The Golden Helm: More Tales from the Edge of Sleep

by Victoria Randall

  A lanky young man pushed his way forward among the others. His hair had reddish glints, and a stringed instrument hung at his back. “Tell us who you are,” he said, his eyes wide with fascination. “Are you part dragon? Can you fly like them?”

  At that she almost smiled. “I am as human as you are. I am not their queen. I have lived with the Firebreathers all my life. They taught me their language and yours as well. I believe they will agree to this pact.”

  “You believe!” Abel said, drawing his brows down. “And if they don’t agree, what then? Our village will be attacked? We have not been attacked since my great-grandfather’s day.”

  “They have been biding their time, visiting other villages beyond this valley.”

  He stared at her in fury, then turned his back to talk to the other villagers, keeping his voice low. The young man with the harp moved toward her, stopping only a short distance away. “Where did you get the armor?” he asked.

  “I made it from scales the Firebreathers shed.”

  He glanced from her to Quvorn at her side. “What is wrong with his eyes?”

  She looked down at Quvorn, at his golden eyes now growing faded. “He is very old. He doesn’t see well any more.”

  “Dragons do great evil,” said the harper slowly.

  “They do what is their nature. They must live, like other creatures.”

  “But I have heard that dragons are wise. They can even speak. They must know that what they do is wicked.”

  “You eat cows. Are you wicked?”

  “I don’t steal them from farmers. I earn my food.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “By making music with that thing you carry?”

  “It’s called a harp.”

  “The Firebreathers make music too; their flight is a song woven on the wind. They have as much right to live as bears in the forests, or deer or squirrels or stodgy little farmers.” She paused to draw breath. “Will you play something on the harp? I have never heard human music.”

  He glanced at it in embarrassment. “It is for relaxation in the evening, or dancing. Not for a time like this. I hope I’ll be able to play for you. My name is Galdin.”

  “I am Challa,” she said.

  He would have asked another question, but Abel turned back to them, frowning at the harper. “We will consider your request. You ask one cow a month, in return for safety from the dragons for seventy years?”

  “Yes,” Challa said.

  “But,” he added, “what if your old dragon should die? We do not want disaster after that.”

  “The Firebreathers will keep their word, once it is given.”

  “But it has not yet been given.”

  “Once they return, I will speak with them. Then I will come and tell you their answer.”

  Abel nodded slowly. “Very well. While we consider your request, will you come and share a meal with us?”

  She hesitated, looking down at Quvorn. He closed his eyes, as if eschewing any responsibility in her answer. She hesitated, but it would do the villagers no good to harm her that she could see. “Very well,” she said. “We will stay.”

  “Excellent!” said the harper. “I can play for you.”

  “We will give him a cow, one of the weaker ones. The dragon must stay outside the fence,” said Abel.

  Challa agreed with a shrug, glad to hear Quvorn would be fed.

  They led her to a hall near the edge of the village, a large one which they kept for meetings. All of them were able to sit at the long table that ran the length of the room. At one end blazed a fire to take off the chill that still lingered. Women appeared, bringing platters of food, setting them down and seating themselves a little apart from the men. Challa stared at them with interest, and they in turn cast quick shy glances at her.

  The food was different than Challa was used to. They brought their meat to the table already killed. She was used to eating food seared by dragon fire, and theirs was more thoroughly roasted, served with pungent spices. They ate plants and bread as well.

  The taste of bread brought a sudden memory to her, of sitting at a table and taking small bites of soft bread from a woman’s hand. She caught her breath and tears came to her eyes, but she rubbed them away. Firebreathers did not weep, for sorrow or nostalgia or any other thing.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Galdin, who sat beside her. He was one of the few people who did not seem afraid of her.

  “Nothing,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s the smoke.”

  “How do you like the food?”

  “It’s strange,” she said, “but good.”

  At the end of the table sat Abel, who ate slowly, keeping an eye on her. Her spear she kept at her side.

  “Have you fought in battles?” Galdin asked her.

  She glanced at him warily. “I know how to defend myself.”

  Across from her sat an elderly woman with braided white hair. “You must get very lonely,” she said, “with no one but the dragons to speak to.”

  Challa looked at her. “You must get lonely, with no one but humans here.”

  The woman laughed uncertainly. Galdin grinned. “I hear that dragons are great conversationalists.”

  “Only when they have something to say.”

  “How did you come to live with them?” he asked.

  “They found me wandering in the woods as an infant, barely able to walk,” she said. “The others wanted to eat me, but Quvorn protected me from them.”

  “Why did he do that?” asked Galdin.

  “He is very wise,” she said. “Perhaps he was curious about humans. He told the others that it would serve their interests to have a human who could speak their language. As he is the oldest and most revered, they did as he asked.”

  “Is he their leader?”

  “The Firebreathers have no leader. But they listen to him, as he is wisest.”

  The old woman leaned forward. “How old are you, my dear?”

  “I have seen sixteen summers since I came to the Firebreathers. Before that, I guess one or two.”

  The woman glanced swiftly at the mayor, and back again. “Your name was not always Challa. Do you remember what it was?”

  She shook her head. “That was a long time ago.”

  Abel leaned forward, frowning. “Margret, what are you thinking?”

  “Does she not have Mara’s eyes?”

  Abel clenched his fist on the table. She heard Galdin’s indrawn breath beside her. “What does she mean?” Challa asked the harper.

  “She means—”

  “No!” said Abel, his voice low and harsh. “This is a dragon warrior, no human any longer. It does not matter where she came from.”

  “Does it not?” Margret asked. “I doubt that Mara would think so, were she alive.”

  The harper reached across the table to touch the woman’s sleeve. “Are you saying you think—”

  “Yes.” Turning to Challa, she said, “Abel and his wife lost a baby, who wandered away into the forest when she was just learning to walk. We searched for days, but she was never found. We thought she must have fallen into the stream. It will be sixteen years ago this summer. Her name was Marianna. She had dark hair and eyes, like her mother’s. Like yours.”

  Challa sat still, feeling the blood pulsing in her veins. She looked from one to the other, unable to speak. She had thought herself equal to anything the villagers might throw at her, but this . . . she had never thought of this.

  Galdin touched her elbow. “You had to come from somewhere. It may well be true.”

  She felt tears prick the back of her eyelids, but blinked them back furiously. She would not give in to human emotion. She was Firebreather bred, and proud of the place she had won among them.

  “It cannot be,” breathed Abel, rising from his place. “My . . . my Marianna?”

  Challa covered her mouth, unable to move.

  He came to stand beside her, lifting a hand to touch her hair. His touch brought a memory to her,
of a man tossing her in his arms, laughing. Tears threatened to come again to her eyes.

  “Are you saying that I came from your egg?” she asked. She could not keep her voice from trembling.

  Abel blinked, and a quirk came to his mouth that reminded her of Quvorn when he was amused. “In a manner of speaking. Perhaps you have lived long enough with the dragons.”

  She drew breath to speak, but then heard a scream. Running feet pounded outside. Men at the table leaped to their feet.

  Several men burst into the hall. “Dragons! The dragons are coming!” they shouted.

  Abel stepped back from her. “What is this?” he demanded. “Was it to catch us off our guard?” Without waiting for an answer he flung himself from the hall, shouting orders to his men.

  Challa rose. Galdin took her arm. “Come with me,” he said. “The forest will be safer—”

  She wrested her arm away. “You go to the forest. I must see.” She caught up her spear and ran for the doorway. Outside, people milled about in terror, catching up children, running to get away from the village.

  High above in the pale spring sunshine she saw Cuya, Questin, Sunya, Saurin and Lavellin circling above the few wispy clouds. Sunlight glinted from their iridescent scales. They flew in vast, slowly tightening circles, as they always did when preparing to dive to the attack.

  Galdin stood at her elbow. “They are splendid,” he breathed.

  His eyes were wide, amazement on his face. She seized his shoulder. “Run!” she shouted at him. “Get to the forest.”

  “But you must get to cover,” he said. “They will not know it is you, will they?”

  “They must know.” She pointed beyond the fence at Quvorn, where he looked up from the haunch he was devouring. “They will see him, even if they cannot tell one human from another. Now go!” She ran toward the gate.

  She wondered what had happened to bring the Firebreathers back so close to home. They must have been ferociously repulsed at their chosen site. They would be hungry now, after their long flight. Too hungry, perhaps, to stop with the cattle . . .

  She threw herself to her knees beside Quvorn. “Can you do something?” she asked. “These are my people, my village!”

  He closed his eyes, expelling a long white plume of smoke. “What can I do? They are hungry. They have fasted a long time. Now they must feast.”

  “But—” She felt the tears threatening to fall again.

  He shook his vast head. “You must choose. Go now, with the villagers. Lead them to safety. You know the Firebreathers’ ways, you can protect the people. Or choose the Firebreathers, but if you do, beware of the villagers.”

  “How can I choose?” she gasped in dismay. “They are both my people.”

  “I am sorry,” he said in his ancient weary voice. “Perhaps it would have been kinder to have eaten you.”

  “No!” She sprang up, ran to the end of the hall and began climbing. She took her spear with her, and when she reached the rooftop, climbed to the house ridge, took up a wide-legged stance and began waving the spear. She hoped they would see the gleam of her armor.

  One—it was Saurin, she recognized his red-tinged scales—swooped low to fire a house, and glanced at her. She waved frantically at him. He dived as if to crash into the hall, then at the last instant pulled up beside her and lighted on the roof. “Mount!” he coughed with a gout of flame.

  She hesitated, knowing he did not understand. “Saurin,” she shouted. “You must stop! This is my village. Quvorn is here!”

  “You are mad,” he said “Mount!”

  She set her foot on his rough side and vaulted to his flank. The great muscles of his wings flexed just behind her knees. He rose into the air and banked, casting a breath of fire at the hall, firing the roof.

  Below, she caught sight of Quvorn staring up at them with his pale eyes. Sparks from a burning building fell around him; she saw him flinch. She pounded on Saurin’s back with her spear butt. “Stop!” she screamed. “You’ll hurt him. You must stop!”

  “I must feed,” he rasped.

  He swooped toward a group of fleeing humans, women carrying children, and opened his vast mouth. She rose to her feet, teeth gritted, and balancing precariously ran up his outstretched neck and grabbed his great ear with both hands. She pulled hard on it, so that his head jerked up. His bolt of fire went astray.

  “Stop!” she screamed at him. “You cannot eat them!”

  He twisted, throwing her off, and she fell through the air. She had time for only an instant of fear.

  * * *

  The Firebreathers circled and landed in the pasture, staring at her twisted body. Galdin saw them and ran from cover, ran to see what they would do to her. He could not bear the thought of her bright courage broken, but he ran anyway.

  He fell to his knees beside her. Her eyes were closed, but he heard a faint moan. He looked up at the watching dragons. The silver one, the nearest, bowed her head and spoke, her voice like the rushing of wind in tall trees. “Is this true, she was of your people?”

  “Yes,” he said, tremulous. He repeated it: “Yes!”

  Wheezing with the effort, the old dragon Quvorn dragged himself nearer, until he could look down on the unconscious girl. He lifted his head and spoke to the others in harsh sibilant dragon speech.

  The silver one nodded. “We will honor the pact she made. We will not return.” She lifted her wings and rose, shaking the air, and the other four rose with her. They circled and vanished over the rise to the north.

  Challa moaned again. Galdin snapped his gaze to her. “Abel!” he shouted. “Margret! She lives!”

  She opened her eyes, and he leaned closer to hear if she would speak. She said no word. But she smiled at him through tears, human tears that she let fall at last.

  “You’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ll take care of you.”

  Across the field he saw Abel running toward his daughter.

  The End

  Incident in the Library

  Alyssa had no indication that this day was any different than any other day. She scratched beneath her unruly curls, one leg over the arm of her favorite chair in the public library, her back to the main stacks. She had come here to work on her homework without the disturbance of little brothers and sisters underfoot.

  Her geometry book lay open beside her but she was having trouble focusing on pentagons and triangles. Her neck itched, which it did when something unusual was about to happen. Her Irish grandmother said it was a sign of the second sight; her black great-aunt told her it meant she could see things that other people couldn’t. Alyssa wanted nothing to do with any of that; she just wanted to be a normal teenager. The itching made her nervous; the last time this had happened, a Thanksgiving storm had knocked the big elm tree down on her grandmother’s house, barely missing everyone gathered inside.

  Scratching absently, she darted glances around the room, looking for anything unusual. A glimmer of light appeared in the corner. She stared, and a creature flickered into view. No one else saw: a surreptitious glance over her shoulder told her that the elderly librarian had her back turned, and the only other patrons were a couple of teenagers glued to their computers.

  The creature began to slide along the wall toward the nonfiction stacks, sniffing with a prehensile snout as he went. He gave her the creeps. She knew that he must be intelligent since he wore slick black clothing, a cross between a leather biker jacket and armor plates. But he had thick dark fur, large folded ears, and that snout. And strapped to his waist under the jacket was a black leather holster containing a complex metallic rod that she suspected was a weapon.

  This couldn’t be happening. Her throat felt dry with fear. She wanted more than anything to pretend she didn’t see him; but someone needed to deal with this thing, whatever it was. She glanced around in desperation, but there was no one else. She got up and crept soft-footed across the room; keeping her voice low she said, “Can I help you find something?”

  He
halted and glared at her from beady red eyes. With a strange accent he said, “You can see me?” His voice was deeper than she expected, with an occasional odd squeak in it.

  She drew back a step. He gave off an odor of rank fur mixed with decay, as if he spent his nights burrowed under a pile of rotting fruit. ”Yes, sure I can see you. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “This is a classified area, is it not? I was told it was.”

  “Really? Classified? Who told you that?”

  “A member of your species. He required considerable persuasion. But in the end, he was forthcoming.” He showed a glint of knifelike teeth.

  “Oh.” She swallowed, wondering what he meant by persuasion. She didn’t think she wanted to know. “Yes, it’s classified. You need special clearance to take out books.”

  “I require information on military strategies and armaments.”

  “What for?”

  “Merely curiosity.” The creature switched his tail, which was naked and hairless.

  Alyssa repressed a shudder. The creature squinted at her as if determining whether she believed him or not. She didn’t, but thought letting on wouldn’t be too smart. She drew a slow breath to disguise the fact that her heart was pounding.

  If someone had been tortured into labeling the library as a classified military source, she didn’t want to waste his efforts. “I think what you really want is history. Military history, right?”

  Red eyes gleamed with interest. “Yes.” He glanced around. “But I think I have been lied to. This is not a classified area. Those are civilians.” He waved a claw at the readers.

  She licked her lips. “And I think you have shaded the truth. Haven’t you? You don’t just want this info out of curiosity.”

  “You are doubting me?” He narrowed his eyes. “You are a weak and naked species: no claws, no teeth to speak of, few weapons even. You might be wise to cooperate, for personal survival if nothing else.”

  She stared at him while various scenarios blew through her mind. Screaming for help, alerting the police, running for the door. None of her options seemed good choices. But maybe there was something else she could do. “You could be right. So, you want information on military battles and history. This is the right place. Come over here.”