“Wait, wait, wait,” said Brytnoth at last. “You said the other night that you’d said something to her and she heard you…so does this happen all the time?”
“It’s never happened like this,” Jared answered with a shake of his head. “Never for this long. And I can’t predict when I’ll hear her thoughts, or she mine.”
Rafe’s mouth twisted in a smile. “That could make things interesting…”
Jared arched an eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t help a grin. “Well, this time she could see me—we could see each other, just as if we were in the same room.” He couldn’t keep the thrill of excitement out of his voice. “I don’t know if you can even imagine such a thing.”
“I can imagine it,” said Brytnoth. “But if it isn’t a myth, it’s certainly rare.”
“That’s what Childir told me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he froze. Then he swore viciously and slammed his fist on the table.
“So he knows about that too?” Rafe asked, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning against the back of the booth. “Is there anything he doesn’t know?”
“Jared said he was missing a key piece of information, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Brytnoth said.
Rafe studied Jared for a moment. “No,” he murmured. “Things like that are best kept close.”
They ate the rest of their meal in silence. When at last Jared pushed his plate away and drained the last few drops of wine from his cup, he noticed that the tavern was nearly empty. The bartender was wiping down the counter.
“Have we been here that long?” he asked, looking at his companions.
“It seems so,” Rafe answered. “But here comes Emma.”
The young barmaid maneuvered her way around tables and chairs and slipped into the booth next to Rafe.
“It’s nearly closing time,” she said. “The keeper wants me to collect your plates and your payment. Then I’m free to leave.”
“We’re sorry to have kept you late,” Brytnoth said.
“Not at all,” she said with a warm smile. “I had to close tonight anyway. Now Rafe can see me home.” She kissed Rafe softly on the cheek, rose, and clapped the plates together into a heap. With a wink at Brytnoth, she whisked them away to the kitchen.
“We still haven’t decided what to do about Sahara,” said Rafe, watching Emma as she ducked into the kitchen. “And we only have two days before they bring her back here.”
“I’m going back to the archives,” Jared said. “If we can get some kind of understanding of the ritual itself, then maybe that will give us a clue.”
“I’ve got to see Emma home, but I can meet you there afterwards,” Rafe said.
“Come on, Brytnoth,” said Jared, sliding out of the booth. “You’re with me. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will help.”
Back in the library, Jared lit every candle he could find, flooding the cavernous chamber with a soft, flickering light. He sent Brytnoth to the shelves to scour the agricultural manuscripts for the missing scenes in the sequence of marginal drawings.
“What are you going to do?” Brytnoth asked over his shoulder, settling himself cross-legged on the floor.
“I need to study these in more detail,” Jared said, already more than half absorbed in the first illumination.
It was a curiously worked design, connected to the other marginalia on the page by gold-leafed scrollwork. The field was deep blue, and the five dark figures arrayed against it were barely visible. They were more shadow than light, and they appeared to be hooded, for no facial features could be distinguished, no matter how hard Jared strained his eyes.
He finally gave up on the figures and turned his attention to the rest of the scene. The architectural detail was high, he noticed. On either side of the robed figures stretched an arched colonnade, punctuated at regular intervals with torches. In the center of the right-hand colonnade hung a massive golden gong, its mallet in an ivory stand.
Jared moved to the second illumination, which portrayed the same scene from a perspective behind the robed figures. The colonnade ended abruptly at the edge of what appeared to be a ledge or cliff of some sort. The illuminator had been at some pains to convey the threshold between inner court and outer ledge: marbled floor clashed against bare rock, deep blue ceiling against the shimmering pinks and silvers of an evening sky. Stabbing upward into the softness of the sky, in the very center of the cliff edge, was a pillar, black and terrible.
With growing foreboding, Jared pulled the third tome towards himself, sliding the second out of the way. It was as he feared. This third illumination was exactly like the second, save for the pillar. Small white hands were pinioned behind the pillar with a cruel chain, the victim facing out over the ledge and towards the sunset. Masses of gold hair spilled over her shoulders and whipped around the pillar, and Jared shivered as though he could feel the wind that buffeted her.
With a heavy sigh, Jared pushed the book away and rocked back in his chair.
“What do you think?” asked Brytnoth. His voice sounded alien after such a long silence.
Jared slowly turned to him. “I think we need the rest of those pictures,” he said. “How’s it coming?”
Brytnoth rose and stretched his stiff back. “I haven’t found a thing. What if there aren’t any more, Jared? What if there are only those three?”
Jared rubbed his face, the stubble of his unshaven beard rough against his hands. Exhaustion washed over him in waves, and he fought hard against the urge to lay his head down on the table and let sleep drown him.
“Any luck?” Rafe strode into the library, his voice echoing in the chamber.
“Is Emma safely home?” Brytnoth asked him.
“She is.” Rafe perched himself on the table. “Found anything interesting?’
“I don’t know,” Jared answered, ill-concealing his irritation.
Rafe cocked an eyebrow at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid Brytnoth might be right. There might not be any more to the series than these three.”
“Well, what do we know from what we have?” Rafe asked.
Jared lined up the three books in order and pointed to each in turn.
“This is some kind of designated chamber, a sacred place,” Jared began with an all-encompassing wave of his hand. “There are five of the Dragon-Lords present here, so I suppose we can assume that’s how many are required for this ritual. Here the artist shows us where the chamber is. It seems to be high on a mountain, and it’s open on one side. The pillar, to which the victim is chained, sits on the edge of a cliff. And it seems that the ritual takes place near sunset.”
“And that’s all we know? Nothing more specific than that?” asked Brytnoth.
“That’s why I was hoping for more drawings,” replied Jared with a wry smile.
“Why is she chained to a pillar?” asked Rafe, peering at the drawing. “And why is the pillar on the edge of the cliff?”
“And it would seem that the Dragon-Lords themselves are merely witnesses or something,” added Brytnoth. “None of them show up in the third cameo. And the way it’s drawn seems to indicate that the pillar is right on the edge—there would be no room for one of them to get in front of the victim and slit her throat. Or however such things are done.”
Jared’s face suddenly hardened. “Of course they aren’t directly involved,” he said. “Have we all forgotten why they’re called the Dragon-Lords?”
Rafe’s head snapped up. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the victim isn’t slain by the Dragon-Lords at all. She’s fed to the dragon.”
“How can you be sure?” Brytnoth asked.
“It’s the only rational explanation. The mountain setting, the cliff edge, even the hour of day—all these make sense if the dragon is the executioner. They tie her there and then summon the dragon with this gong.” Jared pointed to the detail in the first illumination.
No one spoke for a long time, and the gutterin
g of the candles sounded loud in the silence. Jared got up and began to pace the room, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed.
Finally, Rafe took a deep breath. “What are we going to do, then? Taking on the Dragon-Lords is bad enough, but this….” He shrugged helplessly. “How are we supposed to fight a dragon, Jared?”
“Well, we’ve got three options, as I see it,” replied Jared, rejoining them at the reading table. “Option number one: we outfit a ship and rescue her before they take her off K’ilenfir.”
Brytnoth raised his hand. “Slight problem with that one,” he said. “What ship? And does either one of you know how to fly?”
“I do,” said Rafe. “And we have a ship…just not a very big one. It’s fueled and ready, but it’s only supposed to be used in the most dire emergency.”
“And we’d have to convince Arnauld of that, right?” Brytnoth said.
“That’s why option one isn’t so great,” Jared agreed. “Option number two: we infiltrate the Dragon-Lords’ fortress and kill them all when they bring her to the sacrifice chamber, whisking her away before they can summon the dragon.”
“I see a problem with that one too,” Rafe said. “How the hell are we supposed to get inside the old fortress? Not to mention the tiny problem of killing five Dragon-Lords.”
“Four,” Jared corrected. “I’ve already taken care of one, remember?”
“Whatever! We’re still outnumbered.” He shook his head. “Very slim chance of victory there, my friend. Very slim.”
“Well, then we have option number three—and this is my personal favorite. We go after the dragon.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rafe. “I thought I just heard you say—“
Jared grinned. “You did. We go after the dragon. Kill it. And maybe, without their dragon, the Dragon-Lords won’t survive. Maybe their life-energies are intertwined so deeply that killing the one means the death of the other.”
“Like a host-parasite relationship?” asked Brytnoth. Jared and Rafe looked at him blankly. “Sorry…looked through too many agriculture texts, I guess.”
“So? What do you think?”
Rafe shook his head. “I think you’re crazy. But—” an enormous grin lit up his face— “I’m in. I can’t think of a better way to die than this.”
“What about you, outworlder?” Jared turned to Brytnoth.
“Well, seeing as I’ve got nowhere to go if Albadir is destroyed, I guess you can count me in too.”
Chapter 19
When Jared finally left the library, it was the darkest hour of the night. The air was hazy with the dust whipped up by the sandstorms still raging outside the city walls, shrouding everything in a veil. If it hadn’t been for the torches flickering around the courtyard, he wouldn’t have been able to see his path.
He glanced up at the sky and considered idly what Sahara’s homeworld might have been like. She’d never spoken of it much, and he remembered how strangely she had always reacted to his own love for Albadir. She’d laughed at him for appreciating the beauty and taste of the edulia, and his enthusiasm over the sight of the oasis rising out of the cruel desert had inspired her to scorn—or at least to mystification.
But he knew her well enough now to know that her feelings ran deep below the surface, where she’d buried them in order to survive.
He sighed and paused by the fountain, leaning on its smooth side and staring down into the shimmering water. Tiny droplets, tossed up by the cascades tumbling from the top tiers of the fountain, clung to his face and hands. A sudden overwhelming doubt engulfed his mind and he bowed his head.
What if I misread those illuminations? What if there is no dragon? What if there’s nothing I can do, and Sahara will die no matter what?
He knew thoughts of this kind were unproductive. They made him slow and stupid, paralyzing him with fear. And yet, he couldn’t stop. He sank down onto the stone lip of the fountain and buried his head in his hands.
You’ve got it wrong, you know. About the Dragon-Lords.
Jared’s head snapped up. This was not his own mind’s voice speaking. A wild hope sprang up within him. He couldn’t see her yet, but he could feel her presence.
Jared.
“Sahara!” The sound of his own voice, husky as if he had been hours in the desert without water, startled him. Sahara.
You’re wrong about them.
At last he could see something—superimposed on the blank canvas in front of him swam her face, dingy walls, chains holding her hands and feet. There was something wrong, but he couldn’t sense what it was.
Why am I wrong? What—
I don’t have time for that. Listen to me. All our lives are at stake now…not just mine.
Her eyes were closed, her lashes flickering against her pale cheeks. There was blood crusted on the right side of her face and matted in the hair above her ear.
Have they hit you? Have they—
Her eyes flashed open, stared straight into his. I told you there’s no time. It doesn’t matter.
Speak, then.
Albadir is the focus of all their energy now. They’re ready to destroy it.
How do you— he began, but she cut him off with a sharp movement of her hand, rattling her chains.
It doesn’t matter. But there is no dragon, Jared. At least, not the way you think. There isn’t another dragon. She shivered a little, clenched her jaw, and continued. That’s not why they are called the Dragon-Lords.
I don’t understand.
There isn’t another dragon, Jared, because that’s what they become.
What?
Don’t you see? The Dragon-Lords are just the many aspects of that mythical thing we know as “dragon”. And when they join their collective power, that’s what they become. That’s the form they choose to take. And when they come for Albadir, they will come with everything they have and blot you out.
Why now? Why will they come now?
I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. But you have to believe me! You have to tell Arnauld. It’s over…it’s all over. Her eyes burned into his.
Jared’s heart hammered in his chest so powerfully that he could hardly breathe. Tell me what to do. Tell me.
You have to be ready to meet them, Jared. When they bind me to that pillar, you have to be ready. They will all be there, and they will reveal themselves as one, as dragon, and you have to be ready. Be ready…be ready…
Her voice was slipping away. The vision evaporated like mist.
“No!” Jared cried.
He lurched forward, tripped, and fell on his hands and knees on the stones, such a burning within him—whether from anger or sorrow he didn’t know—that the tears sprang into his eyes.
He bowed his head to the stones, feeling their coolness against his hot skin and allowing it to seep into his fevered mind. And then, with a sudden rush of inspiration, he knew what he had to do.
*****
He pounded on Rafe’s door. When there was no answer, he pounded again and continued to hammer the door until it swung open under his fist.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rafe asked, his voice laced with murderous irritation. “Didn’t we spend long enough in your cursed library for one night?”
“It’s not about the library, Rafe. Let me in!”
Rafe stepped aside to allow him through the door, and then closed it behind him.
“So what’s wrong with you?” he growled.
“I’ve had another vision. Sahara came to me again. We’ve got to get Brytnoth. We have to go. We have a bit of a journey ahead of us.”
Rafe blinked slowly, sinking onto the low couch that faced the fireplace. “You’ve got to be out of your mind. Crazy. I mean, completely.”
“I’m not crazy, Rafe! This is important!”
Rafe let out a huge yawn and ruffled his hand through his hair, then rubbed his face vigorously. “So tell me.”
“We’ve got it all wrong about the dragon and the Dragon-Lords,” Jared told
him.
“And how do you know that? More tomes?”
“No. Sahara told me.”
“And how does she know?”
“She didn’t say.”
“She didn’t say.” Rafe heaved a sigh. “Of course not. So what’s the real situation, then?”
“They are the dragon.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They are the dragon, Rafe! Each of the Dragon-Lords embodies some aspect of the dragon. And when they join together… And they’re all coming here. All of them. They’ll unite themselves and become the dragon to accomplish the sacrifice.”
“What, you don’t mean the whole council?”
“The whole council. She said they mean to make one final assault on Albadir and obliterate us.”
Rafe sat up, fully awake now. “Are you sure about this? Is she?”
Jared sat down next to him, his hands clasped. “Rafe, when have I ever lied to you?” When Rafe opened his mouth to say something, Jared added swiftly, “And I don’t mean that time when we were kids and I told you I didn’t eat your noon ration!”
“Well, if you aren’t counting that particularly malicious instance—for which, as I recall, Harper got a sound thrashing in your place—then never.”
“Then please take me at my word now.”
Rafe’s grin faded and he stared down at the floor for a few minutes. Jared waited, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Suppose you’re right,” Rafe said at last. “What are we supposed to do about it?”
“I’d rather get Brytnoth up and tell everyone at the same time.”
“Go get him, then. I’ll be dressed and ready when you get back.”
Brytnoth received Jared with frustrated weariness, but when Jared explained the situation, he became fiercely animated.
“I knew there was something we didn’t understand!” he said, leaping to his feet. “That explains everything! Let me get dressed, Jared.”
Jared had scarcely stepped into the hallway to wait for him before Brytnoth was beside him, stomping his feet into his boots and shoving his shirt into his pants.
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