by Byron Preiss
“There is proof!” he said. “I have seen the secrets of these lost creatures within the heart of a fabled jewel, the Dragonpearl brought to us by a Minister once accused of acts traitorous to Simbala.”
A faint light drifted into the chamber, and through the small, open passage Ceria and Monarch Ephrion appeared, the former hidden within a gray cloak, the latter dressed in a simple blue robe. All present watched Ephrion and the Rayan approach Hawkwind. The young Monarch stepped back proudly, allowing them free access to the assembly. Monarch Ephrion nodded. As Ceria watched, Ephrion quickly told of his efforts to discover the truth behind the coldrakes, and of Ceria’s heroic mission to find the Dragonpearl. Then he added his voice to Hawkwind’s own, calling for Fandora and Simbala to unite in an invasion of the land to the north. Ceria stepped forward and removed the Dragonpearl from her cloak.
The Simbalese representatives watched in fascination as the orb seemed to glow in the darkness.
“This is sorcery!” Jondalrun whispered. “I will have no part of it!” He looked angrily toward the chamber door.
The Wayman gripped his arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “I have heard of this stone in legends of the Southland. It has nothing to do with sorcery at all.”
Jondalrun grumbled, but remained. Ceria grasped the jewel within her hands. “I will attempt to awaken the pictures within it,” she said. “The Dragonpearl is beyond my control, but I shall try with my thoughts to influence what you are about to see.” She focused on the jewel, and slowly the mist within it started to swirl.
Several gasped as the rainbow clouds within it faded from burning reds and blues into pastel colors. Then these pale shades drained, too, and a gray stone color emerged in the heart of the Dragonpearl. The jewel seemed to grow as the hard angles of cliffs could be glimpsed within it.
Ceria was lost within the dream of the pearl. “This is the land from which the creatures came,” Monarch Ephrion explained. Within the Dragonpearl the cliffs drew nearer, as if seen through the eyes of a coldrake itself. Three pairs of wings streaked through the gray sky within the jewel and disappeared into a cavern. Tamark shuddered as he saw a coldrake lying against a black boulder within the orb, its wing seemingly broken. He thought of the skeleton of the seaworm that had been found at Cape Bage. He had wanted to contribute something to Simbala, to be a part of its history, as his grandfather had been. He had not dreamed that this might be his legacy—to help plan an invasion to a distant land of coldrakes.
What would Lagow say if he were alive? He had so fiercely objected to the dangers of the war; the idea of facing dragons would no doubt have seemed like madness. Or would it? Could any now deny the fact that their children had been killed by these creatures? He had seen the coldrake with his own eyes. He watched Jondalrun as the elder saw the picture within the Dragonpearl. Its mists were swirling again and the scene faded. Tamark looked at Ephrion. The white-haired elder had obviously known many dangers in his life, but had any been so far beyond their dreams?
The young woman who held the jewel now opened her eyes, and Tamark turned his head as Hawkwind rushed to her side.
Ephrion faced the four Fandorans. “Our armies shall venture north whether yours do so or not,” he said firmly, “but if you care for the safety of your children, then you must join us.”
Tamark breathed deeply. These words would not rest with Jondalrun. As expected, the elder of Tamberly Town stepped forward angrily. “Dare not tell us how to protect our children!” he cried. “It is for their good that we fought this war!”
The hall was alive with voices then, accusing Jondalrun of ignorance and disrespect. Ephrion observed the Fandoran elder. He remembered Amsel’s tale of how Jondalrun had charged him with being a spy; it would do little good to mention the inventor now; he would have to mollify Jondalrun to win his support.
“You are correct,” Ephrion said softly, to the astonishment of the Family and Jondalrun himself. “We have no right to tell you how to protect your own people. You have journeyed far in defense of your land; do what you feel is best.” He watched Jondalrun’s reaction to these words. The Fandoran had been looking for a fight; now he knew not what to say.
“Father,” whispered Dayon, “we must join them! It is obvious that the coldrakes attacked Johan! I do not wish to set forth on another invasion, but if what the jewel shows is correct, then we will be able to defeat them!”
Jondalrun looked at his son. They had come seeking justice for Johan’s murder. That had not changed. He did not understand the sorcerous jewel with the pictures of the coldrakes within it, but the challenge it revealed was clear. The coldrakes were desperate creatures, but large as they were, they were few in number and could be defeated by a large army.
Jondalrun glanced at the Simbalese who filled the hall. They had conspired to murder his men, to drive them back with windships to the strait. Yet now they wished to join forces with Fandora. He did not understand these people or their country, with its city of trees and its women as warriors, but he could not return to Fandora while he knew in his heart that it was still in danger.
There was one final battle they would face, one final journey to put his memory of Johan at peace. The children of Fandora would not be threatened.
Jondalrun looked determinedly at Hawkwind and Ephrion. “We shall go north together,” he said. Then he looked back at Dayon with fatherly affection.
* * *
An hour later, when the room had been cleared of all but the most important officials of Simbala and the four Fandoran Elders, preparations were made for the journey north.
Prince Kiorte’s anger and resentment toward Hawkwind had not diminished, and though he was a willing partner to the mission, he remained aloof. His assignment needed little explanation. Under Kiorte’s supervision, the Brothers of the Wind would transport both the Fandorans and the Simbalese soldiers from the Kameran Hills and Overwood to the shore west of the Northweald, where the Simbalese merchant fleet was harbored. Working with him would be Tamark and the Wayman, who would ensure the cooperation of the Fandoran troops. It would not be an easy task to get the men into windships, Tamark knew, but it would be done. Hopefully other Elders, such as Pennel and young Tenniel of Borgen Town, would be able to help with the task.
Baron Tolchin and Baroness Alora were charged with supervising the requisition of supplies and food from the merchants and traders of Overwood. Provisions for two armies would be needed. Although the war had severely depleted most, Alora was confident that they would be able to get everything that was needed. Support for the defense of the forest against the dragons ran high but many criticized the use of Simbalese troops in tandem with the Fandorans. Nonetheless, it was quite clear to those who had seen the coldrakes that as many men and women as were available would be needed for Hawkwind’s plan.
Among the supplies requested by Hawkwind were oil and yithe rope in unusually large quantities. The oil was discovered in drums behind the stables and in the tunnels of the palace, but the search for the rope continued until a tentmaker from the northern woods made known his supply for sale. Two thousand tookahs later, windships took the cargo to the shore.
* * *
Jondalrun and Dayon would be responsible for the direction of the Fandoran troops once they had arrived in the north. General Vora and Hawkwind would supervise the movement of the Simbalese army, with captains and members of the merchant fleet.
Monarch Ephrion, cheered by the return of Hawkwind and Ceria, but still concerned over Amsel’s disappearance, would continue to run the affairs of the forest in Hawkwind’s absence.
* * *
Hours later, Hawkwind, Ceria, Jondalrun, Dayon, and a small crew flew north, high above Overwood, in a windship from the palace. Jondalrun stood defiantly in the bow of the windship, disguising his fear of the flight with an expression of anger.
Hawkwind approached him. “You do not seem to be enjoying the ride,” he said softly.
Jondalrun grimaced. “I will not find plea
sure in anything until my men have returned safely to Fandora!”
“You seem to fear this windship more than the dragons, Jondalrun!”
The Fandoran folded his arms over his chest. “I am not afraid!” he said. “I worry for my men!” He turned his back to Hawkwind and glanced out at the cloudless blue sky.
To his chagrin, Hawkwind did not leave the helm. Jondalrun looked down at his arm in irritation. He noticed the bracelet of pods that had so long ago been wrapped around his wrist on the advice of the witch woman of Alakan Fen. “I have no need for this,” he muttered. “I was a fool to wear it at all.”
“What is it?” asked Hawkwind.
Jondalrun looked at him angrily for a moment and then answered, “A wristlet. It was suggested as a way to defeat you.” He tore it off and regarded it with disapproval. “It is worthless.” He started to throw it over the side of the windship, but Hawkwind stopped him.
“Unhand me!” Jondalrun shouted. The young Monarch pulled the wristlet from the Elder’s hand. “A moment,” Hawkwind said, and he motioned for Ceria to join them. Her red cape rippled gently in the wind as she approached.
“What does this mean to you?” asked Hawkwind. He handed the wristlet to the young woman.
“It is nothing!” protested Jondalrun.
Ceria took the bracelet in hand nonetheless, setting the pouch with the Dragonpearl on the seat behind her. Then she rolled the seed pods of the bracelet in her hand.
“A witch woman said they would protect us against the enemy we did not suspect,” Jondalrun said. “Obviously, they did not. Your soldiers murdered many who wore them.”
Ceria raised the bracelet slowly to her nose and sniffed the seed pods. “It is a bane,” she said quickly, and then sneezed. She took a breath of fresh air and continued, “It is an extremely potent bane, such as that used to ward off bats or—”
“A bane?” Hawkwind stared at Jondalrun. “A woman told you the pods would protect you against an unexpected enemy? We were not your only adversary, Jondalrun.”
Jondalrun squinted in disbelief. “The dragons?”
“The coldrakes!” exclaimed Ceria. “Perhaps the pods affect the coldrakes!”
Hawkwind took the wristlet into his hand again. “Dragonbane,” he whispered. “That would explain why suddenly the creature avoided you in battle. Do many of your men wear these wristlets, Jondalrun?”
The Elder nodded.
Hawkwind handed the bracelet back to him. “If my precautions prove insufficient,” he cautioned, “we may have use for them.”
* * *
The coldrakes followed the Darkling south, a black wave against the cloudy sky. As they neared the northern sea, the giant creature dropped swiftly toward an icy cliff, the crimson light of the fading sun trapped within it. They would rest here, then start the final journey to the land of the humans.
The Darkling swooped into the mouth of the caves that riddled the cliff, the other coldrakes behind him, shrieking in hunger and desperation.
They flew together through the abandoned tunnels, but as they did, there suddenly came a squeal of terror from those deepest within the cavern. In the darkness they spied a trail of gigantic bones stretching across the cavern floor. They formed the frame of a dragon.
The coldrakes wanted to take to the air again. Frightened by what they had seen, many turned in fear to leave the caves. But the Darkling reassured them. The bones were not to be feared, he told them; indeed, they were proof, like the creature frozen within the cliff, that the dragons had perished, and that the edict keeping the coldrakes from the south need no longer be obeyed. Gradually the coldrakes were pacified. They folded their wings in respose and slept before the flight southward.
The Darkling flew to the mouth of the cavern and perched itself on the icy stone. The land was quiet, save for the dull booming of icebergs dropping from the cliffs to the waters below, and the wind. The Darkling brooded. They would have to strike swiftly; the humans were too dangerous to be allowed to attack. He and his brood would sweep over the land, destroying the murdering creatures. He listened to the coldrakes, the dissonant sounds of their breath echoing in the cavern, and he knew they would triumph.
Their time had come; there were no dragons to stop them. The Darkling spread his wings and felt the rage he had held back for so long rush within him.
Soon they would be free of the cold at last.
XXXIV
By the morning, the flotilla was ready for departure. Ancient maps and charts were the main reference for the voyage, as shipping craft rarely journeyed into the northernmost reaches of Dragonsea. There were many reasons for this: seaworms, though rarely seen, were known to inhabit the waters, and the winds themselves were fierce and unyielding.
As a precaution, Hawkwind had ordered only the largest ships of the Simbalese merchant fleet to be used for the journey.
The transfer of troops from the Kameran Hills had not gone smoothly. Many of the Fandorans were frightened by the airborne journey; others were full of braggadocio, overeager to prove their courage to Vora’s men. It took all the resources of Tamark, Pennel, the Wayman, and other Fandorans to control them. The Brothers of the Wind, in return, had little respect for the ill-mannered, ill-spoken farmers and fishermen, whom they tolerated only out of respect for the mission at hand.
Through Kiorte’s efforts, the convoys of windships were kept as segregated as possible—the Fandorans in the smaller windships, the Simbalese army in the larger. Additional ships, taking soldiers from Overwood to their contingents on shore, departed from the heart of the forest.
With the high number of men and women transported, it was not difficult for Willen and a handful of other Wealdsmen to slip undetected into a ship of Fandoran men. If he were to rescue Tweel, and at last discover the reason for Kia’s murder, Willen knew he would have to find a way to get aboard the flotilla for the trip north. He was determined to be present when the Simbalese faced the coldrakes.
When the last of the Simbalese and Fandoran contingents had been shuttled north, Prince Kiorte returned to escort Elder Tamark of Fandora to Hawkwind’s ship. He admired the fisherman’s perseverance and authority. Although weary and advanced in years, Tamark had directed the two large ships of wounded Fandoran soldiers back across the strait.
Upon those ships rode Tenniel and the Wayman, who had been assigned the task of maintaining calm among the frightened and wounded men. Herbs of a Simbalese physician had broken Tenniel’s fever, and he was actively engaged in the concerns of the voyage. For a moment the young Elder’s patriotism burst forth, and he wondered whether it would be possible to turn the craft north, to join the main flotilla of Simbalese ships. Then, spying the resolute face of the Wayman, he quickly came to his senses again.
The war had not been what he had expected; nor had his own fate. He looked toward Fandora. They had sought to protect it. Now he would return, to bring the tragic news of the casualties to Borgen Town, and to inform the people of Jondalrun’s commitment to the mission north.
On the deck of the returning ship stood Steph and Jurgan, both recovered from their wounds.
“It’s all confusing to me,” said Jurgan. “First we’re fighting them then we’re helping them!”
“I like it better this way,” Steph smiled, “and I’m looking forward to seeing Cape Bage again.”
* * *
With the arrival of Elder Tamark and General Vora aboard Hawkwind’s ship, the fleet slowly raised anchor. It had been decided that two ships would be at the head of the armada—the first containing Hawkwind, Vora, Ceria, Jondalrun, Dayon, and Tamark, and the second with experienced members of the merchant fleet. In the event of an attack, they would break the flotilla into two smaller groups for protection.
A loud burst from a cornet signified the formal departure of the fleet from Simbala’s shore. Many cheered; Fandorans peered anxiously from smaller ships at the head ship to see Jondalrun and Dayon conferring with the Simbalese. Many were still baffled—o
nly days ago they had been at war.
More than the concern about the Simbalese sorcery was the talk about the coldrakes. Word of the wristlets had spread quickly through Vora’s army, and Fandorans found themselves suddenly befriended by soldiers who had fought against them in the hills.
Kiorte watched the armada depart from his windship. He was uneasy at the thought of a confrontation between the coldrakes and the armada, but he knew of no alternative. From what they had seen of the creatures, Simbala had to be protected.
He adjusted the sails on his craft. He would make sure that the Brothers of the Wind were prepared in the event of any sudden return of coldrakes to the forest.
He tacked south, thinking once again of Thalen.
XXXV
It was evening upon Dragonsea. The fleet, over twenty ships of merchant class, sailed in a V-like formation through the cradling waves. Below the mainmast of the flagship, in a small cabin, a meeting of General Vora, Elder Jondalrun, Elder Tamark, Dayon, and two chief navigators from the Simbalese merchant fleet was taking place.
In Vora’s hand was a simple map drawn by Monarch Ephrion. It described the unknown terrain to the north, based on what he had learned from the legends, and it confirmed much of what had been written on other, more recent charts and maps. According to legend, a wide river bordered by cliffs and mountains flowed south into Dragonsea. Under orders from Hawkwind, the Simbalese navigators planned to find the river and use it to reach the land of the coldrakes.
“The quicker we find it, the sooner my men can return home,” said Jondalrun.
Vora frowned. “You must be patient! We cannot forge ahead blindly! There may be creatures lying in wait.”
