Dragonclaw

by Kate Forsyth

  Meghan had to smile at the truth of this, and stroked the donbeag’s silky fur. She looked about her carefully, and noticed a small plant clinging tenaciously to life in a crevice in the sheer rock face, about three feet above her head. About the size of her fist, the herb dropped a tangle of leaves and tiny blue flowers below its exposed root. Meghan raised her hand and slowly the tendrils thickened and grew, the roots giving a visible heave as they wound tighter into the crack. A shower of stones and gravel rattled down on their heads, and Gitâ retreated under Meghan’s plaid. The witch had to sit down, clenching her fists on her lap, as the tangle of branches and flowers—now the size of dinner plates—spread across the cliff face. The donbeag nestled under her hand, and she took a deep breath, feeling her age.

  When the stones and boulders at last stopped crashing down, some measure of strength had returned to Meghan and she stood, surveying her handiwork. The bunch of wild thyme had blossomed into a great waterfall of vines completely covering the wall along the dangerous gap. Gitâ gave an approving chirrup, and bounded from Meghan’s shoulder to the wiry branches and in a few swift movements was on the other side, his tail high over his head. ‘I wish it were that easy for me,’ Meghan sighed, and secured her staff to her pack with a rope. It took her almost twenty minutes to make the crossing, sometimes stepping on the broken remnants of the road, sometimes having to trust the vines with her full weight. Once a stone crumbled and fell away under the testing pressure of her foot, and Meghan lurched forward, her hands slipping on the vine. She was able to regain her footing after an undignified moment swinging helplessly while the roots strained at her weight. The rest of the crossing was accomplished safely, though, and she sat with her head bowed and her chest heaving for quite some time afterwards.

  Although the magically enhanced plant would be of assistance to the Red Guards behind her, she left it be. It had struggled hard to survive and had helped her valiantly, and she could not bear to destroy it now.

  It will help us make the crossing when we come back, Gitâ said practically, and Meghan realised with a sudden chill that she had not been expecting to return.

  It rained that night, a steady persistent drizzle that soaked through her clothes and left her shivering and weak. Before dawn the rain had turned to sleet, and the puddles turned to ice. Meghan crouched against the stones, rubbing her numb hands together and stamping her frozen feet. Gitâ ran back and forth, chittering loudly in his high voice. Settle down, Gitâ, Meghan mind-said.

  Can we not go back to our nice, safe valley? Dragons should not be meddled with. Dragons are very old and strange, beloved, they do not like human beings, they do not like donbeags. Why are we here? One does not question what the dragons choose to do, one is just grateful not to be fried to a crisp. Oh, my beloved, I do not like this cold mountain with its hard stones, I want my nice snug nest in the tree. I should be cleaning out my nest now that spring is here. What if some other donbeag finds my nest and takes it for his own? Gitâ’s mind-voice was shrill with anxiety.

  No-one will take your nest, Gitâ, but if ye wish to return ye may, though I will sorely miss your company.

  Gitâ leapt onto her knee, rubbing himself against her neck. His fur was damp and cold to the touch. How can I leave my beloved? he said. Already I have saved you once from the dangerous lizard, and you may need me again. No, no, Gitâ will stay, Gitâ will look after his witch.

  Thank ye, Gitâ, Meghan replied, and returned her attention to her lap, where her sorceress rings gleamed fitfully. She played with them absently, knowing that tomorrow she would reach the heights and begin the journey down the other side of Dragonclaw into the valley of the dragons. The very thought made her bowels loosen with terror. Her fingers closed around the rings so that their hardness hurt her; then, with a shiver, she carefully wrapped them up again, and stowed them safely in her pocket where she could reach them easily. She kept out only the garnet, her Ring of Fire, which she pushed onto her gnarled finger with some difficulty.

  It was almost dawn now and the sky was streaky with pink and gold. Overhead a crested falcon flew, and after a moment Meghan called it down to her. The news was not good. The force of Red Guards gathering at the very foot of the Great Stairway had reached over two hundred and fifty men, and more were coming. Meghan groaned a little, then laughed harshly. There was no going back.

  When she had eaten some porridge and drunk some revitalising tea, both heated with her finger, Meghan rose stiffly to her feet and began the now tiresome journey to the upper platform, which marked the height of Dragonclaw. As she walked, she performed centring exercises so that she was as strong and calm as she could possibly be, knowing the dragons would not let her pass easily.

  By the time she had reached the platform the shadows were lengthening and Meghan was very tired. She stepped onto the wide stone dais with some trepidation, but it was deserted, only the great statues spreading their weathered wings against the sky. She went over to the eastern corner and looked down, at last able to have a clear view to her secret valley. Meghan felt her heart shrink at the sight of great patches of burnt-out forest and what could only be the corpses of animals lying here and there. The great tree which was her home was badly damaged by fire and axe, but still stood, which gave Meghan some hope.

  She paused for a long moment, studying the lie of the land and memorising where the Red Guards had set up their camps. She wondered again how Isabeau was managing, travelling through the land with so many soldiers abroad, but pushed the thought away, knowing she had no way of finding out. Grimly she shouldered her pack again and picked up her staff, but before she could take a step a shadow dropped over her, blotting out the sun.

  She looked up to find a great bronze dragon diving towards her with a strident bugle, his golden wings translucent against the sun. Although she was trembling with the power and beauty of him, Meghan stood calmly on the ledge, calling greetings to him with her mind. Despite her cordiality, the dragon folded his wings and nose-dived towards her at a perilous rate.

  Meghan, trying not to cringe back, yanked off her ring and held it up so the stone glittered red in the light. Great One, I bring a gift for ye, she mind-spoke.

  With a twist of his lissom body the dragon broke from his attacking dive, settling instead on one of the crags that reared sharply upwards. This one was much bigger than the dragon Meghan had spoken with before, and he had a malevolent glint in his eye. He stared at her like a cat at a mouse, and said, What gift dost thou offer that would interest me?

  It was hard not to gaze back, but Meghan knew better than to meet his cold topaz eyes. She stared at his glittering hide instead and opened her fingers to show him the ring that lay concealed within.

  A witch ring, the dragon yawned, flickering a thin blue tongue. A pretty trinket.

  She stepped forward and laid the ring on the ground. Before she could take even a step back, the dragon had moved, as quick and deadly as a snake, seizing the jewel with the tip of his tail and tossing it into the air, catching it in his clawed foot with ease. I thank thee for thy kind gift, witch, the dragon said mockingly. Thou mayst leave now.

  She stood before it and bowed low. I beg an audience with the Circle o’ Seven.

  Humans seem to have grown very bold and foolhardy in the centuries since I last spoke with one, the dragon said in Meghan’s mind. A witch who will not go away when we request it, and a gaggle of soldiers camping at our doorstep. This does not please us.

  Please forgive me for my intrusion, Meghan said. It is only in the most extreme o’ circumstances that I would no’ gladly fulfil any request o’ the great dragons.

  Nicely spoken, witch, the dragon replied. Yet we have asked thee to leave our domain and thou hast returned. Why is this so?

  I am in desperate need, my laird.

  Why should thy need concern the dragons?

  I wish to consult the dragons’ acclaimed wisdom.

  And are these men in red cloaks also in need of our wisdom that they brin
g such a force to our mountain?

  I do no’ ken, my laird. I am no’ connected with these soldiers. I do no’ ken their purpose here, though I believe they wish me ill and, I suspect, the dragons also.

  The dragon regarded her with a spurious kindness. I do not think it is thy place to tell the dragons who are their friends and who are not.

  No, my laird.

  The great topaz eyes regarded her, and the long tail—longer than three horses—began to sway back and forth. Meghan waited. The dragon yawned, showing a blue-roofed mouth and many sharp, pointed teeth. I grow weary of thee, witch. Tell me why thou hast come. Surely it is not to warn us of the coming of soldiers?

  No, my laird, I ken ye have no need o’ my help. I come to seek yours.

  Unexpectedly the dragon laughed. Bold but honest. Unusual for a witch.

  Witches take an oath to speak nothing but the truth.

  Aye, but how many witches keep thine oath?

  I do no’ break my vows.

  Do witches not also take an oath to respect the lives of others?

  Meghan clenched her fists. Except in the defence o’ life.

  Not in anger? Not for revenge?

  Carefully the wood witch relaxed her grip. They are certainly strong motivations, she said dryly, and she heard the dragon laugh again, unpleasantly.

  Come, sorceress, I am tired of playing with thee, clever as thou art. Why dost thou bother our peace?

  I wish to address the Circle o’ Seven, my laird, if they will spare the time.

  The Circle o’ Seven has greater concerns than the petty wishes of a mere human. What is the subject of thy concern? The dragon’s tail swayed back and forth.

  There is great trouble and unrest in the land, and evil forces at work. I ken the dragons see both ways along the thread o’ time, and I am hoping their knowledge and wisdom will help me understand the right course, o’ action. As Meghan spoke, her mind-voice grew more confident, the strange phrasings of the dragons’ language returning to her.

  The Circle of Seven are not interested in the muddles and messes of humankind, no more than thou art interested in the battles of ants or the jousting of caterpillars. Those of thy kind are always fighting and killing each other, why should we take notice?

  Because the civil war spreading across Eileanan is affecting the dragons also, Meghan responded bluntly. Maya the Unknown has issued proclamations against the uile-bheistean and already dragons are being killed. I know the dragons have taken interest in the affairs o’ humans in the past, for why else would they save the life o’ a human child? Isabeau’s fate must be o’ interest to the Circle o’ Seven, else they would no’ have given the babe into my care. Dragons do no’ act without due consideration.

  True, witch, but neither do we give audience without the offering of appropriate gifts. I cannot let thee pass, for thou art empty-handed.

  I have brought gifts, the sorceress said, and spread her fingers to show the dragon the jade, turquoise and blue topaz rings she had kept concealed till now.

  A petty gift, one hardly suitable for the Great Circle, and unlikely to capture their attention.

  True, my laird, and indeed I am ashamed to present myself afore the Circle o’ Seven with so pitiful an offering. If I could, I would fain have brought the Crown Jewels o’ Cuinn and the Ring o’ Serpetra, but I am just an auld wood witch, with no treasures to my name but my rings.

  The dragon flickered his blue tongue. And the blood and meat of thy body.

  Mainly gristle and bone, Meghan said ruefully. Indeed, I think the Great Ones would spit me out in distaste, my laird.

  To her surprise the dragon laughed, and the sound chilled her to the core. True speaking, witch, true speaking indeed. Very well. I will allow thee to pass but know that the Great Ones will hold thy puny life in their talons. Do not displease them.

  Thank ye, my laird. Meghan bowed again, and the dragon spread his wings and raised his tail so all the sky was filled with the brightness and danger of his presence.

  I will see thee again when thy funny little legs carry thee down the Stairway. Do not take too long or the Circle may forget thou art coming.

  Meghan bowed, though her heart sank at the thought of the three days’ journey ahead of her. She was heartily sick of the Great Stairway and its rotting stones.

  The dragon looked at her slyly. So thou wishes thou hadst wings to soar like the dragon, old witch. Dost thou wish to ride on my back?

  Terror and desire filled her like the hot rush of moonbane, but she lowered her head, and said, That is an honour I would never dare imagine.

  The dragon rose on his hind legs and bugled, so that Meghan cowered down against the stones, her hands over her ears, the dragon-fear turning her blood to ice. No human has crossed their leg over my back, he hissed, and no human ever will. With a swirl of his wings and tail, the bronze dragon leapt from the stone arch and was gone. Meghan picked herself up from the stones, sighed, straightened her skirt, and began the descent.

  The roadway was in much better repair on this side of the mountain, and the carvings in the walls much clearer. The old witch studied them carefully, noting the panels were now depicting a tall man with a crown of antlers, standing beneath a flowering tree. The frieze was edged with symbols of power, in particular an emblem of two dragons twisted together, and divided by the device of two roses etched in thorns.

  Gitâ perched on Meghan’s shoulder. The Summer Tree, he said, indicating the carving of the antlered man. Meghan wondered what he meant, but when she questioned the donbeag, he merely gave a chirrup and ran down her back.

  Soon Meghan found a section of wall which had crumbled enough to allow her to clamber up. She sat on the top of the wall and stared with amazement at the northern mountains, which stretched as far as she could see. They were far higher than the Sithiche Mountains, and covered in snow despite the warm spring weather. Below her was a wide crater shaped like an uneven bowl, with the sharp point of Dragonclaw mimicked in miniature on the opposite side. In the centre of the crater was a loch, curiously green and wreathed with steam. Meghan squinted her old eyes, and stared at the loch for some moments before realising with a little shock that what she had thought were rocky outcrops in the water were in fact dragons. She had to stop for a moment, her heart was pounding so, and she lay down flat so her silhouette would not betray her presence. She could see three dragons in the loch, steam rising from their nostrils, and another sunbaking on a rock, its pale belly exposed. It rolled luxuriously, its muscular tail thrashing the water, and she saw that it was much larger than the dragons she had already spoken to. Trepidation filled her, and she went over her plan in her mind. She had never expected to find so many dragons, but one dragon or five meant little difference in the end and so, after a moment, she went on.

  Meghan found it much easier to swing herself down the tall steps than it had been to clamber up them, and so she was in good heart by the time she reached the bottom. The statues that guarded the arch were also in much better condition, sheltered by the high walls of the crater, and so she took the opportunity to study them carefully. They were superb works of sculpture, showing every rib and claw of the dragons’ wings. She could almost believe they were real dragons, turned to stone by some great act of magic.

  The cobbled road continued on past the wide, green loch and led to an identical archway at the foot of the opposite cliff. Meghan realised that there must also be a Great Stairway leading to the lands of the north, where the wild snow-dwelling tribes lived. She knew of the savage tribes, one of their number having travelled to the Towers to study a few years before the Burning. He had flown to Lucescere on the back of a dragon, causing a sensation among the witches since dragons were notoriously hostile to humans and did not take kindly to being ridden. Before the dragon-laird had arrived, the witches had thought the stories of the snow-dwellers were merely tales of the imagination, for Tìrlethan—as the land on the other side of Dragonclaw was named—was so inhospitable no-one li
ved there except frost giants and blizzard owls.

  Taking a deep breath, Meghan stepped out between the statues and onto the road. The smallest and youngest of the dragons slithered out of the loch, water streaming off his golden hide. He said nothing, but paced along beside her, dwarfing her with his sinuous length. One by one the other dragons followed suit, until Meghan’s tiny form was surrounded on all sides by the great bronze bodies, their wings folded along their sides. Meghan, trying without success to control the fear their silent presence inspired in her, gripped her staff tightly and concentrated on examining the crater. Its walls rose high and sheer around the loch, zigzagged by the Great Stairway at the northern and southern ends. The loch filled most of the valley floor, with steam writhing above it, pale and ghostlike. In one side of the crater yawned seven great caverns, but unlike the caves which lined the walls of Meghan’s valley, these were not natural. Shaped in a perfect arch and surrounded by intricate carvings, they were obviously built by whomever had made the Great Stairway.

  The road led past the seven caverns, with wide, circular steps leading up to the greatest of the caves, the one in the centre. The smallest of the dragons lead her up the steps, stepping daintily and apparently not noticing how awkward the high steps were for Meghan. Within the carved cave entrance was a wide roadway, curving down in a steep spiral so that Meghan could not see the end, and lit only at the entrance so that the heavily carved walls sank into gloom. Another dragon crouched within the shadows, his hide glimmering. Meghan bowed to it but said nothing, her breath coming fast in her throat.

  Greetings again, witch, the older dragon said in contemptuous tones. I see thou hast returned despite my warning.

  Greetings, lordly one. May your bed always be warm, your skies always blue.

  May thou live to see another dawn, he replied urbanely, twitching his tail. He then lead the way, pacing like a war-charger, his great head raised proudly.