Doom of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  Skylan cast an angry glare at Wulfe. “Your son is wrong, madam! Farinn is—”

  “Is but a poor gift,” Aylaen said, stepping in front of him. “Seeing your wondrous beauty, lady, we have a gift that we believe you will like much better.”

  Emerenta gave a languorous smile. “Show me this other gift. I will judge.”

  Aylaen removed the pouch from her belt. Opening it, she brought out a box made of seashells and decorated with jewels.

  “This is a gift from the Queen of the Aquins,” Aylaen said. Caressing the box, she added in a softer voice, “She is dead now, which makes her gift very dear to me. I would like you to have it because of Wulfe. Because Skylan and I have grown very fond of him.”

  She smiled at Wulfe, who flushed with pleasure and began digging his toe into the moss.

  Emerenta seemed intrigued by the box. She gestured to an attendant. “Fetch it to me.”

  Several of the brownies took the box from Aylaen and carried it to Emerenta, offering it to her with many bows and giggles. She opened the box, peered inside, sniffed at it, then looked intently at Aylaen.

  “This once held an artifact of powerful magic,” said Emerenta.

  “It did, lady,” Aylaen answered in some confusion.

  Emerenta handed the box to one of her attendants. “I like this gift. You may have the young man.”

  The dryads merrily tore off the daisy chains and Farinn, mortified, slipped over to stand behind Skylan, trying to keep out of sight of the dryads, who were waving at him and blowing him kisses.

  Emerenta turned back to Aylaen. “You brought this artifact and more like it with you. I want to see them. My dear son, Casimir, told me—”

  Wulfe went red in the face. “Stop calling me Casimir! I told you. My name is Wulfe!”

  “But that is such an ugly name, my lovely one,” said Emerenta, running her hand through his curls.

  “I don’t care. I like it,” Wulfe muttered.

  “Whatever my darling boy wants,” said Emerenta with a kiss on the head.

  Wulfe squirmed, embarrassed but pleased.

  Emerenta turned her smile on Aylaen. “Let me see these artifacts.”

  Aylaen glanced at Skylan, who shook his head.

  “I am sorry, Princess, but I do not think that would be wise.”

  “Wise or not, let me remind you, Ugly Ones, that you are in my domain,” Emerenta said, adding airily, “I have only to say the word to summon a legion of imps who will torment you until you do as I require. As I was about to say, my own dear son told me that you relied on his magic to keep these artifacts safely hidden from the Faceless God.”

  “My mother means Aelon,” Wulfe explained. “She says he has no face.”

  “I have heard the god called that before,” said Skylan.

  “It is a cruel god,” said Emerenta. “A god who has killed many of our people. A god who seeks our destruction.”

  “Aelon wants to destroy our people, too,” said Aylaen. “Wulfe was a very great help to me.”

  She opened the pouch again and reached inside.

  “What are you doing?” Skylan whispered. “You can’t show her the spiritbones! What if she steals them?”

  “She won’t. They are made of metal, Skylan,” said Aylaen.

  She took out the spiritbones. The many colored gemstones glittered in the lily lights; the silver and gold work gleamed. The fae folk crept nearer, whispering and murmuring, but keeping their distance.

  Emerenta knelt down to examine them.

  Skylan tensed, ready to snatch them up, not trusting her. Emerenta passed her hand over them, but she was careful not to touch the metal. She studied the spiritbones, one by one, then lifted her lilac eyes to gaze at Aylaen.

  “Each of these bones is a piece of the god and they are a matching set. Did you know that?”

  Aylaen paled and cast a quick glance at Skylan.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “You are not quite the fool I thought,” Emerenta remarked after a moment.

  She turned back to admire the spiritbones.

  “You are missing one of the set. I have seen it. The largest and the most beautiful. A god bone set in a helm of gold adorned with diamonds fashioned like a dragon’s crest.”

  “Where did you see it?” Aylaen asked.

  “In the land of the Stormlords.” Emerenta rose gracefully to her feet. “My son says you want me to take you there. You want to steal it.”

  “Only as a last resort, lady,” said Skylan. “We have heard that the Stormlords plan to give this sacred relic to Aelon’s minion, the Emperor Raegar, who leads a great army against them. The cowards refuse to fight him and they will give him our relic to save their own skins. I am first going to try to reason with them and, if they refuse, then I will do what I must.”

  Emerenta gazed at him a moment, and then burst into wild laughter, like the pealing of silvery bells. All the fae in the arbor joined in her merriment, hooting and roaring, some even falling down and rolling around on the ground.

  “What is so funny?” Skylan asked.

  “You are, Ugly One, though I don’t think you mean to be,” said Emerenta. “The Stormlords … cowards…”

  She laughed again, wiping her eyes, then waved her hand. “Put the god bones away now so that we may enjoy our meal.”

  “Forgive me, lady, but shouldn’t we be traveling to Tsa Kerestra, as you promised?” Skylan asked.

  “We have all night,” said Emerenta carelessly. “Don’t worry. The way is not far. We can be there in the flash of a falling star.”

  “She can travel there that fast,” Skylan said dourly to Aylaen. “She has wings.”

  “Hush,” Aylaen whispered. “We are her guests.”

  She hurriedly picked up the spiritbones, tucked them back inside the pouch and once more tied it to her belt.

  “What was all that about god bones?” he asked under cover of the noise in the arbor. “Why didn’t you tell her she was wrong? They are the bones of the Great Dragon Ilyrion.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” said Aylaen.

  Emerenta ordered her people to serve the feast. The fae folk carried in pitchers filled with honey wine and water, platters of roasted meat, bowls of fruit and nuts, breads and puddings and sweetmeats.

  Emerenta took her place on a throne made of a fallen log covered with moss and peacock feathers and made Wulfe sit beside her. He seemed glad to be with her, though he wriggled when she kissed his cheek, fussed with his hair or tried to feed him.

  She invited Skylan and Aylaen to join them, indicating seats on the soft moss.

  Skylan politely refused, saying they were not hungry.

  “He thinks the food is enchanted,” said Wulfe. “And that if he eats he’ll have to stay here with us.”

  Emerenta laughed her bell-like laughter. “I shouldn’t think the food was enchanted. After all, we steal it from you humans.”

  Wulfe explained that all the food, plus the utensils and crockery, came from the kitchens and larders of the Uglies. As near as Skylan could make out, the fae did no work of any kind except for thieving, which they seemed to consider more of a diverting sport than an occupation. Sitting awkwardly among a crowd of other fae folk, Skylan waited to be served, then realized that no one except Emerenta had an individual plate, and she shared this with Wulfe. The fae around him were eating from large, communal platters being handed around seemingly at random.

  The wine flowed and the meal soon turned riotous. The fae folk sprawled on the moss, danced among the trees or, most disconcerting, pelted one another with fruit. Skylan drank only water, for he needed a clear head for the night’s adventures. He was hungry and did justice to the meal, though he learned he had to be quick about grabbing a choice piece of meat before anyone else could snag it.

  Aylaen politely tasted the wine and ate some fruit and bread, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts. Farinn was clearly too nervous to do more than nibble at his food, especially
as the dryads sat next to him and took great delight in teasing him.

  The meal ended, but Emerenta made no move to leave and Skylan grew nervous. Time was passing. He had hoped to question Emerenta about the Stormlords, what he might expect when he reached the city, how they were to get inside, but the noise in the arbor made conversation impossible.

  The music ended and the laughter gave way to yawns. Skylan was alarmed to see the fae folk settle down to nap, lying in each other’s arms, draped over tree boughs, or simply sprawling among the dishes.

  Wulfe was asleep, his head in his mother’s lap. Emerenta stroked his hair and softly sang a lullaby. The song must have been infectious. Farinn’s eyes closed and he slumped forward. Aylaen blinked drowsily and leaned her head against his shoulder. Skylan didn’t like this strange slumber.

  “We should leave now, lady,” he said.

  Aylaen stirred and sat up. “My husband is right. Either take us to the Stormlords or tell us how to enter the city on our own.”

  “Do you imagine we knock on the front door and beg admittance?” Emerenta asked, amused. “We fae are like the moonbeams or motes of dust. We glide through chinks, slip through cracks, crawl into crevices.”

  Skylan glowered at her. “I am not likely to slip through a crack.”

  “How very droll you are,” said Emerenta. “The Stormlords traveled to this realm, the Realm of Stone, from the land of their birth, the Realm of Fire.”

  “So I have heard,” said Skylan, growing increasingly impatient. “Don’t change the subject. How do we get inside?”

  “Some say the wizards followed us,” Emerenta continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Some say they followed the dragons here and some say they found this realm on their own. Whatever the truth, the Stormlords, like the dragons, must periodically return to the Realm of Fire. The dragons go back to nurture their young and to heal themselves if they suffer wounds. The wizards, being human like you and not born to magic like us, must periodically return to replenish their power. They leave a door open and we can walk through.”

  “A door to where?” Skylan asked, not following.

  Emerenta raised a silvery eyebrow. “For a people who are always in such a hurry, you are very slow. The Realm of Fire, of course. We go from here through that realm and into the city of the Cloud Dwellers.”

  Skylan remembered Dela Eden’s words, Some doors, even the gods fear to open.

  “The Great Dragon Ilyrion came from that realm,” Aylaen said. “Kahg says it is a terrible world, populated by fearsome monsters and cruel men.”

  “It is safe enough for those of us who have magic,” said Emerenta with blithe unconcern.

  Skylan remained silent.

  Emerenta saw his dark expression and laughed her sparkling laughter. “But you do not have magic, do you, Uglies?”

  “This was all a game,” said Aylaen bitterly. “She never meant to take us.”

  Emerenta was smiling slightly, toying idly with Wulfe’s hair, running one of his curls through her fingers as he slept.

  “What do we do now?” Aylaen asked.

  “We find another way,” said Skylan. Reaching down, he touched Farinn by the shoulder. “Wake up. We’re leaving.”

  Farinn gave a start, opened his eyes, and groggily scrambled to his feet.

  “Good-bye, Wulfe,” said Skylan, raising his voice.

  The boy opened his eyes and stared at them in sleepy confusion. “Good-bye,” he mumbled. “Where are we going?”

  Emerenta smoothed back his hair and murmured soothingly, “All is well, my little love. You are staying with me. Your friends are going away.”

  “Going away!” Wulfe repeated, startled. He shoved aside his mother’s hand and jumped to his feet to face Skylan. “Where are you going?”

  “We have to go back to the Venejekar, Wulfe,” said Skylan.

  “You can’t leave!” Wulfe cried. “We are going to see the Cloud Dwellers.”

  Skylan shook his head. “Your mother was making sport of us.”

  Wulfe turned to glare at Emerenta. “You promised me.”

  “You and I were having some fun with the Uglies,” said Emerenta, smiling charmingly and holding out her hands. “Tell them good-bye, Casimir, and come with me—”

  “Don’t me call me that!” the boy shouted angrily, stamping his foot. “My name is Wulfe!”

  He took hold of Skylan’s hand. “I know the way to the Realm of Fire. I’ll show you.”

  “Don’t go! Casi—Wulfe!” Emerenta cried out. “You can’t leave me!”

  “Why not?” Wulfe demanded. “You left me.”

  Emerenta sank back, stung by his words. The fae in the arbor began to wake up, startled by the shouting. They peeped out of the shadows, whispering in scandalized delight. Emerenta rounded on them.

  “Get out!” she ordered and the fae folk fled in haste, rustling among the undergrowth, gliding through the air, crawling among the tree branches. The lights disappeared, as if blown out by a breath, leaving them in starlit darkness.

  “This way,” said Wulfe, tugging on Skylan’s hand. “I’ve never been there, but I think I know—”

  “Wait!” Emerenta called out in harsh tones. “I will take your Uglies to the Stormlords—if that is what they want.”

  “That is what we want,” said Skylan.

  “I did not lie about the danger, Ugly,” Emerenta warned in sulky tones. “We will have to pass through the Realm of Fire and, as your wife says, that world is a terrible world, fraught with perils. Without magic you are defenseless.”

  “Wait here,” Wulfe said.

  Letting go of Skylan’s hand, he ran off into the night. The boy quickly returned, his face twisted in pain, his body shivering so that he nearly dropped what he was holding.

  “Here,” Wulfe said. “You will need these.”

  He handed Skylan and Aylaen their swords.

  CHAPTER

  27

  At the sight of the swords, Emerenta gave a screech of anger and then burst into tears.

  “Go live with your Ugly friends, my son,” she wailed. “You love them better than you love me!”

  Skylan buckled on his sword belt, keeping his eyes on Wulfe. Aylaen cast him a questioning glance and Skylan shook his head, not certain what the boy would do. At first Wulfe pouted, refusing to look at his mother, but the sound of her weeping unnerved him. He ran to her and flung his arms around her.

  “Don’t cry, Mother,” he begged.

  “I won’t, but you must tell the Ugly Ones with the iron to go away and leave us,” Emerenta said tearfully. “I will take you dancing on the moon glade like we did when you were little.”

  “Mother, you promised,” said Wulfe. With a sly glance at Skylan, he added, “You said the Cloud Dweller city was filled with magic. Maybe I could find a gift for Grandmama so she will stop hating me.”

  Emerenta sniffed and then smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “I suppose, after all, the journey might be amusing,” she said with a shrug and a sigh. “Follow me. The way is not far.”

  Skylan didn’t like her sudden capitulation, but all he could do was add this to the growing list of things about this venture he didn’t like. She led them from the arbor. With her wings flashing in a shimmer of silvery light, she floated over the ground, dipping down every so often to delicately touch the grass with her foot, then taking to the air again. A faint glow of faery light clung to the leaves and the branches, glittering and sparkling for a few moments after her passing, then slowly fading away.

  Wulfe ran alongside her, skipping and jumping. Crying out for her to race him, he dropped down on all fours, running like a dog.

  “Stop that!” his mother ordered sharply. “Your grandmama will never love you if you behave like that!”

  Wulfe flushed in shame and stood up straight, and there was no more skipping.

  As they traveled farther from the arbor, the trees bunched around them, the leaves forming a dense canopy overhead. The lambent lig
ht of the stars was gone and they had not thought to bring their lanterns. Emerenta moved rapidly, not inclined to wait for them, leaving them to stumble through the undergrowth and bump into tree trunks until the trees suddenly vanished and they found themselves in a clearing beneath the stars. Emerenta fluttered to a halt, lightly settling to the ground, and catching hold of Wulfe when he would have run on ahead.

  “We are here,” Emerenta said.

  A shaft of moonlight illuminated a rickety old house made of sticks and twigs and branches stuck together seemingly at random. The house had a door, no windows, no chimney, and half a roof. The other half had fallen in. The yard was overgrown with weeds that gave off a faintly noxious odor.

  “Where is here?” Skylan asked, trying to catch his breath.

  “Where you wanted to come, Ugly,” Emerenta said with a tinge of impatience. “The portal to the Realm of Fire.”

  “The portal is in a hut not fit to house goats,” Skylan said, frowning.

  “If you had something important to hide, where would you put it?” Emerenta asked.

  Skylan stood in the shadow of the trees, studying the house and thought of the spiritbone of the Dragon Kahg hanging on a nail, plain and unadorned.

  “The hut reminds me of Owl Mother’s,” Aylaen whispered, tightly clasping his hand.

  Skylan grunted in assent, not particularly reassured. Owl Mother was strange and her house was even stranger. He recalled the first time he had met the old woman who lived in a hut in the woods outside the village.

  At the time, ogres had been threatening his people. He was war chief and he’d been wounded in a boar hunt and feared he couldn’t fight. Aylaen had cajoled him into going to Owl Mother and ask her to use her magic to heal him. That day he had asked Aylaen to marry him. Well, he hadn’t really asked. He had commanded her. He smiled ruefully, wondering if Aylaen remembered.

  She proved she did by giving a smothered laugh. “I married you anyway,” she whispered.

  “You and Farinn wait here while I go inside, take a look around,” Skylan said.

  “You are the only one in danger, Ugly,” said Emerenta. “Your woman will be safe enough, so long as she carries the god bones. The magic of the great dragon will protect her. As for the young man, I will keep watch on him.”