Dragon Rigger

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  And yet with all these places to visit, he knew that the place he had to start was right here in his own cavern. There were two more underrealm windows that he had not yet explored.

  He stretched, unkinking his neck. He let a breath of steam rise toward the ceiling, then blew a flame into it, warming the cavern. Finally he sank back into the underrealm and smelled about for spies or intruders. Satisfied that he was alone, he considered his next action.

  Of the two windows, he was tempted by the one that smelled of woodland and salt sea. But something seemed to tell him that it was not yet time to look that way; there was something he needed to see first. He felt himself drawn toward the window of glowering underground fire. He didn't know why. But he sensed that someone, or something, was calling him from that dark place.

  He smelled the sulfur, even before his kuutekka was fully formed in the window. Stretching his thought out through the weave of the underweb, he found himself entering what seemed a labyrinth of underground pathways, a maze that seemed to increase in complexity as his thought ranged out, trying to find an underlying pattern. It was a place of darkness, and somewhere in the distance, a place of fire. He smelled danger. It made him think of the Enemy, but he did not think that this place was a creation of the Enemy. Perhaps, he thought, it was a natural feature of the underrealm that now bore the mark of the Enemy's passage and use.

  Windrush felt more than a little anxious as he probed down one pathway, then another. Would there be drahls? Would he find Tar-skel, waiting to draw him in to his death? He fought to clear his thoughts of such questions, to keep from radiating his apprehension like a beacon through the underrealm. He wished he knew what he was looking for, or which direction to look.

  After a time, he returned in discouragement to a point near where he had entered, and he rested in silence awhile, listening. Eventually he heard sounds he had not noticed before, sounds such as might be heard deep in the earth, traveling from great distances. He heard groans, as of stone rubbing ponderously against stone. He heard trickles of running water. He heard voices, so soft that he could not even distinguish whether they were dragon voices or something else. He heard footsteps, tiny running footsteps and slower walking footsteps. They might have been the steps of innocent sweepers underground, or of the Enemy's heaviest servants; the distance so confounded his hearing that it was impossible to tell. None of them seemed to be drawing near. He sensed distant threads being drawn through the underrealm, and knew that somewhere magic spells were being crafted. By friend? By foe? It could be either. It could be both.

  After a time he began to grow restless, but something in the back of his mind told him to remain still and be patient. And so he remained, listening to the sounds as they came and went. All were almost impossibly faint, and it was only through his utter silence that he was able to hear them at all.

  In time he heard a new sound, a voice that he recognized as distinctly dragon. Windrush. He remained still, listening. A trap? Or a friend? Windrush. He tensed, but again held his silence.

  He felt a sudden stirring of air around him, and detected a sharp new breath of sulfur. The voice, the third time, was louder—Windrush!—and he recognized it with a gasp of relief.

  Here, he whispered at last. Where are you, FullSky? He strained to distinguish from which of the various passages the voice was coming.

  Follow that one, FullSky whispered, when his gaze brushed a twisting pathway from which the faintest red fire seemed to glimmer. Move carefully, and keep a guard about you.

  Mindful of the enemy presence that had intruded upon his previous encounter with FullSky, Windrush moved silently down the passageway, his kuutekka stalking like a cat along the cold wall of the passage. The passage turned and twisted, and descended. It descended a very long way, it seemed, and Windrush paused twice to peer back uneasily in the direction he had come, listening carefully. The only thing he heard was, twice, FullSky's whispering voice urging him on.

  He lost track of time, moving like a spirit-being through the meandering passageway, lost track of the turns, and of the distance he had descended. He was startled to realize that the faint reddish illumination had grown brighter, to become a dull, ever-present glow suffusing the air before him. It seemed angry, threatening. Beneath the smell of sulfur and smoke, there was an undersmell that made him hesitate, made him want to turn and flee. It was the smell of the Enemy. He hesitated.

  Just a little farther. Please. I cannot help you if you don't come the rest of the way. It was FullSky's voice, quiet, urgent.

  Windrush took a slow breath. He floated forward and rounded one last bend in the path. His breath escaped in a gasp. He had expected to be surprised, and even frightened—but he had never dreamed of the sight that faced him now. The passageway opened into a great cavern. The floor of the cavern was split by a tremendous, gaping fissure that glowed and flickered as though from a deep subterranean fire. The air seemed to rise in shimmering waves.

  Windrush, I need your help.

  Startled, the dragon lifted his gaze to peer through the shimmer of the air, to the far side of the crevasse. There he saw FullSky's kuutekka, wavering almost as dizzyingly as the air. He looked only half solid, and yet his presence was terrifyingly real. It was his familiar, almost-glass face, with dark hollows where his eyes should have been. It was a haunted-looking face, a face that seemed almost beyond pain. It seemed that FullSky's kuutekka emerged from an opening in the cavern wall. Windrush could only glimpse his brother's hindquarters and tail, but it appeared that he was being crushed under a heavy slab of stone. Did his kuutekka reflect his condition in the outer world? The dark emptiness of his eyes seemed to be focused directly upon Windrush's, but the waves of heat made them appear to dance and veer.

  FullSky, Windrush whispered, what is this place? What are you doing here?

  His brother's great, glassy head swung back and forth, as if he were struggling to get a clear line of sight—or as if he were ducking from something. Windrush caught sight of a tendril of fire whipping around FullSky, lashing him as he moved. Windrush crouched instinctively, making his kuutekka ready to spring. But which direction? He couldn't tell if the whipping fire was holding FullSky where he was, or punishing him. After a moment, it seemed to burn itself out, leaving the younger dragon gasping in pain. Please help me! FullSky whispered. I am trapped here!

  Windrush hissed into the dancing air. Though that thing of fire was gone, he felt danger jangling all around him. There was powerful sorcery at work here, without question. A sorcery of Tar-skel? How could he hope to fight that? How can I help you? he hissed, voicing the doubts that swirled in his thoughts. Where are we? What am I seeing?

  The air steadied for an instant, and he saw clearly the pain etched into FullSky's face. Dark Vale! FullSky gasped. The Enemy's dungeons. A Watcher holds me. If you could—defeat it—I might yet—!

  Before he could finish, an arm of fire erupted from an opening in the cavern wall and whipped around his head and neck, blazing bright and choking off his words. This time the fire did not fade, but instead grew, until Windrush realized that he was looking at an entire living being—a creature of fire—one moment a single, flowing serpentine shape coiling about the dragon's head, and the next a lacing of fiery strands, each one sprouting a head, and biting and lashing at FullSky's kuutekka.

  Instinctively, Windrush shrank into a defensive posture. What was this thing? The Watcher? The name fire-drahl sprang into Windrush's mind; he had a sudden vision of a natural being of the underrealm, altered and twisted by the Enemy. If it wasn't aware of Windrush yet, it would be soon. It was clearly punishing FullSky; it was enraged, driving him back toward the cavern wall, back from the crevasse, and back from Windrush.

  Help me! came FullSky's almost silent cry.

  Windrush drew a difficult breath. What could he possibly do? FullSky's skills were far greater here than his own. He felt fire building at the back of his throat, but he had never felt so helpless. What powers could he co
ntrol in the underweb to defeat a thing of fire? He could project an image of fiery breath—but could a being of fire be hurt by fire?

  He groaned with uncertainty as he crouched, separated from his brother and the Enemy's servant by the gulf of subterranean fire. FullSky was struggling, no longer crying out. Was he trying to keep the Watcher from noticing Windrush, so that Windrush could strike? But how? If he made the wrong move, if he misjudged the Watcher's powers . . . Windrush imagined himself like his brother, his kuutekka imprisoned here while his body struggled in vain to bring back its spirit. And if he were imprisoned or destroyed here, how would he be helping dragonkind, or the realm?

  Windrush, please! his brother gasped suddenly, breaking free only for an instant before a new whippet of fire lashed him.

  If it was his brother, and not a trap. Windrush felt a sudden, shuddering doubt. He had been deceived by the Enemy's sorcery before . . .

  Help me! the dragon-kuutekka pleaded. Free me—to act—!

  Windrush rumbled. For his brother, he should risk anything . . .He strained to catch FullSky's gaze through the wavering air, but there was too much heat in the air—or perhaps a sorcery of obscurity. Bringing himself to the brink of the chasm, he drew a weaving in the underrealm with his thoughts, trying to create a transparency in the air. It worked: he felt a change in the underweb as the air turned clear. The other dragon seemed to harden into solidity, and its gaze, glowing out of the dark hollows of its eyes, glowing fiercely across the chasm, linked directly with Windrush's. Windrush felt the sudden rush of the other's thoughts into his, felt his mind spiraling madly into the maze of pain, searching for the heart of the mind, the garkkon-rakh. He found it, found his brother FullSky crying desperately, (Windrush, hurry!)

  Windrush's mind was filled with images caught from FullSky, but there was no time to look at them. The Watcher was rising, turning, expanding toward him, its fire brightening. It had felt the change in the underweb, too, and if it hadn't seen Windrush before, it did now. Its rage crackled in the air, violet-red fire lashing toward its new enemy. Windrush leaped low and hard over the chasm toward FullSky, his kuutekka floating weightless. Fire flashed over his back, and into his vision, blinding him—and more than blinding him.

  Everything seemed to change in that instant. It was as though he had passed into a new level of the underrealm—where he was blinded, and yet he saw, by a kind of ghostly spirit-illumination. The fiery chasm below had come alive with luminous, writhing figures—living spirits crying out from where they were held captive. Windrush was aware, too, of another living spirit—the Watcher, encircling him with great arcing tentacles of blazing power, around and above and another coming up from below. In another heartbeat, it would have him tightly in its grip.

  Instinctively, Windrush dove—downward into the chasm, darting past the arm sweeping upward. He made it past, but as he dodged away, peering in horror at the writhing spirits imprisoned far below, he felt the lash of flames on his back. He fled sideways, and up—and as he sought escape, he heard a wordless, crackling anger that made him shudder. He turned and saw the face of the Watcher, a hole of darkness surrounded by fire; he knew that it was a devouring spirit, and he was the one it meant to devour.

  A snake of fire flashed above him, and he dodged downward again. He was being forced back down into the abyss, toward the other prisoners. He was growing dizzy, and was having trouble controlling his movements. Where was FullSky now? He felt as if his kuutekka were being pulled from its anchor. He must resist! FullSky! he cried. What is it doing? How can I fight it?

  Above him finally he glimpsed the presence of his brother, imprisoned in arms of cold lightning, unable to move—but able to see, to call out. Windrush, change your form! Change!

  What? Change his form? His kuutekka?

  Keep that which is you, Windrush! Guard your garkkon-rakh! Don't let it distract you!

  But how—?

  You must outwit it, you must out-believe it!

  Even as FullSky spoke, Windrush could see the Watcher begin to change its form. It was becoming a great meshwork of fury and fire, coalescing into the shape of a many-headed serpent, lashing its head one way and then another, cutting off Windrush's avenues of escape. Its feet were rising from below, fiery talons glittering. Windrush felt his fear tightening. Keep that which is you . . . what did FullSky mean?

  No time to think. Windrush imagined himself smaller, imagined the shrinking spell that the demon Hodakai had once used on him. He dove away from the Watcher's fire-spitting head, and an image came to him, and without even thinking about it he transformed his kuutekka into a small, fast flyer called a bat. He shot past the whipping head of the Watcher, easily evading it, then swooped back up, high above the fires of the abyss, and circled, warily eyeing the specter that had attempted to trap him. He suddenly realized where the image had come from: it was from his memory of the rigger Jael's thoughts.

  He had just done an astonishing thing, turning his kuutekka into the shape of another being! He had done as a rigger did, changing his form in the underrealm! He did not even know what this animal was, except that he had once seen Jael imagining and taking on the form of one. The Watcher raged and hissed at him as he dodged its flame. Windrush veered left and right, up and down, streaking to the top of the cavern and diving back toward the abyss, evading the Watcher with a great zigzagging swoop. He felt a rush of joy in his success.

  The joy evaporated a moment later. Overhead, the Watcher had turned itself into a huge, fine-meshed net, a living web of flowing silver, with no openings large enough even for a bat to fly through. He fled to one side and along the edge of the flaming chasm, desperately searching for an opening, and finding none. He dropped lower, toward the imprisoned spirits. The net fell after him, dropping closer and closer. Furious with himself, he sped back up to meet the net of the enemy. If he couldn't escape it, he might at least hurt it. Another Jael-image surfaced in his mind: a sleek, silver, water creature with a long, sharpened beak. He became the image, and as he met the net, climbing, he lashed his beak ferociously back and forth, slashing at the mesh.

  Fire exploded around him, and he felt an intense flash of pain. The cavern and the abyss flashed dark and bright, and his vision went black for a terrifying moment, then returned to that strange, ghostly light of battle with the Watcher. He tried to ignore the pain as he fought against the net—until he realized that he was already through it—he had sliced an opening and was careening back toward the ceiling. The pain was gone.

  The danger was not. A great blanket of blackness was swarming upward to meet him. It was not just something black that was stopping light; it was a being that was devouring light, and he could almost feel the coal-red glow of the abyss being swallowed by it.

  He circled warily, watching the creature rise. How could he fight something that destroyed light itself?

  He flitted from side to side, despair rising in his heart. How great was this thing's power? If he changed his form again, the Watcher would do likewise. Didn't it ever tire? He glanced across the cavern and saw his brother FullSky, forgotten by the Watcher, etched in a cold, hollow light, struggling to rise from the place where the Watcher's fire had chained him. Another image sprang into Windrush's mind.

  As the black emptiness rose to meet him, Windrush became a fire-elemental. He felt himself burning into flame, like an iffling, sacrificing all bodily form. He struggled not to panic, not to think: The Watcher is already winning. Then the panic vanished as he felt strength rising in the heat of his flame, like the strength of a dragon who has just eaten of lumenis. This was the strength of pure fire, the strength of hope . . .

  For an instant, he even believed that this was not just his strength alone, but someone else's combined with his. A power reaching to him through the underrealm . . . FullSky's? His father's?

  The thought fled as the blackness rose and engulfed him. The cavern vanished, and his brother with it. His hope vanished, too, and as darkness swarmed around him, he fel
t the bone-biting cold of despair. The heat of his fire was gone. From the numbing silence of the blackness, he heard a harsh laughter, ringing in his consciousness. Then his consciousness began to fade.

  Keep that which is you!

  The memory of FullSky's words brought him back from the abyss of utter, eternal darkness. Keep that which is you. He remembered how, moments ago, he had been burning with blazing fire, the light and heat of his strength, his hope. The blackness had swallowed the fire, made him forget it . . . distracted him . . . but had not quite extinguished it. He reached within, found a flickering spark within the darkness of his soul, and determinedly blew it back to life: a flicker of light, a tiny flame against the devouring darkness.

  Laughter screeched again through his mind, deafening him and filling him with dread. The flame flickered and guttered.

  Do not let it distract you.

  NO. I burn with flame.

  His spark shot up hot and bright against the darkness. He felt it lock in mortal combat with the darkness, the living darkness of the Watcher's malice. If there was to be a victory, it must be a victory of light against dark. Flame against darkness.