by Richard Due
They passed through the Northern neck of Rihnwood and out to the ocean road with its roaring waves. The moons were bright and the clouds few. To their left, one moon, which Nimlinn identified as Rel’ Kah, was so large that it took up a third of the sky, even with its lower quarter dipping below the horizon of the sea. The moonlight reflecting off Rel’ Kah was so bright, and coming in from such a low angle, that Jasper found he could at times see quite deeply into the periphery of the forest.
They had not been on this road long before Jasper suggested that he attempt to will himself and the wyflings into a short sleep, one that would end before they reached the mountains. Nimlinn did not see the advantage of this at first, but Jasper pointed out that on all the long route back to Sea Denn, the easiest place to defend themselves would be along the forest’s edge, as they could veer into it at a moment’s notice. Nimlinn eyed the forest of her youth and could not disagree with Jasper’s logic.
When they reached the foot of the mountains, and Nimlinn was having deep doubts about employing a plan made by a mere Dain cub, Jasper and the wyflings awoke as if by clockwork.
The sun had been up for a full hour. As soon as it became apparent that they were not taking the road through the pass, Aleron descended from the skies and consulted with them briefly. During the night, he had met with several owls and bats who had news of the goings-on in the valley. Fangdelve was still under siege. The Clan of the Broadpaw had now joined Greydor’s forces in great numbers. Aleron went on to describe a black smoke that billowed freely from the higher reaches of Fangdelve. When Jasper inquired about what that meant, neither Nimlinn nor Aleron would say.
Nimlinn attacked the ascent with spectacular skill, performing great feats as she unnervingly clawed her way up sheer cliffs, leapt wide gorges, and raced across narrow ridges on which a mountain goat would have stumbled. Jasper, for his part, could barely contain his excitement. During their descent, Nimlinn had to chide him more than once for screaming things like, “Yahoo!” and “Faster! Faster!”
At the end of their descent, after leaping the river of Barradil, they happened on a large encampment of Rinn, waiting under Roan’s orders in case Nimlinn returned along the unique path she had used on her way to the Blight Marsh. Nimlinn was not at all happy to see them. Putting on a burst of speed, she entered the camp like a low-flying missile, overturning chairs, tables, tents, and more than one Rinn.
Once within the valley, and with Sea Denn a distant point on the horizon, she began to outpace Aleron’s flock, dropping them one by one. Finally, only Aleron himself remained, but even he could not stay with her for the entire journey. Jasper was not in the habit of guessing speeds, but he was certain that, if she’d been on a highway, Nimlinn would have been passing all the other cars.
The sun had traveled far across the sky and was getting low when Jasper first caught a clear sight of Sea Denn, city of the Rinn. It was precisely as he had always envisioned it, just as Uncle Ebb had painted it on canvas and in words. Only this time, it was real.
Rather than scrambling up and down the edge of the crater that surrounded Sea Denn, Nimlinn simply leapt the entire thing in a single bound. Nor did she bother with the switchbacks that led to the Ridgegate. Instead, she raked and clawed her way up the lower plateau, her final bound landing her smartly on the lower rampart. Startled Rinn scattered where she landed. Jasper could hear their voices, translated into English in his head. The Rinn cheered when they realized it was their Queen. A scout Rinn signaled to the Ridgegate, from which a lone a bird took to the air, spiraling upward to the Palace Keep.
“Where are we going?” shouted Jasper over the cheers.
“First we will see Greydor, and then I will take you to the special place I took your sister. You may find some items of interest there.”
Nimlinn took a shorter route to the Great Hall than Roan had with Lily, through chambers grander than anything Jasper could have imagined. Twisting passages led through elaborate glittering halls hung with rich tapestries. Nimlinn’s pace was a loping one now, but once they were moving within corridors and rooms, everything seemed to flash by at a terrific pace. A narrow stairway—narrow, at least, to a full-grown Rinn—led to the Great Hall, curving along the interior wall of the Palace Keep. At last Nimlinn veered off onto one of the many landings, stopping before a great Rinn whose long black fur was shot through with gray.
“Greydor,” said Nimlinn, and they nuzzled each other and pawed each other’s manes. Jasper was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable when Snerliff reached around from behind and unbuckled the straps holding them in the saddle.
Jasper and the wyflings slid down the side of the great saddle to the stone floor. Snerliff wasted no time. “Come with me, young master,” he said quickly, taking Jasper’s elbow in a furry paw and guiding him toward a low dais.
Although Jasper had seen an image of Uncle Ebb’s painting of the Great Hall of the Rinn, he had never actually viewed it in person. When Lily was eight, she had come up with the idea of giving Finder their mother’s digital camera and asking him to take pictures of all the paintings in restricted areas of the mansion, where he was allowed to travel but they weren’t. It worked perfectly. Better yet, from examining the placement of windows and fireplaces, they were able to make some educated guesses as to where the paintings might be. For instance, they were pretty sure the painting of The Great Hall of the Rinn was on the third floor, in a turreted room with many windows, hanging over a fireplace. They had identified the likely room by standing themselves out in the yard and observing how the sun entered the various windows. Lily had notebooks full of such observations and sketches. They’d packed a lunch and made a day of it. Jasper had always wanted to see the painting in person. He never once imagined that he would see the actual room first.
The ceiling was a low dome and the enormous brazier in the center was warm with coals. The pillars circling the room were wide, and the views of plains, mountains, and ocean were magnificent. Jasper wanted to view everything: the sea town of Foam, the besieged tower of Fangdelve, the tree-lined streets of Sea Denn’s upper city. From where he stood, craning his neck, he could see a smoldering cloud over some of the valley, but the view of Fangdelve, which he knew would be opposite the sea, was blocked. Through one of the openings between the pillars, however, he could see Clawforge, its unmistakable surface covered with magical runes.
After a short time, Nimlinn said something that caused Greydor to suddenly swing his big head around and look at Jasper squarely. It was as if a heat lamp had been turned on him, and Jasper found he could not meet Greydor’s gaze easily. Within moments, Jasper found he had to disengage his eyes and look instead at the floor.
“You have brought another, different, Dain cub?” asked Greydor, as he padded to the low dais and lay down, sphinx-like, Nimlinn taking her place beside him.
“Jasper is Ebbram’s kin, and Lily’s litter-mate,” she replied in a clear voice.
Jasper lifted his head and looked into Greydor’s great emerald eyes. From his talks with Nimlinn, Jasper knew Rinnjinn was considered a mere myth—a bedtime story for cubs—and that with no Rinnjinn, Greydor was the closest thing Barreth had to a ruler. He’d also learned that Lily had placed her trust in these Rinn.
“You have come at a strange time,” began Greydor in a commanding voice. “We have fought and destroyed a great force of scaramann, even killed their queen. But it was costly, and we have been much weakened. Should Rengtiscura have another attack of equal strength waiting for us on our next crossover with Darwyth, we will not fare so well. These are desperate times. Even now, the scaramann hold the tower of Fangdelve. We have surrounded them, and we stay out of range of their bolts, but they are working evil there. They have been brewing foul beasts. So far they have brought us fire-breathing dragonflies, but what they will bring next I know not. We cannot allow them to hold the tower, and yet I know of no way to remove th
em easily. The scaramann are notorious for needing very little in the way of food. And there are rooms within Fangdelve that we can ill afford the scaramann to access. I fear it will only be a matter of time before they find some way to breach one of them.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I don’t know. But if you were able to help, as Lily did—”
“Me? What could I do?”
“You could help Roan call down the darkness, as did your sister.”
Jasper felt his stomach drop. Lily did what?
“I—I would help if I knew how, but I have no idea how . . . Lily?”
“We believe the dragonflies are still few in number, but if allowed to breed and multiply, they will hunt down my Rinn. We have little in the way of defense against them.”
“What about the forest Rinn and their bows?”
“The Broadpaw cannot be everywhere at once, and they have Rihnwood to protect.”
“Well,” said Jasper, “where are your riders?”
Greydor’s eyebrows furrowed, and he cocked his head slightly to one side.
“What do you mean?”
“Your Rinn are easy prey to taunts, yes?”
Greydor nodded grimly. “It is true that once in battle, our instincts become more difficult to overcome. But we are what we are—that cannot be changed!”
“I understand,” said Jasper, “but where are your riders?”
“We have no riders! We are free!” declared Greydor.
On their ride from the Blight Marsh, Nimlinn had explained many things to Jasper, but he still could not understand why parts of the bedtime tales were so wrong. As Uncle Ebb had always told it, the Dainriders and the Rinn were like brothers.
“I’m not suggesting you not be free. I’m simply suggesting you outfit your Rinn with war saddles and riders. The men of Dain are cool-headed in battle, and a worthy asset to have at your disposal. They’re a second pair of eyes. They’re good with bow, sword, and lance. And you can’t use a dirazakein at full gallop without one.”
Greydor twitched, as though repulsed, and his ears swept back, but Jasper could see that he was listening.
“Dirazakein?” said Greydor, sounding as if the word were foreign to him.
Jasper could not disguise his shock that a Rinn would not know what a dirazakein was. He took two anxious steps toward Nimlinn but halted when he saw how alarmed Twizbang and Snerliff became.
“Your Majesty,” Jasper said to Nimlinn, “may I show him?”
Nimlinn closed her eyes and gave Jasper a regal nod of assent. It was a subtle gesture. Jasper thought he detected a slight smile at the corners of her mouth, as though she was pleased by his opening statement. Twizbang and Snerliff lifted Jasper into the saddle and Greydor glared at the sight. Jasper flipped back one of the protective leather flaps and very carefully hoisted out a dirazakein. How many times had he imagined what it would be like to ride a Rinn, in the full onslaught of battle?
“This, Your Majesty, is a dirazakein.” Its silver blades caught the light, reflecting razor-sharp menace. “They must weigh forty pounds. How many scaramann do you think a pack of Rinn could cut through, running at a full gallop, with the riders unleashing round after round of these?”
Greydor was silent, but his eyes widened perceptibly.
“And the Dainriders are not without skills. They would be able to guide you away from tricks and taunts. These are not small advantages. These are powerful tactics. How lucky it is for Rengtiscura that the Rinn and the Dain have become separated. You’re not natural enemies. You’re long-lost friends.”
“These . . . dirazakein,” said Greydor. “They would be most formidable against a dragonfly.” Greydor made a motion to handle the dirazakein, but Jasper quickly stowed it and jumped down, acting as though he hadn’t noticed Greydor reaching. Obediently, he returned to his place before the dais.
Distracted, his paw still half stretched out, Greydor glanced at the smoldering valley. Fangdelve was clearly visible from the dais, the terrible black smoke billowing from its upper reaches.
Greydor turned his attention to Jasper. “We could not survive a second all-out attack,” said Greydor in a low conspiratorial voice. “And while your idea has merit, my Rinn will not allow themselves to be ridden. It is asking too much, too soon. There may be a few Rinn that could see past such things, but the common Rinn will not abide thoughts such as these.”
“What if you started small?” Jasper offered.
Greydor turned to Nimlinn; her tail twitched.
“If you had a small group,” Jasper urged, sensing his moment had arrived, “one that was looked up to, one that you trusted, and outfitted them with war saddles and riders . . . the other Rinn would see them in battle. They would see what was possible. They would be able to talk to the warrior Rinn, hear firsthand that the Dainriders were not an evil but an asset. They would see the potential.”
“Roan,” said Greydor, under his breath. “He could do such a thing. And his Rinn are more loyal to him than any I have ever known.”
“Roan,” hissed Nimlinn. “Surely there are others.”
“Snerliff,” said Greydor, and the wyfling dashed to Greydor’s side.
“Yes, Your Majesty!” he yelped.
“You will need to be quiet. No Rinn must know what you are up to. We’ll need a dozen saddles to start. And after you finish those, you can start working on as many as you have the leather for. But you will need to keep them out of sight. Make them . . . make them in your private halls. Yes, that will work nicely. And send word to Roan that I will need to see him as soon as possible. That leaves just one problem: riders. We have no official lines of communication with Dain. Our only real connection there is a lunamancer named Ember, and she has ever counseled us not to contact the Royal House of Dain.”
“You have another, larger problem. You have no more dirazakein—”
“No,” said Greydor softly. “Those we have in abundance.”
Jasper’s mouth fell open. “But—”
“Within a private chamber of the Royal Armory, there is a mosaic that bears the design. As a cub, I first sensed the spell that seals the hidden room beyond. When I asked my fathers what was in it, they would not tell me. I tried to open it many times, but it was not until I ascended the throne that it would yield to me.”
“So you have seen them. You must know.”
“Know? What would I know? It’s true that I have seen them, but I have never known their name. And the place they occupy in our history is but myth, hearsay.”
“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, surely you have noticed the design of the dirazakein, the craftwork, is clearly not of Barreth.”
Greydor’s ears swept back.
“It is unmistakably the work of Dain,” said Jasper.
“Yes, it is not of Barreth,” Greydor affirmed with deadly calm.
Jasper nodded. “About those Dainriders . . . I know that my sister has recently ventured to Dain. Perhaps she has learned something.” He grasped the pendant. “I can go there myself, learn what she’s accomplished.”
Greydor shook his big head. “No, Dain is far too dangerous a place—”
“I haven’t had the chance to speak with her, but she came home safely and sent me here to meet you.”
Greydor was silent for a time.
“What if she didn’t leave so much as flee? I cannot ask that of you,” he said, finally.
“You don’t need to. Lily wanted me to come here, to explore. She wanted me to see it with my own eyes.” Jasper flipped the fob on the moon coin. The little moons on its face shimmered a silvery white.
“Wait!” said Nimlinn. “Close that! If you are determined to follow in Lily’s footsteps, you should be equally prepared. Let me show you the place I took Lily. You may
find something there to aid you in your journey.”
Having made the decision to risk traveling to Dain, Jasper was as excited as he had ever been about anything. Meeting a dragon, talking to it, flying on its back—this trip would be the realization of a personal dream he’d harbored since first learning about Dain. Jasper could imagine nothing that could compare. It was a difficult decision, but, in the end, he nicked the fob shut.
“All right,” he conceded, “but we must hurry.”
Chapter Two
Return to the Room of the Fallen
Jasper’s descent to the Tomb of the Fallen was a low-ceilinged roller-coaster ride. Snerliff and Twizbang chattered nervously the whole way down, but Jasper couldn’t hear them well enough over the racket of Nimlinn’s claws to make sense of their conversation.
Just inside the tomb, Nimlinn lowered herself. Snerliff opened a saddlebag, pulled out two empty sacks, and handed one to Twizbang. Together they dove off the saddle into a mountain of orange fur and immediately busied themselves stowing the stuff in the sacks. Jasper slid off the saddle and landed next to them.
Nimlinn took up an enormous portion of the floor, further illustrating that whoever built this room was most certainly not Rinn. The ceiling’s vaulted arches were shallow, and the pillars holding them thick, making the space a tight fit even for Jasper. It was a warm place, possibly kept that way by the beautiful iron lamps hanging from the ceiling, making obstacles of themselves but keeping the place well lit. As Jasper passed one, a bit of scrollwork caught his eye. It was a motif he’d seen before. He couldn’t remember exactly where, but he had a pretty good idea it had been somewhere in Uncle Ebb’s mansion—maybe on a piece of molding, or in a scene from one of his many paintings. Stone slabs, evenly spaced, rose from the floor and filled the room. Each slab was topped with a stone likeness of a reclining man or woman dressed in armor or robes. Wide sills stretched from the tops of the slabs, and arrayed upon them were every manner of weapon and artifact a person would need for battle or magic: great shields; wicked swords; powerful bows; helms and clothing; and quite a few artifacts Jasper didn’t recognize.