by Angus Wells
I said nothing. I knew we were committed now, all of us. Did we remain, we had no hope at all. Allanyn should have her revenge on all of us, unthinking and blind as her ambition. I could only trust that whatever came to us in those oneiric sendings did not offer false hope but told us truth. I felt, still, that certainty that had come to me; but also the surety that now we were horridly dead, save we escaped this place. Our lives balanced on a knife’s edge: I saw no choice save to trust in Tezdal and run. In those moments I did not think at all of the planned invasion or of what Ennas Day should bring to Dharbek, but only of our personal survival.
I said, “Urt, do you stay here, you’re dead! Come with us!”
I took his hand and Rwyan’s and ran after Tezdal.
I felt a tug, and then Urt was with us, leaving go my hand to run faster than I, going by Tezdal.
As he passed the Sky Lord he shouted, “Where past the wall?”
Tezdal yelled an answer I could not hear, and Urt loped ahead. I saw his canine ancestry then, as he ran, loose-limbed and fleet. But I heard him shout back, “After me, then. I know these trails.”
Trails?
I had seen this woodland from the window of our prison. I had walked here: gardens, surely, woven by Changed magic into disregard of season, but no more than that. No more than some expression of sorcerers’ vanity, or the vested power of Trebizar’s crystals. I should have guessed better when we trod that grove of beeches. I should have known magic better.
We did not run through some garden: we fled through a forest. It was not possible, and yet the evidence of my eyes told me it was so. We quit the clearing, and beeches were replaced with majestic oaks. We splashed across the stream I’d heard and followed Urt through the willow curtains beyond. We ran across a meadow that could not have occupied so much space, the grass long—and leaving a clear trail for trackers, I thought; did those who must surely come after us have need for such mundane signs. We ran past stands of ash and hornbeam, and it became quite impossible to judge time, my chronological sense distorted by these weird dimensions.
Dusk fell, the sun offering a last defiance of encroaching night, layering the western sky with red and gold as if some vast furnace threw wide its gates. Urt slowed that we not lose sight of him. I felt my damaged leg begin to throb. I had not run so hard or so far in too long. I looked to Rwyan and saw her panting, her hair flung wild, her skirts gathered up to reveal long slender legs. She smiled at me and without speaking urged me on. I nodded. I thought we could not escape. Even did we reach the wall, even did we find the promised horses—where should we go? Where could we go? The valley ringed us with hilly walls. Even did we reach those mountains undetected—and I could not see how that might be—we should still find all of Ur-Dharbek our prison. Either coast was too far, the Slammerkin was a barrier, the north an unknown country.
North.
Sheer startlement made me stumble as the voice spoke inside my head. It was an emotional compass, a disincarnate magnet that summoned the fibers of my nerves.
North!
It was an imperative: a clarion of promise, urgent. It was as soundless as the voices of my dreams, but so clear, so vivid, I turned my head, thinking to find the speaker running at my side. I pitched full length onto the dirt of the narrow trail. Rwyan cried out and halted, stooping to help me rise. I spat dirt, embarrassed and confused. She said, “You heard it,” and it was not a question: I nodded.
“Then come!”
I grunted. My leg hurt badly now, twisted by the fall. I limped as I matched her pace. She took my hand, and it seemed strength flowed into me. I thought her magic was returned her, but likely it was only her determination. I wondered if I heard a bell ringing, an alarum, or if I heard only the pounding of my blood within my skull.
Then, through a line of yews, I saw the white barrier of the wall. Urt halted there; Tezdal shouted, gesturing, and they both began to search along the wall.
Tezdal had planned well: I marveled at his resourcefulness. A length of thick rope, knotted to afford firm handholds, hung down. He called, beckoning us.
Urt went first, limber to the wall’s top, where he perched, reaching back to help Rwyan up. She joined him there, looked back a moment, and disappeared. Tezdal pushed me to the cord, touching his sword as he stared back, head cocked. I heard the bell clear now. I took the rope and began to climb. I thought my leg should fail me then: it seemed that fire burned my muscles. I moaned and gritted my teeth and willed myself to climb. I felt Urt’s hand on my wrist, strong, hauling me up. He took my belt and manhandled me over, setting my hands on the rope on the farther side.
I dropped the last few feet and cried out as I struck the ground. Urt appeared beside me, then Tezdal, and they each took an arm and raised me to my feet, almost dragging me to where Rwyan stood with the reins of four restive horses in her hands.
Then they must shove me astride, for my leg could no longer support my weight. It was a relief to find the saddle.
North!
It seemed to echo in my mind like the ringing of the bell behind us. I drove heels against my horse’s flanks and brought the bay to a gallop. Rwyan rode to my left, Tezdal on my right. Urt was a neck ahead. We rode as if all the Church’s demons bayed at our heels. I thought no kinder creatures would follow us. I thought of Allanyn’s feral eyes and decided confrontation with demons might well be the lesser torment.
The land was gentle here, like a park, grassy and undulating, with small hursts visible under the light of the moon. That orb was risen full, huge and butter-yellow. It minded me of the eyes of my dreams.
North!
And with that command, a sense of urgency. It was not articulate but entirely emotional. It was a promise I could not define but only accept. I knew, somehow, that we must gain distance from the building by the lake—from the aegis of the Raethe’s strongest power—before the promise might be fulfilled. I hunched in my saddle, willing this stranger horse to run as I knew my old gray could. My hurt leg throbbed; I dismissed the pain. Far worse awaited me—awaited all of us—did we not make whatever rendezvous lay ahead.
I chanced a backward glance and saw the town across the lake lit bright. There was light from the Council building, too; and the moon’s image shimmered on the water. I saw the skyboats glimmer redly, the fires of the Kho’rabi encamped below reflecting off the sanguine flanks of the great craft. I turned away: there was no point in looking back, now less than ever. Did Changed magic not somehow find a way to reach out and strike us down, then surely the Sky Lords must soon enough launch their little boats and quarter the night sky until they found us.
North!
It was our only hope.
The lights of farmhouses shone far off around us. Dogs barked, their keen ears doubtless alert to our desperation. The land rolled and folded. We galloped through streams and crossed, slower, rivers. We ran through fields of autumnal wheat and stands of trees. Our horses threatened to falter. We drove them hard; too hard. I felt slaver blow back against my face, and under my knees I could feel the bay’s ribs heaving. His neck was wet with sweat. I knew he could not hold this pace much longer.
Urt shouted, gesturing back. I could not hear what he said, but there was no need: the sight of it was plain enough.
Low in the sky came a skyboat.
It was one of the little scout craft: a questing hound that darted this way and that, crossing our trail, returning to the scent. It followed us inexorable as doom.
I saw others, but none so close. They roamed the valley, but only this one seemed to find our path. I wondered how long before the Kho’rabi wizards felt sure of their prey and sent word to their fellows, and all those darting specks I saw should converge above us and send their magicks against us, and we be all destroyed.
Or would they only trap us? Come down and ring us with such might of magic or plain steel as must deny us all escape?
I thought that then I must deliver Rwyan my promise.
I thought of that gif
ted I had slain and saw my love’s head turned loose in my hands the same way. I should do it: I had given her my word, and it were better than to leave her to Allanyn’s revenge; but still I felt my belly recoil at the notion.
We rode on. Hooves drummed on hard-packed dirt. I thought the sound must echo against the sky, an aural beacon to our pursuers.
What need of that, to those who bound the aerial spirits to their cause? They could ask the elementals to sound the air, the vibrations of the ground, the flavor of the wind; all of it to their cause: to find us. I looked back and saw the little skyboat cease its questing. It ran straight now, after us; sure as a scented hound. I thought I saw the archers in the basket beneath. I felt my shoulders tense, anticipating the prick of arrows, the blast of magic.
I wondered how it should feel to die. I looked to Rwyan and saw her smile. She called out words I could not hear over the thunder of the hooves and the rush of the wind. I smiled back. I felt no hope at all and could not understand how she could; not now.
Surely we were doomed.
I saw the skyboat closing on us, arrowing after.
And then a shape descend out of the night.
It was a blackness against the stars, a swooping shadow across the face of the moon. I reined my mount to head-hung standstill and sat the heaving animal entirely oblivious of my comrades, of still-impending danger. I was Mnemonikos—and now I looked on what no other Rememberer had ever witnessed. I could not ignore it, even at cost of my life.
I looked on a dragon.
It came down so swift, I had only an impression of the angled leathery wings that spread impossibly wide as it broke its meteoric descent. A long tail lashed and plumed straight. Great limbs thrust out, much as do a cat’s when that lesser creature looks to break a fall. A massive head extended on a serpentine neck, the jaws opened to display fangs as long as Tezdal’s sword; I had no doubt they should be as sharp. I glimpsed enormous eyes, yellow and unblinking.
It made no more sound than a swooping owl. It was as deadly—and if it were the owl, then the skyboat was the mouse.
There was a gaseous explosion as the dragon struck. For an instant it was outlined clear in the fireball of the skyboat’s destruction. It fell through the wreckage, taloned hindfeet closing on the basket, large enough to encompass that float. The wings beat, lifting the massive body back up through the burning tatters of the ravaged supporting sack. I heard the screams of dying men. I saw the dragon rise, the forelimbs clutching now at the basket, the head descending to pluck at the Kho’rabi as if the awesome creature snatched tidbits from a platter. It shook its head as does a terrier worrying at a rat. Bits and pieces—basket and men all mingled—tumbled down. The dragon let fall its prey and beat its wings and hurtled toward me.
I was only dimly aware of Rwyan turning her horse to come back, to stand beside me as we both stared, awed, at this terrible spectacle.
Then our mounts screamed in naked terror and began to buck as the massive shape swooped low overhead.
I felt pain, and the night sky spun madly before my eyes. Then I felt myself lifted and saw three Rwyans kneeling close, all of them expressing a confusing mixture of concern and terror and amazement and hope. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, there was only one Rwyan, and she was asking if I were well.
I nodded and wished I’d not. I think I said yes, but my gaze was already moving past her to the battle in the sky above. I climbed to my feet, wincing as pain’s daggers stabbed my leg. She came close, easing a shoulder beneath my arm, and I held her and leaned against her as we both watched legend unfold.
Urt came trotting back afoot. He was dirtied by his own fall. His eyes were wide, and his jaw hung open in unalloyed wonder. He said nothing, only stared. He radiated fear: I reached out and set an arm around him. His support was welcome, but mostly I sought to reassure him: he shook like an autumn leaf in a savage wind, hung by the most tenuous connection to the sanity of the tree.
I said, “Urt, they come to save us. Only that! They offer us no harm.” I hoped I spoke true: what I saw in the sky was pure chaos.
He gave me back no answer but a moan. I drew him closer and felt his arm span my waist. He was very hot and trembled constantly.
Rwyan said, “Remember the dreams, Urt! Believe them! This is our salvation come.”
He made a sound like a puppy’s whimper. I thought that this must be how it had been for all those Changed we Truemen left behind in Ur-Dharbek as dragons’ prey, that we might live free. I thought him then the bravest of us all, for he did not run but stood with us and fought the terror inherent in his blood; inherent in what we’d made him.
I heard hoofbeats and saw Tezdal come back, fighting his terrified mount. I wondered at his horsemanship, that he could still control the panicked animal. He snatched it to a stop and sprang down. He was no less amazed than we. I could not tell if he was so frightened, but he let go the reins and stared skyward as the roan stallion ran wild. He drew his sword, and I believed that he would fight the dragons if they attacked us.
Rwyan said, “They come to save us, Tezdal,” and there was such confidence in her voice, he sheathed the blade.
Above us skyboats fell in blossoms of fire.
The night filled with those sparkling flowers as the balloons were burst by claws and fangs and lashing tails. My ears dinned with the howls of dying men and the savage calling of the dragons. Worst, somehow, was the shrieking of the elementals, for that sound lanced sharp into the deepest fibers of my being. It was the sound of creatures entrapped and resentful, now freed and glorying in the destruction of their jailers in a manner quite alien to the triumphant belling of the dragons. Theirs was the shouting of warriors come to honest battle. It was clean as the howling of wolves: they did not gloat, only announced their victory. The elementals made a different sound, and it grated on my nerves and set my teeth on edge. It told me it was wrong to bind such spirits to man’s cause, or any other, save their own. I saw them burst loose and I felt their gratitude, that they were freed from bondage to unwilling cause. I saw (I cannot be absolutely sure, but I tell you what I believe) numerous of them join with the dragons to slay the Kho’rabi, like prisoners turning on their captors. I believe I saw bodies rent without attention of the dragons. It was as if vague forms wound around the falling Sky Lords and slew them as they fell; as if the very air plucked them apart. I think they took their revenge.
Then, I saw only the falling skyboats and the terrible culling of the dragons. The Kho’rabi wizards flung ineffectual magic at the sourian predators; and it was useful as blunt-tipped practice arrows against battle armor.
The dragons seemed not to notice. They shrugged it off and fell and clawed and bit, oblivious of anything save the need to pluck the skyboats from the sky.
Which they did with the calm and bloody efficiency of a wolf pack cutting deer from the herd. Cold as mathematics; indifferent to aught save the task in hand.
And we four stood watching, huddled fearful and patient under that stained and fire-filled sky. Watching our pursuers slain; wondering what our fate should be.
I held Rwyan, and I felt Urt’s terror. I wondered how Tezdal could stand so calm to see his kin slain. I was not afraid. I had passed beyond fear: I felt only wonder then, and I stood awed in witness of what Truemen said could not be, but was.
And then the dragons came down to land before us.
As I had done in dreams, now we all knelt under the beat of those wings. No more oneiric but real; lifting great clouds of swirling grass and dust, heavy as thunder. Awesome as dream—or nightmare—come true, shaped out in flesh: real!
I looked into yellow eyes that took the moon’s place: there was nothing else. I saw bloodied fangs, hung with remnants of flesh. I felt hot breath on my face. I saw talons settled in the dirt before me, like roots sunk in betwixt ground and sky. I saw wings hung all leathery, spread in promise or condemnation. I could not tell or know; only marvel. I saw, beyond the massive body, a tail switch
restlessly, lofting clouds of grass. I saw a paw rise: a pink tongue lap absently at crimsoned claws.
I heard a voice say, “So, you are saved. Do you come with me, then? Or shall you wait here like frightened sheep until your hunters come?”
I only stared, dumbstruck. It was Rwyan who said, “Who are you? I’d have a name ere I go with you.”
Laughter then, like any man’s; but more, as if he found amusement in her courage past my understanding.
“Your hope,” he said. “The answer to your … prayers? Surely to the calling of your dreams. Come now; or stay and die here. All of you.”
I could not quite believe that Rwyan rose so readily and went to him—toward those awful, bloodstained fangs. But she paused and reached out to take my hand, and said again, “Who are you?”
And past the dragon’s head I heard him answer, “I am Bellek. Now come with me.”
I followed Rwyan. Urt and Tezdal came behind us. I think not even the Sky Lord was unafraid then.
I halted, wary as the dragon’s head descended closer. But it was only that the rider might dismount, clambering from the long neck to one great shoulder, springing from that to the ground. He grunted, though the distance was not so great, and straightened his back with a heartfelt sigh. The dragon turned its massive head a fraction, an eye observing him with an expression I could only interpret as concern.
He said, “By all the gods, I grow too old for this.”
I stared at him. His hair was the white of snow lit by a cold moon, tied back in a tail that hung to his waist. His face was leathery as his mount’s wings, as dark and seamed with wrinkles, like deep cuts in the flesh. He was shorter than I, about Urt’s size, dressed like some wildman, some hermit come down off his mountain; which, of course, he was. He wore a shirt of patched hide, sewn crude and belted with woven hair, and breeks in no better condition, loose and patched and stained. A wolfskin jerkin was stretched taut by his broad shoulders. Hides bound in rough semblance of boots covered his feet. He smiled, exposing teeth that were startling for their pristine regularity.
