Jamie cursed, roundly and creatively. It helped a little, but not enough. “He’s in the East Mountain Kingdom,” he spat. “Hells’ teeth! And damn me if I don’t even know the place. It’s only bloody Castle bloody Gundar! Where else? Marik’s ancestral home.” He rose to his feet and stamped about, beating his frustration upon the ground as he paced. “Curse it! If I’d had half a brain I’d have guessed they’d go there, but how in the name of the Lady did they get that far away that fast?”
“Demonlines, of course,” said Vilkas quietly, and I wasn’t the only one who jumped. He, Will, and Aral had joined us silently, while we were absolutely focussed on the Farseer. Vilkas sounded grim. “Berys must have set this one up a long time ago. You need to travel the distance in the real world to set the things up in the first place. He must have been planning this for years.”
Jamie gazed up at Vilkas, his eyes alight again for a moment. “Just remember, lad, I’m first in line.” He swore. “If we manage to get to him in our lifetimes. It’s on the other side of Kolmar, hundreds of long leagues from here. How in all the Hells are we going to get there this side of winter?”
“I’d have thought that part was reasonably obvious,” said Varien dryly. I shared a glance with him and smiled. Varien raised his chin in the direction of the mournful little group around Donal’s remains, and there stood Shikrar, all the lovely size of him, his great wings folded neatly over his back.
“Oh,” said Jamie. Then I swear, for the first time in my life, I saw him blush. “I really am an idiot,” he murmured, grinning.
“Shikrar cannot carry us all, of course,” began Varien.
“Truly,” interrupted Vilkas. “It seems clear who must go. Jamie and I …”
“We are therefore fortunate,” continued Varien more loudly, “that there are a hundred and eighty-six others nearby from whom we may request assistance. I would not ask it of the Aiala, though some of the Dhrenagan may wish to be of assistance.” He grinned. “It will give them something to do.”
Will, who was watching Salera and paying more attention than the rest of us, said, “That crowd’s getting bloody noisy for mourners.”
We turned as one. There were quite a few raised voices. I exchanged a glance with Varien and we hurried over to where Shikrar stood.
Shikrar
It did not surprise me that they took the Healer’s death ill. Those who had been there—Rikard, the students, a few of the townsfolk who were sifting the ruins of the College—knew the truth. The rest of those gathered knew only that a Healer had been killed by a dragon. I had cleaned my talons of his blood as best I could, but there was no water nearby. Dark stains remained, testimony that could not be denied.
To my surprise I noted that many of them bore small weapons—tiny blades, or slightly larger ones that must surely be swords. I had heard of swords but never seen one close to. The largest was not the length of my least talon, and it was thin and weak beyond belief. Some carried what looked to be thick tree branches, others had long sticks with many-pronged heads. I breathed a sigh to the Winds that they might not descend to an attack. It would dishearten them so.
Rikard explained again and again, but there were some in the growing crowd that would not believe him. “He is in thrall to the dragon!” some idiot cried out. “Rikard is corrupted!”
“Rikard is one of the few who isn’t,” retorted Lanen, loudly. She and Varien led the others, as they all came to stand by my side. Rikard let out his breath. I think he had been, growing anxious.
“Haven’t you been listening?” asked Lanen, her voice laden with scorn. I was most impressed at the sheer volume she managed to achieve. It was—arresting, and that was what was needed, a moment to stop and reflect.
“Most of you weren’t here. I was. I saw the demon using Donal’s body,” said Lanen, only the slightest quiver in her voice showing her remembered revulsion. “When Magister Rikard banished it and Donal returned for a brief moment—my soul to the Lady, he begged desperately for death ere the demon could take him over once more.” She raised her head, frowning, her arms straight down at her sides and her hands curled tight. “I have been at the mercy of demons. It is a terrible thing—and I was not taken over as Donal was. For a Healer to be in the same body as something so obscene, so opposed to everything in the soul of the Lady’s chosen ones, and to know of no end and no way out … I can well understand that death would be welcome. Even desirable.”
There was a moment of silence. Perhaps she has touched them, I thought in wonder. She is a truth-speaker, Lanen, and such truths can be very powerful—but then a strident voice from somewhere in the crowd called out, “Is the dragon to get clean away with it, then? It killed a Healer! Donal’s blood yet stains its claws, and it would talk its way out of paying for murder!”
To my surprise, Salera bespoke me. Quite clearly, too. Aside even from her words, I could not restrain a surge of pride in her ability, so newly won and already so well controlled.
“Lord Shikrar, do you focus their attention on you. The Raksha smell is strong now, where it was not before. I go to find its source. Detract them!”
Very well. I would distract them.
I rose up on my back legs, spreading my wings wide, in the Attitude of Defiance. Not appropriate, perhaps, but it most certainly caught their attention.
“What would you of me?” I cried loudly. Some raised their hands to their ears. Ha, I thought, let you ignore that. For sheer volume, we of the Kantri are difficult to surpass. “I and my people are the life-enemies of the Rakshasa: you may have forgotten that, but it is as true now as it was thousands of winters past. Healer Donal confessed his corruption, he admitted before witnesses that he had sold his soul to Berys the demon-master and Marik of the House of Gundar.” Quickly, Salera, I can only bluster for so long no matter what Akhor says. “The Lady Lanen has the right of it, he longed for—”
Towards the back of the crowd, a man cried out as Salera wrapped her tail about his waist. “Thiss isss anotherrr,” she hissed, her voice sliding out of the difficult Gedri speech, her wings rattling with anger, her deep blue eyes blazing. “Rakshadakh!”
The people round about her scuttled away. Just as well, perhaps.
“Don’t hurt him, Salera!” cried Varien. Vilkas and Aral were fighting their way through the crowd, as was Rikard. Rikard reached them first.
The man, held helpless in the coils of Salera’s tail, was very young even to my eyes, but he bared his teeth in a snarl at Rikard. “Will you destroy me as well, then?” he spat. “You and your pet dragons! Who have you sold your soul to, Rikard?”
“No one, Rathen,” Rikard sighed “Which is more than you can say.” Rikard raised his power about him and sent a shaft of purest blue to surround the man, who cried out. “Rathen of Elimar, Rathen of the South Kingdom, Rathen ta-Seren, speak to me, in the name of the Lady!” said Rikard. His power blazed. Rathen gave a great shuddering cry and wilted.
“Let him down gently please, Salera,” said Aral as she and Vilkas arrived. They caught Rathen as Salera loosed him from her tail, and lowered him carefully to the ground. “Rathen?” called Aral.
There was no response, though the body twitched. “Come on, man, fight it!” urged Aral.
Rathen moaned, opened his eyes, and sat up. “Mistress Aral?” he said, frowning. “Rikard? Name of the Lady, where am I?”
Vilkas
“You’re in Verfaren,” said Rikard harshly. “And I know you have made pact with Berys. Have you not even realised that you have been worn by a demon?”
Rathen went white. “No,” he whispered. “Mother Shia, I thought that a nightmare.”
“It is truth. I have called you back but I do not know how long the creature may be banished.”
“Save me!” cried Rathen, grasping at Rikard’s robes. “I swear, Rikard, I only ever used the power when I was desperate. I used it to heal, in the Lady’s name! Surely that is not so terrible?”
No, I thought. The terrible part is
that I know you, Rathen. You only got your warrant last year, as a Healer of the first rank. A low level, to be sure, the lowest warrant there is, but sufficient for most ills. I never knew you were so desperate for greater power. “Rathen, was mention ever made of what you might do should you wish to break the pact?” I asked.
“No,” he replied miserably. He started to shake as with an ague and gazed up at me, imploring. “Vil, you’ve studied demons, I know it. What can I do?” He began to weep. “Vil, how shall I ever escape?”
“You can begin by renouncing the power you have received,” I said sternly, and without much real hope. At least it would be a start.
“I do! I renounce, in the name of Mother Shia, the power granted me by this pact!” he cried aloud. For a moment he looked a little better. For a moment.
Then, horribly, he began to shrivel. Before our eyes he grew weak and starveling, his eyes sunken, as if he had not eaten in a year. “Vilkas!” he screamed, his suddenly bony hand clutching desperately at my robes. “Help me!”
I summoned my power and poured it into him. The drain, and his need, were terrible. It was as if every act of healing he had performed in the last year, each of which had its own cost in strength of body and will, were being taken out of him again, all at once. I sustained him as best I might, but I had never known so arduous a task. I had always been proud of my inherent power. In my years at Verfaren I had never truly been taxed by any effort required by my studies.
This was exhausting. No matter how much I gave, it was not enough. Like pouring water through a sieve.
Ah!
I used my Sight to look deep into Rathen, and there it was. A wound in his soul, a link, sustaining something. The demon? No, there it was, fighting to regain the mastery over him, nothing to do with that wound. No, the link went elsewhere …
Berys.
Without stopping to think I cried out, “Blessed Mother, Shia, Goddess, sever this bond and deliver your servant!”
The bond was broken. Rathen screamed once and fell to the ground. The demon also screamed, frustrated to find defiance where it had expected nothing but ease, and disappeared in a gout of well-aimed Fire from Shikrar.
With the Sight upon me I saw the flame of Rathen’s life reduced in that moment to a tiny spark, barely present, flaring its hopeless defiance against the endless darkness that surrounded it.
Still I let my strength flow into him, protecting that flame, encouraging it to life again …
I was not expecting Aral’s slap in the face. My concentration was broken abruptly and I shuddered at the sudden withdrawal from deep healing. She hit me again, and I realised that she had been shouting at me for some time. “Stop, Vilkas! Stop it, you’ll kill yourself!”
I glanced down at Rathen. He was terrifyingly thin, but he breathed yet.
“Good, he’s alive,” I said, and fainted into Aral’s arms.
Aral
“Fetch food and drink for them both,” commanded Rikard sharply, and I saw several hurry to obey as I lowered my beloved Vilkas to the ground. It struck me in passing that I had never had him in my arms before and might never again. I desperately desired to hold him to me just a little longer—raining kisses on his face occurred to me as well—but I knew that he would recover best if his head was level with his heart. I banished my ill-timed longing. Vilkas was pale as death. I started trembling.
No, no, don’t be stupid, he’ll be fine, I stopped him in time. Just.
“That was well done, young Aral,” said Magister Rikard as he knelt to help me make Vil comfortable. “He’s always been a stubborn so-and-so. At least he had the good sense to listen to you.”
“He’s going to be furious with me when he wakes up,” I said, trying to make my voice light. I’m not at all sure I managed it.
“Then he is an even greater fool than I thought,” muttered Rikard, “and I shall be happy to tell him so if you so wish.”
I grinned. “Thank you, Magister, but I’d rather deal with him on my own.”
Vil, with his usual timing, managed to rouse just as the food arrived. Rathen we had to restrain from eating too much, lest he overburden his newly frail body, but Vilkas ate as though he hadn’t seen a morsel in weeks and was all the better for it.
And as he began to recover from his work, I locked my heart away again, hidden, safe, unknown. I did not dare listen to its strident voice. I knew Vilkas too well, knew that he felt nothing of the sort for me; but I still could not give over my stupid longing, hoping—dreaming—that perhaps, one day, he might recognise his folly.
Magister Rikard stood, brushed down his robes, and addressed the crowd. “They will both live, though Healer Rathen will take some time to recover.” He frowned at those nearest him. “I trust that this has brought you all to your senses. Blaming the dragons, forsooth! They are creatures of Order. Our oldest wisdom preserves that at least.”
“But, Magister,” said Tolmas the stonemason, stepping forward, “what now?” He gestured to take in all the ruin of the College. “What are we to do? The town has always looked to the Archimage for guidance.”
“I will meet with any who wish to look to the future in an hour’s time, Tolmas,” said Rikard firmly. “Until then, let each help as they may.” He sighed. “There is surely enough for us all to do.”
Rella
I have to say, if I had tried to stage that revelation I couldn’t have pulled it off nearly so well. In the general milling about I hauled Hygel off to a quiet corner and told him rapidly what I suspected about all the House of Gundar Healers. “Get the word out fast. I don’t know how to fight them, so best to tell everyone to keep out of their way.”
“And what are you going to be doing, hey?” he asked.
I allowed myself the faintest smile. “Ah, now. Privilege of rank, you see. I’m going with this crowd to get Berys.”
“You cheat. I’ve always said so,” he said cheerfully. “I live a stone’s throw from that rat bastard for six years and you get to take him. It’s not fair.”
“Never mind,” I said. “There’s every chance we’ll end up as demon fodder. If that happens, I’m counting on you.”
Hygel snorted. “Ha! With yon bloody great beastie on your side?” He gestured at Shikrar, who was even then taking to the air on some errand. “Even Berys can’t stand against that, surely!”
“I truly hope not,” I said. “Spread the word, my friend. I think you’ll have your hands full here as it is.”
ix
The Black Dragon
Shikrar
“Go where you will, Shikrar, go even with my blessing, but go. I am weary beyond measure,” moaned Rinshir. I sighed. The petulance in his voice was annoying me. “Has the world not changed sufficiently for you? We all need rest before we undertake another such journey.”
“I do not demand your presence particularly, Rinshir,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Only a few are needed—the rest may surely remain and recover their strength.”
Those around him had the good grace to be embarrassed at Rinshir’s whinging. I saw several looking at my newly healed wound. No matter, the scales would darken with time.
“I do not ask you to cross the Great Sea again,” I added loudly, addressing the Kantri. The Dhrenagan listened, but I would no more ask such a thing of them than ask my grandson Sherok to fly to the bright fields of the sun. They had so much to encompass—so much time passed, so much life lost, the world so changed—I would not dream of challenging them further by asking them to assist the Gedri. “True, there is no way of knowing how far there is to fly, for we have only the Gedri’s knowledge of the distance. We go east, towards the far mountains.” Still there was silence. “I need only two more to assist me,” I repeated, “as the Lady Idai has offered to come for the adventure.”
“Can it not wait, Teacher Shikrar?” asked Trizhe wearily. I knew him for a good soul, but I could tell that he was genuinely exhausted. He could barely lift his head off the ground to speak. “Give us but
a fortnight and you will have us all at your service.”
“We leave in a bare hour, Trizhe my friend,” I said. “But I would not take you even if you offered. You have nothing left to give beyond your goodwill.”
“Then let me help you,” said a quiet voice. It was Dhretan, the youngest of us, aside from my son’s son Sherok who had not yet seen six moons. His willingness touched me but there was scant time for tact.
“Dhretan, I thank you from my heart, but I fear you could not keep pace with us, especially burdened,” I said as kindly as I could. However, his was the last voice that spoke. I sighed. So much for volunteers. “Gyrentikh?” I called softly in truespeech, bespeaking him only.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t think of me,” he said wryly, aloud. “I wouldn’t mind being lazy, and I swear I could sleep a full moon round; but yes, Hadreshikrar, I will come with you,” he said. “Were it not for you I might never have wakened from my last Weh sleep when the Isle of Exile was dying.” Despite his words, he did not look or sound as worn-out as many of the others. “In any case, I do not believe the Gedri will be much of a burden,” he added with an amused hiss. “They are too small.”
“Two of them together are perhaps a quarter the weight of a bullock,” I said, keeping my voice light. “There are few of us who could not manage so little weight without effort, even over a long journey.”
“Father, let me come with you,” said Kédra again. “I am rested enough, I am strong—”