“Really… you have a Soul Guardian?” Kirin said with a genuinely pleased tone. “What, like the old, or is she…?”
“She will be an Oracle if she survives the quickening.” Tor took in a long breath and gazed along the track, distracted. “Our first for five hundred years.”
“Yes, if you don’t count that Eiras witch – and look what happened to her,” Cal said.
A grunt came from deep inside Tor’s throat; the dragon did not think much of Cal’s comment. “She is not Eiras. She is pure Gan, linked to my son, Ulrekan – or Rek, as she calls him. Which annoys me no end. Rek… ha, it’s a girl’s name.”
Kirin’thar grinned. “To be fair, Tor, it does not sound like a girl’s name.”
Tor huffed. “It is in dragon tongue.”
“Fair enough,” Kirin’thar said, trying to hold back a chuckle. “So, how am I… uh… what reason should I give? What do I tell the Cinné’arth to make him come to you?”
“No, no, no, he can’t come to me!” Tor said. “He must first go to Brea. He’s cursed; the Kin is no longer under his control. For us to meet, Brea must first treat him so the Rage of Arenthenia does not come to the fore.”
Kirin grumbled a little at the thought of “persuading” a Cinné’arth – a real Cinné’arth – to do anything they did not want to do. “I won’t pretend to like the idea, but I’ll do my part the best I am able. You can be sure of that.”
“Good,” Tor said. “We will speak some more of happier times. Then, come daylight, I will sleep, then fly back tomorrow, before he comes to you. This effort has been harder than I expected. I won’t make it back if I leave now.”
“You must stay a little while, at least. It has been a long time since your last visit. Most of our people have not seen a dragon. We shall make food and talk. I doubt many will be sleeping tonight anyway.” Kirin bowed.
The three reached the outskirts of the village. Kirin asked Tor to wait in a small clearing by the well while he had food prepared for him. Tor agreed, then lay down at the edge of the clearing…
* * *
Tor closed his eyes and thought of the night, remembering his journey and what had brought him to this point. A soothing sense of relief came over him – a feeling that he was no longer the lone carrier of this burden. He knew he was not scared, at least not in the run-away-and-hide sense of the word. Nevertheless, he had feared for the future, both for his kin and the humans. A fear now eased with the knowledge help was at hand.
Still much to do. But at least it has started. No more waiting and wondering.
* * *
Kirin’thar and Cal walked the rest of the way into the village, talking.
“You know there are those in the council that won’t agree with this action,” Cal said.
“Yes, I am aware of it, and they are fools. Fools for thinking we can hide in the trees while the Kel’madden roll over Aleras and Ealdihain. Fools for thinking the witch will stop there, and fools for believing the troubles of others are no business of ours.” He shook his head and kicked at the ground beneath his feet. “They forget the old war and what it was like before the Enlightenment. Every man calling himself king of his own backyard. We must stay together. We must join with the Surabhan. And yes, even the Salrians, if that’s what it takes.” Kirin slowed to a stroll and looked aimlessly to the heavens. “Maybe better lessons can be learned this time around, and peace will win once and for all!”
A large group of excited Cren were waiting back at the village, all clambering around the edge of the waterfall, waiting to hear what was happening.
A small girl broke from her mother’s grip and ran to Kirin’thar. “Can we go see?” she said.
Kirin laughed. “He’s exhausted, and you’ll have to behave, but yes. We will all go to the clearing and have some food.”
“Why did he hit a tree?” asked another child, laughing.
Kirin avoided answering directly. “He’s come a long way and was tired.”
“Maybe he should look where he’s going,” the little girl at his feet said.
Kirin ruffled her hair, then quickly turned to his wife – who was waiting on the steps of their hut. “Can we get some food organised? Maybe you can see the butcher. Half a pig should do it.”
Lorieanna nodded and scooted off in the direction of the butchers.
* * *
Twenty minutes had passed, and Tor was still lying on his side along the edge of the clearing. He was awake, but barely. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and slowly opened his eyes. There, before him, stood a line of Cren of all shapes and sizes, some with smiles on their faces, some agape with awe. Tor looked down the line from left to right and did his best to look like he was smiling. About twenty stood staring at him; they all looked stunned. Tor rolled onto his back and blew a plume of bright blue flame thirty feet into the air. He spun quickly onto all fours and looked fiercely at the assembled Cren, especially the children. They all backed off, gasping. Tor laughed, and after a nervous few moments the Cren joined in.
Tor was happy to be in the company of so many friends. For years, he had seen only the same few dragons, and maybe the odd villager, and the occasional visit from Kirin’thar. This is good, he thought. The Cren were friendly souls and mighty interested in him. Even the children were fearless, never having heard an evil tale about a dragon. In their eyes, Tor was an exciting, wondrous thing. This is how it should be. It has been so long.
After around an hour, Cal returned to the group. He bowed to Tor and beckoned Kirin with a nod.
“I’ve got some men together,” Cal said. “We will leave first thing in the morning. These travellers should be easy enough to find, but I’d like to observe them in the daylight first, make sure all is well. Its six hours: if all goes well, we should be back by late evening tomorrow.”
“Very good,” Kirin said.
Cal nodded but did not look happy about the plan.
“You’re not one of those who think we should stay out of this, are you, my friend?” Kirin’thar asked him.
“Sir, my personal views are my own. I will do my duty.”
Kirin threw away the dregs in his mug and squared up to Cal. “That’s not what I asked you. Answer my question.”
“Sir, I do not know enough to have a strong opinion one way or another.”
“And you think I don’t either. Is that the problem? Do you believe that this is all a bit rushed and maybe we should sit at council and debate a while?” Kirin waited for a response. “Well… is that what you think?” he insisted.
Cal stood firm against the accusation. Looking sternly away from Kirin’s gaze, he answered, “I think we have a council for a reason, sir. This is clearly a matter for them. No, I do not believe we should stand by and wait while the witch attacks Aleras. But there are eighty thousand Cren, and while you are our leader, you are not a dictator.”
Kirin nodded his head and bit his lip. “Will you do as I asked to the best of your ability?”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Cal said.
“Then go and do it. Leave the politics to me.”
Kirin’thar turned and re-joined the party; he gave Tor a nod as if to say all was well.
If these two are arguing, Tor thought, then what chance the council agreeing to fight the witch?
Cal hastily about-faced and stomped off along the track.
The three Cren that had come with him stared at one another for a moment and then marched off after him.
Back at the party, they had built a fire. The children were laughing, pretending to be dragons.
Kirin stood by Tor.
“Is there a problem, my friend?” Tor asked. He did not say that he had overheard their conversation.
“No, no. Nothing for you to worry about. The Cinné’arth will be sent to you, one way or another.”
CHAPTER 32
Elspeth’s Wish
The morning sun laid long shadows across the hollow. Despite the unblemished blue sky, the camps
ite remained in complete shade. A chill in the air contradicted the heat of late, enough for Elspeth to pull her blanket tightly up to her chin. She lay on her side, eyes half open, staring at her brother. How long had she been lying there, watching? It seemed time had run by faster than the tributary she could hear splashing down the waterfall a mile from the hollow. For two copper, she would swear she had been in bed for less than an hour. And yet, the dawn belied her senses.
The Black! Gods, how could I not know my own brother is possessed?
No, she had known. The first night in Illeas’den, she had been convinced Ealian was sick – maybe not this sick – but she knew something was amiss. But she had let him persuade her all was well, that it had just been “a strange few days.” How could she have been so careless?
Again, she tried to image what the… thing… inside Ealian was doing to him. She had seen it, back in the Ambieth, but that was just an oily liquid, and no more than a spoonful at that. What had that liquid changed into? For that matter, how had it changed Ealian? And would they – she – ever get her brother back?
And her parents! Gods, how was she going to explain this to her parents?
She watched surreptitiously as Olam rose.
Elspeth doubted if he had slept much, either; the man had tossed and turned all night. Why did he feel so bad? It was not Olam’s fault Ealian was sick.
Or was it…?
He knew about the Black and did not warn them. He attacked the Salrians with that apple bomb thing that Grady mentioned. In fact, it seemed as if they had done nothing but follow the man from one disaster to another.
No, that’s not fair. You just want someone to blame. Olam didn’t shoot the bloody arrow. And look at him – he’s at his wits end.
No, it wasn’t Olam’s fault. But she still could not forgive him for not telling her sooner.
He had been right, though; Elspeth knew that now. If Olam had told her sooner, she would have turned around in the marsh and taken Ealian straight back home; which would likely have meant the end for him. No, she could not forgive him, but she could understand why he had said those things.
Olam flung his blankets to the side and stumbled, still crouching, the few feet to where Ealian lay. Elspeth already knew her brother wasn’t sleeping. She had watched for an hour as he stared into nothingness, his dry eyes clouded and fearful. His breath was shallow, although he would drag a harsh gulp of air through his ever-open mouth every once in a while. Olam took him by the hand and knelt at his side. Elspeth watched as the old man leaned close to Ealian’s ear and whispered something.
What is he saying?
Wearily, she rolled herself out of her blanket and crept quietly over to her brother. She doubled over upon seeing him up close. Only a few hours had passed since exhaustion forced her to sleep, and yet it was clear, even in that short time, Ealian had taken for the worse. His skin shone with a clammy, grey hue. Matted sweat covered his forehead. His eyes were black, sunken holes, and his face was gaunt; the skin looked thin as if stretched over his skull. It had only been one night; what had happened to him?
Elspeth swayed until steadying herself against Olam’s shoulder. Sickened by her feeling of helplessness, she began to moan. “What are we to do?” she asked. Her words brought forth a stuttering cry as if they were as much a plea to the gods as a question for Olam. “Look at him!”
Olam took Elspeth by the shoulder, steadying her. “Do not lose hope, child. He is fighting. We have some time.”
Olam’s words rang false in her ears. The truth was plain enough to see, even to her untrained eye – Ealian was dying.
A fierce, self-preserving sense of anger flushed through Elspeth’s veins. She was not going to sit idly by while her brother died. Standing, she moved swiftly to where Grady was sleeping. “Get up!” she growled, kicking him in the leg.
“Wh – what’s happened?” Grady sat up. Blinking, he scanned around the camp, doubtless looking for the cause of this rude awakening. His shoulders slumped when he saw Ealian. His face said he remembered the promise he had made to Elspeth.
“Grady! Quickly, please! My brother doesn’t have long. We must go to town and fetch the medicine Olam spoke of.” She picked up Grady’s pack and thrust it into his arms.
“I know, Elspeth. Calm down.”
“Calm was yesterday!” Elspeth said. Blinkered determination raged in her chest. They were going if she had to drag him out of the camp.
Elspeth gathered her belongings while Grady made his way over to Olam.
“Oh no, I’ve seen healthier-looking dead men,” Grady whispered, doubtless not expecting Elspeth to hear. “Are these… medicines going to work?’
“What!” Elspeth screeched. “No, Grady, you do not just give up on him. We are going.” She threw her half-folded blanket to the ground. “No excuses; you promised.” She grabbed one of the waterskins and shoved it at Grady’s chest. They were going to the town. No matter what he said, they were going.
Grady bowed. “I’m sorry, Elspeth. I just…” Elspeth stood, fists on hips, staring at him. “Never mind, give me two minutes.”
“Going where?” A shout came from the south, beyond the rim of the hollow.
Elspeth’s heart jumped in her chest. She dropped her pack and ran to where the sound had come from.
Daric and Gialyn were strolling towards the hollow.
Finally, the seal broke on her tears. Her face heated and her legs quivered as she ran to Daric. “Thank the gods you are safe. Thank the gods.”
“Elspeth, what is wrong? What has happened?”
Daric must have thought the worst. His eyes said so.
“It’s Ealian.” She was hugging Gialyn by now. “I… I’d tell you but… Ask Olam. Grady and I are off to town to find medicine.”
They continued walking while she spoke.
Grady was pulling his pack over his shoulder when they descended into the hollow. “I’d love to tell you,” Grady said in answer to Daric’s quizzical gaze. “It has been a night for tales, that’s for sure. But Elspeth’s right, there’s no time. Olam will get you up to date.” Grady put a hand on his heart. “It’s good to see you well,” he said.
“It is good to see you,” Elspeth said, “both of you.”
* * *
Daric found the hollow held more questions…
The first: what were the Salrians doing there? However, so hurried was the chaos that, before a minute’s end, he found himself saying goodbye to Elspeth and Grady.
Olam explained everything: what happened with Arfael, Ealian’s fever, the scroll and Elspeth’s quest for medicine. Daric had so much to say he found he was unable to say anything. Ealian was their primary concern, that much was obvious. Olam explained about the kharoe ash and liet root. Most notably that he honestly was not sure if they would help the boy.
“Then why did they go?” Daric knew the answer before he finished asking it. “Never mind, forget I asked. But… Be’olyn? They are piling trouble on top of misery by going there.”
“I know,” Olam said. “She needed to do something. Fear feeds on an idle heart.” Olam poured water into his palm and dripped it onto Ealian’s lips. “To be honest, Daric, it is a blessing she will not stand and bear witness. The hurt in her eyes brings forth a pain in my chest greater than I can swallow. I fear a bad end before tomorrow is done, and I do not have the words to tell her.”
Olam tried once again to coax a little water into the boy. Ealian gave no sign of knowing the water was at his lips, and to force it would more than likely choke him. Olam put down the waterskin and sat quietly with his hands together – praying, Daric thought.
Gialyn, tired as he was, came to sit beside his father. “Is there anything we can do?”
“No, child. We must wait and hope,” Olam said.
Gialyn sighed. “This is not a lesson I wished to learn.”
Sitting with his eyes fixed on Elspeth’s brother, Gialyn appeared close to tears. In truth, he did not look well, either. D
aric patted his knee. “We will do all we can, son. If these herbs do not work, we’ll go and find the Woodsmen.”
Honestly, he did not hold out much hope of finding anyone in that forest, but the thought might keep hope alive in Gialyn’s heart… at least for now.
It did not work. Before Daric could catch him, Gialyn slipped off the rock his was sitting on. He fumbled to keep himself upright but ended up heaped on the ground.
“It is all right, son. Steady yourself.” Daric reached for water. “Sip this slowly and keep your head down. It will pass!”
“Thank you.”
Gialyn forced out the words between breaths. Daric could see the sickness was almost at his throat… and little wonder, after the night he had had. Suddenly, Gialyn sat as still as a statue. His eyes stared forward, and his hand trembled readily near his mouth. He quickly leaned over the log behind him and wretched out the water he had just taken.
“Sorry!”
Daric rubbed his back. “No need for sorry, son.”
Daric sat with Gialyn for five minutes while the colour returned to the boy’s cheeks, rubbing his back and wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a cool, damp cloth. “Come. You should sleep for a while, or at least rest by the fire. It’s been a long night for us all.”
Gialyn curled up by the fire with the blankets tucked tight under his chin.
Daric left him to sleep.
“Do you think the Black has anything to do with this?” he asked Olam as he knelt at Ealian’s feet.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s very sick,” Daric said. “Too sick for an arrow hit that only happened last night. I was wondering if—”
“Yes, yes,” Olam interrupted. He was nodding his head. “I thought the same thing. It is as if his illness has quickened beyond reason. If it is the Black, I do not know why it would do such a thing. It would be killing itself, so to speak.”
“‘Killing itself’?” Daric whispered. He looked down at Ealian. Why would the Black hasten his illness?
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 35
