The Dragon of Despair (79 page)

FAILURE WAS THE END RESULT
of Columi’s attempts to locate precisely where the Dragon of Despair was bound.

“I did read,” the old man said, “that the spell that binds the dragon is so carefully formulated that releasing the monster would be nearly impossible. Perhaps we do not need worry so much about what Melina intends.”

“I wish I was certain,” the Healed One replied. “‘Nearly impossible’ is not enough when dealing with ambition on this scale. This is a woman who apparently has been willing to sacrifice her own children’s well-being in order to gain what she desires. I cannot underestimate her.

“However, we must accept,” Toriovico continued heavily, “that the task of tracking Melina is beyond me. I cannot follow her myself without risking her learning that I am free of her domination and I have yet to find a spy I can trust.”

Columi looked both relieved and apprehensive.

“Then we must wait to react to what she does?” he asked, and he sounded almost hopeful. Some of his fervent desire to undermine the Consolor had weakened now that he perceived what a difficult and potentially dangerous course of action this was.

Toriovico did not chide the emeritus Prime for his temerity. Raging against something that seemed wrong was easy when raging was all that could be done. Not everyone was suited for dangerous action. Unfortunately, the Healed One could not let Columi fade back into his retirement. He needed at least one agent he could trust.

“No,” Torio replied. “I will not wait to react. That might be too little too late. I have done some preliminary investigation and I believe I know where agents can be found who will be glad to work against Consolor Melina.”

“Members of the Defeatists?” hazarded Columi.

“No,” Toriovico said, “for we don’t know which of those might be trusted to keep silence. The Defeatists might view their first duty as to their political associates rather than to the abstract ideal of our kingdom.”

“Then who?” asked Columi.

“Tell me,” Toriovico asked rather than replying directly. “What do you think Xarxius’s position on Consolor Melina might be?”

“Xarxius?” Columi seemed troubled and confused by this change in topic. “The Dragon’s Claw?”

“The same.”

Columi massaged the bald spot atop his head with one hand as he considered.

“I do not believe Xarxius has any great fondness for her,” he offered at last.

“Then you do not believe Xarxius is among those you would include in her party?”

“No…I don’t think so. He has never courted her, nor she him. Recently I have heard it bruited about that they had differences in opinion in the matter of Waterland trade.”

“That is true,” Toriovico agreed. “I was present at several such meetings. Very well. I believe that Xarxius is one with you and me regarding Melina’s influence on New Kelvin. However, belief is not enough. I must be sure. I cannot ask him. Even if I told Xarxius that he was safe to speak with me on the matter, I would be the last one he would trust. Therefore, I want you to ascertain beyond a doubt his feelings regarding Melina and her influence.”

“Me?”

“Don’t look so startled, Columi,” Toriovico reprimanded a trace sharply. “You may have retired to curate a museum, but in my father’s day you were among the canniest politicians in this kingdom. I cannot believe that those reflexes are lost. Take them out and polish them—then go and speak with Xarxius.”

Columi straightened and nodded crisply, not as if his previous reaction had been an act, more as if he could not but acknowledge the truth of what his ruler said.

“I shall use the excuse of wishing to acquire certain mineral samples for the collection as my reason for calling on Xarxius,” Columi said after a moment’s thought. “He is always looking for little things he can gain to make certain we have the advantage in a trade. Indeed, with all the rumors flying about that rare artifacts are to be brought from Waterland it would seem stranger if I didn’t petition for my own sodality.”

“Very well, then,” Toriovico said, pleased. “Go to it. Once you are certain of Xarxius, I shall put a proposal to him myself.”

“Might I know what that proposal will be?” Columi asked, his instinct for political predation aroused now in full.

“Let us say only that,” Toriovico replied, “I think Xarxius knows of a spy I can use—and that I believe I already have the price that will pay for that spy’s complete loyalty.”

Columi looked neither offended nor angered that Toriovico refused to tell him more. Indeed, it took a moment for the younger man to realize what the emotion was that lit the elder man’s round face.

It was pride.

FLEEING THE PAIN THAT THROBS IN HER LEG
, Firekeeper leans over herself. With elaborate precision, she detaches herself from the feverish body unconscious on the bed. First she strips away the leg that hurts so much, then the other. Reaching behind her head, she pulls loose connections looped behind each ear and skins her face down. Arms need to be worked free, too. That’s a little tricky since she needs an arm to undo an arm, but she manages.

Standing on blue-black darkness that puddles warm around her ankles, Firekeeper stretches. Her fingers brush the stars, spilling sparkling pollen from summer heavy blossoms. The stars are scented with mingled honeysuckle and wild rose. The strong odor drifts into her head and intertwines with her thoughts. The sensation is very pleasant.

Firekeeper doesn’t know how long she stands there inhaling the breath of stars before she is aware of a voice. Calling. Her?

Pivoting as lightly as milkweed on the wind, Firekeeper searches for the source of the voice. She sees the comet swimming through the rich blue-black, sinuous as a snake or a vein of lighter rock within the dark or blood in a vein.

A vast thundering torrent of sparkling white light, the comet pours through the night sky, vigorous and purposeful. Mysteriously, though Firekeeper senses great speed from the comet, she is also aware that it is not moving at all.

Unlike a frozen waterfall, the comet is not the image of motion though motionless. It is truly immobile, yet truly moving at speeds beyond what even the most swiftly diving falcon might attain.

Firekeeper, embodied bodilessness rejects the contradiction as unworthy of consideration.

“Wise,” the comet hisses, “for are you not both wolf and woman?”

“Wolf,” she agrees, “and woman.”

“As I am prisoner and yet a terrible master.”

“You mean you are a prisoner of some fate,” she offers, “as a king is prisoner of his throne while most believe him master of all.”

“No,” the comet hisses. “Truly, I am a great force, so powerful that hurricanes and tornadoes are nothing to me. I could swallow the living world in flames and never feel filled. I am captive, yet if I am freed, I will be more a captive than I am.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“Few have ears that can hear me, even in sleep. I am a thundering torrent. Incomprehensible.”

Pollen shakes from the stars as Firekeeper struggles with the comet’s words.

“I hear you,” she says, “but I do not understand you. Captive yet free? More captive if freed? What is it you desire?”

“My freedom,” the comet replies. “But not my captivity.”

“I thought that the one brings the other,” she protests.

“Free me, and I will be your master.”

“I don’t want a master!”

“You would desire the alternative less….”

DERIAN WATCHED
at Firekeeper’s bedside as she slept from dawn through dusk. Sometimes she tossed with pain or nightmare, but mostly she was so still that he found himself watching for the rise and fall of her breathing.

Before retiring to his own bed for most of the day, Doc had said that sleep would be Firekeeper’s best healer now that he had done what he could for her. However, he had insisted that the wolf-woman be roused every few hours and given something to drink.

At first Firekeeper hardly seemed to notice, sucking at the bottle Derian held for her like a nursing foal given an artificial teat. By midday, however, she was drinking thirstily of whatever was offered, and by evening she was protesting that broth, juice, and water were not enough for a wolf who needed to regain her strength.

“Doc told us to take care,” Derian insisted, pushing her back onto the bed when she tried to rise, “that you did not overstrain your system. Liquids are what you need to replenish the blood you left all over New Kelvin.”

“Meat,” Firekeeper replied with certainly, lying back as ordered, “is better. I will take drink with it.”

Doc arrived in the doorway of the infirmary at that moment, his black hair still sleep-tousled and the expression of affectionate amusement in his grey eyes tinged with annoyance. It was at moments like these that Sir Jared most reminded Derian of his cousin the earl.

“Still wiser than every other head?” Doc asked, coming over and reaching for Firekeeper’s wrist so that he might test the strength of her pulse. “I thought last night might have taught you otherwise.”

Firekeeper looked so ashamed that Derian was reminded of a puppy cringing.

“Am I wrong?” she said softly. “I am very hungry.”

“I shall be the judge of what is best to feed your hunger,” Doc continued severely. “Now, how do you feel?”

Firekeeper replied with an accuracy that reminded Derian of a young solider reporting.

“I hurt everywhere, like time when I fall out of tree when hunting squirrel nests. I was growing then,” she added inconsequentially, “and didn’t climb well for my limbs were strange to me.”

“Where do you hurt worst?” Doc asked.

“In my leg and shoulder,” she said, indicating the places with a movement of her chin, “though not as bad as I remember I should. You have fixed me again.”

She sounded very pleased at this and Doc frowned severely.

“I thought about not doing so,” he said, his tone leaving no doubt that he was completely serious. “Had it not been that we might need you and Blind Seer to help save Edlin and Peace—Eagle’s Eye watch over them if they live—and to free Citrine from Melina if the need arises, I would not have done so.”

Firekeeper looked at him wide-eyed.

“Truly?”

“Truly,” Doc said firmly. “I think your foolishness comes in part from a good heart, but in part from the belief that you will not suffer the consequences of your actions. What good would I do you if I made you lose the caution that kept you alive in the wilds?”

His voice rose, and again Firekeeper cringed. Derian thought that the bandits who had run from her should see her now, cowed by nothing more than words.

Or maybe,
he thought,
she knows that Doc’s right and what has her beaten is the awareness that she’s been an idiot.

Firekeeper looked up through her lashes at Doc, not in the least flirtatious, rather like a child who is checking to see if the scolding is over.

“May I please have something to eat?” she pleaded. “And is Blind Seer well?”

“You may have something to eat,” Doc replied evenly. “Stewed chicken and vegetables, I think.”

“Blind Seer is well,” Derian added, ignoring her grimace at this invalid’s fare. “He has been sitting with you most of the day. I believe he just went out into the yard to run off some excess energy.”

Firekeeper smiled.

“Blind Seer saved me,” she said. “When I would have fallen. I remember that now.”

“Save the tale until we all can hear it,” Derian suggested. “I’ll tell Elise and Wendee that you both are awake and coherent. We’ll put a tray together and after she eats Firekeeper can give us a full recital of what happened last night.”

THE RECITAL TOOK QUITE A WHILE
, for there were many questions, and as Firekeeper did not have all the answers there was much conjecture and discussion.

“My guess,” Derian offered, tracing his fingers over one of the copies of the map, “is that whoever it was who went after Firekeeper has had watchers down there all along. They heard our pair coming or saw the light and dropped the net. Firekeeper says they came from two bridges away—the same tunnel Peace led them up last time. That’s suggestive.”