Alaric sank back against the nearest tree trunk and watched the red glint of the dragon disappear over the mountains. At least it had flown west toward the Roven Sweep and not south into the heart of Queensland. Although the nomads on the Sweep were going to have a tough time dealing with it.
The gash in his shoulder burned, and his arms hung down on his lap, aching. He gingerly turned over his palms and saw a circle of blisters on each, shiny and taut in the moonlight. He rested his head back on the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
His mind churned up questions he was too exhausted to consider. A dragon? Here? Where had it come from? Paxa had worked on it—had anyone ever tried that before? Had a Keeper ever touched a dragon before? And survived? He’d have to send the Shield a letter. Alaric closed his fingers slightly, but the blisters shot searing pains across his palms. Writing a letter might have to wait.
“Ayda?” Milly’s voice sounded far away and weak. “Is it gone?”
Alaric heard someone rekindle the fire and realized he was shivering. Part of the pain in his fingers, he realized, was because they were ice cold. The active part of his brain pointed out that was to be expected after pushing so much energy out of them. The exhausted part told it to shut up. He heaved himself forward and using his elbows, managed to get to his knees. The fire flickered through the trees, an impossible distance away.
Then Brandson was there, tugging Alaric to his feet and half leading, half dragging him to the fire. Alaric sank down close to it.
Milly stepped over to him and, with a wary look, handed him a piece of bread. He smiled gratefully at her. The smile she gave back was strained. He tore off a piece of bread that seemed to weigh as much as a boulder. One bite at a time, he ate, waiting for his strength to return.
Alaric could feel blood dripping down his arm. In his pack was tucked a salve that would help. It would help with the burns, too. He eyed his bag all the way across the campsite, another impossible distance.
Ayda would need some, too. He glanced at her, but her arm looked clean and whole. Her dress was spotless and white.
“That was amazing,” Milly said in a hushed voice, glancing from Ayda to Alaric.
Ayda beamed at her. “Thank you. It’s been some time since I’ve seen a dragon, but they are all the same. Always attacking with fire and teeth.”
“They really should attack with something dangerous,” Douglon said.
Ayda laughed a silvery laugh. “Exactly. And I am sorry about the whole tied to the ground thing,” she said, motioning to the tree that Douglon had been stuck under. “But I’m afraid you would have been less handsome if that dragon had singed off your beard.”
Douglon muttered something and stroked his beard, running his hand over the flowers Ayda had stuck in earlier. He brushed them out in disgust. “I guess we owe you our lives,” he said grudgingly.
“You’re welcome,” she beamed at him.
Milly studied Ayda for a moment. “I’ve never heard of anyone who could do what you just did with the fire.”
“Everybody has the same magic,” Ayda said. She gestured at Alaric. “He could have done the same thing.”
All eyes turned to Alaric, and a heavy silence filled the trees.
“So you’re just a royal historian?” Douglon said.
Alaric started to shrug, but the shooting pain in his shoulder stopped him with a gasp. “That’s part of my job.”
Douglon scowled and the others waited.
Alaric sighed. “I’m a Keeper.” The title didn’t feel completely false.
Brandson and Milly gasped.
Douglon’s scowl deepened. “Didn’t it occur to you to mention that?”
“It’s not something we announce,” Alaric said.
“You’re after the gem, aren’t you?” demanded Douglon. “You were going to steal it.”
“Douglon!” Brandson said. “Alaric’s a Keeper! He wouldn’t do such a thing!”
The title didn’t feel completely true, either.
“Yes, he seems very noble,” Douglon said.
Alaric sighed. Turned out having his secret revealed wasn’t much of a relief after all.
“You, of all people, can’t be upset at someone keeping his personal history to himself,” Ayda said to the dwarf.
“It’s all right,” Alaric said. “He has a right to be angry. I should have told you sooner.”
“Is Ayda telling the truth?” asked Milly. “Could you have done that with the dragon fire?”
Maybe. If he had a thousand years. And a thousand Keepers.
“I don’t know,” Alaric said after a short hesitation. “Certainly not with as much style.”
“Why did you join up with us in the first place?” Douglon demanded.
“I was interested in your group because you lived in Kordan’s Blight, and I was looking for information about Kordan. He was a Keeper.”
“He was?” Milly asked. “The stories of him aren’t very… Keeper-like.”
“Maybe you people don’t know what Keepers are like,” Douglon pointed out.
“Neither Kordan nor I are model Keepers,” Alaric admitted. “But Kordan started out as one. He did leave the Keepers after he lived here, though.”
“How did you know we were looking for Kordan’s gem?” Douglon asked.
“I didn’t.”
“You expect us to believe you just happened to come across a group looking for a treasure you’re also looking for?”
Alaric shook his head. “I know. The chances of that are… nonexistent. But I had no idea who any of you were or what you were looking for. I have no explanation.”
Douglon gave him an incredulous look.
Alaric’s hands were throbbing, but the bread was starting to help. “I will offer you what I promised for the gem.”
“Why so generous?” asked Douglon.
Alaric hesitated, but there was nothing to be gained from secrecy. “Because the gem we are looking for is that valuable to me. To all the Keepers. I believe what we are going to find is called a Wellstone. To you, it is a treasure, and a treasure is worth money. To me, it is an artifact to be studied.”
Douglon harrumphed and turned his scowl toward the elf. “What did you do to the dragon?”
“I befriended it,” Ayda answered.
There was silence for a long moment.
Ayda shrugged and gave a small, self-conscious smile. “Everyone likes me, if they just get close enough.”
Douglon snorted, but the words had the ring of truth in them. Everyone did like Ayda. Even Alaric liked Ayda, despite, well, despite everything.
“Do you think the dragon will return tonight?” Milly asked Ayda.
“Oh, no. He agreed to stay away as long as we are in the valley.” The elf scrunched up her nose. “I suppose I didn’t tell him to leave us alone after we left, but I don’t think he’d try again.”
Alaric reached for a skin of water, but the tear in his shoulder sent a lance of pain down his arm and he groaned.
“Alaric,” Milly said, rushing over, “I forgot you were hurt.”
She worked the ripped fabric away from his shoulder and cringed. The cut was deep and ragged.
Ayda stepped over and glanced at it. “That’s not too bad.”
“It feels bad,” Alaric said.
Ayda reached past Milly and pushed her hand against the wound. Pain knifed through his shoulder and he gasped. But a warmth flowed out of Ayda’s hand along with a tightening sensation, and the wound knit itself back together. In a moment, the pain was gone, and Ayda stepped back, smiling. There was nothing on his shoulder but a white scar and a lot of leftover blood.
Alaric rotated his arm gingerly. There was no pain at all. He looked up into Ayda’s face, stunned. How had she done that? It took the body days, weeks to heal a wound like that. The amount of energy expended was enormous. Yet Ayda had done it effortlessly.
“We do not have the same magic,” he said.
Her face darkened, and an odd look crept into her eyes.
“Yes, we do. Just in different amounts.” She caught sight of Alaric’s palms and frowned, “Those I can’t do much with. A cut just needs to be cleaned out and pulled back together. But a burn is different. I could heal them, but it will leave terrible scars. Scars you might not want on your hands.”
Alaric had met a man once with a burned hand. The scarred skin didn’t stretch right, he couldn’t grip anything well. Alaric thought of not being able to hold a pen. “I’ll just wait for them to heal.”
“I can do something about the pain, though,” Ayda said. She set her hands on Alaric’s palms. Her fingers felt cool against his flaming skin. A numbness spread across his hands, and the pain receded. He let out a sigh of relief.
Milly brought over some strips of fabric and began to bandage Alaric’s hand. At his questioning look, she gave an apologetic shrug. “One of Gustav’s shirts.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Brandson said, poking a stick into the coals.
It had all happened so quickly. So finally.
“If the dragon had to eat anyone,” Ayda said, “I’m glad it was the wizard.”
“Ayda!” Brandson said, aghast.
“It’s true,” she said. “I’ll take the next watch in case that dwarf did follow us and decides to attack us tonight as well.” She wandered over to the edge of the trees. “Although, after the dragon, a dwarf will be boring.”
Brandson stared after her.
“You can’t expect too much from her,” Alaric told him. “Elves don’t attach to anyone who’s not an elf. It’s astonishing that she stays with you at all, but she won’t feel the same sort of bond to the group that you do. No matter how long she spends with you.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” Brandson said, watching Ayda disappear between the trees.
Alaric managed to stand and get to his blanket. He sank down and rested his head on his pack.
Douglon crashed and clattered around on the other side of the fire, moving Gustav’s belongings out of the way so he could move his own sleeping roll closer to the fire. He dropped Gustav’s shovel on his foot and swore before throwing it into some nearby bushes. “I thought wizards were powerful, but Gustav obviously wasn’t. That Mallon turned out to be a fraud, too. Wasn’t he killed by a forest fire?”
“Mallon was not a fraud,” Brandson snapped. “He controlled whole cities, killed thousands with his armies and sent diseases that—” Brandson’s voice broke. He took a deep breath. “Diseases that murdered thousands more. Among them, my parents.”
The clearing went quiet. Douglon cleared his throat. “Mallon never came near the dwarves. We knew he had an army and was attacking your cities, but I didn’t know…”
“There are few families in Queensland who didn’t lose someone,” Milly said. “Mallon seemed unstoppable.”
Alaric nodded. “There are some wizards with power, but not many.”
“Aren’t Keepers wizards?” asked Douglon.
“Not primarily. We know how to manipulate energy, but it’s not our first priority. Actually, historian is closer to the mark. The official term used by the crown is ‘Advisor and Protector of the Realm.’ We see magic as a tool, one of many, that can be used to keep Queensland safe.” Alaric was surprised that he had said ‘we.’ And that he had meant it. It had been a long time since he had thought of Keepers’ ideals in a positive light.
“Most minor wizards, like Gustav, are independent. Some are Shade Seekers, a group who use what the Keepers, and probably most everyone else, would call darker magic. The magic is more important to them than anything, and they are not against killing for it. Mallon was a Shade Seeker, but no one had ever heard of one as powerful as he was. We had no defense. He controlled or destroyed at will.” He looked into the woods after Ayda. “Ayda must know what happened, but I don’t know what the elves did. We didn’t know of anything that could stop him. I assure you whatever killed Mallon the Rivor, it wasn’t a forest fire.”
“Maybe Ayda killed him,” Milly whispered.
Alaric felt a chill.
“Maybe Ayda ate him and stole his power,” Douglon whispered.
Milly stifled a giggle.
“Why do you call him the Rivor?” Douglon asked.
“The first town that Mallon took over was along the edge of the Scale Mountains,” Alaric said. “It was home to the gem cutters’ guild. Mallon entered the town alone, found the town leaders and… turned them into his instruments.
“The people reported to the king, and the word they used for it was riving. It’s the word for when a gem cutter cracks or damages a stone so deeply that it’s worthless. It was an accurate description for what he was doing to people’s minds. The name stuck.”
Douglon looked troubled. “Seems the dwarves underestimated him.”
Silence fell over the group. Alaric’s eyes closed. He felt like he was falling, falling through the earth, falling into sweet, inescapable sleep.
But his mind still spun. Ayda, dragons, Gustav, Mallon. Thoughts chased themselves pell-mell around his mind.
His perfectly clear mind.
Alaric’s eyes snapped open. He was tired, unbelievably tired, but his mind was alert. Not the least bit of fuzziness remained. He looked again in the direction Ayda had gone and took a deep breath, reveling in the new lightness. Was she done trying to influence him? He should have fought a dragon with her days ago.
His eyes sank closed.
Despite the events of the night before, Alaric stirred with the others at dawn.
“This is the day!” Douglon said. “We’ll find the gem by lunch. Let’s take another look at that map.”
“After we bury Gustav,” Milly said firmly.
Everyone paused.
“What would you have us bury?” asked Douglon, eyeing the charred bit of grass where the wizard had met his end.
“Well, fine, not bury then,” said Milly, “but he deserves some sort of funeral.”
“Yes, he does,” Brandson agreed.
“Can’t we pretend the dragon was a grand funeral pyre?” asked Douglon.
Milly gave him a withering look.
“Brandson,” she said, “please go find something we could use as a tombstone. And go help him, Douglon. We’re going to do something for the poor old man.”
Brandson nodded and headed into the trees.
“We’ll need something to write with,” Milly said.
Ayda pulled a charred stick from the fire and offered it to Milly with an amused smile.
“What’s she gonna write?” Douglon asked Brandson as they walked away. “‘Here doesn’t lie the body of a wizard who didn’t beat a dragon’?”
Milly scowled after the dwarf. She turned to Alaric. “Can you think of anything else we should do?”
He was taken aback for a moment at being asked, but she looked so earnest that he shook his head. “I think the tombstone is perfect.”
A few minutes later, the five of them gathered on the scorched grass and watched as Brandson shoved a large flat stone into place. Milly knelt before it and raised her stick to write.
She paused. “How do you spell Wizendorenfurderfur?”
Douglon shrugged. “Just put Gustav.”
“Right,” Milly agreed. “Gustav the Wondrous.”
Ayda tried to hide her smile until Douglon whispered, “He wasn’t a wondrous runner.”
Milly ignored them both and finished. Standing back with the others, she cleared her throat.
“Gustav is gone and we’ll miss him,” she began. “We’ll miss his... um, knowledge and... um... that way he could start fires. He was a noble wizard… At least, I think he was.” She paused, looking at the others. At Douglon’s grin, she flung the stick to the ground and glared at them all. “Oh, for pity’s sake, I barely knew the man! You stone-hearted scoundrels say something!”
Ayda laughed and stepped forward. “Well, old man, none of us believed you were much of a wizard. I guess you proved us right.”
“I, for one, will miss you,” Brandson said. “My house was too quiet before you came. And you were an excellent cook.”
Milly slipped her hand into Brandson’s.
“Um,” Douglon began, searching for something to say. “Even though it makes no sense, thanks for the tip about the ‘oatry.’”
“What about an oak tree?” asked Milly. “Didn’t we see oak trees last night?”
Brandson and Douglon stared at her.
“Oak tree!” they both yelled and rushed off toward the campsite.
Milly gave the tombstone one last apologetic look then followed them, leaving Alaric and Ayda at the makeshift grave.
Ayda cocked her head and looked at Alaric. “Do you think the wizard knew the treasure was so close by?” She looked at Gustav’s tombstone and gave a thoughtful, “Huh,” before she turned and walked back toward the camp.
Alaric followed her and reached the campsite as the others were gathering shovels.
“Does anyone see Gustav’s shovel?” Douglon asked, rummaging in the bushes where he’d thrown it.
“You don’t need another shovel,” Brandson said. “C’mon!”
The excitement was contagious and Alaric hurried after them. He set his bandaged palm against the pouch at his neck. Kordan’s Wellstone was buried nearby. The antidote. Alaric’s heartbeat raced ahead as well. He cast out, feeling the stand of trees ahead of him and one old, ponderous oak.
All thoughts of wizards and dragons and strange elves disappeared in a breath. Once he had the antidote and reached Kordan’s Blight, it would take three days to reach Evangeline. Two if he pushed Beast hard. He could wake her. Heal her.
He rushed to catch up to the others.
Only Ayda trailed behind.
It was a large group of trees with one, near the center, reaching above the rest.
“It must be there!” Brandson said. “Under the oldest one.”
Ahead of him, Douglon, Brandson, and Milly threaded their way through the oaks. The largest tree was massive, its trunk wider across than Alaric’s reach, thick roots snaking across the ground. Branches spread out, sheltering an area as large as a house.
“Ayda is going to explode with excitement when she sees this tree,” Alaric heard Brandson say as he walked around the trunk.
“Where should we dig?” asked Milly.
No one answered her for a moment.
From the other side of the tree, Douglon started swearing loudly.
Alaric finally caught up, stepping carefully over the jutting roots as he rounded the trunk, only to see Brandson and Douglon leaning on their clean shovels next to a freshly dug hole. Alaric joined them and peered in. His stomach dropped.
The hole was rough as though it had been dug in a hurry. It was about three feet deep and was completely empty. Even the small indentation at the bottom, which clearly used to hold a box.
It was gone. Kordan’s Wellstone was gone.
Alaric felt fury rising inside of him, looking for a target. He raised his gaze and found one.
Leaning against the trunk above the hole was a pointy, star-covered hat and Gustav’s shovel, now covered in dirt.