The Last Dragon: Book Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The morning was filled with talk of the ball to be held at dusk. Even eating was a business meeting and planning session. Elizabeth was on edge, her attention to detail kept me hopping. She wanted to present me as more than a personal servant, but with her Dire features and my Kondor background, that didn’t fit. How she’d managed to get away with presenting us as brother and sister only confused matters.

It was obvious we were not. It was equally obvious I had neither the demeanor or manners of a Royal. I suggested her bodyguard might be a better fit. She snapped that bodyguards would wait outside the ballroom for their masters.

My features and skin told everyone I was from the Brownlands, or at least from the borders of them. Trager would do. It was small, few traveled there, and I could claim to be a member of a wealthy family—and distantly related to the king by marriage and was a royal adviser. I was her escort and adviser. It was not perfect, there were holes in the story all over, but it would do.

We circulated the Black Swan dining room all morning and part of the afternoon. Elizabeth put on a social performance and we moved from one table to another, often with formal introductions. She did not once mention that she was a princess, but most of the other talk was the truth. A true princess does not have to explain her position.

I excused myself when a messenger told me a man waited for me at the entrance. It was my sword, personally delivered by the old man at the forge. We walked outside and sat on a stone bench under a pair of cherry trees as he unwrapped it.

The old scabbard was there, but so was also the new one. It had been polished and with the hilt of my sword to decorate it, the thing was too beautiful to hold. He said, “The repair we made came out better than we hoped.”

I pulled the sword and couldn’t find the flaw or the repair and said so.

He asked, “You said it was damaged in battle?”

“Yes.”

“You must have won.”

Thinking back, it seemed so long ago. “I did.”

“This morning, my younger brother found a sketch of your sword in one of our oldest books. It was made almost two hundred years ago, and as we suspected, it was made by an ancestor of ours.”

“That’s wonderful to hear the history of it,” I said with feeling. “Do you know the history of others who owned it?”

“First, there was more in the book.” He waited as if deciding to tell me or not.

I said, “You’re hesitating.”

“The book, one containing our sales records actually, added two additional items. The first is that there was a mention of magic used in the creation of the sword. That is something I’ve never seen in the creation or forging of any sword by any craftsman anywhere. It is so unheard of, I have no response except to report it to you.”

“It’s that unusual?”

He said, “As I said, the first and only mention I’ve ever seen or heard about magic combined with forging. That includes my entire family. I even asked a retired uncle and my father when I went home before coming here. They have never heard so much as a whisper.”

“The second thing?” I asked, not wishing to spend more time on the subject of magic for a number of reasons.

“The wording in the sales journal is unusual and confusing mentioning the magic, as old writing often is, but it seems there was more to the original order. The language suggests this was not the only sword ordered that day. Perhaps another like sword was made and purchased, we cannot tell for sure. The words, as I say, are confusing and meanings change over time.”

I could tell the truth about Prince Angle’s singing sword but held back. I knew the purchase order had been for a magical pair, and the magic was the singing of the swords when they came together. It crossed my mind that to hold back information from him was as distasteful and I’d consider it if he did so to me. But he also held something back, I was certain of it. I offered again to pay him for the repair, and he refused, then departed with more than one glance over his shoulder as if still debating if he should tell me something else.

That’s the funny thing about trust. As nice as he was about repairing mine, and giving me the other for Will, he withheld something and my trust in him was lost. Trust is as complete as a mug that holds ale compared with one with a crack that does not. Serve me ale in a cracked mug that leaks out and I will not purchase it again. I only trust a mug that does not leak.

If he had been honest at the last, I’d have shared the Prince Angle story, one I’m certain he would have enjoyed and repeated and probably made a notation in his sales records for generations to come. I watched him leave, hoping he’d change his mind and return. He didn’t.

Perhaps he sensed I’d also held something back and broken his trust. I’d not asked about other owners of my sword. Perhaps Prince Angle and I would travel to Malawi and seek more information.

I carried my sword inside the inn and went to our room. I placed it beside the clothing I’d later wear to the ball, then went back to the dining room where Elizabeth had changed tables again to talk with a matronly woman.

At the first break in their conversation, I said I was going to see if Bran was at the stables and we might explore the city. She told me that was a good idea, but she had made several new friends and wished to spend time with them.

They were wealthy and gossips. Those with enough money to have others wait on them all day must have a hobby. Gossip was the hobby of the rich. The situation was perfect for her. Honest Bran was standing near his carriage flirting with a comely young woman. He leaped to attention at my appearance and the woman flitted off without introduction, which was unfortunate. Bran and I would have to discuss women at some point. He needed to learn to share his wealth.

I said, “The city is fascinating. I’d like to see more of it.”

He said, “Will you ride in the back or sit beside me today?”

The invitation was hard to pass up. I climbed to the seat with him so we could speak easily as he took us out on the road. I wanted to talk about the politics of Malawi, the temperament of the king, his three sons, and how the people felt about the rulers, taxes, laws, and especially any changes in personnel that occurred in the last few years.

The trick was to lead Bran into talking about those things without being obvious what information I was seeking. I said, “Can we circle the palace?”

“Ah, so you can see it from all angles. Of course. There are roads all around it.”

“And you can tell me what we’re looking at?”

He pointed, “That is the West Tower, the tallest point in Malawi. Built on the peak of the hill, it has a natural overlook . . .”

Anna’s voice entered my mind, pushing whatever Bran said aside. *We need to talk.*

*Now?*

*Yes.*

I glanced around and saw a public park filled with trees, benches, and open grass where children played. I said to Bran, “Please stop here. I need a few moments to clear my mind.”

I was climbing down before the carriage rolled to a stop. An empty slab of wood had been placed across two boulders the right height to form a bench and I sat. *I’m alone, now. What is it?*

*Your sister. She’s very distressed because of the dragon and crying. She says something is wrong with it.*

*There must be more for you to react this way.*

*She wants to go to it, to heal it or help. She insists.*

*Ouch. What does Will say?*

*He says that he will be waiting at the docks at dawn every day until you arrive. He has all the information you require.*

*There is something you are not telling me.*

*He has agreed that Kendra can go to her dragon. And he is sending me along with her.*

The last came as a relief. I’d know what my sister was up to because of Anna. Also, Will’s message that he had the information we required was welcome. They had gone to Landor to find if we could persuade the kingdom to help us. The message was not clear. *Can we count of Landor to help?*

*Will believes so. He has another meeting today and is confident.*

*We will talk later,* I told her. *I’m very busy right now but tell both of them things are going well here, or we think they are.*

I looked up to find Bran standing in front of me. He’d climbed down from his carriage to check on me. I wondered if I’d been using my lips to form the words in my mind again. That was a habit I had to break.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

“No. I just needed time to sort out a few things. This is an important day for us. The ball, and all.” My words sounded weak to my ears, and Bran knew I was lying. Not about what, but in his expression, he knew.

He said, “Money aside because there are always a few coins to be earned with a horse and carriage in Malawi, I am here because the two of you interest me. You came into our city as dirty travelers, and in a single day, you have fine clothing fit for the king’s ball. You have an agenda, a mission, and are not the common travelers you seem.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“Perhaps. We shall see. But I give you fair warning. If you are part of the strange happenings in the palace these days, I will fight you.”

He had my full attention now. “What strange happenings?”

“New people, like you, arrive from the north and are quickly appointed to positions of power. The palace usually has only one mage in residence, and that has always been true, but beginning a few years ago, more arrived. There are now six.”

“Six seems excessive,” I agreed while cringing that six mages might be there to intercept me. I wished Kendra was here to locate them with her power. She could have warned me and kept me from walking into a possible trap.

“Other mages came and went, but none now for almost a month. That too is odd, that those here remain, and no new ones arrive. It is not the normal way.”

I paused before my next question, knowing Bran’s hostility could be triggered if asked wrong. I needed to ask in such a way that wouldn’t reveal what I was looking for. “How do they arrive? Ships or caravans?”

It was his time to pause. “Neither. All of them enter the palace from the east gate and depart through the same. Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen one near the docks or the overland routes.”

So, I’d given away unintended information with my question. That was a warning. I glanced at the tower to our left and said, “That is the West Tower, you said. Will you take me to the East Tower, if there is such a thing?”

“There is.”

I was not quite finished. I said, “Listen when we first met, you told us the old king has three sons. The king is ill, a son recovering from an accident. I want to know more about them. All of them. I assure you we support your king.”

Seated in the carriage again, he told me about one prince, an expert rider, falling from a horse that spooked. He was riding alone and would have died on the trail he rode if not for accidental discovery by a poacher. I wondered why the horse was spooked, or if it had happened. The youngest son was a familiar story, too. He was chronically ill throughout his childhood. Now that he was near twenty, his health had failed again about a year ago. A medical attendant, one highly respected in his homeland was brought all the way from Kaon to care for him—at the recommendation of a mage.

Kaon. That didn’t surprise me. The medical attendant probably pinched a measure of poison into the prince’s food daily.

As bleak as it sounded, at first, I almost smiled. The familiar pattern was a known quantity. Knowing the enemy gave hope to understand how to defeat it. The right person reaching the ear of the king could convince him. Bran said the king’s health was failing but he still ruled. The right person to speak to the king was Princesses Elizabeth.

The carriage rolled past government buildings, apartment houses, and the most common, two and three-story buildings with small businesses on the ground floor, the owner’s living quarters above. Often the third floor, the least desirable because of the stairs to reach it, a rental to bring in additional income. The streets were clean, the outsides of most buildings recently painted in various shades of brown and tan.

The stores had placards or signs attached to the walls beside the doors. A shoe indicated a cobbler, a needle and thread, a seamstress. The people were happy, the appearance prosperous. I knew that as the Young Mage got his grips into Malawi, that would change as it did on other kingdoms.

Bran kept up a monologue of interesting points of interest, where to eat a good meal, what had taken place at a location, and more. He told of the defense of the palace from the south rampart, and the damage to the wall still showed in the form of repairs and scars. Soldiers in bright uniforms marched on the ramparts. Banners and flags flew.

But not all was as well as it seemed in Malawi. As the carriage turned to travel north on the east wall, I shook off my speculation and started watching the buildings, roads, and all else. I didn’t see what I wanted.

Bran was watching me. “We came this way for a reason, didn’t we?”

“I thought I’d recognize something.”

“What are you looking for?”

Trust? That’s a funny word as I’d discovered with the bladesmith. Nobody fully trusts another, so the word is about how much trust to give each individual. Bran hadn’t earned that trust yet, at least not much of it. Still, I didn’t have all day to search for what I wanted. I said, “I’d heard there was a Waystone near here and I wanted to see it and look at the carvings.”

He turned away from the wall at the next intersecting street and said, “It’s down this way.”

The houses grew smaller and more separated from each other. In a patch of woods between two stood a Waystone, almost hidden by trees and covered in vines. I climbed down, wondering why I hadn’t felt my powers increase as we got closer, and there had been no tingling of the nearness of essence. It seemed like a large gray rock the size of a large room in the center of a city.

Closer inspection revealed the familiar style of carving, better preserved in the drier climate. I wiped my hand across an icon that looked like a house—and felt only the smallest tingling sensation that may have been my imagination. The rock was cool to the touch, not generating the warmth I expected.

I worked my way around the entire Waystone, cleaning the icons and gaining no additional knowledge in doing so. There was no entrance, no door or way to get inside. Branches from trees growing close hung over it and without too much effort I could climb one and stand on the rounded top.

All that would be there was stone. Mages were often old and didn’t climb trees, even to transport themselves. The Waystone was dead or dying. The dragon egg inside needed to be replaced or recharged, however, that was accomplished. I believed it needed a new egg, but the last dragon was not providing them these days, so traveling between this Waystone and others was stalled. That explained why no new mages arrived or old ones departed.

Bran said abruptly, “The mages leaving, and arriving always come here, the locals say. They think it is a holy place, a place to pray before traveling.”

“Do they come here on horseback?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. And no mages have come here for weeks?”

“That is a rumor, but true, I think.”

I believed him because the Waystone felt almost dead.

Anna came to mind. *Kendra has secured passage on a ship. We sail at dusk.*

*Guard her well. She is not making rational choices.*

*With my life.*

I said to Bran, “Please take me to the Black Swan.”