The king of the Lirin stared at him even more intensely.
"Really?" His voice was low and deadly. "I cannot imagine what would possibly entice me to grant such a request."
"Perhaps if I can return to you whatever the Nain have that you want back, you would be willing to consider it."
Alvarran's eyes opened wide and his nostrils flared.
"You know of the Theft, then?"
Ven could feel his friends behind him beginning to twitch nervously.
"I know nothing of a theft, Your Majesty," he said quickly. "I'm not from this land—I came to Serendair only recently. But I'm on my way north to see if I can discover why a dragon is burning the Nain settlements in the foothills of the High Reaches. If I can discover that answer, perhaps I can persuade the Nain to give you back what you want returned. And if I can arrange that, it is my hope that you will give to King Vandemere what he asks for."
The Lirin king put a hand to his chin and rubbed thoughtfully. "Hmmm," he said. "That's an interesting proposition, Nain child. There is but one problem I see with it."
"What's that, Your Majesty?" Ven asked.
The king's eyes went black with anger.
"There is no dragon burning the Nain settlements," he spat. "It's all a lie, to mask their planned attack on my kingdom. I have seen the flames, I have smelt the smoke—it's not dragon's breath, but rather plain, ordinary fire, a tool they've used before to conquer Lirin lands. The Nain are liars, thieves. They hide behind such tales to spread panic, particularly west of here, where innocent folk like the Gwadd make their homes. By the time the deception is discovered, it is too late. But unlike the Nain, the Lirin remember their history. I will not be fooled by such a tactic twice. So Vandemere has sent you on a fool's errand, Nain child."
Tuck bowed. "If that be so, then, Your Majesty, what harm is there in agreeing to allow him to try?"
For the first time the Lirin king looked at the forester. His eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, but with an undertone of threat.
"Tell me, what would cause a Lirinved forester to throw in his lot with a Nain child, risking the ire of his brothers, and their king?"
"The forester's loyalty to those brothers, and their king," Tuck replied, "but mostly to the High King over us all. King Vandemere asked me to serve as guide to these children. It was my honor to agree, and to obey. If you do not wish to accept the Nain child's offer, then I ask you and your soldiers to stand aside and let us pass in peace, so that we may fulfill our quest. If, however, you wish him to try and return to you what you have lost—"
"What the Nain took," Alvarran interrupted angrily. "It was a Theft. The Nain broke trust long ago. Once we were allies, now we are enemies."
"Even so, your grudge is not against this Nain, this child," said Tuck. "Perhaps he will be able to make amends for his brothers. Now, sire, what say you?"
Alvarran glared at Tuck, then turned his gaze on Ven. He glanced at the other children, then returned to the young messenger standing before him.
"Very well," he said at last. "Leave this place immediately. My soldiers will escort you north to the borderlands, even though you will not see them do so. Take heed, and pass carefully. If you do indeed return to me that which the Nain stole from our lands long ago, I will consider King Vandemere's request."
Ven coughed. "Only consider it, Your Majesty? Not just, uh, grant it?"
Alvarran the Intolerant's nostrils flared.
"It is not a request I have the power to grant on my own," he said. "But I will consider it. That offer alone is worth far more than you know, far more than you can even understand. Now get out of my lands and away from my forest before I change my mind."
"Thank you," Ven said quickly. He turned and nodded to his companions, who darted for the wagon as fast as they could before the grumpy king could change his mind.
They ran all the way to the back gate. Char leapt in first, followed by Clem. Ida vaulted into the wagon bed, and scooted away quickly to keep from having to help Amariel up. Ven gave the merrow a boost, then climbed aboard himself. He settled down with the others among the remaining provisions as Tuck clicked to the horses and the wagon began to roll northward.
When he was sure they were on their way, and no fiery arrows were screaming toward the wagon, Ven glanced back over his shoulder.
The king and his army were gone.
All he could see was the beautiful green forest in the distance to the south.
And an ocean of billowing highgrass that stretched all the way to the horizon.
Nothing more.
I could not imagine it was possible that an army of thousands of soldiers could disappear on the wind in the twinkling of an eye. They were too far from the forest to have taken shelter there so quickly, so I assumed they had returned to hiding in the grass, something they did as easily as we breathed the air.
I glanced over at Amariel. My eyes fell on the scars on her neck, where her gills had once been. As if she could read my thoughts, she immediately covered them with her hands in embarrassment. I looked away, but thought about how breathing the air is something we dry-worlders take for granted. It was good to remember that there are others who live among us that find it harder to do.
Seeing Amariel begin to fade into human-dom was beginning to eat my soul.
I only had one option if we could not find her cap.
It was an option I had been warned to only use if I was willing to accept terrible consequences.
Ven turned to the others in the wagon.
"Look," he said, "I know I've been a fool and a bad friend to you. I know you are suffering because of things I've done, and I'm sorry. But I really, really need to find Amariel's cap. Would you please look through your knapsacks, and help me search the wagon again? Because if it doesn't turn up—well, things might get even worse."
He looked down at the picture of the hourglass and the scissors in his palm.
A lot worse, he thought. Because you never know what might happen when you alter Time to try and undo something you've done in the past.
20
Smoke in the Foothills
ONCE AWAY FROM THE FOREST'S EDGE AND BACK INTO THE WIDE Meadows heading north, Ven settled down to sleep.
At first he slept dreamlessly and badly, rocking back and forth in the wagon as it made it way out of the smooth, grassy land of the Wide Meadows and into the more stony ground of the foothills of the High Reaches. What had once been a pleasant rocking motion was now threatening to make him more sick than he had ever been on the sea, so Ven took to counting stars on his back again, the only position in which he did not feel like he was going to throw up.
When finally he slept deeply, his haunted dreams returned. In each one of them, Amariel's cap had been stolen, but each time it was by someone else. His mind flipped through hazy images of it being taken by the River King, by Mrs. Snodgrass, by Cadwalder and Nick back home in the Inn. He dreamt it had been stolen by Tuck, by Alvarran, by a dragon he had never met. By the time each dream ended, he was more exhausted than he had been when he went to sleep.
I wish I had never looked through that stupid telescope in the River King's palace, he thought. It's made my dreams worse than they ever were.
Each time he woke, he checked on Amariel. Each time he checked, she seemed more distant, more unlike herself. Her eyes had taken on a dull, lifeless sheen, just like the eyes of the fish in the monger's cart, staring up glassily into the sun. Char and Clem had looked in every knapsack, every food sack and water barrel, had scoured the floor of the wagon, had even checked the wagon bed from underneath, but there was no sign of Amariel's cap. She was slipping away before his eyes, and Ven despaired, knowing that his chances of ever finding her cap again were smaller than one of Saeli's fingernails.
I only have until the moon wanes, Ven thought. I can't let a whole turn of it go by, or she will be human forever.
Eventually he became so upset he could barely speak. Char and Clem
tried at first to keep up pleasant conversation, but with Amariel becoming more reserved and Ven more depressed, they eventually fell silent. Ida, who had never been much for conversation anyway, just watched as she always did. Often they passed an entire day without speaking much more than a few words to each other.
When morning came each day, Tuck put them through their tasks and chores, but still the silence remained. Each day the smell of acidic smoke that the forester had smelled in the distance before their capture grew stronger, until it filled Ven's nostrils, making his stomach turn even more. He thought back to Tuck's words, and his own in reply.
Can't miss the smell of dragon's breath. There's a dirt smell to it, like wet firecoals, but sharper, like acid or pitch has been poured into the smoke. Once you've smelled it, you never forget it. It haunts your dreams.
Though no giant letters were burned into the earth, he was now certain of what he was smelling.
Finally, when the moon was waxing fat again on its way to being full, they came to the smoldering wreckage of what had once apparently been a settlement of Nain. Ven could tell immediately by the height of the blackened doorways, the width of the broken chairs lying about, and the style of wall with bolt-nocks for crossbow bolts that it had at one time served Nain soldiers. The excitement he had felt about meeting others of his race when they first crossed the Great River was gone, replaced by dread.
And, still, curiosity.
He was not eager to see new instances of hidden magic, however. Now his mind burned to solve the puzzle the human king had posed for him, in which every kingdom and every beast got what it wanted, restoring the trust that Tuck said had long ago been broken. It was a challenge that kept his mind buzzing, even on the edge of sleep. But as each day came and went he did not grow any closer to an answer.
They were still almost a league away from the smoldering settlement when a shout went up from the foothills, followed by a volley of crossbow bolts.
"Oh goody, this again," said Clemency sourly as she settled down on the wagon floor. "I am so sick of being used for target practice."
Ven's reply was cut short by a terrible jerk of the wagon, followed by a horrible gasp, as Tuck lurched backwards, grabbed his shoulder, and fell off the wagon board. The horses barely missed running over his head with their hooves and the wagon's wheels.
Ven was on his feet in an instant. He looked around in the dark, something as a Nain he had always been good at.
In a line all along the front of the burned-out settlement, as well as in the boulders and rocky ledge above it, were Nain of every shape and size. All of them had beards of Thicket length or longer, meaning they were men, not boys.
And all of them were armed with crossbows pointed at the wagon.
He reached into his memory for the words in the Nain tongue that was spoken in his parents' home.
"Friends!" he shouted. "We are friends, not foes! Hold your fire!"
The wide, bearded figures on the battlements froze, then looked at each other.
Then they broke out in raucous laughter.
"Playmates?" a voice shouted back in the common tongue. "We are playmates, not warts! Hang on to your burning butt!"
Ven felt sheepish. "Is that what I said?" he asked, also in the common language.
"Yep, that's about it."
I was worried that might happen, Ven thought miserably. Oh well. Maybe the laughter will keep them from shooting again.
"The man on the ground is not an enemy," he called into the darkness at the figures around the smoldering wreckage.
The voice that called back was harsh and threatening.
"We disagree. He is Lirin, and the Lirin are most definitely our enemies. As are those who travel with them."
The sound of crossbows reloading echoed through the night.
"I am Nain," Ven called back quickly. "My name is Ven Polypheme, son of Pepin Polypheme of Vaarn. I am here on the orders of His Majesty, King Vandemere, as his herald." He thought about the rest of the quote the king had made him memorize. "And as such I claim his protection."
The broad-shouldered men looked at each other again in the dark. Finally one very large, very long-bearded Nain stepped off the battlement above the outpost and walked forward until he was about a hundred forearm's lengths in front of the wagon.
"If anyone fires at me, my men will shoot the driver again," he said. "And then each of you until the wagon is empty."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Ven replied nervously.
"Not the horses, however."
"Good," Ven said.
"So what do you want, Ven Polypheme, if that's really your name?" the Nain leader asked. "These are bad times to be wandering around the foothills of our kingdom with a Lirin driver. You're lucky you know a little of the tongue—very little, and very bad grammar, of course—or you would have been shot next after the Lirin spy."
"I've come to try to figure out what is burning your settlements, and why," Ven replied.
An explosion of bitter laughter rose up behind the leader.
"Toss me a torch," the leader called to the men behind him. One of them ran closer and handed him a burning stalk of wheygrass, which he held aloft to light his way.
The man stepped closer. Ven could see he was dark of beard and eye, with a pleasant face by Nain standards. His eyes glittered in the torchlight.
"I am Garson," he said, bowing slightly. "I could have saved you a very long journey, Ven Polypheme, if you really did come all the way from King Vandemere. What is attacking our settlements is a dragon. We know this. Thank you for your interest. Now we will take your Lirin spy and attend to him before he bleeds to death."
"He is no spy," Ven insisted as soldiers from the burned outpost came forward to where Tuck was lying, prone, on the rocky ground. "He is a forester, a good friend of the king—and you shot him without reason."
Behind Garson, a multitude of crossbows were cocked. The sound echoed off the foothills and into the mountains.
Garson smiled.
"What you consider 'without reason' and what I consider 'without reason' are two different things, apparently, Ven Polypheme," he said. "Why would the king send such a youthful lad to me? Faith, boy, your Bramble hasn't even begun to grow in yet. How old are you? Twenty-five? Thirty?"
"Fifty," Ven replied, stung. "But let's get back to the case at hand. You say your settlements are being attacked by a dragon."
"Yes."
"And the attacks are becoming worse, and more frequent?"
"That is also true."
Ven felt a surge of bravery rush through him. "Then I have come to you with good reason, at least," he said. "I will seek out the dragon, and try to discover what it wants, and why it is attacking you."
"Why?"
Ven blinked. "So we can get it to stop,"
The Nain behind Garson laughed again.
"Nothing can make a dragon stop once it gets the idea in its head, lad," said the Nain leader almost kindly. "It has developed a grudge against us, just as the Lirin did, and similarly for no reason. No, this dragon will continue to attack us until we are all dead, or driven back completely within our mountain home. There is no other recourse."
"What if there were?"
"There is not," said Garson. "We know this dragon better than you, boy. We know its name, and what it is capable of. It's a vicious killer named Scarnag—does your limited vocabulary in your native tongue allow you to translate that?"
"Yes," Ven said. "It means 'scourge.' It has already told me its name—it burned the word into a hillside south of here."
"And do you know what a scourge is?"
"A cause of terrible tragedy and suffering?"
"That would be right. And I can assure you that the beast is aptly named. This monster has been around for centuries, and committed horrible, unspeakable acts of terror and destruction. It stole our history. Worst of all, lad, proof that the beast has no soul, no heart, is that he violated the unbreakable rule of his own kind."
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"Which is?"
"He killed another dragon," Garson said. Behind him the archers shifted from foot to foot, their breathing labored with sadness. "No true dragon will kill another of its kind, not even the most selfish, evil one ever spawned. There are so very few of them in the world, Ven Polypheme, and they swear a sacred oath at birth to guard the very world itself. Each time that a dragon dies, the world is more vulnerable to the evil that dwells deep within it. Dragons are the shield between us and that evil—and each loss leaves a hole. Dragons, no matter how petty or vicious their argument, would never ever consider taking the life of another of its kind—all dragons, that is, but one."
"Scarnag?"
"That would be the one."
From behind Garson, Ven could hear the sound of agony as the soldiers dropped Tuck on the ground.
"Will you tell me the story?" Ven asked. "Of the dragon he killed? And why?"
"No one knows why," said Garson bitterly.
"Well, Scarnag does," said Ven.
Garson was shaking with anger. "There could never be a reason—at least a good reason—why. The dragon he killed was only a wyrmling—a child, boy—young and innocent and brilliant. The wyrmling's name was Ganrax—a word that means wisdom—and he was not only a wise, gentle, intelligent child, he was the hope for our future, and our past. That dragonling would never have hurt a fly—all he ever wanted to do was to read, to play hide and seek, and eat kiran berries, his favorite treat. Scarnag killed him, as best as we can tell, for his cave—a cave, nothing more, something that there are thousands of in every range of mountains on this island.
"So now you know our situation. Whatever it was that caused us to earn the dragon's anger, we will not be able to stand against it. We are pulling our outposts now, preparing to go back within our mountains, cutting off ties with all other nations beneath King Vandemere's scepter. We will retreat into our own world, boy—and one day soon, you should probably decide to come with us. For if it's Nain the dragon is after, he will hunt you down until some cold and moonless night he will find you. Your youth will not save you as he tears you limb from limb and swallows your head whole. Your smartest choices are to come within the mountain with us—or run. Catch a ship, if you have the stomach for it. Polyphemes are shipbuilders, if I remember correctly, so you may be able to handle the voyage. But they are also descended of a madman, if I also remember correctly, so if my advice falls on deaf ears, at least it is a tradition in your family. For whatever that's worth. Now, be on your way."
The Dragon's Lair Page 18
