by Garth Nix
There was a moment of silence as Odo and Eleanor considered having the air sucked out of their lungs or being bitten in two, and Biter thought about being melted.
Then Odo spoke.
“What do you mean so few dragons go bad? Aren’t they all bad?”
“No, indeed,” said Runnel impatiently. “Who has been filling your heads … ?”
She stopped. They all heard branches shifting and creaking behind them, on the fringe of the forest. They turned, swords raised and ready.
Farther back, where the trees began to grow more closely together, a dark shape stealthily climbed the trunk of a vast beech, always keeping under the shade.
“The bannoch!” cried Odo.
“It’s less frightening in the day,” said Eleanor. She almost believed that.
“It definitely seemed much bigger the last time we saw it,” said Odo, watching the creature slink up into the higher branches. Now that he could see it clearly, it looked more batlike than lizardlike, and was merely about three times the size of a big hunting dog, though its wings extended out at least a dozen paces on either side.
“Wenneth said it couldn’t leave the forest,” whispered Eleanor.
The bannoch made a high-pitched keening sound, but made no move to attack.
“It just wants a fire,” said Odo. “Maybe we should make one for it.”
“Smoke would alert Quenwulf to our presence,” said Biter. “We must not relinquish the element of surprise.”
“And once it swallows a fire, it has fire,” said Eleanor. She waved her sword and shouted, “Begone!”
Much to everyone’s surprise, the bannoch went.
“It’ll be back come nightfall, I reckon,” said Odo, looking as he did whenever one of the village dogs gave birth to puppies.
“And we won’t be here,” replied Eleanor sternly. She sat down with her back against a tree and got out the map, turning it so it was oriented against the landscape. “Look, the smoke is rising here. That must be on the river. The valley ahead is Welmder Vale. We can either follow the road along the valley to the river, or go across and up the other side, and then follow this track along the ridge on the other side to the river. So which way?”
“The most direct!” said Biter.
“The high road,” said Runnel.
Odo looked at the map and out across the valley, putting the fate of the imprisoned bannoch from his mind.
“There are tumbled rocks along the ridge,” he said slowly. “They would hide us. If we follow the valley and the dragon flies over, there’s nowhere to hide.”
“The ridge it is,” said Eleanor. “And what then?”
“That smoke shows us where the dragon is,” said Odo. “We creep up, spy out the lay of the land, and then —”
“Challenge the foul beast!” declared Biter.
“Um, no,” said Odo hesitantly. “We know it has already killed villagers and dried up the river. It hasn’t fought fair, so we don’t have to either. We creep up and surprise it.”
“Wisdom,” said Runnel. Biter made a grumbling noise.
“What are a dragon’s weak points?” asked Eleanor. “We should decide who attacks which bit.”
“Yes.” Odo sat down too and rested his pack against a tree. It was very hard to believe that soon they would be going up against a dragon. They’d come an awful long way from Lenburh and his life at the mill. “Runnel?”
“The eyes; a bare patch under each wing where it joins the body; a similar patch below the lower jaw where some stringy bits of skin hang, called the wattle,” said Runnel. “That’s it. Let me draw a picture in the dirt.”
Eleanor let the sword go. Runnel quickly traced the outline of a dragon in the dirt, placing bold X’s at the weak points she had mentioned.
“Maybe we sneak up either side,” said Eleanor thoughtfully. “If she takes off, go for the underwing points. If she doesn’t, stab her in the eyes.”
“I guess so,” said Odo, although blinding an unaware enemy seemed a particularly cruel tactic. Perhaps, if the only alternative was being flamed, he could do it. “We should take a look at the lay of the land first, anyway.”
With mountains to the west, the sun dipped out of sight even sooner than Odo had expected, and the twilight was short. As soon as it became full dark, they set off along the road, leaving it when it turned to go along the vale.
It was hard work climbing the northern side of the valley, made even more difficult by the lack of light. When the moon came out, it was frequently obscured by clouds.
By the time they reached the top of the ridge, both Odo and Eleanor were very tired. They stopped to rest for a while, propped against a large boulder.
But even as weary eyes slowly closed, they were shocked open again by a sudden, deep roar that echoed along the valley. At the same time, a great column of fire rose up to the northwest, and twenty or thirty seconds later the sharp tang of sulfur came on the back of the wind.
Eleanor sneezed. Odo handed her one of the patched handkerchiefs he had found in his pack that morning.
Slowly, the fire in the west sank. Odo and Eleanor looked at the sky anxiously, staring at every misshapen cloud that might hide a dragon in the moonlight.
“We’re safe up here while the dragon’s down there,” said Odo, taking out another handkerchief and wiping nervous sweat from his brow. “Right?”
“No matter how high you are,” Runnel said, “dragons can always go higher.”
“Not if you tie rocks to their feet while they’re sleeping,” said Eleanor, smiling at Odo in a way she hoped was reassuring. “I read a story about that once.”
“The Pulverization of Sir Arleigh,” said Runnel. “Do you recall how that ended?”
Eleanor shook her head.
The sword continued. “The dragon tried to fly anyway, crashed into Sir Arleigh, and crushed her to death.”
Odo shot an imploring glance at Eleanor.
“Look, Runnel, I know you want to get melted,” she said. “But you remember your promise? You won’t do anything to get us killed just so you can get burned up, will you?”
“I won’t have to do anything,” said Runnel grimly. “I’m sure the curse will do it for me. It’s a shame, for I must confess I have grown to like you … a little.”
“Just remember your promise,” said Eleanor. “Come on, Odo.”
She got up and began to follow the track along the ridge. Odo followed some distance behind, thinking about what lay ahead. It still seemed wrong and un-knightly somehow to just creep up on someone and kill them, even if that someone was a dragon who was causing so much trouble. But then, doing it Biter’s way would be stupid, and they would definitely get killed, and he definitely didn’t want that.
“I do not understand her,” said Biter softly. “She is not the sword I admired when I was newly forged.”
“What?” asked Odo, brought out of his thoughts. “Runnel? Did you know her well?”
“Mostly we were apart, but several times we served knights who fought in the same company, and there were other times between campaigns when we enjoyed the hospitality of the King’s Armorer. She told me of her adventures. What tales! I will confess to you, Sir Odo, that she was nearly my equal.”
“Only nearly?”
“One would expect one’s maker to improve with practice.”
Odo hid a smile. He could see how a smith might get worse with age too, but didn’t think Biter would appreciate the thought.
“Is there anything more we can do for her?” he asked. “I mean, to lift the curse she thinks she’s under?”
“You are doing it, good knight. All she needs is to aid in valiant deeds, to smite a foe or two, and she will return to her proper self.”
The track along the ridge was narrow, often unclear, and wound through great boulders, making their progress much slower than it had been in the forest. But finally, just at dawn, they found themselves yawning and bone-tired at the point where the ridge began to desce
nd.
Below them lay the river, or rather a mostly dried-up ravine of cracked mud, and on its banks was the remains of a village. It had been burned, and the remains tumbled over. Only one stone house remained amidst the mounds of blackened timber and wattle and daub. The stone house had no roof and only three walls. There were no signs of any people, living or dead.
“This would be Hellmere, or what’s left of it,” said Eleanor.
Odo looked down at the ruins and thought how similar the village must have been to his own Lenburh. First the river had dried up, and then the dragon had come. He must never allow that to happen to his home.
“We must be close to Quenwulf’s lair now,” said Eleanor. She was looking along the river’s course, where it slanted off to the northeast, entering a gorge between two hills. “I reckon that column of fire came from somewhere in there.”
“In the gorge?” asked Odo. It was completely shadowed, the sun blocked by the high rock walls on either side, and they were at the wrong angle to see inside anyway. “I suppose we could walk in up the dry river —”
“No,” said Runnel. “The high road again. Think. If you’re spotted, the dragon has you trapped in the gorge and unable to flee. We must be above it, and thus come down on the dragon.”
“Those hills are high,” said Odo. “It’ll be very difficult.”
“An enemy never guards the difficult ways as closely as they do the easy ones,” said Runnel.
“I guess we’ll have to go at night as well,” said Eleanor.
“Yes,” confirmed Runnel.
“There’s a hollow under that big boulder with the lichen,” said Odo, pointing. “We’ll be out of sight there. Let’s have some breakfast, and sleep.”
“Sleep,” agreed Eleanor, with another long yawn.
“Beware the eels,” said Biter darkly. “I will keep watch.”
“Soon, my dragon,” whispered Runnel, so quietly that none of the others heard her.
When the sun went down, they set out again. The night was eerily quiet, except for the roars the dragon they assumed was Quenwulf occasionally let out. When they were part of the way up the hill that bordered the gorge, the column of fire rose again, lighting up the landscape as if there was another, brighter moon. It lasted easily a full minute, an enormous gout of flame, and the smoke formed a vast, black cloud overhead.
As they got closer to the top, they moved into this smoke, though the column of fire had subsided. The air was almost too foul to breathe. Eleanor and Odo slowed as they came to the top of the hill, and the edge of the gorge lay only twenty or thirty paces farther on.
“Crawl,” whispered Runnel.
Eleanor and Odo got down and made their uncomfortable way to the very edge of the gorge, where they looked down into the smoke-shrouded darkness.
“Is that … is that her?” whispered Odo, squinting. The gorge was deep, and though the sky was clearing as the smoke dissipated, it was still very hard to make out details. There was something below them, a great dark shape crouched in the riverbed, completely blocking the gorge. He could see the sandy bed of the river in front of it, but behind it was something shimmering …
“Is she lying in the gorge?” Odo asked. “That’s water behind … um … her … isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” said Eleanor. She was as confused as he was. “Is she sitting on some kind of wall?”
The swords slipped out of their sheaths and came to peer with them.
“Sitting on a wall across a river?” asked Runnel. “That makes no sense, even for a dragon.”
“That looks like a lake behind the wall,” observed Biter. “But where there is a lake, there should be no lack of water for the river.”
The truth of what they were seeing came to Eleanor and Odo at exactly the same moment.
“That’s not a wall,” he said.
“It’s a dam,” whispered Eleanor. “Not a dragon at —”
Even as she spoke, a deafening whoosh came from below, and the column of flame rose again, almost directly in front of them, rising higher than the walls of the gorge. They could feel its intense heat, and the choking black smoke once more spread across the sky.
In the sudden light, they could also see very clearly into the gorge.
The column of fire did not come from a dragon’s mouth. It spewed out of a tall chimney from a building in the middle of the dam, a wooden dam backed with earth and rubble.
“The dragon is a fake!” cried Biter.
“Alas,” said Runnel quietly.
“Who would do such a thing?” asked Eleanor. It was this dam — not a dragon — that was blocking up the river and ruining life for all of the towns downstream.
“We’ll have to take a look,” said Odo. He was studying the side of the gorge beneath them. “I think there’s a narrow path down — See there?”
Eleanor looked, shielding her face with her hands against the heat of the fiery column.
“That’s very narrow,” she said doubtfully. “And a long way to fall.”
“Can you see any guards on the dam?”
“No,” said Eleanor. “But there must be someone in that hut in the middle. What if they come out and see us while we’re climbing down?”
“We’ll wait for the fire to stop,” said Odo. “It’ll be dark.”
“Besides, people rarely look up,” said Runnel. “Even sentries.”
“They will if they hear me falling off and screaming,” said Eleanor, looking once again at the narrow path. “Or you, more likely, Odo. You really think you can balance on there? It has to be less than a single pace wide.”
“We’ll leave our packs here,” said Odo.
“And armor?” asked Eleanor.
Odo shook his head. “We’ll probably need to fight. Anyway, I’m used to my hauberk now. I’m sure I can make it down that path.”
He had steeled himself to creep up on a dragon, but it had been a cold feeling, an effort of will. Now that he could see that it was a dam holding the river back, a dam made by people, he felt a hot anger that any human could hatch such a plan. And he had a budding suspicion he knew why they had done it, and who was responsible.
Eleanor was feeling the same suspicion. Whoever was behind the fake dragon fire, the dam, and the drying up of the river, she swore that she and the swords would make them pay.
As before, the column of fire began to shrink. This time, they were close enough to hear a strange clanking sound as it did so, a rhythmic noise rather like the ironbound wheel of an oxcart rolling over cobbles.
Eleanor started up as soon as the fire was completely gone, but Runnel stopped her with a few words.
“Wait! Let your eyes adjust back to the night.”
They waited a dozen breaths, and slowly details crept back into the landscape, the moon and the stars breaking through the straggling smoke. Soon her eyes were able to make out the path, though it looked even narrower than before, hugging the side of the gorge.
Again, Eleanor started towards it. This time it was Odo who held her back.
“Let me go first,” he said quietly.
“But I’m the better climber!” Eleanor argued.
“Yes,” said Odo. “Therefore I’m more likely to fall, and I don’t want to fall on you.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but she swallowed her words on seeing his determined face. He was right.
Odo started down the path, taking it very slow, his body half-turned into the side of the gorge as his feet probed ahead, his fingers moving from handhold to handhold. Biter was silent at his side, perhaps thinking that if they fell, both would end up in a watery grave, deep in the dammed-up lake below.
There would be eels there, no doubt.
Eleanor followed, for once just as cautiously as Odo. She too thought about the deep water of the lake. It was hard to imagine what someone innocent would want with all that water. Why build the dam here, where it was barely accessible? And the fire — how did they do that? Her mother’s
books on siegecraft spoke a little of such things, tubes that could spout liquid flame against attackers. But the books gave no details of how it was made, or how it could be sent forth, or what use it would be here.
Ahead of and below her, Odo’s foot slipped completely off the path.
Eleanor choked back a cry as he slid down, feet scrabbling violently, small stones falling in a shower into the water below, making a sound like hail.
For several seconds, Odo hung against the rock face, his knuckles white as he held on. Then he found a foothold, and another, and clung to the side of the gorge, panting.
“Are you all right?” whispered Eleanor. She desperately hoped so, for he was far too heavy for her to pull back up.
Odo nodded, unable to speak. He had come so close to falling. And in saving himself, he might have alerted whoever was down below in that strange hut upon the dam.
They stayed where they were, pressed against the rock, both watching the dam below. Waiting for enemies to emerge and look up. Enemies with bows, or even spears. They would be picked off without the slightest chance to defend themselves.
But there was no movement below. The night remained quiet and calm. After a silent eternity that might have been no more than a minute, Odo let out the smallest sigh and continued down, handhold to handhold, foothold to foothold, regretting with every single chancy movement that he had said he could take the path.
Finally, the hard way, he reached the dam, and Eleanor slithered down the last leg of the path to join him. It was darker there, a good two hundred feet below the top of the gorge, but Odo could see that a much wider and better path ran down and along to the entrance of the gorge, probably to the destroyed village. It would have been much easier to take that road, now they knew the dragon was a fake.
Odo and Eleanor drew their swords and advanced along the dam wall towards the hut in the middle. Unlike the dam itself, this was made of crudely dressed stone. Close-up, they saw that the chimney in the middle was a tube of hammered bronze, flared at the top like a tulip. It was easily four times Odo’s height, and he would have had trouble stretching his arms around its girth.