Chapter 7

“Dragon dung!” Baamin cursed. This was the third time a very simple spell had failed. He held his viewing glass to the light. There were no cracks, no flaws. Its smooth surface was perfect.

So why couldn’t he make contact with any other magician? Several were waiting for his summons. They should be on the alert to answer through their own glasses.

He took a deep breath. In, three counts. Hold, three. Release, three. His mind was drawn out of his body and hovered just below the beckoning void of a deep magic trance. Magic flowed through him with velvet ease. Colors wavered and swirled in the glass.

At last!

He heard laughter, coarse and mocking. Alert to the spell going awry again, Baamin pushed the image closer to completion. Instead of the gaunt, lined face of the man he expected, a shaggy-headed monster with the body of a man looked back at him and sneered.

“With my head, and my heart, and the strength of my shoulders, I renounce this evil,” Baamin recited the formula of the Stargods as he crossed himself. For good measure he completed the warding with the winged gesture of Simurgh.

“You didn’t think I could do it, did you, Baamin?” The words floated about the room, followed by the image of Baamin’s oldest enemy stepping out of the glass.

Baamin jerked back, throwing his armor in place as he sought answers to this abomination. This was the kind of prank he would expect of Jaylor. But how could a young man conjure up this manifestation of the red-haired beast/ man Baamin had fought during his trial with the Tambootie smoke? That nightmare existed only in the shadow world of Baamin’s tortured dreams.

Eavesdropping on another’s dreams was forbidden. To make doubly sure no one learned of his nightmares, Baamin had personally destroyed all records of his testing, all references to the beast, when he assumed leadership of the Commune.

His gnarled staff came to hand readily. He poked the vision, making certain the staff was as armored as he. Hard flesh and bone met the probe. The beast hadn’t even bothered to cover his well-muscled body with clothing, other than a barely adequate loincloth. In Baamin’s dreams, his nemesis had the decency to wear the same robes as Baamin did.

“Yes, Baamin, old friend. I’m real and I’ve come out of your dreams to haunt you.” The mouth of the image worked but the words came from some other, indefinable direction. “I’m putting an end to the Commune.” This time the image threw back his head and laughed long and loud. The gesture was familiar, belonging to a different man. Baamin was too befuddled by the presence of this monster to remember who.

“Every time you and your toadies throw the smallest spell, I’ll be there to twist it round backward, sideways, or split it into good and evil twins. Dragon magic is finished, Old Baamin.”

A knock on the door banished the image but not the voice. “Another time, Baamin. We’ll finish this when I choose, and you’ll not know ahead of time.” The rolling laughter bounced around and around the room in decreasing spirals of sound until the glass absorbed it.

Rational thought deserted Baamin as he sat, stunned by the perversion. Had another magician read his dreams? Or had he gone insane and conjured up the beast again? The Commune had fought the monster back into another dimension after Baamin’s adolescent testing with the Tambootie smoke had made him real.

Jaylor was the only other magician whose hallucinations had taken on three dimensions. But the red-haired beast had remained dormant at that time.

A second knock roused the senior magician from his stupor. He shook himself to mask the trembling that began deep inside him and radiated out to his hands and neck and knees. He couldn’t allow anyone to suspect his own nightmares were interfering with his magic. Not yet, not until he had assured his supremacy over the Council as well as the Commune and University when Darcine passed on.

“Come,” he called to the supplicant at his door. His voice broke. He was just tired. Perhaps he’d dreamed the beast/man. No magician in Coronnan could break apart one of Master Baamin’s spells.

The door opened a crack. He could see one brown eye peering at him.

“Be you busy, master?” The voice was shy, hesitant about bothering a master magician.

“Not anymore. You disturbed my spell.” Baamin growled. He reached for his flask and swallowed the last of the sugar water. Then he popped a mint into his mouth to hide the lack of alcohol smell. Stargods, he’d give a year of his life for a hearty swig of beta’arack, distilled from the monster treacle betas grown only in Rossemeyer. But he couldn’t afford to befuddle any of his senses right now.

One of the kitchen boys crept into the room, wide-eyed and fearful. About ten or eleven years ago, the orphan, known only as “Boy,” had been sent to the University from the poorhouse, one of many foundlings indentured each year. Boy was so late in developing that he couldn’t be tested for magical talent. He was unusually slow at his lessons and undersized, but he worked hard and was willing to please, almost to a fault. He had his uses, especially when Baamin needed errands completed in secret.

“I needs to talk to someone, sir. Somethin’ strange has been happening.” An understatement to say the least.

Baamin sighed. The boy was proud of the trust Baamin seemingly had in him—trust only because the boy was too stupid to disobey. Now Boy came to the master with his troubles and triumphs, chattering freely when no one else in the University dared approach. It was Baamin’s own fault.

“What sort of strange things? In the kitchen?” Probably the only normal portion of the University. Apprentice magicians were encouraged to experiment with fledgling powers anywhere but the kitchen. Cooking fires and carving knives were too dangerous for practice.

“Yes, sir. In the kitchen.” The boy’s eyes widened, deep dark eyes whose innocence wormed into Baamin’s cynical heart.

Baamin nodded encouragement. This might be something he needed to know about. Boy had his uses.

“I’m used to the apprentices snitching deserts and such. ’Specially the brandied fruit when they can’t get to the wine. Some even try the cooking wine.”

Baamin allowed himself a small laugh. Apprentices only tried that trick once. Cooking wine was salted for a very good reason.

The boy grinned back. For a moment, with that lopsided smile, he almost looked intelligent.

“Happens all the time. Sweets mostly. This mornin’, though, it was more than strange. Someone was magically carving big hunks of meat off the spit, while it was still cooking.”

“Growing boys have big appetites. There have never been restrictions on how much they eat. Magic takes a lot out of a body. Probably some journeyman just finishing an experiment.” But not many journeymen were left. All but the very newest were out on quest.

“That I know, sir. And I wouldn’t question it, ’cept when the plate was full it disappeared, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. His eyes looked straight into Baamin’s once more, begging for belief.

“It what?” Baamin sat up straight. “Has someone learned Jaylor’s trick?” Jaylor’s talent hovered too close to rogue manipulation of the elements. If another student was developing this strange talent, Baamin needed to investigate and corral him.

With the decrease in the dragon nimbus, there wasn’t as much magic in the air. Magicians trained in gathering magic could easily find rogue sources. The practice must be stopped until Baamin, the senior magician, had learned to direct and control those powers.

“That’s what I thought, sir. Until the plate was returned to the scullery for washing. Only Jaylor does that. And he ain’t here, hasn’t been for moons.”

And shouldn’t be anywhere within magic range of the University either. S’murgh it, Baamin knew he shouldn’t have allowed Jaylor out of his sight.

Baamin stared at his viewing glass. It was a big, master’s glass, nearly as large as his hand. He could read the most obscure texts with it. Or contact someone anywhere in the kingdom when he was awake and alert. Jaylor’s smaller glass couldn’t provide enough power for a summons, let alone to transport food, unless. . . .

“There’s somethin’ else, sir.” The boy peered at him from under his forelock. “Several days ago a wine cup showed up in the scullery while I was washing up after dinner. Didn’t hardly notice it. Guess I just forgot who was here and who was out. Then a few minutes later one of your washbasins shows up. It had to be Jaylor. No one else cares how much work they make for me. They just leave cups and dishes all over. In their rooms, the library, classrooms. Even in the stable, sir.”

Warmed up, the boy might rattle on forever. Baamin had heard enough.

“I’m glad you came to me, Boy. I think one of the apprentices may have learned something from Jaylor and just taken his time perfecting it.”

Baamin stared at his glass again. He dismissed the garrulous child quickly.

“More likely Jaylor knows more than you’ll admit,” Boy grumbled as he closed the door.

That was a possibility. And if Jaylor was transporting food and wine to some remote corner of the kingdom, was it because he was in trouble? Not if he was taking time to bathe.

What did it all mean? Those feats required more strength than Baamin had used in years.

“Tonight when the moon is full and can mask my spell, I’ll call him.” Baamin picked up the glass, fingering its lovely clearness. Its natural coolness calmed him “I’ve got to know what is happening out there. I’m not supposed to help on quest. Summoning isn’t help. I’ll just be monitoring his progress.”

Meat! Brevelan could smell it. The contents of her stomach protested the odors. Her instincts for cleanliness forced her to hold it all back. She stumbled to the doorway. Where did that awful smell come from?

All the villagers knew she would not tolerate meat. They were wary enough of her not to violate this one rule of hers. Who would dare bring meat, cooked meat, to her clearing?

Darville emerged from the ferny undergrowth licking his chops with obvious relish. His golden fur glowed in the afternoon light.

Brevelan understood that the animal needed meat. It was part of his nature. But he couldn’t cook it. Didn’t need to.

Then her eyes caught sight of the broad back of the man. The magician. He was wiping his face with his sleeve.

“We don’t need to tell her about the roast, Wolf. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. But a man needs a man’s meal. All that mush and roots just can’t fill an empty belly.”

“They would fill your belly amply if you’d let them,” Brevelan called to him across the clearing. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t know about it? I feel the lives of every creature within the clearing, including yours.” Sometimes. Many times she couldn’t sense his presence, his emotions, nothing.

That man! He’d been here days and days, sleeping mostly, and eating up more of her supplies than she could consume in a moon or more. He claimed he needed shelter while he recouped his strength and power. In all that time she hadn’t rested easily.

How could she, knowing he was so dangerously close? Most nights she lay awake waiting, wondering when he would demand what all men demanded.

When the darkness was so still she could hear her own heart beating, her bed yawned huge and empty. Lonely. She wasn’t certain then that she really wanted to resist him.

She banished the image of the magician’s long body stretched out, spilling over the ends of the double cot with his arm draped around her own slight form.

Puppy limped over to her side. He sat, as he always sat, leaning against her leg in affection, easing his weight off his injured leg. He looked up at her in a mute plea for attention. Her hand found his ears, scratched and tugged, automatically. He grasped her wrist in his teeth, then freed her hand so she could resume scratching.

“Your wolf needed food. I fed him. We didn’t kill it either. It was already dead and cooked in the University kitchens,” Jaylor defended himself. His stance was proud, unrepentant.

“A wolf might need meat. But you didn’t have to indulge.”

“No more work providing for two than one. That’s one less meal you have to feed me from your stores.”

“You could work at rebuilding my supply instead of sleeping so much.”

“Now that I’ve had a decent meal, I might not need to sleep so much.” He made to move into the cottage.

Brevelan blocked his way. “When you’ve cleaned the reek of dead flesh from your body and clothes, you can start turning the earth in my garden.”

“Reek of dead flesh?” He stopped and looked at her as if he didn’t comprehend her orders.

“Yes. Your body stinks of the meat. It will for a day or more. Perhaps it would be best if you made your bed outside.” That way she wouldn’t dream of him sharing hers. “The weather will be fair for a while.”

“It’s still glass cold at night.”

“You’ve slept out when it was deep bay cold, as well as wet. You admitted as much just the other day.”

“Yes, but then my body was strong, full of meat, not depleted by magic and a diet of gruel. I could tolerate the cold better then.” He changed his expression to one of pleading innocence. His eyes opened wide. Their brown depths pulled at her heart.

Her resolve weakened.

He had recovered from his magic ordeal. He’d want more of her now, she reminded herself.

“Your body is full of meat. Your strength has been restored. You will sleep outside. And work for your keep.” She finally broke eye contact. “Or perhaps it’s time for you to leave. The way you came.”

And how was that? No one but herself could enter or leave the clearing unless she opened the path. “I have no more hospitality for an uninvited guest.”

“Uninvited?” His eyebrows rose in honest question. “If you didn’t want me here, why did you open the path with your song? Why did you keep it closed when I sought to explore?”

“I didn’t!” she gasped. “I was singing to keep the clearing inviolate.”

“You sang, I harmonized, the path opened.”

Aghast at the implication, she turned away from his probing eyes. “Gather your things and be gone.”

“When the time is right.”

“The time is always right for honesty. You seek the dragon. Then why do you stay here? I suspect you have no quest but me. Did someone in the village dare you, or bribe you, to seduce me?”

“Has any man from the village menaced you?” He sounded angry. At her or the villagers?

He was close now. Too close. She could feel the warmth of his body reach out to surround her.

With the warmth came the smell of meat. She backed away. “I refuse to be owned by any man.” Her husband had tried. He died on their wedding night.

“You have no need to fear me, Brevelan,” he whispered warmly. His eyes turned cold and blank. She couldn’t read any of his emotions.

“All men are alike,” she accused. Her husband had needed to inflict pain in order to feel lust. The men who had crowded outside their door on the wedding night seemed to think the two went together as well.

“I’m different. I’m a journeyman magician. Women are forbidden to me.” He looked hurt.

“That means nothing. You are still a man.”

“My powers mean everything to me. I’ll not risk them by taking a woman before I have my master’s cloak.” He raked a hand through his hair, a gesture she was coming to know. “I’m just beginning to understand the nature of my power, Brevelan. It’s stronger than I ever imagined. But I’ll never have enough magic to heal the hurt that is deep inside you. Only a man can do that. I can’t be fully a man until I finish my quest.”

He stooped through the doorway and gathered his blanket and pack. He held them to his chest almost as a talisman. “Until your hurt is banished or I can cure it, I’ll make my bed outside.”

“Good,” she replied. When he was gone, she grabbed the broom made of stiff straw. Furiously, she swept his bedding of soft grasses off the packed dirt near the hearth. Soon, no trace of his presence remained.

Brevelan looked about her snug home in relief. Once more it was fully hers. Once more it was empty.

“Puppy,” she called. Her pet was across the clearing, watching Jaylor set up his camp. The single room seemed to grow bigger, emptier, lonelier. She needed the comfort of her familiar companion.

The wolf looked toward her, then back toward the man, in indecision.

“Come, Puppy,” she coaxed. She had to make the man realize he could not steal the affection of her pet.

Slowly the wolf rose to his four feet. He looked at Jaylor with interest, then made his way back to Brevelan. He seemed to be telling her the man was his friend, but his loyalty would always lie with her.

Women! Jaylor was mighty grateful there were none to contend with at the University. It was bad enough the king’s court and capital abounded with women. Women with their beautiful bodies and seductive laughs. Because those women were forbidden, he was always tempted. Brevelan was more than a mere temptation. Could her University red hair be a sign of some subtle magic that made her irresistible?

How was he to fulfill his quest when all he could think about was Brevelan? He’d watched her for over a week as she went about her daily routine. The gentle songs she sang, the sight of her tightly controlled braid of unusual hair, even the way she spoke to each of her animal friends as if they could understand her, captured his imagination.

Good thing she’d kicked him out of the hut. Another night of sleeping so close to her might have been the end of his control. And her cot was not a small bed meant for solitary slumber. It was wide, more than wide enough for two. If he followed his natural instinct to love this woman, his quest and his powers would be terminated. Had the Commune of Magicians planted her to test him?

He had to leave this place, get away from the allure of the woman. And soon. Once he completed his quest, he could bed every attractive woman in the kingdom with no ill consequences, red hair or not. But in order to achieve that end, he had to get Brevelan to lead him to the dragon.

He’d been trying for days to find a path, any path that would lead him up the mountain. So far every path led straight back to Brevelan’s clearing and nowhere else. He couldn’t even get back to the village!

The still-limping wolf followed him everywhere, unless Brevelan called him. Jaylor had hoped the beast would lead him on one of his many hunts. Wolf came and went through the invisible barrier without notice or ill effect. He just lunged forward and was off on a chase. When he returned he grinned in that jaunty way of his, as if laughing at Jaylor’s inability to follow.

Jaylor laughed in memory of some of the wolf’s antics in the bathing pool or chasing down a scent. His enjoyment of life was very reminiscent of Roy’s. They had fallen into an easy companionship, too, just as Jaylor had done with the young scion of royalty during their boyhood. The wolf’s presence reminded Jaylor sharply of how distant he and Roy had grown in the last two years.

Most of Jaylor’s teenage energy went into defying the strictures of the University rather than pursuing old friendships outside the institution of learning. Since Baamin wouldn’t promote him, Jaylor had determined to make the old man’s life miserable. Roy had his own problems with family, tutors, guardians, and growing responsibilities.

Mica cautiously stepped onto his blanket. Her tiny paws kneaded the texture of the fabric. She looked up with round hazel eyes. “Mrrrow.” She was asking him to sit so she could sleep in his lap.

“Not soft enough for you, Mica?” He scratched the cat’s silky ears. He was used to the changing shape of her eyes. “These soft ferns are a better mattress than some beds I’ve made in the last two moons.”

“Mrrow.” The cat purred in almost verbal agreement. If any of the creatures in the clearing were sentient, Mica was.

“But my cot back at the University would be better than this.”

The cat blinked. Her eyes changed shape again.

“Why don’t I bring the cot here?” He could almost swear the cat had asked him that question. Brevelan seemed to understand all of her pets, as if she had thrown a spell to grant the beasts communication. So why couldn’t he understand them, too?

Why couldn’t he? Bring the cot, that is. He’d transported wine and wash water. Just today he’d brought a wonderful meal from the University kitchens. Why not his cot?

No, not his cot. Before leaving, he’d armored his room in such a way that it might be dangerous to tamper with from this distance. But the storeroom was full of cots, folded in the corner.

He rearranged the magic deep within him so that it looked like the overstuffed storeroom. With his mind he plucked a cot out of the magic. Then he reformed the image here in the clearing.

“MrrOW!” Mica protested and tried to climb his leg. Jaylor opened his eyes, startled at the cat’s frantic actions. There before him lay a cot, unfolded and ready for his blanket.

“Silly cat. You asked for a softer bed.” He set her down so he could spread his blanket. “While we’re at it, Mica, why not another blanket, and a pillow? We might as well be comfortable.” He chuckled as the two items appeared.

“Mrrrrrew,” Mica agreed as she circled, testing the bed, then settled in for a nap.

A cool breeze broke into the clearing, ruffling Mica’s colorful fur and raising the hair on Jaylor’s arms. “It might rain tonight. If we’re going to stay dry, I’ll need to build a cover.”

Mica opened one cat-eye. She had no more ideas and just wanted to be left alone.

“Magic or brute strength?” No reply from the cat.

“Brute strength. It takes less energy than magic.” He scanned the few dead limbs in the immediate vicinity. “Or does it?” The meat and the bed had been easy, barely taxing his powers at all now that he was rested and well fed—and the aftereffects of the timboor had drained out of him. He hadn’t worked any magic in several days, so his store of power was full. How much harder would it be to gather some branches for a lean-to?

Jaylor closed his eyes and folded some magic into a rude shelter around three sides and over his bed. Nothing happened.

The spell needed more power. He lifted the cat long enough to slide under her and relax. Once more he formed the magic with an image of branches woven together around him. When he opened his eyes again, disappointment flooded him.

A soft chuckle brought his attention to the hut. Brevelan stood in the doorway. Her knowing smile mocked him. “I said you’d need to work for your keep. Letting your magic do it all isn’t work.”