The Price of Magic

By Wesley Allison

New powers are rising in Birmisia. Far to the south, the strange lizardmen of Xiatooq are making themselves known. Closer to home, the new lizzie city Yessonarah finds itself rich in gold—gold the humans covet. As tensions rise, many in Port Dechantagne seem eager to teach the lizzies a lesson in humility. Fourteen year old Iolana Staff finds herself in the center of it all, as she is pulled between her conscience and the conventions of society. Unconcerned with the conflict between human and lizzie, sorceress Senta Bly prepares for her own war, unaware that events will pull her into a life and death confrontation with an old enemy.

The Price of Magic is the latest in a series that chronicles a world of steam power and rifles, where magic has not yet been forgotten. A new colony in a distant lost world has grown from a tiny outpost to a center of civilization in a vast wilderness. The Price of Magic continues a story of adventure and magic, religion and prejudice, steam engines and dinosaurs, angels and lizardmen, machine guns and wizards, sorceresses, bustles and corsets, steam-powered computers, hot air balloons, and dragons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wesley Allison
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310477683

Wesley Allison

At the age of nine, Wesley Allison discovered a love of reading in an old box of Tom Swift Jr. books. He graduated to John Carter and Tarzan and retains a fondness the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs to this day. From there, it was Heinlein and Bradbury, C.S. Lewis and C.S. Forester, many, many others, and finally Richard Adam’s Shardik and Watership Down. He started writing his own stories as he worked his way through college. Today Wes is the author of more than thirty science-fiction and fantasy books, including the popular His Robot Girlfriend. He has taught English and American History for the past 29 years in Southern Nevada where he lives with his lovely wife Victoria, and his two grown children Rebecca and John.For more information about the author and upcoming books, visit http://wesleyallison.com.Books by Wesley Allison:Princess of AmatharHis Robot GirlfriendHis Robot WifeHis Robot Wife: Patience is a VirtueHis Robot Girlfriend: CharityHis Robot Wife: A Great Deal of PatienceHis Robot Wife: Patience Under FireEaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven PrincessEaglethorpe Buxton and the SorceressThe Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe BuxtonEaglethorpe Buxton and... Something about Frost GiantsThe Sorceress and the Dragon 0: BrechalonThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 1: The Voyage of the MinotaurThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 2: The Dark and Forbidding LandThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 3: The Drache GirlThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 4: The Young SorceressThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 5: The Two DragonsThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 6: The Sorceress and her LoversThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 7: The Price of MagicThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 8: A Plague of WizardsThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 9: The Dragon's ChoiceThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 10: For King and CountryKanana: The Jungle GirlTesla’s StepdaughtersWomen of PowerBlood TradeNova DancerThe Destroyer ReturnsAstrid Maxxim and her Amazing HoverbikeAstrid Maxxim and her Undersea DomeAstrid Maxxim and the Antarctic ExpeditionAstrid Maxxim and her Hypersonic Space PlaneAstrid Maxxim and the Electric Racecar ChallengeAstrid Maxxim and the Mystery of Dolphin IslandAstrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier

Book preview

THE PRICE OF MAGIC

By Wesley Allison

Smashwords Edition

The Price of Magic

Copyright © 2015 by Wesley Allison

Revision 11-26-15

All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Wesley Allison

Cover Image Copyright © Syda Productions | Dreamstime.com

ISBN 9781310477683

For Vicki, Becky, & John

Senta and the Steel Dragon

The Price of Magic

By Wesley Allison

Chapter One: A New Year

Light streamed from every window out into the dark night. A group of caudipteryx skirted the edge of the shadows, snapping up insects drawn to the light, and leaving little three-toed tracks in the snow. In the distance, a train whistle sounded, setting several triceratopses to honking. Inside the thirty-room mansion of the Drache Girl, every gas lamp was lit and fires burned in all of the fireplaces. Recorded music played, but not loudly enough to drown out the happy conversation and laughter of the party guests. It was still an hour away, but everyone was excited to see the premier of the New Year. The gentlemen were dressed in black tie and tails. The ladies in their finest evening wear, the current fashion exposing as much of the shoulders and back as possible while their bottoms already enlarged by magnificent bustles, were exaggerated even more so by huge bows or cascades of lace.

Another beer? asked Kieran Baxter, waving to a lizzie servant, who was even then weaving through the crowd in his direction with a silver tray loaded with frosty bottles. The lizzies were members of the cold-blooded reptilian native race of Birmisia Colony, on the Continent of Mallon, where the city of Port Dechantagne was located. Ranging in color from light olive to deep forest green, they gave the appearance of an alligator crossed with an iguana, if either had been able to walk around on their hind legs. Thick tails followed behind them, the tips a few inches off the floor.

I say, Baxter, said Gyula Kearn, looking around. I was just telling Vishmornan here that I feel like an old man in this crowd.

Kearn was an unprepossessing and slightly chubby man in his mid thirties, with thinning blond hair, but easily recognizable for missing his right arm below the elbow. His companion, Tait Vishmornan, was at least ten years older, and looked older still. Tall and gaunt, his still thick hair had long ago gone completely grey, and only the warm glow of the gaslights gave his pasty pallor any hint of health. Baxter on the other hand, about the same age as Kearn, was tall, lean, and well muscled. His red hair and boyish good looks made him a popular subject of discussion among the ladies of the town. He looked around the room.

We do seem to be the oldest ones here. He grabbed two bottles from the tray carried past by the servant and handed them to the two men. At least you have two young and beautiful wives.

Both men smiled and looked across the room at their wives. Bertice Vishmornan was probably the oldest woman at the party, though fifteen years younger than her husband. Her long blond hair wound up into a bun, she sat on the sofa listening intently to something that Honor McCoort had to say. Honor, a dark-haired beauty despite the scar running down the side of her face, clad in a simple brown dress, gestured with her left hand as she talked. Her husband Geert McCoort, sat next to her, holding onto her right hand like a child holding on to a balloon, as if she might, at any moment, float away. Behind the sofa, Melis Kearn was surrounded by a group of other young women, but there was no mistaking her. In addition to her dark skin and thick mass of black hair, she wore a gauzy Mirsannan gown of blue and gold, and had a thick, gold ring piercing her nose.

Carry on, gentlemen, said Baxter, continuing on his circuit through the room. In the far corner, he found three young couples. Didrika Goose, Tiber Stephenson, Questa Hardt, Philo Mostow, Talli Archer, and Samuel Croffut all seemed to be talking at the same time. It was hard to tell, but the subject seemed to be steam carriages. That made sense, since they were all, at fifteen and sixteen years of age, ready to start driving. Tiber Stephenson and Samuel Croffut were strapping young men, and both frequently were found on the rugby field. Philo Mostow was tall and thin. Talli Archer was a pretty blond girl with a large gold cross on a chain around her neck. Stopping next to them, Baxter waited for their conversation to pause.

Did you get something to eat? he asked them.

Those little meat pies were delicious, said Questa, her dark skin giving away her Mirsannan heritage, though her clothing and accent were all Brech. I’m stuffed full now, though.

There’s plenty more of everything. Try the little meatballs. You look like you could still eat, Croffut.

Young Croffut gave a half nod-half shrug.

I’ll send around more Billingbow’s, too.

Yes, I wouldn’t mind a drink, said Didrika, a thin, blond young woman with a strong family resemblance to the hostess.

Baxter snapped his fingers in the air and waved to the lizzie who was now serving Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water to the Colbshallows, the Shrubbs, and the Hertlings.

Is Birmisia still all that you thought it would be? asked Saba Colbshallow, quickly grabbing another bottle from the tray as the lizzie turned to leave. He was a tall handsome man with a slight bend in his nose.

I could never have believed my life would be so wonderful, replied Leoni Hertling. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to leave Freedonia. It’s harder for girls there now than it was before the war. So when they offered passage to the new land in exchange for six months of service, I jumped at it. But never did I imagine that I would meet such a wonderful man as my Hertzel.

She wrapped her hands around her husbands arm and squeezed as he smiled happily. Both, like most ethnic Zaeri, had jet-black hair. His was shaved close around his ears, while hers, still very thick, was bobbed just above the collar.

As fine a man as any woman could want, said Eamon Shrubb, raising his bottle in salute. Though just as tall as Saba, he was much more heavy set, giving one the impression of a stone wall.

He’s handsome, and a great provider, she continued, and such a good listener. And can you believe it? Here I am, on New Year’s Eve, in the, she lowered her voice to a whisper, the Drache Girl’s house.

You know, your husband was part of her little gang, said Loana Colbshallow, a stunningly beautiful woman. With her voluptuous form and pretty face, she would have stood out in a crowd even without her multi-hued blond hair, ranging from straw to honey to auburn, and her large expressive eyes—one brown and one hazel. They were quite a little pack of hoodlums, from what I understand.

I don’t know that I would call them hoodlums, said her husband, but they were known mischief-makers.

What’s life without a little mischief, said Eamon, elbowing Hertzel. Am I right?

Hertzel nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he was a child and had witnessed the deaths of his parents in Freedonia.

The sixth member of the group, Eamon’s wife Dot, smiled and nodded too. Though not as mute as Hertzel, she seldom spoke, having been deaf since birth, and having been, as a child, teased about her voice. She jumped a little as her niece, Dovie Likliter touched her shoulder from behind. Both Dot and Dovie shared the same alabaster skin and copper red hair.

I’m sorry, Aunt Dot, said Dovie, stepping in front of her. I didn’t mean to startle you.

It’s okay, said Dot. Having fun?

Ever so much. We’ve been playing Whispy in the library, but I had to get up to stretch my legs. Don’t you think this is a wonderful way to end the year? Leave it to the Mirsannans to have such a decadent tradition. But I am glad that we’re copying them.

Dot nodded.

Now I’d better get back, or Sandy will wonder where I’m off to.

The fifteen year old girl made her way back through the open doorway and down the short hall to the library, where she found her date, Sandy Partridge standing near the fireplace, holding a plate in each hand.

I’ve got you something to eat, he said, handing her one of the plates.

Thank you. Tired of playing? She gestured toward the large round table.

I thought I’d let someone else have a go.

Three married couples, Shemar and Dutty Morris, Benny and Hero Markham, and Kaspar and Gabrielle Drake sat around the table playing cards, along with Gabrielle’s little sister, Abigail Bassett, and her date Peter Bassington.

I don’t think I want to play Whispy with a wizard, said Sandy.

Peter wouldn’t cheat, replied Dovie. Anyway, it’s not like anyone’s playing for money.

At that moment, Baxter stopped at the table on his way through the room.

Watch out for this one, he said, pointing at the top of Bassington’s head.

Honestly, I don't do card tricks, said Bassington, taking his hands away from his cards, and giving a shrug. The cards stayed right where he had left them, floating above the table. His date squealed with delight. The other players all laughed.

Baxter continued on into the dining room, where the lizzie wait staff brought the empty trays and left with filled ones, while other lizzies took the used trays to be cleaned and then brought more, laden with food, out to the table. Three men stood along the wall. One of them, restaurateur Alwijn Finkler observed the procedure with a scowl.

They don’t know how to serve properly, he grumbled.

And you’re not supposed to be working, said Collier Wissinger, one of his companions.

Quite right, said Baxter, stopping in front of them. As long as the food gets out and it tastes good, that’s all that matters.

Well of course it tastes wonderful, said Alwijn. When Finkler caters your event, you get nothing but the very best.

I take it your parents are home with your children?

My in-laws, yes, and my mother. He nodded thoughtfully. "I trust them with my life, of course. I was just thinking a few moments ago though that there must be fifty children, whose parents are here while they are being looked after by lizzies. If the beasts went wild, like they did eleven years ago, the cream of colony would we wiped out.

Good Kafira, what a horrible thought, said Wissinger. He turned to Baxter. Your little girl is being taken good care of, yes?

Let’s just say that little Senta is more than safe, Baxter told him. Then changing the subject, I was sorry that your famous cousin wasn’t able to attend.

Well, he said that he was going to bed early, but he’ll probably be up all night writing.

Have you read any of his new book? It comes out next month, doesn’t it?

He let me read a few passages, said Wissinger. It is very, very… um, racy.

Well, how could it not be? asked Baxter. I mean, I met her. The woman was one of a kind. What do you think, Charmley?

Walter Charmley rubbed his chin.

I’ll be honest. I don’t really remember Zurfina that well. I only saw her a few times, at a distance. You know, it’s getting harder and harder to tell which things are actual memories and which things I’ve just heard about so much that I think I remember them.

What are we talking about? asked Gaylene Finkler, Alwijn’s wife and one of three women, at that moment, arriving from the parlor.

Nothing, really, said her husband.

Wasn’t my wife with you? asked Walter.

She’s talking to Melis Kearn, said Willa Tice. Watch out or she might appear tomorrow morning with a nose ring.

I know what you were talking about, said Ernst Goose, pushing back a strand of her long blond hair. You’re talking about what everybody else is talking about.

They should be back in a fortnight, said Willa. Won’t it be exciting to have actual aristocracy in the colony?

They’re still the same people they always were, said Alwijn. There’s no reason to expect them to act differently just because they’ve met the king.

Absolutely, agreed Baxter. I can assure you that Radley Staff won’t have his head turned because he’s been made a Baron.

What about Augie Dechantagne? wondered Ernst. How does a ten year old boy deal with becoming a viscount and an earl and whatever else the king decided to make him?

Well, it’s not like he didn’t already strut around like a little lord, said Wissinger. You know what he did when Ari Grayton threw a stone at his sister? He walked right up to Grayton’s father and told him, ‘I plan on shooting your son tomorrow, just so you know.’

I’ve heard that story before, said Baxter. I think it’s probably grown with the telling.

All I know is that Ari Grayton is back in Brechalon now at boarding school.

Speaking of, said Willa. I haven’t seen Iolana in a while.

That’s Lady Iolana, corrected Wissinger. Maybe we should look for her. It wouldn’t do to lose her.

I’ll check the garden, said Baxter, leaving the others, crossing the room, and exiting through the stained glass doors. The brisk air felt good after the warmth inside, but it was only a few seconds before the chill began nipping at his hands and ears.

Though the center of the garden was well lit, there were plenty of dark corners. Baxter glanced around quickly, almost missing the couple snogging against the northwest verge.

A word, Maro, he said, taking a couple of steps in their direction.

Maro McCoort started, turning to look over his shoulder, revealing between him and the wall, Sherree Glieberman, her large glasses askew. While she straightened them, smoothed down the bodice of her dress, and rearranged the large cross she wore on a chain around her neck, he stepped quickly over to where Baxter stood.

This is a party, not a Mirsannan seraglio.

You’re not my father, said McCoort.

No, and I’m not hers either, lucky for you, said Baxter. "Besides it’s too cold out here for the young lady. He blew steam into the air in front of him.

Let’s go back inside. McCoort returned to Sherree and guided her by the shoulders past Baxter.

We’re almost married, she said, peering at the man through her thick glasses as they passed.

I’d smack the smug off both of them for a pfennig, Baxter muttered, once they were inside.

Now, now, said a soft female voice from behind and above him. We don’t want to create disharmony in the family.

He turned and looked up. Draped across the projecting gable above the door was a dragon. It was about halfway in size between a very large dog and a small pony, covered with interlocking scales from the tip of its whiskered snout to the end of its barbed tail. In the warm glow of the gaslight spilling through the windowpane, the scales looked orange, rather than the coral color they appeared in the daylight.

And you have nothing better to do than to spy on me? said Baxter.

I was just sitting here, minding my own business. You’re the one who came outside.

He grunted an agreement. You haven’t seen Lady Iolana, have you?

Second floor sitting room, said the dragon, pointing with a clawed thumb.

Stepping back inside, Baxter took the back staircase to avoid as many party guests as possible. At the end of the hallway, he poked his head into the sitting room to see Iolana Staff perched on the sofa, wearing a lovely red gown and a matching red top hat on the cascading golden hair that framed her flawless face. Next to her, Ascan Tice leaned lazily back, a half-smile on his lips as he listened to her speak.

Lady Iolana?

Oh, good Kafira. Please don’t call me that.

You might as well get used to it, he said. And, as a young lady, it’s not appropriate for you to be unchaperoned with a gentleman.

We’re just discussing tyrannosauruses. I’m going hunting with my father, once he’s back. Would you like to come along?

I’m not much of a hunter, said Baxter. Why don’t you both come downstairs? Your friends are missing you.

I highly doubt that, replied Lady Iolana, nevertheless getting up and starting for the doorway. Ascan stood and followed in her wake.

How is your book doing? Baxter asked her, as the three of them descended the front staircase.

Still selling well. Birmisia is a popular topic across the empire and I had the good fortune to be the first to completely chronicle its history.

At the bottom of the stairs, they ran into Talli Archer and Questa Hardt, who had become disengaged from their dates.

Isn’t it exciting, Iolana? asked Questa. How many fellows do you suppose will visit you tomorrow?

What do you mean? wondered Iolana with a frown.

It’s New Year’s Day, silly. Gentlemen callers come to visit all the eligible young ladies. They visit a few minutes, leave their cards, and then are off to visit someone else.

I am familiar with the custom, said Iolana. I’m sure you’ll have dozens of callers. You’re sixteen and an exotic beauty. I’m just a child though. I won’t turn fourteen until Treuary.

You may be surprised, said Talli. After all, your son will become the Baron of Saxe-Lagerport-Drille. And you must have a huge dowry.

You really don’t think my skin is too dark? Questa asked.

Baxter stepped away from Ascan and the girls and crossed to the other side of the room, glancing at the large clock on the mantle above the fireplace. It was only about fifteen minutes until midnight. He stopped next to Marzell Lance.

Have you seen the lady of the house?

Marzell’s eyes suddenly widened as his back stiffened.

She’s right behind me, isn’t she?

Indeed I am, said a sultry voice, as a long, white arm snaked around Baxter’s neck and a tongue licked his ear.

Turning on his heel, Baxter looked into the steely grey eyes of his lover, the sorceress Senta Bly—the Drache Girl. Her six-foot height put them almost at the same level. Her willowy form was hidden not at all by her burgundy evening gown, and her short blond hair was not covered by a hat. She kissed him, passionately.

Where have you been? he asked, leaning his head back, but making no move to disengage himself from her embrace.

Preparing for the evening’s finale. She turned and when she spoke, her words seemed to magically resonate to every corner of the house, which is probably just what had happened.

Ladies and gentlemen, friends old and new, please make your way to the garden.

Men and women filed from all over the house and through the dining room, the lizzies who had been working there, now making themselves scarce. There was something of a bottleneck at the stained glass doors, but soon everyone was outside in the garden. Those who exited first were just deciding that perhaps they should have stopped for their coats, when a huge explosion blasted across the sky. This was followed by dozens of others—bright daisy heads of gold and silver. Then there were more magical fireworks, these designed to look like real flowers—red tulips, yellow daffodils, and roses of every color. Then there were ships and dinosaurs and cannons. Just when it was becoming impossible to ignore the temperature, a blast of twenty-five explosions filled the sky, ending with one great blast that revealed the red, white, and blue Accord Banner of the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon and Freedonia.

Ladies and gentlemen, Senta’s voice once again seemed to come from everywhere. We hope you’ve enjoyed the first of what will no doubt become an annual tradition. The lizzies have your hats and coats at the door, as well as a portion of this evening’s party food that was left over. Rickshaws are waiting for those who did not arrive in their own cars. Thank you all and have a healthy and prosperous New Year.

As Baxter helped herd everyone back through the kitchen doors, he looked up at the gable. The dragon was no longer there. Once the guests had all gone, he and Senta had a glass of wine before bed, and he really didn’t remember anything after that.

In the morning, he stretched and rolled onto his side.

You really do look delicious first thing in the morning, said a sultry voice.

He opened his eyes to find the dragon lying on the bed next to him, her whiskered snout inches from his nose.

Kafira’s twat! he growled, jumping out of bed.

Now I know what they mean when they say ‘cussing like a sailor’.

What the blazes are you doing in here? You have your own room.

That’s not very hospitable. The mistress has gone out, and I thought to myself, ‘what a lovely opportunity for her pet dragon to bond with her pet man.’

Where’s Sen?

She’s having her breakfast. I could order for you. Let me guess—two eggs, basted, bacon, and crumpets with butter and honey.

Leave over the crumpets, said Baxter, looking at his reflection in the cheval glass. I’m getting fat.

You’re very handsome, but I’ll deliver your order.

The dragon moved off the bed and out of the room so quickly and silently that she appeared like a ribbon of fabric on the wind. Baxter washed his face and sharpened his straight razor on the strop. Mixing a bit of shaving powder with water in his cup, he brushed the resulting suds across his face. A glint of coral metallic in the corner of his eye signaled the return of the dragon. She was draped once again over the length of the bed, this time with her head at the foot.

What now?

I just love watching you.

It’s quite nerve-wracking, said Baxter, scraping the blade up from his collarbone to his chin. I imagine that if I cut myself you’ll pounce on me and tear me to pieces.

Don’t be silly. I would never intentionally harm you. Not that I haven’t had the odd daydream or two where I ate your flesh or drank your blood.

Good to know, said Baxter as he finished the left side of his face. Maybe you should spend some time with your own kind.

There aren’t any of my own kind.

There is a least one.

We don’t get on. All he wants to do is talk about literature or what his lizzies are doing. Honestly, who cares what those cold-blooded things are up to?

Perhaps a hobby then?

I thought you were my hobby.

The man finished shaving and wiped the stray traces of foam from his face, just as a thirty-eight inch tall, blond bundle of energy shot into the room and straight at him.

Daddy!

There’s my girl, said Baxter, scooping her up and tossing her into the air, catching her as she dropped. Did you eat all of your breakfast?

Yes.

Well, now let me get dressed so I can eat mine. He held her out and looked at her. You should get dressed too. Why don’t you wear that cute lilac dress we bought the other day? Go tell your nurse. He bent down and swatted her on the bottom, sending her on her way. Without a word, the dragon followed the little girl out of the room.

Once he was dressed and downstairs, Baxter was surprised to find the elder Senta seated at the dining table, her leg draped over the chair arm of her seat, as she nibbled a piece of bacon.

The dragon said you were out, he said.

I was. Now I’m back in again.

So you are. He began slicing his eggs. Happy New Year.

Thank you. What are your plans for today?

I don’t know—the usual, I suspect. Probably take a walk downtown, have lunch at the café, do some shopping, buy a lolly, come home.

I take it you’ll be taking our little pet with you?

Are you talking about your daughter or the dragon? he asked. I’m never quite sure.

The dragon has a name.

So does your daughter, he snapped. And yes, Sen will be going with me. I thought the bit about the lolly gave it away.

Oh dear. Mummy and Daddy are fighting again, said the dragon, as it whisked into the room and curled up in a corner.

Nonsense, said Senta. Nobody fights with me. I’m a very powerful something something.

And what will you be doing, oh great one? asked Baxter.

I think… sorcery, yes, that’s it.

The man turned his attention back to his eggs, and was just finishing breakfast when the little girl ran into the room, now decked out in a cute little lilac dress, covered with white bows, and held out into a bell shape by several petticoats.

Don’t you look just precious, said her mother. Come and give kisses.

The girl hurried to her mother’s side and kissed the offered cheek. Then she zipped around the table and jumped onto the pile of dragon in the corner.

Be careful, Sen, said Baxter. Zoey has some sharp edges.

See, you do know her name, said the sorceress. If it’s not too much trouble, and I know that it isn’t, I would like you to deliver a letter for me.

Don’t we have the post for that?

She stood up and moved almost as gracefully as had the dragon. Bending down over him, one hand stroked his cheek while the other ran up his inner thigh, causing him to jump.

You know you can’t always manipulate me with sex.

Of course I can, she said breathily, and bit his ear.

An hour later,