some more ... still has a few kinks need ironing, but here it is anyway :)
Chapter Two
Davyl looked out over the low buildings, arched cloisters, high towers, green fields, flower filled gardens and shadowed arbours that covered the island of Eserett and smiled with a proprietary smile. It would not be long now.
He lifted the hood off the bird that clung to the thick glove covering his left forearm and ran a long thin finger over her feathers from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. Her plumage was dark brown with speckled patches of lighter colours and her small black eyes watched her master with the deep distrust typical of her kind. She wanted it understood, it seemed, that she stayed where she was because she chose to. It was her choice to allow Davyl to bind her leg with the message and her choice to carry it over the seas to that cold land where the tall men were building their ships.
The druid nodded to the bird and released the tethers that bound her to the glove. She blinked and turned her head the other way, ruffled her feathers and bent her head to peck at the well-padded fingers.
“There will be food for you when you get to the peninsula,” Davyl whispered and quickly thrust his arm forward so that the bird launched herself at last into the air.
With one sharp call of disapproval, the bird headed away from the island towards the mountains that surrounded Lake Pointrell. He watched it until it passed out of sight.
Satisfied at last, he turned to face his patiently waiting visitor. “Yes?”
Umielle pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she stepped out of the shelter of the main tower. The ancient timber floor creaked where her weight pressed and through the gaps she could see the ground so far below. “We found it, my lord.”
“Good.” His long dark hair whipped to and fro in the cold wind but he wore only a thin robe of grey cotton. “Was there any trouble?”
She nodded. “Nothing unexpected. We took it to your rooms.”
“Thank you.”
Davyl watched the young novice hurry back to the door and down the long winding stairs. She was proving to be a loyal apprentice.
With one last look out over the island, the druid followed Umielle’s example and ducked back into the stairwell. He was tall by the standards of Camelson, his mother originated from Tundrese, but his other features: his dark hair, heavy brows, deep-set eyes and slender frame were all inherited from his father. But those days were long past. Such migration had not been possible since the fall of the Tundresic Empire.
At the bottom of the stairs Davyl turned right and strode rapidly through the corridors towards the Council chamber. He was already late for the day’s session.
Rethwyn paused her opening speech while Davyl hurried across the wide chamber to his seat. She fixed him with a stern gaze as he mumbled an apology and then returned to her address. Davyl suppressed a smile at the quiet groans of boredom that whispered through the hall as Rethwyn’s dull voice droned through her long speech.
#
Davyl made it back to his rooms at last, shortly after lunch. A faint spot of gravy still gleamed on his collar where he had hurried his meal.
He pushed through the heavy oak door into his private chambers and closed it quickly behind him. With a softly muttered spell the row of candles along one wall sparked into life. He waved a hand and the flames steadied to produce a soft, warm glow.
Davyl bowed his head before the figurine of the goddess that sat in the stony alcove at the back of the study, her almost grotesquely voluptuous folds a solipsistic essay itself. The Lady had many guises and this, while the least flattering, was the most appropriate to new projects. Elsewhere in his rooms were the figurines of her more muse like forms.
He took a handful of bound incense sticks from the table and held them over a candle until their thick, pungent aroma filled the air and then placed them in the niche before the goddess.
Devotions completed, Davyl turned to examine the small chest that sat in the centre of the room.
He ran his hand over the smooth ash panels. There were no embellishments, the quality of the craftsmanship was plain enough without, except for a face embossed in the centre of one of the side panels. Its eyes were wide open, its nostrils flared and its mouth was stretched in a silent scream of fear. Instead of sound, vines poured from its open maw, curling and twisting down to form a long, leafy beard. From the top of its head two antlers sprouted, but these too became distorted by vegetation, flowers and broad leaves sprouting from new twists of vine that curled about the rigid bone.
There was no opening in the lid. The chest appeared to be sealed completely. He picked it up, his arms stretching easily around it, and smiled at the lightness of its construction. The Wise Ones knew their craft.
Satisfied, Davyl placed the chest in the corner of the room. He picked up the heavy book that rested on a stool and placed one of the candles onto the table beside it to illuminate the pages.
He looked about the room and nodded.
There was a knock at the door. Davyl smiled. “Come.” A young man, one of Umielle’s friends he guessed, came hesitantly into the room. “Can I help you?”
“Forgive me for intruding, my lord. I know that novices are not allowed in the senior druids’ chambers, but I have news that could not wait.”
Davyl closed the book, placed it on the table and put the candle on top of it. It made a pleasing shape and he nodded. “Think nothing of it. Crayl, isn’t it? You have applied to be my apprentice.”
The young man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“And you have come here to petition me in private, I see?”
“Yes.” Crayl blushed suddenly. “I mean no.”
Davyl chuckled. “Well, which is it? You are not the first novice to come creeping to my rooms for a private audience.”
Crayl looked at his hands. “No, my lord. I came to talk to you about Lord Marin. I overheard you talking to him on the beach this morning.”
Davyl’s face darkened instantly. “What did you hear, boy? If you think to impress me by truanting and spying you are gravely mistaken. Out with it.”
“I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to spy. But after you left the beach he had a visitor.”
“A visitor?” This could not be good news. Davyl had known the boy was coming, but he had clearly mistaken the purpose. His robes swirled suddenly behind him as Davyl crossed the room and led Crayl to a deep bench set in the far corner of the room. There was a window above it that allowed the sound of surf crashing on the beach outside to penetrate the druid’s sanctuary. “Tell me about this visitor? Who was it?”
Crayl cleared his throat. “It was the voice of a man, my lord. It seemed that Lord Marin spoke to himself, but the voice that answered was clearly that of someone else.”
“Who was it? Was it the king? The Tundrese?” Davyl searched the boys mind as he spoke, testing the truth of his words. “The Koto?”
Crayl nodded his head. “Koto. He was asking questions about you. He wanted to know about your plans for the Yellow King.”
Davyl sucked his breath in sharply and turned his head. The muscles in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Marin had been a trusted supporter for many years now. He had been privy to many of Davyl’s plans, but these latest had been kept secret even from his closest friends.
But the boy did not lie. Davyl lurched to his feet and strode across the room. With a wild wave of his arm, Davyl flung a pair of candles off the table by the door. Hot wax spluttered through the air and the smell of extinguished wick filled the room. He placed a steadying hand against the wall and breathed deeply through his nose. “You are the ward of Hamus, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Come,” Davyl said, extending a hand to the boy. “Would you lend me your strength?” Crayl showed no sign of hesitation as he took the druid’s hand. “Has anyone ever explained how the dragons use their magic?” His voice was soft and dreamy but his grip on the novice was firm. As the spell took hold, Davyl entered the boy’s thoughts and observed the memory of Lord Marin’s illicit conversation. It was as the child had said.
“No, sir. Do dragons use magic, then?”
“They are able to join their life force with that of other beings. They even join with inanimate forces like rivers and rocks. That is how they manage to hide so well, sometimes within the tors themselves. The granite is their home, you see.” Davyl tightened his grip on the boy’s mind. “They use their magic to gain power. They join with beings that possess large stores of magic and then absorb that energy. When they are done, there is nothing left of the source.”
Davyl’s pallid skin was beginning to gain some colour and his stooping shoulders slowly straightened. In contrast, Crayl seemed to shrink into himself and his flesh paled as if he were about to faint.
“The dragons never mastered their desire to consume,” Davyl continued. “Their greed has led to the deaths of many great druids. Fortunately, I have learned when it is time to stop.”
Davyl released Crayl’s hand and took a step back as he severed the mental connection. The boy shook his head. Doubtless he could still feel a lingering presence.
“Was that dragon magic?” Crayl said. His face looked up at the druid with an expression of awe. “Can you teach it to me?”
“One day. Perhaps. If I could be sure of your fealty.”
“You can, my lord.”
“We shall see.”
Davyl looked out over the low buildings, arched cloisters, high towers, green fields, flower filled gardens and shadowed arbours that covered the island of Eserett and smiled with a proprietary smile. It would not be long now.
He lifted the hood off the bird that clung to the thick glove covering his left forearm and ran a long thin finger over her feathers from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. Her plumage was dark brown with speckled patches of lighter colours and her small black eyes watched her master with the deep distrust typical of her kind. She wanted it understood, it seemed, that she stayed where she was because she chose to. It was her choice to allow Davyl to bind her leg with the message and her choice to carry it over the seas to that cold land where the tall men were building their ships.
The druid nodded to the bird and released the tethers that bound her to the glove. She blinked and turned her head the other way, ruffled her feathers and bent her head to peck at the well-padded fingers.
“There will be food for you when you get to the peninsula,” Davyl whispered and quickly thrust his arm forward so that the bird launched herself at last into the air.
With one sharp call of disapproval, the bird headed away from the island towards the mountains that surrounded Lake Pointrell. He watched it until it passed out of sight.
Satisfied at last, he turned to face his patiently waiting visitor. “Yes?”
Umielle pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders as she stepped out of the shelter of the main tower. The ancient timber floor creaked where her weight pressed and through the gaps she could see the ground so far below. “We found it, my lord.”
“Good.” His long dark hair whipped to and fro in the cold wind but he wore only a thin robe of grey cotton. “Was there any trouble?”
She nodded. “Nothing unexpected. We took it to your rooms.”
“Thank you.”
Davyl watched the young novice hurry back to the door and down the long winding stairs. She was proving to be a loyal apprentice.
With one last look out over the island, the druid followed Umielle’s example and ducked back into the stairwell. He was tall by the standards of Camelson, his mother originated from Tundrese, but his other features: his dark hair, heavy brows, deep-set eyes and slender frame were all inherited from his father. But those days were long past. Such migration had not been possible since the fall of the Tundresic Empire.
At the bottom of the stairs Davyl turned right and strode rapidly through the corridors towards the Council chamber. He was already late for the day’s session.
Rethwyn paused her opening speech while Davyl hurried across the wide chamber to his seat. She fixed him with a stern gaze as he mumbled an apology and then returned to her address. Davyl suppressed a smile at the quiet groans of boredom that whispered through the hall as Rethwyn’s dull voice droned through her long speech.
#
Davyl made it back to his rooms at last, shortly after lunch. A faint spot of gravy still gleamed on his collar where he had hurried his meal.
He pushed through the heavy oak door into his private chambers and closed it quickly behind him. With a softly muttered spell the row of candles along one wall sparked into life. He waved a hand and the flames steadied to produce a soft, warm glow.
Davyl bowed his head before the figurine of the goddess that sat in the stony alcove at the back of the study, her almost grotesquely voluptuous folds a solipsistic essay itself. The Lady had many guises and this, while the least flattering, was the most appropriate to new projects. Elsewhere in his rooms were the figurines of her more muse like forms.
He took a handful of bound incense sticks from the table and held them over a candle until their thick, pungent aroma filled the air and then placed them in the niche before the goddess.
Devotions completed, Davyl turned to examine the small chest that sat in the centre of the room.
He ran his hand over the smooth ash panels. There were no embellishments, the quality of the craftsmanship was plain enough without, except for a face embossed in the centre of one of the side panels. Its eyes were wide open, its nostrils flared and its mouth was stretched in a silent scream of fear. Instead of sound, vines poured from its open maw, curling and twisting down to form a long, leafy beard. From the top of its head two antlers sprouted, but these too became distorted by vegetation, flowers and broad leaves sprouting from new twists of vine that curled about the rigid bone.
There was no opening in the lid. The chest appeared to be sealed completely. He picked it up, his arms stretching easily around it, and smiled at the lightness of its construction. The Wise Ones knew their craft.
Satisfied, Davyl placed the chest in the corner of the room. He picked up the heavy book that rested on a stool and placed one of the candles onto the table beside it to illuminate the pages.
He looked about the room and nodded.
There was a knock at the door. Davyl smiled. “Come.” A young man, one of Umielle’s friends he guessed, came hesitantly into the room. “Can I help you?”
“Forgive me for intruding, my lord. I know that novices are not allowed in the senior druids’ chambers, but I have news that could not wait.”
Davyl closed the book, placed it on the table and put the candle on top of it. It made a pleasing shape and he nodded. “Think nothing of it. Crayl, isn’t it? You have applied to be my apprentice.”
The young man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“And you have come here to petition me in private, I see?”
“Yes.” Crayl blushed suddenly. “I mean no.”
Davyl chuckled. “Well, which is it? You are not the first novice to come creeping to my rooms for a private audience.”
Crayl looked at his hands. “No, my lord. I came to talk to you about Lord Marin. I overheard you talking to him on the beach this morning.”
Davyl’s face darkened instantly. “What did you hear, boy? If you think to impress me by truanting and spying you are gravely mistaken. Out with it.”
“I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to spy. But after you left the beach he had a visitor.”
“A visitor?” This could not be good news. Davyl had known the boy was coming, but he had clearly mistaken the purpose. His robes swirled suddenly behind him as Davyl crossed the room and led Crayl to a deep bench set in the far corner of the room. There was a window above it that allowed the sound of surf crashing on the beach outside to penetrate the druid’s sanctuary. “Tell me about this visitor? Who was it?”
Crayl cleared his throat. “It was the voice of a man, my lord. It seemed that Lord Marin spoke to himself, but the voice that answered was clearly that of someone else.”
“Who was it? Was it the king? The Tundrese?” Davyl searched the boys mind as he spoke, testing the truth of his words. “The Koto?”
Crayl nodded his head. “Koto. He was asking questions about you. He wanted to know about your plans for the Yellow King.”
Davyl sucked his breath in sharply and turned his head. The muscles in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Marin had been a trusted supporter for many years now. He had been privy to many of Davyl’s plans, but these latest had been kept secret even from his closest friends.
But the boy did not lie. Davyl lurched to his feet and strode across the room. With a wild wave of his arm, Davyl flung a pair of candles off the table by the door. Hot wax spluttered through the air and the smell of extinguished wick filled the room. He placed a steadying hand against the wall and breathed deeply through his nose. “You are the ward of Hamus, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Come,” Davyl said, extending a hand to the boy. “Would you lend me your strength?” Crayl showed no sign of hesitation as he took the druid’s hand. “Has anyone ever explained how the dragons use their magic?” His voice was soft and dreamy but his grip on the novice was firm. As the spell took hold, Davyl entered the boy’s thoughts and observed the memory of Lord Marin’s illicit conversation. It was as the child had said.
“No, sir. Do dragons use magic, then?”
“They are able to join their life force with that of other beings. They even join with inanimate forces like rivers and rocks. That is how they manage to hide so well, sometimes within the tors themselves. The granite is their home, you see.” Davyl tightened his grip on the boy’s mind. “They use their magic to gain power. They join with beings that possess large stores of magic and then absorb that energy. When they are done, there is nothing left of the source.”
Davyl’s pallid skin was beginning to gain some colour and his stooping shoulders slowly straightened. In contrast, Crayl seemed to shrink into himself and his flesh paled as if he were about to faint.
“The dragons never mastered their desire to consume,” Davyl continued. “Their greed has led to the deaths of many great druids. Fortunately, I have learned when it is time to stop.”
Davyl released Crayl’s hand and took a step back as he severed the mental connection. The boy shook his head. Doubtless he could still feel a lingering presence.
“Was that dragon magic?” Crayl said. His face looked up at the druid with an expression of awe. “Can you teach it to me?”
“One day. Perhaps. If I could be sure of your fealty.”
“You can, my lord.”
“We shall see.”