by Aaron Pogue
That last snapped me out of my thoughts. I pushed through the circle and up to the speaker. He was a little man, and he shrank away from the intensity of my gaze. But I held his eyes. "What about Tirah?"
He shrugged. "The King's Guard's fighting for the baronies out west," he said. "Ain't you heard? The rebels have the heartlands—"
"I know," I said. "I know. But you mentioned Tirah."
Joseph dropped a hand on my shoulder to calm me. "Tirah's old news," he said. "Guard took it three months ago. Didn't realize you'd want to know."
I shrugged one shoulder. "I'd hoped to join the Guard," I said without thinking. "Take up the amnesty."
A look passed around among the fishermen, and I winced. Joseph didn't even bat an eye, and that eased my soul a bit. And none of the others spoke up. There were plenty of ways a man might go afoul of the king's justice, not all of them unfamiliar in territories like this.
Joseph did offer me a look of regret, though. "Amnesty's done," he said. "King put together thirty thousand men. Thirty thousand men on the Ardain proper." He shook his head, astonished, and I felt the same emotion.
"And they still haven't won?"
One of the other fishermen scowled and said, "Brant won't commit his men. They harass and harry, and then they run and hide. The king's men have all the strongholds—"
"But the rebels have the countryside," another of them said. The same one I'd first accosted. He met my eyes. "It'll be different when the king arrives. He'll put an end to it."
"The king himself?" I said, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I'd forgotten. It had been five months ago, a passing reference, and still I'd felt the flash of significance at the name of the town. But now I remembered Lareth's sun-dark face in the Masters' tower. I remembered him bragging to a helpless student. I remembered him promising to end the rebellion when the king came to Tirah.
"He'll go there?" I said, suddenly frantic. "To Tirah?"
"On his way now," Joseph said. He met my eyes and spoke clearly, as though he sensed how important the information was to me. He couldn't have known why, but he must have heard the frenzy in my voice. "Whole fleet sailed straight down the coast from the Isle. Passed by a week ago. You were gutting fish, but I saw them on the horizon."
The little guy nodded. "I was out there in their path. A galleon full of Green Eagles swept up on me and a full Commander threatened to sink my ship if I didn't tack off to shore. Wrecked my afternoon's take, but it was quite a sight."
I wasn't really listening. I looked down, thinking frantically. I asked Joseph, "Where were they going?"
The little guy answered. "Cara," he said. "Way south. Whitefalls is closer, but they're with Brant."
"And well secured," Joseph said. "King probably made Cara yesterday morning."
I swallowed. "How fast could I get there?"
"Take more than a week by sea, with any ship you'd find near here. Over land, most of a month."
"No good," the little guy said. "Not if it's the king you want to see. He would be long gone by then." I cursed, and he gave me a conciliatory smile. "That's how it is. He was anxious to get this over with. He'll be on the road to Tirah already."
Joseph caught my eye. "Cut overland," he said. "Straight to Tirah. Even on foot, could probably beat him there."
I felt my heart pounding. I didn't know this land. I didn't know my way. Tirah crouched at the heart of the Ardain, and I'd seen enough on the dragon's flight to know that put it southeast of me, but it was a journey of a hundred miles easy. Probably twice that, if not more.
I didn't want to go. I liked it here. I liked Joseph. I couldn't see myself ending up a fisherman, but I certainly wasn't yet ready for war. I still needed a few more weeks to recover, a few more months maybe, and this would have been a pleasant place to do it.
And my eyes touched on the ruined boat, on the pricey azurefins rotting under the afternoon sun. I thought of Joseph's livelihood ruined by my magic, and the good I could do him if I were here. But Lareth had a plan to kill the king, a plan only I knew about. And I had a chance to stop it. I had a chance to end this rebellion, perhaps, if I could get there in time. I could save lives. I could save the nation.
I knew what I had to do. I didn't want to go, but I had to. And as I raised my eyes back to Joseph's, I saw understanding in them. He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder. "Seems important."
"It is," I said. "Someone plans to kill the king."
His lips quirked up a smile. "During a rebellion? Big surprise."
I laughed in surprise. And then I laughed in earnest, and he gave me an earnest smile as reward. "Dauk's three leagues due east. End of the road. Farms all around it. Road leads straight to Tirah."
I nodded. My gaze dragged back toward the wreckage of the boat, but I saw him shake his head. "King won't spend long on southern roads. Get a move on. Could be in Dauk by sunset."
"I should," I said. I felt the eyes of all the other fishermen on me. They couldn't have known much about what was going on, but they could tell it was significant. I felt awkward beneath their gaze, but I could hardly go without saying a proper good-bye.
"Thank you, Joseph. I'm so sorry about your boat—"
He shrugged one shoulder and gave that half-smile again. He tipped his head to me in a nod. "Saved my life."
"Only after you saved mine," I said. I hesitated, thinking maybe I should hug him. It had been easier with Sherrim. He saw the uncertainty in my eyes and offered me a hand. I took it solemnly.
"Be safe," he said. "Save the king."
The little fisherman nodded. "Save the country." There was laughter in his eyes. It didn't look like mockery, just astonishment that we were even talking about this. Joseph saw it, and he grinned.
"Kid's a wizard," he told the others. "Sure as rain."
I saw their eyes widen then, all around the circle. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. I looked at the wrecked boat, glanced back toward the fisherman's cabin, but I didn't have anything to take with me. The dragon had left me with nothing.
I met Joseph's eyes one last time, nodded to him, then turned and headed east toward the distant hills. The little ring of villagers broke to let me by, and I felt them fall closed again behind me. I felt their murmurs rise up, too, and at first I was sure they were talking about me.
But then a little breeze carried snippets of their conversation to my ear, and I realized they were back to making plans to salvage the boat. I was already forgotten. I made it fifteen paces before my will broke and I glanced back.
Joseph stood taller than the rest of them, in the middle of the circle, and he stared past them all, gaze fixed on me. He met my eyes. He offered me a smile. And he waved one short, simple gesture of good-bye. I returned it, tears stinging in my eyes. Then he turned back to the conversation at hand, and I left them all behind.
* * *
As I moved up the long beach, the sand slowly gave way to a tough, short grass, but the earth scarcely became more stable. The land was a marsh, soft and wet, and it sucked at every step. I'd never bothered to learn much about the terrain down on the Continent, but I'd seen enough maps while studying at the Academy to have some idea where I was.
There was a space of about twenty miles where the western coastline became swampy lowlands before rising up to the mountains of the southwest coast that stretched all the way to the Fausse. The squelching of mud under my boots and thick smell in the air placed me almost due west of Pollix, some forty miles north of Whitefalls.
I was nearly a hundred and fifty miles from Tirah.
The distance did not daunt me, though it should have. I was still weak, and now alone in a land torn by war, but my thoughts were all on saving the king. I walked for three or four hours while the sun rose high in the sky, stumbling more than walking and covering little more than a couple miles an hour. A thin layer of water and muck concealed the ground from sight, making footing treacherous and tiring. I still felt drained from the excitement the night before, and ev
ery other step brought a stab of pain from a bruise on my left hip. Before long I felt warm in spite of the chill in the air.
For several hours I pressed through the marsh, and afternoon was stretching toward evening when I saw a hill rising before me. I felt a flush of relief, bright and hot, at the thought of solid ground. I took another step toward it, and then my blood ran cold.
A shadow flashed across the horizon, right to left, dancing up and down above the broken line of the distant hills. I watched it for half a minute; it dipped lower still, and it was lost to sight. For a long time I stood there, legs aching, heart pounding, staring at the shadows of distant hills. Alone.
That thought stabbed claws of fear into my chest. There was probably not another human being for a dozen miles in any direction. I forced myself to take another step, but my legs felt heavy as stone. I closed my eyes, took a slow breath, and then managed another step. I got moving again. My heart still pounded, my breath came too shallow, and my head ached from the strain with which I stared at the distant hills. But I made half a mile more across the marsh.
And then I saw it again. Far to the south, now, something flashed across my vision. It could have been the shadow of a cloud scudding across the ground, but the angle was wrong. I turned, frozen in fear again, and saw it a moment later. Closer now. A black shadow, swift as lightning, danced in and out among the low foothills.
Then, without warning, it shot straight into the sky. I recognized it instantly. The dragon. Not just a dragon, but the same black beast that had thrown me into the sea. It was all teeth and claws and muscles, and it moved faster than anything that large should be able to.
And the other one moved just as fast. It was larger still, mottled in the color of leaves—dark green along its back and wings, autumn brown along its neck and underbelly. The black dragon arced high in the air and the green flew after it. It screamed its fury and blew a burst of fire that stabbed at the black. The smaller dragon never slowed but whipped its long neck around to breathe a gout of flame of its own in answer.
The green dodged it, light as a butterfly, and closed in. The smaller dragon's tail lashed, vicious, but then the green sank its claws into the other's haunches, and I heard a bellowing roar that seemed to echo, deep inside my head. I could imagine the beast's pain and rage, and I felt my lips curl into a snarl as the black dragon abandoned its flight to turn its own talons on the beast fighting it. They fell from sight, crashing among the hills to the south and east, but still I heard them fighting.
Something inside me pulled me forward. I started moving again, toward the hills, and it quickly became a shambling run that sent water splashing everywhere. After two or three steps I realized I was running straight toward the deadly monsters, and I made myself stop. The hair on my neck stood up, and my fingers itched. I had to fight an instinct to start running again, toward the danger.
Muddy water dripped from my nose and eyelashes. I tried to blink it away. I threw a look back over my shoulder, toward the coast, but it was too far. I took another step toward the hills, and then another. It took all my concentration to keep my feet from turning south toward the fray among the hills, but I made myself keep due east as Joseph had sent me. The dragons were busy. I'd pass miles to the north of them. They would have no reason to notice me...and I certainly had no reason to go closer.
My heart raced, but I pressed on. It took me another twenty minutes to reach the first of the hills, but as soon as I was a little way up its slope, I felt solid, dry ground beneath my feet. I sank down to my knees. My body felt heavy as stone. I thought that perhaps I could rest here, regain some strength before pressing on. I climbed until I found a little patch of scrub, hearty bushes growing on the rocky hillside, and I stretched myself out beneath their shadow. I lay on the hard ground and shivered, trying to ignore the pain of fatigue in all my muscles.
Evening stretched toward night, orange and violet staining the clear sky, but I could not sleep. It took me some time to realize why, but when I did, I sat bolt upright.
The dragons had gone silent.
I had heard no sound from them for some time. The noise of their battle had been a terrible thing, but it had at least let me know where they were. Now I scanned the sky overhead, but I saw nothing. I pushed myself to my feet, biting down groans of protest. I crouched low and scurried up to the top of the hill. My legs and back complained, but I felt too exposed to move slowly up that open slope.
At the top of the hill I found a little dip down and then another rise beyond. There were more hills, left and right, all low and rolling but enough of a climb to slow me down. I strained my eyes to north and south, but I saw no sign of the dragons. I fell into my second sight, and it showed me the pulse of the earth beneath me, the dance of the wind and the threat of a little rain come midnight. I saw no dragons, though.
I forced myself to slow and steady breathing. I thought about my choices. I thought about the climb I had ahead. How many months had I spent still on Joseph's sad little sickbed? Too many. And too few days since then had I been working. When I'd toiled on Jemminor's farm this path through the hills might have been an easy stroll, but those days were far in my past.
I eased my crouch down lower, eyes barely raised above the top of the hill, and kept on scanning. My arms shook from holding me up, and my left ankle was just beginning to do the same. I dropped flat on the earth. I stretched an arm up to support my chin, and found myself tucking my head down into the crook of my elbow.
I was too tired. I was too weak to make this trek. Closer to the town now than to Joseph's cabin, but with peaks and valleys still ahead. I hadn't the strength. It was an impossible hope. A moment later a dragon's hunting cry confirmed it.
It was far off to my south, and even as I turned I saw a shadow flick from sight down among the hills. I didn't breathe. For several long seconds I scanned the horizon, but I saw nothing.
A jittery, nauseating energy clawed its way into my weary muscles, then, and I found myself moving without even thinking. Not toward the dragons this time—it was no supernatural urge that drove me—but over the crest of this hill and down the next. Pain lanced through my weary legs and I stumbled going down the hill, too tired to plant my feet properly, but I couldn't slow myself either. Gravity pulled me into a sprint, and I tumbled my way to the bottom of the hill and scrabbled my way up the next.
Shadows flitted over the land. I felt them, to the north and south. And as I made my way east the hills behind me cut off the sun, throwing me into darkness while the sun still stained the sky. I had little hope that darkness would hamper a dragon's hunt, but it made my flight more fearsome. I heard another cry, halfway up the third or fourth hill, and it froze me like a hawk can freeze a rabbit on the ground. I fell into my second sight again, desperately searching the sky, and I saw nothing. Then another cry set me running again, and I made my way to the top of a hill just before the sun set in earnest behind me.
The final red rays spilled down before me, showing a smaller hill yet to scale, and beyond that nothing worthy of the name. Rolling grasslands. Tended fields. In the middle distance I saw the glow of a town like a smudge of brown against the violet night. I felt a flash of hope, shoulders trembling, and threw myself down this slope, too. I ran the sun from the sky. I bloodied my hands and tore my clothes and burned my fear for sustenance.
It was well and truly dark when I finally stumbled into the town. I hadn't a penny to my name, but cold and wet and tired as I was, and shaken by the monsters in the marshland, I felt the need for some company. So I trotted on past dark farmhouses and quiet shapes that reminded me of the green in Sachaerrich. I passed the blacksmith's cold forge and a stable sealed up tight. At the stable, I used stale water from a trough to wash the worst of the blood and mud from my face and arms.
And then I found the inn. It was a small place, one floor with maybe half a dozen rooms to let, but from two blocks away I could see the light spilling out onto the street and hear the rattle of voices in goo
d cheer.
As soon as I stepped through the door that cheer faded, the conversations dwindled, and two dozen gazes swept to me. I saw apprehension in most of their eyes and open hostility in some. A little panic flared up in my chest, but I pushed it aside, remembering the shadows passing without. I forced myself to take another step into the room, hands out at my side and open, empty.
A burly man with a bald head and sharp, pale eyes heaved himself out of a booth on one wall. I saw the motion, but he had two rows of tables to pass, and I had a clear path to the bar. I kept my pace, kept my eyes locked ahead, but I heard the scrape of chairs moving to let him pass off my right shoulder. A handful of men who had been leaning casually against the bar pushed away and moved forward to block my path.
I didn't have much choice but to stop. A moment later the big bald man stepped up, exchanged a grateful look with one of them, and then positioned himself right in front of me. He came too close, towering tall over me, and gave a rumbling growl.
"Who're you then?"
"I'm Daven Carrickson," I said. "From the Academy at Pollix."
He snorted at that, big and dramatic, and rolled his eyes for the rest of the crowd. He raised a meaty hand to finger the tattered collar of my shirt, old rags that Joseph had handed down to me. "A wizard, huh? You don't look much like a gentleman's son to me."
I felt my lip curl. "I'm no gentleman at all," I said.
He chuckled at that, then rolled his gaze around the room again. Some of them joined in his ridicule, offering up throaty chuckles or jeering catcalls. Most of them still looked afraid.
I was a little afraid myself. I could tell what this guy was up to. He saw me as a threat—everyone did—and he was trying to protect his townsfolk. Trying to drive me away before I started begging on the streets. Or robbing. Or worse.
I sighed. I nodded. "The rebels," I said. "The war." Times being what they were, he probably wouldn't let me go with a warning. He'd want to teach me a lesson. I glanced over my shoulder and found it a long way back to the outer door. I met his eyes again. "You've had soldiers passing through here?"
