The Dreamer's Song (Nine Kingdoms #11)
Lynn Kurland
Prologue
Afair-haired man stood under the trees on the edge of a forest, watching the heavens as the world turned toward dawn, waiting for a miracle.
The stars were obscured by clouds that resembled nothing so much as a thin layer of wool that had been tugged and stretched to fit the glittering expanse, but they were still occasionally visible if one looked carefully enough. That was an apt metaphor, he supposed, for his part in the drama that lay before him, a drama he was doing his damndest to stay out of. He was, he had to admit, having far less success at that than he would have liked.
But what else was he to do? The fate of the world hung in the balance and for the second time in as many years, he found that he simply couldn’t not at least reach out to steady the scales.
He thought he might not want to make a habit of it, actually.
He glanced at the woman who stood next to him, a woman he knew was a great deal less philosophical about their present business than he was. She was watching the sky with a frown.
“Is the spell of concealment they’re using that good,” she asked, “or have they fallen off their dragon somewhere between here and Tor Neroche and plunged to their deaths?”
The man paused, sought out the travelers with thought alone, then shook his head. “They’re still alive.”
“Your Highness, you could do more for the success of this venture than just make certain they’re breathing every now and again.”
“I don’t like to interfere—”
His companion snorted rather indelicately. “You continue to tell yourself that, but how you manage not to choke on the words, I don’t know.”
He had to fight his smile. “Few dare speak to me with such frankness.”
She looked singularly unimpressed. “I do not fear you. That, if you’re curious, is nothing more than you deserve for rescuing me all those many years ago, then recently plucking me from my safe, comfortable obscurity only to drag me into events too large for my poor soul to bear.”
“Yet here you are, in spite of everything,” he noted.
“I have my reasons.”
He had his reasons as well, though perhaps his weren’t so personal. Being concerned about the fate of the world rather than the players involved tended to protect his heart, though he supposed he couldn’t keep that up forever. He wasn’t sure what he would do when the day came that he couldn’t manage it, but perhaps it was something he could put off thinking about for a bit longer.
He continued to watch the sky for any hint of something more substantial than the stillness of the night air.
“Is he kind to her, do you think?” his companion asked suddenly.
He shrugged lightly. “Time will tell, I suppose.”
“I absolutely despise it when you say that.”
He looked at her in amusement. “Have you known me long enough to form such an opinion?”
She glared at him. “Almost a score of years, which is long enough to acquaint myself with phrases you use when you don’t want to answer a question. And aye, I realize a score of years is likely younger than your favorite pair of slippers, but that’s hardly my fault.”
“Indeed it isn’t,” he agreed. He looked up, then nodded. “They have arrived.”
She swore. “I can’t see them—ah, damnation, I can see the edges of the spell.” She let out an unsteady breath. “I’m not sure I’ll ever accustom myself to that sort of rot.”
He smiled a little at the thought of just how much of that sort of rot he had been privy to himself, then watched the spectacle in front of him with more jaded eyes. The spell of un-noticing covering the pair flying on that rather impressive dragon was a good one, which had likely served them well to that point. Unfortunately, he was who he was and he could see them perfectly well in spite of the magic covering them. His companion could also boast sight clearer than most thanks to her progenitors, but perhaps that was something he would be wise not to point out at present.
He supposed even a simple woodsman wouldn’t have required any special powers to know what had arrived in that glade given how enthusiastically one of the riders was commenting on their descent. The dragon dropping out of the night with his claws stretched toward the ground was doing so without much mercy for the pair on his back. He tore through the spell of un-noticing and landed with a ground-shaking thump. If his fire-laced snort warmed the entire place up considerably without actually setting the glade on fire, well, who could complain?
Certainly not the man chortling as he hopped off the dragon’s back and turned to hold up his hands for his companion.
If nothing else, that lad there had decent manners.
The dragon shook off his scales and resumed a very sensible horse shape whilst his two passengers indulged in a brief but salty discussion of their journey thus far. A third man unspun himself from a bit of swirling wind, then joined in the spirited but whispered conversation about spells, libraries, and the need for a decent breakfast sooner rather than later. Friendly curses were exchanged between the two men before the first man gathered up his horse’s reins, offered his arm to his shivering companion, then walked off toward the gates of the city that squatted there in the distance. The third of their number was left to obviously follow or not, as he willed.
The blond man looked at his companion. “Satisfied?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m not sure I have much of a choice. I know what you think already and I’ve made my peace with it, but I will say a final time that Acair of Ceangail has a horrible reputation.”
“He’s not exactly able to do anything to augment that reputation at the moment, as you well know.”
“How is that better?” she asked sharply. “At least with his magic, he could keep his companions safe.”
The man considered for a moment or two. His sight was, he was the first to admit, sometimes a bit too clear to allow him to sleep easily at night, but, as he told himself more often than he liked, if there were no evil in the world, what would there be for good men to do?
He suppressed the impulse to shift at the memories of all the looks he’d had in return for stating that truth, looks ranging from incredulity to fury.
He let out his breath slowly. “He is a mage of terrible power,” he conceded, “and questionable morals—”
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration. “Again, how is this better?”
“Because he’s also damned clever,” he offered. “He would also be the first to admit that keeping himself alive tops his list of things to do each day. I believe that enthusiasm for continuing to breathe extends to his traveling companions.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not as far as to that prince of Neroche who travels with them, but to the woman he’s obviously fond of? Aye, he’ll keep her safe enough.”
She looked at him seriously. “He would do better with his magic.”