“Yes, of course.” Erde accepts the wine cup that Wender has poured for her. Perhaps sipping it will help her to greater calm.
“When these four created the world, the tale goes, it was in perfect balance. All the elements of Nature in harmony, like musical notes. Then the dragons’ work was finished, and they retired to the various depths of the world to sleep. This much was easy to put together, once I accepted its heretical message.” He glances at the cup in his hand as if surprised to find it there, and takes a sip. “Then I came to the question of why the dragons waked at all. It seemed obvious that something must have gone wrong.”
“Yes. Something has ‘broken.’”
“Well, what do you get when you ‘break’ a perfect balance?” Hal regards her owlishly over the rim of his wine cup.
Erde frowns gently. “I don’t know. A mess? Like broken eggs?”
“Anarchy,” chimes in Wender, with a sweeping gesture around the tent.
“Imbalance,” says the king, with certitude.
“Right as rain, my liege!” Hal exclaims. “Acute as always. You have Nature out of balance. Freakish storms, flood, and drought, the seasons off their cycle. So the dragons’ obvious Purpose is to restore that balance.”
This is still old news to Erde, though she sees it a bit differently when expressed in Hal’s language. “But how, dear sir, how? Isn’t that really the question?”
“Of course, importunate child! I’m just getting to that!”
Erde subsides with her wine cup warming her lips. Outside, the wind shakes the heavy canvas of the pavilion so that the tent poles sway. Rainer drops into the chair on Hal’s other side, listening expectantly.
“In order to know the cure, as the healers say, one must know the cause. What is the cause of this imbalance?” Hal gazes around the small circle of faces as though he was a tutor testing their aptitude. “What presence in the world most often works against the laws of Nature?”
“Evil,” Erde declares.
“True, true. But evil in what form? Be careful, now. The evil that’s done may not always be present in the intent.” He eyes them again. “Come, come! You’ve all of you suffered at its hand!”
“War?” suggest Wender.
“The Church,” Erde murmurs.
The young king shifts in his chair, recrossing his long legs. “It’s men you speak of, isn’t it?”
“Surely, it is!” the old knight crows. “Allow me to kneel to you yet again, Sire, and offer my sword in your service!”
Rainer flushes, not angry but visibly annoyed. “There are faster ways than guessing games to get at the heart of a matter, my knight.”
Hal nods, unrepentant. “Indeed there are, but indulge an old retainer a moment longer. If, as you so astutely surmise, it is men who create the imbalance, it is men who must be corrected.” Now when he looks around, he’s greeted with glum silence. “Ah. I see you perceive the dilemma.”
“People have been trying to do that since the year One.”
“And before!” exclaims Hal, as if the notion offers him great satisfaction.
“But surely men are part of Nature,” Kurt Wender protests.
Hal shakes his shaggy head. “Set above the rest of Creation, according to the Book. The natural world is intended for his use and sustenance. But in return, man is pledged to act as steward of these resources, to protect Nature, and sustain her. Somewhere along the line, the bargain was forgotten.”
He sits back to take another long pull at his wine cup, then collects a hunk of cheese from the platter beside his knee. “Now, here’s where I begin to fly off into the ethereal heights of wild speculation. Think of it from the point of view of bridge building or barn raising. Any balanced structure will have some natural flex to keep it from snapping in the gales, or in ice heaves in the winter. So at first, the depredations of man come and go without dire effect. Contemplating this one day, it occurred to me that if I were the master builder of the ‘bridge’ of Nature, I’d try to build in some sort of signal that would raise the alarm if the bridge was about to fail. Let’s say such a signal exists, and it woke the dragons . . .” He leans forward, his eyes alight. “. . . at the point when the balance tipped too far for the natural flex to be able to restore it.”
Erde feels a small implosion of insight inside her head. She’s unsure if it’s hers, or the dragon’s, or both. “But that would be now . . . or, just a while ago, when . . .”
“Yes. When you found Lord Earth, and not long after, I found you.”
“It’s now,” Erde repeats, aware that her attack of insight is still in process. “Oh!” She grabs her head as if her growing comprehension might split it apart. “That’s why Air called us back to the Grove! That’s where the balance tipped, and it’s going on right now! It’s Brother Guillemo cutting down the trees!”
“Among other things.” Hal nods, gone suddenly solemn. “Guillemo isn’t the cause himself, so much as its final incarnation.”
“Guillemo!” Erde stares at him, wide-eyed. “The dragons are coming, Air and Water and their guides. Earth and I will go, too. To the Grove. What will we do there?”
“Teach the race of men to honor their bargain, or destroy them. Those seem to be the only possible options.”
Captain Wender shakes his head at such grandiose imaginings. Erde can see him wondering if the old knight’s mind is once again wandering. “We can’t do away with the one man, never mind the whole race of ’em!”
She sees it come over them, all three of them, as visible as the shadow of a cloud over sunlight. Their shoulders slump as if choreographed together. Their mouths and brows turn gently down.
Hal says, “True enough. The hell-priest’s magic has protected him damnably well.” He squints at his book-laden camp desk and a hint of his former confusion returns to his eyes. “I was looking for some sort of countermeasure. It’s as if he reached out and corrupted my search.”
“Can’t kill the bastard,” Wender mutters. “Begging your pardon, milady.”
“But how can it be,” Erde asks, “that you have him surrounded and still cannot finish him?”
“Our forces are demoralized,” Rainer admits, “both men and knights, by weather and hunger and disease. We’ve had victories everywhere else, but this siege has proved, well, intractable.”
Hal adds glumly, “And as long as Guillemo lives, many will believe in him.”
“The men are afraid for their souls,” offers Wender.
“In a way,” continues Rainer, the rationalist, “Guillemo’s turned the trees against us. We have the advantage of numbers, but you can’t send an army in there. There’s no room to fight. The men get picked off from above before they’re a horse’s length into the trees.”
“But we have to stop him! He’s destroying the Grove!”
Hal glances up suddenly, remembering. “Did you say Air called you to the Grove? Have you found all four dragons, then? There are four, as I said?”
“Yes, dear knight. Though we have yet to win Fire to our cause. Yet we are summoned, all of us, so sometime soon—Lord Earth and I are unsure of the timing—Brother Guillemo will have surprise visitors.”
The men exchange glances.
“An unusual opportunity,” notes Rainer.
“The perfect time for a fresh offensive,” Wender agrees.
“But perhaps the dragons will not need our help,” Hal observes.
“Do not say so!” Erde exclaims. “All help is welcome and necessary!”
Wender drops his chin into his palms and rests his elbows on his knees. “It’ll take some time to get the men ready . . .”
Rainer rises from his chair and wanders away, stretching his long back. “The barons always resist fighting in this weather.”
“Again?” Erde is unable to restrain herself further. She leaps up from her chair. “Listen to you all! For shame! Will you give up so easily?” The men blink at her and glance away, and she knows they’re ashamed for her breach of etiquette.
It’s not her place, as a young girl, to be scolding her elders, or advising seasoned fighting men, or for that matter, berating her king. But she sees no one else around willing to do it, and something must be done to stir them out of their gloom!
She tries to moderate her voice, and keep her whirling arms under more ladylike control. “I’d think Fra Guill has put a spell on you, but I don’t believe in such spells, not anymore! Cease your search for magic, good knight. There is no magic but dragon magic, the magic of the elements that made the world. If you seek to understand the success of the hell-priest, look no further. It’s right here, in this camp, in this tent, in your own hearts! Your true enemy is despair! Your men won’t fight because they have no faith that they can win. They and you—now, don’t deny it! I can see it in your eyes—believe that evil is the stronger force, and therefore the hell-priest triumphs!”
“Little sister, little sister,” Rainer chides. “You are as always passionate in your ideals. But real life is not so simple.”
“No, listen!” Is it treason, she wonders briefly, to argue with your king? “Sometimes we must make it simple! Sometimes we must speak in absolutes! Rainer . . . your pardon, I mean, Sire . . . you think me naïve, and perhaps I am, though not nearly so as I was when you saw me last. I have seen how ‘real life’ wears down the great Ideals: with this excuse, that pragmatic consideration, the several ‘necessary’ concessions. Soon, the clean and noble marble edifice is worn and weary, crumbling at the edges so that all manner of petty evils and cynicisms enter unheeded through the cracks!”
She pauses, breathless, and the discomfort on their faces nearly stalls her momentum. She’s embarrassing herself in front of them, her mentor and the young man she once thought she loved. No matter! She must finish what she’s begun. “Well, all that may be ‘real’ and day-to-day, and we must live with it. And perhaps the smaller evils will most often triumph. But this is not day-to-day, and the greater evil cannot be allowed to triumph! Good must win, or the world will not survive!”
She faces the young king, who regards her stony-faced. “My liege! Go to your barons and your captains! Inspire them with your faith and vigor! If we believe, they’ll believe!”
“And you, dear Sir Hal, whose tireless conviction in the rightness of dragons saved our Quest from early disaster . . . I know the winter has been desperate and long, and the battle endless, but surely you’ll not give up when that end is now in sight?”
Then, all of a sudden, she’s out of words. The last drop has poured out of the wine jug. She feels as if she’s run a long foot race, and has no idea if she’s lost or won. She sits down again, and lapsing into silence, she wraps her arms around herself and gently rocks. The men are silent, too, and for a while they all sit listening to the wind howl and the snow rattle against the canvas. Captain Wender sips his wine. Hal stares morosely into his upturned palms as if hoping to read his fortune. Rainer stares off into the shadow at the corners of the tent, probably wrestling with the weight of his new responsibilities.
Finally, he stirs. “Can you say with any accuracy when the other dragons will arrive?”
Erde can see the brilliance of her smile reflected in the men’s eyes. “Not when it will happen, Sire, but surely we will know the exact moment when it is happening. If we are ready. . . .”
“Then we’ll be ready.” The king rises, and Wender with him, drawn upward by respect and the strength of the younger man’s returned resolve. “Wender, alert the captains, rouse the men and the knights. Drag the barons from their beds if need be.”
“Aye, my liege!” Wender wraps his heavy cloak about him and ducks out of the tent.
Rainer lifts the canvas door flap. “It’s near night already.”
Hal consults the water clock on his camp desk. “No, Sire. It’s just past noon. It’s an unnatural night.”
“The moment will be soon, then,” Erde murmurs, feeling the stirrings of a terror she cannot even name.
“So be it,” Rainer replies with conviction, and follows Wender through the doorway into snow and darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
N’Doch stares through the iron grille set in the stone gateway. Only this frail barrier and Gerrasch’s chunky body stand between him and what used to be a dank castle courtyard. Now it looks like the insides of a computer. The nanos have been hard at work out there.
He tugs nervously at his heavy vest and leggings. The Deep Moor ladies have once again managed to outfit him against the cold, this time by giving up various layers of their own, since the fake Deep Moor neglected to include the storage closets. So, he’s sweating in wool and sheepskin, but shivering in his heart. Least, that’s how it feels to him. The word “endgame” keeps cycling through his brain like some kind of fiendish audio loop.
This time, he tells himself, the shit really is gonna hit the fan.
The truth is, he doesn’t know what to expect. If this was a vid, there’d be smart nukes and laser weapons and robotic armored vehicles. But this little assault force, except for himself, is all women and old men. Well, old-ish. He knows Stoksie and Luther wouldn’t appreciate the designation. As for Gerrasch, who knows what he is.
Women, old men . . . and two dragons.
He’s spent the last few hours helping with the flurry of preparation, getting everyone briefed, provisioned, and armed with whatever was available, which wasn’t much. Having had their way with the outer courtyard, the nanos are taking down the farmstead at an ever-increasing rate. The house is gone, but for remnants of the rose arbor. The central tree is a last holdout, as if the nanos have preserved its sinuous branches and green tapestry of leaves as some kind of museum exhibit of the extinct characteristics of organic life-forms.
N’Doch shivers again, then gathers himself sternly, leaning on the shaft of the pike he’s been assigned, and grins down at his grandfather, who stands as calm and composed as ever.
“Well, it was sure great being back at the Rive ’n all, but I won’t mind seeing the last of this burg.”
Djawara crinkles his eyes, as if a full-tilt smile might show disrespect for this serious occasion. “All my life, I never traveled abroad, just from the bush to the city, the city to the bush. Now, in my old age, fifteen centuries in what’s seemed like an afternoon.”
“We ain’t there yet, Papa.” But he knows getting there is not the problem. It’s what happens after. Behind them, the women are falling into formation. A ragtag army, but N’Doch can’t help feeling proud of these women. A few of them look scared—after all, they’re headed right back to the place they ran from in terror not too long ago—but no one’s complaining. They’re used to having to defend themselves, and they have faith in the dragons. Probably more than he does.
A big hand lands on his shoulder. “Ready to sing, bro?”
“Damn, I thought you were gonna send me in there on my lonesome.” Despite his doubts, N’Doch feels a lot better with the dragon beside him. “Gettin’ near time?”
Sedou nods. “G won’t be able to hold her back much longer.”
“What’s gonna go down? You got something spectacular planned? I keep pushing to hear some strategy.” He jerks his thumb toward the silent Librarian, who stares intently through the gate like he was entirely alone in the world. “But G tells me that sort of thinking’s too structured for Air.”
“My plan is, we’ll rout the bastard.” Sedou grins wickedly.
“Yeah, yeah.” He tries to conjure up his old pawn-of-destiny resentment. Do him good to toss out a few anti-dragon slogans right now, just to keep up appearances. But, truth is, he’s about used all that up. Given that he’s pretty sure he’ll never see home again, given all this “mutual annihilation” business, still he’d have to say that what he’s feeling is a kind of gratitude. If he was told he could go home tomorrow, he’d probably tell ’em he wasn’t interested. How could he say otherwise? Thanks to these dragons, he’s had the adventure of his life.
He scratches his jaw uneasily, leveling
an accusing stare at the back of Gerrasch’s hairy head. Something’s happening to him, no question about it. Ever since Air came on-line with the dragon internet, he’s felt different. He’d mention it to Erde or Paia, if they were around, see what they say. Like, maybe they’re feeling it, too. Sounds too stupid to come out and say it to anyone who isn’t a dragon guide, not the way he really feels it. Which is, like he’s got more . . . air . . . in him now. Like, when he looks at these gutsy women, instead of thinking how uncool they are, he feels vast and generous inside, and like he can see to infinity. The real way to describe it is, he feels more like a dragon now. But he knows if he told that to Sedou, he’d get laughed out of town.
So instead, he tucks the pike shaft against his chest and drapes his free arm around his grandfather’s slim shoulders. The dragon-as-Sedou stands behind them both. Like a family portrait, N’Doch muses. One that never got taken while Sedou was actually alive.
In front of him, Gerrasch stirs, and the hand on his own shoulder tightens. “Here we go.”
And through the stone gateway, the view is no longer nanomech abstract art, but the drifts and snow-laden branches of the Grove.
Erde yawns, despite her nerves being stretched taut with waiting. She’d caught a few hours’ sleep in Hal’s tent while the armies prepared, and was woken later in the afternoon by the dragon’s rumblings. Now, at the king’s insistence, she sits wrapped in a royal cloak and astride a royal horse, even though she’d have preferred to walk out to the field alongside the dragon, and even though the poor horse will be suddenly riderless when the others arrive, and she and the dragon go to join them in the Grove. Earth expects that Air will reopen the portal at the far end of the meadow. What will happen after that is anybody’s guess, but Earth made sure to build up his strength by easing the death of two badly wounded horses and a starving dog, having first asked their permission to consume them afterward.
The Book of Air: Volume Four of the Dragon Quartet Page 37
