Dark Magic (The Chronicles of Arandal)

Chapter Eight


Looking toward the door, she made sure that he hadn’t come back. Or did she see a flicker of movement in the darkness under the trees?

She sat up, peering toward the woods, her heart thumping. The shadow didn’t move. It was nothing, she told herself before she lay back and closed her eyes.

Almost as an act of defiance, she touched herself as he had touched her, gently squeezing her breasts, then stroking across the nipples, making her body clamor for what he had refused to give her.

It was shocking how much pleasure she could give herself, once she knew how.

Boldly, she slid one hand down her body, dipping into the slick wet place between her legs, reaching down to slide her finger into the opening he had showed her. She circled her finger, dipping in and withdrawing, teasing herself. Then she slid her finger upward to the place he had called her *, stroking herself the way he had stroked her, feeling her tension gather. It wasn’t difficult to figure out how to do it, how to give herself the blessed release her body craved.

Afterward, she lay dragging in air.

When she was back to normal, she relaxed against the pallet, striving to banish Galladar from her mind.

She had a task that she must fulfill, and he had tried to make it impossible.

Damn him!

Now that she was thinking more clearly, she realized she was naked in a hut in the woods. Her shirt was ruined, but she felt around on the floor and found a man’s tunic. After pulling it over her head, she rolled up the sleeves.

Feeling more comfortable, she reached inside her carry bag and found The Dragon and the Maidens. As she closed her fingers on the cover, she thought of her tutor, Kencannon, who had taught her so much.

She was remembering an afternoon when he had been late for their class, and she had been sure where she would find him—in the library cataloging her father’s books.

Not that the king read them. But he had paid a fortune for the volumes, most of which had been brought in by merchants whose wooden carts rumbled along the trade routes, and he wanted to be able to tell visitors what they were. Devon had pulled open the heavy door of the library and slipped inside. A small lamp burned on a stand by the door. It was always lit—using up precious camber oil. But if the king commanded the indulgence, then it was done.

In addition to the lamp, daylight filtered in through the tall, lead-paned windows, and Devon felt a rush of awe. The room never ceased to amaze her. It wasn’t as grand as the great hall, with its coffered ceiling depicting scenes from the lives of the gods and goddesses, rich tapestries of battles and hunting parties and ornately carved chairs and tables. Instead, the library was a hidden gem, reserved for only a privileged few people in the castle.

It was two stories tall, with carved bookshelves lining all the walls. To reach the top ones required ladders that slid along a hidden track.

A thick carpet with intricate geometric designs softened the stone floor.

Kencannon sat at a carved desk across from the comfortable chairs on either side of the massive fireplace. His head was bent, and a lock of glossy dark hair fell over his wide forehead.

He was so absorbed in a book, running his fingers along the lines of text, that he didn’t hear her enter. When he finally realized he wasn’t alone, a look of alarm strained his pale features.

“It’s just me,” she whispered. “What is that book?”

“Old legends.”

“About what?”

He lowered his voice. “We shouldn’t discuss them.”

“Magic?”

“We shouldn’t discuss it,” he repeated.

Her chest tightened when she thought of Kencannon. He had been a true friend to her. Well, as much as a mere employee could be a friend to a princess, but he had understood her craving to lose herself in the pages of books. Reading of other times and other places, of science and magic and religion, had been one of her few escapes. For all the good that had done her. Or him.

Besides cataloging the library, he’d been hired to tutor Grantland. Devon had begged to be included, and her father had permitted her to join a few classes. It would be useful if she could read a little, he’d admitted. But she was denied all the interesting subjects like mathematics and history. She’d had to study those for herself—in secret, with Brinna bringing her books at night and taking them away in the morning.

That day in the library, Kencannon hadn’t told her what was in the slender volume, even though the two of them had been close. He’d only been a few years older than she, and she knew he was attracted to her, but she’d been afraid o reach out to him that way. Afraid that her father would kill him if he found out.

And soon after the day in the library, her father banished him when he discovered that Grantland wasn’t learning many of his lessons.

She had mourned Kencannon’s loss. And she had gone searching for the book he had been reading. It was a dangerous act of defiance, all the more risky because it had taken her several trips to the library to locate the volume.

She was afraid the tutor had taken it with him, but she finally found it pushed back on a high shelf. She slipped it under her gown, feeling it digging into her flesh as she hurried back to her room. But when she opened it, the words on the page made no sense.

She read a line, then another. The sentences were long and rambling, a collection of disjointed phrases and clauses that seemed to be thrown together in no particular order.

Disappointment surged through her. She had risked her father’s wrath for this nonsense?

But Kencannon hadn’t thought it was nonsense. He’d been so absorbed in the text that he hadn’t known she’d entered the room. Remembering the scene, she pictured him running his fingers along the lines of script.

With a hand she couldn’t quite keep steady, she did the same thing, and felt a little thrill as her finger felt a series of small pinpricks that marred the surface of the paper.

Stopping, she looked down and saw nothing. But the sensitive tip of her finger confirmed that the invisible pricks were under some of the words and not others.

She turned back to the first page and slid her hand over the long title, Into the Mountain the Dragon Dancing in the Moonlight River with Young Soldiers and the Maidens. When she stopped at the words with the pinprick under them, she made out the real title of the book.

The Dragon and the Maidens.

She kept reading, using the same method.

Read this tale at your peril. It is a promise and a warning.

Not long ago, when Arandal was facing invasion, it seemed there was no hope for the kingdom. Until King Varner woke from the same dream for three nights in a row.

He dreamed of a dark-haired man with a streak of white down the center of his hair who came to his room through a locked door where no human could enter.

“I am Cragor, and I can save your kingdom,” he told Varner.

But the king thought it was only a dream that rose from his fear and despair.

Devon had read the book so many times that she knew the words by heart. Now in the darkness of the hut, she ran her finger along the lines, silently saying the words. Lifting her head, she stared out into the darkness, still feeling as if someone was watching her.

But the night remained still, and she went back to the tale, touching the lines as she remembered the story.

On the fourth day, Cragor appeared in the great hall of the castle. He did not enter in the ordinary manner; he flickered into existence in the blink of an eye—by magic.

Everyone gasped in astonishment. Some people thought he was a demon. Some thought he was sent by the gods. But all cowered before him.

Except the king. Determined to show no fear in front of his people, King Varner stood and spoke.

“Sit with me, stranger, and tell me why you have come.”

“I am Cragor, and I can save your kingdom.” The man sat at the king’s table, but he refused food and drink. Instead he began to talk of a fearsome dragon living in the northern mountains between Arandal and Caladon, mountains where few dared to venture.

“The dragon will help Arandal defeat the enemy marching toward the castle.”

“And what does he want in return?” the king asked.

“Your men must bring a young woman to the beast as a living sacrifice. If she is acceptable to him, he will drink her blood—then throw his power to Arandal. But the woman must be a beautiful virgin or she will not be good enough for the dragon’s use.”

With that, Cragor walked to the far end of the room and vanished in a flash of green flames. Everyone in the hall was terrified, but King Varner was desperate, because he knew his troops were not strong enough to defeat the enemy massing on his borders. So he sent soldiers through the kingdom, searching for a woman of high virtue.

His men brought several maidens to him, and he talked with each of them. One seemed to be the best candidate. When Varner told her she had been chosen to save the kingdom, she pleaded to go back to her village, but he said that she and her family would be honored by her sacrifice.

Before she could flee, he had her bound and put into a cart for the three-day journey to the northern mountains. When the cart could go no farther, soldiers carried her up the mountain to a place where a pure stream ran down from the rocks.

As the dragon had requested, they clothed her in a white gown and took her at twilight as close as they dared to the place where the dragon lived, a cave where the ground outside was burned black. Then they tied her to a stake, made cuts in her flesh to draw the beast to her and hid behind giant boulders to watch.

The dragon smelled her blood and came to that place, gathered her up and carried her into his cave. She was never seen again, but when the invading army drew near the castle, the great winged creature swooped down on Arandal’s enemies, spraying them with fire. All the invaders were wiped out or fled in terror, and King Varner knew the sacrifice had been successful.

In celebration, he bought many rich goods from far lands and many delicate foods.

Six moons later, when the royal treasury was dwindling, the king sent his soldiers out looking for another young woman who was pure of heart. Once again they found an excellent candidate and had her brought to the dragon as a living sacrifice. And this time the king was rewarded by the dragon with a great treasure of gold and jewels.

But Varner was greedy, and half a year later, he decided to bring another sacrifice to the beast. This time, it was more difficult to find a beautiful virgin. But how would a dragon know she was not worthy? He chose a beautiful woman and sent her to the mountains as before. The soldiers cut her flesh, tied her to a stake and left her for the dragon.

But the dragon knew the king had tried to trick him. Instead of accepting the sacrifice, the dragon came flying to Arandal, roaring his rage from the sky. He flew low over the castle, and smote it with fire, reducing one of the great towers to ruins.

King Varner was killed by the falling rock. And his son, Prince Sorak, who had watched it all, stood trembling in fear.

The dragon landed and approached him.

“Your father trifled with me. Do not make the same mistake. Not you or the next generation, or the generations to come. I am magic. I will be in the mountains for centuries. If you need my help again, you must send a beautiful virgin. But I have another requirement now. She must come to me willingly.”

With that, he rose into the air and flew away.

Devon closed the book and sat trembling, her fingers digging into the stiff boards of the cover.

Since she’d first read the story, it had captivated her. She had read it so many times that it had burned itself into her brain. Magic had been the downfall of the kingdom. Was that the reason the spells and powers of the mind had been forbidden by her father and kings before him? There had been no one she could ask. But she had tried to study it on her own.

In the histories of Arandal, there was no King Varner or Prince Sorak. Not long ago and not in the recent past. But about two hundred years previously, part of the castle had fallen on a King Balwin, killing him. His son, Prince Albar, had succeeded to the throne. Could that be the time of the story? Had the writer of the book disguised the names to make the story seem like a legend?

She had puzzled over the tale. Although she knew she should return the book to the library, she had hidden it at the bottom of her marriage chest.

Then disaster had struck the kingdom, and she had started thinking about it again. What if she could use the forbidden magic to save the people of Arandal?

She was still a virgin. She had been told she was beautiful. And she was coming to the monster of her own free will. Almost to her surprise, she had escaped from the castle and survived the attack by the barbarians. Wasn’t that proof that the gods looked with favor on her journey? In the morning she would continue north, toward the magic mountains.

In the story, the dragon had promised he would be waiting. But suppose it was too late for the dragon?

No. She believed in him. Believed in the story. She had to.