Bazil Broketail (14 page)

Lessis nodded to herself. She spoke a rapid-fire stream of syllables and passed her hands across the boy’s face.

Relkin gagged and choked; the evil was well-lodged, it was hard to exorcize. Lessis rolled up her sleeves. Relkin began to shake and shudder and sweat profusely as she worked deeper into the knot tied around his spirit.

It took time, but after a long struggle Lessis succeeded in lifting the spell from the boy. Relkin promptly fell back upon his cot and went to sleep. The boys at the door along with Lagdalen were still there, staring in awe at the witch.

She turned her attentions to the dragon.

Dragons were not her specialty, but she could tell that Bazil of Quosh was in a weird funk from the way he shrank away from her as she pulled up a corner of the blanket to look at him.

“Bazil of Quosh, do not fear me,” she said.

The dragon gave a vast groan and rolled over on his side.

Lessis stood back. She noticed a shriveled brown seed of some kind on the floor in front of the dragon’s crib.

On impulse she picked it up and examined it. A faint scent of exotic fruitiness lingered there. She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

A fell fruit, a blood-grown bulb of the yamumba fungus.

“It’s alright, this is just a drug of some kind. Dragons are too resistant to magic for any but the most powerful intelligence to have any hope of bewitching them.”

The boys at the door continued to stare at her.

“What can we do?” said Lagdalen.

Lessis thought for a moment, then remembered the name she sought.

“There is an old woman apothecary on Sick Duck Street by the name of Azulea. Do you know her shop?”

“I think so. It has a whitewashed front and a stuffed cat in the window.”

“The cat is not stuffed. It sits on the margin of life and death forever, and thus cannot move anymore. Anyway, that is her shop. I want you to go there and give her this.” Lessis handed Lagdalen the shriveled fruit.

“Ask her to make me an antidote to this particular bulb. Azulea will know what kind it is—she knows all the lore of the plants and fungi. Tell her that you are on an errand from me, Lessis of Valmes. She will recognize the name.”

Lagdalen ran through the Dragon House and out onto the square and down North Street.

Lessis sent another dragonboy back to his stall to fetch her cold compresses for Relkin, who was now running a fever. She stood there looking down but not seeing him; instead she concentrated on the threads of this odd incident. Someone with great power, and the skills of the dark, had interfered here most rashly.

This was no red herring, Lessis felt certain.

Turning to the other dragonboys, still crowded in the front entrance of the stall, she asked them who Bazil faced in the next combat.

“Smilgax of Troat, who cut his tail for him in the last,” said the first youth to reply.

“But Bazil was winning until that point. It was a foul, but it wasn’t called,” said another.

“And when is the combat between them scheduled to take place?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Lessis nodded. A picture was forming in her mind.

“And who will the winner of this fight face?”

“The champion Vastrox, on the following day.”

No -young dragon could hope to best Vastrox. That could not be the target.

Then she realized with a start that King Sanker and Erald would be in the royal box for Vastrox’s bout, in fact for much of the final afternoon of the combats.

The stall in the Dragon House became a storm center as Lessis unleashed a blizzard of actions to counter the threat she had laid bare. There was no doubt in her mind now that the green dragon from Troat, Smilgax, was part of some plot against the crown of Marneri.

Dragonboys with messages ran hither and thither between the Dragon House and the Novitiate and the Tower of Guard. Two more youths were sent to fetch a stretcher and then to carry the unconscious figure of Relkin over to the Tower of Guard, and thence to Lessis’s apartment high above.

The spell was lifted but there would be lingering aftereffects, and Lessis wished to observe him carefully. Messages went to the lord chamberlain and to the Novitiate. Marneri was to be roused to watchfulness.

Viuris rose at once when the message came for her. She dressed and, shaking her head to clear away sleep, she hurried to the tower. Meanwhile young Lagdalen had aroused the old crone Azulea in Sick Duck Street.

Azulea cursed her roundly for her impudence until she heard the name “Lessis of Valmes.” Abruptly her demeanor shifted.

“ ‘Tis for Lessis herself that you run this errand?” said the hag with wide eyes, obviously awed.

“Yes, ‘tis for the Lady in Grey.”

“Then come in and don’t waste any more time. We must get to work at once.”

Lagdalen entered the shop and carefully scrutinized the tabby cat in the window. It stared outwards, unmoving. Azulea caught her glance.

“You’ll not wake up old Thusela, girl. He’s concentrating on higher matters.”

“I’m sorry, I always thought he was simply dead and stuffed.”

“Dead? Old Thusela? That’s a good one. Hah hah! I will tell him that some day, if he decides to wake up again during my lifetime. Dead? Hah!”

Lagdalen followed the crone into the rear of the shop. There Azulea studied the withered fruit. She broke off small flakes and examined them under a microscope from the great firm of Feshdorn in Cunfshon.

Lagdalen had only recently learned the significance of that name when in her classes in the Novitiate they had begun to study the small-scale structure of natural things and the teacher had brought out a much smaller microscope, also made by Feshdorn, and informed the class with pride that it was a genuine “Feshdorn optical instrument—they are the best in the known world!”

And looking through the magnifying tube had shown them all such wonders that Lagdalen’s entire view of the world had been changed.

After studying the bulb for twenty minutes and making a number of careful drawings on a sheet of white paper parchment, Azulea leafed through an enormous book mat she pulled out of a shelf of similar tomes.

“Well, we know enough to guess that this is a Swine-bane, the question is which one. They are a widespread family and though most are noxious, I have not heard of one that was particularly evil for dragons.”

She pursed her ancient lips and turned more pages.

Lagdalen watched with great interest.

“Swinebane, swinebane, here we are.” She marked the spot with a long finger.

“ ‘Tis a favorite vegetable for the evil stews required for the dark arts.”

Lagdalen felt her mouth go dry. This was the work of the enemy. Right here in Marneri.

Azulea was still muttering.

“There’s a venom in all of them, of course—they’re all the most incredibly poisonous little things. Let me see, there’s False Ginger, that’s properly known as the Gold Gall Swinebane. A small pinch of that will kill a man, a teaspoon will kill a horse. But dragons? Dragons are such resistant beasts. It takes an intense poison to have much effect on them.”

She turned another page.

“Ah, now this is closer. Purple Swinebane, Vermillion, and yes, this is it. Viridian Swinebane. Oh, what an evil little thing this is. It is toxic to humans but not always so, and in dragons it can produce mental instability, paranoia, a fear of shadows, that will last for life.”

Azulea looked up and shook her head grimly.

“Poisonous to horses and elephants, too. Very nasty.”

“Is there a remedy?” said Lagdalen, appalled at the thought of the dragon left in this state of paranoia for the rest of his life.

“What?” Azulea seemed lost in her thoughts.

“A remedy?”

“Yes!” Azulea returned to life with a snap. “Yes, there is, I’m sure, but with all Swinebane poisons there is a risk of death from the antidote. One in fifty I’d say. But most important of all, the dragon must not sleep for at least six hours after taking the antidote.”

Lagdalen stared in wonderment now as Azulea busied herself with mortar and pestle, crushing some brittle black leaves. These she mixed with a white powder and then stirred into a small pot of heated water that could be sealed tightly.

This she gave to Lagdalen at last.

“Take this and give it to the dragon to drink. It will purge him of the poison. But he must keep in motion or another kind of poison will form in his flesh, and that will kill him.”

At Lagdalen’s expression the crone shrugged.

“It is the only possible antidote! You tell Lessis of Valmes what I said, girl, you understand?”

Lagdalen gulped as she returned to the cold night air. She pulled her cloak around her and ran back to the Dragon House through the dark streets as fast she could go-

A few minutes later she stood, struggling for breath, red-faced from the exertion while Lessis examined the small pot and its contents.

Getting the antidote to the Swinebane was one thing, getting it into a reluctant dragon was another. Try as they might, Lagdalen and Lessis were unable to persuade the hallucinating Bazil to swallow the contents of the small pot.

Eventually Lagdalen took a message to the mighty Vastrox himself. In it Lessis asked for assistance from the Dragon Champion.

Vastrox was asleep and rose reluctantly to attend to this emergency. Grumbling in dragon tongue, the giant marched down into the lower Dragon House at Lagdalen’s heels.

He found the plucky young leatherback he’d seen go down gallantly, fighting tail-less to the end two days before, now reduced to a shuddering heap under a blanket. It was a disturbing sight.

After a moment the champion noticed a slender woman with pale hair and simple grey robes.

“I seek Lessis of Valmes,” he said in a threatening rumble.

“I am she,” said the woman.

The giant dragon was surprised.

“You do not dress like most important humans.”

Lessis smiled. “In my work it is usually best not to make a show of oneself.”

Vastrox eyed the woman carefully. He had heard something of this Lessis of Valmes, but he had had little contact with the Sisters of Insight and was unprepared for the sight of someone of such drab appearance and indeterminate age. Still, she gave off an unmistakable aura of authority.

“What has happened here?” said Vastrox.

Lessis explained briefly and Vastrox lifted a corner of the blanket. Bazil emitted a weird wail and cringed back against the wall, where he suddenly switched modes to a snarling, hissing, cornered beast.

With a whistle of disgust, Vastrox stood back. He called in dragon tongue to the heap under the blanket. The heap shuddered but made no reply. Again Vastrox called. The heap replied, “I won’t be fooled like that! Go away. Take all the blue worms with you.”

“Blue worms?”

“This is what he said earlier,” said the woman. “Everything is crawling with blue worms.”

Vastrox sucked in a breath. He called again.

Bazil writhed and snarled.

Lessis was concerned that Smilgax would learn of the discovery of the plot, so Vastrox sent at once for Gerun, Talbo and Fencinor to join him. These were the senior champions of the legions and closest to Vastrox in ability.

Quickly he briefed them and sent them to apprehend Smilgax and keep him under restraint, in chains if necessary. Lessis accompanied them—there were some questions she had to ask the young dragon and they could not wait. She instructed Lagdalen to stay with Bazil and to inform her when he had been persuaded to take the antidote to the poison that had addled his wits.

When they were gone, Vastrox returned his attention to the young drake from Quosh.

It took time; it was at least an hour before Bazil calmed to the point where he would respond to Vastrox’s questions. Then he finally consented to drink the antidote.

The stuff in the pot tasted vaguely herbal, but was not unpleasant. Once ingested it went to work swiftly, purging the poison throughout Bazil’s blood.

Soon Bazil was freed of the hallucinations and the terrors. He broke out into a heavy sweat and shook his head repeatedly as if to clear it of vapor.

“Where am I?” he mumbled at last.

Vastrox clapped him on the back and bade him rest for a day or so. The final bout would be postponed; the champion would see to it.

Meanwhile, Smilgax was under arrest and the bout with him would be canceled. Bazil shook his head in wonderment at this news. He remembered nothing since the end of the fight with Smilgax and the loss of his tail tip. But at least the blue worms had vanished along with the nightmarish fog that had filled his thoughts so recently.

Still he shivered and ran with sweat.

Lagdalen caught his attention.

“Sir Dragon, you must keep moving. I was told by Azulea, the apothecary who made the antidote to the poison, that if you don’t keep moving around a new poison will form in your flesh and kill you.”

Bazil gave a groan. “Oh, that is great news. And I feel ready to sleep for a week. What happened to me? I remember nothing.”

Suddenly his throat felt dry and harsh. He coughed.

“Water!” he gasped.

The girl took off the lid of the dragon pot. Bazil hefted it and sloshed a few gallons down his throat.

Water had rarely tasted so sublime. He leaned against the wall and shivered some more. This was about as bad as the worst case of scale fever he’d ever had.

The girl still stared at him with eyes like saucers. Something about her made him snappish.

“What is it girl? Where is my dragonboy?” Baz did not sound like a happy dragon, not even to himself.

The girl was struck dumb for a second, then she re-covered herself. “Sir Dragon, I am here because, well, the lady told me to keep watch over you. Your dragonboy is in her care; he was bewitched and you were poisoned.”

But Bazil had discovered his new tail tip. It was a grayish color, quite different from his usual olive green. He held it under his disbelieving eyes for a moment, then gingerly touched it. It was bent at an odd angle. It looked broken, as if crushed under the wheel of a heavy cart.