by Will Elliott
After a minute or two, neither was he.
As they made to leave the roost one of the Invia drew their attention to a little chest made of something like ivory, half buried in a mound of dust. Inside it were gowns, several of them. One fit Aziel perfectly, though the rest were far too large. While she examined these Eric ignored her commentary and stared at the amulet Hauf had given him. It was cool on his palm, light in weight, and the colour of dull steel; entirely unremarkable to look at. Part of it depicted what was perhaps an eye. If it were magical, he felt none of its effects and his mage eyes saw nothing unusual.
Aziel dug around in the chest. ‘Look! There’s even more in here. Here! Something for you, I think. It’s a shirt. O, it’s armour. See? There’re three of them. This one might fit you.’
She held up a sparkling chain-mail shirt. He ran a hand down it, imagining Loup’s voice issuing words of caution about taking gifts from strangers, especially strange dragons. ‘Aziel, what have we learned about taking objects we find lying about? Beautiful objects or not.’
‘We have learned more than we ever dared dream we would know,’ she snapped. ‘Here we are, in a place where no one else dared to come. And we are made rulers of everything! We wouldn’t be here at all if I hadn’t taken the necklace. So there’s your answer. We have learned some gifts are too perfect to refuse.’
She tossed the chain-mail shirt at him. He caught it. ‘I have a hunch I know what kind of queen you’re going to make,’ he said.
‘I’m trying to be practical. You’ll need protection. We may be about to do something very dangerous.’
He held aloft Hauf’s amulet. ‘What about this? Is it good for anything?’
‘Weren’t you listening? Hauf will come if you call him. Maybe he can hear you through the amulet. Though he won’t be able to help us within the castle.’
‘Why not?’
‘Spirits and dragons can’t go there. I don’t know why, but everyone knows it to be true.’
For a while longer he watched her rummage through the chest as though she’d owned it for years. ‘Aziel, these gifts … Look, help isn’t usually given freely. As a queen or empress or whatever you are, you ought to know that.’
But he slipped the chain-mail shirt on nonetheless, and took the other odds and ends Aziel dug out of the chest: pieces of seemingly plain jewellery, things like coins, coloured gems, some which gleamed bright, others which were dull. There were half a dozen dragon scales of various colours, big enough to be scales from the brood’s Parent. Including – he almost heard Kiown’s jealous, anguished scream – a black scale.
Aziel waved goodbye to the Invia. They did not respond at all. The chain-mail shirt clinked faintly for a few steps then seemed to settle itself on Eric’s body. They heard beating wings behind them as one or two of the Invia left the roost and flew into the gloom above.
Aziel showed no sign of trepidation as they got nearer to where they’d entered the dragons’ sky prison, easily found by following the trail of dead war mages. The place Shâ had revealed himself for the first time to human eyes, unless others like Shilen dwelled here. (Did Shâ know that we watched him? Eric wondered. Was that display of cruel power somehow part of the dragons’ plan, a message to the new human lords? Emphasising, perhaps, what Shilen had told him: The dragons do not break agreements. Nor should you.)
War-mage bodies grew more common the closer they got to the tunnel leading down: war mages broken and twisted into odd shapes, unclosed eyes here and there still glowing catlike and yellow, though most had faded out. Overhead, the cavern ceiling began again its song, with new wind blowing through the tunnels. Aziel looked up and waved, as if the eerie notes had bid them a personal farewell.
When they neared the downwards-curving tunnel, Eric gazed at the two dragons lying dead among the piles of slain war mages. The larger one’s body was of golden shades, in places coppery red, or edged with silvery white, now vandalised all over with whiplash burns, punctures and tears. Still it was breathtaking, like something beautiful dropped senselessly from a great height and broken. A lump came to Eric’s throat, hot tears welled in his eyes as he recalled the cry it gave while it died. It need not have died like that. Shâ could have come down right away, ended the battle with ease, and spared this magnificent thing its life.
‘Eric, we have to go,’ Aziel said, pulling at his arm.
He began to turn away when one of the dragon’s eyes peeled open. A faint, pleading groan sounded from its lips, barely audible. Eric recoiled in horror – not horror of the beast, but horror for it. He hadn’t the power to help speed up its death; he could not bring himself to try shooting it. He wept. ‘I can’t help you. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’
Its one open eye looked into his, saw so deep within him he felt naked to his very innermost layer. He did not know if it had understood him or not, only that it suffered and could not be helped. Aziel, weeping also, pulled him away from its gaze and towards the tunnel.
7
GOD OF BEAUTY
‘Don’t pant like that, old man,’ Loup said, thumping his heel into Case’s side. The castle was well behind them now. The weather had calmed and the airs were weak of magic, the way Loup much preferred them.
Loup’s foot had hit Case more softly than Aziel’s many slaps during their flight north from the tower, but the drake was worse tempered now. A growl sounded in his throat: as impressive a growl as Loup had heard him make. He said, ‘Whoa now! Well, you almost convinced me: you’re a mighty ferocious beast. Ease up. Faul’s place is up ahead, just out of these woods. Full of food and ale for you, if she’ll let us back in. Your wings might be tired, but your back’s not much chop to sit on, let me tell you. These scales of yours, the war drakes used to have em smoothed, back in the war days. That blood you smell’s mine – you chopped my legs up real good. You don’t hear me complaining and wheezing like my lung’s full of wet cloud.’
Case wheezed loud in argument. Before Loup could berate him further, a sight in the woods below caught him off guard. For a fleeting moment, someone stood visible in a clearing where the trees gave way to a little stream, trickling down layers of stone like steps. It was a small figure in a white gown, either a woman or a very effeminate man. The figure’s head was raised to the sky, and one of its flanks was half exposed in similar fashion to the world’s Friend and Lord himself.
Loup thought, Long flight. Funny airs at the castle. Seeing nonsense now. Poor young Eric, wonder how he did up there. Aziel I’ve no grudge with, but can’t say I miss the silly thing and her whines.
The woods came to their abrupt end, giving way to the stony plains about Faul’s home, hard turf she somehow convinced to sprout enough food for her enormous appetite. Beyond her land spread out the blasted plains, which almost made Faul’s hard acres seem a fertile pretty place. Loup shuddered at the thought of the two lone Pilgrims, lost and stumbling across it as they had, totally unmindful of the huge magic cast in that place so long ago, echoes of it still rumbling uneasily across the rocks and brittle weeds. You could hear it from Faul’s porch, up late on certain nights.
‘Down now, Case,’ said Loup, patting the drake’s neck. ‘Rest time soon. First, we show Faul we’re sorry. Don’t matter whether we should be sorry or not, that’s half-giants for you. Look there! You can see the spot she buried that Invia, even from here.’
Case set down a short walk from Faul’s house. Loup slipped off his back, then murmured and grumbled as he roamed the edge of the forest. Now and then he ducked down to the dirt, picking up small weeds and pebbles, sometimes flicking them away with an impatient noise in his throat. He found the occasional crystal among the stones, good healthy power in them for common household magic, the type the fancy old schools would’ve scoffed at. ‘Folk mages, they call us,’ he grumbled, adjusting the grudge like a favoured old garment pulled about him. ‘Cos we knew magic was to help folks! That’s us, no point, horde it all away in high towers like a stoneflesh gathering stones abo
ut him. Pat ourselves on the back for how much we know, how clever we are to keep things secret. Pah!’
There ahead in the trees, that was where Far Gaze had fought the dragon, though no sign of their spell work remained as far as Loup could see. The woods seemed quiet and watchful while his gnarled hands dug through grass and dirt. Tree spirits were awake today, no doubt of it.
With no warning at all there began a sudden riot of birdsong. Beginning in the trees some way off to his left, the sound spread all through the woods, loud enough even to wake up old Case and get him up on his feet, staring about in alarm. Loup had never heard birds sing that way in his life. He looked up through the treetops, trying to catch sight of them. They were hidden, if they were really there at all. Magic? The air bore no obvious signs of casting, just the usual faint unease that had been around since the Wall fell. In spite of his wariness, the birdsong began to fill Loup’s heart with cheer, just like downing a cup of strong wine. He had half a mind to kick his boots off and dance.
And he may have, had not all the song ceased as abruptly as it began. One or two birds took flight further back in the woods, wheeling in the sky over the treetops. Maybe it had been natural, after all. All was still again.
Loup hoped the gathered things would be sufficient for what he needed – he didn’t fancy being near these woods longer than he had to after that. He jogged back to Case, who was already asleep again, bless him. ‘Wake up, old man. You hear all that? What ye make of it, eh? What’re those birds up to?’ One amber eye opened, gleamed like a polished gem and peered into his own. Not the faintest idea, it said with total indifference.
Loup set his findings down on a patch of dirt he cleared away with his foot. His weathered hands twisted roots, stems, branches. Case’s amber eye serenely followed his movements. Loup muttered, ‘Half-giants, when they get a small grudge, well you can win em back only if you done em some good turns, back before they got mad at you. That’s for a small grudge. Long memories they have, but that works to the good too. Old Faul, I blessed a load of her crops, back in that year when Tempest got mad, made them floods at Tsith, then went off west and the rains never come back awhile. O aye, Case old man, we’d visit her now and then, gave her news of the times, what the cities were up to. No safe journey to get out here, either. She’ll remember that.’
He cursed and muttered, twisted the stem of a flower about a dark brown pebble he’d spit-polished, given over entirely to intuition: even the speech burbling from his mouth had no more thought or deliberation than a stream’s water. His gnarled fingers twisted, snapped off, tied together. ‘Aye, old man drake … not much magic t’this, just a little kick, we’ll give it … more time’d be better, but we’d best hurry … them songs in the woods – something’s afoot … not much magic to this … but she’ll remember, old Faul will remember … good friends we was to her, back awhiles …’
Soon taking shape in his hands was a spindly wheel of vine, flower stem, grass. Here and there shiny pebbles hung from it like berries, each polished to gleaming. Loup fixed his eye upon it from many angles, detecting at last a thin thread of magic playing about from pebble to pebble. Anyone could make something like this, no need to be a mage at all. ‘Curious, she’ll be, old Faul,’ said Loup to the sleeping drake. ‘What’s this old thing on my doorstep? she’ll say. Who did that knocking? We’ll see what happens then, Case old man. We’ll see.’
There was no sign of Faul as Loup neared the house with the large wreath carried before him. Now and then a wooden thock, thock, thock came from Lut at work at the further end of the rear yard. Loup laid the wreath on Faul’s front doorstep, tapped the door twice, then ran. From where he crouched behind spiny bushes he heard the merciless thump of her boots clomping through the house. Slow strides – good sign!
The large door creaked open. There she stood, hands on hips, staring down at the gift he’d crafted. Come now, Loup thought, his heart speeding up. Pick it up, lass. It’ll tell you who made it. Let’s let it all be: forget that pretty dead Invia. Me and old man Case had naught to do with killing her anyway …
Slowly, slowly, Faul’s body leaned forwards. Down on one knee she crouched, delicately picking up the wreath in thumbs and forefingers. She stared at it for many long minutes. Slowly, slowly, she slipped it over her thick bull-like neck. (He’d allowed room for that neck of hers, but even so only just room enough.) Faul’s fists went back on her hips. Passing through her mind now – if Loup’s hands had done their job right – would be memories of old times, good deeds done to her and by her, an appeal to her good side. It was an old and obscure art, the forgiveness wreath, but there was no other way to deal with a half-giant someone had stirred up.
Loup’s gut whined in hunger. As she heard it, Faul’s voice boomed: ‘RIGHT THEN. COME ON, OUT IN THE OPEN WITH YOU. I THINK I KNOW WHO IT IS.’
Loup stood, gums grinning, hands fidgeting. Clomp, clomp, down the steps she came, huge wooden boots pounding, scattering pebbles. ‘ALONE?’ she roared. ‘I SMELL …’ she sniffed. ‘IT’S NOT DRAKE, BUT SIMILAR.’
‘It’s drake, aye, lass,’ said Loup.
‘DON’T LASS ME. AND DON’T COWER LIKE THAT. AS FOR THE WREATH, IT WORKED. WELL-MADE ENOUGH, WITH NICE STONES IN IT, THOUGH THE VINES COULD BE THICKER. YOU’RE FORGIVEN. BUT IT’S NO DRAKE I SNIFF. IT’S SOMETHING ELSE, LOUP.’ Without warning she stomped off to where he’d left Case sleeping. The drake stirred and woke well before she reached him, eyeing her nervously. No doubt Loup’s promise of food and ale was the only thing keeping him from flying away. ‘AHA! SO HERE HE IS. FAMILIAR, SOMEHOW. HIS NAME?’
‘Old Case.’
‘CASE? HM. LET’S SEE THEN.’ Case flapped his wings frantically as she scooped him in her arms to test his weight. He was longer than she was tall, but somehow she made him seem quite small. ‘SETTLE!’ she boomed. ‘DON’T BREATHE YOUR FIRE ON ME, IF FIRE YOU HAVE. I’LL BLOODY SCORCH YOU BACK IF YOU DO. LOUP, SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THIS DRAKE.’
‘Long flights, he’s had.’
‘NO! NOT SICK, NOT ILL, NOT ALLERGIC. I’M TELLING YOU, IT’S NOT A DRAKE AT ALL. THIS IS A MAN.’
Loup had no response to this absurd statement but to shrug and smile. His belly rumbled again. ‘Eats like a drake, Faul,’ he ventured.
‘HM. YOU’D DO LIKEWISE, EH? COME THEN, BE FED. BUT WHATEVER THE MISCHIEF IS HERE WITH YOUR “DRAKE”, I’VE NOT SEEN ITS KIND BEFORE! YOU’LL TELL ME ALL YOU KNOW OF THIS STRANGE CREATURE WHILE WE EAT.’
Loup scratched his head, wondering what he could possibly tell her of this drake-shaped, drakecoloured, drake-sized and rather drakish critter, who sounded, acted and otherwise seemed – to him at least – very much like a drake.
It was then the bird chorus began again, an explosive riot of beautiful cries in harmony, clicking percussion made by beaks snapping against tree trunks. Faul leaped, and dropped Case thumping into the bracken underfoot. She glared at Loup, suspecting some trick. He shrugged, his poor empty belly moaning. Faul glared at the trees. The birdsong died down. In its place came the faint voice of someone, or something, singing a wordless song. The voice was high, thin, at times fading to little more than the sound of wind. Loup shivered. Without a word Faul scooped the drake in her arms again, her big red glaring face full of disquiet. ‘SOMETHING’S IN THOSE TREES,’ she said. ‘SOMETHING THAT’S NEVER BEEN HERE BEFORE. GOOD OR ILL, LOUP? I’VE NO NOTION.’
‘Me neither, Faul. But if I knew I promise I’d tell you.’
Faul’s human husband, Lut, was tall, bearded, well-muscled from yard work and handy with most weapons, yet seemed a midget next to his wife. He set across the huge table mounds of bread; butter and honey in pots; meat of many kinds, dried, raw, baked and roasted; ever-cold skins of milk; mineral-blessed water in fat stone jugs; bowls of dark berries; fat cream-filled pastries; and more besides. After the road and the flight, the spread brought tears of joy prickling Loup’s eyes. He pecked at the edges of the feast, more mindful of half-giant etiquette than normal. (R
ules: display obvious hesitation whenever reaching for food, even from his own plate. Each morsel was to be held up for Faul to claim, if she wished it, before he’d bite into it. She never claimed, and even if she did not visibly acknowledge the courtesy, the gestures mattered.)
Between mouthfuls she questioned him about the drake and where he’d come from. The answers never seemed enough. Faul insisted old Case wasn’t simply a drake.
‘WEIGHT’S ALL WRONG! HIS MANNER TOO. JUST FAINT, BUT I SPOT IT. I KEPT DRAKES LONG AGO. ALL MANNER OF EM, ALL AGES AND COLOURS. HE AIN’T ONE!’
Loup told her of the Wall’s destruction, of the tower in the far south, and its odd wizard. The rest of his tale he left alone, meaning to save some of it for breakfast … indeed to mete it out over as many meals as Faul would allow.
‘MUCH EXPLAINED, THEN,’ she said when he’d finished. The day had begun to darken. She pulled from her mouth the bones of a rabbit she’d sucked the baked flesh from, leaving its skeleton almost intact. She patted her cheek with a towel. ‘THE SKIES ARE RESTLESS, LOUP. MORE THAN THEY HAVE EVER BEEN.’
‘Aye, them airs got stirred up. Since the Wall it’s been bad enough. Then this Vous business? O aye, gave it all a mighty shake.’
‘NOT YOUR SILLY MAGIC-AIRS! TO THE ASH SEA WITH THAT NONSENSE. I MEAN THE SKIES THEMSELVES ARE RESTLESS, LOUP. THE DRAGONS STIR, TURN OVER, AWAKEN, STRETCH THEIR LONG, SCALED LEGS.’
‘Aye, they do.’ Loup soaked some bread in a water bowl so it could be chewed with just his gums; the dried meats gave him a pang for his teeth, most of them pulled out for use in rituals which had seemed important at the time. ‘Do ye love em like your birds, Faul? They’ve wings too.’
Her fist thumped down. ‘NEVER MET EM! THAT A DRAGON CAME SO CLOSE TO MY HOME AND LEFT ME BE, STANDS THE REST IN GOOD STEAD, BY MY JUDGEMENT. NOT THAT THEY CARE! I’M AN INSECT TO THEM LIKE ALL THE REST OF US. CAN NAUGHT BUT NIP THEIR SKIN, GIVE EM A WELT OR SCRATCH OR TWO, FOR THE PRICE OF SQUASHING ME. I ACCEPT IT! CAN’T CHANGE THE NATURAL RANK OF POWERS, HOWEVER MUCH VAIN MEN WISH TO TRY. MY PEOPLE AND DRAGONS NEVER MIXED. THEY NEVER HUNTED US, NEVER HELPED US, NOR WE THEM. UNLESS IT’S TRUE THAT THEY MEDDLE WITH THINGS FROM OUT OF SIGHT, AS SOME CLAIM. THEIR CLAWS SWIRLING THE AIRS OF EVERY SPELL HUMAN MAGES CAST, THAT’S WHAT SOME RECKON!’ Her fist thumped down again, rattling the table and flattening the last pyramid of bread rolls (whose sturdiness Loup had been admiring). Lut broke out of what had seemed a trance of fondness, gazing at his wife. He gathered the rolls as they pattered to the floor.