“We want to free you.”
The dragon released Six and snapped its jaws shut. “Be silent.” It looked over them, at the fight in the lake, and jerked its head again. “I have no time for this.” It peered down at Tom, blinked, and Dank said, “Is it not a delicious irony, Thomas Rymour, that we have such a mastery over time and yet we are still its slaves?”
Tom thought of the foresight that brought him down here, of the foresight that persuaded Neirin to capture Six, of the foresights of Ambrose that had changed how he had acted in the moment, and said, “Yes.”
The dragon huffed. “You understand.” It clicked its teeth together twice. “As I knew you would.”
But, as frightening as the prospect of disagreeing with a dragon was, Tom shook his head. “I do not understand as much as I would like to.”
“None of us do.” The head lifted a fraction, the focus moving from Tom’s face to Caledyr. “Despite what it means for me and my kind, I will help you. I do not know why I will do it. But I do. And so I must. Though I wish it were otherwise.”
“You have foresights too.”
“Not like yours.” The dragon reared and opened its wings as best it could amongst the trees. The skin was splashed with beautiful colours, like paint spilt over its wings. “You grope for fleeting glimpses of something. I know it, in all its detail, as clearly as I know the things that have been, as clearly as I see you now.”
“Perfect foresight.”
“Yes.”
“Like Ambrose.”
“No.” It flicked its wings. “He sees in but one direction, and he remembers his future the way you remember your past. There are mistakes, errors of recall, things forgotten. A dragon has not these flaws.”
“So you know everything?”
The dragon chirped, and Dank laughed. “As much as any creature can.”
“How?”
“How do you explain any of the miracles you see in Tir?” Dank stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. For a moment his expression cleared and he added, in his own voice, “Or in Faerie?”
“Magic,” Tom replied. “Dragons are magic creatures. Like the fay.”
“Not like the fay.” Dank spoke again in the dragon’s voice. “We have bodies. But our minds are not limited to what we carry in our heads.”
That was why Dank had given himself to the fay. To be more than his body.
Tom looked up at the dragon. “Help us,” he said. “We came here to destroy the records of the magic that bound you. And we head to Cairnagwyn, to destroy the magic itself.”
But the dragon jerked its head, as it had at Six. “I know.” And Dank sighed in irritation. “That is not why we are talking.”
Tom dipped his head and said nothing. He didn’t want to be pinned like Six.
“Do not bow your head to me like an elf,” it growled, and a warm wing claw lifted his chin, cutting his skin. The head was closer, great, warm, stinking breaths washing over him. “We are talking because I know what is coming. I know my fate, and the fate of my kind. I know that to help you is my downfall and yet you stand there, lost in confusion, stranded in ignorance, surrounded by enemies you cannot even see. And I know that my life has been long, and that too long a life makes a mind old and tired. And an old, tired mind cannot grow, and if anything needs growth it is the future.”
The dragon closed its eyes and Dank murmured, “Yes. That is why I help you.” As if it had been an answer long pursued.
Tom placed a hand on the claw under his chin, moved by a sense of kinship. He could feel how old and tired the dragon felt. He felt it too. They were both ready to walk away from the world and rest.
But the dragon opened its eyes again. “You need only break the magic that binds us.” It took a deep, marshalling breath. “Idris need not fall.”
“How do we do one without the other?”
“You feel magic.” It was true. Tom could feel heat under his hand, but also the slight hum of magic. “What you feel, you can affect.”
“I don’t know how,” Tom murmured. “Idris is too big.”
“You will face bigger.” The claw wiggled under his hand. “Even the smallest claw can gut a fish.” It pulled away and Tom was left with more questions than before.
“I am not the last dragon you will encounter.” Dank rejoined their group, speaking from amongst them. “But remember this: we have no words. So they mean little to us, and we have no defence against them. This is my gift to you.”
Tom frowned. What did that mean?
Dank sighed and the dragon lowered its head. “And so I give to you the tools of my undoing.”
The dragon tipped its head, eyes closed, and touched its forehead to Tom’s own. Tom’s confusion vanished and he reached up and touched the warm scales, the leathery skin around the crest, and felt the strongest life inside that he had ever experienced. A great, choking loss welled up inside him; this was such a fearsome creature, yet he could feel it was afraid. Afraid and grieving.
“Sacrifice is of the old ways.” Its words were no more than a whisper. “And the greatest sacrifice is that given that others may go on.”
They took a breath together, and in that moment Tom knew exactly what was to come, in all its appalling detail, and he felt a shiver of terror. Yet there was a comfort in it too, for forewarned is, if not forearmed, at least an opportunity to make peace with fate.
Then the dragon lifted its head and took all that knowledge away with it, and Tom became mortal and ignorant and confused again.
“Now go,” the dragon told them.
“But what about the records?” Six asked.
“You do not destroy those records.”
“But what will stop someone from binding you again?”
“Time, little elf.” The dragon chirped. “Time defeats all. No-one will bind a dragon again in this age.”
“I don’t understand.”
The dragon’s great head reared up and down, like a great nod. “And in seeing your ignorance, you begin to grow wise.” It reared and spread its wings again, flapping at them. “Go. Time is against you. Back the way you came. They are coming.”
Tom took a hesitant step back, unwilling to leave. There was so much to know, so much to say. But the dragon flapped again, great gusts pushing them back. “Go.”
They turned and ran. Tom couldn’t help but look back. The dragon watched them for a moment. Then it picked its way over the ground towards its fellows. Another dragon had joined the fight, and the fourth spat little puffs of flame towards the display. But their dragon stood apart. It tipped its head back towards the sun, closed its eyes. Took a deep breath, the sacs around its crest inflating, and Tom waited for the deep, harsh trumpet.
But instead what came out was soft. Different notes.
“It’s singing,” Tom said. Not like the song he’d heard in Cairnalyr, an excited, breathless burst. This was slow. Composed. An old, sad melody.
They retreated in silence as the dragon sang.
But Six was babbling by the time they reached the entrance to the tunnels.
“I knew they were intelligent, but reasoned? Able to speak? Dank, how does it work? If we could learn to communicate, just think how much we could learn!”
And the more he spoke, the angrier Tom became. Six had put them all in danger. Nearly ruined everything they’d been working for. And he had experienced something sad and beautiful, but was already turning the dragon into a beast again, to be studied or valued or used. He felt his anger reflected in Caledyr.
Six had lied.
“Perfect foresight!”
Six had risked all.
“And perfect memory too!”
Six was a threat.
“So much to learn.”
Six couldn’t be trusted.
“If only I could study them again!”
Six was one of them.
Tom swung.
It was an ugly swing, wild, with no finesse, no care. But it sent Six to the ground.
The others were crying out, but Tom couldn’t hear them. He heard only the roar of blood in his ears and a single voice.
Fight the enemy.
“You disgust me,” he growled.
Six lay on his back, shock clear on his face, looking at Tom like he was a stranger.
“You’re no better than the rest of them.” He drew Caledyr, pointed the blade at the elf. “Are we all just curiosities to you? Things to be laid out, studied and discarded?”
Six nodded, then remembered himself and scowled. “What’s the matter with you?” He moved to stand but Tom placed Caledyr’s tip under his chin.
“I told you we couldn’t come here. Neirin told you. We all did. And you came anyway.”
“I had to,” Six replied. His lip curled back in a sneer and he mocked him with, “I did what had to be done.”
“We could have all died,” Brega said. “You, in coming here. Us, in trying to stop you. The others, in not having a Westerner to explain their presence.”
“You risked all our lives,” Tom said.
“But you saw why I did it,” Six said. “Tell me those dragons shouldn’t be free. Forever.”
Tom couldn’t disagree. Of course he couldn’t. But that didn’t make Six right. “Then you should have talked to us.”
“I did.”
“Then you should have tried again.”
“Tom.” Katharine was angry. Furious. “Put the sword down. Now.”
She helped the enemy.
“Don’t.” He didn’t take his eyes off Six. “You helped him. You helped him sneak off.”
She had lied.
“You wouldn’t listen.”
“I listened.”
“Then why didn’t you help him?”
“Because it would undo everything we’ve done.”
“Terrorising Westerners in the night?” She was creeping closer, hands spread. Appealing? Surrendering?
Or ready for a fight.
“Destabilising the Kingdom,” Tom said.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“I want to break the monoliths.”
“No, you don’t.”
He couldn’t help but laugh, but it was an empty thing. “I can’t say it if it isn’t true.”
Six was wiping blood from his lips. It had stained his teeth. “Then tell me I didn’t do the right thing,” he said. He looked pointedly at the sword. “You heard the dragon. We don’t need to overthrow Idris. Maybe we don’t even need to go to Cairnagwyn.”
Tom shook his head. “We don’t know what we need.”
“So how can you be sure we shouldn’t have come here?” Katharine asked.
She was the enemy.
“That’s not the point,” Tom roared. He swung the blade towards her and she backed away. “We trusted you. Both of you. And you lied to us.”
Six scrambled to his feet. “Put it down, Tom.” So he could take it for himself?
Do not give up the sword.
He turned Caledyr back to the elf. “On your knees, Six.” And to Brega he said, “Tie him. Neirin was right: we shouldn’t have trusted him.”
“Put the sword down, Tom,” Katharine said.
Do not give up the sword.
“Tie her too,” he said.
“Caledyr speaks to you, doesn’t it?” Six asked. “Don’t listen. We’re not your enemy.”
They had lied.
They risked all.
“It’s magic, Tom. Can’t you feel it?” Six said.
“Put it down, Tom. Let it go,” said Katharine.
Do not give up the sword.
“Emyr trusted Caledyr to me.”
Katharine pleaded with him soundlessly. But Six’s face hardened. “Give me the sword,” he said.
Do not give up the sword.
“I won’t let you take it.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
Kill the enemy.
But Tom slid the sword into the scabbard on his back. He wouldn’t kill Six. But he would put him in his place. “Come and take it then.”
Six put up his fists.
Tom’s mind went quiet and Caledyr spoke to him.
Patience.
He kept his hands open, ready, raised. Six took a careful step forward. Tom waited. Let the elf take another. And another.
Patience.
Then Six shifted his weight.
Sidestep.
Six threw a jab but it hit nothing but air.
Attack.
Tom threw a fist into the ribs. Six staggered, threw a blind swing. Tom felt the blow to the side of his head, found himself facedown in lush green grass, thoughtless.
Hands hauled him up by the back of his shirt.
“It’s not over yet, Rymour.” Six spoke with his southern voice, something rougher and lazier, with a mean edge.
Tom scrabbled at Six’s hair, felt a panicked choke as the elf wrapped an arm around his throat.
Up and over.
Tom took hold with both hands and hauled as he doubled over. But he lacked the skill Caledyr was used to. Instead of throwing Six, the pair of them simply toppled over. Tom clambered to his feet, tried to ignore the sword’s disappointment.
The others stood by, watching. He was surprised they didn’t interfere. But Brega had her eye on Katharine, whose expression seemed to flicker between anger and distress. Dank and Puck simply watched, eager, smiles on their faces.
Six was on his feet and advancing.
Duck.
Six’s swing whistled overhead.
Attack.
He threw his fist into Six’s midriff and the elf groaned and staggered back, doubled over.
Pursue.
He pushed forward, hitting Six in the side of the head with an open-handed slap.
Down.
He raised a foot and drove it into Six’s shoulder. The elf cried out and dropped to one knee.
End it.
Tom took hold of Six’s hair, pulled his head up, and punched him full in the face.
The elf fell back, nose already streaming. He looked dazed, holding up a wavering hand with a blank gaze on his face. His feet pushed feebly against the ground, trying to get away.
End it.
“Yield,” Tom said.
“I’m not done yet.” Six’s voice was muddy and slurred. He rolled onto his front and tried to get his hands beneath himself.
Even in defeat he was arrogant. Tom felt an urge to kick him, to prove to him and to everyone else that he was defeated. The violent urge welled up inside him.
End it.
A twinge of doubt punctured the rage. Was that urge his own? Or Caledyr’s?
“You’re done.” Then he asked Brega for, “Rope.”
She unwound it from her waist and held it out. She had a strange look in her eyes. Like a question alongside a judgement. Tom pretended not to see it. Instead he pushed Six in the back, onto the ground, and bound his wrists together before he could fight back.
A shadow fell across him. “Stop it.” Katharine pulled at his sleeve, tried to undo his knots.
“Stay out of it.” He couldn’t tie the rope and keep her at bay.
“Are you mad?” She pulled a knot away and Six began to struggle. “Let him go.”
“Back away.”
“No.”
He pushed her and she stepped back.
Then, in a moment, she’d pulled Caledyr from its scabbard.
Retrieve the sword.
He abandoned the knots, pulled the rope away with him as he climbed off the elf. “Keep him down,” he said to Brega. When she didn’t move, he looked to Puck, but he was cowered behind Dank like a kicked puppy. Tom looked at the boy instead and said, “Make sure he stays there.”
Dank nodded.
Katharine held the sword outstretched, point wavering in the air. “Stay there,” she said. When Tom ignored her, circling around, she said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Retrieve the sword.
“J
ust stop, Tom,” she said. “Think how you’ve been since you had the sword. You were devastated when you killed that man in Erhenned. But now killing and violence doesn’t bother you at all. Please. This isn’t you. It’s the sword.”
Retrieve the sword.
“Please.” Her eyes were wet. “If you care about me at all. Stop.”
Retrieve the sword.
He swung the rope, the knot at the end loose and small. But he swung it at her head and it was enough to make her shy away, raise her arms in defence.
He rushed her, the blade’s edge singing past his ear as he tackled her to the ground. She landed with a grunt, tried to push him off as he clambered on top of her. Pulled at the sword but her grip was strong. Pinned her arm and punched her wrist.
Once, twice, and the sword was free.
It slid back into the scabbard with a sigh and he let her go.
Katharine rolled onto her side, curled around her wrist, face averted. He wished he hadn’t had to do that. He wished she hadn’t made him. But she couldn’t be trusted, not with Caledyr. If she had betrayed them once, she could do it again.
“If it were up to me, we would throw the both of you into the Between and leave you there.” He imagined the pair of them in the endless fog, regretting their actions, lamenting their wrongs, begging forgiveness.
They were the enemy.
It stopped his thoughts and his anger wavered. “I went back for your maps,” he told Katharine. “To Cairnalyr. I tried to get your maps back. And they threw us in a cell, made us fight for our lives like animals. We were lucky to survive.” He felt his eyes prick with unexpected tears. “Was this revenge? To punish me for hurting you?”
Katharine sniffed, her face turned into the grass. She shook her head but said nothing.
“I regret it,” Tom said. “If I could undo it, I would. But I thought you, out of everyone, at least you would always help me. That you were always on my side.”
But she still said nothing.
He sighed. How long had it been since they had hidden in that hole, held hands, since he had thought of running away with her? All gone now. He felt cold, hard, like he was only an empty shell. It all felt too hard, to do this, to bear the sword, even to stand. He couldn’t do this. He was just Tom. This was all too big for him.
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 56
