The Dragon's Lair

  Along with his chance to ask her anything else.

  Ven looked down at the thin black stone in his hand. He turned it over curiously, but his attention was drawn away by the merrow's pinching fingers as Tuck and the wagon approached. Amariel backed away behind him as the horses clopped nearer.

  "How awful," she whispered in his ear. "What happened to those poor hippocampi?"

  "Hippocampi?"

  Amariel pointed at the team of horses. "Where are their tails?"

  Ven hid his smile. "Those aren't sea horses, they're land horses," he said. "That's what they are supposed to look like. They have legs, not tails—er, well, they have tails, too, but not like yours—their tails are more like your hair."

  "Hmmph," said the merrow. "That's just plain unnatural."

  "And just like hippocampi, you can ride them in races, too," Ven continued. "Didn't you tell me you want to be a hippocampus rider when you grow up?"

  "Maybe," Amariel said. "I'm not so sure now that I've seen those things. I might want to teach a dolphin school instead. The dry world is very strange."

  Her words were lost in the rumble of the wheels as the cart rolled to a stop. The Lirin forester pushed the brim of his hat up and looked down in surprise at the cats swarming around Ven's feet.

  "You ready?" he asked.

  "Yes, thanks," Ven replied. "Tuck, this is my friend Amariel." He felt her shrink down behind him, and turned around.

  "Don't worry," he said quietly. "He's not human—he's Lirin."

  Amariel peeked out from behind him and looked up at the forester.

  "Hold still," said Tuck to the two children. He clicked to the horses, and they stomped their feet in unison, rattling the sides of the wagon and vibrating the cobblestones.

  The cats scattered.

  "Hop aboard," Tuck said.

  Ven took hold of the merrow's arm and helped her climb into the back of the wagon. When he reached out his hand, he realized he was still holding the black stone Madame Sharra had given him. It was almost as if he had forgotten it was there.

  He held it carefully and clambered in beside her, then settled down next to her amid sacks of carrots, oats and potatoes. He nodded to Tuck, who whistled to the horses again, and the wagon lurched forward over the cobblestones and northeast through the waking streets toward the main town gate.

  Ven crouched low at they passed the massive walls of the Gated City, pulling Amariel down with him. He looked back to the place where he had first seen the rainbow flash that seemed to be a sign of Madame Sharra's magic, but there was nothing there but sunlight on the wall.

  It was not until they had passed through the gate and were well away from Kingston that the thin black stone in his hand exploded with color in the light of the rising sun.

  6

  Black Ivory

  IN THAT INSTANT, BOTH HORSES REARED AND SCREAMED IN FRIGHT.

  The wagon rocked violently from side to side, spilling carrots and apples over onto the roadway, and sending Ven and Amariel up into the air. They landed heavily on the floorboards with a thud.

  Tuck was up on his feet on the wagon board immediately, speaking quietly to the horses, gentling them down. It took him a few moments to calm them, but once they were settled and standing steadily again in the road, he sat back down, turned and leaned over the seat board into the wagon bed, where the two children were trembling.

  "Well, Ven, that was certainly a lot of fun," he said acidly. "What was that?"

  "I—I don't know," Ven stammered. He held out the oval of thin black stone. "I—I got this in town, and when the sun hit it, well, it sort of exploded with color." His face grew hot and his stomach weak as he realized he was telling his secrets to an almost total stranger.

  Tuck pushed his straw hat back and eyed the stone. In the morning light Ven could see more of his face than he had in the darkness of foredawn. It was wizened and slightly wrinkled, like an old apple, but pleasant, as if the lines had come from laughing a lot, even though he seemed to be very quiet. His eyes were green as summer leaves, and thin silver hair fringed his head. There was an angle to his face that was definitely not human, a lot like Amariel's. He held out his hand for the stone.

  "Let's have a look," he said.

  I sat there, staring at his hand, feeling my heartbeat in my ears. From the moment I left home I have had to make choices about who to trust with secrets, or things that might be secrets, that could save or end my life. I usually try to keep most things I am not certain about to myself, or sometimes I tell Char.

  Amariel, for instance. I told Char while we were on board the Serelinda that I thought I had seen a merrow. But I never told him I had actually met her, and that she had saved my life.

  So here I was with the king's forester, who I met in the dark and have only known for a few hours. He is about to take me and my best friends in the world into unknown lands past the Great River, on the run from the Thief Queen's thugs and spies. I don't know anything about him, except that the king trusts him.

  Then I thought about what he had said to me.

  Tuck knows the lands east of the Great River better than any man I know. I would trust him with my life, and I think you're safe trusting him with yours, and that of any of your friends you feel might also be in danger.

  So even if I don't know Tuck that well yet, if the king trusts him, I guess that is good enough for me.

  And even if it wasn't, I don't know what other choice I have.

  Nervously Ven handed over the oval stone.

  The king's forester's eyebrows arched, but he said nothing. He took the stone and turned it over in his hand, examining it carefully. He rubbed his forefinger along the top edge, then handed it back to Ven.

  "Black Ivory," he said. "Where did you get it?"

  "In—in Kingston, in an alleyway," Ven said. The pit of his stomach was boiling. As much as his curiosity was raging, he was certain that Madame Sharra would not want him to tell the whole world about their meeting. "What's Black Ivory?"

  "The tusk of a narwhale," Amariel whispered. She looked like she was going to cry.

  "A narwhale?" Ven asked.

  "A whale with a horn," the merrow said shakily. She put her hand up to her forehead like it was a unicorn's horn.

  Tuck shook his head. "No, not at all. Ivory's a bad name for it, because normally ivory comes from an animal. This is not the same. Black Ivory is a piece of stone that was once alive but now is past dead. All of its magic, its lore, has been stripped from it, leaving it totally without life."

  "Isn't all stone lifeless?" Ven asked.

  Tuck chuckled. "I cannot believe a Nain just uttered such words. Clearly you have been upworld all your life." His eyes took on a look of sympathy as he saw Ven's face flush with embarrassment. "All stone still has some kind of life within it, I've been told—all except Black Ivory. It's so dead that it makes a great hiding place from anyone or anything that can feel vibrations on the wind."

  Ven nodded. "Like a Lirin Singer," he said. "Or a Kith, like Galliard, the king's Vizier. His Majesty once told me that Kith were an ancient race even older than the Nain or the Lirin. Kith have the power of wind in their blood, and can hear what is being spoken on it."

  "Or even those who just have normal senses," Tuck said. "Black Ivory is so good at masking vibrations that it's almost invisible. Even if it's in your hand, you can almost forget that it is there."

  Like I did, Ven thought.

  "Black Ivory is extremely rare," Tuck said. "Because of its properties, it is usually made into a box or a sleeve and used to hide something very important, something magical that gives off vibrations of power. Inside a sleeve of Black Ivory, even the most powerful item would be impossible to find unless you know it's there."

  "So you think there is something inside it?" asked Ven.

  "Look at it carefully. Then you decide."

  Maybe Madame Sharra's news that my footprints in Time seemed to be coming to an end soon had made my brain race. It made m
e hear a lot of words of wisdom that I had heard before. The king's comments about Tuck cleared out of my head, and now I was hearing something my father had said to me on my last birthday. Even though it was not that long ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since I heard them. He said the same thing in a letter the albatross brought me a week or so ago.

  This was your great-grandfather's jack-rule. Now it belongs to you. If you see things as they appear through its lens, you are taking the measure of the world correctly.

  Ven unbuttoned his shirt pocket and took out the jack-rule that had belonged to his great-grandfather, Magnus the Mad. It was a Nain tool used to measure when mining or building, and was the most precious thing he owned. He carefully extended the magnifying lens and looked at the flat piece of stone.

  Its edges were smooth, as if someone had carefully polished them. Unlike stones Ven had seen before, which were made up of many different colors, this was solid black, without any variation in hue. And, visible in the jack-rule's magnification, he could see that along the top was a thin slit.

  Through which a tiny sliver of gray was peeking.

  "Here, Amariel, hold this," Ven said, passing her the jack-rule. "Over the stone so I can see."

  "A please would be nice. I'm not your sucker fish, having to do whatever you want me to do."

  "Sorry. Please."

  The merrow took the folding ruler, wincing at the feel of her unwebbed fingers, and held it over the stone. Her green eyes were sparkling. She moved closer so that she could see as well.

  Carefully Ven took hold of the thin sliver and pulled it gently from the slit.

  A scale-like object slid out of the stone sleeve. It was gray, with a finely tattered edge, and scored across the surface with millions of tiny lines that formed a geometric pattern. It was slightly concave, and etched into its face were symbols in a language he recognized but could not read, and a line drawing of many mountains. When the sunlight hit it, their eyes were dazzled by a million rainbows that ran across its surface and disappeared. Ven gasped.

  "This is one of her cards," he whispered. "I bet it's the Endless Mountains, the one she said was trying to get my attention."

  "Whose cards?" Amariel demanded. "What are you talking about?"

  Ven looked up to see the forester and the merrow staring at him.

  "Madame Sharra," he said reluctantly. "This is one of the dragon scales she uses to read the future."

  The Lirin forester's face grew instantly serious.

  "Put it away," he ordered. "Now."

  Ven pushed the scale back into the Black Ivory sleeve, wishing he had taken the time to look at it more carefully. There was a vibration to it that was pleasant, making him tingle. Once it was back in the sleeve that sensation was gone, leaving him feeling a little bit hollow.

  "That thing's in its sleeve for a reason, Ven," said Tuck. "I don't know who this Madame Sharra person is, or what you are talking about. What I do know is that the open road outside of Kingston is definitely not the place to be discussing it. Now, let's be on our way. You two settle in back there and I will get us to the crossroads."

  His voice grew more gentle as he saw the looks of shock on their faces.

  "Remember, stay down, children. It's best that anything passing by thinks you are cargo, nothing more." He got out of the wagon, picked up the vegetables and fruits that had spilled over the sides, tossed them back into the sacks, and mounted again.

  "Het," he said to the horses. The team lunged forward, dragging the wagon, then smoothly began the journey east toward the Inn.

  "How are you feeling, Amariel?" Ven asked as they slid down below the sides of the wagon, trying to get comfortable.

  "Like one of the fish in that cart."

  "Oh," Ven said. "I'm sorry it's been a difficult morning. But it will get easier once we're on our way."

  "It had better," said the merrow. "For your sake."

  Ven couldn't help but smile. "At least you're not going human," he said. "You still sound very merrow to me."

  "Thank goodness for that," Amariel said. "Just make certain no one but you touches my cap."

  "I will," Ven promised.

  The wagon rumbled east into the rising sun. As it climbed higher in the sky the birdsong became louder and the warm wind picked up, rustling the bags and the children's hair. Amariel smoothed the scales that had once formed her tail, looking nervous as they grew drier.

  "I hope when I return to the sea this will go back to being the way it was," she said. "I really did have a very beautiful tail."

  "Yes, you did, and I'm sure you will again," Ven said. "Try not to worry."

  "Don't tell me what to do," said the merrow. "I'll worry if I want to. It's not your tail. Hmmph."

  In the distance a dog began to bark. A moment later, another joined in, then another. Ven shifted to his side and peered between the slats in the wagon.

  Up ahead to the south he saw the gleaming walls of the White Fern Inn.

  Mr. Whiting, the owner, was standing in the middle of the lush green front lawn, whitewashing the sign. He put down his brush, then turned and looked in the direction of the wagon.

  Ven's stomach sank.

  Mr. Whiting is one of the most evil men I have ever met, maybe the most evil. He accused me of theft and murder and had me arrested and locked up in the palace dungeon while the king was away on a state visit. His guard dogs are evil as well. They about tore my friend Nick to shreds on his way home from town one night. Mr. Whiting used them to frighten people away from the Crossroads Inn so that his own place would always be full. He even got Vincent Cadwalder, the steward of Hare Warren, to work with him against Mrs. Snodgrass. I find that strangest of all, since Cadwalder's own parents were murdered at the crossroads when he was a baby, and Mrs. Snodgrass took him in. She has been as much a substitute mother to him as she is to everyone else who lives in Hare Warren or Mouse Lodge.

  Mr. Whiting had to pay to repair the damage his dogs did to the Crossroads Inn, and has been warned by the constable to stay away from it, and from me. The fact that Mrs. Snodgrass did not take everything he owned, or, worse yet, have her husband visit him along with the crew of the Serelinda, shows what a forgiving and kind woman she is. She even forgave Cadwalder, whom she had taken care of all his life.

  I am not as forgiving as Mrs. Snodgrass.

  I still don't understand why Mr. Whiting is not in jail.

  The muscular dogs barked even louder as the wagon came nearer to the White Fern Inn. They chased each other around in their pen, faster and faster, becoming one great swirl of black and brown fur and snarling teeth. One of them sent up a baying howl, and the others joined in, filling the air with the sound of unnatural screaming.

  The horses slowed their pace. Ven could hear Tuck speaking softly to them, encouraging them forward.

  Ven reached over and took Amariel's hand. It was shaking.

  "Don't worry," he whispered. "They're behind a fence."

  "Don't speak, children," Tuck said.

  Ven jumped. His words to Amariel had been as soft as he could make them. He was not sure she had even heard him over the hoofbeats, the creaking of the wagon, and the noise of the howling dogs. Tuck's ears are very sensitive, he thought. It must be a Lirin trait, because McLean has it, too.

  The wagon rolled on, even more slowly. Ven lay as low as he could behind the sacks of food and provisions, keeping his eye on the hole between the slats.

  As he watched, the neatly pressed sleeves of the innkeeper's shirt came into view.

  Ven held his breath.

  Then he could see the shoulders of that shirt as Mr. Whiting crouched down, staring at the wagon. His great hooked nose passed by the same hole Ven was watching through.

  Then his eyes, dark and menacing, bore into Ven's through the slats.

  The dogs screamed louder, their jaws slathering and foaming, as they threw themselves against the fence. Ven could see the wooden gate buckle, nearly opening. He heard Amariel gasp besid
e him. He rolled over to see her, white and wide-eyed, and clapped his hand quickly over her mouth.

  Suddenly the back gate of the wagon rattled. An even higher, more horrifying scream tore through the air as a streak of brown and black fur leapt from the ground.

  And hurled itself onto the children.

  7

  Leaving Safety Behind

  VEN THREW HIMSELF ONTO AMARIEL, LEAVING HIS BACK EXPOSED to the attack he knew was coming.

  He braced himself, keeping his hand over her mouth.

  And tried not to yell as he felt his back being gouged and scratched. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the bite, and closed his eyes.

  As something ran up his shoulders and through his hair, then disappeared into the sacks.

  Ven opened one eye. His face was right next to the merrow's. Her eyes looked like giant green marbles above his hand.

  "Was that a cat?" he whispered. "That felt like a bloody cat."

  Amariel nodded.

  "Not a dog?"

  The merrow shook her head. Beneath Ven's hand on her face, she was trying to keep from sneezing.

  Ven let his breath out slowly. His back and neck were throbbing.

  "Sorry to have bothered you, sir," he heard Tuck say to Mr. Whiting. "Must have picked up a stray in town."

  "Harumph." Mr. Whiting coughed unpleasantly. "Be on your way, man. You're upsetting my dogs, and probably my guests."

  "My apologies again," said the forester. He clicked to the horses. The wagon lurched, then began rolling east again.

  Ven took his hand off Amariel's mouth. He lay still until he knew they were well out of sight of the White Fern, then sat up and ran a hand over his shoulder. It was bleeding slightly, and the gouges on his back stung.

  "Bloody cat," he muttered again.

  "Better than one of those dogs," said Tuck from the front of the wagon. Ven jumped again, having forgotten the forester's sensitive ears. "And better than you being noticed."

  "Well, that's certainly true," Ven said. "But I'm not looking forward to digging that thing out of the provisions. We certainly don't want it in the wagon."