The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) by Irene Radford
Authors: Irene Radford
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hatchlings.”
Robb swallowed heavily. The lump in his throat would not dissolve.
“If I tell Lokeen that I have allowed you to keep your glass as well as your robe, he would drop us both into the dry cell.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“He can have the black robe back. I prefer the blue, threadbare and worn as it is,” he croaked around that persistent lump in his throat.
“Blue? Strange, your predecessor demanded black and red. He shredded and burned the blue. The cloth was fine, I wanted to open the seams and remake the pieces into other garments.”
“He had to burn it to separate himself from the University. Though I have never done it, I think Master Magician Jaylor could have found the man through his robe.” That was a flat-out lie, but Maria couldn’t read his aura to know that for certain.
“You have never told me the name of King Lokeen’s previous pet wizard,” he prodded. He knew by the simple process of elimination. But he needed confirmation. When he knew for certain, he could scry for the man. Once he found him, Lokeen might,
just might
, grant Robb a little more freedom in return for the favor. Freedom to seek escape.
“I was never told the mage’s name,” Maria said flatly. “If he told Lokeen, he never said it aloud. We in the palace who were forced to serve him called him ‘Sir.’ Nothing more, certainly nothing less, though we had other names we called him behind his back. He was the one who devised the scheme to reanimate the eggs and ship them to our spies elsewhere, to bring low
his
enemies. But Lokeen was the one who kept a few and feeds them prisoners.”
“Lokeen will do anything to keep his throne,” Robb said. “No matter how cruel.”
“Or illegal,” Maria added. Then she turned slowly, with her usual cautious steps, and left the room, without telling Robb why she had come to begin with.
He had his glass, for now. He knew what he had to do. Quickly, before he too became food for the Krakatrice.
“Breathe deeply, and follow my instructions,” Maigret commanded Souska.
“In on three, hold three, out on three, hold three,” Souska repeated one of her earliest lessons in magic. She let the familiar ritual of proper breathing fill her with calm until the magnetic pole tugged at her left side, and the wooden floor tingled against her feet through her soft house shoes.
“You figured out that if you light the candle, you are part of another’s summons. You can hear both sides of the conversation,” Maigret continued as her own breathing deepened and her eyes crossed slightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Souska replied, knowing Maigret would not see a nod of acceptance. How did her mistress go into a trance so deeply and easily? Souska sat on her stool beside Maigret, fully aware of her surroundings with a slightly enhanced sensitivity.
“To participate in the conversation with me and Marcus, you must do more.”
Souska took another deep breath, deeper than before, letting the fresh air from the open window fill her lungs, soothe her anxious pulse and bring her closer to alignment with the pole.
“With two fingers hold the rim of my glass.”
Souska placed her right thumb and forefinger on the golden rim of the circle of glass, as big around as Maigret’s palm.
“Now with your other hand you must bring a flame to your fingertip and set it upon the candle wick.”
“Um . . .” Souska had only ever lit a candle with her dominant right hand. Her left was much less dexterous. But her right was now occupied with the glass . . . She reached to replace her grip on the glass with her left hand.
“No.”
She froze with her left hand a hair’s width away from the rim.
“Once you begin the gathering of energies you must continue as you started. Light the candle with your left hand.”
“But . . .”
“Do it! Right or left. Both hands must work equally well no matter which you prefer.”
“But . . .”
“Do it properly or ground the
Robb swallowed heavily. The lump in his throat would not dissolve.
“If I tell Lokeen that I have allowed you to keep your glass as well as your robe, he would drop us both into the dry cell.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“He can have the black robe back. I prefer the blue, threadbare and worn as it is,” he croaked around that persistent lump in his throat.
“Blue? Strange, your predecessor demanded black and red. He shredded and burned the blue. The cloth was fine, I wanted to open the seams and remake the pieces into other garments.”
“He had to burn it to separate himself from the University. Though I have never done it, I think Master Magician Jaylor could have found the man through his robe.” That was a flat-out lie, but Maria couldn’t read his aura to know that for certain.
“You have never told me the name of King Lokeen’s previous pet wizard,” he prodded. He knew by the simple process of elimination. But he needed confirmation. When he knew for certain, he could scry for the man. Once he found him, Lokeen might,
just might
, grant Robb a little more freedom in return for the favor. Freedom to seek escape.
“I was never told the mage’s name,” Maria said flatly. “If he told Lokeen, he never said it aloud. We in the palace who were forced to serve him called him ‘Sir.’ Nothing more, certainly nothing less, though we had other names we called him behind his back. He was the one who devised the scheme to reanimate the eggs and ship them to our spies elsewhere, to bring low
his
enemies. But Lokeen was the one who kept a few and feeds them prisoners.”
“Lokeen will do anything to keep his throne,” Robb said. “No matter how cruel.”
“Or illegal,” Maria added. Then she turned slowly, with her usual cautious steps, and left the room, without telling Robb why she had come to begin with.
He had his glass, for now. He knew what he had to do. Quickly, before he too became food for the Krakatrice.
“Breathe deeply, and follow my instructions,” Maigret commanded Souska.
“In on three, hold three, out on three, hold three,” Souska repeated one of her earliest lessons in magic. She let the familiar ritual of proper breathing fill her with calm until the magnetic pole tugged at her left side, and the wooden floor tingled against her feet through her soft house shoes.
“You figured out that if you light the candle, you are part of another’s summons. You can hear both sides of the conversation,” Maigret continued as her own breathing deepened and her eyes crossed slightly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Souska replied, knowing Maigret would not see a nod of acceptance. How did her mistress go into a trance so deeply and easily? Souska sat on her stool beside Maigret, fully aware of her surroundings with a slightly enhanced sensitivity.
“To participate in the conversation with me and Marcus, you must do more.”
Souska took another deep breath, deeper than before, letting the fresh air from the open window fill her lungs, soothe her anxious pulse and bring her closer to alignment with the pole.
“With two fingers hold the rim of my glass.”
Souska placed her right thumb and forefinger on the golden rim of the circle of glass, as big around as Maigret’s palm.
“Now with your other hand you must bring a flame to your fingertip and set it upon the candle wick.”
“Um . . .” Souska had only ever lit a candle with her dominant right hand. Her left was much less dexterous. But her right was now occupied with the glass . . . She reached to replace her grip on the glass with her left hand.
“No.”
She froze with her left hand a hair’s width away from the rim.
“Once you begin the gathering of energies you must continue as you started. Light the candle with your left hand.”
“But . . .”
“Do it! Right or left. Both hands must work equally well no matter which you prefer.”
“But . . .”
“Do it properly or ground the
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