Curse of the Dragon Kings

by Anne Spackman

  There was no wood for a fire this far above the tree line, but Aiovel cleaned the rabbits and then laid the carcasses on a wide rock. She cast fireballs to cook them; the meat crackled in the flames and turned an oily brown. Without wood to keep warm and with the temperature dropping in the evening, Gil knew they were in for a long and difficult night.

  They huddled together under blankets as the sun went down and Aiovel finished preparing the rabbits. But as they ate for the first time in two days, no one spoke a word about what had happened. Gil felt a hollow pain inside such as he had not felt in many years. Again he felt the horror of leaving someone close to him behind and the guilt that he had survived that long-ago first encounter with dragons while his mother had not.

  Yet Galanor wasn't dead when they left him. Still, Gil wondered: would they ever see the Ice Dragon alive again?

  XV: Gildorland

  "Hachoo!" Gil sneezed loudly.

  "You all right, boy?" Dylan asked, tossing his black orb into the air and catching it in one hand as they descended the shallow base of a mountain and into a small valley. They were almost out of the Silver Mountains, but had lost a day when Gil couldn't travel. The poor youth had developed a terrible fever the morning after they left the mines, and they'd been obliged to stay in the shelter on top of the mountain until the following morning, when Gil had recovered enough for travel.

  He still suffered from the terrible cold after six days, though the fever had broken. Rodruban had tried to cure the boy the first day, and Ronan the half-elf had attempted another healing spell the second day, but it seemed that not even natural magic could cure this most common ailment, though Ronan claimed other potent healing abilities— regenerating lost limbs and strengthening weak hearts, and the like.

  Dylan remained skeptical about that. But a good teeth cleaning spell, now that would be priceless.

  "Do you really think you should be playing with that?" Lilia inquired disagreeably, drawing alongside Dylan. "You might drop it and break it, and then you'll never know whether or not it's valuable." She shook her head in derision.

  "It's mine, so I can do what I want with it," Dylan retorted, but he put the orb away, anyway. Dylan had loaned his staff to Gil while the boy was ill only to discover that he himself had grown quite attached to it. Now that they were on surer ground, Dylan needed something to fidget with. "Well, Gil?" He turned to the shivering boy who stumbled on beside him. Gil had yet to answer him.

  "Do you need a rest, Gil?" Lilia shifted her attention, peering closely at him. Gil shook his head bravely, but he looked on the verge of collapse, Dylan thought.

  "It's about time for lunch, anyway," Mygdewyn put in, patting his stomach. "Think we're almost out of these mountains, Aiovel?" He asked.

  "I don't know any more than you do," Aiovel replied with a shrug. "I've never been here before."

  "Well, I can see you all desperately need my help," Ronan said affably. "Have no fear. I'll find out where we are." He finished, brandishing his staff. When he was an elf, he had a marvelously selfless attitude, Dylan thought.

  Ronan knelt to the ground and laid his palm on a large stone. A misty white aura surrounded him, and he inclined his ear nearer to the stone as though listening attentively.

  "The stone says it thinks there's a river not far from here— to the northeast," Ronan said good-naturedly.

  "Hmmm. That might take us the most direct route out of the mountains." Aiovel bit her lower lip thoughtfully.

  "Oh?" Lilia chortled, regarding Ronan with open skepticism. "And how does a dumb stone know anything about, well, anything?" She couldn't help asking, even though the stones in Argolen had been helpful and knowledgeable; she enjoyed antagonizing Ronan too much.

  "The stones hear the river swelling every spring when the snows melt." Ronan responded in a matter-of-fact tone. "And a lot of the animals that come to drink from it pass by here regularly."

  "Yeah, well, your stone friends forgot to warn us that they were going to collapse on us in the Wizard's Guild in Argolen." Lilia pointed a finger in accusation. "Wonder what they aren't saying now." She muttered.

  "Rodruban doesn't pay attention to warnings," Mygdewyn offered in reassurance. "But you can trust Ronan doesn't miss anything."

  Meanwhile, Aiovel had pulled out her map again. Gil held the top for her as she smoothed out the furling edges. "Well, according to my map, a branch of the River Gildorland begins on this side of the mountains," Aiovel confirmed.

  "I wouldn't mind a drink of fresh water, myself," Mygdewyn said enthusiastically. "And I've eaten enough snow to last me a lifetime."

  They found the small, stony river not far away. After turning north, they had continued along the valley floor, which wound unexpectedly east. A rocky stream coursed down from a high western mountain and flowed down between the last two mountains into the foothills of Gildorland.

  Gil felt relieved. If they had continued directly east instead of turning north, they would have had another mountain to scale; now they could follow the river down into the wide, open terrain of eastern Daegoras. At least, it looked wide and open from this vantage point. What a glorious sight!

  Gil found his spirits raised, not only because their journey was nearly over, but because they would finally be leaving these dreadful, cold mountains behind!

  Gil heard a loud splash and jumped back reflexively. The last thing he needed was another dunking. Lilia erupted into a fit of laughter, but softened at Gil's woebegone expression. That water had to be cold!

  "Relax, Gil," she said pleasantly, paddling around in a giant circle. "I'm not going to drag you in here."

  "But I am." Aiovel interrupted suddenly.

  "What?" Mygdewyn gasped, appalled.

  "I can't risk flying us out of here so close to the Tower in case Galadon's spies see us, but it looks like the current picks up speed up ahead, and we can use that to our advantage." Aiovel pointed down into the valley. Dylan looked; sure enough, the river sped up and widened ahead, disappearing in a forested glen below.

  "Oh no, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking," Dylan said, suppressing a smile.

  "I'm going to transform." She nodded. "And you'll have to hang on. It's going to be a bumpy way down, by the looks of those rocks." Aiovel grinned.

  * * * * *

  Galanor wheeled around, riding the air currents, then came in for a soft landing on a sun-bleached rock, claws first. The sun beat down mercilessly in a cloudless blue sky. Half-blinded from the glare of the sands, he blinked several times before he realized he'd landed too far away.

  Maybe the city wasn't by the river, after all. The branch had ended abruptly a few miles back. One minute there was a wide open river, the next— nothing. It was as though the river had been frozen and sliced in half, and the rest of it had been stolen away.

  Still, the gateway to the city was supposed to be near a weather-beaten rock in the shape of a horse's ear. He thought he could see it there in the distance, or was it only an illusion? With an effort, he flapped away from the flat rock and headed toward the other marker in the barren desert landscape. He felt his wings weakening as he circled the area, looking for the elusive rock. Now he was certain it had been but a mirage.

  Then suddenly there it was beneath him. He sighed in relief and fluttered down to an abrupt landing before resuming his Dragorian form.

  **Really, you ought to know better than to display yourself in public,** a sweet feminine voice said.

  Galanor blinked. Now he was standing knee-high in a water fountain in the midst of a giant city! He looked over in the direction the voice had come from and saw a beautiful golden-haired girl staring at him, hiding her smile with a demure hand.

  **S-sorry,** Galanor offered sheepishly, hurriedly pulling his clothes on again. **I'm Galanor. I was looking for the city of Dragoras.** He offered, glancing
around at the grand parapets and turrets in the surrounding city.

  **Silly! This is Dragoras!** She snickered, shaking her head.

  **I've never been here before,** Galanor explained, suddenly refreshed by a cool breeze. Now the sun overhead shone behind puffy white clouds. He truly was out of the desert, so to speak. The city courtyards were a lush green, the buildings separated by tree-lined avenues. No doubt this was where the waters of the River of Argolen had disappeared to, literally.

  **In that case, I suppose I should show you around.** The girl said hospitably. **My name is Nynnia. My father is Alator, King of the Gold Dragons and the Dragorians of this city. So, Galanor, would you mind getting out of my fountain?** She added in an undertone.

  **Look, I haven't really got the time for a tour,** Galanor said, clambering out of the water. **I've flown across the desert to deliver a message to this city.**

  **It must be an important one then.** She interrupted excitedly. **I've never been outside the city myself, but I've heard stories. You look like an Ice Dragorian, you know. That means you're supposed to hate the desert the most. Tell me, was it truly a perilous flight? Father's advisor Bairak says there are Sand Dragons and Fire Dragons crawling everywhere, but I used to think he only said that to keep me from leaving the city. But you would know best about that. So was it? Perilous, I mean.**

  **I suppose it was,** Galanor conceded. **About my message—**

  **Ooh, tell me first!** She cried. **I'm always the last to know anything around here. But I found you, so I'm going to be included this time.**

  **I'd really rather speak with the King—** Galanor began.

  **Well, father's sleeping right now and won't be disturbed for another month.** Nynnia said slyly. **But if you really want to talk to him, I can arrange it— as long as you tell me first.** She smiled prettily.

  **All right then.** Galanor sighed. **I have news that Queen Aiovel is still alive. She's heading to Dun Rigor to face the betrayer Galadon. I've come on her behalf to seek the aid of the last of the faithful, the Dragorians of Dragoras.**

  **And I'm a wet-nosed son of a harpy!** Nynnia laughed.

  **If you say so. But I meant what I said,** Galanor said seriously.

  Nynnia stopped. Ice Dragons weren't known for being imaginative, and none of the faithful ever spoke an untruth to each other in earnest. Little wrinkles gathered between her brows as this thought sank in.

  **What was that again?** She asked hoarsely.

  * * * * *

  Gil held on with all of the strength in his knees as they sloshed down the river. Lilia had taken the higher ground of Aiovel's neck and sat upright. Behind her, the dwarf shared the choice spot, his head buried in Aiovel's spiny backbone. Ronan and Dylan were somewhere behind Gil.

  Gil lay sprawled over a large, man-sized scale at the base of Aiovel's neck. His arms barely reached to both edges, but his hands found purchase there in between the thick scales. He clasped the ridge more tightly as they veered to the left. One thing was certain: Aiovel was no water dragon. Several times, they had hit the banks, knocking stones loose behind them. With each jarring impact, Gil's grip had slackened.

  A moment later, Gil felt his stomach lurch as they fell down another waterfall. His knees were weakening. Suddenly, he felt his legs sliding backward, and the hard edge of the scales threatened to cut his hands as gravity dragged him down.

  Gil let go. The momentum picked up over the smooth scales was about to carry Gil over Aiovel's rump, when a hand caught him by the scruff of his neck and held on to him. Gil looked over to Dylan, who had leaned far over to reach out an arm to stop him. His face showed the strain of Gil's weight.

  "Hurry up and hold on!" Dylan said through clenched teeth. Gil reached forward and got a firm hand-hold. Dylan eased the tension in his arm, and righted himself before he, too, could be dislodged.

  They held on for several more minutes when Aiovel stretched her wings and slowed to a halt.

  "You can open your eyes now, Mygdewyn!" Ronan exclaimed, still sitting between Dylan and the dwarf.

  Aiovel stepped onto the bank and shook herself, dropping them like flies.

  "Ouch!" Ronan said as he slid to the ground and landed on his derrière. Dylan hopped off adroitly, pulling Gil with him, just in time to avoid Lilia, who zigzagged down feet-first.

  Mygdewyn was still holding on to Aiovel's neck when she transformed.

  "Do you mind letting go of me now?" She asked, and the dwarf blushed three shades of crimson. He let go, then spread Aiovel's cloak about her shoulders for her.

  "Where are we?" Gil wheezed, glancing about. Outside the wooded glen of the river, the grassy land appeared flat and mostly treeless. Gil nudged Dylan for a response, but the prince only reluctantly redirected his attention to Gil.

  "There aren't any road signs, of course, but I'd venture a guess we're in some grasslands." Dylan said with a trace of sarcasm.

  "Well, of course we are," Lilia put in. "But the question is, how far would you say we are from Gildorland?" She looked at Aiovel.

  "I don't know." Aiovel shrugged. "But the river was taking us too far south to keep going that way."

  "Can you get a bearing on the city, Ronan?" Mygdewyn asked.

  "You can do that?" Gil said, surprised.

  "Of course," Ronan replied, and his lips quirked into an amused smile. "With all of the people living in them, cities are like magnets for magic-seekers."

  Dylan looked up at the wide purple sky and burnt orange sun. Sunset was only a few short minutes away, and it was already turning cold, though not as cold as the mountains had been.

  "Shouldn't we stop here for the night?" He suggested, rubbing a knot in his neck. At least the trees were shelter, and he doubted it would be very easy to find water in the miles of dry land ahead.

  "You said it," Lilia agreed, collapsing.

  * * * * *

  Three days later, the wild grasslands gave way to the tended fields of a nearby city; hedgerows of young hazel trees partitioned the land into ordered pastures. In due course, they came across a rough path between two farmers' holdings that led north; the deep ruts of a hundred wagon wheels had long ago caked and cracked under the hot sun, leaving crumbly, upraised lanes of dried mud.

  They plodded on as the dirt path wound its way around stone farmhouses, past shabby wooden huts and fields of livestock. Dylan gouged a stone loose from the ground and kicked it along, until some time later the road branched. The northern road widened ahead; to the right it canted toward another farm.

  They took the main road, pausing for a brief lunch of leftover dried fish.

  "I need water." Lilia griped, grabbing the last flask of ordinary water from Ronan.

  "Easy there, Lilia." Mygdewyn said, taking back the flask from Lilia's weak hand. He had to admit, he pitied her condition. Well into her bad-tempered phase, she hadn't even enough remaining energy to resist. "We have to ration our supply." He added, softening. "We may be a long way yet from the city."

  "He's right," Dylan nodded. "What would you do if you had to go a day without water tomorrow?"

  "I wouldn't have to if Aiovel would be reasonable!" Lilia spat. "Why doesn't she just fly us into the city?" Lilia grumped again.

  "Look, we've made it this far without being discovered," Dylan said diplomatically. "If Aiovel transforms here, we're likely to run into more trouble than a dehydrated fish girl with a bad temper."

  Gil snickered; the dwarf guffawed loudly, slapping Ronan on the back in the process.

  "I won't stand for it any more!" Lilia cried, stamping her feet, although what she was prepared to do about it remained a mystery. "If I don't get a drink soon, I'm going to shrivel up and die!"

  Gil chuckled, knowing this was an exaggeration at the least; Lilia had already gulped away more than her share of water by
three times since breakfast. Even given the warm sunshine, she was hardly near expiration.

  In the dwarf's dying laughter, they heard the clattering sound of a wagon up ahead. The road wound to the left, obscured by high hedgerows. As they turned the corner, they nearly collided with a peasant farmer sitting atop a large horse-drawn cart, hauling a load of manure to his fields.

  "Whoah, Nellie!" The farmer shouted at the large, heavy-boned work horse. Nellie had reared up in surprise, but the heavy weight of the cart kept her from charging away.

  Ronan laid a hand on the beast's muzzle. Nellie's wild-eyed gaze softened into a look of gentle affection, and she snorted playfully as the priest scratched behind her ears.

  The farmer watched, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in amazement.

  "May we ask, is the city of Gildorland up ahead?" Ronan asked mostly for confirmation, taking advantage of the farmer's silence.

  "Well, I'll be damned!" The farmer blurted in a strange version of Roste speech. "Nellie's taken t'ye!"

  The farmer spoke more than with a rustic twang; Dylan recognized elements of old Roste in the man's speech. It took a moment for him to follow the man's words.

  "How fa' to Gildorland? I suppose ye'll be up from Gildford ta pay yer tribute, eh?" The farmer's face screwed up in concentration. "Hmmm, now let me see. Two miles to Halney's place, then another on't Mill Farm... no, Fland's first, then Mill Farm, and only a half mile 'tween 'em..."

  "Geez, this stinks!" Lilia sighed in the meanwhile and crumpled to the ground. Unfortunately, the smell of the manure was no less overwhelming there. "At this rate, we'll be here all day! Oh, why did I ever leave Windfall?" She grumbled.

  Gil looked down sympathetically, but he couldn't help smiling.

  "Wait a minute!" Lilia brightened. "If there's a mill, there's bound to be a water wheel driving it!" She cried, clapping her hands together. The farmer paused a moment as though trying to work out what Lilia was saying, then continued.

  "And afta' the Mill Farm, Gildorland lies strait ahead o' ye, 'bout a mile down in't valley there. A' in a', no mor'n four mile." The farmer finished with an affable but crooked, gap-toothed smile. "Now, I best be headin' aff. Got to get t'other field done th' day." He lifted his straw hat to them, then pulled on his reins. Nellie obliged reluctantly, and the farmer turned the corner behind them, passing out of sight.