“Ever leaping to her defence,” Sheldar said. “That is to be expected too.”
“It is my duty as royal bodyguard.”
Sheldar eyed her in a manner she hadn’t observed in him before. “Hmm, there are duties of office,” he said, “and there are duties of the heart.”
Cistre flashed him a reproachful glance, but couldn’t hide the blush that reddened her cheeks. “I do not know what you mean,” she said.
Sheldar dumped a forkful of straw into the dragon pen and looked down in embarrassment. “Forgive me, Cistre. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
The bodyguard glowered at him a moment longer, then changed the subject. “Maybe we can ease the sorrow of the Pygris. It has been a long time since they wrestled. Come, you can match Hyvol and I will face Ymith. We can supervise each other’s bouts — what do you say?”
“Mahren will scold us for it. There is a long list of tasks to get through this morning.”
“Ten minutes a bout won’t dent much of the schedule, and we need something to distract us.”
Sheldar smiled. “Very well. Quickest time to hold their opponent for a count of five wins.”
Half an hour later, they were covered in dust and laughing with abandon. It had been a draw — to the second.
“You grow more wily in your attack strategy,” she said to him.
“Hah, more the case that Ymith has grown more stupid.”
At the sound of his name, Ymith uttered a hurt groan, which set the two Dragonians laughing again.
“Finding time to waste?” A voice cut through their mirth.
“Mahren,” Cistre said. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“While everyone could hear you as far as the end of the village,” Mahren said with a smile.
“You’re not angry?” Sheldar said.
“There are more dire things to stoke my rage these days,” Mahren replied, and Cistre reflected that the Queen’s sister was more prone to mellower moods since being reunited with her Brethis. “Which brings me to why I came. Tayem has called a meeting of the Fyreclave. She has an answer from the Cyclopes Council.”
“About a possible alliance? What did they say?”
“I don’t know,” Mahren replied. “She will tell us at the meeting.”
Cistre dusted herself down and left Sheldar in charge of the dragon’s regime for the rest of the day. Mahren’s responsibility lay in organising exercise sorties and training of new Dragon Riders, so she accepted Cistre’s issuing of orders regarding feeding and pen construction without chagrin.
The Dragonian enclave lay only a few hundred strides away. It bordered the southern side of the Gigantes village, and consisted of six hundred basic ironwood huts housing the three thousand eight hundred Dragonian survivors. The conditions were cramped, and living together required significant sharing of provisions; but the people were grateful for the shelter, especially as they had only just completed the transit to Herethorn when a severe mountain storm hit the Gigantes village. Fortunately it only lasted a day or so and resulted in no further loss of life.
The influx of the Dragonian population and Cuscosian dissidents had been completed in just two days following the Cyclopes Council. It was a testament to the Hill People’s hospitality that they accepted the disruption as well as they did. It rang true in Cistre’s mind as she remembered the legends concerning this remarkable race from the time they dwelt in Lyn-Harath. They were a benevolent people, sharing provisions, medicine and expertise without reserve. As a result, the mortality rate amongst the Dragonian wounded plummeted once they were established in their new abode.
Mahren and Cistre were amongst the first to arrive at the Fyreclave, and Cistre took the opportunity to check on Tayem’s needs and refreshment while opportunity allowed.
“Do not fuss,” Tayem said to her, although it was without vehemence. “Sometimes I think you are becoming more maid than bodyguard. Cistre smiled, grateful that Tayem was much lighter in spirit since her exorcism. It also meant that the spectre of Tayem’s implied request had been driven from the horizon — hopefully forever. Cistre was relieved to see Tayem had lost the greyness under her eyes and gone were the piques of rage that had characterised her rule prior to Wobas and Milissandia’s intervention. Did this lightness of mood mean she had received a favourable outcome from the Cyclopes? She didn’t push the question, deciding to wait until all had arrived.
It didn’t take long, and within five minutes all seven were assembled. Cistre also noted that Wobas, Milissandia and Brethis had been invited to the meeting. Once all were seated, Tayem’s expression grew sombre.
“I regret to inform you that the Cyclopes were less than forthcoming,” she announced without any preamble. “They are reluctant to lend arms to our struggle.”
“That is disappointing to say the least,” Ascomb said, “so where does that leave us?”
“It means we must assemble and prepare our army using what we have.”
“Will the Gigantes not aid us in any form at all?” Frodha said. “Do they not realise that Etezora will not stop at the borders of Dragonia in her lust for conquest?”
Tayem held up her hand. “All is not lost. Ebar has committed to gathering intelligence on Cuscosian troop movements using his flock of raptors. He will also organise supplies and provide scouts for a future incursion. These are not insignificant resources.”
The Fyreclave were divided in their response, some nodding their heads in recognition of the allied support, others scowling in frustration that they had not been offered additional help.
“There is more,” Tayem added. “I invited Wobas and Milissandia to our meeting to share what they gleaned from the Dreamworld.”
There was a murmuring amongst the Fyreclave when she mentioned the two Gigantes’ magical influence, while Wobas himself looked reserved. Cistre wondered if his demeanour simply reflected a respect for the Dragonians or something else.
“Please share what you discovered,” Tayem said and smiled her welcome at the pair.
Wobas looked at Milissandia and spoke up, leading the exchange. “I understand your disappointment at our response regarding a commitment to providing an armed force,” he began. “But perhaps we can provide a means to confront the greatest threat to your army — namely that of the scourge that assaulted your dragons.”
“You identified the origin of this malign sorcery?” Gemain said, unable to contain his surprise.
Wobas continued after a moment of considering his reply. “I do not know if the Fyreclave are fully aware of the existence of what the Gigantes call the Far Beyond. Some call it the Dreamworld, and I have dedicated my life to pursuing its secrets.” The shaman looked at his daughter after uttering these words as if exchanging a message of regret. Milissandia nodded back at him, her expression calm and reassuring. “It was during recent sojourns there,” he continued, “that I discovered the one who caused such devastation to your dragons. I believe it was Zodarin, wizard of the Cuscosians.”
Ascomb held up her hand. “Pardon my interruption, but how could a mere man have wrought such destruction?”
“It is my belief that the wizard has drunk deeply from the Black Hallows and become extremely powerful in the warcraft known as wurunwa vargachic — this means dream battle. It has long been the practice of maladepts to take down those who stood in their way, often by slaying their avatars in the Dreamworld. But up to now, the presence of the noble dragons has remained undisclosed, known only to an entity called The Augur. Zodarin slew this Augur and discovered the dragon avatar’s signature. During the battle in the Dead Zone he used his knowledge and arcane power to bring down your dragons. But something must have prevented him from accomplishing their complete annihilation.”
“Was it not you?” Ascomb asked.
“I wish that I had been present to prevent anything from befalling your noble beasts, but alas I was severely … incapacitated. No, there was something else that stopped him, perhaps the same thing that co
ntinues to prevent him pursuing their complete extinction.”
“If Zodarin is disabled, then there is hope,” Gemain said. “It is the dragons that give us our strength. Not daring to take them into battle is a severe disadvantage.”
“Hope, yes,” Wobas continued, “but not a guarantee. The wurunwa vargachic requires the expenditure of great energy, but we know that the Black Hallows increases its influence by the day. It may be that this adversary simply awaits a time when he can unleash unprecedented power at a strategic time.”
“You sound unsure,” Frodha said. “Can you not enter the Dreamworld and discover these facts with more certainty?”
“I wish it was that easy,” Milissandia spoke up, “and we have explored the Far Beyond repeatedly. But so far Zodarin has not reappeared. In this we are somewhat relieved — he wields great power there and, even if he is weakened he is still formidable.”
Frodha raised her hand again. “Then what use is this ability to us?”
Milissandia looked at her resolutely. “There is another we seek there, a Spirit Guide. It was he who reached out to me, completed the bridge that enabled me to traverse the Far Beyond. I believe he holds the key to many things that could save all our peoples.”
“Wobas and Milissandia work constantly on our behalf in the Dreamworld,” Tayem put in. “They perform this at great risk to themselves. Once they speak to the Spirit Guide, I’m sure he will reveal the knowledge we seek.”
“I don’t know,” Frodha said. “This talk of dreamworlds and spirit guides sounds like a bard’s fantastical tale to me.”
“Believe me,” Tayem said. “I know the Dreamworld is real — I ventured there myself.”
This remark impressed the Fyreclave, but did little to assuage their doubts.
“My Queen,” Gemain said. “This may all be true, but it does not offer much regarding our plans to re-take Wyverneth. Even if the safety of our dragons is guaranteed, the Cuscosians outnumber us almost ten to one. Without the help of the Cyclopes on the battlefield it may take sols to build an army strong enough to bring them down.”
Brethis spoke up. “I can offer some assistance here.” He had remained silent throughout the discussion, Cistre noted, possibly recognising his incongruous position as a Cuscosian contemplating the defeat of his own people. “As representative of our dissident group, I can formally pledge our allegiance to your cause. We too have good reason to see Etezora deposed.”
Ascomb regarded the man with no little condescension. “We are thankful for your contribution, Brethis of the Cuscosians. But you number barely three hundred, and some of those are children.”
“This is true,” Brethis replied, “but I know many more living in the Cuscosian provinces that would support our cause if only they could be given hope.”
“How could they be rallied?” Gemain said with scepticism evident in his tone.
“I propose a contingent of my people return to Hallow’s Creek and carry on the work we began before our families were slaughtered or imprisoned.”
Cistre already knew of Brethis’s intentions having been privy to conversations between Brethis, Tayem and Mahren. She also knew Mahren was opposed to the idea. Having thought him once lost, the thought of putting him in danger again appalled her.
“Forgive my negativity,” Gemain said, “but even if you could remain undetected in Cuscosia, what hope is there of bringing any significant number to our cause? Seems to me you will encounter an uphill struggle.”
“It will be difficult,” Brethis said, “but we are far less naive now, and I still know key contacts amongst the townsfolk there. If they could be given a sign that the Dragonians can muster a formidable force then I’m sure we could convince them. My people cannot bear the cruel reign of Etezora any longer. This desperation breeds men and women who would sacrifice much for their overthrow. I sensed this before our routing. How much more must it be true given what we heard of Etezora’s descent into madness?”
“A sign?” Ascomb said. “What more can we offer save our proud warriors and our dragons? We are so diminished in number that I doubt whether they would be convinced of that.”
“There is one who might represent an ally to strike fear into the very heart of Cuscosa,” Tayem said. “Mahren?”
The Queen’s sister now spoke up, hesitation all too apparent. “This is what one might call a quest into the unknown, but there is reason to believe it is worth the risk and effort.” She paused to gauge the Fyreclave’s reaction, then seeing their curious expressions, continued. “I speak of enlisting one who once pledged their allegiance to our ancestors, one whose might on the battlefield devastated our foes in the battle of Marrowbane.”
Gemain narrowed his eyes. “Surely you don’t mean …”
“Yes,” Mahren replied. “Agathon.”
The Fyreclave looked at each other, and it was Ascomb who eventually spoke for them all. “With all respect, the Agnarim have all but vanished from Varchal, Agathon being the only one to survive the age of forgetting. Yet no one knows her whereabouts.”
“Even if you found Agathon, and even if she could be roused,” Gemain added, “she would surely not involve herself in the affairs of the Donnephon again.”
Milissandia looked puzzled. “Who is this Agathon?”
“She is the great dragon of Agnarim,” Tayem replied. “She was Astronomotan, dwarfing even Ensutharr in size. What’s more, she possessed the ability to drench her enemies with fire.”
Milissandia’s eyes widened. “It sounds like this dragon could turn the tide of any war.”
“Indeed she could,” Tayem said. “But Gemain is right in saying her lair is unknown, indeed she may even have passed from the world.”
“Then what hope is there of even thinking about entreating her?” Frodha asked.
“Two things,” Tayem replied. “First — what I discovered in Ebar’s library, and second — Mahren’s ability to speak to the dragons.”
“Ebar’s library?” Milissandia said. “I thought it only contained shamanic writings and recipes.”
“There are also tomes relating to Gigantes and Dragonian history,” Tayem said. “I spent many hours searching these volumes during my recovery and discovered one that held a clue to Agathon’s location. The book I read told of Agathon’s last flight and how she entrusted a message to Ralgemah, Queen of the Donnephon. She said, ‘my place of rest will lie in the Mountains of Onograve, in the vaults of a peak called Frostgaunt. I may well die there, and if I do, that is no matter for regret. You must remember it as a place you should avoid. I would not have your dragons seek me out, as they might. They would not be welcome.’”
Gemain pursed his lips. “A quest into the unknown indeed.”
“More like a journey to one’s death.” Ascomb added. “It seems clear this Agathon does not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances.”
“I believe we should try,” Tayem said. “After all, who is to say that she herself might not be threatened by Zodarin’s foul sorcery? I see it as my duty to warn her — if she still lives.”
“So, who would go?” Frodha asked.
“Mahren and I,” Tayem replied. “Mahren, because she has a way with dragons unprecedented amongst our people, and myself because one such as Agathon may only deem it fit to converse with the ruling Queen of the Donnephon.”
“But we need you here to oversee the preparations for battle,” Gemain said.
“Not so. I have full confidence in Beredere and Cistre to administrate the required tasks.”
“No, my Queen,” protested Cistre, “my place is at your side.”
Tayem looked at her bodyguard kindly. “We shall speak of this later, Cistre.”
There were many more questions and further discussions that extended well into late afternoon, but when the meeting drew to a close there was an agreement, albeit reluctantly from some quarters, regarding a plan of action. Sashaim and Aibrator would enable Brethis and Oathair to infiltrate Hallow’s Creek. They wou
ld establish a suitable drop-off point using intelligence gleaned from Brownbeak’s flock of raptors, and arrange a communication line so he could relay updates about his success — or otherwise. Wobas and Milissandia were to continue their forays into the Dreamworld in an effort to make contact with the mysteriously evasive Spirit Guide. The two of them seemed to have moved on in their relationship, and although they still bickered, they had a fruitful partnership. Finally, Tayem’s journey with Mahren into the Onograve Mountains was approved. She had to force this decision through with the proviso that should they not locate Agathon within a fortnight then they would return forthwith.
It was this last decision that sat most uneasily with the Fyreclave, but it was to Cistre whom Tayem felt she owed a full explanation.
“I know your feelings on this matter,” Tayem said to her, once they had retired to the royal cabin. Cistre was silent, unsure what words she could formulate to dissuade her Queen from this course of action.
“Speak to me,” Tayem said, “I cannot stand your brooding silences.
“I — ” Cistre began, but the words did not come. Instead, an outpouring of tears burst forth.
In living memory, Cistre could not recall an occasion when she had shown weakness of this sort. She tried to excuse herself, but Tayem gripped her arms and bade her sit down.
“Cistre, what is this?”
“I … I do not know, My Queen. You must ignore me. It’s just that, I thought I had lost you to the Hallows; and now your soul has returned from that dark place, am I to lose you again to the mountains or the great dragon?”
Tayem passed her a handkerchief and looked her in the eye. “The Queen of the Donnephon must not shrink from her duty, Cistre. It is clear only Mahren and I can accomplish this task. Agathon will only speak to one such as I.”
“But why can I not accompany you? It is my duty to be at your side.”
“Nothing would bring me greater comfort than for you to fly with me. But I need you to moderate Beredere’s excesses. As a team, you accomplished much in the foothills of the Whispering Mountains. Thanks to your partnership you saved many lives. There is also the question of minimising risk. If we find Agathon and she should prove quick to anger, then not only will you be lost as well, but an additional dragon may fall. There is nothing to be gained from you coming — other than our comfort.”
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