Found Page 8

  It was looking for something. Oh. I was a wizard; it wanted to see my locus magicalicus. “I don’t have one,” I said softly.

  At the sound of my voice, the dragon’s head reared back. The talons closed around me, snatching me up, gouging chunks of dirt from the ground. The dragon’s other foot grabbed my knapsack. With a thunder-clap of wings, the dragon leaped into the air.

  “Conn!” Rowan screamed.

  I felt the lurch of the ground pulling at me, and a wild rushing of wind. The dragon beat its wings again, an echoing whumph; the land let me go and we whirled upward.

  Away we flew, straight toward the dazzling sun.

  The dragon circled over the pine forest. I felt when it tracked onto the spell-line leading straight south; we shot away, faster than falling, the finding spell humming in my bones.

  One of the dragon’s talons was still stuck through the shoulder of my coat. Just over my face was its foot, like the palm of a giant hand, but covered with smooth scales. I caught my breath and reached up and rested my hand against it. The scales were warm. My hand trembled against them. The dragon’s talons went around under my back, holding me tight, the way a bird’s foot holds on to a branch. It wasn’t going to let me fall. I twisted around to have a look at where we were going.

  To the west, at the edge where the land met the sky, the sun was falling down behind low hills. The sky on the other side was turning deep velvet blue, pricked with stars. Below, the land was darkening. I saw a greeny-black blanket of pine forest, then a lighter brown ribbon—a river. Beside it was a wide, soot-smudged clump of houses and streets and towers glinting in the setting sun, the city of Torrent. And straight below us, the scorch-black spell-line.

  Rowan hadn’t been hurt, that I could see. What would she do when Argent got back with the supplies? She might realize that the dragon was heading down the spell-line. She might try to follow. Or they’d turn and go back to Wellmet.

  The sun flung a few last beams of light across the sky, then sank out of sight. The land below grew dark. An icy-cold wind whistled past, but the dragon’s foot kept me warm. I leaned to the side and looked up between the talons that curled around me. The stars hung down so low and bright, I could have reached up and brushed them aside with my hand to see into the deep, velvet-black sky.

  The dragon flew straight through the night. I had time to tease out the knots and get Argent’s rope off my wrists. And to think about what the dragon wanted me for.

  Clear as clear, it’d come down the spell-line, and it was bringing me back up the spell-line. It could’ve killed Rowan, but it hadn’t; I didn’t think it meant me any harm, either. It might have some other reason for coming to fetch me, but we were flying toward my locus magicalicus, and that was reason enough for me.

  “Fly faster, dragon,” I said.

  It wouldn’t hear me, even if it did have ears among all the spikes on its head.

  I lay still and listened to the wind rushing past and the whumph-whumph of the dragon’s wings beating overhead. When I got cold, I curled against the hearth-warm foot and watched the darkness flow by outside my talon-cage.

  What would Nevery think if he could see me now?

  Curse it, boy, he’d say. Be careful.

  Right, Nevery. I’d be as careful as I could.

  * * *

  Magister Nevery,

  Conn said one of these black birds would carry this message to you. We were attacked by a dragon, which has taken Conn away with it. It flew along the finding spell-line. We think it must be taking Conn to his locus magicalicus, but we cannot be sure. Sir Argent and I are returning to Wellmet as fast as we can ride, for I have been away too long.

  Sir, if you can, will you tell my mother to expect my return? She will be very angry with me. I followed Conn, hoping that if he returned to Wellmet with me he would not be punished for returning from exile. I know Conn well enough to know that he’ll come back to Wellmet, no matter what.

  Magister Nevery, I have been taught that dragons once lived in the Peninsular Duchies but that they’ve been extinct for hundreds of years. Something very strange is going on. I suppose neither of us should be surprised that Conn is at the center of whatever it is.

  I am making all possible haste.

  Very sincerely yours,

  Rowan Forestal

  * * *

  CHAPTER 17

  Morning came. First the sky turned metal-gray, then lighter at the eastern edge. The air was thin and icy cold; I shivered in my sweater and coat and huddled closer to the warmth of the dragon. I peered down between the talons to see where we were.

  I’d never seen mountains before, but Rowan had shown me pictures, so I knew what I was seeing. We flew over mountains with shadowy pine forests around their knees giving way to broad snowfields glimmering pink in the dawn light, then steep walls and crevices thrusting up to peaks so high that clouds streamed from them like gray-white banners.

  The dragon flew among the peaks, deeper into the mountains. The morning sun gleamed off the jagged rock faces; the valleys stayed dark.

  The dragon banked, making my stomach lurch, gliding ’round the shoulder of one mountain, and I caught a glimpse of the tallest cloud-wrapped mountain yet, straight ahead of us, and then the dragon folded its wings and plunged down.

  The wind screamed past, and I clung to a talon with both hands. Outside was a whirl of gray rock face, a flash of bright blue sky, and then a snowfield racing past just below me, smooth and white.

  With a clap of its huge wings, the dragon made a sharp turn, flinging me against the side of my claw-cage; then the claw opened and I dropped like a bundle of sticks through the air and—flumph—landed in the snow.

  I heard something else fall into the snow not far away, and then I ducked my head as the dragon swept up its wings and climbed back into the sky.

  Lying in the snow, blinking ice crystals out of my eyes, I watched it go. Up the slope it flew, then ’round the side of the mountain, the sun gleaming off its ember-gold scales.

  I sat up and looked around.

  After the rushing of wind and pumping of dragon wings all night, everything seemed very quiet. I heard the wind whispering across the snow. And something else.

  Shedding snow, I stood up, blinking away the white-bright light, and shaded my eyes with my hand to look. All I could see was a snowfield sloping up to a rock ridge that led like a staircase up and around the side of the mountain, where the dragon had gone. I turned and saw the tree line far below, pine trees and piles of gray rocks. I closed my eyes against the dazzle-bright snow and listened.

  Yes, coming from higher up the mountain, the singing of the spell-line.

  The other flumph sound had been the dragon dropping my knapsack. I clumped through the snow, picked it up, and slung it on my back.

  The snow was cold, creeping into my boots and making my toes numb; the wind rushing over the snow was cold. But the morning sun lay warm on my black coat.

  The spell-line wasn’t far away.

  I headed toward it. Toward my locus magicalicus.

  From far away, the stone stairs leading ’round the side of the mountain had looked like ordinary stairs, but when I got up close I saw that they weren’t. I stood at the bottom of the staircase, knee-deep in snow, and looked up. The stairs had been cut out of the side of the mountain, and each step was as high as I could reach. Steps for giants. They led to the spell-line.

  I took off the knapsack and tossed it up onto the first step. Standing on my toes, I got my fingers over the edge and pulled myself slowly up, finding cracks for my feet in the stone. I picked up the knapsack and tossed it to the next step, and the next, and the next, and climbed up again and again, until my arms were quivering with tiredness and I had a scrape on my chin and bruised knees from trying to scramble up the rock face. Catching my breath, I stood and looked back, over the snowfield to jagged snowy peaks and brilliant blue sky.

  The spell-line was pulling at me, but it was far enough away that I c
ould take time for a rest. I sat down on the stone step and checked my knapsack. Four stale biscuits as hard as rocks, a packet of dried apples, a canteen half full of water, my pencils and paper, a tin cup, a block of cheese about as big as my fist, and the spell-book Nevery’d given me. Enough to eat for a few days, anyway. I ate a few pieces of dried apple and, still chewing, lay down. The stone was like the old, pebbly, wrinkled skin of the mountain under my back. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my eyelids. The air was cold, but the rock beneath me felt warm.

  A shadow passed over the sun; I felt it on my face and heard a whoosh of wind. I opened my eyes and sat up.

  The flame dragon. It crouched four steps above me, its wings outspread, watching me.

  I felt like a mouse about to be pounced on by a hawk.

  “All right, I’m coming,” I said, getting to my feet. Keeping an eye on the dragon, I picked up my knapsack and threw it onto the next step. My fingers were cold and scraped from clinging to the rock. My neck was warm, though, wrapped in the scarf Benet had knitted for me. I started pulling myself up the step when the dragon dropped from its perch, flying right over my head in a rush of wind. It banked and went around the shoulder of the mountain, where the stairs led.

  I climbed until the sun was perched on the mountains to the west, and the snowfield was rosy-gray with the coming night, and the wind off the peaks had grown teeth that nibbled at the back of my neck. The air felt thin, making my breath come in quick gasps. I’d come ’round the side of the mountain. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the blackened path, where the finding spell had burned its way through the snow, leading from Wellmet, far away, to this place. Ahead the spell-line joined the stone stairs and scorched straight to an opening in the side of the mountain that looked like a wide, dark mouth. A cave.

  Over the cave perched the flame dragon, clinging with three of its clawed feet to a spire of rock. It gazed down at me with its fire-bright eyes.

  On the next step, I climbed into the spell-line.

  It wrapped itself around me so I couldn’t feel the wind or my tired arms. The spell dragged me up the last few steps until I stood with my knapsack at my feet on the wide stone step before the cave, where the scorch-mark ended.

  The call of the spell-line flickered like a guttering candle and went out.

  Everything was quiet. The sky had turned dark blue-black and the full moon had risen behind the mountain, sending sharp shadows and milky white light down to splash across the cave’s doorstep.

  The finding spell had led here. Sure as sure, somewhere in that cave was my locus magicalicus.

  * * *

  Lady Rowan—

  During the past two days I have sent two letters to my apprentice and have had no response; now you tell me about this dragon. As you say, dragons were thought to be extinct. But where Conn is concerned, I have come to expect the unexpected.

  It is very urgent that you return with all speed to Wellmet, and if you find my apprentice, bring him with you, whether or not he has found his locus magicalicus. You are both needed here immediately.

  —Nevery F.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 18

  I picked up my knapsack and stepped into the dark cave. The stone under my feet trembled. Or maybe it was me trembling with tiredness from a whole day of climbing up the side of the mountain.

  I knew how to find my locus magicalicus. I took a deep breath. “Lothfalas,” I said. The word fell out of my mouth and landed splat on the floor. Nothing happened.

  “Lothfalas!” I shouted, and lothfalas went deep into the cave and bounced back to me—falas—alas—alas…

  Nothing.

  Maybe there was no magic here, so my locus stone, wherever it was in the cave, wouldn’t light up when I said the lothfalas spell. But that couldn’t be right. I could feel magic here. Not the same as in Wellmet, not that warm, protecting feeling, and nothing like the cold, stony dread of Arhionvar, but the prickling at the back of my neck and the watchful feeling of the cave felt like magic. Like a magical being was here.

  Maybe I was too far away from my locus magicalicus.

  The cave was black-dark. I shuffled farther in, my hands held up to stop me from bumping into anything, sliding my feet just in case the ground fell away. My feet kicked small stones that went rattling away over a floor that felt rough, but not too bumpy.

  “Lothfalas,” I said. The dark stayed dark.

  My foot knocked against something else. I stretched out my hands until they found a tumbled heap of stones, all the size of my fist or smaller. My locus magicalicus might be in the pile. “Lothfalas,” I said again. I climbed onto the pile and pushed aside some of the stones.

  Late into the night I climbed that pile of rocks and then other piles, saying the lothfalas spell until my voice got hoarse.

  I woke up in the morning sprawled out on a pile of stones, my knapsack under my head for a pillow. The ground had been shivering again. A cold breeze trickled in from outside. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, squinting at the morning light. I looked around at the cave.

  It was even bigger than the courtyard outside Heartsease, maybe as big as the whole island, a huge hollowed-out space inside the mountain. The walls and ceiling were lost in the dim darkness, but they seemed patchy and shiny in places, as if water was dripping down. The air was warmish, but it made goosebumps prickle on the back of my neck. The air smelled, just a little, of the smoke after a pyrotechnic explosion. The cave floor was flat, chiseled out of the mountain just as the stairs had been. The floor was covered with stones; stones glittery and pebble-dull, big and small, scattered and heaped up in piles; thousands of stones.

  I looked down at the pile of stones I’d been sleeping on. It was as high as my chest and as wide as a street in the Twilight. The stones were jumbled together. Some were smooth and brown like river stones; others were weatheredy-gray like the mountain and bigger than my fist; some were shards of shiny black rock; some were lumpy gray gravel. They hadn’t all come from the mountain. They must’ve been gathered here.

  “Lothfalas,” I said loudly. None of the stones lit up. I dug into the pile, shoving the rocks and stones out of the way. They went tumbling and rattling onto the cave floor. “Lothfalas,” I said again. Still nothing.

  I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find my stone and get back to Wellmet.

  My stomach growled. Right. I did have time for breakfast.

  I opened my knapsack and dug inside. Water canteen. Packet of cheese. One, two, three biscuits. Hadn’t there been four? Maybe I’d miscounted. I poured some water into the battered tin cup and dunked one of the rock-hard biscuits in to soften it. I ate that, and a piece of cheese, then wrapped up the food and put it away.

  Then, leaving my knapsack, I went back to searching. The mouth of the cave grew brighter as the midday sun shone down on the cave’s doorstep. Inside stayed dark-dim. I gave up on the pile I’d slept on and moved to the next pile. I climbed onto it and started pushing some of the rocks aside, when I caught a glimpse of something glitter-bright. There, right under two plain brown stones. I picked it up and polished the dust off it with the hem of my sweater. It was about as big as a hen’s egg, and deep blue.

  I caught my breath. “Lothfalas,” I whispered.

  The stone lay quiet in my hand. Drats. I’d know my locus stone when I found it, and this wasn’t it.

  I tossed the jewel stone aside. It tumbled down the side of the stone heap and dribbled out onto the floor. I stared down at it, shining softly in the late-afternoon light from the cave mouth.

  Oh. I was being stupid. The blue stone was a jewel. Just like my first locus magicalicus had been. I looked around the wide, dark cave, at the piles of stones all over the floor. They wouldn’t respond to the lothfalas spell because they weren’t mine, but all of these stones were locus magicalicii, weren’t they? What were they doing here? Had they been collected here? Why?

  Not something I could answer now. I got back to my search.

  When my
voice was hoarse from saying lothfalas over and over again, my empty stomach told me it was time for something to eat.

  I shuffled through the stones scattered across the floor, picked up my knapsack, and scuffed over to the cave mouth. I looked out. The sun had gone down behind the mountains. Cold air breathed in from outside; I shivered and hunched into my coat. My stomach growled.

  I dug through the knapsack, looking for the packet of dried apples. I took a drink of water from the canteen, which was almost empty, and pulled everything out of the knapsack to look again.

  The apples were gone.

  Just like the biscuit, in the morning. I hadn’t miscounted; I’d never miscount biscuits.

  The cave must have rats, just like in Rat Hole, where I’d lived in the Twilight. Those rats had nibbled at everything, even soap and books and candles, even the bristles of my toothbrush.

  I looked around the cave. A little leftover sunset shone in, but it was almost completely dark except for the glimmer of silver water on the cave walls, way across from me.

  “Stay out of my bag, you rats,” I said.

  No scurry of feet or squeaking.

  Oh, well. I broke a biscuit in two and ate one of the halves and put the other half in my coat pocket; then I slung my knapsack onto my back. They were good thieves, these rats, but they couldn’t steal my food from under my nose.

  I went back to searching until I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 19

  In the morning I woke up with the knot of worry in my chest getting tighter. This search was taking too long. It’d take me days to walk all the way back to Wellmet, and I’d be starving by the time I got there. Arhionvar might be in the city by that time, and I had no way to tell Nevery I was all right and coming home as soon as I could. Sure as sure Rowan would tell him about the dragon, though.