The Fire Dragon (43 page)

“Ah well,” Rhodry said at last. “If naught else, I promised Enj that I'd return.”

“That's true, isn't it?” Arzosah sounded positively gloomy. “I'll carry you there, then.”

“My thanks. If you'd rather not fly to the cold north, I can get myself a horse and ride.”

“No need, no need. But I shan't be staying there when the nasty snows come.”

“Of course.” He scrambled up, then turned to look at her massive head. Her eyes were half-closed and unreadable. “Is somewhat wrong?”

“Naught. Thinking about my dead mate makes me sad, is all.”

“Well, that I can understand, truly.”

He sat down again, leaning back against her flank. Together they watched the stars come out until the Snowy Road hung above them, a vast river of diamonds in the dark sky, flowing to some unknown sea of light.

Long past the zenith of night, when the entire town slept in a wrap of darkness, Verrarc and Raena crept out of the compound. Overheard the wheel of the stars and the waning moon gave them just enough light to make their way uphill. They were headed for the broken temple, but long before they reached it, the wind shifted and brought them the vinegar smell of dragon. Raena clutched Verrarc's arm with both hands, and whispered “I dare not.”

“Just so,” he murmured. “Let's go back down.”

Through the steep little alleys of Citadel he led her to the plaza by a roundabout way. The Council House stood unlocked. They slipped in by a back door. Away from the starlight the room gaped as dark as a cave. He could feel Raena move close to him and shudder. Verrarc opened the door again, and in the faint greying of the dark he could just make out the stairway at the far end of the room.

“Upstairs there be a back room with shutters,” he whispered. “None will see if you make your witchlight up there.”

“And if we do break our necks upon those stairs, we shan't care if they see or no, bain't? Shut that door, Verro. I'd best risk making a little light.”

He could hear the fabric of her dress rustle. She murmured a chant, so softly at first that he could barely hear her, but a spark of silver light appeared in the palm of her hand. He could see, then, that she was holding one cupped hand level with her waist but close to her body. As the chant rose and fell the point swelled to a little pool of silver, casting a faint light around her for a few feet—enough for them to climb the stairs in safety.

Three doors opened off the corridor at the top, meeting rooms for private matters among the Council of Five. Verrarc went into the first one and felt his way over to the window, where heavy wooden shutters hung. He pulled them closed and latched them on the inside.

“It be safe for you to come in now, Rae.”

She walked in and stood for a moment looking around. A square table and four chairs stood in the middle of the plain stone room.

“I dare not brighten this light more,” she said at last. “But it will do.”

With a snap of her wrist she tossed the ball of light to the floor, where it stuck, glowing like a tiny lantern. She sat down cross-legged in front of it, and Verrarc joined her, cursing a little at the hardness of the stone.

“Huh, you be soft, my love,” Raena said. “Those who worship Alshandra needs must have souls of steel.”

She rose to her knees, then flung her arms above her head and began to chant in a rhythm he'd never heard her use before, slowly at first, then faster. Such melody as there was rose and fell. As she swayed back and forth, sweat broke out on her forehead, then ran down her face. Back and forth, on and on—sweat stuck her dress to her back, and she began to gasp for breath. In the witchlight her face turned as pale and cold-looking as a fish's belly.

“Hold, Rae!” Verrarc laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “There be a need on you to stop lest you kill yourself.”

With one last sob she let her arms fall to her sides. For a
long moment she knelt, her head bowed, her face so wet that he wondered if it were sweat or tears that ran there.

“There be shame so heavy upon me,” Raena whispered. “I did fail her. Now she turns her face away from me.”

“Be you sure of that? Or could the truth lie in what Jahdo did tell the town, that your Alshandra were but a spirit like Lord Havoc?”

“Never!” She raised her head with a toss of her long hair. “That lying little snake! Truly, you should have slain him, that day in the water meadows.”

“Oh here, as if I'd cause Dera and her kin one moment's pain!”

“True spoken. Forgive me, my love, I be so desolate I know not what I say.” Raena sat down, crossing her legs, on the floor and wiped both hands across her face. “What did he tell you?”

“That there were a battle in the sky twixt her and a mighty mistress of the witchroad. When Alshandra died, he saw her body break apart, and all the Horsekin did scream and howl in despair, for they did believe her dead.”

“And for their sin they did perish, all of them that doubted her. Those who believed came safely through her country to their homes again, just as I did return to the man I love second only to her.” She reached out a soft hand and caressed his cheek. “Ah, Verro! Someday I hope and pray that you will see her as I have seen her, in her glory.”

“It would be a grand thing.”

His voice must have lacked conviction, because she winced and turned her face away. While he sat, trying to think of some comforting words, at the window something rustled. A shutter knocked on stone, then fell silent. Verrarc was on his feet without thinking and running to the window.

“Douse that light!” he hissed.

As soon as the light disappeared Verrarc flung open the shutters. No one was there, and indeed, he felt a sudden fool when he realized that the window opened out on empty air. He stuck his head out and looked straight down to the stone plaza, a hard drop of some two stories below. He closed the shutters again.

“No one here,” he said. “And no one could be here lest they could fly.”

“Don't mock that idea, my love.” She muttered something else that he couldn't quite understand.

In the darkness he could not see Raena's face. It took him several moments before he realized that she wasn't forming words; she was laughing, a choked sort of laughter, brimming with panic.

In the physical world Raena's dweomer light, an extrusion of etheric force, shone brightly, but on the higher planes it appeared as a darkness, marking the spot on the etheric plane from which she'd sucked substance. In hawk form Evandar had been as usual hunting for his brother, first back in the ruins of his Lands, then ranging farther afield, until at last he circled low over Cerr Cawnen, though still in the etheric rather than the physical world. In the shimmering blue light the stone buildings stood black and dead, while the lake seethed with silver energy, reaching dangerous tendrils up high. As he passed over the plaza, a lake of blackness, he could see the dull reddish glow of the trees near the ruined temple, and Arzosah's aura— a huge plumed thing of gold and green, ever shifting and swelling up high only to fall back in ripples.

Nearby he saw the strange little pock of nothingness that marked a dweomer light on the physical plane. Raena? Quite likely. He let himself drop back to the physical and found himself circling the Council House. Wooden shutters covered one window and only one. Sitting on the sill, his ear pressed against the wood, sat Shaetano in the form of a black-and-white shrike. Evandar gained height, then laid back his wings and dove. Shaetano looked up, threw himself from the sill, and disappeared. Cursing under his breath Evandar swerved and burst through the gateway into the sunshine of the Lands, only to find his brother gone.

Yet Shaetano had left tracks behind him: the pawprints of the fox in moist earth, a tuft of russet fur on a bramble, and in the air, an astral essence like crystals shimmering. Following them, Evandar flew steadily and saw at the horizon the green swell of trees. Of course! There was only one
place where Shaetano would be able to hide from him, the wild forest under the verdigris moon. He was desperate indeed, then, with no human worshipper to feed upon, but clever still. That forest was the only place on any plane where Evandar feared to hunt.

Evandar flew onward, turning and swooping over the twisted dark below until he saw the beacon tree, green and burning on the boundary. Mayhap those that live in the wild will do my work for me, Evandar thought. Yet he knew beyond knowing how he knew that his brother's Wyrd lay with him and him alone. In time, though, the creatures of the night would flush Shaetano out of the forest again. He knew that for a certainty as well. On long wings he spiralled down to the ground, and as he landed, he changed, taking the form of a massive black hound. He lay down, couchant, under the verdant half of the tree and waited.

A spring dawn was breaking in a clear sky when the Council of Five met up on the plaza, but rather than go to the Council House—and close to the dragon—they stood twixt the well and the head of the path that led down to Citadel. Below them the white buildings gleamed in the rising light, and a breeze stirred the mists of Loc Vaed, gleaming turquoise through the rifts.

“Soon the watch will be opening the gates,” Verrarc said. “It behooves us to reach some decision about Rakzan Kral and his embassy.”

“Just so.” Burra spoke firmly. “I'd not have them in this town again.”

“No more I,” Hennis put in, “but you do ken the old saw as well as I: Scorn the Horsekin, see harm ride your way.”

Frie and Admi stayed silent. Verrarc was painfully aware of the way that his fellow councilmen were watching him: narrow-eyed, unsmiling, arms crossed over their chests.

“When I did take Raena in,” Verrarc said, “little did I ken that she'd been consorting with Horsekin.”

“And if you had?” Burra snarled. “Would it have made one cursed bit of difference?”

Verrarc felt his fists clench. When he took a step forward, Burra held his ground.

“Stop!” Admi shoved his bulk in between them. “This be no time for fighting amongst ourselves.”

“Well by the gods!” Burra stepped back. “There be a passel of secrets that Verrarc does hide, bain't? How did that witchwoman of his get out of the city if he were not the one to help her?”

Like a sheepdog Admi herded Burra a few steps back, but the gesture made Verrarc realize that the four of them stood on one side of an invisible line whilst he stood alone on the other.

“True spoken,” old Hennis joined in. “We do need a few answers from you, Verrarc.”

Verrarc tried to speak, but he'd gone cold to his very soul. They waited, his accusers, watching with eyes of flint, sharp and glittering. He swallowed hard and found his voice at last.

“I know not how she did leave the city. There be many a lie she's told me. Ye gods! Don't you think I feel the fool, letting a woman lead me about by the nose?”

They considered this, and Hennis at least seemed more thoughtful than angry. Verrarc took a deep breath, then went on.

“But be that as it may, Raena does ken many a thing about the Horsekin and their country. She can help us, not harm us. There be a need on us for such lore, bain't? Consider this: she did tell me that the Horsekin do indeed worship the new goddess of which Zatcheka did tell us, but this goddess did only promise them the Slavers' country. Is there any one of us who loves the Slavers in his heart?”

“Well, now,” Frie said, “if it be the Slavers that they've marked out—”

“Don't be a fool!” Burra snapped. “Mayhap they will conquer the Slavers first. Then we'll be next.”

“I do agree with that,” Admi said, “but it behooves us to give them a hearing before we reach a judgment. As for your woman, Verro, this be not the time to pass a final judging on her deeds, either. She too shall have her chance to speak to us and the town. I'd have you keep her close by until then.”

“So would I.” Verrarc could hear the rage in his voice. “You have my word on that.”

Still they watched him, but perhaps their eyes had softened. He could not be sure, and no more could he be silent.

“I took her in out of the snows,” Verrarc went on. “Should I have let her freeze to death? I knew not where she'd been, any more than any of us knew. Lady Zatcheka did bring us the first news any of us heard of this Horsekin war against the Slavers. Would any of you have thought that she'd been among the Horsekin? I doubt me—”

“Hush!” Admi held up one broad hand. “None of that has the least import now.”

The other councilmen nodded their agreement. Their expressions had changed to pity, Verrarc realized, a sickening, condescending sort of pity. Involuntarily he took a step back, as if their feeling were a blow.

“Very well.” Burra took up the question again. “Let us think on the problem at hand. Remember what that filthy sorcerer did, threatening that little lass? How dare we let them into the town? Do we want our citizens to tear them apart and have the wrath of the Horsekin come down upon us for it?”

“That be a true fear,” Admi said.

“What say you all to this?” Burra went on. “We go down to the south gate and meet there, just inside the wall. If the crowd turns ugly, then the Horsekin may flee for their lives whilst we shut the gates.”

“Just so.” Hennis nodded. “And truly, perhaps we should summon the townsfolk to hear them out. The day for voting draws near, bain't?”

“Tomorrow,” Admi said. “I do keep tally.”

“Well, then, let the rakzan plead his case for all to hear, to spare us the time and trouble of repeating it at council fire.”

“Splendid!” Frie clapped his enormous hands. “I do agree with that.”

In general agreement the council meeting broke up, Admi and Hennis to summon the Horsekin emissaries, Burra and Frie to cry the news through the town. Verrarc hurried back to his house.

By then Raena had risen; he found her in the bedchamber but dressed, sitting by the window while she ate a bowl of milk and bread. When he came in, she laid the spoon in the bowl and put it down on the windowsill. In the sunny light her hair gleamed with bluish highlights like a raven's feather. Once he had loved the midnight color of her hair, but now the thought of ravens made him shudder.

“Good morrow, my love,” Raena said. “You be out and about early this morn.”