“You will be safe?”
The Hallows roiled silently within Zodarin, and he was already feeling a resurgence of power, together with a concomitant weakening of his recent benevolence. “I have adequate defences should my way be hindered,” he said.
Within the hour he was steering the dragon along the switch-back path that led down the Dragon Vale escarpment. He had summoned glow-motes to light his way — a trivial sorcery, yet one that proved a boon. The pygmy dragon was pleasingly compliant and responded to his persuasions without resistance. Disconsolin had been right. The ride was extremely comfortable on the creature’s wide back, its cushioned soles absorbing all but the most severe potholes in the path. He chose a route that avoided two encampments of Cuscosians and rode through the night, eager to put as much distance between himself and Wyverneth as possible. The knowledge of his affliction made his journey all the more urgent. He needed access to his grimoires and apothecary at Cuscosa in order to discover some kind of remedy. He took out the vial that Disconsolin had given him, and poured a drop of oily liquid onto the back of his hand, rubbing it into the lesion that now measured a full finger across. Next to it, one had transformed into a putrescent boil and Zodarin did not dare touch it, fearing the prognosis Disconsolin had given. Still, the unction soothed the itching elsewhere and gave him temporary relief at least.
As Sol and Sol-Ar ascended higher in the sky, then passed their zenith, he emerged from the trees of the Dragon Forest. Far to the west he could see fires still burning from the battle on the plains. They must be cremating the bodies, he thought. Etezora exacted a heavy toll, but also sustained great Cuscosian losses. The sooner this madwoman is deposed the better. The initiation of war had been rash, and now she was bent on pursuing Tayem until she was ridden into the dust. He smiled to himself. She expects me to slay the rest of the dragons in the Dreamworld. Well perhaps I may be tardy in my attention to this task. I am still not recovered after all. It would be a great shame if she was to meet her end in the mountains, he mused.
One can hope.
31
Bereft of a kingdom
A week had passed since the fall of Wyverneth, but the ravages of that brief and momentous battle could not outweigh the anguish of what came after. If it hadn’t been for the ingrained sense of responsibility and royal duty that rested on Tayem’s shoulders, she would have seriously considered the way of the damned.
Of the three thousand that committed themselves to the exodus, a further eight hundred joined them from the forests on the lower slopes of the Dragonian Vale. Once they were sure they had reached relative safety, Tayem considered it of paramount importance to take a census and establish the extent of their losses. The Dragonians were a proud and close-knit people. They also possessed a centuries old community structure that ensured every household and enclave could access a leader or shayan, who would look after them and secure resources from higher in the chain of command. It was all too clear that an arduous journey lay ahead. The battle for Wyverneth had concluded in a rout, a mass fleeing of thousands with barely a scrap of food or extra clothing to carry with them.
Initially, the Dragonians reconnoitered the foothills of the Whispering Mountains and found a sheltered valley where the emigrating population could rest and re-organise. Yet the rise in altitude came with a corresponding drop in temperature that claimed the lives of many elderly and infirm. Any surviving wounded that limped or were carried from the battlefield had a hard time of it. Most perished from lack of treatment or the onset of infection, and each family told a lamentable tale. Many a night passed exposed to freezing temperatures, where Tayem fell into an exhausted sleep to the sound of wails and heart-rending cries. She considered giving the order for such indulgences to be curtailed, but how could she deny her people the expression of grief? The risk of giving away their location to either pursuing Cuscosians or unknown marauding tribes was quickly dismissed in favour of allowing a period of lamentation.
They lost so much — friends, family and, of course, their noble dragons. Tayem shuddered at the thought of how Etezora would have treated the slain creatures. The Queen’s depraved tastes for dragon meat were well known, and the schjek had enough flesh to fill her cellars several times over now.
It was after the third day in the valley that, following the advice of Gemain, she consented to a day of collective mourning. It allowed the Dragonians a chance to lay to rest what dead there were, and to deliver eulogies and testimonies to those who passed across the great divide. The act did much to lay a blanket over the more hysterical expressions of grief, but it would never take away the taste of defeat and sheer hopelessness that pervaded amongst the people.
As if the losses suffered and the guilt Tayem felt over her mishandling of the Dragonian response wasn’t enough, she fought a constant battle with the turbulent Hallows storm within. Sometimes it took every vestige of her will to suppress the urge to mount Quassu and descend upon the occupying Cuscosians at Wyverneth with vengeful wrath. She confided in Cistre, who soothed her troubled heart with soft words and gentle massaging hands; but despite this, Tayem wondered how long she could contain the raging hurricane within. Ascomb and Gemain were stalwart advisers, taking up their share of the burden of leadership vacated by Disconsolin, Merdreth and Darer. They rightly advised that any spontaneous retaliation might expose the dragons to the mysterious weapon that assailed them at Lyn Harath. It would also divert her from overseeing the emigration of her people.
There were many other priorities to face if they were to survive as a people, but paramount was establishing a solemn resolve and a kindling of hope amongst the populace — and it was down to Tayem to achieve this.
“You should speak to the people today, My Queen,” Ascomb said. “Another ten perished last night from cold or illness, and they need their Queen to reassure them, to lay out a plan for the immediate future.”
“And therein lies the vexing problem,” Tayem replied, raising her hands in the air with a gesture of frustration. “What is the plan? The Vicrac laid out a route and means to forge a way to Herethorn, yet its actual location evades us. What news is there from our scouts today?”
She directed the question at Gemain, who had seated himself along with the other advisers in a crudely constructed approximation of the horseshoe Fyreclave housed within Tayem’s shelter.
“They have just returned,” Gemain said, his expression betraying the contents of what was to follow. “Alas, they became disoriented in the accursed mists once more, as if the very weather conspired to hide the way from them. We have lost two scouts already — one fallen into a chasm, the other simply swallowed up in the fog never to return. We cannot risk a mass movement of the people until the mists rise.”
“Is there any sign of that happening?” Tayem asked.
“No,” Gemain replied. “They seem to be a permanent feature of the landscape.”
“It is true, My Queen,” Beredere said. He had been promoted to the Fyreclave along with a fiery young woman named Frodha and proved a dependable choice of appointment. “Even my patrols on dragon back have revealed no sign of this fabled sanctuary. I see Mount Gigantes to the North-West and can trace the line of mountains to where Herethorn should be, but it lies between dense pillows of mist. I tried descending into them but only narrowly avoided steering Choghym into the side of a mountain. We were completely unsighted.”
“Then, with no immediate hope of permanent sanctuary I can offer nothing to the people but platitudes,” Tayem said.
Gemain leaned forward, his long, white beard almost touching the ground. “You possess the golden tongue of your father,” he counselled. “Don’t imagine that the people need a report or relaying of facts. They need to be stirred to resolute action. We can help you draft a speech. But I agree with Ascomb — it needs to be today.”
Tayem winced as she quelled another flare of Hallows energy within. It was almost as if this entity resented any words or emotions that conveyed hope or reason.
>
You shall not prevail, diggod demon. Return to your dark hole, I have had enough of you today.
Cistre sensed the disturbance and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. In the past, Tayem might have found the gesture irritating, but increasingly she found Cistre’s subtle interventions not just timely, but necessary.
“Very well,” Tayem said. “Gemain, help me devise a speech that will serve its purpose. Ascomb and Frodha, send word to the people to gather in the Dell once this meeting is finished.” The courtiers spoke their affirmation, and the Fyreclave proceeded to turn its attention to other pressing matters. Food and shelter were utmost in importance, and it had been with great reluctance that the Dragonians acquiesced to the sanctioning of taking animal life. Ground nuts and conifer seeds could only go so far in providing adequate nutrition for the ailing people, and the trees on the mountainous slopes provided meagre yields compared to what they enjoyed in the Dragon Vale. The Dragonians hunted and trapped mountain hare, together with deer and the occasional boar, yet these were inadequate for their needs. It wasn’t until the Dragon Riders found and slayed a giant garbear that the possibility of larger offerings were recognised. Of course, these beasts put up a formidable defence, but they were no match for a dragon. Silver salmon existed in the Minafael stream, but the Dragonians were not greatly versed in the skills of angling or netting the fish. So Beredere arranged tuition of the more adroit amongst the people in order to learn and pass on their skills in turn. This was all too inadequate, however, and with meagre rations it was likely that malnutrition and ensuing disease could follow.
“What of the Cuscosians?” Tayem asked, after they completed planning further weatherproof huts and shelters. “Have they picked up our trail yet?”
“Mahren was in charge of that,” Cistre said.
There was a pause in the discussion. Mahren’s absence was the cause of great consternation. Indeed her departure the previous day resulted in the bitterest exchange that the Queen had ever endured. Her sister declared she was to set off and search for her Cuscosian mate. It had been typical but nonetheless irresponsible. Tayem almost wished that Sashaim had not returned from Hallows Creek with his news of the dissidents’ rounding up and summary execution. Her cynicism increased further when they were told Brethis was unaccounted for, giving Mahren hope he was still alive.
“This man has you tied in knots — at the expense of the dire need that you remain here,” Tayem scolded. But Mahren was clearly besotted, and could not be gainsaid. Now, as Tayem remembered their unfortunate parting, her anger was replaced with genuine fear for Mahren’s safety. She was venturing into the lands of a most capable enemy, and a lone patrolling dragon might draw the attention of their unseen antagonist. The fact that the dragons had suffered no malady since that day on the battlefield held no comfort for Tayem. She was under no illusion that what assailed the Donnephon before was in all likelihood biding its time.
Tayem put the thought from her mind and concentrated on practicalities. “Then we need another report. Cistre, can you organise a patrol this afternoon?”
“Of course, my Queen,” the bodyguard replied. “I will take Sashaim and home in on the Cuscosians’ last location.”
Tayem looked visibly worried, and the astute Beredere seemed to pick up on this. “Do not be overly concerned, my Queen. The Cuscosians have floundered in the Whispering Mountains thus far. They are a people of the plains and are even less prepared for these altitudes than we are.”
“Still,” Tayem said, “I would rest easier knowing they are still confounded. It is enough of a concern that they followed as far as they did. It seems they were able to extract enough from Disconsolin despite his promises.”
The Fyreclave nodded gravely at this assessment. Disconsolin and his wife were the subject of great disappointment. Whether they lived or died, the disgrace they brought upon themselves would haunt their immediate family for the rest of their lives. Donnephon honour demanded it.
Tayem dismissed the Fyreclave, save for Gemain, and they discussed the content of the address she was to give the people. The courtier was a biddable man to work with, and Tayem was grateful that amidst the turmoil of the Dragonians’ predicament, the steadfastness of the noble Donnephon and experience of her advisers had not let her down. In fact, as Gemain scripted the speech, it was this spirit that inspired Tayem to deliver what could be the most important address of her reign.
When Sol-Ar passed to the third quarter of the heavens, Tayem stepped onto the cut stump of a once giant rocospen, and looked at the multitude that gathered in the clearing. An early afternoon rain had soaked the forest floor and raindrops still fell from overhanging boughs, wetting the assembled Dragonians. It did not seem to dampen their expectation, however. It soon became apparent that the Dell was not large enough to accommodate such a large throng, and the crowd extended into the underbrush. Tayem suspected its limits lay well beyond the tree boundary. She would have to speak loud to make herself heard — a talent she possessed in great measure. She held the royal Dragonian sceptre at her side, saved from the sacking of Wyverneth by Cistre. Its gold-plated standard and the crown she wore for the occasion added to her authority, the remainder of inspiration provided by the sight of so many expectant faces. Children were held on the shoulders of parents, and the stalwart elderly supported by younger members of each family.
Tayem could see the grief written on each face, but also something else; an underlying resolve, a willingness to unite in this hardship. Ascomb and Gemain had been right — she needed to deliver a message of hope, not vacuous promises she couldn’t substantiate.
She struck the tree stump under her feet with the bottom of the sceptre, and the quiet susurration of the crowd settled to silence.
“Proud Dragonians, we stand today a people dispossessed and wracked with a sense of great loss,” she began. “We have buried our dead, yet their memory lives on. The circumstances of their passing fills us with an irrepressible urge to strike out at the ones who perpetrated these foul acts.
“I share your grief, I share your anger. This is all the more grievous because it is compounded by the harsh conditions in which we now find ourselves. I promised you a sanctuary that has yet to materialise. For this I apologise. It has meant we renounce the dietary requirements of vs’ shtak — never to eat the flesh of beasts. Our ordeal has resulted in the regretful death of many through exposure. These things lie heavy on my heart. Yet I see before me today a people unbowed; women, men and children who have refused to let themselves fall into the dust of defeat.”
She paused for a few seconds, trying to weigh the mood of the crowd, but it was impossible. The resolute expressions could have been stares of disdain or solemn politeness, she could not tell. There was nothing else to do but strike up a message that would stir their hearts.
“The way ahead will be difficult. Etezora and her curs pursue us, and we have yet to find a way to the sanctuary. Many more will die, and hunger will gnaw at your stomachs for some time to come. But I would ask you, humbly, to hear my promise to you. I will not rest until I have brought you to safety. All I need is your continued trust. You placed your faith in my ancestors and in myself on the day of Gilfarin, when the Dragonian crown was placed on my head. Will you walk with me still?”
These words drew murmurs of assent from the crowd, together with an isolated shout of agreement, and Tayem felt the first stirrings of encouragement.
I am getting through.
“I would ask you to remember the legacy of Ralgemah the Pyre-Queen,” she continued, not wanting to lose her momentum, “and the spirit that saw our ancestors emerge from the Marauder wars as a proud people; a race uncowed by their oppressors. They built the kingdom of Dragonia, and though it has been wrested from our grip, I promise you this — we shall claim it back!”
At this point there rose a loud cheer from all sectors of the crowd. Those who had remained dour up to this point raised their fists in salutation.
It wa
s more than an expression of solidarity, an indefinable spirit of unity and purpose seemed to have taken hold, such that children, hoisted on numerous shoulders, broke out in smiles of wonder and wordless cries of triumph. What is this? Tayem wondered, and as she took in the gravity of the occasion, she noticed with relish the malign whispers of the Hallows were at once silent. The entity was subdued, though not banished.
“I do not address you as subjects,” Tayem continued, “but as brothers and sisters. The Donnephon do not reign in the cruel manner of the Cuscosians. Their enmity and internal strife will be their undoing, and one day we will throw off their yoke once again. Therefore stand proud. Take this moment with you to your beds, and rise tomorrow morning with renewed hope and vigour.
“As my concluding words, I offer to you the tenet of Ralgemah: ‘There is no shame in reaching for the Sun, even if you fall from the sky.’”
This last part was unscripted. Gemain did not write it, nor had they even discussed it. Yet as she looked at him, he nodded his reassurance.
By now, the multitude was roused to chanting in the ancient Dragonian tongue. She descended from the tree stump and retreated from the crowd with the cheers still ringing in her ears.
Cistre followed close behind, together with Gemain and Ascomb. They had not walked far when Frodha approached with two guards, holding a young girl attired in a dark-green, cowled tunic.
“My Queen,” Frodha said. “Forgive me for the intrusion, but this woman has insisted on speaking with you. I would have dismissed her, only she has said things that convince me you should hear her out.”
Tayem turned to the girl, surveying her strange angular features. “Who are you, outlander?” she asked.
The girl bowed in deference. “Queen of the Donnephon, my name is Milissandia, and I have counsel that may save your people.”
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