by Will Elliott
‘Your loyalty is a virtue,’ said Blain in hurt tones. ‘A grand virtue. He is our Friend and Lord.’
Kiown chuckled as if to say touché, then resumed pacing, the cone of his hair flopping behind him like a strangely made crown. He said, ‘What’s interesting is, I am aware now of the mind-control. But that does not cancel the loyalty the mind-control causes in me. I still love him.’ He stroked the amulet’s stone. It responded to his touch with faint pulses of colour. ‘And now I am conflicted, Strategist. I am fiercely loyal to Vous, and must remain so. Your mind-control, I now see, will kill me the instant something tries to remove it.’
‘It was Avridis’s work, not mine,’ said Blain. A lie of course – Blain and the other Strategists had developed this magic, the utterly inescapable death-trap designed to keep valuable Hunters from ending up in service to Rebel Cities. He said, ‘But that aside, you’re right. Tamper with that mind-control and it will kick your brain to slop.’ The Invia’s gashed throat had eased its flow down to a trickle. The front of Blain’s robe was soaked. A clay bowl would be his pick of the world’s treasures right now. What a waste, spilling through the leaves and roots!
When Kiown had turned his back, quick as he could Blain drank and licked the Invia blood from his palms, careful to keep it from staining his beard and showing what he’d done. He’d tried this stuff once before, and remembered the feeling: a century of age falling away at once, flushed out by the blasting heat of artificial youth. That other time the blood had been nowhere near as fresh and pure as this. With great effort he kept the buzzing power from showing in his robe colours. Ah, better than any magic air, he thought, his eyes on Kiown’s bracelet. Could take the trinket off the little bastard right now, except I don’t know whether the thing is safe to possess. Let’s test his strength at least …
‘Loyal to our Friend and Lord,’ said Kiown ruminatively, still pacing. ‘Yet I have just received a gift from the dragons. A great gift.’
‘So your loyalties are now divided.’ Blain made a show of struggling to his feet, though he felt like leaping over the treetops. ‘I see. Most awkward for you.’
Kiown nodded. ‘The puzzle is: why do the dragons wish to elevate a man in this way, when that man must be loyal to one of the Spirits? The Spirits are the dragons’ enemies.’
‘O come back to your senses, sapling. You weren’t chosen! The dragons may have had a person in mind for this grand treasure. But … you?’ He said it with enough scorn to make the tree leaves shrivel. ‘You think they regard us little humans highly enough in the first place, that they’d pick a human slave to do their high work? A mind-controlled slave at that. The Invia you just killed, she didn’t leap down to bestow the gift upon you, did she? She was surely waiting for someone else. It was random chance, your snatching it up, and nothing more. The dragons’ cosmic bad luck continues.’
Kiown’s eyes narrowed. Blain peered into him and shuddered with disgust. ‘Ugh! You’re right to worry. You’ve now meddled with designs of the great powers. You see why mind-control was needed? At least we made something half useful out of you. You’d not know how to void your bowels without instructions.’ Blain spat in Kiown’s face and laughed at him.
The way Kiown’s lips pulled back in a snarl reminded Blain of Vous during his famous rages. Out came the sword, and he charged. He was fast of course, but no faster than a pissed-off Hunter should be. The Blain Kiown hacked into – with impressive fury, Blain judged from the other side of the clearing – was obviously not real, though it threw its arms up in feeble defence, splashed realistic blood around and wailed peevishly. The sword nicked off fingers, an ear, a hand and other parts, each of which quickly grew into a new Blain the second they’d thumped down on the floor of fallen leaves. Each of these new Blains threw its arms up in feeble defence, wailing peevishly.
With growing fury – now he moved a touch more quickly, perhaps, than a Hunter should – Kiown rushed through the clearing, decapitating each illusion as it manifested, searching for the real Blain. There we are, Blain thought. The amulet has power, naturally, but it can’t make an instant wizard-lord out of him. Well, let’s put him back in his box.
The real Blain stepped forwards, growing in size till he was half as tall as the nearest tree. He grew taller still, his legs becoming thick as pillars. With Invia blood coursing in him there was almost no burn to the spell at all. He gave himself the illusion of a cloak of fire, made his beard flaming, created a trident and turned his face into something bestial and terrible.
The giant-looking Blain – giant only in Kiown’s mind and Blain’s; no one else would see the illusion – strode forwards, making the ground in Kiown’s mind tremble. ‘I care not for your new trinket,’ his terrible voice roared. ‘But cast off any notions of being chosen for great things! There’s such a thing as fortuity. It gets the better of kings, gods and dragons all. You’re still my puppet and always shall be. Behave well or you’re done with. In the name of our Friend and Lord.’ Blain brought his foot down, making the ground seem to shake so much that Kiown lost all balance and fell.
Kiown stood again and dropped his sword. Not in fear, but as a chess player might knock his king from the board. The illusory Blains he’d cut down melted to liquid and sank into the undergrowth.
Blain’s tribute to Vous of course was not sincere – Blain had helped to create Vous, knew him as a young man well before the Project, and knew very well there was nothing at all to swear fealty to, let alone worship. But he would not have Invia blood within him for long – the charade of loyalty would have to be kept up, since Kiown’s mind-control was still in place. Blain would in fact have killed Kiown the moment he dropped his sword, if it weren’t that he had no wish to touch the dragon-made amulet himself. Nor could it be left lying here abandoned. It was best observed.
Kiown stared up into the giant Blain’s eyes. There was no fear in him. ‘In the name of our Friend and Lord,’ he repeated. Let’s not forget it went unsaid, but unsaid rather loudly.
That episode of antler-butting settled, Blain pondered the dead Invia. He wished to preserve as much of her body as he could without annoying any dragons or other nearby Invia. The thing’s flesh could be eaten and magic benefits gained, just as with the consumption of its blood. Blain knew precious little of the paltry arts of preserving meat or flesh; that was magic for slaves and nobodies. But he supposed Invia flesh would decay slower than most kinds. For the moment, it could be buried.
Kiown obeyed instructions to dig a hole in the clearing. Blain hectored, lectured and insulted the young man as much as usual. But he knew something had changed, and suspected the other knew it too. Kiown made no smart replies; indeed he hardly spoke. ‘You realise you can’t go north again,’ said Blain, ‘even if your duties require it? Not with that Invia’s Mark upon you.’
‘I’m not Marked,’ said Kiown.
‘O you’re not? What relief. I dreamed you slew an Invia.’
‘I’m not Marked,’ Kiown repeated.
So certain of it! On reflection, Blain believed him. ‘The trinket’s work?’
‘I suppose so, Strategist.’
‘Ahh. What else does it do?’
‘We shall see.’
‘In time, eh? May it make you somehow useful.’ Soon the Invia was buried, and the patch of ground looked almost as it had before. Blain marked the spot by counting paces to a nearby tree and notching its trunk. He went closer to the woods’ edge and gazed at Domudess’s tower. Calm ripples of silver flowed through the moat’s waters. ‘What do we do about that wizard then, eh?’ he muttered into his beard.
Kiown shrugged, yawned. ‘Kill him, if you want.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘That easy? You couldn’t best me just now. He bested me once already – didn’t even cast a spell to do it. He’s got tricks of his own. You believe it, up in that tower of his.’
For an hour or more he watched the tower with a huntsman’s patience. Domudess di
d not appear at the window again, though surely he knew they were still nearby. ‘I suppose we do no more than this,’ said Blain. ‘We watch him. Day and night. Let’s see if the dragon returns here. Perhaps they’re old friends.’
So they waited. Blain had little trouble passing the time, with centuries of memory to paw through. He also watched Kiown. Now and then Kiown took the amulet out, peering into the faintly glowing stone as if to read things written inside it. Thoughtful, thoughtful, he’d become. What’s going on in that tiny brain? Blain wondered, vaguely troubled.
Blain had seen and held great artefacts too, many of which the castle had robbed from the magic colleges when war mages flew forth to destroy them. None of those artefacts, so far as he knew, had been made by a Major dragon. One charm he’d handled had been crafted by a Great Spirit, if their guesses were right. When the Arch Mage learned of it, he’d seized it. Then Vous had seized it from him and somehow destroyed it during one of his more recent rages. What would they say, the countless slaves and victims of the castle’s rule, to see the men behind it all squabbling over morsels of power like children over stolen chocolates?
This thing Kiown now possessed would not reveal its secrets in any hurry. The greater the artefact, the longer it usually took to solve the puzzle of its power. Kiown’s hand was in his pocket yet again, stroking the thing. Already dearer to him than his own cock. I have a feeling this one was intended as a gift, whatever I said to him, Blain thought, fingering his beard irritably. Could he possibly have been chosen to keep the thing? Could the Invia have indeed been sent for him? No! Surely not …
He paused his reflections. That Minor dragon was nearby again. He could feel it as clearly as if feeling heat from breathed fire. Nearer the dragon came, then it shot away again. He quickly lost all sense of it.
Kiown, he noticed, stirred and looked off to the east. Interesting, Blain thought. He knew the dragon was nearby too.
14
A REUNION
The stallion put uneventful miles behind Siel through the night. A brief rain shower washed the last of her own blood from her hair. There was just enough light to show the road before them, but her head was turned constantly to the south, eager for a glimpse of the beings who’d healed her. The night showed little of Levaal South save the odd hint of luminous fog. Not even a sound seemed to come from that place, which poured its stillness and silence across World’s End and into the north, just as it had poured its poisoned airs. Nonetheless, the temptation to turn her mount south and ride into that strange land began to grow in her.
There had been no sight of either Tormentors or Shadow across a landscape like a dark sea beyond the path. How slowly the hours crept by till at last the sky turned white again. About her here and there were ruins from wagons. It looked as if a marauding army had come through this place. But none of the spiked tracks in the ground looked fresh, and the only Tormentors she saw were dead ones.
With no warning the stallion reared up, whinnied in panic, and very nearly threw her off. She held on for life. Trained for battle, the stallion recovered quickly from what had shocked it and veered off the road. She did not at first see what had bothered the horse, but now there stood a man on horseback. Except he was too large to be a man – his horse too was enormous. They blocked off the road, standing motionless and facing the southern world. His plate armour shone with its own light.
Siel was reminded of stories of the god Valour, who so many said did not exist at all. Indeed she had doubted it. Yet what else could this be? Drawing level as she passed him, and meeting his eyes, he spoke one word: ‘Caution.’
Once past him she looked back over her shoulder. Valour’s steed – if Valour it was – stepped off the road gracefully, slowly, proudly. She knew it had been no happenstance vision – her horse had seen it too.
Caution. Of what? She was indeed newly alert for the next mile or two, but the road was again hers alone. She began to doubt her own memories, until a high whinnying sound came from directly overhead; it was not unlike laughter. A shape ducked through the clouds’ lowest layer, long and dark, seeming to ripple as it moved. Wings spread wide to either side of its long body. Siel’s heart sank. Now she understood the reason for the warning.
Dyan the dragon descended, landing off the road some way ahead of her, feet pressing heavily down in knee-high grass. Siel’s horse pulled to an uneasy halt despite her urging it on faster. The dragon’s scales were a range of colours from creamy white to glittering blue. Upon its back were Stranger and a woman Siel did not at first recognise. Now she remembered – it was the Hunter who’d accosted her in the woods near the tower.
Dyan’s eyes peered into Siel’s, sparkling with light, his mouth curved up at the sides in its permanent grin. The two women climbed down from him. Stranger’s face wore clearly her profound misery. The Hunter stretched like a cat, pushing out her huge bust as if it were a weapon aimed at Siel. ‘Good morning,’ she said, smiling. ‘Care for a ride?’
‘Valour is near,’ Siel said, ignoring the women and looking into Dyan’s eyes.
‘That cannot be, for I would sense him,’ the dragon answered, belatedly adding, ‘Great Beauty.’ This drew a laugh from Evelle. Stranger buried her face in her hands. ‘It is no less true to say to her, than to you both,’ said the dragon. ‘You are all beautiful. Why must one be the greatest?’
‘Exactly,’ said Evelle. ‘Why can’t he love us all? Don’t be greedy.’
‘Dragons’ hearts are larger than those of men,’ said Dyan. ‘There is more in them to share.’ He shook himself like a dog, leathery ridges slapping against his hide, tail lashing around then settling in the grass.
‘What do you want with me?’ said Siel, hoping she sounded bolder than she felt.
‘Many things, Great Beauty,’ said Dyan.
‘Then why not take her with us too?’ Stranger said bitterly.
‘No room.’ Evelle smiled. ‘Unless we cast off some luggage. The luggage that always complains. Dyan, let’s fly again. Show me these haiyens you speak of. I must see them! They sound interesting.’
‘They are not as special as you might think,’ the dragon said ponderously, his tail lashing around the grass. ‘Their arts were taught them by a god who is not native to this plane at all, not native even to the South world. When you marvel at them, remember that. They are really not so different from you.’ He nodded his head at Siel. ‘Ask her. She has seen them. I see signs of their arts upon her.’
‘O!’ Evelle came nearer to Siel, peering at her with renewed curiosity. ‘Where are they? Where can we find them? What did they do to you?’
Siel put a hand on the curved blade in her waistband. Dyan said, ‘Go no closer to her, Evelle. She may hurt you.’
Evelle scoffed, then went on. ‘Where are the haiyens? Tell me. Then we’ll leave you alone. Speak up. I like to cut people. Mostly men but sometimes women too.’
‘You will find them across the World’s End boundary, I’m sure,’ said Siel.
‘Aw. Dyan won’t take us over there.’
‘Not yet,’ said Dyan. His mouth opened, shockingly wide and red as he yawned, teeth brilliant white. ‘A time comes when I may cross, if I wish. I am undecided. It depends on whether the other dragons descend.’
Siel supposed the dragon would spot lies, if she told any; but the new people were probably no longer where she’d last seen them. So she pointed back the way she’d come and described the glen. Evelle smiled sweetly. ‘Good girl! No cutting for you. Come, Dyan. It sounds a quick flight.’
‘Do you wish to join me?’ said Siel to Stranger.
Stranger looked at her sadly. ‘I accept that I must be tormented for a time. The novelty of his new interest will wear off. Soon, I believe.’
Evelle rolled her eyes. ‘O hush. Dyan saved your life.’
‘He saved me from your employer!’
Dyan’s voice came louder and silenced them both. He spoke to Siel: ‘You and I shall meet again. If you go to the tower, bewar
e the human casters there. Two or three, there are. For humans, they are strong. I shall hide myself from them next time – they will not sense my approach. Tell those who matter enough to hear it that your land has a new lord and lady, king and queen, first among the Favoured peoples. Whatever titles you wish to give them. Their names are Aziel, daughter of the man-god Vous. And Eric, the Pilgrim of Otherworld. Soon they shall claim the castle from the mage who dwells there. A new Spirit has joined the others. Vous, humans have called him. Of Vous, we know little. Shall he be loyal to the power which made him possible? It was we, the dragons. But he is not what we envisioned. As a god, he has nothing like the personality he displayed as a human.’
Siel felt suddenly dizzy, as sick as she had after this creature had lured her to the woods. Dyan’s wings fanned wide behind him. ‘Spread this news,’ he said. ‘The cities shall do the new rulers’ bidding, or they shall fall. The dragons shall be with the first Favoured peoples, in spirit and thought for a time, and in flesh soon enough. Blades raised against the Firstborn Favoured shall be deflected by hides of scale. Our eyes miss nothing. Be well, girl. It is a time of joy for my kind, and yours. Fear not.’
‘Ohh, interesting!’ said Evelle, clapping her hands. She and Stranger climbed back onto Dyan’s withers. The dragon launched itself again among the clouds.
Siel had lost track of time during the exchange. Head spinning, she urged the horse onwards.
Eric is lord? The idea was absurd! Dragons were capable of lies, jokes and errors, surely just as people were. But the words kept bounding through her mind: Otherworld prince. Otherworld prince.
15
STRANGE HANDS
As the lightstone went dark Kiown stirred, jolting Blain out of a journey through his memories. ‘What is it, sapling?’ he said. Kiown didn’t answer, but for the first time in many hours put the dragon-made amulet back in his pocket and clutched his sword hilt.