One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  "Very bad Ping, fire in woods," scolded the ogre, waving a sausage-like finger. "Nasty bad humans. Make forest fire. Scare all liddle animals." And with that, he turned and strode away, tree limbs cracking in his wake.

  There was silence for a moment. Kraki stood up, shaking each of his limbs in turn, making sure nothing was broken. Timaeus poked disconsolately at the sodden remnants of their once-cheery blaze. "Damn it all," he said. "I'm freezing." In truth, it was rather cold.

  "I don't think it's a good idea to start another fire," said Nick, greatly relieved it hadn't been a dragon after all. "He might come back."

  "Then ve kill," said Kraki.

  "Sure, pal," said Nick. "You did such a good job the first time."

  "He got me by surprise," protested the barbarian. "Am I not Kraki, son of Kronar, son of—"

  "Shut up," said Sidney. "There's no point in fighting that thing if we don't have to. The last thing we need is for someone to get badly wounded out here, miles from nowhere."

  Timaeus sneezed, visibly shivering. "Fine," he said. "See if I care. I like pneumonia."

  "Get out of those wet clothes," Mortise advised.

  Timaeus grunted and went to search through his pack. Mortise retrieved the stew pot, which, miraculously, had not been upset. He pulled out a squirrel leg and bit into it. "Well," he said, "it's partly cooked."

  Disconsolately, they sat in chilly darkness, eating halfraw rodent and onions still fresh enough to bring tears to the eyes.

  "Rise and shine!" sang Nick. He and Mortise were already puttering about, striking tents and packing up. Timaeus woke, bleary-eyed and fatigued. He habitually rose early, but this was absurd; there was the merest glimmer of rose on the horizon. He had slept like the dead, exhausted from the previous day's trek, but his back was killing him. He peered under his bedroll and saw a root that must have been pressing against his spine for hours. "Tea," he moaned.

  "No fire," said Sidney, handing him a stick of something brown. "Here."

  Timaeus held it gingerly, at arm's length. "And what, pray, is this?" he asked.

  "Beef jerky," she said, masticating a stick to prove the point. "Breakfast."

  "Ah," said Timaeus. "Excellent." He essayed a bite and nearly lost a molar.

  "Makes you feel like a new man," said Jasper, whizzing over to help Nick pack. "Nothing like the great outdoors—"

  "Ye gods," muttered Timaeus. He went over and took a tin of tea leaves from his pack, then grabbed Mortise's pot and headed down to the stream.

  Sidney hustled over and grabbed his arm. "I said no fire. We don't— "

  "Unhand me, madam," said Timaeus. "I shall start no blaze." Reluctantly, Sidney let go, but followed him down to the stream to make sure. Timaeus washed out the pot, filled it with water, dumped a quantity of leaves into it, then chanted a brief spell and thrust his fist into the water. After a few moments, it began to boil around his hand, the water turning brown as the tea infused it. "There, you see?" said Timaeus. "Nary so much as a whiff of smoke." He withdrew his hand and headed back up the hill, steam rising from the pot. Sidney snuck a glance at his hand, half expecting it to be scalded red, but it seemed unaffected by its immersion in boiling water.

  Everyone accepted a cup of tea, with thanks. Timaeus sat down on his pack to enjoy his morning pipe and cuppa, but before he had even poured his second cup, Sidney wasordering him to his feet. "We've got leagues ahead of us," she scolded, "and no time to waste."

  Timaeus groaned, lurched to his feet, and consented, grumbling, to have Kraki hoist up his pack once more.

  When they reached a grove of oaks, Mortise called a break for lunch. Everyone removed packs and began to prepare for the meal. Everyone, that is, except for Timaeus, who did not appear until minutes later. He staggered into the grove, drenched in sweat, panting raggedly, and stumbled blindly onward. He might have staggered back off into the woods, oblivious to the others, if Sidney hadn't taken his arm and brought him to a halt. He stared at her dumbly for a while, then crumpled to the ground.

  It was a good ten minutes before he roused himself even enough to light his pipe. Sidney, worried, brought him a flask of water, which he gulped greedily down. "It'll get better," she told him.

  Timaeus considered that for a moment. It was a difficult concept to grasp. Better? In what sense? Were there superior and inferior versions of torture? And which was the better? The most painful, or the least? "Define your terms," he said tiredly.

  The others were already preparing for departure. "We've got to go on," Sidney said. "Jasper claims Broderick's lead is widening. We don't dare stop—"

  "Mm hm," said Timaeus, not considering further conversation worth the effort. He got to his hands and knees, then used a nearby tree to pull himself erect. Pipe clenched in his teeth, he extended his hands behind his back and waited until Kraki got the hint, lifted Timaeus's pack, and dropped it onto his shoulders.

  Under the impact, Timaeus pitched face forward into leaf mold. Coals spilled from his pipe into the leaves, which started to smolder. Nick stamped them out.

  Haltingly, Timaeus got to his hands and knees, crawled to his pipe, and pocketed it.

  "I take his pack," said Kraki, already wearing his own.

  "Are you sure?" said Sidney. "Two packs are a good fifty pounds."

  "Good," said Kraki. "Then maybe I break a little sveat." Muscles like steel cables bunched in his arms.

  Timaeus was scrabbling at a tree, trying to get to his feet once more. Kraki removed the wizard's pack; Timaeus hardly seemed to notice, except that he was now able to stand erect.

  They climbed onward, up a ridge, Sidney trailing with Timaeus to make sure he did not fall too far behind.

  The little glade was pleasant after the cool dimness of the forest, a roughly circular space where only grasses and wildflowers grew. Leaf-dappled light played across the ground. Perhaps a fire had cleared the trees here, and they had not yet grown back; perhaps some local peculiarity of the soil prevented the growth of timber. At the glade's center stood a boulder, perhaps glacial in origin. Not far away, a charming stream purled. All in all, the place seemed most inviting to travel-wearied wanderers. Sidney called a rest.

  Timaeus came out of the forest, hobbling as if shackled. Nick guided him to the central boulder; the wizard lay with his back against it.

  Kraki dropped his packs and shook his head like a dog; droplets of sweat flung everywhere. "Ho!" he said. "Feels good to vork for a change. Ve go on or camp here?"

  "If we can make a few hours before sundown, we should," said Sidney, feeling a little tired herself. "I say we—"

  She was interrupted by a snore. Timaeus lay openmouthed, drooling a bit into his beard.

  "Oh, hell," said Sidney.

  Jasper, who had muttered the Words of a spell, said, "He's a little farther away now than last evening."

  "Broderick, you mean?" said Nick.

  "Yes," said Jasper.

  "How does he do it?" demanded Sidney. "He's laden with that statue, he's got to be in his fifties—"

  "And he's apparently traveling with a unicorn," said Jasper. "No knowing what he's up to."

  "How much farther away?" asked Sidney.

  "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I can't tell. It's really a directional spell; he's off in that direction," Jasper said, pointing roughly to the east-southeast. "I can get a vague sense of distance from the strength of the feeling, but not much more than that."

  Sidney looked at sleeping Timaeus. "I suppose we'd better camp here," she said regretfully. "We're not going to catch up soon, anyway, so there's no point in driving ourselves beyond endurance."

  "Ourselves?" said Nick pointedly.

  "We're in this together," said Sidney.

  "I don't think this is a good place," said Mortise apologetically, looking about the glade and frowning slightly.

  "Why not?" asked Sidney.

  "It doesn't feel right," said Mortise.

  "What?" said Kraki. "Don't be silly. Vater that vay." He poi
nted to a stream, not far off in the woods. "Good drainage. Soft grass to lie on. Make fire by boulder, shelter from breeze. Sleep under open stars. Fine campsite."

  Mortise looked uncertainly about. "Yes," he said uncertainly. "But— "

  Kraki was already unrolling his blanket.

  Mortise sighed and opened his leather pouch. He'd killed three woodlarks and a number of finches during the day. There wasn't much meat on songbirds, but woodlarks were actually quite delicious. And he had the eggs from one of their nests. Still, it wasn't really enough for dinner.

  Jasper was watching him. "Not to worry," he said, and the green light zipped away into the woods.

  A half hour later, Nick was contemplating the necessity of making a meal of cornmeal mush. "Is this all we've got?" he complained.

  "There's raisins, pemmican, jerky, and hardtack," said Sidney. "Enough to live on for several days, but something fresh would be better."

  "Fresh?" said Nick. "You call cornmeal mush fresh?"

  "Come off it, Nick," she said. "It's better than—"

  A doe came walking into the campsite. She walked over to Kraki and stood there, silent and trembling. Everyone stared in astonishment.

  "Well, hurry up," said Jasper irritably, flitting through the air behind her. "Kill her, by all means. I can't control her forever, you know."

  Kraki drew his sword.

  "Better if you age the meat," said Kraki sleepily and gave an enormous belch. The remains of a haunch lay before him.

  "Didn't like it, I can tell," said Nick with satisfaction; he had prepared and roasted the deer.

  Mortise gathered up the scraps and went to throw them into the latrine. He regretted that; better to throw them into the woods and let animals eat the remains-but they wouldn't want to be bothered by predators and animal noises tonight.

  By the time he got back, everyone else was asleep. He hesitated; he still felt a sense of wrongness about the place. He sighed, then took his bedroll and walked several paces

  into the wood before laying it down. Perhaps the others were right; what was there in the woods to harm them? Moving out of the glade might be a pointless precaution, but he felt the better for it.

  II

  It started as a single note; a single haunting note, like the sound of a flute in the hands of a master: low, rich, evocative of loss. Sleepily, Sidney raised her head from her bedroll and looked about the campsite. The fire had gone out, only a few embers remaining. Above, a sliver of moon glinted silver. In the cool night air, fireflies played, green lights winking out and reappearing. If she hadn't been a city girl, it might have occurred to Sidney that it was late, near midnight: too late for fireflies. And early in the year, yet, for them to appear in such numbers.

  A birdcall, she thought, and turned over to go back to sleep.

  At the edge of her consciousness, a song began to play. It did not occur to her to wonder at that; half asleep, she took it for a dream. It was slow, sad, ancient music: a single flute. No, it had not the metallic sparkle of a flute; it was more like a recorder, rich wooden tones.

  And then the music changed. Joining the flute was another, and a string instrument as well. Sidney was no musician, but she thought it might be a lute. Still the music mourned; what, precisely, she could not say, but she could feel the sense of loss. She lifted her head again.

  The little meadow was bright now; not the bright of day, but full-moon bright—peculiar, for the moon was a crescent still. Atop the boulder by which they'd built the fire was a creature; a little goat-legged creature, with the goateed face of a man. At his lips were pipes; not a flute at all, nor yet a recorder, but panpipes. His legs were crossed, one hoofed foot moving to the music's beat. He never seemed to breathe, playing the music continually. About him, fireflies glowed.

  Smiling, Sidney sat up and listened. Somehow this struck her as completely natural, that there should be music here. It never occurred to her to wonder whether this was dream or reality, whether the creature meant them well or ill. There were no questions, only the music, and wonderment only at its beauty.

  Those fireflies were not insects; not fireflies at all, but fays, glowing winged creatures, shaped like tiny men and women. Sidney had heard of them before, but never seen them; they were kin, somehow, to the elves. They hovered in the air like hummingbirds, listening attentively to the tune.

  Where were the other musicians? Sidney looked about. One sat at the foot of the rock, lute in hand. It was a raccoon, for all that it was dressed like a man, furred face bending seriously over the lute, clever clawed fingers plucking the strings. And the other piper-was nowhere to be seen. Pipes floated in the air by the foot of the rock, as if the piper sat there; but whoever played them, if indeed they did not play themselves, was invisible. None of this struck Sidney as unusual.

  Her companions were awake now, too, sitting up and listening to the music. Their faces betrayed nothing butpeace, gentle concentration, perhaps a touch of the music's own melancholy.

  And the music changed.

  It was sprightly, laughing, exuberant now; the pipes seemed practically to chuckle, but with a rueful tinge. It was music that might be played in a city under siege, the enemy outside the gates, the end a matter of days, the carousers determined to seize a moment of joy before the horror to come. The goat-legged creature was practically bouncing atop his rock now, arms and head swinging with the music. The fays began to dance in the air, dashing wildly about the glade, pairing off and flying around in intricate arcs, a gay pavane. Sidney was smiling now, her heart in her throat, completely captivated; she found her own feet tapping, her fingers moving.

  Jasper was flying too, trying somehow to dance with the fays, his light a deeper green than theirs, but not dissimilar. He was slower, clumsier than they, but they took his participation good-naturedly, clustering about him and guiding him into the pattern of the dance.

  And the music changed again. It was desperately exuberant, desperately fast. It spoke of life and death, the wild hunt, Dionysian frenzy. Enthralled by the sound, Sidney found herself on her feet, dancing too. Her motions were hesitant at first, but rapidly grew surer. The others were dancing also, joy and exuberance on their faces, dancing across the glade. They would pair for a moment, dance off again. Others were present, too; young deer leaping about, owls flitting through the air amid flying squirrels. Even the very grasses seemed to move, as if they, too, felt the music's enchantment.

  The dance went on and on; one song seemed to begin where the last one left off. At times, the music slowed, the dance became a somber minuet; at times it rose again to a frenzy, Sidney bounding about, practically flying through the air, in surefooted motions like none she had ever performed before. At times only one instrument spoke, or one of the players would sing, in a peculiar language she did not know. When the music became fastest and most frenzied, invariably all three musicians played.

  Sidney began to tire. And still she danced. She could feel the fatigue of her limbs, but it didn't seem to matter. She danced on and on, until her legs seemed something alien, outside her body, whirling away there below her. When the music slowed, and the dance with it, they would tremble a bit; but as the pace quickened, they would quicken too, dancing unrelentingly.

  When she would chance to dance a few steps with one of her companions, his face would hold the same bright fierceness, the same exuberance she felt; but as time passed, she began to recognize the symptoms of fatigue. Their eyes seemed to sink into their sockets, black circles growing outward from them. Their faces became gaunt and shrunken, but still they danced on ... and on ... and on ...

  Frer Mortise didn't hear the music. But he was attuned to the magic of the woods, and as the spell began to take hold, he turned in his sleep, bothered by the flow of energy, until he, too, awoke.

  Silver light shone from the glade.

  He leapt to his feet and ran toward it, halting just outside the ring. For that was what it was, he now saw: a faerie ring, a place of power. Most suc
h were marked out by standing stones, or toadstools; he would have recognized it before, if it had been so indicated. He heard no music, but he saw the dance, the flitting fays, the mindless, ecstatic faces of his friends.

  He saw the players, there within 'the ring; the goatlegged man he recognized as an aspect of the god Fithold. The others he could not identify.

  "Sidney!" he shouted. "Timaeus!" And he called the others, too, but none of them so much as glanced his way.

  Should he enter the ring, and bodily draw them forth? No, he thought; he would simply be enraptured by the spell, as they had been. He mumbled prayers—then, struck with inspiration, fetched his sickle and felled a sapling. Holding one end, he extended the other into the ring, in the hope that the dancers would stumble against it, come to their senses, that the spell would be broken ...