Dragonborn (25 page)

December heard every word. The cottage was small. Sam heard, too. Outside, the wolf heard everything, watched, and waited.

At the inn, Eloise slept little. Many nights she left her bed hours before dawn and sat in the inn parlor, in front of the dying embers of the fire. She fed it a little, to keep it in till the morning, listened to the creak of the inn sign as it swung in the wind. Axestone kept to his room, though he slept little, too. He watched through the window, and sometimes he caught the sound of a wolf howling to the moon.

Their host slept well, and waited.

which was a good thing, because they always ate trout on a Friday, and the fish were fresh from the stream.

Sam and December had left the crofter's cottage just as the first warm breezes of spring had unlocked the scents from the garden and the fields.

They waved Sam and December into the distance.

“I thought he would die,” said the crofter.

“It's not over yet.”

Eloise was the first to see Sam. She was standing at the window of the inn parlor, looking for Axestone. The tall wizard walked up from the stream, holding the trout at his side; ten fish, brilliant in the spring sunlight. He strode effortlessly up the slope from the stream, his brown robe brushing the grass. As he saw Eloise he raised his arm in triumph, brandishing the fish. She smiled. Next to her, Flaxfold sighed.

“It won't be long now,” said Flaxfold.

“If he's right.”

Axestone threw the door open.

“In the kitchen,” said Flaxfold.

He grinned at her like a rebuked schoolboy.

“They're too fresh to stink,” he said.

“Did you clean them?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Leaving the fish on a marble slab in the cool larder, he joined them in the parlor, a glass of small ale in his hand. He plunged into a leather armchair and drank, his left arm dangling to one side and stroking the soft, gray fur of the wolf.

“How much longer?” asked Flaxfold.

“They should be here before nightfall,” he said, looking down at the wolf. The animal stared back, bright eyes unblinking.

“They're here now,” said Eloise.

Flaxfold's eyes filled with tears when she saw Sam.

“That poor boy,” she said.

“I'll help him,” said Eloise.

“Leave him. He won't thank you.”

December raised an arm in greeting when she saw their faces at the window.

“I'll get them a drink and something to eat,” said Flaxfold, going to the kitchen.

Eloise hugged herself, partly in sorrow at the bedraggled and crooked shape of Sam, partly in excitement and anxiety at what was to happen next.

“We're here,” said December. Sam looked up. A small group of houses and an inn, with trees to one side framing the view. On the inn, a sign swung gently. Sam felt as though he had been there before. As though he knew the place already. As though there was something missing, but he couldn't remember what.

He kept his hand inside his bag, stroking the cover of his notebook. Unfastening it, he opened it, wondered what page his hands had felt in the darkness, drew in a deep breath, and made a playful, teasing spell to make the inn sign swing faster, farther. Nothing happened. Smoke dribbled from his nose.

They stepped into the inn and Sam saw Eloise first, then Axestone, still in the armchair.

“So,” he said to December. “It's a trap. I should never have come with you.”

Eloise came to him and took his hand.

“No, Sam,” she said. “No. We're your friends.”

“Him?” said Sam, looking at Axestone. “He's not my friend.”

The wolf, hidden by the chair, stood and slid around into view. He brushed against Sam's legs and looked up at him, his tongue lolling out as though laughing.

Sam stroked him, delightedly.

“If the wolf is your friend, then so am I,” said Axestone. He stood and looked down at Sam. The wolf moved away to stand next to the huge wizard. Sam saw, at last, that Axestone was more wolf than fox, more true than trick.

“And you are all my friends,” said Flaxfold, pushing through the kitchen door and putting her arms around Sam. “Welcome, Sam.”

Then she folded her arms around December and kissed her face. “How are you, my dear? It's been a long time.”

“Too long,” said December.

“You must be hungry.”

“A little.”

“Trout tonight,” said Flaxfold, “but that's a long way off. Come into the kitchen and we'll talk there and eat.”

Sam sat down on the floor. The wolf nuzzled against him.

“You can eat in bed,” said Flaxfold.

Axestone picked him up, as though he weighed no more than a trout, and carried him up to a wide room with a window that looked over the stream, a polished floor, a soft bed, and a bowl of fresh flowers.

Flaxfold helped him to eat a little soup, then sat with him till he fell asleep. His hands still in the bag, holding his notebook.

It was a somber meeting at the kitchen table. December told them how she had found Sam at the mines. She looked away from them when she came to the part about Bearrock's Finishing.

“We nearly lost him,” said Eloise. “Thank you.”

She took December's hand.

“I thought I knew what it was that was pulling him through,” she said. She left her hand in Eloise's, just for a moment, not to seem impolite, then drew it away.

“Evil is always familiar,” said Axestone.

December nodded.

“It was more than that, though,” she said.

They listened to the rest of the story, Axestone nodding at the parts about the wolf.

“The people in the cottage were so kind,” said December. “Even when the snow had cleared I still had to stay until it was warm enough for him to travel.”

“Will he live?” asked Eloise.

“I don't know.”

“Will he live to be any use to us?” asked Axestone.

“Living will be enough,” said Flaxfold.

“It won't,” he said. “You know it won't. Isn't that right?” he demanded of December.

She nodded. “That's right. He is the one we've been looking for. No doubt about it.”

“I never did doubt it,” said Flaxfold.

Axestone threw up his arms in defeat.

“All right,” he said. “We were clumsy and unsure. If we had trusted him straight away he would never have gone on the run, never have been hurt, never have turned up twisted and broken and limping along like this. If you had been there,” he pointed an accusing finger at Flaxfold, “we would have known he was Flaxfield's apprentice.”

“He died suddenly,” she said. “I was here. It's where I live when I'm not helping the small apprentices.”

“All the same,” said Axestone. “It would have been better if you had been there.”

“And we would not have lost Khazib and Sandage,” said Eloise. Her face was solemn, her voice low.

“We have made mistakes,” admitted Axestone. “The question is, is it too late to mend things?”

“You missed Flaxfield's Finishing,” said Eloise, taking the older woman's hand in hers.

“I would have missed it, anyway,” said Flaxfold.

Flaxfold, her small, plump body and her pleasant face, her gray hair and homely manner, seemed an odd person to lead this discussion, but when she spoke they all deferred to her. She had welcomed them to the inn many weeks ago, fed them and entertained them, and kept them hopeful through the long winter. Now she spoke.

“I have known Sam since he was a tiny boy,” she said. “You know how I helped Flaxfield. You know what I did for the two of you, when you were his apprentices.”

Axestone and Eloise nodded. December kept her eyes slightly averted from the woman.

“Flaxfield knew,” she said, “I knew, that Sam was the one who would take over from him. Flaxfield put everything in place. And now it's all at risk. If Sam dies, or if the journey he has taken has broken him, then I think we have lost. The Castle of Boolat will rise up, magic will be dark. People will suffer and the land will be covered with pain and distress.”

“And us?” asked Axestone.

“I think you know what will happen to us and to the other wizards of the old way,” said Flaxfold. “And it will not be pretty.”

“It isn't about us,” said December.

Flaxfold smiled at her.

“Indeed it is not,” she said. “You know best of all of us what he is like now. Will he live and will he ever be strong again?”

December placed her hands on the table, the palms against the wood.

“Sam has no magic,” she said.

“Nothing?” Axestone spoke quickly.

“Nothing,” she said. “I've watched him. I've seen him try. There is nothing inside him to work magic anymore. Even his notebook is empty.”

“Then we're lost,” he said.

“Empty can be filled,” said Flaxfold. “Broken can be mended.”

“Can it?” asked Eloise.

“Sometimes,” said Flaxfold. “How?”

December paused.

“Well,” she said. “We know that he's being hunted. That hurt him. The College was bad for him, and that has hurt him, too. The journey itself was difficult, and an ordinary person would have died. Then, he used up everything that was left inside him to perform a Finishing.”

Flaxfold put her hand on December's arm.

“If it were not for you, he would have been dead long ago.”

“And you,” said December to Axestone. “And the wolf.”

He nodded.

“Go on,” he said. “How can we mend him?”

“He dreams,” she said. “And he calls ‘Flaxfield' all the time.”

“He never really knew anyone else,” said Flaxfold. “People came to the door, but they never stayed. He went with Flaxfield to Finishings, but never really met people there, never talked to them. Flaxfield was all he knew.”

“After you left,” said Eloise.

“Yes.”

Eloise continued. “I went to fairs with Flaxfield, and to markets. We traveled all over, staying for weeks at a time sometimes. I played with street traders' children, learned how to fight and how to make up. And he had visitors, often. We were never lonely.”

“I was never lonely,” said Sam, “but I was alone a lot.”

They had not heard him come in.

“How long have you been there?” asked Axestone.

Sam hobbled in. Looked around.

“We'll go to the parlor,” said Flaxfold. “It's more comfortable.”

The day was drawing to a close. The sun low, the air cool and fresh. The spring evening gave a strange clarity to everything, a more vivid color, a deeper, cleaner atmosphere.

The fire in the parlor had smoldered to gray ash. The low sun caught the copper pans and blue-and-white plates, painting them with an intense glow.

“Tell me more about the markets and fairs,” said Flaxfold, when they were settled.

“Tell me about the wolf,” said Sam.

The creature moved across, sat with his head on Sam's lap.

“What do you want to know?” asked Axestone.

“Is he yours?”

“No. He belongs to himself.”

“That's not a straight answer,” said Sam.

Flaxfold smiled and folded her hands on her lap.

“There's a connection,” said Axestone. “Sometimes. With a lot of effort. I can see what he sees, hear what he hears.”

“How?”

“Scratch your head,” said Axestone.

“Don't make me look a fool,” said Sam.

“I don't know another way to explain.”

Sam scratched his head.

“How did you do that?” asked Axestone.

Sam shrugged.

“Close your eyes. What do you see?”

“Trees,” said Sam. “Above my head. And moss. And a fox. Earwigs and beetles.”

He opened his eyes and saw the others were looking at him intently.

“Was it a memory?” asked Eloise.

“What else?” said Sam.

“How did you do it?” asked Axestone. “Scratch your head, see pictures with your eyes closed?”

“It just happens,” said Sam.

“Like breathing. Or swallowing,” said the man.

“Yes.”

“That's how it is with the wolf.”

“All the time?” said Sam.

“No, not all the time. Only when I make it so. It costs a lot.”

“Did you send him to look for me?”

“We did it together,” said Axestone.

Sam stroked the wolf.

“Thank you.”

There was a long silence.

“The fairs,” said Flaxfold.

Eloise smiled.

“It seems so long ago,” she said. “Flaxfield had work to do there. Not that it seemed like work. He walked about among the stall-holders, talking to them, buying what he needed, string, shoes, selling a few things that he took with him.”

“I never understood the things he bought,” said Axestone.

“Or what he sold,” said Eloise. “Little parcels that he had made himself. Bottles of tincture. Sometimes just a piece of paper with writing in a strange language.”

Axestone laughed.

“Now we buy and sell the same things ourselves,” he said.

“What are they?” asked Sam.

“Not apprentice things,” said Axestone, not unkindly.

“Anyway,” said Eloise, “all I wanted to do was buy some sweets and maybe a scarf, and look at the entertainers.”

“Jugglers,” said Axestone.

“Fire eaters,” she said. “Tumblers and puppet shows.”

Sam wished Flaxfield had taken him to the fairs.

“One day,” said Eloise, “there was a juggler, and I loved watching him. He juggled balls at first, then knives, then burning torches. I watched the whole show. When it was over, he came around the crowd with a hat, for money. I didn't have any and said I was sorry, but thank you for a lovely show. He started to shout at me, and I didn't know what to do. He said I was robbing him by sitting at the front and then not paying. I was so embarrassed that I put my hand in my pocket, took out a toffee, and put it in his hat. It was all I had. Then he was really angry, and started to call me names. He made fun of my clothes, which were old fashioned and not very colorful. You remember what Flaxfield was like.”