"Perhaps they will come tomorrow, and join my father in that little village of graves on the hillside."
I slapped my fork down onto the table. "I will not stay here with you, dragon, breathe what threats you will!"
He rose from his seat, and I had my first realization of how large a man he was, taller than either his father or mine. "You forget, princess, that this was no more my scheme than your own! I wish nothing so ardently than that my ma—" He choked on the word, which only increased his anger. "—than to be released from whatever fool's errand my father bequeathed me!"
His fist, slammed against the table, left a wide and splintery crack.
We both regarded it in silence.
"You seem to have poor control of your temper, sir dragon," I said.
With a bellow of anger, he tore from the room, already swirling with smoke and sparks. As soon as he was through the door, I heard the beat of wings, and a less human-sounding bellow fading into the distance.
It was unwise of me to bait him, I knew. He might have cracked my skull as easily as our poor table. But it was the only punishment I could inflict.
Leaving my meal unfinished, I went back up the stairs, to change out of the beautiful dress, now that it was without purpose once more.
Genevieve found me, struggling out of the gown with more violence than success, and silently took charge of the project, easing my arms out of the tight sleeves while I fought to swallow embarrassing tears of frustration—not an hour after I had sworn I was done with weeping!
"Thank you, Gen," I murmured, stepping clumsily into one of my more usual dresses. "I assure you, I do not aim to spend the entire day helpless as a babe—What is this?"
She gently pressed a small rough-woven sack into my hands, looking unusually timid, as if unsure she did right. The sack, I opened to see, contained three small packages, wrapped in paper and twine.
My birthday presents.
Genevieve took the largest from the sack, indicated herself.
"From you," I said. "I see. Well…"
I could summon little in the way of birthday merriment, yet I did owe it to my friends to at least open the gifts they had taken thought and effort to give, and appreciate them as well as I could. I sat on the bed and tore the paper from Genevieve's gift.
"Why, this is that wooden pitcher! You sneak." A plain but serviceable old thing, the pitcher had disappeared from the kitchen weeks ago, to my exasperation. Now I knew why. Genevieve had sanded the surface and painted it white, with little gold-bordered portraits of every member of the household. Gareth with his wide grin and big green eyes, bright blue Elaysius with his sword drawn, Genevieve herself with beautifully detailed seashells in her hair… "Ah, Gen, you are so clever an artist! There can be no doubt you were given a fine lady's education. Why, you have made even myself look pleasing to the eye, and that is no mean feat." I had turned the pitcher and found my own portrait, ash-blonde hair flowing instead of wild and tangled, smiling instead of scolding someone as I usually found myself.
My smile faltered as I turned it again, and found Rindargeth painted in dragon form, an impressive red-brown shape against blue sky.
"It is beautiful, Genevieve," I said, setting it aside with Rindargeth's portrait facing away. "A great deal of work, I'm certain, and a lovely thing for us all to enjoy. Thank you." I squeezed her hand, and she smiled—but nodded me toward the other gifts.
The little round package I knew would be from Gareth; each birthday he gave me the same thing, as beautiful a stone as he could find all the year long. His gifts had a pattern; for instance, on the anniversary of Genevieve's arrival, which we had declared to be her birthday, she always received an unusually pretty bit of driftwood. This year, my stone was dark with veins of glittering silver; I put it in my pocket and made a note to thank him for it.
That left only one package in the sack, and—since the flower wreath had been Elaysius's gift—only one friend left to have given it.
"No," I said. "I can't. Genevieve, I cannot open this, not… not today, not… I cannot." I tried to give it back to her, but she would not take it.
"Not today," I said again, but she only raised her eyebrows, not unkindly. I knew what she wished to say. If not today, when? Would I leave Rindargeth's gift to molder, unseen and unwanted? Would it become somehow easier as time passed, or would it rather become harder, to summon the courage to open the very last gift he would give me?
I drew in a slow, shaking breath, and tore the paper before I could think too much more.
The item within was soft, lumpy, bright scarlet in color. A pair of mittens, unadorned, unevenly made, but warm-looking for all of that.
I could hardly find my voice. "Did he make these himself?"
Genevieve nodded, her own eyes watery now, and gestured to the roof, herself, the mittens…
"You taught him," I interpreted. "Up on the roof, where I would not see. He knew how miserably I hate the cold—I warmed myself against him often enough—and wanted to be sure I could keep my hands warm, even if he were not here…"
Twice in an hour I broke my vow against weeping, and after some minutes stroking my hair, Genevieve left me in peace, curled around my mittens on the bed.
The sun was past its zenith before I made my way to the stable, and I felt some guilt, but little surprise, on seeing that Gareth had already done my share of the chores as well as his own. I found the boy sitting in the grass at the edge of the pasture, playing with a handful of stones.
"They come back," he said to me, nodding toward the grazing horses. "I was 'fraid they'd run off, but they come back."
"They like it better here than in the woods, I'm sure," I said, though truly I was surprised that they had all returned so quickly, with the scent of a strange dragon in the air. It was to Gareth that they returned, I thought; I had yet to see any animal, or plant for that matter, that did not love the boy at first sight. "I opened my birthday gifts, Gareth. Thank you for the little stone, it's lovely."
He shrugged and grinned bashfully, worrying something in his fingers.
"What do you have there, Gareth?"
"Runes."
Baffled, I peered more closely at the tiny stones in his hands. Each one was etched, clearly if clumsily, with a symbol, some few of which I recognized from a long-ago court magician's study or the tent of an itinerant fortune-teller. "Where in the world did you get these?"
"Made 'em. They tells the future. Sometimes." He cast them out upon the grass, and smiled broadly at them. "See?"
I saw nothing but a handful of clumsily-carved pebbles in the grass, but made polite noises, since he was so proud of them. Had there not been some book brought in, months ago, that talked of palmistry and star-reading and such? He must have copied the runes from there. "What do the stones say about me?" I asked, to humor him.
He cast the stones out again, peered at them carefully. "Strong. Angry." He peered at me sideways. "Bossy."
I cuffed him across the head, making him snort and chuckle. "Impudent pup. What do they say about our new dragon friend, I wonder?"
He shook his head. "Tried that. They don't know yet."
"Ah. Well, be sure to inform me, should they come up with anything." I laid back in the grass, letting the sun warm my face. "Have you seen Elaysius? It is usually hard to escape him, yet I have not so much as heard his voice, since this other dragon arrived."
"Fairy hiding."
"From the dragon?"
Gareth shrugged. "Scary dragon."
"Do you know where he's hiding?"
Another shrug.
I frowned. "Well, if you happen to see him, tell him I would like to speak with him."
"Aye."
I stared up at the sky, remembering the streaks of fire across it, the circle settling into place a single, maddening second before I could cross it. Did the wall extend all the way to a dome-top, then?
Did it have a dome-bottom?
My breath stopped as I considered this tantalizin
g new thought. How was it that I had never before wondered how far the circle extended below the ground? Perhaps I had never been motivated by the necessary misery.
I would have to proceed carefully, for Braith would certainly not permit such an experiment. If his habits were anything like Rindargeth's, he would be watching—yes, there he was atop the tower, white wings spread to catch the warmth of the sun. Perhaps if I went out in the night... Gareth could help me dig, and Genevieve stand watch...
Restlessness drove me to my feet. I always thought better in motion, as if a brisk walk might loosen the muscles of my mind as well as those of my legs, and let me outrun distractions besides.
"Here." Gareth tugged my sleeve, pressing a little bouquet of wildflowers into my hand. "Take these for Rindy."
"What?"
"Going to the graveyard, ain't you?"
I looked down at the flowers. "Well. Perhaps I am."
He nodded firmly. "Those is for Rindy."
I had not wanted to go to the graveyard. I had not wanted to think of the graveyard. But there was honor due the dead, and I would not be a coward.
My pace slowed as I made my way up the hill where the graves lay. Sir Frederick of Lorcan, the very first, who had brought us Firefoot. Sir Thomas of Hedley, whose loquacious battle-taunts had made me laugh despite myself. Sir Marcus, whom Gareth had served as squire, first to land a serious wound against Rindargeth; Gareth kept his grave always marked with flowers.
Three more, who had left less impression upon my memory, and that was shameful, for had these men not died for my sake? Yet I so much preferred not to think of them. What purpose was there, in spending my days mourning for strangers?
But not all buried here were strangers, now.
I could no longer avoid gazing upon the new grave, a plot of disturbed earth large enough for the foundation of a house, marked by a great boulder pulled from the adjacent hillside. Its surface was scored, I presumed by dragon claws, with symbols I did not know. I realized, with a sudden strange guilt, that for all my time teaching Rindargeth of human letters and human ways, I knew little of his in return—only a few stories and songs.
"These are from Gareth," I murmured, setting the flowers against the side of the stone. I tried to think of more to say, but what I mostly wanted was to ask, not tell. Old questions—Who was his master, and what did he want with me? And new questions—Had he intended his last battle to go the way it did? Had he known his son would be forced into his place?
"He claims to be your son," I whispered, "but he is as unlike you as winter and summer. I don't suppose you were cuckolded?" I smiled a little—realized I was waiting for a reply, and the smile died. I pulled the red mittens from my pocket and slipped them onto my hands. "It's still far too warm for these. Yet I would have you know they fit perfectly. You must have fought with them for months—you, knitting! And all a great secret from me! I wish I could have seen… But they fit perfectly. You never knew it, but you did well, they do fit…" I slid to the ground, my back against the stone. "It was always such a devil's choice, to me—desperate for my freedom, yet unwilling to sacrifice your life to get it." I pulled my knees to my chest, buried my face in the lumpy warmth of my mittens. "I never imagined I could be trapped here without either."
When all the day's chores were done—death and disaster, after all, had no bearing on whether Bessie needed milking—I left Genevieve to begin the preparations for dinner, and took myself off for a horse-ride "to clear my head." My true motive, of course, was to survey the edge of the circle, and choose what spot might be best to try digging under, but I dared not mention that to anyone just yet.
I had a half dozen horses to choose from, but Firefoot was the first to come trotting up when he saw me carrying a saddle, and that was just as well. Firefoot, the handsome chestnut who had been the first to join us at the tower, required a good bit of exercise to keep his high-strung nerves in check. I saddled him and off we went.
We had not gone more than halfway to the line of flowers before Firefoot's steps startled a snake out of its hole.
It was hardly the first time I had been thrown by a horse—mostly Firefoot, come to think of it. I was more annoyed than frightened by the event. That did not keep it from hurting.
"Fool of a horse!" I shouted—or wheezed, truthfully, as I cautiously picked myself back up. Other than having the breath knocked out of me, I seemed to have suffered only bruises. "Silly thing, it is no wonder your knight did not last long. Oh, where have you gone?"
The snake, fortunately, was not in sight, doubtless just as displeased by the turn of events as I was. The horse was not in sight either, and I hobbled after him, following his hoofprints. It was important that I catch him before he wandered across the border of the circle; as a mere beast, he would not be impeded, but I would be unable to follow and bring him back.
It was too late, I realized, groaning as I crested the hill and caught sight of Firefoot below, already past the border and into the trees. Even worse—I saw as I drew closer that in his wild dash, the horse had plunged through low brush and gotten his reins thoroughly tangled in it. He was tugging and tearing at them in growing panic.
"Easy, boy, there's a good boy, be calm, now," I called, pressing myself up against the invisible wall of the circle. Firefoot heeded me enough to stop snatching his head about, but his eyes were still white-rimmed, legs trembling.
Well, this was a pretty problem. How in the world was I to get him loose? And with night coming on, too, the sun sinking fast behind me. Perhaps, once he calmed, he would be able to get himself free. Gareth, with his uncanny way with the animals, might be of use. Calling reassurances to Firefoot behind me, I turned back for the tower.
Gareth I found by the fire in the common room, playing with his rune-stones. He frowned deeply on hearing my news.
"But we can't get him loose," Gareth said. "Need Rindy to get him loose." His lip trembled.
"Braith can pass through the circle just as Rindargeth could," I said. "If he can bothered for it, which I doubt. Do you know where he is?"
Gareth jerked his chin up toward the ceiling, from which I gathered Braith was at the top of the tower. "Ah. Well, I am not scaling four flights of stairs to beg his help on such a little matter. With any luck you and I can handle it on our own."
By the time Gareth and I reached the place where the circle separated us from Firefoot, the sun was half-sunk into the sea, the western sky a carnival of color while here, in the shadow of the forest, all was deep gloom. The horse had not pulled himself free, as I had hoped he might, but at least he had not hurt himself in panic.
We called to him a little while, but this only served to make him anxious when he could not obey; his snatching at the snarled reins only seemed to tighten their entanglement. We tried to soothe him back to stillness, but he remained ill at ease, snorting and twitching his ears as if sensing something we did not.
Which, I realized with a chill, he very well might. The forest held its share of predators, and Firefoot would smell or hear them long before we did.
"Perhaps," I said, "we might throw stones at the branches that hold him, and break them?"
"Maybe," Gareth said doubtfully. "Scare him worse, though. 'Specially if we hits him."
Oh, dear, he was certainly right on that score. "I don't know what other option—"
Eyes flickered in the forest.
I grabbed Gareth's arm. "Do you see that?"
"Wolves," he said, "it's wolves." He began to cry.
He couldn't know it was wolves, I told myself as the green-gold flickers drew closer. Two pairs of eyes—three, four. Firefoot thrashed and whinnied as he pulled at the reins.
One of the creatures glided into the edge of the dying sunlight, revealing shaggy gray fur and pricked ears.
"Oh, Gareth, we cannot stay! They can get to us as easily as him—"
"Firefoot!" Gareth shouted, pounding his fists against the impenetrable circle. "Firefoot, run!"
Firefoo
t was certainly trying, but it wasn't going to help. Sick and terrified, I watched as the wolves surrounded him, snapping at his heels as he plunged and kicked. One leaped for his throat—
A brassy scream overhead startled me off my feet. I pulled Gareth to the ground with me and threw my arms over our heads, but it was not me or Gareth who was under attack. Wings buffeted us with air, and the wolves scattered in surprise as Braith dove in among them.
Firefoot, seeing a dragon enter the fray, only panicked further. He kicked at Braith when the dragon tried to spread his wings above him, knocking him back a step with an irritated snarl. The wolves, already regrouping, attacked Braith's flank; he snaked his head to one side, snapping at them, and then to the other, biting neatly through Firefoot's reins.
The horse fled immediately, thundering past us with foam on his sides. Gareth, weeping with joy, ran after him, assumedly to catch and calm him before he hurt himself. I moved to follow—but turned back at a sound of pain from Braith. A wolf had caught the edge of his wing, tearing at the delicate tissue as Braith tried to shake him off.
I picked up the large rock I had been considering throwing at Firefoot's reins, and heaved it instead at the wolf, hitting it in the chest. It yelped and released Braith's wing.
Braith did not immediately take flight, to my surprise, but backed through the circle toward me, scream-roaring with wings spread. He loosed a small gout of flame, and that was the final straw for the wolves; they retreated into the forest, beaten and whining.
"I don't recommend turning your back to them, even now," Braith said. His voice in dragon form was less rumbly than his father's, easier to understand. "I will carry you to the tower."
"You will not," I said instantly. "That is," I tried to gentle my tone, "I prefer to walk."
"Do you prefer to be eaten by wolves?"
As an alternative to flying, it bore consideration.
"Ari!" Gareth's shout was breathless and concerned. He had not only caught Firefoot, but mounted and turned him back; the horse looked nervous still, but biddable enough. "Come up, Ari, come up. Can't stay here."
I let him haul me up behind him on the horse. "There, sir dragon, how is that?"
Ice & Smoke Page 5
