Dragon's Winter (8 page)

Hawk said, “This land reminds me of the country I was born in. I miss it, sometimes. What do they name that mountain, the one that is taller than the others?”

Wolf said, “They call it Dragon’s Eye.”

The dark blocks of Dragon Keep were indistinguishable from the outlines of the mountain. Then lights flared, as guards on the Keep ramparts lit the torches.

“For what do they watch?” Hawk asked. “Does Dragon’s country have enemies?”

“There are bandits,” Wolf said. “Reo Unamira, up on Coil’s Ridge, reputedly gives them shelter. They prey on merchants, and on the outlying farms.”

“Ah. Careful, here.” They picked a path across a stretch of slippery shale. At the foot of the slope, they halted to rest. “You know, I’ve heard some strange talk in Ujo, these past few months. The traders say a tribe of demon beasts has risen in the north, and that they hunt men.”

Wolf said, “I have also heard such stories, and others. But if there are demons, they have stayed well north of Dragon’s Eye.” He leaned against the rock. “I am tired. I must be getting lazy.”

“You are,” Hawk said gravely. “Lazy, and also fat.”

Wolf, who had not gained a pound in twenty years, shook his head mournfully. “It is so. You will have to visit us often, to keep me from such a fate. We’ll go hunting. Sometime, some summer, when Shem is older, we shall go to Balas Bay, you and I. I would like to be the one to show you the cliffs at Gate-of-Winds. Such a journey will keep us both from getting flabby!”

“I,” said Hawk austerely, “am not flabby.” She smiled. “Agreed.”

Thea met them at the door, a cup of spiced red ale in her hand. “Ah, you must both be wearied to the bone! I was worried for you” She exclaimed over the meat, and took what she needed. Wolf gathered the rest and hauled it outside to the smokehouse. Later, when the meal was done, and Shem lay sleeping on the hearthstones with his head in Thea’s lap, Thea said, “Hawk, tell us a story.” She refilled Hawk’s cup with warm spicy ale. “My husband says you have more books in your house in Ujo than are in the whole of Sleeth, and that you have read them all. Surely one of them must hold a story.”

Hawk reached for the cup. “I know some stories. What kind of story would you like?”

“Tell a story about a dragon. If you know one.”

“I know one. Do not they tell stories of dragons, here in Dragon’s country?”

“Yes. But tell one anyway,” Thea said.

“Do you know the story of Morrim?” Thea shook her head. Wolf rose quietly and put another log on the fire. “No? I will tell it, then.

“Morrim was a prince out of the south, who traveled out of his own country to a remote and desolate northern region. The story never says how he came to be there. Being as he was from a green and placid country of flat fields, lakes, and pleasant, rolling hills, Prince Morrim was unused to mountains. He was riding over a mountain pass when his horse was frightened by an immense shadow. It reared, and threw him. He fell over a cliff.

“He grabbed a tree root as he fell, and managed to save himself from smashing on the rocks, only to find himself trapped on a ledge below a precipice. The winds whipped about him. He could go neither up nor down. Trapped, he could see nothing else to do but to call for help, and hope that someone heard him. He called, and called.

“Suddenly he was answered, not in words but in flame, and he was lifted between huge claws, and brought to safety by a black dragon with scarlet wings. Though terrified, Morrim kept his head. With all courtesy, he thanked his rescuer, and begged to know to whom he owed his life, that he might make suitable recompense.

“ ‘I am Lyr,’ the dragon said. ‘I am king of this country.’

“Now, Morrim did not know that he was traveling in a country ruled by a dragon. And when he heard this, his heart sank. For dragons, he knew, love gold, and covet it above all things. But Morrim’s country, though pleasant and fruitful, was not rich.

“Nevertheless he put a brave face on. ‘We are well met,’ Morrim said, ‘for I am ruler of my own land, and I would thank you for my life as one ruler thanks another.’

“ ‘Indeed?’ said the dragon. ‘And how would that be?’

“ ‘I would offer you the most precious thing in my kingdom: my beautiful and beloved only daughter, Alisandre, to be your wife and bear your sons.’ And in offering this, Morrim was holding in his heart an unworthy thought: that Lyr the dragon-king might be already wed, and thus have no need of a wife.

“But dragons, as all men know, can see into the hearts of men, and moreover Lyr the dragon-king was not married. Therefore, to Morrim’s chagrin and pain—for he did indeed love his daughter, and had no wish to be parted from her, not yet, anyway—he accepted the offer. ‘Tell your daughter I will come for her,’ he said. And then he sprang into the air, and was gone like a black and scarlet arrow in the sunset, leaving Morrim to turn about and plod south, with the feeling on him that he had made a terrible mistake.

“So Morrim reached his home. Reluctantly, he told his family and his advisors, and particularly his daughter, Alisandre, what had happened to him during his unfortunate visit to the north, and what he had said, and what he had done. His councilors sighed.

“ ‘O Prince,’ they said, ‘forgive us for pointing this out, but Alisandre is your only daughter, and you have no sons. You have given the inheritance of your kingdom to a dragon!’

“Morrim had completely forgotten this. ‘Is that so bad?’ he asked humbly.

“ ‘I doubt your people will accept it,’ his advisors said.

“ ‘What shall I do?’ Morrim asked.

“And his advisors hemmed and hawed, and finally said, ‘O Prince, we think you should, in the absence of a further heir, will the rulership of your land to Prince Amyas, who lives east of here. He is a gentle lord, and will guard your people well.’

“Morrim did not want to do this, but he could see no choice. All the folk of his realm that he spoke to said that they did not wish to be ruled by a dragon. Therefore he wrote out a great document, and signed it in the presence of all his advisors, to state and attest that in the absence of any other lawful heir, his realm should pass into the keeping of Prince Amyas, whose kingdom lay east of his own.

“ ‘Perhaps the dragon will not come,’ his wife said.

“But of course, or there would be no story, the dragon did come. He came flying out of the north on a great wind, and strode into Morrim’s hall, not in dragon-form but walking as a man strides, save that his eyes were the color of flame, and where he stepped in the great stone hall, his bootprints left the mark of fire. He stood before Morrim’s throne, and said, ‘I have come for my bride.’

“Morrim wriggled uncomfortably. His throne had never felt so hard. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘maybe we can talk about this. I have some very fine horses in my stable, and some excellent wine in barrels in my cellar, and I breed some of the best hunting dogs.’

“But Lyr had a dragon’s temper. ‘Do not play with me,’ he said. ‘I have come for my bride, the princess Alisandre. Do the princes of this land not keep the promises they make? If not, they do not deserve to be princes!’ He stretched his hands out. Flames shot from his fingers. ‘If I do not receive what was promised to me, I will burn this castle and all in it to the ground!’

“At this, Morrim shrank into his throne. Then a woman, small and soft, and dressed in green like a flower, moved from her place to kneel before the angry dragon. It was Alisandre, the princess. And Alisandre looked at the fiery-eyed warrior, and his eyes softened, and changed, and became human. And it seemed to her that she could learn to love him.

“She said, ‘O my lord Dragon, I am Alisandre, daughter of Morrim, who was promised to you. I will marry you. Only, promise me that I may, sometimes, now and then, return to my father’s kingdom. For I love the lakes and fields of my own country, and I am told it is cold, in the north.’

“And the dragon-king Lyr reached a hand to Alisandre the daughter of Morrim. ‘I promise,’ he said.

“He took her to his castle, and they married. And each year, in the summer, Alisandre returned to the country of her father. Each year, her mother asked her, ‘Are you happy, my daughter? Is your husband kind to you?’ For it is well known that the dragon-kind are capricious, and cruel, even to those they love. And Alisandre assured her mother that she was indeed content to be the wife of the dragon-king. And in the course of time, Alisandre bore the dragon- king two sons. The eldest son, Sedrim, was dragon, but the younger son, Cerdic, was not.

“Then Alisandre came to her dragon-husband. ‘O my husband,’ she said, ‘I have been a good wife to you. I have given you sons. I beg you, let me go home to my father’s country. I miss the fields and lakes I grew up with. For I am cold, in this hard land, surrounded by mountains.’

“But the dragon-king only looked at her with fiery eyes. ‘No,’ said Lyr. Your place is with your sons.’ Over and over Alisandre begged to be allowed to return to her father’s country. Lyr grew weary of her pleas. Finally, enraged, and believing that her words revealed a deep and subtle disloyalty, the dragon-king imprisoned his wife in a tower, and would not permit her to leave it, nor would he permit anyone to see her, save the servants that brought her food. Alone, silenced, hopeless, the daughter of Morrim ceased to speak, and eventually, to eat. Soon after, her attendants found her broken body at the foot of the tower.

“The children grew to manhood. Sedrim was like his father: hot-tempered, impulsive, tenacious, fierce and proud. Cerdic was quiet, reserved, and given to study. But deep inside he hated his father for having treated his mother so cruelly. Of his grandfather to the south he knew little, for Lyr had ordered that no couriers or travelers from Morrim’s kingdom be permitted to pass the borders of his domain.

“But nothing can be kept secret forever. Over the years Cerdic learned that his mother’s father’s name was Morrim, and that he ruled a kingdom near a lake. Not being a fool, he knew well that he could not withstand his father’s will, and so he hid his rage behind indifference. He waited until a day when Lyr and Sedrim were both gone from the castle. Telling the folk of the castle that he was going for a ride, he took his favorite horse, and headed south. But he did not stop at the borders. He kept going, and as he traveled through this or that country he asked the name of the king. But none of them was Morrim.

“Finally he came to a pleasant green country and a great lake, and beside it a tall castle.

“Cerdic asked the people who tilled the fields beside the castle whose it was. ‘That is the castle of Prince Morrim,’ the people told him. And Cerdic knew that he had found his grandfather’s lands.

“ ‘You seem sad,’ Cerdic said. ‘Is his rule harsh, that you live in misery?’

“ ‘No,’ they answered. ‘He is a good lord. We are sad because he is ill, perhaps dying, without an heir,’

“ ‘Indeed,’ Cerdic said softly. ‘What will happen to his kingdom?’

“ ‘By our law, the land will pass into the hands of Prince Amyas, who rules to the east of us.’

“Then Cerdic went to the castle. The story doesn’t say how he managed to get inside to see the dying prince, but he must have been a most persuasive young man: not only did he speak to the prince, but he managed to convince him and all his advisors that he, Cerdic, the son of Alisandre and the dragon-king Lyr, was the rightful heir of that realm. So Morrim proclaimed Cerdic his heir, and the people rejoiced. The only person unhappy with that arrangement was the prince to the east, whose kingdom had nearly been so neatly expanded.

“But Cerdic had not forgotten his mother, and her dreadful fate. Though he was not dragon, still dragon blood was in him, and with startling ferocity he abandoned the scholarly pursuits of his youth. He studied war, until he became a great and feared warrior, and on a day in high summer, he assembled his war band and led them north to the dragon-king’s domains. There he surrounded the castle, and sent a herald with a challenge, inviting the lord of the Keep to meet him in single combat.

“The herald asked him what name he should tell the dragon-king. ‘Tell him: the son of the daughter of Morrim,’ Cerdic replied.

“And his challenge was answered. A black dragon with scarlet wings came from the castle. They fought. The fight went on half a day. I know. You do not believe it. No man can stand against a dragon in battle. But according to the chronicle, when the dragon agreed to the battle, he agreed to lay aside his most potent weapon, that of fire. They fought spear against talons, from the hour of noon until the sunset. At last Cerdic maneuvered the dragon so that the setting sun fell fully into his eyes, blinding him. And at that very instant, Cerdic killed him with a thrown spear.

“As the dying dragon tumbled to earth, he changed. Cerdic advanced to look upon his father’s face.

“But the slain dragon was not the Dragon-king, but Cerdic’s eldest brother, Sedrim. Lyr was traveling, in dragon-form, far from his domains. And as Cerdic knelt by his brother’s body, a tall woman came from the castle, and she carried a child.

“ ‘Who are you that has slain the dragon’s son?’ she challenged.

“And Cerdic rose. ‘I am the son of the daughter of Morrim. Who are you?’

“She said, ‘I am Elinor, the wife of Sedrim. And this is Har, his son.’ And Cerdic looked at the child in Elinor’s arms, and saw the dragonfire in his eyes.

“ ‘Kill him,’ whispered the leaders of his war band. ‘Kill the babe, lest he grow to manhood, and in turn come seeking you, or your children. At least take him hostage, against the old dragon’s wrath.’