Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (6 page)

“What?” Fenelon said it as swiftly as Alaric.

“You object?” Turlough asked, though it was hard to tell who he directed the question towards.

Alaric glanced at Fenelon whose eyebrows had disappeared under his hairline.

“I…” Fenelon said.

“If you
are
to determine for me, Fenelon, as to how this demon came to reside in this young mageborn’s psaltery, you will need him at hand, will you not?” Turlough said. “And since you always seem to have a great deal of free time to make trouble, and this young man does need training, and you have yet to take an apprentice, better to put the two of you together, do you not agree?”

Fenelon frowned briefly, but then he caught Alaric’s accusing gaze.
This is your fault,
Alaric thought, hoping his expression revealed that sentiment.

“Why, yes, Uncle, that would be a brilliant idea…so long as Master Braidwine does not object.”

“He has no choice and neither do you,” Turlough said in a smug manner. “And I suspect it will be for the best of all involved.”

“As you will Lord Magister,” Fenelon said with a slight bow and a humble mask, but now Alaric could see those blue eyes sparkle with some form of triumph.
You wanted this all along!

“As I will,” Turlough said. “Now, I want answers. I want to know what the demon took. I want the beast found and subdued, and eventually destroyed. Is that clear to everyone present?”

There were nods and “ayes” all around.

“Good,” Turlough said. “To bed with all of you, now.” He looked at Alaric. “We shall make the official announcement of your apprenticeship before the Council when we meet tomorrow afternoon.

With those words, Turlough swept away. Alaric felt his head grow light. The ground moved towards him at an alarming rate before it smacked him like a large hand and knocked him out cold.

SEVEN

“And just what in the name of the Dark Lord of Annwn is this?” Tane Doran roared as he stormed about the chamber, waving the map in the air.

His voice filled the inn with its fury, and were it not for the spells of silence set about to protect the place from prying ears, Vagner feared they would have every local awake and after them. Not that he couldn’t handle a few dozen peasants just now. He was quite famished. No, he worried more that some local mageborn would discover the demon and report its presence, and coupled with the recent disturbance Vagner had created at Dun Gealach, it would not take the Council of Mageborn long to do the mathematics and figure Vagner was their intruder. An inn full of outraged mortalborns was nothing to a demon…but an entire army of mageborn. He shuddered just to think of it.

“It is what you asked for, Master,” Vagner said plainly as he crouched to one side in his true form. He was forced to crouch because the beamed ceilings were too low to accommodate his true height and his wings. “It is the map of the Shadow Vale.”

“You stupid monster!” Tane shouted. “This map is nothing! It’s not even an original! It’s a copy, and it’s totally useless. The key is missing!”

The demon frowned, a frightful sight to behold, but Tane had no reason to fear the look, and that disappointed Vagner. He so liked the thought of being feared. But Tane Doran was a bloodmage from the Dragon’s Maw Peninsula, and they rarely cared for the opinion of demons at all. He was a tall man with long pale hair braided with bone beads made from his enemies.

Tane moved like a panther as he crossed the room and threw the map in Vagner’s face. The only thing that kept him from snapping back was the knowledge he was bound to Tane by True Name and Essence, a familiar enslaved to a cruel master’s will. Hurting Tane would only backlash on Vagner threefold…Very painful.

“But that was what you asked for,” Vagner repeated in his own defense. “A map of the Shadow Vale. I looked carefully, Master, and there was no other.”

“And just where did you find this useless piece of parchment?” Tane asked, pointing to the wad on the floor.

“It was in the library at Dun Gealach, as you said it would be, in a chamber filled with old maps.”

“A chamber,” Tane repeated, raising his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips. “Above ground or below?”

“Above, I believe,” Vagner said after a moment of thought.

“Idiot!” Tane roared and waved his arms, causing white fire to spread about him like an aura. And this time Vagner did cringe. White fire and magebolts were the bane of demon hides. While impervious to steel, they were not impervious to such magics. “The true treasures of the Library of Dun Gealach are kept in the catacombs beneath the keep! I told you that when I sent you there!”

Vagner frowned. Well, now that he thought about it, there had been some mentioning of the undervaults included in Tane’s original instructions. Perhaps if the bloodmage had not mentioned the entrance should be hidden somewhere near the music library collection.

“And just where is this key you speak of master. “Tell me what to look for, and I will gladly steal it for you.”

“It’s not the sort of key one fits into a door, you doltish fiend,” Tane said. “It’s a riddle song passed down over generations since before the Great Cataclysm, during the age of the Shadow Lords, when the White One’s Avatar hid the Dragon’s Tongue to keep it from destruction.”

Shadow Lords. Vagner shivered. Older demons who were alive when the Shadow Lords ruled the northern lands now known as the Mountainous Wastes often spoke of the Shadow Lords with unnamed dread. “A song?” Vagner said. “What is it called?”

Tane looked for a moment as though he could not believe Vagner had dared to ask such a question. “The Dragon’s Tongue Key,” Tane said. “Not that knowing the title will assist you. The map with that key written on it will be impossible to reach now, thanks to your bungling. I should seal you into a tiny trinket and wrap you in a spell of silence so you cannot even hear the sound of your own voice…”

“But Master, what if I could bring you a man who knows this song called The Dragon’s Tongue Key?” Vagner asked.

“Impossible,” Tane said. “The only man who knew that riddle song is dead.”

“This one knows it, Master,” Vagner said. “I heard him tell another so.”

“He was merely boasting, I’ll wager.”

“I do not think so,” Vagner said, “For he said he had learned the song from someone called Ronan Tey.”

That stopped Tane. The white fire died from him as he approached the demon. Vagner flinched as hands took his wide jaws in an almost gentle grasp. Tane looked into the demon’s eyes, and his lips spread into a smile. Vagner remained as still as stone, unsure of what Tane was likely to do in a moment of madness.

“Bring me this man, Vagner,” Tane said. “We shall see what he knows.”

Vagner nodded as he was released. “Just one small thing, Master,” he said.

“And what is that?” Tane frowned.

“This man of whom I speak is more than just a skillful bard. He is also one of the mageborn.”

Tane looked thoughtful. “Young or old?”

“Oh, very young,” Vagner said. “No more than twenty of your mortal springs, I would imagine.”

“A Master Mage?”

Vagner shook his head. “An apprentice newly come to Dun Gealach,” the demon said. “He does not know how to cloak himself or gate walk as more experienced mageborn do.”

“Good,” Tane said and smiled again. “Then he’s likely to lack in mageborn experience. Bring him to me. We will take this riddle song from him, and then we shall dispose of him. I shall claim his essence and power, and you shall be rewarded with his flesh…”

“You will kill him, then?” Vagner looked disappointed.

“Yes,” Tane said. “I would be a fool to let him live.”

“But…I am more fond of live prey, Master,” the demon said, cocking its head in a coy manner. “The warmth of blood still pumped by a live heart is so much sweeter on my tongue. Could you not steal his power alone and let him live?”

Tane frowned. “Well, if he truly knows the key, monster, then perhaps I shall feel indulgent enough to leave life in him for your feast.”

“Thank you, Master,” Vagner said.

“Now go,” Tane said. “Find this mageborn bard and bring him to me. I will wait on the north road at the Black Heath Tavern until you return. From there, we will take him some place more private, an old peel tower I recall sitting on the borders of Mallow.”

“As you will,” Vagner said and shifted to shadow form to flow out of the room unnoticed.

What the demon saw no reason to mention was that he intended to eat Alaric Braidwine only after the young bard had sung every song he knew.

~

Alaric knew he was not alone because a gentle hand was bathing his brow. For a moment, he thought he might have been sent home after all. But as he opened his eyes and focused on the eldritch face coiffed in black hair, he knew it was neither his fair-haired mother nor his sisters who attended him. It was Etienne Savala whose touch had an arousing spark that made Alaric want to squirm.

“He’s coming around, Fenelon,” she said and smiled.

I could get lost in that look.
He could have fallen in love for an eternity, but in all likelihood, she was spoken for, and would have looked upon him as little more than a callow youth.

“Ah, good,” a familiar voice rang from across what must have been a fair-sized chamber, putting all thoughts of conquest from Alaric’s mind.

Alaric blinked. Just where in the name of Cernunnos was he? The ceiling was high and richly tiled in a rather lewd mosaic that brought color to his cheeks. He started to sit up only to have his vision swirl.

“Hey, easy now, friend,” Fenelon said, and the bed shifted when his weight landed on the edge.

“Where am I?” Alaric croaked, all too aware of a leathery tongue and a sore head.

“Eldon Keep,” Fenelon said.

“Where’s that?”

“Oh in the north of the Kingdom of Loughan. It’s a family holding gifted to me by my great grandfather when I came of age. There’s an interesting array of ley lines passing close to here that are useful…”

“Loughan,” Alaric interrupted, not wanting a cheerful speech. He tried to sit up again, and seeing his determination to gain that position, both Fenelon and Etienne assisted him, providing a plump pile of pillows for support.

Once up, Alaric closed his eyes and waited for his head and stomach to settle. Then he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. He was in a bed big enough for his whole family to share and still have room to spare. The chamber was bright and cheery in a masculine way.

“Just how did I get to Loughan,” Alaric asked. “And what am I doing here?”

“Well you came here through a gate spell,” Fenelon said.

“A hidden one?” Alaric blurted.

“Oh, no, it was all fair and upfront and in accordance with the rules of Dun Gealach,” Fenelon insisted. “And as to why you are here, well, you’re my apprentice now, and where I go, you go…unless I choose to leave you behind. Besides, Dun Gealach’s such a gloomy and stifling place. I thought the change would do you good. Are you up to some breakfast?”

Breakfast?
Alaric’s stomach did a little lurch. Still, he was admittedly hungry, and so he nodded and started to throw off the blankets…and froze.

“Uh…where are my clothes?” he asked, feeling his face warm.

“All you had on was that nightshirt and your breechclout, and those were rather foul, so we took them off of you,” Fenelon said.

“We?” Alaric repeated. He clutched the blankets to his chest in unease.

“You don’t think I was going to do it alone, do you,” Fenelon said. “They talk about my wild nature enough without earning myself a reputation for stripping helpless youths of their clothes. Etienne helped me.”

Alaric’s face went crimson. He could feel the blood heat his skin all the way up into his ears.

“Have no fear,” Etienne said, rising from the bed. “Your virtue is intact. In my homeland, I was training to be a Healer when my mageborn powers emerged. Here.” She reached for some folded items on a chair and laid them on the bed within easy reach. “These are yours. I insisted we stop and get them because I knew you would need them. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got to get back to Dun Gealach and give lessons before the Council meeting.”

Etienne waved her hand, and Alaric felt the vaguely familiar tingle of a gate spell. She opened a shimmering door and walked through, and it vanished as it closed behind her.

“Horns, I wish I could do it like that,” Fenelon said, shaking his head in amazement.

“Why can’t you?” Alaric asked.

“No patience,” Fenelon said. “It takes years of practice and patience to get a gate spell to take such an intricate form. Etienne has that patience because she learned it when she first trained as a healer.”

“Is she a True Healer, then?” Alaric asked.

“No. Mageborn are never blessed with the power of a True Healer. Seems the gods reserved it for the chosen few, though some have speculated that True Healers, like mageborn, may come by the power through the blood. Others say it’s Diancecht who decides who will get the power. Obviously, Etienne, for all her devotion, was not one of his favorites.”

Alaric sighed. “She has an odd accent. Where is she from?”

Fenelon looked amused. “Ross-mhor,” he said. “She was born in the Duchy of Blue Oaks.”