by NS Dolkart
The guards followed her finger with their gazes, and gasped in terror when they saw Criton flying toward them. “Wizards!” cried one. “They’re all wizards!” They fled back toward the tower.
Pellos looked frightened as well, but he did not turn around. “My God has killed wizards before,” he said, “and He will kill wizards again. Die, abomination!”
He spurred his horse, and Phaedra panicked. She grabbed at her saddlebags, snatching up the first object she could find. It was a small copper pot. Pellos was nearly at her, his arm already outstretched to drag her off her horse. With a grunt, Phaedra swung her pot at the priest’s head.
Pellos had only just caught her by her other arm when the pot slammed against his temple. He let go and fell from his mount with a lifeless thud, landing face down in the muddy grass. Phaedra wobbled, but she caught onto the elven horse’s makeshift saddle with one hand and managed to steady herself.
Rakon, who had somehow not fallen despite Phaedra’s flailing, turned round so that he could stare up into her face. “You hit him!” he said. “You hit him, and he fell over!”
“Well done,” Hunter called from up ahead, his face displaying unguarded relief. He could never have helped her, Phaedra realized with a shock. With Adla in the saddle in front of him, it would have been disastrous to even try drawing his sword.
At last Criton and Delika arrived, drenched and subdued, and took their place on the horse with Temena. Bandu had gotten quite a head start on the rest of them, but now that Phaedra had time to look, she saw her some distance ahead, waiting for them. Criton glanced over at the Parek, which was still flooding its banks, its water creeping ever closer to them over grasses and tree roots.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “They’ll probably send an army after us if they can.”
By the time they stopped, most of the children were crying. The seawater had stalled a few miles west of Parakas, and the waters of the Parek flowed gently here, as if blissfully unaware of the chaos that awaited them.
“It’s all right,” Phaedra told the children. “We’re safe now.”
Her words did no good, of course. They were crying because they were safe.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Criton echoed uselessly.
Tella looked up at them, her eyes still full of tears. “The old man…”
“He’s in his God’s hands now,” Phaedra said, though her heart ached. “Many sages say that’s the best kind of death.”
“That’s right,” said Narky, holding his reins in one hand and awkwardly patting Tella on the head. “He’s probably happy now. Happier than he was, anyway.”
Tella looked skeptical, but she stopped crying.
Narky turned to Criton. “Well, I hope those scrolls were worth it,” he said. “We’re never going to be safe near the water again.”
“They’re worth it to me,” Criton answered defiantly. In his mind, he had just rescued his ancestors themselves. Phaedra could see it in his eyes.
“Let’s get a little farther from Parakas,” she suggested, “and we’ll see what you got out of there.”
They cut north, away from the Parek. With five horses, the travel was not nearly as difficult as before. It became even easier when they came across one of Atel’s roads. Shortly before sundown, they came to an inn marked with the God’s mule symbol. The inn’s middle-aged proprietors stared at them when they stumbled in through the door, but being true followers of the Traveler God, they took Hunter’s money without question and showed them to their rooms. The beds here were enormous, large enough that the entire bedraggled party was able to fit into two of them. Phaedra fell asleep almost immediately.
The innkeepers made a fine breakfast. As a girl Phaedra would have found it bland and simple, but these days even bread and unsalted mutton seemed outright luxurious. Well satisfied after a good meal, they set out that morning at a more leisurely pace.
When they stopped to give the horses a rest, Criton gave Phaedra the smallest of the scrolls to read aloud.
“An Experiment in Biocontingent Luminescence,” she read. “The intent of the experiment was to identify the biocontingent triggers with greatest amplitude and longevity. To this end, fifteen Phalasean lanterns of varied colors were set at three-foot intervals along the walls of a darkened room, with exposed side facing out toward the wall. A separate trigger was utilized for each of the lanterns, including name trigger, intent and proto-intent triggers, Parakian trigger, neohessionic trigger and diffuse simian biothermal trigger. A full list is reproduced below...”
Phaedra looked up from her reading. “Try this one,” Criton said hopefully, handing her another scroll. “They can’t all be like that.”
She hoped he was right. How devastating it would be for him if the papers he had rescued were nothing but a collection of wizarding experiments!
“By Caruther,” she read, at the top of this second scroll. “Being a Discourse on the Dragon Knight, His Prophecy, and the Controversy Thereof.”
“That sounds more promising,” said Hunter.
Phaedra nodded. “Much has already been written about the famed Dragon Knight, Hession son of Pilos, who explored the world nearly a century ago in search of the Dragons’ Prisoner. For the purpose of this discourse, a brief summary will have to suffice.”
“This story is boring too,” Tellos complained.
“Go play with sticks,” Criton suggested.
“Criton is right,” Bandu said. “Bring sticks and I show you.”
Bless her. Phaedra gave Bandu a grateful look and read on.
“As we know, the war between Gods and dragons put an end to all but the weakest of the flying lizards. Prior to the war, however, relations between the two sides were known more for their cold distaste than for any bitter hatred. The dragons worshipped their own God, whom they saw as lord above all others, and tolerated the other Gods as younger, weaker cousins to their own.
“The incident of the Dragons’ Prisoner, taking place a mere decade before the war, was at one time thought to be a catalyst for the subsequent events; more recent research casts doubt on this notion, suggesting rather that the imprisonment involved a cooperation between several Gods and dragons, and may have been the last significant piece of cooperation ever to occur between these two camps.
“To this day, it remains a mystery what crime the Prisoner committed. Salemis of Hagardis had been a most venerated prophet of God Most High prior to his sudden fall from grace. Though the crime remains unknown, its consequences suggest that it was deeply transgressive, considering the list of those who came forward to punish him for it. As well as the entire Draconic Council, the Gods Pelthas (Justice), Caladoris (Mountains) and Magor (Wilderness) are specifically mentioned as co-conspirators in the Prisoner’s downfall.
“But most mysterious of all is the fact that although Salemis was vanquished and imprisoned, not a single source mentions his prison’s location, nor was his death recorded. It is this fact that inspired the ill-fated Dragon Knight to commence his quest.
“Though Hession son of Pilos traveled the world over in search of Salemis and his prison, inspiring many a song and legend, his journey began and ended in his hero’s abandoned home, a cavern now known as the Dragon Knight’s Tomb. Many claim that by the end of his journey the knight had gone insane with his failure, rendering his final words to his assistant the ramblings of a dying madman. We will discuss this possibility shortly, but it is incumbent upon us to review the exact words recorded by the squire, and dissect their potential meaning:
Let he who is fatherless find his true sire
And he with no wishes fulfill his desire
Let she who is darkest bring light to the people
And she with no church raise skyward her steeple
For I see the end now to all things once planned
When he who was murderer rescues the damned.
This prophetic poem, thankfully preserved, is subject to varied interpretation, with rel
igious sources claiming–”
“Hold on,” said Narky, interrupting. “Hold on a second. Is it just me, or could that whole thing be us?”
“What?” said Hunter.
Phaedra reviewed the poem again. “I don’t see how.”
“‘He who was fatherless?’ That’s Criton!”
“Maybe,” said Phaedra, trying to stifle her annoyance, “but can I keep reading? Even if – especially if – you’re right, the sages’ interpretation can do us a lot more good than just wildly speculating on our own.”
“Read,” said Criton, waving her on.
“All right, where was I? Oh, here. This prophetic poem, thankfully preserved, is subject to varied interpretation, with religious sources claiming that it was a reiteration of mythological events long past, while the faction of academics now called the Blasphemous Clairvoyants emphatically insisted that the Knight’s words were spoken as a true prophecy of things to come, and that its first line referred to some future hero and not, as the priests imply, to the Knight himself in his arrival in the afterlife.
“There has also been much debate over the number of subjects described as ‘he’ and ‘she’ in the Knight’s verse; in particular, whether the verses refer to five different people or to a primal pair of man and woman who must remake the world after ‘all things that were planned’ come to pass. For the most part, the Blasphemous Clairvoyants coalesced around the Theory of Five, while priestly sources promoted the more eschatological Pair Theory. It is my proposal that, considering the evidence I have presented elsewhere of sometimes intentionally shoddy and misleading work by priestly scholars, the religious authorities are most likely in error, if not participating in an act of deliberate obfuscation.
“I will not repeat the Clairvoyants’ exhaustive study of the subject here, but indeed, can it come as any surprise that the Gods and their servants should stand in opposition to those who would accurately interpret verses that celebrate ‘she with no church’ and other such presumably Godless heroes? I think not.
“Let us not forget that the Dragon Knight, though best known for his wizardry and martial prowess, was one of the few fully human ordained priests of God Most High. Read these verses once more, then, and ask yourself, is this a grand religious tale about a husband and wife remaking the world, or is it a smaller prophecy about five individuals still to come, bringing one age to a close and ushering in another?”
“That’s enough,” said Criton, sighing and putting a hand to his forehead. “That’s enough for now. I can’t really concentrate anymore. I have no idea what he’s saying half the time.”
“It’s really very simple,” Phaedra told him. “He didn’t think priests could be trusted to interpret the prophecy honestly.”
“What did he think it meant?” Narky asked, knowing the answer but rubbing it in.
Phaedra sighed. “He thought it hadn’t happened yet, and that it’s about five separate people.”
“It’s about us,” Narky said. “Read it again.”
When she had done so, Hunter frowned. “I can’t tell what it means. If all of these things come true, then what? What’s ‘the end to all things once planned?’”
“Who cares?” Criton asked gleefully. “It says I’m going to find him!”
“I don’t think we can be sure,” Phaedra said gently. “It’s awfully cryptic. The second line contradicts itself, the third is vague to the point of uselessness, and the fourth is just confusing. And if you’re so sure it’s about us, who’s the murderer?”
“What is murderer?” Bandu asked suddenly. She had turned away from the children, who were now hard at play. Delika seemed to be in a constant state of inventing new rules, to which everyone but Tellos was attempting to adapt.
“I am,” Hunter said gravely. “I killed two men in the mountains.”
“In self-defense,” Phaedra pointed out. “That’s not the same as murder.”
Narky was silent, his good eye lowered to look at the ground. “Maybe it’s not about us, then,” he mumbled.
Phaedra’s chest tightened, and her heart sank. She was no fool – she knew guilt when she saw it. Who had Narky killed? It was all coming together now: his secrecy, his hurry to leave Tarphae… he had never shown any remorse over the loss of their home, and now she knew why. Tarphae’s curse had meant that he could not be pursued.
Should she say something? Narky might turn dangerous if he realized that she knew his secret, and thought he could keep her quiet. But was she ready to condemn him?
“No, you could be right,” she said to Narky, trying to keep her face neutral. “Maybe Hunter considering himself a murderer is enough.”
“It has to,” Narky said. “I mean, Criton’s not really fatherless either, but I still think that first line is him.”
Criton glared at him, and Narky winced. “Sorry, that’s not really what I–”
“Here,” Phaedra interrupted, trying to keep the peace, “why don’t I read another page or two? Let’s see…
“An intriguing note brought up by Mage Tyrol of Gateway is that of the six verses in the Dragon Knight’s prophecy, five have exactly eleven syllables. According to him, a poem of six verses with eleven syllables each would fit into a well-established pattern of elven poetry. It is conceivable, at least, that the third line was somehow altered before or during transcription. If indeed the Dragon Knight’s prophecy takes the same form as elf poetry, the ramifications would be truly fascinating. It would shed a new light, for instance, on the other mad ramblings recorded by the Dragon Knight’s companion, such as the repeated phrase in his account, ‘There is a third side! There is a third side, but I cannot reach it.’”
“That is interesting,” Hunter said, “but we should get going. Daylight doesn’t last forever.”
Criton nodded and went to help Bandu back onto her horse. “Maybe you can read the rest later, and just tell us about it? The language those academic wizards use is hard for me.”
“That’s fine,” said Phaedra. She would need something to do before she slept, to help calm her nerves. She could not stop thinking about Narky. She had grown to like him, and it devastated her to think that he had killed someone in cold blood. Who had his victim been? What would make a boy like Narky kill?
Maybe he had been a different person once. Perhaps Ravennis had changed him. After all, the line from the prophecy was about a man being transformed from murderer to rescuer. If the prophecy was really about the five of them, couldn’t that mean that Narky would redeem himself?
The scroll did help her get to sleep that night, though its single-mindedness irritated her. Despite his occasional assertions to the contrary, Caruther had been obsessed with proving that the priests who had contributed to the understanding of the Dragon Knight’s legend and prophecy were all liars. There was very little of value other than what she had already read aloud.
It was the fairy angle that maddened Phaedra most. As ‘truly fascinating’ as the idea apparently was to him, Caruther had never gotten around to explicating the connection between the Dragon Knight and the fairies. She tried to think about it as much as possible during the next day’s ride – anything to avoid thinking about Narky and his unknown victim.
“The Dragon Knight could have gone mad,” she pondered aloud. “That’s always possible.”
“What?” asked fair-headed Caldra, who was riding with Phaedra today. Bless her; she thought Phaedra had been talking to her!
“I’m talking to myself,” Phaedra reassured her. “My father used to say that sometimes you have to talk to someone who really understands you.”
“Oh,” said Caldra, sounding lost.
“What’s that you were saying?” asked Narky, riding up beside them with Rakon holding onto his waist.
Having his attention made Phaedra nervous, but she pressed on. “I was thinking about the Dragon Knight. Caruther mentioned, sort of in passing, that while the knight was dying he kept saying there was a third side, but that he couldn’t r
each it. Maybe the Dragon Knight really did go mad, but if he didn’t, I was thinking that this ‘third side’ might be the fairies. The scroll kept referring to the dragons and the Gods as ‘the two sides’; that was what made me think of it.”
“So you think the fairies were also in on the plot to punish what’s-his-name?”
“Salemis. I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s possible that’s what the Dragon Knight meant.”
Narky bit his cheek thoughtfully. “He said he couldn’t reach it, right? Do you think he meant the prison, or the fairies’ world? Or the Gods’ world? There’s nothing new about not being able to reach that.”
“Narky!” cried Phaedra. “What if the dragon was imprisoned in the fairies’ world? It would explain why no one was able to find the prison, and why the Dragon Knight would have been unable to finish his quest! The mesh between us and the fairies can’t always stay open – that’s why the captain and Raider Eleven had to give up on us! Criton, didn’t you say you had a scroll about fairy numerology somewhere?”
Criton looked back at her, startled. “I left it with Bandu when I came to get you out of Illweather. I don’t think she brought it with us.”
“Can you try to remember what it said? I think it might help with finding the Dragons’ Prisoner.”
Those were the magic words, of course. Criton spent the rest of the day silently trying to remember what he had read. Bandu tried to speak to him once, but he told her he was busy thinking. She turned and looked back at Phaedra with a vengeful expression.
The two of them were having problems, Phaedra knew. The bigger Bandu got, the more Criton seemed inclined to avoid her. It was grossly unfair. Phaedra knew that he was struggling with his impending fatherhood, but that was no excuse to distance himself from his wife. She was having a hard enough time just controlling her own body.
Bandu’s nausea seemed to have subsided, but she had grown so much that she barely resembled her old self. Her belly, which had been emaciated when Phaedra had first seen her, was growing by the day. Her tiny breasts too had easily doubled in size. Even her back seemed wider.
