"Fine. Let's go."
Gower tucked the file into his belt. "Soon's I tell Una, so she doesn't worry."
From what she'd seen, Alys didn't think Una would worry if she found her husband sprouting tree branches from his head, but this didn't seem the time to say so. She trailed after
Gower, praying he wouldn't give enough details that either he or Una would start to question his decision.
Apparently Una wasn't so worried that she had stayed awake. Watching from the doorway, Alys saw Gower nudge his wife. "I'll be back," he told her.
Una grunted, which might have meant, "All right," or "Leave me alone." In any case, Gower lit a torch from the night-fire and came right back out.
"Hurry up," Alys told him.
"Listen, if he's shackled, he's not going anywhere. We'll be there soon enough."
"We'll be there before dawn," Alys repeated.
Gower scowled, but began walking faster.
T
HE SKY WAS
getting lighter, Alys was certain. If they'd been back at Saint Toby's with its open view, she'd have seen pink and orange streaks creeping up from the horizon. Instead, she and Gower were surrounded by trees that were steadily becoming more distinct, and by glimpses of sky shading from black to gray. Before, while she'd been hurrying in the opposite direction, she'd played a mental game with herself, saying, "If I get to here before the sky starts to lighten, then I'll be able to reach Selendrile in time." She'd said it just beyond the edge of the clearing where she'd left him, giving herself ample time to struggle with getting the shackle off. She'd said it further and further out, having to assume the shackle would be easier
and easier to remove. She'd said it the last time at a point where she'd have had to run faster than she'd ever run before and where the shackle would have to drop off at a touch.
But now she and Gower had not even reached that point yet, and as the sky paled she was faced with the certain knowledge that there was no way she could reach Selendrile in time.
"It's not fair!" she cried out, and Gower gave her a wary look. It wasn't fair if Selendrile died from helping her. "Hurry up!" she told Gower, though they were both panting already.
He stopped to shift the torch to his left hand.
"Hurry up!" she came back to tell him.
He caught hold of her arm. "Why the rush?" he demanded.
"Not now." She tried to shake him loose, but he'd been put off and ordered around long enough.
"Why the rush?"
"Let go of me!" She was being foolish, she knew it but couldn't help herself. Gower wasn't preventing her from getting to Selendrile in time—there
was
no time. And yet to stand here bickering with the wheelwright while Selendrile
died alone ... as he had been afraid he would.... As—
The realization struck her that he would have no way of knowing that she had even tried. For all he knew, she may have never intended to return.
Could
he think that of her? Yes, he could, for, really, that would have been the most sensible thing for her to do, it would have been a
dragon
thing to do, and she remembered the expression on his face. "Selendrile!" she shouted with all her might, still trying to pull free of Gower. "I'm coming!" The important thing was not to convince him that she'd reach him in time; the important thing was to let him know she was coming back for him.
But it was hopeless in either case. Her voice could no more travel those extra miles to the clearing than she could.
"Girl..." Gower shook her.
With her free hand, she slapped him.
Looking more startled than hurt, he loosened his grip just as she once more tugged, and she tumbled into the weeds by the side of the path. This was the fourth time this night that she'd found herself sprawled on the ground.
There wasn't time to scramble to her feet and elude Gower, who was even now coming toward her; the best she could do was to once again yell Selendrile's name from where she lay, flat on her back.
Just as she opened her mouth, she heard, faintly: "Alys."
It was impossible. There was no way Selendrile could yell loud enough from the clearing that she could hear him here. Only her imagination told her otherwise.
But Gower had paused midstride, his head cocked, listening.
"Alys," Selendrile's voice called again, fainter, but this time she was waiting for it.
And suddenly Alys knew: Of course he hadn't followed her instructions—he
never
followed her instructions. Instead of staying in the clearing searching for the key, he had started to come after her.
She jumped to her feet and began running down the path, Gower right behind.
She found Selendrile sprawled in the middle of the road, moments away from where she had given up. Without pausing to think, she threw her arms around him and gave him a hug, si
multaneously trying to get him to sit up so that Gower could more easily get to the shackle.
He seemed barely conscious and sagged heavily against her. "There's not enough time," he murmured weakly.
"Everything's all right," she said. "Gower's here to help."
That got his eyes open. She felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tighten.
Gower remained out of arm's reach, watching everything suspiciously. His torch cast flickering shadows onto their upturned faces.
There wasn't time to explain it all. Above, the sky was getting pink, and in the forest around them songbirds roused themselves to greet the dawn. "Selendrile," she said, mindful of her promise, "it's all right. Gower and I have come to an agreement. He's a partner now."
"Gower?" He spat out the name.
She gave his shoulder a rough shove. "Enough! I told him I wouldn't let you hurt him."
His expression shifted to something she couldn't recognize, his dragon look. But then he said again, "There isn't enough time."
Gower must have taken that as agreement, for he handed Alys the torch and pulled the file
from his belt. "This is
not
as you led me to believe," he grumbled. "He was supposed to be fastened to the stake."
"Just hurry up," Alys said. She lifted Selendrile's right arm and saw that the wrist and hand were bleeding and swollen. Despite her queasiness at the open wounds, she tightened her hug around his shoulders to reassure him. Selendrile shook his head, but she had no idea what he was trying to tell her.
Gower raised his eyebrows when he saw the arm, but wordlessly set file against shackle.
Selendrile flinched at the touch of the metal, sucking in his breath with a hiss.
Of course it had to be iron to cut through iron, but she hadn't thought of it.
Gower looked up, but only said, "Hold the torch steady." He pressed down hard and began moving the file back and forth in a sawing motion.
Alys listened for the snap of metal separating, but there wasn't one. The file put a small dent into the edge of the iron band, nothing more.
Selendrile pulled away from her. "This isn't going to work," he told her, his breathing
strained and unsteady. "There isn't time. Don't touch me. You're too close."
"What's going on?" Gower demanded, sitting back on his heels.
"Just cut the shackle." Alys tightened her hold on Selendrile.
After a moment's hesitation, in which Alys watched the sky take on a whole new hue of pink, Gower once again placed the file against the iron band. Alys saw the cords on his neck stand out with the strain, and it seemed his teeth must crack he had them set so tight; but after a massive effort, the file hadn't cut quite halfway through.
Selendrile had his eyes closed as he fought a wave of pain.
Gower flexed his fingers and wiped his hands on his tunic, then once again gripped the file's handle. Grunting with concentration, he cut farther into the iron.
This time Alys thought he was going to make it. But not quite. He stopped just short of severing the band. "Damnation," he muttered, blowing on the palms of his hands.
Before Gower could take up the file again, Selendrile moaned and doubled over.
Alys cast a quick glance at the sky, which showed a hint of blue amidst the pink. She tried to get him to straighten, but he pushed her away. "No time," he gasped.
Gower was suddenly standing up, backing away. He held his hands out, indicating he'd had enough. "That's it," he said. "I'm not getting any closer."
Alys dropped the torch, which wasn't helping anymore anyway, and snatched up the file. There was just a sliver holding the band together. Surely she could manage that. Selendrile was fighting her, and it was only the fact that he was so weak that allowed her to take his hand and saw the file back and forth on the damaged shackle. She closed her eyes against the strain of pressing, pressing, pressing.
Selendrile jerked his arm back at the same instant the band snapped, at the same instant the first ray of the sun fell on her face, at the same instant something slammed into her and threw her, yet again, to the ground.
She opened her eyes to see bits of cloth falling through the air, settling to the ground.
Oh no
, she thought,
oh no
. She closed her eyes quick.
But then she heard something.
An awful cry. Like a huge bird of prey.
Alys jerked her head up in time to see the dragon clear the top of the trees, sunlight glinting on its golden scales. Then with another fierce cry, it disappeared in the direction of the sun.
So much, she thought, for what he thought of her getting a new partner.
Gower made a quick sign of the cross. Then he stood, shading his eyes, staring into the sky. "Yes, well, and thanks to you, too," he shouted into the morning light.
But of course there was no answer.
A
LYS DIDN'T GET
Gower back to Saint Toby's by the noonday meal after all, but the fault was his own: He insisted on traveling the rest of the way to the clearing where Alys had originally told him Selendrile would be.
While her common sense warned her he would find the Inquisitor's body where they'd left him, she'd been unable to bring herself to say anything.
Just in case
she'd told herself. Just in case, hope against hope, he wasn't really dead and had returned home to Griswold. That was downright stupid. Just in case animals had gotten to the body and carried it off. She couldn't bring herself to think they'd eat it then and there. Just in case Selendrile had had the foresight to
remove the evidence. Almost as stupid as hoping Atherton wasn't really dead.
Of course the body was still there.
She hung back, unwilling to approach within clear sight, while Gower crouched beside it. He didn't have to look long to determine what had happened. "Your dragon friend do
mis
?"
Alys nodded. There were explanations, but none seemed adequate.
Gower didn't say any of the things he could have said, either. Instead he told her, "It's indecent to leave his body out like this." So, since they had no tools to dig a proper grave, they gathered stones and piled them atop him, like the old pagan burial cairns that dotted the countryside. It wasn't the Christian rite, but she hoped it was sufficient to set his soul—if he still had one—to rest.
By the time they returned to Saint Toby's—hungry, tired, hands and backs sore, fingernails torn and filthy—the villagers had obviously begun to worry about Gower's disappearance during the night and were setting out to search for him. She saw the look on the face of the first person who recognized her despite the dirt and
the boy's clothing, and after that kept her face down. She had thought that it would be easier this time, that—having lived through the past four days—nothing could reach her and nothing could frighten her.
It wasn't easier.
Their hate still tore at her heart.
She was terrified all over again.
Members of the search party, fresh and eager to spread the news, hurried back to Saint Toby's so that when she and Gower reached the center of the village, everyone was there, waiting. Gower, pleased to be the center of attention, had refused to answer any questions along the way. Now, standing with thumbs hooked self-importantly around his belt, he waited for total silence before announcing, "She has something to say."
He had kept his part of the bargain, had proved to be more loyal than Selendrile. But she didn't have to give them any more than the least. "It was true," she said, never looking up, "everything everybody said about me. Then I came back with magic and lies against Gower and his family."
There was a moment of silence, Gower expecting more, the villagers taking in what she'd already said.
"The broken wheels...," Gower prompted.
"My doing."
"My wife and daughter..."
"Bewitched. I made an image of myself and put it with Etta's things so you'd blame her for what I did myself."
The crowd was beginning to murmur and stir.
Gower was getting annoyed with this lack of cooperation masking as cooperation. "Tell them about that Inquisitor from Griswold."
"Dead. My doing also. I bewitched the dragon, too, got him to take on human shape to help me hurt you. That's why I came back."
A voice from the crowd said, "That doesn't sound like you, Alys." Risa's mother.
Alys jerked her head up.
Too late.
Four days too late.
Alys pretended the movement had simply been the first part of a shrug. If she didn't let herself believe, they couldn't hurt her. She refused to look up again, answered their questions as briefly as possible, freely took the blame for every ill imagined or real which had befallen the village for the past fifteen years.
There
, she thought at Gower.
There
. She even let him take credit for ridding the village of the dragon. "I killed it," Gower claimed. "It won't be bothering us again," and she let even that pass.
For all that she agreed to everything they said, it took all the afternoon and into the evening for the villagers to decide, as Alys had known they would, that it was up to them to carry out the sentence the murdered Atherton had decreed. The only difference was that this time the method must be more certain.