The Dragon of Trelian Read online

  Calen knew what she meant by that, at least. Each time Serek sent him to the market for supplies, the traders — those who still came — always seemed to have new stories of thieves and bandits on the roads. And sometimes, worse things, although surely those stories weren’t true. Supplies were stolen, or never sent at all, and there were even rumors that some traders who ventured into the vast Hunterheart Forest, which bordered the castle grounds and stretched over much of the distance between Trelian and Kragnir, disappeared and were never heard from again.

  They watched as more riders came into view, Meg pointing out those whose names she knew and sharing bits of stories she’d heard about them. Calen had never met anyone quite like Meg before. She was nicer than she’d seemed at first, he thought. Maybe she couldn’t help being bossy; she was a princess, after all. And she sure did talk a lot. He wasn’t used to it, but at the same time it was a welcome change from his usual nonconversations with Serek. Even if he was mostly just listening. It was nice to actually have someone to listen to.

  When the prince and his guard reached the main gate, Meg jumped down from the window.

  “I have to go — I’m sure Father will be angry I missed his discussion on how to behave at dinner, but if I’m not back in time to greet our guests at the table, I’ll really be in trouble.”

  Thinking of trouble reminded Calen of his own situation. Serek would not be pleased he had been gone this long.

  Meg started to push through the curtains and then turned back. She looked at him for a long moment. Finally she asked, “Can you get away tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  She smiled mysteriously. “Meet me by the small gate at first bell. I’ll share a secret with you.”

  MOST OF THE CASTLE HALLS WERE lined with tapestries and paintings. Some showed glorious battles, or what Calen guessed were important friends and ancestors of the royal family, but others were complete stories in themselves, with entire lives depicted scene by scene. Calen usually stopped to admire them when he passed, but right now he hardly saw them at all. He turned down a dimly lit corridor that led to the mage’s quarters. No point lingering in the hallway worrying; he’d find out soon enough how much trouble he was in and would just try to say as little as possible about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. He’d leave Meg out of it entirely. Serek probably wouldn’t believe that he’d been talking with the princess anyway — Calen still hardly believed it himself! — and if Serek did believe it, Calen was afraid he’d decide it was improper for his apprentice to be interacting with royalty outside of duty’s requirements and forbid him to see her again. Meg might be a bit pushy and condescending, and perhaps slightly intimidating, and, okay, yes, she had nearly killed him, but she was also the first person he’d had a real conversation with in a long time. And she seemed to find him interesting enough to want to talk to him again tomorrow. To share a secret! He didn’t want Serek to take that away. It would be nice to make a friend.

  In the six years he’d been apprenticed to Serek, they’d spent time in several different households, among families of varying ranks and stations, and Serek had never seemed interested in getting to know anyone closely or, gods forbid, actually making friends anywhere. He kept to himself, focused on his craft, and seemed disdainful of other mages they’d encountered who mixed personal relationships with work situations.

  Which was all very well for him, but Calen had no desire to live the rest of his life with no one but Serek and his ill-tempered gyrcat for companionship. Life before Serek hadn’t exactly been perfect, but at least in between the work there had been moments with other people — feastdays and shared errands with the other inn workers, friendly patrons and occasional kind words from the cooks or the stable master, gifts from the innkeeper’s wife once a year at Turning Day. But Serek seemed to go out of his way to avoid other people. Even Calen’s company sometimes appeared to be more than he could bear. Which was something the great mage really should have thought about before dragging Calen away from the only life he’d ever known to be his stupid apprentice.

  That day, the day Serek had carted him off to be initiated, Calen had thought he was leaving his mundane and unimportant existence far behind. He’d looked back at Arster’s inn as the other boys stood outside, watching him ride away in the wagon. He’d felt different from them, special. Destined for a new and exciting future. He’d imagined all the grand spells he would cast, working wonders, fighting enemies, defending his patrons . . . and when Serek began teaching him those early lessons, he’d loved the way it felt to cast, to channel the magical energy toward a purpose, shaping it to accomplish whatever he held in his mind. But soon enough it became clear that most of the time there was no purpose. It was nearly all just books and learning and memorizing things to recite back to Serek. What was the point in becoming a mage if you never really got a chance to use magic?

  Serek spent nearly all his time with his nose buried in books and papers, coming up for air only long enough to assign Calen some pointless task that was supposed to be furthering his magical education but seemed more likely just a way to keep him busy and protect Serek’s beloved solitude. And lately it had gotten even worse. Ever since Serek had been appointed King’s Mage, he’d been more distant than ever, sending Calen off on errands rather than letting him help with anything or letting him know what was going on. At least at their last post he’d been able to work in the gardens, so he’d felt that he was doing something . . . but here they had a whole army of royal gardeners for that, and it had been made quite clear that they didn’t want the mage’s apprentice hanging about or, gods forbid, actually doing anything useful.

  With a sigh, Calen opened the narrow door at the end of the corridor and stepped inside.

  Serek was at his desk, running one hand distractedly through his short black hair and apparently trying to read the contents of several books at once. Four or five huge volumes lay before him, pages held open with small but heavy stones and, in one instance, the grinning skull of Serek’s late mentor, Rorgson. Calen closed the door with a little more force than necessary. Serek glanced up at him.

  “There you are. Took you long enough. Get lost on the way back from the garden, did you?” He shook his head, bending back over his books. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Put the silverweed by the window and fetch me the Erylun book from the library.”

  Calen closed his mouth and did as he was told. Something was obviously wrong — Serek never let him off that easy — but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.

  The library was a large room down a short hallway from Serek’s workshop. Fredrin, Serek’s predecessor as King’s Mage, had acquired a huge collection of books during his tenure at the castle, which Serek had been overjoyed to discover. He had actually smiled. Serek had a sizable collection of his own, as no doubt all mages did, but Fredrin’s library was truly something extraordinary. There were many books on the shelves that looked interesting, like the one on Crostian death rites or the various texts regarding secret ancient languages, but Serek had forbidden him to touch anything in the library without permission, and then of course refused to grant him permission to look at any of the more appealing titles.

  The Erylun book was near the top shelf, which required the use of one of the rolling ladders to reach. Serek consulted this book all the time but refused to reshelve it in a more convenient location that would violate the existing system of organization. Calen reflected bitterly on this as he dragged the enormous thing from its place and began to back his way down the ladder. Why should Serek care where it was shelved? He was never the one who had to get it down.

  Calen lugged the book to the workshop and then waited, arms aching, while Serek cleared a space for it on his desk. The Erylun was a compendium of knowledge and research on all sorts of topics, gathered from learned individuals across various lands and times and organized by Mage Erylun, who had been, apparently, quite the learned individual himself. Serek allowed Cal
en to use the book on occasion for research related to his lessons, and the array of information was astonishing. Huge as it was, Calen suspected that the book held far more text than could physically fit on its actual number of pages. Serek refused to confirm or deny this, which meant there was almost certainly some sort of sorcery involved.

  Serek began paging through the book, muttering anxiously to himself. Knowing better than to interrupt, Calen started toward the chair on the far side of the desk — might as well sit down while he waited, since there was no telling how long it would be until Serek decided to acknowledge him again.

  Luckily, he heard the low growling in time and stopped a few steps away.

  Squinting, Calen was just able to make out Lyrimon’s ample shape against the surface of the chair. The gyrcat wasn’t really invisible, just . . . very hard to see. He was able to blend in with just about anything, and it wasn’t only that he could change his color. He became less substantial, somehow, as if he weren’t quite as real as whatever was behind or under him. So any observer would see the chair, not the cat, until it was too late. Well, almost any observer. Serek could always seem to tell exactly where Lyrimon was. Calen had been surprised by the creature more times than he cared to remember. Lyrimon tended to react nastily to being sat or stepped upon. One especially unpleasant encounter had required more than a few bandages. Serek had refused to heal him magically, citing a need for Calen to “learn to respect the personal space of others.”

  Calen backed away from the chair and resigned himself to leaning against a wall instead.

  After a while, Serek looked up.

  “What have I taught you about divination?” he asked.

  “That it’s difficult, dangerous, not always reliable, and that I’ll learn more about it when and if you feel I’m old enough to handle it,” Calen said. “Why?”

  Serek’s lips twitched slightly into what might have been a smirk. “I suppose I’ve just decided you’re old enough. Come here.”

  As Calen approached the desk, Serek reached into a drawer and brought out a small wooden box. He opened it and withdrew a thick deck of illustrated cards held together with a knotted piece of silk.

  “Do you know what these are?”

  “Spirit cards,” Calen breathed, leaning closer. He’d never seen an actual set of them before. “They’re used to see the future, and the pictures are from some old wizard who drew them in his sleep or something. And they all represent things that are going to happen, if you know how to read them right.”

  Serek looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “I — I happened to see a description in the Erylun book while I was working on potions last month,” Calen said quickly. “I didn’t even know you had a deck.”

  Serek looked at him a moment longer, then shook his head and began shuffling the cards. “Yes. Well, that’s basically correct. The ‘old wizard’ you’re referring to is Syrill, whose name you would know if you were as far along with your potions work as you’ve led me to believe, since he developed many of the elementary potion spells in your assignment.”

  Calen winced, but after a brief, meaningful pause, Serek went on. “He drew the illustrations while in a deep trance state, and all modern decks are based on his drawings. The pictures don’t represent specific incidents or events, just general suggestions — they’re intended to be interpreted by the reader, based on their position with regard to the other cards, among other things.”

  Serek stopped shuffling and handed the cards to Calen.

  “Every so often, I use these to get a sense of things to come. Lately I’ve been trying to see the shape of near-future events for Trelian. Now, as I’ve said, spirit cards — or any form of divination — can be unreliable, because so much rests in the interpretation of the reader. It takes years of regular practice to learn how to read the cards, and even then, it’s possible to misread what the cards are saying. Sometimes, though rarely, experience can even work against you and lead you to distort the meanings. So we’re going to try a little experiment. You’re going to read the cards and tell me what you see.”

  Calen blinked, astonished. “But I don’t —”

  Serek held up a hand to stop him. “I know you don’t know how to read them. That’s exactly the point. I need a fresh perspective, an interpretation unclouded by prior knowledge or experience. It might not work, but we’re going to try it.”

  Calen nodded, anxious but excited. Serek usually made him study something forever before he finally got a chance to try it, and the long hours of reading and discussing often exhausted his attention and led his mind to wander, making him a much poorer student than he knew he could be. And since focus was at the heart of every act of sorcery, it was always difficult to convince Serek that he was ready, even if he couldn’t remember the names and dates and other facts that never seemed nearly as important as the method and practice itself.

  Still, jumping right in like this made Calen nervous. How could he do it right if he didn’t know what he was doing?

  “All right,” Serek said. “Hold the cards in your hands, and focus your mind on the kingdom. Nothing specific, just the kingdom itself.”

  Calen cleared his mind. This part, at least, he knew how to do. Almost every act of magic Serek had ever taught him began this way. Once he felt completely empty of random thoughts, he filled the space he’d created in his mind with the idea of Trelian.

  “Good,” said Serek. His voice was soft, unintrusive; Calen was able to hear him without interrupting his focus. “Now shuffle the cards and invite the question of Trelian’s future. Allow yourself to be open to what the future may bring.”

  Calen complied. After a moment, Serek took the cards back from him and began to lay some of them out, faceup, one by one. He placed the first three in an arc across the desktop, then the next three in another arc with one single card below them in the center. The next three formed another arc beneath this, and a final, eleventh card went facedown below that.

  “All right,” Serek continued. He rose and had Calen sit in his chair. “Maintain your focus, and try to direct it at each card in turn, starting on the top left. For all of them except the two single ones, you need to consider the cards both individually and within each group of three. The single cards should be interpreted on their own. I’ll talk you through it as you go. You must be receptive and allow the meaning of the cards to come to you. Ready?” He waited for Calen’s hesitant nod, then continued. “Now, start with the first group and tell me what you see.”

  Calen looked at the first card. It showed water, flowing in what seemed to be a swiftly moving river. It made Calen think of motion, of being swept along in the current. Holding that idea in his mind, he looked to the next card. This one was divided across the center and showed two images, one right-side up and one upside down from his perspective. Both were nearly identical pictures of a young woman looking into a mirror, but the mirror on the top half, which was right-side up, was dim and murky, while the mirror on the lower half was clear and bright. The dark mirror made him feel uneasy.

  The third card showed a small girl clutching a rag doll against her chest. Calen frowned. He was sure the card must mean something about children, or pretending, but the girl seemed so serious —

  “Don’t force it,” Serek said softly. “Don’t try to figure anything out. Just accept the meaning that comes to you.”

  Calen took a breath. “Okay,” he said. “The water means change, or lots of changes, happening soon or maybe already happening now. The dark mirror means the changes are difficult to see, not anything obvious. Hidden. And the girl —” Calen frowned again, then shook his head and continued. “She means importance. Something, or maybe many things, that are important, that really matter. I know that’s probably not right, but that’s what she makes me think of.”

  “That’s fine,” said Serek, still speaking in that low, soothing voice. “Keep going. Move on to the next group.”

  The next card showed a tiny ship
deep in a raging storm. Dark clouds blotted out the sky, and it seemed that any moment the ship would be lost under the violent waves. The meaning there seemed pretty obvious — danger. Calen held on to that and went on.

  The picture on the next card was also rather dark and also seemed to give up its meaning easily. It showed a woman weeping into her hands. Somehow the picture suggested that she had just fallen to her knees, that the force of her grief was such that she could no longer stand. Looking at it, feeling the intense sorrow it contained, Calen almost wanted to cry himself.

  The third card in the group showed a far cheerier and lighthearted image — two laughing boys winning a three-legged race, their arms raised in joy and victory as they broke through the ribbon marking the finish line. It should have meant happiness, or success, and in a way, it did . . . but the card was upside down, and the victory it showed felt wrong, and threatening. It was someone else’s victory, someone whose success meant exactly the opposite for Trelian.

  “These are all about bad things,” Calen said. “Danger, and sorrow, and the victory of someone or something who should never be victorious.” He looked up at Serek, concentration faltering. “What does it mean? Is this the future? Is something terrible going to happen?”

  Serek nodded toward the cards. “Keep your focus, Calen. Don’t stop to ask questions. Not of me, and not of yourself.” His voice was still soft, but there was a slight edge to it now, like a warning. Calen swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to regain his clarity of mind. Questions were for later. All he needed to do was receive the information from the cards. And he was receiving information — he could feel it. There was something happening, a connection between the cards and his mind. This was different from following some recipe from a spellbook; this felt . . . real. It was like the way he used to feel, in the beginning, before — he gave his head a little shake. Not now. Focus, he reminded himself sternly. After a moment he felt calm again and opened his eyes to continue.