Her mate shifted on his perch, sidling to and fro, never taking his eyes from Daine and Kaddar. The female was Barzha Razorwing, Daine remembered, and he was named Hebakh.
“I’m not that different from these slaves,” Kaddar said politely. “Perhaps all I know is fear. It seems that way, often enough.”
“A pretty reply.” The queen spat on the floor of her cage. “That is what I think of it.”
“Stormwings,” Daine muttered. “Anything they do, they have to be disgusting first.”
“How else may we act, mortal?” demanded Hebakh, burning eyes fixed on Daine. “Our nature is what it is, don’t you see? Our very immortality makes us immune to change.”
“Mortal? No, no!” The protest came from Tano, the Banjiku who had done most of the talking when Daine first met him and his people. “She is a god, or the daughter of a god whose name she does not know. She is no mortal.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Barzha.
“Forgive, forgive,” said Tano, “but how can Banjiku be wrong about god things? Our tribe was birthed by Lushagui, sister to Kidunka, the world snake, the all-wise. To us it is given to bind men to beast-People, to know gods, and to be slaves.”
They must thank their gods every day for that last, Daine thought to Zek, who nodded.
“Nonsense,” Barzha repeated. “Look at her. She is a scrawny, underfed, unattractive spawn of mortal get, a killer of Stormwings.”
Hebakh bated, then settled down. “There’s evidence of the Banjiku gifts, my dear. I recall hearing about it from Lushagui. Girl. You know Rikash Moonsword?” He sidled across the cage to a perch near the bars, where he had a better view of her. “You told him we are here.”
“Yes, sir,” Daine replied.
“Why? Why tell Rikash anything?” demanded Hebakh. “You hate Stormwings.”
Suddenly the griffin gave a shuddering, screaming roar, unfurling her wings as far as the confines of her cage would permit. She took a breath, then roared again, and again.
“We must go,” said a slave urgently. “The guards will come any moment to silence her.”
“Follow us,” Tano instructed Daine and Kaddar, pointing to an open trapdoor. “There are tunnels for slaves to work here. We will guide you away, and no one will be the wiser.”
“So the tunnels do come out this far,” Kaddar muttered.
Daine hesitated, wanting to help the griffin. Reaching with her magic to ask the great creature to be quiet, she felt what was in her mind. The griffin was half crazy from imprisonment. Soothing her would take precious time. She could already hear raised voices behind the door at the rear of the courtyard, the guards’ entrance that Kaddar had mentioned.
“Daine, come on!” hissed Kaddar.
Daine, Kitten, and the prince raced to the opening and down the ladder that led from it. Last came Tano, who drew the door shut and threw the bolt. A gnarled finger to his lips, he grabbed a lantern on the floor. Already the others were gone.
They followed their guide down a long, winding corridor for nearly sixty feet, where it branched in three different directions. Each one was marked with pictures in softly glowing paint: a bucket on one, a trio of brooms on another, and a horse’s head on the third. That was the one chosen by their guide.
“What were you doing?” Kaddar demanded softly. “You know you aren’t supposed to be in that area unless you work there, and even then only during the day.”
The old Banjiku replied, “We worship captive gods.”
“Worship—” sputtered the prince.
Tano stopped and looked up at the tall young man. “Worship,” he said firmly. “Someday they will no longer be caged, young master. When they are free, will not their anger be terrible? Better to make offerings now, so the great ones will remember not all men are jailers.”
Daine shivered. His words had sounded much like a prophecy.
“They aren’t gods,” argued Kaddar. Now they passed other stairs out of the tunnel, each marked with a picture. “They can be killed. That means they’re not gods.”
“No more is your master a god, Nobility,” Tano said cheerfully, “but he wants offerings from all. When Black God claims us, who will be punished for giving worship and power to a false god? The prince? Or Banjiku? Now.” He stopped by a ladder marked by an image of a flower and a fountain. “Go up here and you will be in garden of guests, where lady stays.” He bowed to Daine.
“I’m not a lady,” she said, offering her hand. “Just Daine. Thank you, Tano.”
He took her hand in his callused ones. “We are friends of the People together.”
Kaddar had gone ahead and was holding the trapdoor open. “There’s no one about. Come on.”
Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed the little man on the cheek, then followed the prince.
They emerged between two hedges. The guest quarters shimmered whitely nearby. Once Kaddar shut the trapdoor behind them, it looked like part of the gravel walk. There was a small birdbath next to it; Daine suspected it was there so the gardeners might find the door again. “Are there tunnels just under the gardens?” she asked.
“There are tunnels everywhere under the palace,” he replied. “Mostly used by slaves, but others find them handy, too.” They fell silent, enjoying the cool evening. Kaddar moved first, stretching his arms. “We’re in trouble, Daine. All Carthak is. See that?” He pointed at the sky.
Daine looked up. Stars spilled everywhere overhead. The moon was a sliver; another night, or two, and it would be full dark. The dark moon, for the working of dark magics, she thought, and shivered. “See what? Stars?”
“You shouldn’t see them. This time of year, the skies should be thick with cloud. Maybe an opening or two, but not clear skies, night after night. We’ve had very little rain. In the south, people starve while my uncle readies for another war, so he can waste taxes, food, slaves, men . . .” He looked at her and smiled bitterly. “You are too gods-blest easy to talk to, Veralidaine. You watch me with those big eyes, just listening, and the words drop off my wagging tongue.” He shook his head and offered an arm. “I’d better escort you to your room. It’s getting late.”
She rested a palm on his arm and looked away as he led her inside. She wished he hadn’t found her easy to talk to. There was nothing she could do to help a Carthaki human friend. He wasn’t a mongoose or giraffe. She couldn’t give the emperor’s heir any waking dreams.
In her dreams, she stood with Kitten and the Graveyard Hag at a crossroads in the middle of a barren land, and argued. An audience of rats and hyenas looked on. The Graveyard Hag wanted her to go left, into a fenced-in graveyard, where the tombstones leaned at strange angles and human bones poked through the earth. Daine wanted to go right, where she could see dinosaur skeletons embedded in the ground. Kitten, chattering furiously, wanted Daine to go back the way she had come. She slashed at the old woman’s legs with a forepaw.
“Enough, dragon,” the Graveyard Hag said. “I can’t stop your coming here, but I don’t need to put up with your impertinence, either. You aren’t near old enough to do battle with me.” She smacked Kitten on the muzzle with her gnarled stick, and the dragon’s jaws snapped shut. She pawed at her mouth, but it remained closed.
“You stop doing that to her, and stop pushing me around,” Daine told the goddess flatly. “I’m not one of yours, and I’m getting tired of your playing with me and my friends.”
The Graveyard Hag grinned, showing all five teeth. “You’re a sassy one, dearie,” she said with approval. “Well, I always did like a girl who could stand up for herself. But you’re being naughty all the same. Come into my little garden here and play.”
Hands on hips, Daine shook her head. “By the time you bury two-leggers, they’re glad to rest,” she retorted. “I don’t want to play with them. They’ve earned the right to be let alone. Look at the way you’ve left them, all higgledy-piggledy like that. I should think you’d have the decency to straighten up around here.” Part of her mind knew all t
his was a dream, but what on earth were they talking about, anyway? It made no sense.
A gnarled hand that had been empty suddenly boasted a silver dice cup. The Hag rattled it, her one good eye twinkling cheerfully at Daine. “Toss you for it.”
“No. You cheat. C’mon, Kit.” They marched toward the dinosaur bones. At first the going was hard. It took all Daine’s might to lift her legs, and she could tell that Kitten was having equal trouble. The girl clutched the heavy silver claw around her throat. It dug into her palm, drawing blood, and suddenly she was moving forward along the barren dirt road.
Then she slowed, frowning. Things were changing, as they did in dreams. The dirt under her bare toes felt like cold marble, polished smooth. The blackened hills and barren trees of the orange-lit world around her were fading, becoming shadows that hinted at great shapes within.
Daine opened her eyes.
She was not in her guest bedroom, with its luxuriant bedclothes and sweet-smelling wood. Though she still wore her nightgown, cold stone under her bare feet was much too real to be a dream, and the draft that flowed against her back made her shiver. Kitten was dragging on the hem of her nightgown, chattering softly with anger and fear.
“Kit?” Daine asked, kneeling to cuddle the dragon. “I’m sorry—did I sleepwalk?” She’d never done so before, but things had been too strange during this journey for her to be much surprised. She changed her eyes to those of a cat, thinking she’d wandered out into the common room, or even the hall.
They were in the Hall of Bones.
“What in the name of the Great Goddess—” she breathed. “How did we get in, without the spell to open the lock? Kit—did you open it?” The dragon shook her head.
Crazy as it seemed, Daine had a very good idea of how they’d gotten here. “When I get hold of her, I will snatch what hair she’s got left,” she growled. “That’s it for toying with me!”
Turning to leave the hall, she stumbled and went down. Throwing her hands to catch herself, she struck the thing that had tripped her, the stand for the mountain-runner nest. One hand plunged in among the eggs.
There was a blinding flash, one that etched in lightning both the baby dinosaur standing by the nest and the eggs. She heard a distressed shriek from Kitten, but lacked the strength to tell her dragon that she was fine, just a little tired. She fainted before her body crumpled.
She and Kitten walked a trail that led up a densely forested hill. Suddenly the girl felt better than she had for days. Surrounding her was a northern woods, the air scented with pine, leaves turning color. The day was fading, but even so, everything she looked at seemed extra clear. An owl called; in the distance a wolf sang the first song of the night. All around she heard small woodland creatures prepare to go to bed, or to start their night’s foraging.
The peace around them seemed to cow the dragon. Staring at everything, she walked so close that Daine nearly tripped over her several times.
Ahead was a thatched cottage, its white plaster walls gleaming as the night drew down. Light poured from the open door and windows. On the threshold, a man with antlers rooted in his curly hair argued with a badger. She heard them clearly, though she was only halfway up the hill.
“—ask you to keep an eye on her, keep her safe, and you allow my child to be used in that!”
“Flatten your fur, Weiryn,” replied the badger. “What makes you think I had any choice?”
“The Great Ones can find another instrument! Why didn’t you tell them so?”
“I did tell them, you horn-headed idiot. They didn’t listen. She didn’t listen. If you have a complaint, you take it up with the Graveyard Hag.”
A woman appeared in the doorway behind the horned man, drying her hands on a cloth. She was graceful and solidly built, firelight from indoors gleaming on her pinned-up golden hair. “Weiryn, does the badger want to sup with us? We—” Looking past the man’s shoulder, she caught her breath; one hand went to her cheek. Man and badger turned to see what had gotten her attention.
Weiryn pointed at Daine, but it was the badger who spoke. “There! You said she would be fine, and here she is. You know what that means! You never should have left her there—”
“If you were so interested in fathering, you shouldn’t have put her in my care. She’s old enough to get into her own tangles, whether you like it or not.” The badger sighed. “I’ll take them back. Talk to the Great Ones if you want, but I think it’s too late. Can’t you feel things moving forward?” He trundled down the path toward Daine and Kitten. “This place isn’t for you. Turn around—”
“Badger, that’s my ma,” she protested. “And—my da?”
“Yes, yes; you should listen when the Banjiku tell you things. Turn around.”
She obeyed, and fell into a mass of rolling gray clouds.
* * *
When she opened her eyes, she was flat on her back.
The badger stood on her chest, claws digging into her shoulders.
—Idiot kit!—he snarled. —You drained your life force for this. You’re supposed to use a spark, just a spark, to wake them up!—
She blinked dazedly at him. “How was I to know that, pray? You didn’t tell me anything. You just breathed on me and left.”
—Nonsense. Of course I told you.— Daine shook her head. —No?— The badger climbed off her. —Then I lost my temper, at being used to place this on you. I should have taken time to explain. It was a grievous mistake, and a disservice to you.—
Kitten, much vexed, chattered at the badger, punctuating what she had to say with earsplitting whistles.
Daine groaned and covered her ears, while the animal god turned on the immortal.
—When I wish for your opinions, dragonling, I will ask for them. Silence!—
Kitten subsided, muttering under her breath.
Daine sat up. “Kitten was there with me,” she said, frowning.
—Of course,— the badger said. —Dragons go where they will, even the young ones.— He snorted rudely. —Pesky, interfering creatures.—
Kitten made an equally rude noise in reply.
Daine heard a rapid clicking, as if something bony ran on the marble tiles. Instantly she checked the mountain-runner nest. Not only was the standing skeleton gone, but the eggs had hatched.
—That is why it killed you,—said the badger, peering at the nest. —You woke them all. What were you thinking of? The energy to spark this waking magic has to come from wild magic. Waking the whole nest drained you. You’d better find a way to draw the spark from other sources. I can’t bring you back from the Divine Realms whenever you make a mistake and die.—
“Die? But—I thought—humans go to the Black God’s realms when they die.”
—Humans do. You will have a choice, the Black God’s kingdom or the home of your father, when the time comes. You must be careful not— What do you lot want?—
His question confused Daine, until she noticed the mountain-runner skeletons to her left, the ones from the nest. Seven of them were only a foot tall. The last was the eighteen-inch skeleton. All watched the badger, the tilt of their small skulls giving them an odd look of attentiveness.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, and covered her face with her hands. “However do I explain this? Badger, I can’t be going about waking up dead creatures. I’m no god!”
—No, but the Graveyard Hag granted you this power to further her own ends,—he retorted. —I am sorry, my kit. I was not given a choice.—
“She can push you around?”
—In Carthak, which is her own, she can do whatever she pleases. Here she is one of the great gods. In Tortall you would be safe,—he snarled. —We would be safe from her: She is only a minor goddess anywhere but the empire. Here, Bright Mithros, the Threefold Goddess, all but the Black God must bow to her; and she is the Black God’s daughter. In Carthaki matters he listens to her.—
“Lovely,” Daine grumbled. “The boss god of all Carthak wants to get me in hot water. Next time
I get the notion to travel, I’ll remember this and stay at home.” She sighed and looked at the mountain-runner skeletons. One, braver or more foolish than the rest, had crept forward, and reached out to touch the badger’s coat.
—Don’t you dare—snarlea the badger. The mountain-runner leaped back and tripped on its bony tail. Kitten rushed over to place herself between the downed lizard and the badger, scolding loudly, the color in her scales turning pink.
“Kit, hush! He didn’t mean to frighten the little one. Someone will hear; please be quiet.”
The badger sighed. —It is time for me to go, and for you to return to your room.— To Kitten, he said, —If you do not behave, I will tell your family that Daine is spoiling you, and that they had better take you from her care if they do not wish you to be ruined for life.—
Kitten shut up with a last cheep.
Daine hid a smile. Looking at the mountain-runners, she said, “But what about them? I cant hide these. And I’ve no idea of when they’ll go back to sleep. The lizard-bird I woke at Master Lindhall’s was still up and about when we left.”
The badger scratched an ear. —Most of those you wake will sleep when the Graveyard Hag’s need, whatever it is, ends. Only a few will care to stay, when their kind and their world are gone. As for these— He eyed them. They had crept around Kitten and were stroking his fur with gentle forepaws. —They will go with me. It is the least I can do. I made a mistake, not helping you to understand what you can now cause.—
“Badger—do all gods make mistakes?”
He glared at her. —Rarely. I have not made one in ten centuries, so perhaps I was due. Even the greatest gods err now and again. When they do, the results are catastrophic.— He looked at the dinosaur skeletons looming in the shadows. —Their world ended through a god’s mistake.—
“Horse Lords,” whispered the girl, eyes wide.