped lightly over his artwork and sat, cross-legged, in the unmarked section he'd left in the middle. He closed his eyes and became still.

Nothing happened for such a long time that when the first few sparks sputtered from the marks on the floor, Tisala thought she was imagining things.

Then between one breath and the next the temperature in the room shot up from winter-cool to unbearably hot. Blue and gold sparks spewed from the black marks and lit the room, forcing Tisala to bring up her arm to protect her eyes.

When she lowered her arm, the room was thick with smoke and a dragon curled around itself where Oreg had been, filling the room.

Then Oreg stood in the dragon's place, staggered a few steps forward, and fell to his knees. Duraugh rushed to his side and helped him to a chair.

"Oreg?" he said. "Are you all right?"

The wizard nodded his head, breathing heavily. "I can't get to him," he said in a voice that shook. "I haven't seen wards like those since … It's warded with dragon magic. I couldn't get through. If I were inside, with him, I might have been able to get him out—but not from here."

"They have a dragon?" asked Tosten tightly.

Oreg shook his head. "More likely some remnant piece—a tooth or scale would be enough."

"Are you sure you could get him out from inside?" Tisala asked.

Oreg smiled grimly. "Yes."

She rubbed her hands over her eyes. "I'll see what we can do. There is only one cleaner for that section. It'll be difficult to remove her again without arousing questions—not to mention the prevalence of mages who might notice a wizard strolling through their doors, for all that he's dressed like a cleaner."