“True, but as we approached this peak did you notice how its top was split in two, something like — ”
“Like a woodsman had cleaved it with an axe?” Mahren interrupted.
“Yes!”
“Could it be … ?” Mahren removed her hand from the boulder, as if her touch affronted the possible resting place of what might sleep beneath. She looked at the signature mark of the peak shown on the map in Tayem’s hand. The resemblance was too close for co-incidence.
“Ebar’s tome said the entrance to Agathon’s lair lay on the north side.”
“That would be down below,” Mahren said, her eyes widening expectantly.
Tayem exhaled deeply. “If we find the entrance, then that is but the start of the challenge. We must find Agathon if she dwells there, wake her and try to convince her of our cause’s worth.” It was when she vocalised what they were up against, that the immensity of the obstacles threatened to overwhelm her.
No, I will not think of failure.
“We haven’t really thought about how to approach this,” Mahren said.
“From what we know; as an Agnarim, Agathon will only speak to a queen of Dragonia. So I think I should address her first. After that, I will rely on your skills as Kirith-A to guide us.”
Mahren looked at her sceptically. “It doesn’t seem like much of a plan, but I suppose it’s all we’ve got.”
Tayem noted there was no accusation in her sister’s tone, another sign that their relationship had moved on. “Let us sweep the dragons across the cliff face, and see if there is any obvious entrance.”
“Did Ebar’s book give any clue about what to look for?”
“None, but I’m sure Agathon will not have placed a sign in front of it.”
Mahren smiled at Tayem’s attempt at humour and mounted Jaestrum. Tayem followed suit and drew her riding cowl over her head. The wind was sharp and nipped at her skin as Quassu dived over the precipice.
Sol-Ar’s face was hidden on this side of the mountain, and shadows wreathed the edifice, making the task of picking out irregularities in the rock difficult. After half an hour flying back and forth in this manner, they were no further forward in their quest. Tayem signalled for them to rest on a small shelf of rock and pulled out the map again. After perusal of the scant details for the hundredth time, Tayem screwed up the map in frustration.
“It is impossible,” she said. “We could spend the rest of our lives traversing this mountain and never find the entrance. It is ever more certain that Agathon does not want to be found.”
“Perhaps we are using the wrong method,” Mahren said. “If Agathon will only speak to a true Donnephon, then perhaps she laid it in store that a seeker should use the kirith-a.”
Tayem snorted. “If we cannot see the dragon, how can we entreat it?”
“The kirith-a is not only a tool of conversation, it is a spiritual connection,” Mahren said. “I didn’t dare suggest it before, but if you let me listen in silence, I might detect the signature of the Agnarim.”
“Can you do that?”
“I heard the anguish of the dragons when they were assaulted from within the Dreamworld. Events of great magnitude leave a loud signature.”
“A sleeping dragon does not seem to be such a momentous event.”
“A gigantic sleeping dragon,” Mahren corrected. “Let me at least try.”
“It cannot harm,” Tayem replied.
“You need to keep completely silent and keep our dragons from shifting about.”
Tayem nodded and Mahren dismounted Jaestrum, stepping over to the rock face. She placed her hand on the slick surface of the rock and turned her head until her ear was pressed up against it.
Minutes passed, during which Mahren moved along the rock wearing a pensive look and frowning every so often. Tayem wanted to ask how she was doing, but held herself back. Then, following a minute’s concentrated listening, Mahren lowered herself down to a lower lip of rock.
“Take care,” Tayem said, unable to contain herself any longer.
“It is necessary,” Mahren replied, “I think I heard something.”
She scrambled over the narrow ledge and once again adopted her listening posture. It only took another few seconds, and she lifted her face to Tayem, a broad beam spread over it. “We have the right mountain. I hear the breathing of a mighty dragon, deep down below.”
“Are you sure?”
“It is faint but undeniable. We have found Agathon.”
“But how do we reach her?”
“A dragon of her size would require a significant ingress. Now I know what to listen for, I can narrow down our search radius.”
Tayem couldn’t help a smile spreading. Even if they faced death below, it would be a fitting way to end her reign having at least confronted this great beast. “Lead the way, Sister.”
Mahren indicated to steer the dragons toward a point roughly half-way down the great mountain. Here, a small cleft afforded them another resting position.
“The sound of the dragon is stronger,” Mahren said.
“I see no sign of an entrance,” Tayem said.
“Let me try lower,” Mahren replied. “Stay here while I investigate.”
She took to the air once again, perching Jaestrum on a column of rock some five hundred spans below. Tayem saw her dismount and disappear behind the obsidian block. She emerged a few minutes later and waved to Tayem. The Queen didn’t require further encouragement, and leapt onto Quassu’s back, urging him downwards.
She had trouble finding a secondary landing point at the column, but eventually she chose a shelf to the east of Mahren. After dismounting, she took to scrambling across the cliff face. It was somewhat different to climbing garbeeches, but Tayem was sure-footed enough, taking care to gain secure purchase on the slick surface.
As she rounded a shoulder of rock, she discovered Mahren’s hidden position in front of a black hole, obscured by the column that rose in front of it. The cave was some forty spans tall and perhaps thirty spans wide.
“Could an Agnarim fit through this space?” she asked.
“A dragon can squeeze into very small confines,” Mahren said, “or so I’ve heard. Anyway, I could not be more certain that Agathon lies below. Her presence is like the call from your battle horn.”
“I cannot hear anything,” Tayem said.
Mahren curled the corner of her mouth. “Trust me,” she said.
“Well at least our dragons can gain entrance,” Tayem said.
“No,” Mahren cautioned. “Agathon may see them as a threat. They should stay here. But we can get them into the shelter of the pinnacle.”
Tayem agreed, and once they had settled Quassu and Jaestrum they lit torches to illuminate their way into the blackness.
“Our dragons were slow to settle,” Tayem observed.
“They sense Agathon’s presence,” Mahren replied.
“Which makes me think the great dragon may detect ours.”
“For the moment, she rests,” Mahren said.
“I wonder for how long.”
“Come, we should press forward. Our torches only have an hour’s life in them.”
“How far do you think she is?”
“Not far, but we don’t know what obstacles we face, or indeed if there are any snares.”
“Can dragons lay traps?”
“Our own dragon species? No. But one as wise and old as Agathon — who knows? We should be careful.”
Mahren led the way into the cavern, the roof lowering somewhat once they were a few paces in. Once around a tight curl in the emerging passageway, the sound of the wind outside was silenced like a slain wolf, and all around Tayem felt the oppressive weight of the mountain above. The floor was uneven and littered with boulders and fragments of rock. After traversing a hundred paces a wall of rock confronted them. As they looked upwards, they saw that at its top, the cavern extended to reveal another aperture.
“More climbing,” Mahren said.
>
“With torches to hold,” Tayem replied.
Mahren took to the rock face without another word, and Tayem understood that her sister was pushing forward without hesitation to avoid a procrastination that might paralyse them with indecision and fear.
The time for caution is past.
The climb was difficult holding the torches, but mercifully short. Once they crested the top however, they were faced with a more daunting spectacle. The black hole plunged downwards in an almost sheer drop.
“By Sesnath,” Tayem whispered. “How did such a great wyrm traverse down that passage?”
Mahren sighed. “By squeezing its way. We, however, will have to descend hand over foot.”
“Perhaps not,” Tayem said. “I have some rope.”
“How much?”
“One hundred spans.”
“I hope it is enough. Secure it to this jutting rock here, it seems secure enough.”
By the time they descended into the abyssal depths their torches were half-burned, but Tayem chose not to think about what they would do when they finally died.
After five minutes of traversing into the black at a snail’s pace, Mahren’s footing slipped, and she slammed into the rock face, dropping her torch. Tayem saw it plunge end over end until it stopped abruptly about thirty spans below. It flickered for a few seconds and then snuffed out.
“Mahren,” Tayem cried, “are you hurt?”
“Mmmf!” Came the reply, followed by a spitting sound. “I think I’ve lost a tooth,” Mahren said, “but I’m otherwise all right.”
Tayem directed the halo of her torch below, suspending herself by one hand on the rope. Mahren had regained her footing and peered up at her, a mask of blood covering her face.
“Can you hang on?” Tayem asked.
“Of course,” Mahren replied. “It’s only a busted nose and a split lip. I’ll survive.”
“Good. I think there’s another thirty spans to go judging by how far your torch fell.”
Mahren’s brow furrowed. “Then our rope is fifteen spans short. We’ll either have to climb or drop.”
“Let’s lower ourselves as far as we can go, then. My arms are starting to shake, hanging like a spider.”
Mahren took her cue and covered the remaining rope’s length without mishap. She then stopped.
“Can we climb the rock face from now on?” Tayem said.
“Alas, no,” Mahren replied. “I’ve reached an overhang and there is no footing.” Tayem detected a touch of panic in her voice.
“We could climb back up,” Tayem said.
“I don’t think I have any strength left in my arms,” Mahren said, “I’m going to risk the drop.”
“I don’t know how even the floor is below,” Tayem said, “or if the torch simply came to rest on a ledge. You could fall to your death.”
“I shall fall in the next minute, anyway,” she said. “If I should not survive, then make your way out.”
“Wait, Mahren. There might be another — ” But Tayem’s words were cut short as she detected the sound of an impact below followed by silence.
“Mahren! Are you — ?”
“In one piece, Sister,” came the reply. “There is a tunnel ahead. Come, join me.”
After a brief scramble followed by a controlled drop, Tayem joined Mahren at the foot of the rock funnel, and they held each other with a sense of relief.
“Don’t do that again,” Tayem said.
“Say that to my arms,” Mahren replied. “Here, let me relight my torch from yours.”
Once done, Tayem looked into the tunnel ahead, and now she felt like even she could detect the presence of something magnificent, gargantuan and ancient.
“Agathon lies just ahead,” Mahren said.
“Does she sleep?”
“I do not know.”
“Then all we can do is proceed.” Tayem lifted her torch high and stepped forward. The tunnel snaked along a gradual curve for a hundred paces, then opened out into what Tayem could only assume was a vast cavern as the heights of it were lost in darkness. Every step they took echoed from walls of black glass. As they drew closer, the flickering light of her torch illuminated a wall of granular, stone-like material. She stopped and played the torch light left and right. “The rock ahead,” she said. “It moves.”
“That is no rock wall,” Mahren replied.
They looked at each other and drew forward until they were standing some ten paces from the flank of what appeared to be a swelling hill of sepia coloured stone. The mound rose to their left, and then fell serpent-like to a craggy snout that curled round to face them. Tayem stood stock still as she was confronted with two yellow orbs staring back at her, and before she could even form words, the ancient dragon spoke to her.
“I see you, Donnephon Queen,” it said, and its utterance was the moving of great vaults of rock to Tayem’s ears. “I sensed you from afar and know why you have come.”
“I … I greet you, great Agathon,” Tayem said. “Please forgive our intrusion on your domain, but we — ”
“I would not waste words,” Agathon said. “For I have to disappoint you. What you desire of me is impossible.” And as the ancient Agnarim delivered her statement, Tayem’s heart sunk into an abyss far deeper than that which surrounded her.
45
Choices of the damned
Beredere gravely listened to the news he had been presented with. He had no doubt the shaman and the druid were sincere — even truthful — but the consequences of their report were far-reaching, and to say he felt out of his depth was an understatement.
“The Cuscosian wizard plans to strike soon, you say? How soon?”
Wobas and Milissandia were seated together with the Fyreclave at the centre of the Gigantes Council. They looked at each other, and then Wobas continued. “The Spirit Guide could not predict, save that we needed to act imminently.”
“But there is no time,” Beredere said. “We are vastly outnumbered, barely trained and with no definite plan to re-take Wyverneth.”
“What’s more,” Gemain said. “Tayem has not returned, so there is no guarantee of the great dragon’s help.”
“I think we are being hasty,” Cistre said. She would not have dared to speak previously, but Tayem had given her leave to take decisions jointly with Beredere and no doubt felt justified. “How do we know the dream worlders are not mistaken? This Spirit Guide seems vague in his predictions. If he is truly for us, why does he speak in riddles?”
“It is as we explained,” Milissandia replied, “Memek-Tal is bound by laws that are beyond us. There is no reason to mistrust him. He was right about the Zodarin-wizard and predicted my transcendence to the Dreamworld. Without it, we would never have released Tayem from the curse of the Black Hallows.”
“But are we to think the attack on our dragons will happen in hours or days?” Beredere asked.
“All we know is that the Spirit Guide will warn us. In addition, my father and I will double the frequency of our sorties into the Far Beyond,” Milissandia said.
“Perhaps you should maintain your vigil there on a continuous basis,” put in Frodha.
“We have our own battle to prepare for,” Wobas said, “and a sojourn in the Dreamworld taxes us greatly. If we are depleted of energy before confronting Zodarin, then all will be lost before it has begun.”
Throughout the exchange, the Cyclopes listened attentively. Ebar looked particularly solemn, and Beredere wondered if he would contribute anything to the meeting at all.
After a time, in which no one was able to add anything to the confusion of information that abounded, Ebar stood, his loftiness imposing on the gathering. “These are grievous times,” he said, “and it seems the threat that faces the Dragonians sends waves that affect all peoples of the Imperious Crescent. We have heard about the fall of Kaldora, seen the tragedy of what befell Dragonia, and it seems clear that the Gigantes cannot hope to avoid a similar fate forever.” He took a moment to draw on
his jarva-leaf pipe, and then continued. “I spoke with the Gigantes Council, and it seems we can no longer remain neutral on-lookers.” He cast his eyes around the seated members, receiving acknowledging nods from most. “I hereby declare that the Gigantes are once more prepared to take up arms with our allies as they did long ago.”
Beredere heard Ebar’s words, but hardly dared believe his ears. “This … this is wondrous news, indeed.” He searched for suitably dignified words of thanks, but his diplomatic skills were not fully matured. “We thank you, Great Ebar. Dare I ask what strength you can offer?”
Ebar turned to one of his Council members. “Taumahg, perhaps this is your domain?”
A long-bearded, gruff giant took to his feet and spoke. “It is long since we took to the battlefield, but the Gigantes do not forget their prowess and skills. Our fighting warriors number five hundred Cyclopes and one thousand of the Minutae.”
“That is considerable,” Gemain said, “but it does not even approach the force needed to re-take Wyverneth.” He looked round at Cistre. “What of the Cuscosian dissidents?”
Cistre shook her head. “Brownbeak has nothing new to report. It could take weeks for Brethis to muster anything noteworthy. Even then, such a disorganised force would move slowly to join us in Dragonia — they would need to avoid the imperial troops that patrol northern Cuscosia.”
Taumahg held up his hand. “What cannot be accomplished by force can sometimes be achieved by cunning and subterfuge. Etezora will not be expecting an attack on Wyverneth so soon, and her army do not know the forests of Dragonia as you do. Your dragons will be a formidable asset If Zodarin has not yet risen to full strength. You told us yourselves how they laid waste to great tracts of Cuscosians at Lyn-Harath.”
“That may be true,” Cistre said, “but your own spies reported Etezora building giant machines to shoot down our dragons. We might be exposing them to a grave threat, and we cannot afford to lose any more of them.”
Ebar stood once more. “There are many challenges to this conflict, but are we agreed that we should act upon the Spirit Guide’s warning?”
The Fyreclave looked to Beredere and Cistre, as it was they who held the authority to make a decision, and the time for talking had passed. In actuality, Beredere deferred to Cistre. He might be a tactically gifted commander, but Cistre understood the wider implications of an impending war.
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