Dragon's Bane

by Dragon's Bane(Lit)

  mists, John remarked, "Sounds a proper snakes' nest.

  Could this Master really have kidnapped the King's child?"

  "No," Gareth said miserably, as the horses resumed

  their walk toward the ferry, invisible in the foggy bot-

  tomlands to the south. "He couldn't have left the Citadel.

  He isn't a sorcerer—just a philosopher and an atheist.

  I—don't worry about the King's Heir." He looked down

  at his hands, and the expression on his face was the one

  Dragonsbane 91

  that Jenny had seen in the camp outside Ember that night—

  a struggle to gather his courage. "Listen," he began shak-

  ily. "I have to..."

  "Gar," said John quietly, and the boy startled as if

  burned. There was an ironic glint in John's brown eyes

  and an edge like chipped flint to his voice. "Now—the

  King wouldn't by any chance have sent for me for some

  other reason than the dragon, would he?"

  "No," Gareth said faintly, not meeting his eyes. "No,

  he—he didn't."

  "Didn't what?"

  Gareth swallowed, his pale face suddenly very strained.

  "He—he didn't send for you—for any other reason. That

  is..."

  "Because," John went on in that quiet voice, "if the

  King happened to send me his signet ring to get me involved

  in rescuing that child of his, or helping him against this

  Master of Halnath I hear such tell of, or for his dealings

  with the gnomes, I do have better things to do. There are

  real problems, not just money and power, in my own

  lands, and the winter closing in looks to be a bad one.

  I'll put my life at risk against the dragon for the sake of

  the King's protection to the Winterlands, but if there's

  aught else in it..."

  "No!" Gareth caught his arm desperately, a terrible

  fear in his face, as if he thought that with little more

  provocation the Dragonsbane would turn around then and

  there and ride back to Wyr.

  And perhaps, Jenny thought, remembering her vision

  in the water bowl, it might be better if they did.

  "Aversin, it isn't like that. You are here to slay the

  dragon—because you're the only Dragonsbane living.

  That's the only reason I sought you out, I swear it. I

  swear it! Don't worry about politics and—and all that."

  His shortsighted gray eyes pleaded with Aversin to believe,

  92 Barbara Hambty

  but in them there was a desperation that could never have

  stemmed from innocence.

  John's gaze held his for a long moment, gauging him.

  Then he said, "I'm trusting you, my hero."

  In dismal silence, Gareth touched his heels to Battle-

  hammer's sides, and the big horse moved out ahead of

  them, the boy's borrowed plaids making them fade quickly

  into no more than a dark, cut-out shape in the colorless

  fogs. John, riding a little behind, slowed his horse so that

  he was next to Jenny, who had watched in speculative

  silence throughout.

  "Maybe it's just as well you're with me after all, love."

  She glanced from Gareth up to John, and then back.

  Somewhere a crow called, like the voice of that melan-

  choly land. "I don't think he means us ill," she said softly.

  "That doesn't mean he isn't gormless enough to get us

  killed all the same."

  The mists thickened as they approached the river, until

  they moved through a chill white world where the only

  sound was the creak of harness leather, the pop of hooves,

  the faint jingle of bits, and the soughing rattle of the wind

  in the spiky cattails growing in the flooded ditches. From

  that watery grayness, each stone or solitary tree emerged,

  silent and dark, like a portent of strange events. More

  than all else. Jenny felt the weight ofGareth's silence, his

  fear and dread and guilt. John felt it, too, she knew; he

  watched the tall boy from the comer of his eye and lis-

  tened to the hush of those empty lands like a man waiting

  for ambush. As evening darkened the air. Jenny called a

  blue ball of witchfire to light their feet, but the soft, opal-

  escent walls of the mist threw back the light at them and

  left them nearly as blind as before.

  "Jen." John drew rein, his head cocked to listen. "Can

  you hear it?"

  "Hear what?" Gareth whispered, coming up beside them

  Dragonsbane 93

  at the top of the slope which dropped away into blankets

  of moving fog.

  Jenny flung her senses wide through the dun-colored

  clouds, feeling as much as hearing the rushing voice of

  the river below. There were other sounds, muffled and

  altered by the fog, but unmistakable. "Yes," she said qui-

  etly, her breath a puff of white in the raw air. "Voices—

  dorses—a group of them on the other side."

  John glanced sharply sidelong at Gareth. "They could

  be waiting for the ferry," he said, "if they had business

  in the empty lands west of the river at the fall of night."

  Gareth said nothing, but his face looked white and set.

  After a moment John clucked softly to Cow, and the big,

  shaggy sorrel plodded forward again down the slope to

  the ferry through the clammy wall of vapor.

  Jenny let the witchlight ravel away as John pounded

  on the door of the squat stone ferry house. She and Gareth

  remained in the background while John and the ferryman

  negotiated the fare for three people, six horses, and two

  mules. "Penny a leg," said the ferryman, his squirrel-dark

  eyes darting from one to the other with the sharp interest

  of one who sees all the world pass his doorstep. "But

  there'll be supper here in an hour, and lodging for the

  night. It's growing mortal dark, and there's chowder fog."

  "We can get along a few miles before full dark; and

  besides," John added, with an odd glint in his eye as he

  glanced back at the silent Gareth, "we may have someone

  waiting for us on the far bank."

  "Ah." The man's wide mouth shut itself like a trap.

  "So it's you they're expecting. I heard 'em out there a

  bit ago, but they didn't ring no bell for me, so I bided by

  my stove where it's warm."

  Holding up the lantern and struggling into his heavy

  quilted jacket, he led the way down to the slip, while

  Jenny followed silently behind, digging in the purse at her

  belt for coin.

  94 Barbara Hambty

  The great horse Battlehammer had traveled north with

  Gareth by ship and, in any case, disdained balking at

  anything as sheer bad manners; neither Moon Horse nor

  Osprey nor any of the spares had such scruples, with the

  exception of Cow, who would have crossed a bridge of

  flaming knives at his customary phlegmatic plod. It took

  Jenny much whispered talk and stroking of ears before

  any of them would consent to set foot upon the big raft.

  The ferryman made the gate at the raft's tail fast and fixed

  his lantern on the pole at its head; then he set to turning

  the winch that drew the wide, flat platform out across the

  opaqu
e silk of the river. The single lantern made a woolly

  blur of yellowish light in the leaden smoke of the fog; now

  and then, on the edge of the gleam. Jenny could see the

  brown waters parting around a snagged root or branch

  that projected from the current like a drowned hand.

  From somewhere across the water she heard the jingle

  of metal on metal, the soft blowing of a horse, and men's

  voices. Gareth still said nothing, but she felt that, if she

  laid a hand upon him, she would find him quivering, as

  a rope does before it snaps. John came quietly to her side,

  his fingers twined warm and strong about hers. His spec-

  tacles flashed softly in the lante> slight as he slung an end

  of his voluminous plaid around her shoulders and drew

  her to his side.

  "John," Gareth said quietly, "I—I have something to

  tell you."

  Dimly through the fog came another sound, a woman's

  laugh like the tinkling of silver bells. Gareth twitched, and

  John, a dangerous flicker in his lazy-lidded eyes, said, "I

  thought you might."

  "Aversin," Gareth stammered and stopped. Then he

  forced himself on with a rush, "Aversin, Jenny, listen. I'm

  sorry. I lied to you—I betrayed you, but I couldn't help

  it; I had no other choice. I'm sorry."

  Dragonsbane 95

  "Ah," said John softly. "So there was something you

  forgot to mention before we left the Hold?"

  Unable to meet his eyes, Gareth said, "I meant to tell

  you earlier, but—but I couldn't. I was afraid you'd turn

  back and—and I couldn't let you turn back. We need

  you, we really do."

  "For a lad who's always on about honor and courage,"

  Aversin said, and there was an ugly edge to his quiet voice,

  "you haven't shown very much of either, have you?"

  Gareth raised his head, and met his eyes, "No," he

  said. "I—I've been realizing that. I thought it was all right

  to deceive you in a good cause—that is—I had to get you

  to come..."

  "All right, then," said John. "What is the truth?"

  Jenny glanced from the faces of the two men toward

  the far shore, visible dimly now as a dark blur and a few

  lights moving like fireflies in the mist. A slightly darker

  cloud beyond would be the woodlands of Belmarie. She

  touched John's spiked elbow wamingly, and he looked

  quickly in that direction. Movement stirred there, shapes

  crowding down to wait for the ferry to put in. The horse

  Battlehammer flung up his head and whinnied, and an

  answering whinny trumpeted back across the water. The

  Dragonsbane's eyes returned to Gareth and he folded his

  hands over the hilt of his sword.

  Gareth drew a deep breath. "The truth is that the King

  didn't send for you," he said. "In fact, he—he forbade

  me to come looking for you. He said it was a foolish quest,

  because you probably didn't exist at all and, even if you

  did, you'd have been killed by another dragon long ago.

  He said he didn't want me to risk my life chasing a phan-

  tom. But—but I had to find you. He wasn't going to send

  anyone else. And you're the only Dragonsbane, as it was

  in all the ballads..." He stammered uncertainly. "Except

  that I didn't know then that it wasn't like the ballads. But

  I knew you had to exist. And I knew we needed someone.

  96 Barbara Hambly

  I couldn't stand by and let the dragon go on terrorizing

  the countryside. I had to come and find you. And once I

  found you, I had to bring you back..."

  "Having decided you knew better about the needs of

  my people and my own choice in the matter than I did?"

  John's face never showed much expression, but his voice

  had a sting to it now, like a scorpion's tail.

  Gareth shied from it, as from a lash. "I—I thought of

  that, these last days," he said softly. He looked up again,

  his face white with an agony of shame. "But I couldn't

  let you turn back. And you will be rewarded, I swear I'll

  see that you get the reward somehow."

  "And just how'll you manage that?" John's tone was

  sharp with disgust. The deck jarred beneath their feet as

  the raft ground against the shoals. Lights like marsh can-

  dles bobbed down toward them through the gloom. "With

  a mage at the Court, it couldn't have taken them long to

  figure out who'd pinched the King's seal, nor when he'd

  be back in Belmarie. I expect the welcoming commit-

  tee ..." he gestured toward the dark forms crowding for-

  ward from the mists. "... is here to arrest you for treason."

  "No," Gareth said in a defeated voice. "They'll be my

  friends from Court."

  As if stepping through a door the forms came into

  visibility; lantemlight danced over the hard gleam of satin,

  caressed velvet's softer nap, and touched edges of stiff-

  ened lace and the cloudy gauze of women's veils, salted

  all over with the leaping fire of jewels. In the forefront of

  them all was a slender, dark-haired girl in amber silk,

  whose eyes, golden as honey with a touch of gray, sought

  Gareth's and caused the boy to turn aside with a blush.

  One man was holding a cloak for her of ermine-tagged

  velvet; another her golden pomander ball. She laughed,

  a sound at once silvery and husky, like an echo from a

  troubled dream.

  It could be no one but Zyeme.

  Dragonsbane 97

  John looked inquiringly back at Gareth.

  "That seal you showed me was real," he said. "I've

  seen it on the old documents, down to the little nicks on

  its edges. They're taking its theft a bit casually, aren't

  they?"

  He laid hold of Cow's bridle and led him down the

  short gangplank, forcing the others to follow. As they

  stepped ashore, every courtier on the bank, led by Zyeme,

  swept in unison into an elaborate Phoenix Rising salaam,

  touching their knees in respect to the clammy, fish-smelling

  mud.

  Crimson-faced, Gareth admitted, "Not really. Techni-

  cally it wasn't theft. The King is my father. I'm the missing

  Heir."

  CHAPTER V

  "So THAT'S YOUR Dragonsbane, is it?"

  At the sound of Zyeme's voice. Jenny paused in the

  stony blue dimness of the hall of the enchantress's hunting

  lodge. From the gloom in which she stood, the little ante-

  chamber beyond the hall glowed like a lighted stage; the

  rose-colored gauze of Zyeme's gown, the whites and

  violets of Gareth's doublet, sleeves, and hose, and the

  pinks and blacks of the rugs beneath their feet all seemed

  to bum like the hues of stained glass in the ember-colored

  lamplight. The instincts of the Winterlands kept Jenny to

  the shadows. Neither saw her.

  Zyeme held her tiny goblet of crystal and glass up to

  one of the lamps on the mantel, admiring the blood red

  lights of the liqueur within. She smiled mischievously. "I

  must say, I prefer the ballad version myself."

  Seated in one of the gilt-footed ivory chairs on the

  opposite
side of the low wine table, Gareth only looked

  unhappy and confused. The dimple on the side of Zyeme's

  curving, shell pink lips deepened, and she brushed a cor-

  ner of her lace veils aside from her cheek. Combs of

  98

  Dragonsbane 99

  crystal and sardonyx flashed in her dark hair as she tipped

  her head.

  When Gareth didn't speak, her smile widened a little,

  and she moved with sinuous grace to stand near enough

  to him to envelop him in the faint aura of her perfume.

  Like shooting stars, the lamplight jumped from the crystal

  facets of Gareth's goblet with the involuntary tremor of

  his hand.

  "Aren't you even going to thank me for coming to meet

  you and offering you the hospitality of my lodge?" Zyeme

  asked, her voice teasing.

  Because she was jealous of Zyeme's greater powers,

  Jenny had forced herself to feel, upon meeting her at the

  ferry, nothing but surprise at the enchantress's youth. She

  looked no more than twenty, though at the lowest com-

  putation—which Jenny could not keep herself from mak-

  ing, though the cattiness of her reaction distressed her—

  her age could not have been much less than twenty-six.

  Where there was jealousy, there could be no learning, she

  had told herself; and in any case she owed this girl justice.

  But now anger stirred in her. Zyeme's closeness and

  the hand that she laid with such artless intimacy on

  Gareth's shoulder, so that less than a half-inch of her finger-

  tip touched the flesh of his neck above his collar-lace