Lords of the Sky

by Angus Wells

  He paused to drain his cup; refill it. I felt a horrid dread. I glanced at Rwyan. Bellek saw my look and the direction of my thoughts and said, “No fear there, Daviot. Anryäle’s bonded with her now, and so she’s safe.”

  I felt relieved; but no wiser.

  I suppose my emotions showed, because Bellek continued: “In many ways the dragons are not so different to most animals. They guard their hunting grounds against intruders and oppose any threat to their welfare. Truemen were a threat, when they discovered the powers of the crystals and turned them against the dragons—”

  He was interrupted by Rwyan, who said, “You know of the crystals’ powers?”

  He grinned again. “Am I not a Dragonmaster? My power came from the crystals. These hills are rich with them, and the dragons eat them.”

  “Eat them?” I gasped.

  “As do birds swallow stones to assist their digestion,” he said, “so do the dragons eat the crystals. And over the ages, that’s changed them. They’ve a kind of magic now, and it rendered the easy pickings of Ur-Dharbek … less interesting. Until now. Dragons enjoy a challenge. They’re like—what?—horses bred only to race or fight; like hunting dogs. But far more intelligent: prey that’s too easy to take offers them no challenge.”

  Rwyan said, “The crystals drive Truemen mad, are we with them too long. In Trebizar, Allanyn and her followers were made mad by them, I think. What of the dragons then?”

  Bellek said, “They’re different. An older race that lives a different life. They do not go mad. Rather, it seems the crystals make them fonder of those special few who share communion with them.”

  He turned his seamed face slowly around, encompassing us all with his gaze; and said, “Like you.”

  I said, because none of my companions spoke, “Do you explain?”

  Bellek said, “I’m not sure I can. But … you’ve the Storyman’s talent, no? And Rwyan the mage’s. I, that of the Dragonmaster—”

  I interrupted him: “And Urt? Tezdal? What of them?”

  He shrugged and said, “I cannot say. Only that my dragons told me I was no longer alone. That there were others like me, abroad. They’ve powers I cannot explain, Daviot. They dream; and I think their dreams span the whole world. I know only that they dreamed of you and knew you were come to Trebizar, and in danger.”

  I said, “That fails to explain it. I dreamed of dragons long before Trebizar.”

  He gave me back, “Perhaps that’s how, or why. Perhaps it was because you believed in them. Perhaps because you gave your belief to Rwyan; and somehow, too, to Urt and Tezdal. Perhaps they found their talent in company with you—I don’t know. Only that Kathanria and Anryäle and Peliane and Deburah found—do you not understand? By the Three, you’ve ridden them!—souls linked to theirs. And sought you out. And saved you!”

  Rwyan said, “The pattern! Did I not tell you, Daviot?”

  I nodded. There was much to digest here. I knew that I had been snatched from an untimely (in my opinion) arrival into the Pale Friend’s embrace by creatures I had dared hope were not legendary. I had dreamed of dragons—but should that flesh them? I had told Rwyan of my dreams, and Urt—but should that make them part of the dream? How should Tezdal become a part of this fleshed fantasy?

  I reached for the gilded jug and found it empty. Bellek chuckled and rose, shedding dust in a cloud behind him as he took the jug and carried it away.

  Tezdal said, “I understand none of this.”

  Urt said, “Changed live here? Under the dragons’ wings?”

  Bellek returned with the filled jug in time to hear that question and said, “As I told you: in the valleys. The brave few, who came back when they saw the direction your Raethe took.”

  Urt lost a measure of his fear. He shaped a frown, and took the goblet Bellek offered him, and demanded, like me: “Do you explain?”

  The Dragonmaster chuckled. “Are there not always a few who’ll dare what others will not? Those who choose to take their chances and refuse the common belief?”

  He looked us, all four, in the eyes, and said, chuckling, “Like you.” But his words were directed largely at Urt.

  I said nothing. I felt this was Urt’s moment: that he stood at the edge of a precipice. The past was the solid ground behind, the future the leap over the rim. He could step back or take flight, as if on dragon’s back. Or plummet ground-ward. I waited on his answer.

  He said, “Tell me.”

  Bellek said, “They came north. I cannot tell you why, only that they did; and that they were brave. They came out of Ur-Dharbek to live in these mountains. And more came when they understood what Allanyn plans.”

  Rwyan said, “How could they know?”

  Bellek said, “I cannot tell you. Am I honest, it did not much interest me; not at first. But more came—and settled; and built up the holdings that used to be here. And I’d no quarrel with that; nor my dragons.” He laughed. “I think my dragons grew somewhat lonely by then. However—they settled in the valleys and made this land into some semblance of what it used to be. And I welcomed them: they’re good folk.”

  Urt asked, “May I meet them?”

  The Dragonmaster chuckled. “Why not? Certainly in time, but bide yours a while, eh?”

  I saw that Urt was greatly enthused by this: he smiled with genuine relief and said, “Soon, I hope. It should make me feel more easy.”

  Rwyan said, “But how do you know all this, Bellek? You tell us that you live lonely, yet you speak of Allanyn—the Raethe, and events south—that suggests intimate knowledge. Do you tell us how you know?”

  Bellek’s smile stretched his lips like skeins of skin across his teeth. I saw that he took enjoyment from his awareness of such mysteries. Like Rwyan, I wondered how he knew.

  He said, “My dragons dream and see the world. And sometimes I fly them south to … observe. Mostly, they … feel … what transpires there, or have the knowledge of the elementals.” He must have seen my jaw drop, for he smiled and said, “Men are newcomers to this world, set beside the dragons. They’re an ancient race and closer to natural things. I know not the how of it, but that they commune with the elementals is certain.”

  He glanced at Tezdal then, as if the Sky Lord should understand this better, but Tezdal only shrugged and said, “The Attul-ki command the spirits, not we Kho’rabi.”

  I asked, “How do you control the dragons?”

  And Bellek laughed and told me, “Dragons are not controlled, my friend. Best learn that early! They allow themselves to be ridden—the dams, at least—because they take pleasure in that union.” His leathery face grew serious as he scanned us all. “You ask the dragons; you suggest a course. You do not—ever!—command a dragon. In a little while, when you know your bond-mates better, you’ll understand.”

  “When shall that be?” I asked. The excitement of that flight filled me yet.

  “Soon enough,” Bellek said, and hid his face behind his goblet.

  As wine and food took their toll, I began to feel greatly tired. I think there is a limit to the excitement a body can experience, and that when that limit is reached, it cravesrest, for all the mind would have it otherwise. I yawned; I could not help myself.

  Bellek laughed and said, “Aye, doubtless you are all weary. It was a long night, no? So—do I show you to your chambers, and we’ll speak again when you’ve rested.”

  There were more questions: too many. I ducked my head. The notion of bed was immediately as tempting as the odor of the meal had been. I looked to Rwyan and saw the lids of her eyes drooped heavy over the blind orbs. She smiled and nodded her agreement. Urt looked as if he’d find some bolt hole to lie in secure until the world resumed a safer course. Only Tezdal seemed untired, but still he shrugged and grunted his agreement.

  “Then do you follow me?”

  Bellek rose and led us out through a door I’d not noticed, into a corridor that ran through the mountain’s rock. There were no windows, but it was lit. I could not understand how
.

  Rwyan gestured at the glow. “You’ve the understanding of the crystals then, Bellek. Are you a sorcerer?”

  He chuckled and returned her, “I’m a Dragonmaster, lady. Does that make me a sorcerer—then, aye. But not like you.”

  She said, “Magic shaped this place, no?”

  And he chuckled again and said, “It did. In olden days, when magic was different. When the firstcome Dhar were different. Think you that talent remains always the same? Or that the crystals do not change? I tell you, no. The crystals shift in accord with those who use them; and those who use them shift in accord with the crystals’ shaping.”

  He shrugged: a gesture of resignation. Rwyan said, “Whoever built this place commanded a mighty talent.”

  Bellek said, “Once, aye. Once the Dragonmasters were supreme. They built this place and all the other castles, where only dragons had nested before. Once, we were the Lords of the Sky. But we outlived our time and folk forgot us. That bleeds out power, forgetting.”

  I said, “What happened to the others?”

  And he returned me simply, “They died.”

  He fell silent after that. It was as if the dull light of this dusty passage leached out his vitality, or his memories of what had once been. I asked him no more questions but only found Rwyan’s hand and walked beside her in silence.

  Bellek brought us to chambers along the way. Three, set at intervals down the corridor. Each had a door of black wood banded with golden hinges. Clean and uncorrupted by time: as if held in readiness. He ushered Rwyan and me into the first.

  He said, “I trust you’ll be comfortable here. Do you need me, I shall be in the hall. Am I not, I’d suggest you wait for me there—this is a large place, and somewhat mazeish. Also, do you wander outside, beware the bulls.”

  We entered the chamber. I was surprised to find it clean. There was no dust on the smooth stone floor, nor any webbing about the arching bands of stone that shaped the roof and walls. Wide windows of unsullied glass looked over the valley, and when I peered down, I saw a veil of distant smoke rising, as from farms or villages. There was a massive bed, set with clean linen, and a vast armoire. Behind a door of polished wood was a cubicle that held a bath and such other offices as I’d seen only in the grandest keeps.

  Rwyan said, “There’s magic here.”

  I surveyed the room and said, “At least it’s clean.”

  She said, “That’s magic at work. Bellek’s more talent than he admits.”

  I said, “And yours?”

  She closed her eyes, as if in thought, then smiled and told me, “Returned in full. There are no constraints any longer.”

  I said, “Save that we’re now his … guests. Or his prisoners?”

  She laughed and took my hands, “looking” up into my doubting eyes. “Daviot,” she said, “he saved us. Were it not for him, we’d be dead now. That, or worse.”

  I said, “Yes; I’ll not argue that. But now? Must we live here the rest of our lives, whilst all the world falls down in bloodshed? By Ennas Day, Allanyn claimed. I’d not stand idly by to witness that war.”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “Think you I forget that date? Or those dreams you spun in Durbrecht? I’ve not, but nor do I forget that now we have a future—thanks to Bellek and the dragons. Think on that.”

  I did, murmuring agreement even as my mind raced. I’d spoken then of riding dragons in defense of Dharbek. Might we now, Rwyan and I, make that dream flesh? The dragons had seemed only fancy once, and I the only Trueman who thought of them at all. Now I knew them for creatures of flesh and blood and bone—and more!—and so perhaps that other dream might be made reality. But not now in defense of Dharbek alone; rather, as instruments of peace betwixt my people and Tezdal’s, betwixt Truemen and Changed. Excitement flared: I smiled as old hopes grew new flesh.

  To Rwyan, I said, “I’d speak of this to Bellek.”

  I’d have found him there and then, but Rwyan held me and said, “Aye, but tomorrow, eh? Likely the dragons destroyed all those skyboats moored in Trebizar, and it must take the Sky Lords time to rebuild that navy. We’ve a breathing space, I think, and now I’m weary. Shall we sleep?”

  I ducked my head. I was truly tired: we left our clothes scattered and found the bed.

  I woke to an unfamiliar sound: the beat of rain against glass. I rose, careful not to disturb Rwyan, and padded barefoot to the windows. It looked to me that we’d slept the day away, or most of it, but it was hard to tell. We were close to the sky here and a long way north, and the darkness might have been only the clouds that now hid the peaks and hurled their watery burden at the land. The valley was lost in brume, but I stood a long while staring, thinking of such a downpour over the drought-parched fields of Dharbek. I pressed my face against the glass, unanswered questions flooding anew into my head.

  Was all this truly the weaving of a pattern? If Rwyan was correct in that, then what might we four do?

  I doubted not that we should learn to ride the dragons. But to what end? That Bellek have company in his lonely castle? I was not entirely sure but that we had exchanged one prison for another. Nor was I by any means certain Urt would agree to remain. He held that fear of dragons inherent in his blood under tight control, but could he bring himself, willingly, to ride the creatures? I thought perhaps he’d sooner find a place with those other Changed Bellek had spoken of.

  And Tezdal? He had sworn to defend Rwyan—and held true to that vow. But now might he not consider Rwyan safe and look to rejoin his Kho’rabi brothers? Did he become a Dragonmaster, then might he not seek to ally dragons with skyboats, form such an armada as must surely be invincible? If not—likely Bellek could prevent it—then would Tezdal deem Rwyan delivered safe from harm and he freed to take his Way of Honor? That thought I liked not at all: I was vaguely surprised how fond I’d grown of the Sky Lord.

  I started as a peal of thunder dinned over mountaintops suddenly revealed by the brilliance of lightning. I wondered if dragons flew in such weather. I wondered … the list was too long, and I turned away to find Rwyan stirring.

  She tossed aside the sheets, deliciously immodest, and came to join me. “It’s been so long,” she said, “since I’ve seen rain.”

  I nodded and held her as great rolling drumbeats of thunder beat over the castle and lightning flung spearing tongues of pure fulgence at the peaks.

  “This is a wild place,” I said.

  “A place fit for dragons,” she returned, and laughed, and folded herself against me. “An old world that perhaps shall make a new.”

  I said, “I’d find that out. And ere Ennas Day.”

  She smiled agreement and cupped her hands about my neck, drawing my face down. Our kiss was fierce: a commitment.

  “So,” I declared when at last we tore our lips apart, “do we find Bellek and the others and set this dream to flight?”

  But I must curb my impatience a while.

  In the days that followed we found Bellek a somewhat furtive host. Oh, he was friendly enough and gave us answers to the questions we hurled at him, like some bombard from those war-engines dead Gahan had ordered built. But there were always things left unexplained, or hints of doubt in answers that seemed honest and clear.

  How old he was and how long he’d lived alone, he would not say. He gave us to understand that certain of the female dragons—my lovely Deburah, Kathanria, Anryäle, Peliane—had dreamed of us as long as we had dreamed, unwitting, of them. I think he could not explain this clearly, any more than an ordinary man (and Bellek was by no means ordinary, or any longer quite sane) can explain the substance of his night fancies. They, I gathered, rather than Bellek, had been the manufacturers of our rescue—it was they had sensed our presence in Trebizar and the danger we faced. Bellek had followed their instincts, when he brought them to us.

  He showed us the lairs—natural caves dug deeper into the stone by the bull dragons—where the broods lived. Each bull lorded a harem of some five or six dams, which he guarde
d with ferocious jealousy, and each dam guarded her nest with no less enthusiasm.

  The caves were warm and filled with the scent of the dragons, which was akin to leather drying in the sun, a hint of raw meat. I came close to soiling myself the first time Bellek led us in, past that same huge bull I’d seen caressing Deburah, his hide all yellow and black mottlings, not unlike the mountain cats that inhabit the forests of the massif.

  He sat proud on the ledge before the cave, talons and teeth busy as he preened. He was vast, far larger than the dams, and as we approached, he fixed us with his yellow eyes and spread his wings and opened his jaws in rampant display of sword-blade teeth. He hissed. I felt his suspicion and halted as Bellek raised a warning hand. I heard Rwyan gasp in naked wonder, and from behind me Urt’s small cry. I looked back and saw Tezdal clutch the Changed’s shoulder. The Sky Lord did not flinch, only met the dragon’s stare with his own.

  Communication with dragons is not verbal, and their minds do not follow those tracks ours take. Bellek did not speak, but I found my head filled with … emotions, images—I can tell it no better. The Dragonmaster urged the bull to calm; he radiated a plea that we be granted entry to this magnificent place, that we might marvel at the bull’s harem, which was irrevocable proof of his greatness. From the dragon came a sending of pleasure, of pride and agreement: we were allowed entry.

  We walked under the shadows of his wings. His breath was hot and meaty. I looked into his eye and shaped a thought of obeisance: it was not difficult. I felt in return strength, permission. I understood his name was Taziel. I walked past and moved away from Rwyan as a spiritual tugging too powerful to ignore governed my steps. Rwyan seemed scarcely to notice: she was moving toward Anryäle even as I went to Deburah.