Authors: Angus Wells
“That,” Taerl said, “shall not be easy, I think.”
I said, “No, it shall not be. Old hatreds fester like
poisoned wounds and sully new flesh. But it might be done. And there shall be dragons in the skies above all the lands, to hold the peace.”
Taerl said, “Hold it? Or enforce it?”
I shrugged. “It must depend on men,” I said, “in the end. But must we Dragonmasters enforce it, then we shall. Think you that shall be worse than the cycles of war?”
The Lord Protector looked me in the eye. Then turned to Rwyan; and then to Tezdal. To the Sky Lord he said, “Can this be done? Would your people accept it?”
Tezdal said, “As well as yours. There will be some who … argue … but do you give us back our Homeland, then—yes, I believe we might win this peace.”
Taerl studied him for long moments and then laughed, shaking his head. “By the God,” he said, “my father would not believe this! Look at me!” He rose, kicking back his chair to turn, arms spread wide to encompass us all. I thought he was perhaps a little drunk, or tired by the long night’s talking. “The Lord Protector of Dharbek in earnest discussion of peace with the Sky Lords and the wild Changed. I heed a Sky Lord! And a Changed servant gone from his master across the Slammerkin. I listen to the words of a Storyman. And”—this with a not-entirely-steady bow in Rwyan’s direction—“a rebel mage. Is this not a wonder, my lords?”
I heard a voice then mutter, “Not from you, boy,” but when I looked down the table, I could not find the speaker. I thought it was likely that fat noble in Mardbrecht’s plaid, but I could not be sure. I watched as Taerl crossed to the windows and looked out over the ravaged yards of his palace. He set his elbows on the sill and said wonderingly, “They are all gone. Just as your friend—Bellek?—promised.”
The voice that had muttered before said, louder now, “Then we might slay them. All of them! Why not, Lord Taerl? Cut off the dragon’s head now, and when the other comes back—slay him, or buy him off.”
I saw the speaker now: it was indeed that plump supporter of Jareth. He rose from his chair in his enthusiasm. I saw that his belly was fleshed round as his cheeks. I saw also that Rwyan could no longer hold Tezdal back. I saw rage suffuse the Sky Lord’s face. I still could not believe anyone could draw a blade so swift.
It rose, lit bright by the sun that now spanned the room, glittering as Tezdal strode down the length of that long table. The nobility of Kherbryn cowered before him. Not one moved to halt him. The fat man shrieked: I was minded of pigs at gelding time. He raised both arms above his head and went tumbling over his turned chair as he sought to flee.
“Halt!”
This, to my surprise, came from Taerl.
To my much greater surprise, Tezdal did halt. He stood over the quivering figure with lifted sword and naked rage in his eyes. I saw a pool of urine spread out from between the fat man’s thighs. It stank.
Taerl said, “I’d offer my apologies to you, Tezdal Kashijan, for the insult Gaerth of Mardbrecht gave.” He turned to we others and said, “I offer my apologies to you all.”
I watched as Gaerth scrabbled back. Tezdal let him go. He left a wet trail behind. I smelled feces. I wondered what the Lord Protector would do next.
He called the commur who stood guarding the doors forward and said, “Execute this traitor.”
I saw that the commur wore Kherbryn’s plaid; but still he hesitated.
Taerl said, “Do you take my order, or do you join him?”
There was a long silence.
This was akin to bonding with dragons: it was an instant of decision, in which future power becomes decided. I applauded Taerl: he saw the way and took it.
But I was not sure he should succeed until the commur sank his blade into Gaerth’s heart and the fat man died.
Then I truly thought we might succeed.
We lingered seven days in Kherbryn, but I saw no more of the place than I’d already seen from astride Deburah. We were cloistered in Taerl’s palace, locked in discussion, evolving stratagems, composing messages. Sorcerers came and went, deferring to Rwyan as if she were now mistress of their College, their magic sending word of all that had passed and ail that was to be down that occult web that connected the holds and keeps. Mnemonikos came, recorders of what we did, and eyed me as if I were some strangeling marvel. I knew some of them from Durbrecht, but it was as if lifetimes
stood between us now, and they were strangers. Or—more correctly, I suppose–I was, for I could no longer pretend I was not different. It was as Rwyan had said: communion with the dragons made us something other than Truemen.
Urt spoke with his Changed fellows and through them sent word in addition to what his kind would hear as aeldors spoke and faceless servitors stood silent by. That should not be for much longer, I thought, for as the word was spread, it must become common knowledge that the Changed were more, and better, than Truemen took them for, and did all go well as we intended, they should find a place beside Truemen in Dharbek. We made it plain that no harm should come them, no retribution, on pain of transgressors answering to our dragons. I suggested that our new-found council grant a place to the Changed—Lan, I said, would likely make a sound representative.
And there were other suggestions—that aeldors such as Sarun and Yanydd have seats; I mentioned Cleton’s name.
In all of this Taerl proved himself far more than the ninny of popular suspicion. I thought he’d likely lived too long beneath the umbra of his father’s reputation, for he constantly demonstrated a quickness of wit, a ready grasp of this fluid situation, that impressed me. I thought that we should leave Dharbek in good hands when we quit our tenure. I had no doubt that we should, eventually. I was altered, I saw the world through different eyes: I missed Deburah when she hunted with Bellek as fervently as I knew I’d miss Rwyan, were we parted again; could I not “speak” with her, I felt an absence in my life, and when she returned, I felt a happiness I’d known before only with Rwyan. I knew we could not remain in Dharbek, not even after our intended journey across the ocean. I knew we must go back to the Dragoncastle and live there, for that was the natural abode of the dragons, and they’d not be happy elsewhere. I felt this as a wordless pressure in my blood, a soul-deep certainty that I could understand no better than I could deny it: it was a given fact and irrevocable. I began, albeit vaguely, to understand why Bellek had remained in that lonely place so long.
But I still did not know
how
long he’d been there; nor would he say, but only smile and change the subject when I tried to probe him.
But then that was the least of my concerns: we’d a future to build, a new world to fashion, and that occupied the larger part of my days and nights. It is no small thing to make a revolution.
Provisioned by the Lord Protector and clad in the fresh clothing he supplied us, we set out for Ahn-feshang on the morning of the eighth day.
It was early in the morning and the year, barely past dawn and barely Ennas Day, but the sun stood hot and heavy in a sky devoid of cloud, its blue silvered by the implacable heat. The weight of the Sky Lords’ magic lay hard on Kherbryn and all Of Dharbek, and as I mounted Deburah, I was aware of the hope we carried with us and the terrible burden of responsibility we gave ourselves. We had dictated terms—now we must make good our promises or be forever cursed.
But as I locked myself to the saddle of my beautiful, wondrous sky-riding steed, I felt only heady excitement. I lusted to fly again, to be adragonback. I’d been too long grounded, and as I turned to wave at my companions, I saw they, too, felt that urgency. Even Urt was smiling and answered my wave with a reckless hand. I caught Rwyan’s eye and saw her teeth flash white in the sun. Bellek was beaming as if his dreams came true. Tezdal nodded and grinned, but I thought him far less elated than we others. I said, knowing Deburah would communicate it past the thunder of the wings, “We make peace, my friend. We do this for all the people of our world, yours and mine and Urt’s. All of them!”
I heard back,
Yes,
but nothing more; and I was too eager to be gone that I felt the need to question him further or wonder at his reticence.
Then, I knew only the thunder of myriad dragons’ wings rising to beat the sky. To climb above Kherbryn as folk stared in naked wonder at the impossible squadrons that circled over the city. I wondered if the Ahn had felt such wonder as I saw on the rapidly disappearing faces of those Dhar, when Attul led them eastward into their exodus.
But that was a brief thought: those faces were too soon gone as Deburah spread her magnificent wings and climbed toward the sun. And Kherbryn was left behind in moments,
and we were winging east over parched farmlands to the coast.
Sea under us then, which was disconcerting—to find no secure land beneath, but only the argent blue of the Fend; ahead, the Sentinels.
No contest from them: Taerl had sent firm word we should not be interrupted in our passing, and we crossed them without disturbance. We were high enough I could not discern individual faces, but I saw—for the first time—the great white towers that held the crystals. And I felt their magic like a prickling against my skin. It was akin to what I’d felt in Trebizar: a sense of terrible power, not unlike that dread the Sky Lords’ airboats delivered.
The dragons felt it: stronger even than we who rode them, and I “heard” the calling of the bulls, that they be allowed to go down and rend the towers, pluck out the crystals and all who used them. Bellek, echoed by us all, bade them no, that this was not suitable prey. At least, not yet. I told Deburah we’d a greater duty, and reluctant as the rest, she winged onward, so that soon the Sentinels were lost behind us.
We flew above the Kheryn-Veyhn now.
We Dhar had no name for the sea other than “the eastern ocean,” for we’d no use for any name: our world extended no farther. This was the sea the Sky Lords crossed to bring the fylie of the Kho’rabi against us; it was unknown. Tezdal had crossed it in that skyboat that Rwyan’s magic had brought down, but that (so he had told us) had been a hard journey, even with the Kho’rabi wizards whipping the elementals onward in service of their vessels. For us, it was easy, up where the air is thin, and only dragons can fly, and the sad worldly magic of humble men has no power.
I saw elementals then, like fleeting visions glimpsed from the corners of my eyes. I could not quite believe them, but Deburah told me they were there and helped us on our way, because she and all her kin were closer to them than human folk, who looked only to govern them and control them, not live with them in equality.
Except,
I was gratified to “hear,”
for Dragonmasters.
I did not properly understand, but I wanted to learn and accepted for now that explanation. More urgently, I wanted
to reach Ahn-feshang and set in place the final part of our design.
For which I must wait: not even dragons can fly that ocean without halt. The elementals can, but they are not entirely of this world—they live in the spaces between, while dragons, for all their innate magic, are entirely physical beings: they must rest.
Which they did, to my consternation.
The sun was setting behind us. The sky there was red and burnished gold, like the dying flames of a forge. Ahead was a blue darkness pricked by stars and the indifferent face of the newly filled moon. The air, despite that aura of warmth Deburah afforded me and the fur-lined leathers Taerl had given me, was chill enough I began to feel it needling my skin. I heard Bellek call that we should go down and rest for the night; and wondered where and how. Deburah showed me as we swooped seaward.
I had not known dragons can swim: I found out then.
They’ve not much liking for it, but they can—are they forced to it—sail the waves as readily as they command the sky.
We came down onto a darkly moonwashed sea filled with rolling billows. It was not a very great swell—I’d ridden far greater waves in my father’s boat—but even through Deburah’s calm and confident sendings, I felt afraid as we settled on that ocean. I had never been so far from shore.
She spread her wings as we landed, just as she did when we swooped on prey, and broke our fall gently, so that only a little salt water splashed my boots. Then she furled her wings and began to paddle, and it was a fond memory of nights afloat in my father’s boat, rocked by the Fend’s currents.
No fear, Daviot,
she told me.
Only a while resting.
And I trusted her—how could I not? She was my Deburah, and I knew she’d give her life for mine, and I the same—and looked about to find the others paddling toward me.
A strange alfresco dinner, that. Deburah and Anryäle and Peliane and Kathanria swam, gently dozing, as we riders passed food and ale between us. The other dragons floated easy on the swell, most with heads tucked under wings like sleeping swans, and only the outrider bulls alert. Cold food, yes; but warm in its wonder—that we
could
eat in such manner,
like drowsy fishermen riding such boats as only legend knew.
Had I a regret, it was that I could not hold Rwyan but only remain apart from her, buckled to my saddle even as I slept. But that slumber was in the cradle of the sea, and I was not unfamiliar with that: I slept very well.
And woke startled to the beat of dragons’ wings as Bellek shouted us awake and we took flight.
It was not yet, dawn. The sky was opalescent: that thin gray that presages the sun’s rising. On land there should have been birds chorusing the new morning. Here there was only a brightness in the east and the gray roll of waves against Deburah’s flanks. I gasped and clutched the saddle as she rose.
In moments we were in the sky again, climbing up to meet the rising sun, winging onward toward Ahn-feshang.
Night was come before we reached the islands.
I saw them first as jagged outlines lit by the moon. They minded me of the Dragonsteeth, but sea-washed. They seemed all sharp and rugged, without smooth places where men might live, limned by the breaking surf that bathed the shores, and inland all obdurate peaks and wooded valleys that must surely defy habitation or farming. Each island was dominated by vast peaks that painted the night sky with a faint red glow, as if the earth gusted hot breath against the night.