END OF PART TWO: The Tunnels of Aldregair
The Dragon Oracles: Part Three
Dedication
To Robert Jordan. For me, reading The Wheel of Time was what started everything. I have read the entire series three times. Thank you, Robert.
CHAPTER 1
Elspeth’s New Clothes
Elspeth blinked hard against the dust as the dragon she was riding landed heavily near the northeastern slope of the Karan Valley. She was back where she had started the night before – so to speak. In a little under half an hour, the dragon had undone what had taken half the night to walk. Elspeth could not help but feel utterly alone as she looked around at the Kel’madden camp. Her friends were miles away, with the Tunnels of Aldregair separating them. Gialyn and the others would not be rushing to her rescue. Not this time.
The sun had yet to rise over the Karan Ridge. Most of the soldiers were still at breakfast. Although, when they saw Vila’slae’s dragon approach, many dropped their plates and found something to do. The witch – is she really a witch? – gave no more than a passing glance at her sprawling army, but Elspeth, still sat in the small carriage on the dragon’s back, could not help but stare. The Kel’madden numbers had swollen since the previous evening. There were at least three times as many. And from what Elspeth could see, they were still pouring into the valley from the north-west entrance. Gods, there must be fifty thousand!
Yet, that was not the worst of it. She thought the dragon she was sitting on was the most colosal beast she had ever seen – no, not thought, she knew it for a fact. But even that dark-green creature was a poor seventh or eighth compared to those eating breakfast in the shade of the cliff north of the witch’s camp. One – a beast half-again as big as any other – was busy demolishing the top of a large elm tree. It wasn’t even stretching, Elspeth noticed. The vast cow-like dragon was sitting on its immense rump, taking a bite off a tree as it lazily gazed about. Yes, it could be a cow, if not for— Cow! Don’t be stupid; it’s not a bloody cow!
Elspeth felt a tug on her sleeve. Startled, she turned quickly to see who, or what, had grabbed her. A soldier, standing half way up a wooden stepladder, was waving her down. Elspeth pulled herself up straight and, with more than a little care so as not to disturb the dragon, hoisted her leg over the railing. Vila’slae, who had sat up front at the base of the dragon’s neck, had already dismounted by sliding down the beast’s shoulder. The dragon turned its head and was watched Elspeth as she gingerly climbed down the ladder. She felt a wave of relief when her foot finally touched solid ground, which lasted all of a second. The soldier – or was she a Trooper? – dragged Elspeth away from the ladder, pinching her arm in the process.
“Ouch! You don’t have to—”
“Be quiet! The less you say, the better,” the soldier said without turning to look. She just stared straight ahead, pulling Elspeth along by the arm. The woman looked annoyed, Elspeth thought. It’s not my fault, she wanted to say. Blame your boss. I was quite happy where I was, thank you very much.
The woman – Trooper, soldier, whatever they called themselves – was short and dressed in dark armour that was different to what most of the other Kel’madden wore. Elspeth thought she might be one of Vila’s special guards, the same as those she had seen standing outside the quartermaster’s tent while they were holding her prisoner in the tunnels. Only this one had a gold crescent on her breastplate, and wore a long cape fastened at the shoulder with gilded clasps. She looked… important.
Elspeth half expected the knot in her stomach to ease a little once she had her feet firmly on the ground. But no. If anything, she felt worse. The soldier’s attitude made her feel worthless – not just a prisoner; less than human. Elspeth wanted to pull away, force the woman to look at her, maybe treat her with some respect, but she could not gather the will to act. Besides, what good would it do? It wasn’t as if this woman would have a say in what happened to her. Fighting would just make things worse.
“Where are we going?” Elspeth asked. She was pleased with how strong her voice sounded. “What are you going to do with me?”
The soldier stared at her for a long moment. Elspeth thought she saw a flash of sympathy shoot from beneath the polished black helmet. However, sympathy or not, it did not stop the woman pulling Elspeth around the cook fires, between two large brown tents, and into a clearing.
Stripped of grass, likely burned off by the dragons if the acrid smell was anything to go by, the clearing bustled with activity. More large tents enclosed the square of dry dirt. Separated from the rest of the site, Elspeth thought this cluster of tents must be the officers’ encampment. The soldier dragged her towards the biggest tent. That has to be the witch’s; she’s bound to keep the best for herself.
Elspeth looked to her left. The corral – if she could call it that, where the dragons were still eating their breakfast – stretched along the eastern edge of the clearing. There were no fences, Elspeth noticed. What would be the point of fencing-in animals that can fly? A dozen men dressed in long leather aprons were carrying chunks of meat. Goat and pig for the dragons, Elspeth thought. Others guided small carts, full of what looked like water barrels, pulled by those strange snout-nosed horses – the ones with leathery skin and fat legs – into the corral. Seemed the dragons drank a lot of water. The whole menagerie appeared very well organised. Too organised. Elspeth could not imagine how anyone could stand in their way; not with the soldiers, the dragons, and the Kel’madden’s seemingly limitless supplies. Despite telling herself to be brave, Elspeth shuddered.
The soldier escorting her pushed Elspeth towards the door of the big tent. Surprisingly, unlike the tent in the Tunnels, there were none of the lavish decorations inside. So, not the witch’s tent.
They stopped at the entrance. The floor was grey hard-packed dirt. Still-lit brass lanterns hung on posts, illuminating a large table which took up most of the tent. Maps, scrolls and small ornaments which looked like toy dragons filled the tabletop: a command tent, Elspeth supposed.
Vila’slae was already inside, ordering most of those present to leave, until only three Kel’madden remained.
“Put her over there,” Vila’slae told Elspeth’s escort, while pointing aimlessly into a dimly lit corner. “I can’t deal with her yet. Cover her ears with something.”
Again, the soldier dragged Elspeth along. You only have to ask. I suppose you want me to sit on the dirt. She braced herself, ready for her escort to push her down. But to her surprise, the soldier dragged a chair over for her to sit on. Elspeth thought it was only right to say “Thank you.” The soldier snorted – or it might have been a laugh – before wrapping a scarf around Elspeth’s head and plonking her own helmet over the top of it. The scarf itched, and the helmet was too tight, but it did its job; Elspeth could not see or hear anything.
* * *
If Elspeth were guessing, twenty minutes had passed before the soldier pulled the helmet off. The armour-clad woman looked flustered – frustrated, maybe – as she gathered her scarf. After bowing to the witch, the soldier left the tent. The other three, all with the same insignia as Elspeth’s escort, left too. They each bowed to the witch. But again, none looked particularly happy with their lot. It seemed destroying Vila’s precious Shard had caused the witch a great deal of trouble. Good; I hope her plans are ruined.
Elspeth was relieved to see the sunlight; twenty minutes with her eyes covered made her imagine all kinds of ever-more horrible scenarios. Having said that, she had decided, by the ten-minute mark, or there about, that Vila’slae was not going to kill her, at least not yet. Nevertheless, that did not mean she wouldn’t be facing the lungworm, or worse. What had Arfael meant when he said she was “too valuable to risk”? What did the witch want with her? And why did it matter that she was the one who destroyed that… what had he called it? A Barrowstone Shard? Alacin had mentioned something about the “Shard” on their way through the Tunnels. Unfortunately, Elspeth hadn’t been paying attention. T
oo busy eyeing Arfael up and down. That will teach you.
Alacin… no, Ealian… Gods, he must be half-crazed with worry. Why did— No, if I had not given myself up, the witch would have killed someone else; maybe even Ealian. There was no point thinking about all that. Elspeth had enough problems in the present without worrying about what she might have done differently.
Vila’slae, hands on her hips with her eyes fixed on Elspeth, paced left then right behind the long table. Every now and then, she sighed and shook her head. Elspeth knew the look on Vila’slae’s face. It was the same look her father gave whenever he tried to argue with one of the foremen from the Rundair mine. Vila was wondering if she could do without Elspeth, wondering whether to be rid of her – kill her – and be done with all the aggravation.
You need me, Elspeth thought. Remember that bloody Shard of yours. You need me!
Begging, even if it was only a thought, made Elspeth’s gut churn. Gods, how she hated the woman.
And yet, even now, she could not help but look twice at Vila’slae. Once for the leader of the Kel’madden, and once more for the beautiful woman who, on the face of it, appeared anything but evil. Dark eyes, silky hair, porcelain skin; she looked nothing like a witch – how did the woman come to this? Elspeth suppressed the thought. Stop trying to understand her. You’re not evil. More hope of understanding a fish.
Vila’slae stopped pacing. One arm around her waist, she raised her other hand and tapped her chin with a red-and-yellow-nailed finger. “You’ll have to get changed,” Vila’slae said, stabbing the same finger at Elspeth. “I can’t take you to the temple in that, and I’m not packing extra clothes.”
Extra clothes? Temple? Packing? What the—“Where are we going?” Elspeth asked, maybe a little firmer than she should.
“You’re coming with me, back to Eiras,” Vila’slae said.
Vila did not look at Elspeth while she spoke. Instead, she curled her finger at one of the servant girls – or maybe it was a woman, Elspeth couldn’t tell with the shawl half covering her face. “Find robes for our guest,” she said to the servant while waving in Elspeth’s direction.
Guest? She thinks I’m her guest.
While they waited for the servant to return, Vila quietly resumed her pacing. Elspeth tried not to look at her, patrolling the other side of the table. It was difficult, though, as the witch was the only other person in the tent. Elspeth thought it might be a good time to ask some questions. But something about being alone with Vila’slae felt more frightening than when the tent was half-full of Kel’madden. She was relieved when, after a few minutes, the servant returned with an armful of robes.
After another curtsy, the servant woman – a pretty woman of an age with Elspeth’s own mother – asked her to stand, then offered up each robe before nodding agreeably at the second. “This one will fit you well enough. Take your clothes off.”
“In here?” Elspeth squeaked. “Where everyone can see?” She felt her cheeks heat up. Of all the things to worry about, she was concerned over her modesty.
The servant woman laughed. “No one is going to—”
“Enough with the chatter,” Vila’slae barked. She had sat back down and was reading a wide parchment. She spoke without raising her head. “Just get on with it. You’re not dressing for a party. When you have done, you will stay with her,” she told the woman, who was busy undoing the buttons on one of the robes. “Don’t go further than the clearing.”
The servant women curtsied apologetically, robe still in hand.
Elspeth blinked, and then closed her mouth… Don’t go further than the clearing? She thought she was a prisoner! Now it seemed she could walk around as she pleased, albeit not very far. This is just getting stranger by the minute. If Elspeth did not know better, she might have thought Vila’slae was trying to be friendly. No, it can’t be that. She’s planning something. But what?
“Why do you need me?” she asked Vila. “You must know I’ll not help you. Not if it means hurting my friends.”
Elspeth could hardly believe what she had said. Why did you say that? Are you trying to make her angry?
“Oh, you will help, once I tell you what’s at stake,” Vila’slae replied.
The witch gathered some papers and, after nodding assertively to the servant, left the tent.
“‘Tell me what’s at stake?’” Elspeth whispered. If she had not felt out of her depth before, she surely did now. Was Vila’slae – the witch, the leader of the Kel’madden horde – asking for her help? Could this day get any stranger?
* * *
Captain Nana Doran had woken an hour later than usual. For the first time in what felt like months, she had not needed to ready her men for a long day’s march. They had arrived at their destination, the Karan Valley, late the previous evening and, after a rare good night’s sleep, Nana was feeling better than she had done in a long time. Smiling at the cook, she collected her breakfast, then sat by a campfire surrounded by a small circle of men – her men.
She preferred their company to that of the other officers. As one of only three ranked Toyans, Nana often felt the Kel’madden officers looked down on her. And not because she was shorter than most. Young for a captain, and with big brown eyes, she looked more man than woman. A quirk the Kel’madden officers found highly amusing. Oh, she was used to jibes – what woman wasn’t? Men always thought they were the better soldiers – but she knew, as did all Toyans, that Kel’madden Troopers did not like outsiders. There was no humour in their insults.
“Had a good sleep, did you?” Skelk asked. “Not too early for you?”
“Skelk” wasn’t what his mother called him, but despite knowing the man for years, Nana still could not pronounce his name correctly. Smiling, he handed her the plate of bread rolls.
Sergeant Skelk was another Toyan. Despite being thick-necked and broad, he wasn’t much taller than she was. He wore his hair cropped close to his scalp and never went anywhere without his daggers belted around his waist.
Nana was well aware of Skelk’s morning ritual. For the past three months, he had not gone a day without taunting her about something or other; all good-natured, of course. “I had a good sleep, thank you, Sergeant,” Nana replied. “How about you? Did you manage to find your bedroll, or did you sleep with the horses, again?”
A chorus of laughter erupted around the campfire.
“That wasn’t my fault,” Skelk said, thumbing his ear. “You should expect things like that if you leave the wineskin where I can find it.”
Nana chuckled. “If I remember truly, Sergeant, I put the wineskin in the footlocker at the back of my tent.”
“That’s what I mean,” Skelk insisted. “You should not leave it where I can find it.” The sergeant eyed the other men sitting around the fire. “I mean… footlocker… it’s a bit obvious.”
The laughter started up again, until Kalf asked, “Do you know our orders, Captain? Are we staying here for a while?”
The group quietened down.
It was no secret most of their fellow Toyans were not happy serve under the Kel’madden. Oh, they knew their orders came down from the Merchants’ Council. But, nevertheless, Toyan soldiers did not like taking orders from northerners. Especially when those northerners were from the Toi Islands.
Nana shrugged. “I don’t know much more than you. But if what the others are saying is true, we should have the day before we start moving again.”
“Well, that’s something,” Kalf said, spooning up some more porridge into his bowl. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to going into that,” he said, nodding to the south.
Nana did not have to look to know what Kalf meant by “into that.” They all knew about the Tunnels of Aldregair. Nana did not think there was a man or woman in the whole of Moyathair who, if given a choice, wouldn’t avoid the Tunnels. Yet, here they were, marching towards them. Madness.
“At least we’ll be following them in,” Skelk said. “If there is anything in there, it’ll h
ave them first.”
“That’s if they do go first,” Kalf said. “I’m wondering if that’s not why we’re here; to test the Tunnels for the witch.”
“Keep your voice down, Kalf,” Nana hissed, while making sure none of the Troopers had overheard. “If it comes to that, we’ll deal with it. But don’t go looking for trouble. We’ve got quite enough already.”
The men quietened down, but their faces said they were not happy with their lot. Even Skelk, usually so blithe in the face of danger, appeared solemn.
Nana reached for the teapot, and paused when Skelk pointed towards the top of the ridge.
“Is that one of ours?” he asked, still squinting up at the southern horizon.
Nana twisted at the waist. Shielding her eyes, she peered up at the dragon as it began to descend into the valley. She choked on her bread when she recognized the rider. “No, it can’t be!” Her whisper was louder than she expected. Turning back, she eyed Skelk and the others, wondering if any of them had heard. It would not do for the men to hear their captain say such things.
“Yes, it’s her!” Skelk answered.
Nana heard the clatter of plates, as all around soldiers and Troopers alike stood up. Some tightened tunics, others brushed down their uniform; all moved in a hurry as if they suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. So much for a quiet morning.
Nana stood. For a moment, she wondered what to do; what might have happened to bring Vila’slae back so soon? Her stomach knotted as she dreamed up possibilities. None were likely correct, yet she could not help herself. Was the general dead? No, she would not come back for that. Did the Surabhan have an army gathered to the south? No, she would have sent someone else. What had happened? If there was one thing Nana hated, it was ignorance. Especially when she was the one groping in the dark for answers.
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