Dragonsight

by Paul Collins

  Two days later they found a hill that rose out of the endless trees and broke free of the forest canopy. There they sat and waited, hungry and cold. Each had vomited bile mixed with blood. Jelindel observed that their eyesight had deteriorated and their blood had thinned, no doubt due to the nature of the poison. The slightest cut sluiced blood, further weakening them. Their various wounds were easily fixed with the laying of the hands, but even this drained Jelindel. Daretor insisted she leave the minor scratches to heal of their own accord.

  On the third day Zimak, whose sight had deteriorated the least, spotted a dark speck in the horizon.

  They hid, fearing it might be a patrolling spider. As the flying creature neared, fire gushed from its jaws and S’cressling settled on the hilltop. The Q’zarans left their cover and embraced Osric, filling him in on their adventures. He had had trouble locating them, and the Kindred had driven them off several times.

  Jelindel really didn’t care. ‘As long as I can sleep,’ she said, speaking for all of them.

  Chapter 13

  TO STORM A CITADEL

  J

  elindel stirred some hours later. Daretor and Zimak lay snoring to either side of her. Osric alone stood guard at the mane. She reached over the side of the platform and spat a wad of bloodied phlegm. They appeared to be climbing still, for they were barely clearing the lower jagged buttresses of the Algon Mountains. S’cressling was battling icy air currents, striving to maintain an even keel. The wind bit at Jelindel’s face, numbing it. She hunched her shoulders and rubbed her skin brusquely, working life into it.

  To the right the mountain range rose, a solid wall. Jelindel saw herds of skittish goats scampering across the rocks, some leaping down impossibly steep slopes that funnelled into a caldera. Noticing she was awake, Osric pointed below.

  Their shadow was see-sawing across the rugged terrain like a paraplane anomaly. Any living creature it touched or passed fled in a frenzy. S’cressling hung her head and screeched hungrily, adding impetus to the scurrying creatures.

  Jelindel squeezed in beside Osric at the mane.

  ‘At least S’cressling seems to be enjoying herself,’ she called, raising her voice to be heard above the shrill wind.

  Osric nodded. ‘Hunting is in her blood, although she was never a predator.’ He pulled a shawl from beneath the mane and handed it to her.

  ‘And you?’ Jelindel asked, tucking the shawl around her neck. ‘You were raised in slavery, but now you’re an adventurer.’

  ‘I’m having a good time,’ he replied honestly. He waved at the sun as though it in itself was all he desired. ‘The hours are somewhat erratic, but my employers are not slave drivers. And I would swap all that I had as a slave for the freedom I now enjoy.’

  For a moment his humour reminded her of Zimak. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘I haven’t yet figured out why you’re coming back to the Tower Inviolate of your own free will.’

  Osric’s youthful features became serious. ‘There is a simple matter of the poison,’ he said. ‘By Zimak’s reckoning your time is running short. He was sick before. Just blood came up.’ When Jelindel said nothing, he added, ‘You seem little concerned about death.’

  Jelindel stared into the distance. ‘Far from it. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, yet my life is about to end. I gather Zimak has been discussing it with you – he doesn’t share much with us.’ She turned her gaze to Osric. ‘It eats at Daretor’s very core. He’s fixated on honour, and dying from poison has no honour in it at all. Yet he doesn’t speak of it. Nor do I, really. There’s nothing to be gained by complaining. We must consider success our only future.’

  ‘You Q’zarans are strange,’ Osric said. ‘It seems I am more concerned about your dilemma than you are.’

  ‘Our lives mean that much to you?’

  Osric looked at Daretor and Zimak. ‘Your companions are heroes back on my world. They rescued me from the Tower Inviolate. If not for them my people would still be living in fear and subjugation, and I would still be a slave.’

  Jelindel followed his gaze. Daretor and Zimak were heroes, even here on Q’zar. Yet they were mere mortals, too, prone to human failings. ‘You know that Rakeem will never keep his promise. His type never does. You could have just abandoned us and fled.’

  ‘There are few places on Q’zar where S’cressling and I would be welcome. And I strongly suspect that my future has many paths. Pray that I choose wisely.’

  ‘What do you see as your future, Osric?’

  ‘One path is that my people will follow us here and topple King Amida and his people. Another sees the dragonsight in the hands of the Sacred One, and again the fall of King Amida. Yet a third sees the Tower Inviolate travelling back to our own world where my people will be waiting to avenge themselves. In any event, you three are intertwined in my future. That much is certain. You have to survive the poison.’

  ‘And if Rakeem manages to keep the dragonsight?’

  Osric stroked S’cressling’s flowing mane, as though soothing her. ‘That is not a path that I see,’ he said simply.

  Jelindel slapped Osric on the back. ‘I feel better already.’

  The journey back was faster than they had hoped. S’cressling seemed galvanised and managed to pick up an airstream that swept them across the Algon Mountains, to the Tower Inviolate.

  It was night when they arrived. On the mountain side they found a hiding place, overlooking the massif. There was a cave here; inside they found the remnants of a hermit’s camp. Discarded food, clothing, a pair of broken sandals, and ashes of a long-dead fire. Whoever had been here had fled in a hurry.

  Osric built a fire. Over a light meal they discussed their plans.

  ‘There’s no point trying to storm the place,’ Zimak said.

  ‘Not with one dragon,’ Osric agreed.

  ‘We know that Rakeem will not honour the agreement,’ Jelindel mused. ‘That one knows little except treachery.’

  ‘But you have the dragonsight,’ said Osric. ‘Can you not use it to bargain with him?’

  ‘Perhaps. Whatever ploy we can think of, I’m sure Rakeem has thought of the counterstroke.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is, we’d better get this right the first time,’ said Zimak. ‘I don’t fancy dying an agonising death.’

  ‘Perhaps Rakeem will take pity on you and cut your throat,’ said Daretor.

  ‘It’s still your body,’ Zimak reminded him.

  ‘Not as I knew it!’ Daretor said.

  ‘Hie, Daretor, it bleeds pretty easily …’

  Jelindel tried to block out their tedious bickering. To Osric she said, ‘You lived in the Tower Inviolate for many years. You must know it like the back of your hand.’

  Osric nodded.

  ‘And you have friends there?’

  Again he nodded.

  ‘By my count, we have two days at most before the poison takes over completely,’ Jelindel said, gazing sombrely around. ‘Two days …’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Daretor asked.

  ‘I’ve had a thought,’ she replied.

  The plan was incredibly dangerous. Then again they had been living with danger for so long that it ceased to be anything but normal.

  ‘I once swore that I would never again trust a woman. For you I shall make an exception,’ said Osric.

  Zimak retched. ‘Gah,’ he groaned, ‘see what having to trust you does to me, Jelindel?’

  They set off at dawn. Not long after, S’cressling caught sight of something beyond human vision. Osric saw nothing at first, then he called to the others and pointed.

  ‘All that I can see is a dot,’ said Daretor.

  ‘Can S’cressling see something that we cannot?’ asked Jelindel.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Osric. ‘Her eyes are like the objective lens of a farsight. They gather more light than our small eyes. That dot is sure to be more than an eagle, trust me.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Daretor. ‘A dragon?’

  ‘
Something the size of a dragon, but not a dragon.’

  ‘But nothing else of that size can fly,’ said Daretor.

  ‘I know, and S’cressling cannot believe her eyes,’ said Osric.

  Jelindel thought for a moment, then frowned. ‘By any chance would S’cressling have caught sight of a giant, headless chicken growing out of a cottage?’

  ‘Well, now that you mention it, yes,’ said Osric, looking relieved. ‘I mean, there are strict regulations about flying a dragon while under the influence of alcohol –’

  ‘It’s diving,’ exclaimed Daretor. ‘Diving almost straight down.’

  ‘The chickenrider has seen us, but does not want to be seen,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘Chickenrider,’ said Daretor, staring at the distant dot as it vanished into a cloud bank. ‘The term lacks a certain epic quality.’

  ‘How much do you know about that thing?’ asked Osric.

  ‘I’ve flown one,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘You’ve flown a giant chicken?’ Osric said flatly.

  ‘Well, sort of stoked one, and steered it.’

  ‘Stoked? Steered?’ responded Osric.

  ‘It burned fruit peelings, rotten vegetables, all that sort of thing,’ said Daretor. ‘You shovel some in every half hour or so.’

  ‘Burned?’ asked Osric. ‘Don’t giant chickens eat?’

  ‘There was a funnel, and a shovel was provided,’ said Daretor. ‘If you stopped shovelling, the thing stopped flying and you were in big trouble.’

  ‘Fa’red,’ said Jelindel. ‘All sorts of pieces from a very difficult puzzle suddenly fall into place.’

  ‘Fa’red grows giant chicken dragons in flying cottages?’ asked Osric.

  ‘Those things are not dragons,’ explained Jelindel. ‘They are like the cabin of a fishing boat mounted on a chicken without a head, a chicken grown to the size of a dragon. Unlike dragons, they are totally controllable. They have no brain, eyes, or anything. They do precisely what the chickenrider wants. They are fearless, and need a steersman and shoveller to fly. They can also carry perhaps a dozen archers, or magicians, or a load of clay pots full of lamp oil that can set half a city on fire.’

  ‘Still vastly inferior to a dragon,’ said Osric with a trace of a sneer.

  ‘Not if there are no dragons to compete with,’ said Jelindel. ‘Fa’red only had to keep the dragonsight from King Amida’s hands until the thousand years expired. Then the dragons would be free of their enslavement – that is, according to myth.’

  ‘It is no myth,’ Osric asserted. ‘The Sacred One had his power stolen a thousand years ago by a potent wizard. He bound the dragonsight for a thousand years so that dragons would learn humility before humankind. If, once that time has elapsed, the dragonsight is still in the hands of a human, the dragons will still be enslaved. And another thousand years of slavery will follow. It’s imperative the Sacred One lays claim to that which is rightfully his.’

  Jelindel thought back to what Fa’red had told her earlier. ‘If Fa’red fails to unlock the power of the dragonsight, he might simply return it to the Sacred One, making peace with the dragons. Once he’s achieved that, he might help them return to their paraworld.’

  ‘That’s presuming the dragons want to abandon their birthplace for another paraworld,’ put in Osric.

  Daretor cut in. ‘With no dragons, the giant chickens – Fa’red calls them airliners, by the way – will have only the flying spiders to compete with for mastery of the skies, and the spiders have limitations, as we discovered. If Fa’red returns the entire mountain to the other paraworld, in all likelihood the spiders will go with it.’

  ‘I wonder how many of the airliners Fa’red has grown?’ asked Osric.

  ‘Probably a dozen or so,’ said Jelindel. ‘That number in skilled hands could sink a war fleet, either on the high seas or in port. You see, they just need to stay higher than bowshot or catapult range; they only have to drop pots of burning oil.’

  ‘It will be a very one-sided fight,’ said Daretor. ‘Totally without honour.’

  ‘But militarily very effective,’ said Jelindel. ‘Osric, can you ask S’cressling to fly through the cloud down there, so that we can look around for the airline base.’

  ‘I really thought I had seen the last of this sort of undignified fighting,’ protested Daretor.

  S’cressling changed course and began a long, shallow dive for the place where the distant dot had vanished into the clouds. The sky was a brilliant blue above, while the cloud base was a flat, grey carpet that stretched from horizon to horizon.

  ‘How does she know where to go?’ asked Zimak, looking past Osric. ‘All that cloud looks the same.’

  ‘How do you know what to do with a sword in a fight?’ replied Osric. ‘If you have been doing something all your life you tend to do it without thinking, and be good at it. The position of the sun, the patterns in the clouds that we cannot see, the feel of the wind, the pressure of the air, it all adds up.’

  ‘How do you know all that?’ Zimak wondered.

  ‘I don’t. S’cressling does.’

  They entered the layer of cloud. Immediately they were blinded and chilled by mist so thick that they could not even see S’cressling’s head. They seemed to be flying blind for a very long time.

  ‘What if this fog is close to the ground, rather than fog really high up?’ Zimak asked.

  ‘S’cressling can feel the pressure of the air around her,’ said Osric. ‘The pressure tells her that we are ten thousand feet above the ground. Two miles high.’

  ‘Ah, that’s comforting – gah!’ Zimak exclaimed. ‘Mountains can be higher than ten thousand feet. What about if these clouds are hiding mountains?’

  ‘S’cressling cheeps every few moments, then listens for an echo. If she hears an echo from dead ahead, then there is a mountain there.’

  Zimak scowled. ‘Then what?’

  ‘She starts flapping, gains height, and flies over. Or she might do a few more cheeps to work out the mountain’s outline, and fly around it.’

  ‘I don’t hear any cheeping,’ Zimak said dourly.

  ‘She is cheeping, only it is too shrill for you to hear.’

  ‘Gah, what’s the point of that?’ asked Zimak

  ‘Cattle, sheep, other prey like that cannot hear the dragon coming, so the dragon does not give away its location. That is why they can strike in total darkness, mist, and smoke, and why they approach in silence.’

  ‘Then how can you tell she’s cheeping?’ Zimak wanted to know.

  ‘Zimak!’ Jelindel snapped.

  ‘It is all right,’ said Osric. ‘I can’t tell if she is cheeping, but I am fairly sure that she is not feeling depressed and contemplating suicide, so I doubt that she is likely to forget the cheeping, fly straight into a solid wall of rock, then plunge in a mangled heap to rocks thousands of feet below.’

  ‘But –’

  By now even Osric was becoming annoyed. ‘Look, Zimak, next time you have your sword out and are fighting for your life, do you really think you would need me there yelling at you to keep your eyes open?’

  ‘Enough, Zimak,’ Jelindel said. Something in her tone made Zimak clamp his mouth.

  The mist began to lighten. Moments later they were a little below the cloud base. They were high over farmland.

  ‘Now are you convinced?’ asked Osric. ‘We are a mile and a half up, and there are no mountains.’

  ‘I can see some hills,’ muttered Zimak.

  ‘No more than two hundred feet high,’ estimated Osric.

  ‘And I see a town,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘They are pretty common,’ replied Osric.

  ‘This one is running.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Osric and Daretor together, as Jelindel brought her farsight to bear on the dark patch far below.

  ‘The giant chicken-cottage things, hundreds of them, all running along in formation.’

  ‘Hundreds?’ exclaimed Daretor. ‘Did you say hundreds?’

>   ‘That I did,’ said Jelindel, looking elsewhere. ‘I also see that Fa’red’s growing many more airliners. So many, hundreds, perhaps a thousand.’

  ‘I’ve heard of a face that launched a thousand ships, but a thousand giant chickens?’ said Osric.

  ‘How could Fa’red have found the money for so many?’ asked Daretor.

  ‘Well, they live on chickenfeed,’ said Jelindel. ‘Admittedly, an awful lot of chickenfeed, but then chickens eat just about anything: grass, leaves, garbage scraps. An army of five thousand could do the work of tending them, and most kingdoms have armies that size, or larger. Fa’red must have convinced some ambitious monarch to provide the manpower, in return for invincible steeds for his army.’

  ‘That’s totally and absolutely without honour!’ spat Daretor. ‘Imagine a warrior being killed in battle, then having to explain to the gods of the afterlife that he was trampled to death by a giant chicken. I mean if he fronted up to the Warrior’s Circle in paradise with a story like that they’d slam the dummart door in his face.’

  ‘Hie,’ Zimak said. ‘That two-timing rat Hargrellien.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Daretor admitted grudgingly. ‘Last time we saw her, she said she was going to build something called a squadron. She must have done so, and joined forces with Fa’red.’

  ‘For all her faults, she did save our lives,’ Jelindel reminded them. Her voice caught. ‘There,’ she cried. ‘Look down there.’

  ‘Fires,’ observed Daretor. ‘Someone is fighting back.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Jelindel, squinting through her farsight again. ‘There’s … four no, five airliners dropping fire pots on a stone bridge. The airliners are about as long and wide as a ship. I think they’re just in training.’

  ‘Still not as good as a dragon,’ boasted Osric.

  ‘True, but still vastly better than no dragon at all,’ Jelindel repeated. ‘A thousand airliners could move an army of ten thousand at a hundred times the speed of marching men. Such mobility would win most battles before they began.’