Two enormous eyes, glowing eerily blue in the darkness amid the orange flames, opened slowly, the light from them shining like dim beacons in the fog of the sea.
Then the huge mound stretched slowly, scales falling from her hide in great chunks of black soot. She loosed a grisly sound of agony, then crawled slowly to the fissure in the earth from which she had emerged in the first place.
And slid painfully into it, disappearing into the ground.
Silence returned to the plain.
A few moments later, another, smaller ridge of grass, this one not burning, stretched as well and stood up carefully. As it did, hails of ash fell from it as well; Rhapsody was black from head to toe, her golden hair was smeared with creosote, hanging loose as the charred remnants of her hair ribbon crumbled and fell to the ground, along with her clothing.
She shook herself like a dog coming out of a lake, as even more ash fell from her now naked body.
“Hrekin,” the living shadow muttered angrily. “How many bloody times do I have to kill her?”
Melisande broke from Analise’s embrace and ran, stumbling and sliding, down the grade of the piedmont and across the field, skirting the burning grass which was beginning to extinguish. She came to a halt as the Lady Cymrian held up her hand.
“Wait, Melly; could you get my pack and bring it with you?”
The little girl nodded quickly and complied as Analise, Gyllian, and Krinsel began coming forth from their cover in the rocks. Rhapsody looked around and swore again.
“Double hrekin,” she said angrily. “I fried the goats. And I didn’t even kill the dragon. Hrekin.” She took the pack from Melisande who, in spite of the coating of soot and ash, threw her arms around her grandmother.
“It’s all right, Melly,” she said, kissing the girl delicately on the top of her head. “Try not to get too much of this on you—it smells terrible, and it’s almost impossible to get it out of your nose once it gets in there.” She looked at herself again in disgust.
“Ugh.”
* * *
“I cannot believe I killed the goats,” Rhapsody muttered as she rinsed herself off in the artesian stream she found at the base of the piedmont. She had sung her Naming note into the wind, and woven the name of water into the song; the stream had answered, and Rhapsody had slipped into it gratefully.
Gyllian chuckled as the Lady Cymrian shook the water off herself.
“They were an annoyance anyway. And we have goats in Undervale. Be of good cheer, m’lady. I have seen you summon starfire once before, at the battle with the Fallen at the Moot during the Cymrian Council, but until this day I had not known that you could summon it upon yourself and still survive. To say that you have risen in my estimation would be an understatement.”
Rhapsody was digging through her pack. She pulled forth her spare set of clothes and quickly set about rectifying her nakedness.
“Don’t be impressed so easily, Gyllian,” she said as she brushed away the last of the wet ashes that had once been her linen shirt, trousers, and boots, then donned their replacements. “Anwyn apparently survived it also, which makes the second time for her. I suppose I should have known that a dragon has all of the five elemental lores nascent in its blood, as so therefore would be difficult to destroy with a combination of ether and fire. Well, at least I now know where she is. I should have guessed she was hiding in Kurimah Milani; I hadn’t realized we were near to it, coming from this direction. The last time I was here we approached from the west.”
“Two little known historical points, m’lady,” said Gyllian in amusement as she watched the Lady Cymrian lace up her trousers, “the legends say that Kurimah Milani was originally built, or partially built, by ancestors of the indigenous Nain that dwelt in the lands of and near the Deep Kingdom in the era before the arrival of the Cymrians, or even the humans, to the lands south of here. And one of the major resources utilized in constructing what is said to have been one of the architectural and artistic marvels of that age was the Molten River, known by a different name at the time, Fûrinazen. It is the legendary river of hot lava and liquid gold that divides the lands of the Nain of the Deep Kingdom from those of the dragon Witheragh, who guards the entrance to both. So you will be coping with not one, but two wyrms, in the space of a few hours.”
“Have you ever met Witheragh?” Rhapsody asked.
“Goodness, no. But my father has had commerce with him, as well as diplomatic interaction. I can’t say that he has ever enjoyed it much.”
“Well, blessedly, the intelligence I have about him indicates that he is considered to be reliable in his agreements, even if he is hard to reason with and avaricious,” Rhapsody said. She bound her hair back in the last of the surviving black ribbons.
Gyllian’s brows drew together. “Considered so by whom? I’m not sure Faedryth would concur.”
The Lady Cymrian smiled. “By those of his own kind,” she said, coming over to where Krinsel was sitting and crouching down before her. “I have had a considerable amount of interaction with dragons over the last few years, including marrying and giving birth to one. I no longer am afraid to negotiate with one, even one I haven’t met, as long as I have forewarning of its temperament.” She waited until Krinsel gave silent permission, and then opened the outer folds of the mist cloak.
Meridion was asleep, his tiny mouth making suckling motions, a scowl on his face.
Rhapsody hid her smile and closed the folds carefully again.
“You truly are your father’s son,” she whispered fondly. “Only the two of you could sleep through a dragon battle and a strike of starfire.”
“Another reason to be glad to be rid of the goats,” said Analise. “Unlike the battle and the starfire, they woke him up every time they started bleating.”
Rhapsody turned back to the four women who were eyeing her uncertainly.
“How much farther to the Molten River?” she asked Gyllian.
“If we press on through the night, we will be there by morning.”
Rhapsody smiled encouragingly.
“Then let us press on,” she said.
She shouldered her much lighter pack and took up her walking stick, putting her hand out to Melisande Navarne, who happily took it.
And followed the oldest child of the Nain king to the mountain passes that would lead them into Undervale, the hidden realm of the mysterious Deep Kingdom.
46
AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE NAIN KINGDOM, BESIDE THE MOLTEN RIVER
“The secret to talking with a dragon is to keep breathing.”
The eyes of the four women across from Rhapsody in the mouth of the cave were set in four different expressions. The youngest of the group, Melisande Navarne, nodded, a steady gaze meeting that of her adopted grandmother, as if she was agreeing with her assessment of the weather. Krinsel, the Bolg midwife, was staring at her with narrowed eyes, but that was the expression that almost always would be seen on Krinsel’s face. Analise’s silver eyes were wide in alarm, but Gyllian’s gaze was full of amusement.
“Well, I assume that’s the goal after talking with a dragon as well,” she said humorously.
Rhapsody laughed.
“All right, I put that poorly. What I meant was to keep breathing as evenly as you can. Inhale; count to ten. Exhale slowly to the same count of ten, if possible. Inhale again. And so on. Draconic conversations are almost always overwhelming, but they can be tricky and irritating beyond measure. Steady breathing helps avoid overreaction on both sides.”
The light of the Molten River, the moving trail of lava mixed with liquid gold that divided the Deep Kingdom of the Nain from the realm of the wyrm Witheragh, splashed a brilliance luminescence on the earthen walls of the cavern, though the river itself was still out of sight. Even as far away as they were, the heat from the river was intense, causing all but Krinsel and Rhapsody to begin shedding their cloaks.
Analise’s face had returned to its mask of stoic calm, but Rhapsody knew that being
within the solid enclosure of the mountains, away from the sheltering sky, was a torment for her Liringlas soul. She handed her walking stick to Melisande, then went to her oldest friend and embraced her gently.
“I know what this is costing you,” she said quietly in the language of the old world. “It is a gift beyond measure that you have given me; thank you for making the sacrifice.”
“Hrekin,” Analise murmured into her ear the word for excrement in the tongue of the Bolg. Rhapsody choked, then laughed aloud, as Analise reverted to Ancient Lirin. “It is a joy to be of service to my sovereign, a pleasure to be of help to my friend, and literally the very least I can do, given your sacrifice for me.”
The humor left Rhapsody’s eyes; she released Analise and gently patted her shoulder. Then she turned to the others.
“I suggest that once Gyllian indicates we are at the border, you all remain out of sight and out of range. Melisande, I want you to stay beside Her Highness; I am grateful for your intercession earlier with Anwyn, but this is an entirely different situation, and we need to follow Gyllian’s lead in these lands.” The little girl nodded. “I’ll hold on to my own pack at this point; if Witheragh deprives me of my clothing as Anwyn did, I will be entering the Deep Kingdom naked anyway, as I am now out of spare outfits.”
The adult women chuckled. Melisande initially appeared horrified, but once she understood the joke, she smiled as well. Rhapsody turned to Krinsel. Wordlessly she asked if the Bolg midwife was all right, and received a nod in reply. Then she came to her and opened the drape of the mist cloak.
Meridion’s face lit up upon beholding her, and he let out a cackle of delight.
Rhapsody’s eyes filled with tears as she returned his grin. She kissed his nose, his hands and belly, then began quietly crooning him his lullabye, the song they had learned together while trapped within the sea cave, music of the waves that carried an endless number of stories over Time.
Meridion’s dragonesque eyes remained trained intently on her. Then, after a few moments, they began to droop, and his toothless grin settled into a complacent smile as his eyes closed.
“He will be ferociously hungry when he wakes,” Rhapsody said softly as she closed the mist cloak around him again. “My breasts hurt just thinking about it. All right, I had best get to this. With any luck this parley will be brief.” She handed Melisande her walking stick, squeezed Krinsel’s upper arm, and then followed Gyllian down the brightening tunnel.
The light grew almost painful in its radiance; the sounds of the river increased until it filled the cavern with thick liquid music. Finally the Nain princess came to a halt.
“The Molten River is beyond this bend in the tunnel,” she said quietly to Rhapsody. “I believe it is wise for all of us save you to remain here. We can see if we stand at the bend, but still have cover.”
Rhapsody nodded. She turned and smiled encouragingly at the women who had put their lives in abeyance, and at risk, to travel to this place with her, her eyes full of gratitude. Then she rounded the bend and disappeared from their sight, though she was still within their earshot.
The sight of the Molten River caused her to take in a deep breath; it was not too much wider than a meadow stream, but flowed with a strength that belied its width. The fire lore within her sang with joy in its presence; there was a purity to it that rang in Rhapsody’s soul. Its movement caused the roaring light to dance in glorious patterns around the high archways carved into the caverns on the other bank, the lands that were the beginning of the dragon’s realm. Fire burned sporadically on its surface.
“Witheragh!” she called over the rushing roar of the Molten River, speaking haltingly in her best approximation of the draconic tongue. “Hail, in the name of Elynsynos.”
For a long moment, all the women could hear was the echoing sound of the river and the noise of dripping high above in the cavern. Then Rhapsody was certain she heard a chuckle from the other side of the river of fire.
“Well, that’s a brave greeting, in more ways than one,” came a voice, sounding in the familiar tones of soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, much as every other dragon Rhapsody had heard manipulate the wind to speak sounded. “First, your draconic grammar is remarkable, but your pronunciation is appalling. I expect that’s because you do not have the physiology to do it correctly; unless you have the appropriate wyrm aperture in your throat, you cannot possibly make the hisses and clicks that would be necessary to make your attempt anything but embarrassing.”
“Sorry,” Rhapsody muttered.
“Second, if you are going to pretend to know a dragon personally to impress me, it would be wise to choose one that is not of such epic status as to be impossible for you to be taken seriously. It might have been a little less amusing if you had chosen Sidus, or Mikanic, either of whom it is technically possible, though, of course, highly unlikely, that a Lirin woman might have met. You are Lirin, are you not? Though you have chosen to shield your features, I can smell you—Lirin have a sweet smell, and taste. But really, Elynsynos? One of the Five Daughters? For goodness’ sake, why didn’t you just come in the name of the Creator himself?”
“Because—”
The tone of the multilevel voice turned darker.
“And, finally, I’m not certain which is more foolhardy, standing at the border of my domain and shouting for me, as if I am a footman waiting to take your baggage, or standing, Lirin that you are, on the threshold of the Nain lands, apparently uninvited. That might actually rank up there as the stupidest thing I’ve heard of in several centuries.”
“I apologize for my appalling pronunciation,” Rhapsody said. “You are right about my physiology, but I can’t help that.”
“True. But the other reasons are indeed something you can ‘help.’ My treaty of nonaggression is with the Nain, not the Lirin. I feel pained to inform you that you are under no protection of law at the moment, and therefore in what those brighter than yourself would sense to be considerable danger.”
“I understand that as well. I do beg your indulgence; if you will hear me out, I believe you might reconsider my status.”
For a moment there was no sound but the hollow echo of dripping in the massive cave and the roaring of the river of fiery lava. Then, from the shadowy region beyond the painfully bright moving light, an immense form emerged, moving slowly and deliberately toward her in the darkness.
Rhapsody kept her eyes trained on the approaching dragon, but behind her she could feel the other women, who had stepped up to the bend, move farther back. She could sense their panic, especially that of Melisande, whom she had sent to a dragon’s cave herself. She waved her arm encouragingly behind her.
The light splashing up from the Molten River illuminated the enormous head of the beast, a much less delicate creature than Elynsynos had been, with heavy earthen features. The dragon’s hide was brown like the walls of his cave, but that hide was almost impossible to see through the carpet of thousands of sparkling jewels, carefully cut and polished, that the Nain had given him over the centuries as tribute, which the beast had set into his scales to adorn himself. The combination of the gems and the light from the river caused a visual effect much like the exploding of a dark skyful of rainbows with each movement of the giant serpentine body.
Witheragh came to a halt on the other side of the river, his red eyes twinkling menacingly.
“I’ll offer you a bargain,” the great beast said in a painfully polite tone, the undertone of threat unmistakable. “I will hear you out, as you have requested, and if I am not impressed enough to reconsider your status, I will give you to the Nain to flay, dress, and smoke for me, whereupon I shall enjoy the sweet taste of you for dessert tonight. I think I will have you stuffed with cheese and topped with chocolate.”
Rhapsody inhaled deeply. When she spoke, her Naming lore was in her tones, along with a good deal of displeasure.
“Oh, please. Witheragh, from the second clutch of Mylinmacr, son of Ylsgraith, you are wasting my time.
I have a boon to ask of you that will serve your most important purposes as well as my own, and you are playing childish games with me. Again, in the name of Elynsynos, I greet you with respect and seek your attention.” She exhaled what was left of her breath. “And apologize again for my woeful pronunciation.”
The vertical slits in the fiery red eyes contracted, and the enormous head stretched across the river and swung down in front of her. The giant nostrils, ringed in colorful gems and glinting brightly in the light reflecting off the Molten River, released a puff of steam that wafted over her.
“Who are you?” the wyrm demanded. “And how did a Lirin Namer come to know my lineage?”
“Well, since you have correctly guessed that I am a Namer, you know that I only speak the truth. So I will tell you again, I come in the name of Elynsynos, because she was my beloved friend and teacher—as well as being the great-great-grandmother of my child. She taught me the entirety of the lineage of the Wyrmril on one of the occasions that I went to study with her. And since I answered your second question first, I will now tell you that my name is Rhapsody.” She took hold of her hood and pulled it down.
The great beast’s eyes opened wide, sending a meteor shower of flashes of gem-colored light spinning around the opening of the cave. Rhapsody winced, hearing Analise and Melisande behind her cry out in pain.
“Well, well,” the dragon said. “Little as I care for the affairs of man, I have actually heard your name before, in the conversations of the Nain that creep through the sounds of the river and into my lair. How unusual. Are you not some sort of queen or something?”
“That hardly matters in terms of what I have come to you for. But yes, I am.”
The dragon brought its head down even lower and looked into her eyes.
“Oh, but you are mistaken, Your Majesty,” the beast said, the painfully polite tone returning to the multitoned voice he was creating from manipulated air. “It matters a great deal. Because if you are a queen, you should be able to offer something of great monetary value to me in exchange for the boon you are seeking.”