Dragon's Ring (44 page)

"Uh . . ."

"Go," said Ixion firmly. "We have no further words to exchange with you."

The priest scrambled back onto the boat. Ixion kept a firm hold on Meb. "It will be all right," he said reassuringly. "This was foretold. We saw the possible battles. We just did not understand it. Now we do. And at least our course is one with honor. And the Lyr are treacherous to the core. Their assurances are worth nothing. But they will see him kept safe until the morrow."

"And then?" asked Meb.

"And then we go to war. We told the messenger that much, but I do not think he will understand it. They are liars—they do not have the windsack—and they attacked us without warning or mercy. We will sail tonight and pay them back in kind. Their magic is effective against the Children of Chiron, but we have their precious staff."

"No, you don't," said Meb firmly. "I do. And I can deal with them. Take me over there."

"You can deal with them?"

Meb put her hands on her hips and faced them. "You got the windsack back from Finn. We fixed your pool. If you want to go and fight with them, you go and fight with them. But me, and this stick, are going over there. I don't know if they'll honor their bargain, or if they lied to me. But I don't care. Finn gave me my life. If it costs me mine for his . . . that's the way it is going to be."

Her speech was slightly marred by the fact that at the end of it, the giddiness overwhelmed her, and she fell over.

She was surprised to see through blurry vision, the great centaur nodding solemnly. "You are something of a lesson to us, little one. Loyalty to one's own and honor, they are what we are. And, true enough, the staff was given to you. We have no debt of honor to the tree-woman. In fact we owe them a punishment. We will help you in whatever way we can. But first—looking at you—you must rest and eat."

"I'm not going to be a lot of good if I keep passing out like this," admitted Meb. "And I really need a bath. No, Díleas, there is no need to look at me like that. You learn some words very quickly!"

"We'll feed you and provide a place to rest. Would a horse trough do for a bath? We will provide the vessel we promised. We will also ready our transports. We have been preparing for war for many years now. If they do not honor their bargain—we will land and do our best to avenge you and our dead. They can bespell us, but their forests burn," he said, in deadly earnest. "We are in debt to the two of you." He took a deep breath. "And though it was unthinkable before, possibly we are in debt to the black dragon. Not all foreseeing is clear. We saw war as something only to be feared. That we had grown past it, and that its return was an evil we were forced to contemplate. Now . . . yes, it can be. But there is need and honor too."

"I think your courage was in the windsack," said Meb, remembering the way that wild gale had felt.

He nodded. "You see very clearly, human. It was the breath of our nation."

Vorlian had not realized that he was good at giving orders. He also had not realized how good Tessara was at organizing. Vorlian retained a core of some thirty of the largest dragons. But the others were sent as messengers. Calling all to come to the conclave, or to fly toward Malarset. The moon moved westward, and soon they could see Malarset.

Burning. Vorlian knew Arcady would have to wait until morning, although he really felt he ought to get there. They flew out and downward, and, for the first time in hundreds of years, flew to war against other dragons.

In the small hours of the night, the in-coming dragons spotted Brennarn and her cronies feasting on the corpse of Kyria. Marsalet was an island of low, rolling hills, sparsely forested on its granite uplands. Those who had come to ravage the fertile little island had plainly driven its dragon-defender to the last high place, a rounded granite dome. Against the pale grey of the granite the dark spiky shapes of dragons could be seen from above, engaged in a gory noisy dismemberment of their victim. They plainly expected no further resistance to their conquest. Thoughts of being attacked themselves were far from them. The dragons high above looked down in horror and hot rage. Vorlian checked them before they could start to dive. "Hold," he hissed. "This we must deal with together. This we must obliterate. On my word we dive and flame. But you will watch each other. We must arrive together, or we will burn each other."

The dragons flying down on the renegades had never worked together, so it was perhaps less coordinated and effective than it could have been. But, suddenly blanketed in the concentrated dragonfire of at least thirty dragons, the feast became a funeral pyre.

As dragon combat went, it was clinical and quick, the worst damage being that some of Vorlian's allies got their wind tendrils scorched. The gout of flame was probably visible fifty leagues away.

That would have been enough for most of the dragons, but Vorlian marshalled them again. "The compact between the dragons on Tasmarin and the lesser people has been that we protect them. Brennarn, Myrcupa and their companions betrayed us. Now we must show that we honor that compact. There are other invaders. Let us harry them."

Even that might have gone over quite rapidly, had some of the creatures of smokeless flame, invested among the invaders, not tried to fight back. Dragonfire could consume them too. But it didn't end there. The invaders were crazed, it would seem. Alvar and human and sprites tried to take combat to the dragons. Arrows were fired. Ineffectual spells tried. Resistance wasn't something that had happened to the attacking dragons before, and by dawn, they'd made sure that it never would again. And more and more dragons kept coming to join in the fight. As the night wore on, some of the alvar began to surrender. Once again, Vorlian found himself needing to exercise control. The dragons were in no mood for accepting surrender. He had to force his will on them. But they listened. He did have a point. They needed survivors to make sure word got out about the folly of trying this. Some Alvar and humans were spared, thus. It was too late for Prince Gywndar, though. He and several of his nobles tried to flee with their troops, and found out that dragons fly faster than horses run.

By the dawn, though, Vorlian was once again feeling that he ought to fly on Arcady.

So he did.

Of course, a lot of the others followed him.

The mist clung, pinkly pearlescent, to the sea in the light of the new-risen sun, as they flew toward the green, forested island with its single peak that thrust up out of the cloud. Looking back, Vorlian could see the batwing silhouettes of hundreds of dragons against the still purple-dark sky. And on the far horizon stood the great tower, jutting out of the ravel of the sea, defending Tasmarin, anchoring the world. It thrust up dark and monolithic in the first rays of sunlight, windowless, impregnable and old and strong beyond all the fire and strength of dragonkind. It defended the anchor of elsewhere, keeping Tasmarin safe and isolated while it stood across the way to the other planes.

In the shrouding sea-mist Meb found herself on board a part of a mighty flotilla. It was frustratingly slow. To her surprise she'd actually slept like the dead after a good meal, and a much less-than-satisfying wash in a horse trough. The centaurs could be quite civilized in other ways, though. They were completely unworried by the fact that she was not a male, or that she wore trousers, for example. Male and female centaurs all got onto the transports to go to war together, and they were wearing nothing but battle-gear. The same battle gear.

The vessels had been rigged to allow them to row, which was just as well, as it was wind-still down in the cold, damp sea-mist. Meb sat on a small piece of decking near the prow with Díleas—quite the experienced sea-dog, provided he was a reasonable distance from the water—and looked at the black water parting in a slow curl around the bows.

"It would seem that you have a lot of company," said the merrow, surfing the bow-wave, turning to speak to her. "We and the sea are in your debt. Can we help you?"

"The sprites have got Finn as a captive on their island. They offered to free him in exchange for me."

"The sprites are not to be trusted," said the merrow shortly. "Wait. I go to call Hrodenynbrys."

A little later 'Brys put his head up. The familiar jesting tone was missing from his speech. "They'll kill him and you, girl, if they have the chance. It is weak we are against them, and strong that they are against us. Still, we'll stand by you."

Then Meb saw how the froth from the bow-wave curled and the phosphorescence shaped itself into a face. A woman's face, and it spoke with a woman's voice. "But she is not weak. Her magic is strong against them. And it is reinforced by the magic of the dvergar, who have great power over them, and the dragons whose fire they are powerless against. There is also the power of wood-stone about the opal, and water and light. You and the dog carry primal fire, and some of the breath of the centaurs, it would seem. And besides all of that, you gave me my own again. You can call on the water. I can bring a wave that will wash clean all but the mountain. I'll even bring that down in time," said the sea.

Meb had spoken to the mountain. So she was, after that initial moment, less taken aback than she would have been. She bowed politely. "Primal fire. I don't understand? And I'm not too sure about the rest either, really."

"The glowing jewels on your dog's collar, and on the chain around your waist. The dragon gave you a piece of primal fire each to protect you. It is both precious and powerful."

"He really is a dragon, then?"

The sea laughed. "Oh yes. One of the oldest and the first."

"I love him anyway."

The sea sighed. "It cannot always work . . ."

"That," said Meb firmly, "is because the two of you want your own way all the time. Find a mountain that comes down to the sea. Finn said that most islands are just mountains in the sea anyway. Now, tell me about the rest?"

There was a pause. "I see that the breath of the centaurs added still more to your courage. Tell him I will think about it. I need my freedom too."

"So does he," said Meb firmly. "Work around it. Finn says there is always more than one way of doing anything."

"And he should know," said the sea. "Well, as to the rest. You are a human mage, with the power of summonsing. You can command the powers of the earth, of stone, of fertility. The dvergar made that more powerful still by giving you a talisman of gold full of dragon-magic, and of course their own artifice. So you can command strength and fire and gold—the attributes of dragons. You are proofed against the rest to a greater or lesser degree."

"But how . . . I don't know any spells or anything?"

"Just tell them. That sort of power needs no aid. It will find its own way. And the land is close now. There is water there. I will be listening. Call on me in need."

"And you think about what I said," said Meb, gruffly. "Seeing as you're here, 'Brys, play her that last song you played for Groblek."

High up on the plains of Lapithidia, well above the mist, the centaurs that surrounded the foreseeing pool waited eagerly for the light. It was wind-still, and the surface of it was like polished sliver.

If they had looked far out towards the dawn they would have seen dragons tiny in the distance. Instead they focussed on the pool. Which showed them much the same as looking over their shoulders would have.

Except it also showed the black dragon. And for once, an unclouded view of the face of the mage.

They'd seen her before, and not in the pool. Standing next to it.

Actaeon, for so long a spy and exiled in the course of his stern duty to watch over the conspiracies between the creatures of smokeless flame, sprite, alvar and dragon, arrived at Port Lapith in the misty dawn. He'd had a mishap-ful journey, but he was home. He jumped from the ship to shore. Breathed the air of home. It was the same air he had been breathing from a few yards away, but it tasted better, made him feel stronger. He was greeted by a clattering-hoofed sentry patrolling the empty dock. "Hail!" he said. "I need to find my brother Ixion. And to carry word to the high plains. The black dragon is disguised as a human called Finn. He is actually the dragon Fionn. He's accompanied by a woman, a human mage."

"Hail Actaeon," said the sentry. "Ixion is away with the war fleet, bound for Arcady."

"What?"

The other centaur stopped. It was Cyllarus, with a bandaged shoulder. "We should have guessed she was a human mage. She restored the pool, she and the one we now know is the black dragon himself."

He paused. "We may have misunderstood our vision."

Meb, Díleas and Ixion had boarded the small boat. Meb had to reflect, again, that centaurs ought to stay on land. They were ill-suited to ships, and even worse suited to small boats. Still, the water was quiet, and it was not too far to row.

Up on the bow as they came in sight of the mist-twined shore line Díleas growled. A deep angry burr that ought to come from the throat of a mountain-lion, not from a few pounds of young sheepdog. Meb took the chain that she had wrapped around her waist and threaded it through his collar.