Dragon's Ring (42 page)

"They—the sprites—tried to catch us before."

Finn patted Díleas, who nuzzled up against him in response, and tried to eat the corner of his cloak. "It's a bit like being a sheepdog. There are some sheep who would prefer it if you left them alone. Others—the occasional ram—who will turn on you. Try to trample or to kill you. That doesn't mean that you don't still have to herd them along, without killing the awkward ones. Ah, we get closer to their puddle." He pointed.

There on the plain stood the remains of a marble column. In the distance stood another. And further over, a piece of what was left of a frieze still balanced on top of a column. "Needs work," said Finn with a grin. "Now unless I am mistaken they will expect us to walk. Try to stop Díleas from lifting his leg on the columns. They're quite touchy about them."

They walked between the columns, across manicured turf to the edge of . . . a hole. A big hole, but nothing more, surrounded by clipped grasses. Díleas sniffed at it.

"We need a divining rod," said Finn to their escort. "And only one will work."

"We have brought the staff of the sprites," said the elderly centaur, heavily. One of the others rode forward with an object in a long case. He opened it. Inside on the velvet lining lay . . . a stick. A dried out, ordinary stick, with the bark cracking away from the fork at the top and a few dead roots at the end.

Finn took it and handed it to Meb.

It was odd that a piece of wood could hold such despair.

"You can leave us to it now," said Finn commandingly.

The centaurs seemed totally taken aback at this, but did retreat back to among the columns.

"I have no experience of this," said Finn, which was just exactly what Meb did not want to hear. "You'll have to do it. I believe human workers of the earth-magics hold the two ends of the fork, and the shaft twitches down at the presence of water. Then they dig a well."

"What happened to the water that was here?" asked Meb.

"I knew I'd need a reason to come and collect the staff. When the first tower went down, I realized that to survive the destruction, the species needed their treasures returned—otherwise they'd be trapped, in part, with whoever held their people's treasure. So I set things in motion to stop the spring that seeps to this place. I was sure they'd give up the staff in exchange for that being fixed. The water came to it via the peat bog around this place. The water is still there. It's an artesian flow. I can feel it below us."

"Oh." Meb took hold of the fork. "And now?"

"Walk. Chant something for the audience. Then we'll tell them to get digging."

Meb began walking around the edges of the hole. It was possibly a hundred paces across and perfectly circular, except for one spike of rock sticking into it. She couldn't think of anything useful to chant so she hummed the last tune that 'Brys had played. The one about the love between the sea and the mountains. And when she reached the spike of rock the stick began pulling. Dragging at her hands.

"Aha," said Finn. The stick touched the rock. Meb noticed in the periphery of her vision that the centaurs had come galloping in. But she was focussed on the single drop of water that had formed on the end of the rock.

"Stop!" shouted the centaur, as Finn heaved at the rock. "It is a holy pool."

"It's a holy hole right now," grunted Finn, not stopping. "Give me a hand here. Your water is under that rock. Look. There are droplets forming already."

The centaur lowered his javelin and stared. A few more drops of water dripped down. Then a tiny trickle. "We need to move this rock," said Finn. "That is: If restoring this pool of yours is something that you want to do?"

Some thirty of the half-horses were now milling about. Peering down. Exclaiming. Someone produced a rope, and they hitched it to the end of the rock. The centaurs hauled. And hauled. The rope broke. The rock had moved a fraction more, and by now a cupful of water splashed down every few moments from the bottom edge of the rock. The hole was very deep and wasn't going to fill in a hurry from that.

"Let's have another couple of ropes," called Finn. "Come, Scrap. Tuck the stick in your bag, and let's give them a hand."

So they did. The rock cracked and popped out of the ground. And Finn and Meb got thoroughly soaked by the fountain.

"It'll take a day or two," said Finn, "but your pool will fill now. You may have to lead the excess water away, somehow. This area is mostly limestone except for that bit of granite we pulled away. This was the bottom of the sea once, you know. You're on the edge of the granite and limestone. That's why you suddenly got the hole. Sorry. The sacred pool."

"We owe you a great debt," said the old centaur.

"To my assistant," said Finn graciously. "But this is what we were sent to do. So if it is all the same to you, we'd like to be off your high plateau by dark. Because it is freezing up here."

"But will it still work, Asclepius?" asked one of the centaurs looking at the water pouring down. "It is . . . clear."

"Oh, it will still reflect," said Finn. "I believe that's what you find important? And it's the same water. It just hasn't flowed through a peat bog first."

"How do you know it is the same water?" asked the elderly centaur.

Finn waved his arms at the grassland. "What else can it be? If you want it dark you can throw some ink in it. Now can we go? I have to get along to Arcady. And you really don't want smelly humans peering into your magic pool."

The centaurs were, it seemed, not very sensitive to sarcasm. "A habitation will be provided, and viands will be brought for you."

They were. A tent. Straw pallets. Rugs. And a gamey stew that was long on boiled wheat kernels and garlic, but was still good eating. Díleas thought it very adequate, worth putting up with not being allowed to exercise his herding instinct on centaurs.

"Why are they keeping us here, Finn?"

He chuckled. "Because they want to see if their pool works. You see, the water used to seep along through the bog. It was acidic and the color of ale from the peat. The water now is as clear as centuries of rock-filtration can make it. It's also not acidic, so the pool won't grow bigger . . . But they used it for their scrying of futures. It's a fairly futile pastime, but they like it. So they want to see if it is going to work."

The next morning, at dawn, they walked back through the ruined columns and across the green turf. Dileas ran ahead and stopped at the edge of where the hole used to be. And drank.

"I think Díleas is giving our friend Asclepias the pool-watcher fits. No, Scrap. Let him drink. Fits are good for centaurs. They will make the Children of Chiron send us away. Because their pool is working."

Asclepias yelled, and other centaurs came running to peer into the water. "Acteaon on a ship!" "And a war-band . . ."

A breeze riffled the water.

For a moment Meb saw a black dragon.

Asclepias looked at the riffled water. Shook his head in amazement. "It . . . it works now without even the focus of will! It works better!" he said incredulously. He bowed to them. "Thank you. You have worked a great wonder for us."

"I think," said Finn, "that I ought to warn you, you will probably find it both clearer and . . . less clear. You'll see deeper and that can be confusing."

"You speak sooth for a water-diviner," said one of the centaurs.

"I've been around. Been told a thing or two. And now, seeing as your pond is full, and works and time and tide press on us, can we leave?"

Asclepias nodded. "Indeed. We will see you back to a ship with such rewards as we can provide."

"Breakfast?" asked Meb, hopefully.

Even the solemn centaurs laughed. And provided breakfast. It was oat porridge, and Díleas was less impressed than with the stew of the night before.

The centaurs escorted Finn, Meb and Díleas back to the cart, and back towards the only way down off the high plateaux. As they moved other centaurs came to hear the news. Their escort on the steep downhill pass to Port Lapith was a substantial one, and they all seemed happier now.

Which was more than Meb could say about the strange piece of stick. Just touching it felt . . . tragic. "Why is it so sad?" she asked Finn.

He sighed. "Because it is a sad thing, I suppose. When Tasmarin was cut off, there was only one sprite, and the sapling she was going to plant. When a token of trust was needed . . . well, it was all that Lyr had. And it was only going to be temporary, and the sapling wasn't due to be planted until spring . . . It's just a dead stick now. But that is why all the sprites are just one sprite. They are all grown from cuttings from the first one. She was a cold woman—not all tree-spirits are, in the wider planes. But it was still a bleak thing to have happen."

They were nearly at the bottom of the winding pass by noon, when they were met by Justin standing waiting at the side of the trail. He waved at them to them to stop.

"I don't like him, Finn," said Meb, quietly.

"Neither do I, but we need him to take a message to the sprites. She . . . Lyr may remember me. We've crossed paths before and I left her with a grudge against me. Not entirely undeserved, I must admit. Besides, you turned one of them into stone."

"Me? That was you, Finn."

He shook his head. "Earth magic, Scrap."

They'd come to a halt next to Justin. "I have something for you," he said to Finn, and handed him a small bag cloth bag. Finn opened it and shook it out. A golden coin fell out onto his palm . . . And then Finn fell over like a mighty tree, onto Meb.

Justin leaped forward to grab her—to be kicked by a centaur as he did. That left Meb on the ground next to the cart, half-stunned by the fall. Finn was lying on the seat. Díleas had leaped after her . . . and there was a vast melee going on. Men and sprites had come running out of the trees. They were fighting with the centaurs.

"A rescue, a rescue!" shouted a centaur. The cart horses bolted with Finn, as Meb was trying desperately to struggle to her feet. Galleys were beaching, and hundreds of men, alvar and sprites were pouring towards them, outnumbering the centaurs.

There was the sound of distant horns.

* * *

Ixion had watched from the head of the trail, watching as the glad cavalcade escorted the water diviners down, watching how the ships came and went. Watching one that did neither. He caught the sudden winking flash of a mirror. The windsack hung at his side—a heavy burden. As yet the council of elders had reached no decision as to what should be done with the breath of the nation. He had been given it, so he still carried it. Perhaps because he was thinking about that, he took an extra few moments to process the fact that the ship lying offshore was signaling to someone out of sight in the lea of the cliffs. On that flank it was only three or four hundred yards from the cliff-point to the shoreline just inside of the harbor. The harbor was not fortified. Why bother? The solitary narrow trail led to the high plains, and holding the harbor would not serve an enemy well. The centaurs could roll rocks down—right onto their ships and onto any who tried to come up the trail.

Now, too late, Ixion saw why defenses could have been valuable. He lifted his horn to his lips and called on his phalanx to gallop. But even as they plunged down the trail, Ixion knew that they could never be in time to save those who had restored the vision of the Children of Chiron. He saw how the few centaurs who were down there were being massacred. One of their guests was somehow behind the main fight, and there were some ten attackers closing on her and her dog.

Ixion knew he had but one choice.

Meb and Díleas ran desperately after the cart. Here she was again, running unarmed into a fight. She had to get to Finn . . . She wrenched the stick out of her pack. She'd give anyone who tried to stop her reason to be even sadder than the stick.

And then they confronted her. Díleas suddenly snarled in a way she'd never heard him do before. There was a hooded man—like the one who had called her before—and one of the tree-women and a group of men-soldiers. The hooded man called her . . . Only this time she was aware that he was trying to bespell her, and although she could do nothing—her arms were frozen—it had no effect on Díleas. Part of her mind screamed "no!" knowing that the sheepdog pup stood no chance. But Díleas—his hair standing out in a black and white mane—the silver collar shining, white teeth exposed, was not going to stop.

The fire-being reached out a casual hand, seething with fire . . . and then screamed like a woman, and turned and fled straight over one of the warriors who had a broad-bladed spear upraised to deal with Díleas. As the fire-being touched him he burned. Immediately the paralysis left Meb and she swung the stick at the sprite. It was a feeble stick, but it was if Meb had hit the tree-woman with a club. She fell onto her followers. It had a less traumatic effect on them than the fleeing fire-being. It was just a tumble. But it gave Meb a moment to call Díleas back, and to ready herself.