Dragon Stones (29 page)

"How do you like it?"

"It lacks a certain freshness."

"Freshness?"

"Freshly killed meat seared in my own flames," she said.  "That is what I eat.  This food of yours is stale and long dead."

"That's the way we like it," he said.  "We don't want our food to be squirming while we eat it."  Then, because she seemed to be feeling talkative, he asked:  "So how many dragons are there, all together?"

"What makes you think I know?" she said.  "Do you know how many humans there are, all together?"

"No, but there are so many more of my kind than there are of yours."  He took a sip of water.  "Where I come from, there are tales that the islands used to swarm with dragons.  On a clear day, they say, you could see the great beasts wheeling in the sky like flocks of sea birds.  But that was long ago, and the dragons do not come in such numbers anymore.  I thought you might know why."

"It is true that when I go to the islands, there are fewer dragons than there once were.  Often I am the only one there.  The same is true when I go to the north, to replenish the blue stones."  She frowned.  "I thought perhaps the others had found some other source of crystals."

"The north?"

T'Sian regarded him for a moment, then said, "I will tell you a secret, man.  We require two different kinds of crystals to make our fire:  Red ones, which come from the islands near your home, and blue ones, which are found in the ice sheets far beyond the great lake."

"The great lake?"  He thought a moment.  "You mean Lake Achenar?  You're talking about going north of Yttribia, then?"

"Yes, I believe that is the name of the human country."

"I imagine you dislike the cold."

"Yes.  That is why I hoard the blue crystals as much as I can."  Her eyes narrowed; she scraped curls of wood off the tabletop with an iron-hard nail.  "But my supply was stolen.  I must ration my fire until I get them back from Gelt."

"Gelt couldn't have raided your lair," Ponn said.  "He was busy making me take him to the islands.  There must have been a second team working in the mountains."

She inclined her head slightly.  "We will find that out when we catch him and make him tell us what he knows."

"Have you considered going to the north now, to get more of the blue crystals, so that you don't run out of fire at an inopportune moment?"

"It is too far.  Besides, you would never survive the trip.  You are already complaining about being cold; there, you would freeze to death."

"You would expect
me
to accompany you?"

"What else would I do?  Leave you here?"

"Must I go everywhere with you?"  He set down his knife, having reduced the meal to a fond memory.  "You
do
intend to let me go home eventually, don't you?"

"Once we have finished our business with Gelt and his master, you may go where you like."  She eyed his empty plate.  "
Are you ready to start looking for him?"

"First, warmer clothes," he said.  "Then we can ask questions.  But we have to be discreet."

"I know," she said.  "You don't want to get your throat cut."

"Exactly," he said.

Nursing a wicked headache and a dull throb from the vicinity of her ribs, Diasa surveyed the wreckage that remained of the college.  She had set up her headquarters outside the collapsed walls of Damona's house, and had climbed atop the mound of rubble in order to have a look around.  There wasn't much to see; Deliban had shaken Flaurent to rubble.  Only the library remained intact, more or less, but it looked rather lopsided and there was no telling when it, too, might collapse.  She had forbidden any of the remaining students, instructors, and guards from entering, lest it should come crashing down on their heads.

There were few human dead; the college never had many students, and with winter approaching, most of those who had come on retreat had returned to their homes in more hospitable regions.  Those who remained, though, had fared poorly.  Of ten students, three instructors, and three guests, nine had perished beneath the rubble.  They had only found three corpses; these had been buried in shallow graves, the sites marked with crude headstones.  Salt and dust and dryness would preserve them, withering the flesh, blackening the skin; in time, shriveled hands might erupt from the sand, the body might dig itself free, leaving behind an empty hollow in the gritty soil.  She did not know what would happen to the other bodies, those interred beneath the ruins; if they stirred, they would find no way out of their tombs.  This land had a strange effect on its dead.

The Withered Ones had suffered serious losses as well.  She had only been able to account for four of them; the rest were missing, lost in the crevasses or under the crumbling walls.

And Diasa had lost her mother.

She'd seen it herself:  After the wizard on the eagle took Adaran away, the ground rose up around Damona, closing about her, tightening, squeezing the life out of her like a giant fist; then she had vanished beneath the churned earth, swallowed up like a swimmer going under the water.  Digging in the spot where she disappeared had yielded nothing.

Well, there wasn't much point in staying perched on top of the rubble, observing the destruction like some eager carrion bird.  Flaurent was obliterated; the headmistress and most of the staff and students were dead; Orioke had turned Deliban against the college and then taken it away.  Without Deliban, the wells would dry up, and there would be no more salt coming to the surface to be sold to merchants.  Even if Diasa had the ambition to rebuild, there was no way to do so.

She carefully climbed down from the wreckage.  Ilfiss, the only surviving instructor, waited for her, his hand on the shoulder of the girl Adaran had brought with him.  "Look what I found wandering around in the rubble," he said.

Diasa crouched down in front of the small Enshennean, trying to remember the child's name; she wasn't sure she had ever known it, and if she had, she'd forgotten.  "Hello," she said.  "Do you remember me?  I'm Diasa."

The child nodded slowly, then said:  "Adwan?"

Looking for the rogue, the one who had brought all this destruction down upon them.  She should have left him to die in the wastes.  "Adaran isn't here," Diasa said.  "He's been taken away."

"Away?"

"Yes.  He's gone."

The girl looked confused and upset.  Diasa couldn't think of what to do next, so she ruffled the child's soft, dark hair, then stood.  "Have you found any more survivors?"

"Just one," Ilfiss said.  "Wert."

"Wert?  I thought he was dying even before the wizard came."

Ilfiss shrugged.  "I can't explain it, but he seems to be fully recovered.  He's wandering around now, looking at everything and shaking his head."

"Really?"

"Yes.  He appears to find the destruction upsetting."

"That seems unusually lucid for Wert.  Perhaps he's shaking his head at some imaginary conversation with himself.  Has he spoken to anyone?"

"Not that I know of.  I believe he's down at the jetty if you'd like to see him."

Diasa sighed.  "Why not?  He predicted this; maybe he'll have more information to dole out."  She took the little girl's hand and the three of them walked in silence from the rubble of Damona's residence, crunching across ground strewn with broken chunks of stone, blowing dust, mounded earth.  It seemed wrong, somehow, that the headmistress and the students and the staff should have perished, but poor, deranged Wert had survived.

They passed through the remnant of the gates.  The great doors would never close again; one hung at a crazy angle, while the other had fallen off and now lay on its side, forming a bridge across a narrow, shallow chasm.  Diasa had instructed the Withered Ones to secure it with ropes and pitons, stabilizing it so that it didn't slip into the crevasse.

A chill wind blew from the mountains to the west, sending dust-devils dancing across the desolate plains.  Many of the survivors had gathered here; those with the necessary skills helped to patch a damaged flatboat, while others stood about as if still dazed from the disaster.  She spotted Wert, out at the very edge of the jetty, his hair all wild in the wind.  He stared off to the northeast.  Diasa handed the girl off to Ilfiss and approached the old madman alone.  She stopped beside him, next to the grey, sluggish river, its surface dull with floating grit.  If he noticed her, he gave no sign, not a twitch or a glance.

"Wert," she said.

No response.

She took a step closer.  "Wert!" she said.

This time he looked around as if being buzzed by a fly; then he glanced at her and said:  "Oh.  Hello, Diasa."

"What are you doing out here?"

He turned back to the northeast.  Diasa had no idea what he was looking at; there was nothing in that direction but miles and miles of nothing.  "She has escaped."

Nonplussed, she said:  "Who?"

No answer.

"Wert,
who
has escaped?"

"It may not make a difference, though.  It may be too late," he said.  "And they will find her again, unless we intervene."

"What are you talking about?"

He gave her a canny glance, and said:  "You'll see."

Diasa sighed.  There wasn't much use talking to Wert under most circumstances, and none at all when he started babbling like this.  She left him to his vigil and went to check on the progress of the boat.  Repairs were nearly complete; it bobbed in the water, sheltered from the river's meager current by the curving arm of the jetty.  Some of the others had begun piling supplies nearby, preparing to load them into the broad, shallow compartment that passed for the hold.  A tarp, stretched tight between four poles, served as a cover for this area; a similar one would be their shelter from the sun or, if the weather took a very unusual turn for this time of year, the rain.

Leaving them to their task, she returned to the college.  She made her way through the wreckage, skirting the chasms that had swallowed so many.  Nothing had changed since the last time she had done this; no new survivors had emerged, no buildings had knit themselves back together.  By the time she had completed her circuit of the college, the four remaining Withered Ones had gathered near the front gate.  One of them raised a black-cloaked arm, pointed at the river, and said:  "It floats."

"Yes.  We'll be leaving soon, I think.  You won't be coming?"

They shook their heads.  "We stay."  When they spoke in unison, it sounded like a gentle storm blowing sand against the walls.  "We guard."

"There's not much left here that's worth guarding."

"We guard."

"As you wish," Diasa said.  "Guard what you will."

She passed among them, heading for the jetty, but stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  Even through her cloak, the grip felt hard, inhuman, like being clutched by a powerful skeleton.  She glanced over her shoulder at the shriveled fingers, her gaze moving up its arm to the sunken face, the sightless eyes.  "We will meet again, Diasa," the creature said.

Even the Withered Ones were oracles now.  It released her, and then the creatures turned and shuffled toward their ruined guardhouse.  She had never heard her name pass their lips before; she found it deeply unsettling.  Shaken, Diasa watched as they vanished one by one into the shadows.

Ilfiss was waiting for her on the jetty; the others had already gone aboard, claiming their spots beneath the canvas.  The little girl stood at the front of the boat, leaning over the flat prow, peering into the water.  "Are we ready to depart?" Diasa asked.

"Yes.  We've loaded what supplies we salvaged, and I've got volunteers to help pole."

"Good.  If we leave now, we should reach the nearest mining camp before dusk.  They will sell us supplies."

"They won't try to press us into service?"

"After all the years we've traded with them?  They'd better not."  She picked up a pole that lay on the jetty.  It was slightly thicker than the shaft of her spear:  Another item lost in the wreckage.  The poles were only to guide the vessel, to keep it from running aground in the shallow, shifting rivers; normally a boat such as this carried a crew of eight to man the poles, as well as a navigator, a captain, and several spotters to walk the decks and watch for unexpected obstacles.  They had only eight all together, not including Wert and the Enshennean, both of whom were essentially just baggage.

Ilfiss said:  "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help pole."

"Diasa.  You were nearly crushed trying to rescue people from the dormitory.  You need to rest."

She glared at him.

He sighed.  "Get aboard, then.  I'm sure the world will thrill to your courage as you make your injuries worse."

She joined the others, taking up a poler's position near the back.  Ilfiss handed out the remaining poles, then untied the barge from its mooring, tossed the rope onto the deck, and jumped in.

Diasa and the others on her side prodded the jetty with their poles, pushing the ship out into the current.  The effort sent pain shooting up her ribs; she gasped and dropped the pole, which fell into the water.  Ilfiss retrieved it and handed it to one of the students, then said:  "Perhaps you would prefer to act as a spotter, and watch for obstacles?"