Here was the trail they had been on, minus the cluster of gray rocks. She followed it through winding stone alleys, keeping high enough to see the river as well. Numair was right. If they kept to the water’s course, they could find the path where the river met open scrub-land. Beyond that lay the desert—the Sea of Sand.
She returned to him, and donned the clothes he’d cut down for her. Once the worst heat had passed, they set out again, pacing themselves to avoid heatstroke. After dark, nearing the spot where they could pick up the path again, Daine sensed Stormwings. Rikash was there for certain; she also thought she knew at least two of his companions.
Spying on the waiting immortals through a crevice between two rocks, Daine sighed with relief. She did know two of the others. One crowned female had the appearance of a mortal in her fifties. Her nose was prominent and forbidding over a mouth carved by a master sculptor, her dark eyes commanding under perfect black eyebrows. The girl thought that Queen Barzha of the Stone Tree nation of Stormwings must have been a beauty in her youth; age had added majesty. Her younger consort, Hebakh, had a pale, intense face lit by slightly mad gray eyes set over an aquiline nose.
Daine walked into the open. “Hello.”
Some of the immortals idling near the path jumped, caught by surprise. The air was filled with metallic clicks as steel feathers ruffled and fell into place.
“Don’t you make noise?” one of them demanded crossly as Numair came forward.
“You dine on fear, but you don’t care to feel it yourself?” the man asked innocently.
When the immortal opened his mouth to reply, Daine said, “Enough, both of you.” She bowed to the crowned female and her mate. “Queen Barzha and Lord Hebakh. May I present Numair Salmalín?” He had seen the Stormwings in Carthak last fall, but she didn’t think they had been properly introduced. “This is Leaf.” The darking nodded its hatted, knobby head. “And that’s Jelly.” The darking under Numair’s shirt thrust out a tentacle, waved, then disappeared into its refuge.
“It hasn’t met royalty before, that we know of,” Numair explained. He bowed elegantly to Rikash’s queen and her consort. “May I say that it is good to see you again?”
“As long as you don’t get downwind of us, right, mortal?” taunted a male voice from the rear of the flock.
“Do you challenge my decision, Vekkat?” Barzha asked without looking away from the humans. “Have you questions left unanswered?”
There was no loud reply, though Daine could hear voices whispering “Shut up!” and “Aren’t you in enough trouble?”
Rikash came up beside his queen, green eyes glittering. “I confess, the most amusing part of our association is that I am not sure who is more puzzled by it—you or me,” he said wryly. “I’m shocked Sarra let you go out dressed that way.”
Daine looked at her clothes. “My things got lost. I fell off a cliff.”
“You take such a fall well, Veralidaine,” Barzha said, her voice wry. “Rikash tells me I should apologize for not killing Ozorne while I had the chance.”
Daine smiled. She hadn’t thought the formidable Stormwing Queen had a sense of humor. “He’s good at survival,” she remarked. “I know you gave it your best.”
Hebakh bated. He was a nervous creature, always shifting his weight from one clawed foot to another. “We have not put the matter aside yet. There will be other chances to explain to Ozorne how things are done properly among our kind.”
“In the meantime,” Rikash said, “Queen Barzha has agreed that we shall carry you over the Sea of Sand, to the portal of the Dragonlands.”
“We are in your debt,” added Barzha. “You freed us from Emperor Ozorne. We shall feel better if we may repay you.”
Hebakh whistled. Two Stormwings flapped over, bearing some dark substance coiled in their talons.
“Your mother helped us to make these slings,” explained Rikash. “It won’t be an easy ride, but it’s the quickest way to cross the desert.”
Numair and Daine nodded. The pair with the slings, assisted by Rikash and one of the other immortals, spread their materials on the ground.
“I heard something that might be of interest to you, if you didn’t hear it yourselves,” Daine told the Stormwing Queen. Briefly she related the conversation she’d heard by Temptation Lake, before she had known the darkings were Ozorne’s spies.
The queen dug into rock with her claws, eyes glittering with malice. “So Qirev—”
“The other must be Yechakk,” interrupted her mate. “He’s the only old one left.”
“They are finding mortal warfare a bit rich for their stomachs,” said Barzha. “Perhaps Mogrul of Razor Scream also feels the pinch, after losing eleven. Perhaps—”
“You’ll never turn Queen Jachull,” Hebakh said, bating. “She is empty. There isn’t a Stormwing inside of her, only a void. But the others—they might yet listen to reason.”
Their conveyance was ready. After the humans secured their things and sat in the rope webs, Barzha croaked a word: shimmering with gold and crimson fire, the slings rose. On Hebakh’s command, five Stormwings took flight, the ropes that cradled the humans in their talons. Three carried Numair; two bore Daine. Belatedly, she said, “You know, I could shape-shift and fly my own self.”
“Save your strength for the dragons,” replied Hebakh.
The Stormwings began to climb. The magic that had lifted the slings to a level where their porters could grab them released. Daine and Numair dropped an inch, then rose, borne by Stormwings.
The scrubland came to an end and was replaced by sand dunes. Like all deserts, this one was cold after sunset. Daine shivered, but was resigned; at least the cold laid the Stormwings’ odor.
Barzha flew close to Numair. Mage and queen spoke, but Daine couldn’t hear; the wind bore their words away. Jelly was nowhere to be seen. Leaf, to the contrary, was looped around Daine’s neck, its small, eyeless head stretched forward to take the full brunt of rushing air. It was talking softly. She had to bring an ear close to the darking to hear, and when she did, she laughed. Leaf was saying, “Funfunfunfunfun.”
For a while, she was content to sit, shivering, as she watched the immortals. There were sixty-three Stormwings present, all of the queen’s allies. These were the ones that Rikash had spoken of, those who took honor and tradition seriously.
There’s a thing to boggle the mind, she thought, rubbing her shoulders to warm them. Stormwings with honor!
Rikash had been flying in the van, watching the sky. Now he fell back, gliding into position near Daine. A female Stormwing behind them called, “Mortal lover!”
The green-eyed male looked at her. “Repeat that on the dueling grounds at the next full moon, Zusha.” The female shut up, and Rikash turned his attention to Daine. “A feather for your thoughts.”
“Hm?” she asked, startled.
“Mooning over Long Lankin?” he inquired, jerking his head toward Numair.
Daine blushed, and glared at him. Long Lankin was the villain in a ballad, a tall bandit who lived for slaughter. “He’s no more Lankin than you are a songbird,” she retorted. “Besides, he’s not what I’m thinking of”—which wasn’t entirely a lie.
Rikash laughed. “What were you thinking of, then?”
“I heard somewhere that immortals are born in dreams. Or our dreams give them shape—something like that. Now, I can see folk dreaming winged horses and unicorns. Even dreaming that a winged horse or unicorn would go bad makes sense. Haven’t we all thought something’s a joy, only to find that it’s evil inside? But—forgive my saying it; no offense intended—how could anyone dream a Stormwing?”
His smile was cruel. “Ages ago, a traveler in the mortal realms went from place to place and found only the leavings of war—the starving, the abandoned, the dead. It was the work of armies, fighting over ground they soon lost again. That traveler sickened of waste—of death. She wished for a creature that was so repulsive, living on war’s aftermath, that even humans would
think twice before battle. That creature would defile what mortal killers left, so that humans couldn’t lie about how glorious a soldier’s death is. She dreamed the first Stormwing.”
Daine shivered. “But it doesn’t seem to make a difference, most of the time.” Leaf, who had trickled down to pool in her lap, nodded.
“That’s humans for you,” said the immortal cheerfully. “Nothing slows them down for long. But—if one person asks himself—or herself” —he nodded politely to her— “if the matter to be fought over is worth his corpse being ripped to pieces and smeared with our dung, and decides it isn’t, that’s all we need to justify ourselves. You’d be surprised how many people changed their minds, knowing that we’d come to live on their pain and play with their bodies. The barrier changed that. Humans forgot us. We’ve had to start all over. It will take a century before we’ll make a difference again.”
Daine shook her head as she stroked Leaf. “Am I a bad person, then, for wanting to fight to protect what I believe in?”
“I’m only a Stormwing, not a philosopher. For that, you must talk to Salmalín—if you don’t mind the headache he’ll give you.”
She smiled. “Have people tried making offerings and sacrifices to you, to keep Stormwings from coming down on them?”
“Very good. You know human nature almost as well as we do.” The Stormwings who carried Daine had been listening. They cackled their amusement, making the girl’s hair stand on the back of her neck. “Of course humans have tried to buy us off.” Rikash grinned, his sharp, silver teeth glinting. “We go after them first.”
Hebakh called. “My master’s voice,” Rikash commented with a sigh. He winked. “Sweet dreams.” He rolled in the air in front of her, and caught up with Hebakh effortlessly.
Daine thought long and hard about his words, curling up into a ball within the ropes of her sling. She was afraid to sleep, but she must have done so anyway. The next thing she heard was a voice in her ear. “Wake up!” it said. “We’re setting down!”
She opened her eyes to dawn. They were indeed descending, bound for a flat expanse of sand. Before it roared a curtain of white and red fires, like a flaming waterfall.
The slings touched the ground; their porters dropped the ropes. Daine landed with a gentle thump, untangled herself, then lurched to her feet. She was stiff all over. Numair, too, winced as he straightened.
Barzha, Hebakh, and Rikash landed in front of them, while the other Stormwings remained aloft. “Our debt to you is paid,” the queen informed them. “We are going now. If the dragons are unhappy with your presence, we prefer not to be nearby.”
“Thank you,” Daine said. “If you see Ozorne before we do, give him our regards.”
Barzha and Hebakh nodded and took flight, the rest of the flock behind them. Rikash gently tapped Daine’s arm, then Numair’s, with his wing. “Be polite to the dragons, and watch your step.” He leaped into the air, and soon caught up with his brethren.
Girl and mage surveyed the fiery curtain, standing well back from a heat that made them sweat. “Now what?” Daine asked her companion.
A voice chimed in the air around them. “Go away, mortals. You will not be admitted to the Dragonlands. We wish to know none of your kind.”
“On the contrary,” Numair said, voice mild. “One dragon knows a great deal of us. My companion is the guardian of the dragonet Skysong.”
“The true guardian of a dragon is brave. You are shrinking, cautious beings.”
“Oh, really.” Daine stalked toward the curtain, feeling its heat grow to unbearable levels. Just when she thought she might scream with pain, she was through a hair’s breadth of fire. On the other side of the portal lay rolling, sunny hills.
Numair burst through the gate behind her, glistening with sweat and gasping. Before Daine realized what he was doing, he’d dropped his staff and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don’t you ever—ever—frighten me that way again!” He shook her for punctuation, then wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she thought she might just pop. “Ever,” he added, and kissed her thoroughly before releasing her.
“I don’t know,” she said impishly, smiling up at him. “I like this particular kind of tantrum. Besides—at least now they know we’re brave enough.”
“Speak for yourself,” the mage said weakly, fumbling for his handkerchief. He wiped his face with hands that still trembled.
“The darkings?” asked Daine, suddenly worried. “What if they—?”
The darkings popped their heads out of their hiding places. Jelly had dropped inside Numair’s shirt. Leaf had trickled into Daine’s belt purse.
“Warm,” Leaf told them. “Fun.”
Nervously Jelly crept up to Numair’s shoulder. “I know it wasn’t fun for you,” the mage said comfortingly, stroking the darking with a finger.
The darking stretched until it could look Numair in the face, if it had possessed eyes. “Fine now,” it assured him. “Get stick.” Grinning, Numair picked up his staff.
“Wait,” the portal’s voice instructed. “Guides will come for you.”
EIGHT
DRAGONLANDS
Some time later, Leaf tugged one of Daine’s curls, pointing at two creatures who trotted toward them. Like Kitten, they had long, reptilian snouts, slender paws like hands, and colorful scales. They were also like Daine’s friend in that they were young dragons—the wings on their backs were tiny, incapable of bearing them in flight.
The smaller one reached them first. Snow white in color, it had black, shoe-button eyes. It was four feet long from head to rump, with an extra two feet of tail. Its companion was as tall as Daine, with steel gray and black scales intermixed. Unlike the white dragon, this one was more sedate, and walked with slow, deliberate steps.
—We’re to take you to our grandsire,—the white dragon told them, speaking to their minds, not their ears. —You’re the first mortals we’ve ever seen. It’s very exciting! I’m Icefall, only the elders call me Scamp. My cousin—well, she’s really a third cousin twice removed—her name is Steelsings, only I call her Grizzle because she’s so old.—
—Welcome to the Dragonlands,— said Grizzle, mind voice grave. —Ignore Scamp. She has only two centuries. She doesn’t know very much.—
—You’ve only one more century than me!— accused Scamp. —You don’t have your wings yet either!—
Numair hid a smile behind one hand. Daine sighed. Perhaps it was just as well that Kitten still could not speak mind to mind, if all young dragons chattered.
—Children should be seen, not heard.— Grizzle cuffed Scamp, then looked at Daine and Numair. —Follow us, please.—
She led the way with composure. Scamp frolicked around them, asking questions nonstop, in spite of Grizzle’s frequent orders to leave their guests alone. Scamp was convinced that humans spent their time fighting, and—sadly, Daine thought—she knew enough of the present state of things that it was hard to persuade her otherwise. Finally, Leaf stuck its head out of Daine’s shirt and chittered angrily at her. The shock was so great that Scamp actually held her tongue for a moment before pelting them with questions about darkings.
“Is your grandfather the, um, king?” the mage asked as they turned downhill to walk beside a deep stream.
—King?— asked Scamp, distracted from her pursuit of a butterfly. —What’s a king?—
—They rule mortals,— Grizzle replied smugly. —The male ones, that is. The female rulers are queens.—
—Oh,— was Scamp’s comment. —But you’d always have to change them, wouldn’t you? Since they’re always dying?—
Daine bit her lip to keep from grinning. “It’s true,” she said gravely when she’d gotten herself under control. “Mortals must forever change leaders because they die. That’s why we’re called mortals.”
—I wouldn’t like to be mortal,— Scamp remarked wisely. —Uncle Moonwind has been teaching me about mortality. It sounds uncomfortable.—
—He’s not really
our uncle,— said Grizzle. —Just like Grandsire isn’t our grandfather, exactly. He’s our great-great-great- . . . I don’t remember how many greats. There are a lot of them. Grandfather. He’s the oldest—
—No,— interrupted Scamp. —Moonwind, Rainbow, and Cometfern are older.—
—He’s the biggest . . . Now what are you looking at?— demanded the older dragon: Scamp was staring at the sky. When she did not answer, Grizzle looked up. —Uh-oh.—
An enormous blue-green shape crested the winds over a hill. Regally it glided toward them on huge, bat-like wings boned in silver.
“Is there a problem?” asked Numair. Daine saw that both dragons’ scales bristled.
—It’s Jewelclaw,— replied Grizzle. —He’s not very nice.—
—He can’t do anything,— Scamp told them, but she trembled. Waves of pink, the color that Kitten turned at those rare times when she was afraid, washed over her body. Grizzle, too, had acquired a rosy tinge, harder to see against her darker scales. —They’re here to see Grandsire, not him.—
The mature dragon lit on the ground and advanced, wings half extended. Until now, the only adult dragon that Daine and Numair had seen was Kitten’s mother, a young female who had measured twenty feet from nose to hindquarters. This dragon was nearly forty feet long, with a tail that was half again as long as he was. His scales were a deep, almost glowing shade of blue-green on his back, then emerald green on his belly. Like other dragons, this one had silver talons and teeth, in addition to the silver bones that gleamed inside the delicate hide of his wings. His eyes, emerald around slit pupils like a cat’s, were cold indeed. Sparks and threads of a fire similar to lightning jumped over his scales; his head crest was raised.
—Who let mortals into the Dragonlands?— His voice was a roar in Daine’s mind. —You two will find this to be far more serious than your usual pranks!— He bridled, scales ruffling. The grass under his talons began to scorch.
Grizzle jumped between Jewelclaw and the humans. —You can’t touch them!— she cried. She was now an eye-smarting shade of pink, with no trace of gray, but she stood her ground. Scamp, also entirely pink, scrambled to stand next to her. Tiny sparks flared on both youngsters. —They are under Grandsire’s protection.—
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