The Schemes of Dragons wotd-2

by Dave Smeds

  Toren kissed Deena. She smiled, tears welling. "Your totem is not yet passed," she said, barely managing not to choke. "Don't you dare die yet."

  "I don't plan to," Toren said, and parted with a lingering brush of fingers on fingers. He stepped awkwardly into the boat and sat down on a pile of netting.

  Alemar sighed, glad that the mists concealed the forest. He imagined he heard a mournful rythni song coming from the trees. A minuscule crab scuttled over his foot and into a crack between the planks.

  "Hold your head up," Elenya said, chiding him. "Gloroc would laugh if he could see you now."

  He met her gaze. To his surprise, tears trickled down her cheeks, too. She had changed a great deal in the past month. Their amulets flashed, and suddenly they were speaking mind to mind.

  "I want one of the Dragon's teeth to put above my hearth," she bespoke. "Think you can get one without skewering yourself on it?"

  "I'll bring you two," he answered with a buoyancy he did not feel. "Just find a hearth to hold them, and keep it safe until I return."

  "A bargain," she said aloud, and turned away, fading quickly into the murk, leaving Wynneth alone with him.

  His wife said nothing, nor did she come forward. Finally he stepped over to her. He held her, and slowly, she returned the embrace, as if she wanted to withhold it but could not bring herself to retreat completely.

  "I'll return," he promised her. "And when I do, I'll never leave you again."

  She frowned, skepticism blatant. Then she kissed him fiercely and virtually ran after her sister-in-law. Her lantern's glow lingered on the edge of visibility for the count of three heartbeats.

  Alemar bowed his head again and hopped into the boat. The fisherman grunted and ordered his sons to cast off. They cleared the dock and as soon as the fisherman's brawny offspring gave three heaves on the oars, the dock and the coast vanished behind them.

  ****

  Morning came. The mist brightened from shades of charcoal dust to light ash. A breeze awakened, died, and awakened again. The crew set aside the oars and hoisted their sail. Heavily loaded, the craft rode low. Occasional gusts drenched the occupants. The swells lured bile up their throats.

  Alemar hunkered near the prow, ignoring the salty spray, thinking of Wynneth.

  Toren looked ill. Geim seemed better off, but of all the party, only Match and Ebben, veterans of the sea, seemed comfortable, if anyone could be in such weather.

  They cleared the fog bank two hours after sunrise, emerging into bright, late summer heat and light as suddenly as if a curtain had been drawn back. Behind them the grey mass brooded, daring the sun to burn it off the coast.

  The fisherman cast an apprehensive eye at the horizon, as did Alemar. The Dragon's ships patrolled this coast with diligence. They saw no masts or sails.

  "Time to go," the fisherman said.

  Alemar nodded, slipped a pearl ring off his finger and whistled through it. He repeated it at intervals. Achird rose toward zenith and drew the dampness from their clothing. Alemar did not realize until then how chill the splashes and the fog had made him. He indulged in the change. It would be many days before he would be this dry again.

  The dorsal fins of dolphins broke the surface in the distance, and Ebben cried out. Alemar lifted the ring again and whistled the tune that Obo had taught him years before. The princes of the sea heard and six of them surrounded the fishing boat.

  The fisherman's sons released the sheets and their father pointed the boat directly into the wind. Sails fluttering uselessly, they coasted to a stop, then began slowly drifting backward-"in irons" as sailors termed it.

  "My thanks," Alemar told the old sea man.

  The fisherman doffed his wool cap. "Gut that dragon like a salmon. That's gratitude enough."

  "We'll try," Alemar replied. He and the other five stripped off their fisherman's garb, revealing diving skins and vests. They took airmakers, weapons, and flasks of drinking water from a niche hidden beneath one of the benches. Alemar checked both Vanihr to be sure they were appropriately prepared, then slid rump first into the waves.

  One by one the others followed. The bubbles cleared. They swam out of the path of the vessel's keel. The dolphins dutifully offered their fins. Each man grasped one and they were off, propelled by the creatures' powerful flukes. A thrill ran down Alemar's spine, recalling the first time he had travelled this way at the age of eight. The hull of the fishing boat disappeared behind them almost before the prince secured his grip. Elandris beckoned them southward.

  ****

  The first night, Alemar remained awake for hours, though bone weary from the swim. Bright moonlight filtered through the waters of the Dragon Sea, all the way to the bottom. Even here, in the deeper northern region, the sea floor seldom dipped lower than a few dozen fathoms. A ridge poked up to one side, supporting a coral reef that stretched almost to the surface. Dim shapes of fish and squid darted past. Spectral limbs of kelp rose all around them, shifting in the current; the men had tied themselves to them to avoid drifting apart.

  It had been too long since Alemar had slept at sea. It was the gentlest bed he could imagine, but he preferred firm support beneath him and blankets above, not steady, even pressure on every side. He resisted the urge to tie himself in a horizontal position. Though his vest grew more or less buoyant as needed, keeping him at a consistent depth without the need to move his limbs, he still felt the urge to tread water. Nearby Toren and Geim shifted restlessly, even less accustomed to the arrangement than he.

  The one thing that Alemar did not suffer from was the common fear of Elandri divers that somehow he was breathing water and would suffocate. On the contrary, he relished the air filtering through the membrane of the airmaker. It was sweeter than the salty, fish-perfumed atmosphere above the waves.

  He reminisced about the Eastern Deserts, thinking of the nights when he would lay, bedroll pressed firmly against the sands, and ache for the touch of water around his body. At last he drifted into sleep, dreaming of cacti and scorched salt plains.

  ****

  At noon on the third day, they found a tiny islet. Alemar called a halt to take advantage of the chance to eat a meal on solid ground. The dolphins-the fifth set to haul them-splashed off in search of their own dinner, cavorting in their characteristic way. Ebben and Match found a variety of shellfish clinging to the coral in the tidewaters and showed Geim and Toren how to harvest them. Meanwhile, Alemar assembled his watermaker and began transmuting salt water into fresh, in order to refill their flasks.

  As they ate, Toren came over and examined Alemar's apparatus. He stroked its rubbery membrane, fascinated.

  "Another legacy of the Dragonslayer," Alemar said. "Like the airmakers and the vests."

  "But not a talisman," the modhiv said in admiration. He waved his hands over it. "It needs no conscious guidance for its magic to work."

  "No. But try making one without high sorcery and you'll face quite a challenge."

  "I think I shall make one," Toren murmured.

  Alemar raised an eyebrow. Why not? Far better that Toren use his power for such things than to kill dragons all the time. There were perhaps two living magicians who could successfully manufacture the devices. The prince wondered what sort of life the Vanihr would have once the mission ended, assuming its success. He buried the thought. It was not the time to look so far ahead.

  Toren stared down at the raw flesh of the small clam he had just broken open.

  "Don't like it raw?" Alemar asked. "We usually marinate them."

  Toren shrugged and slid the meat down in one gulp. "I can eat anything," he bragged. Nearby, Geim guffawed.

  ****

  Gigantic dolphin sharks wandered near on the fifth day, delighted to find six of their favorite prey slowed down by passengers. Match and Ebben released capsules of effluvium. As soon as the great fish smelled the oily substance they vanished into the murk.

  As the sea bottom rose, marking the borders of Elandris, Alemar worried less
about such natural perils and more about human enemies. He consulted the map often, steering their course away from undersea cities. They replaced their steeds four times a day instead of two, to be sure those with them were always fresh. Their luck lasted until they passed between the last two cities still between them and their destination, through a narrow gap of only a few leagues.

  Ebben brought his dolphin close to Alemar and signalled to the prince. Sea dogs.

  Alemar saw a forest of kelp to the right and pointed. The men abandoned their transport, slipping into the concealing growth as fast as possible. The dolphins streaked away.

  Four sea dogs-sinuous creatures with bodies like giant eels and whiskers like catfish-glided slowly their way, in a formation that no wild denizens of the sea would adopt. Their whiskers twitched, ferreting out scents that did not belong-especially those of men. Their gift of smell was as acute as their eyes were poor. Small chance existed that they would fail to detect the traces left by Alemar and his party. If they did, they would hurry to the nearest city and guide one of the Dragon's patrols back with them.

  Alemar signed to Toren. They focussed their sorcery on their trail, gathering the residue left behind and increasing the weight of each infinitesimal particle until they sank into the silt. Alemar's head rang with the strain of such subtle manipulation, but it was worth the pain. The sea dogs cruised past without the slightest deviation from their course. The other four men smiled at the magicworkers with relief.

  After coming this far, nothing so ordinary as ocean bloodhounds were going to keep him from reaching his great enemy. They waited an hour, then Alemar summoned a fresh set of dolphins.

  ****

  Dragonsdeep came into view quite suddenly, dome sprouting dramatically above the crest of the ridge ahead of them. It was leagues in the distance, but it was already difficult to take in in one glance. Alemar stared, momentarily awestruck. He had never seen any of the cities of Alemar Dragonslayer, much less this, his masterwork. He had thought Omril's memories would prepare him for the sight, but experiences shared secondhand did not convey the full impact.

  Thousands of people lived under the glasslike ceiling, cultivating and harvesting the surrounding sea, creating crafts and handiworks prized throughout the civilized lands. The palace sprawled in the center, a lavish, architectural wonder-a small city in itself. It spread from a central nexus into eight twining wings, like the limbs of an octopus. The dynasty of Alemar had ruled from the site for many hundreds of years.

  The city had not changed its configuration much in all that time. The secret of manufacturing vartham-the hard, transparent substance that made up the domes-had been lost with the great wizard and his sister. Rumors claimed that Gloroc was trying to rediscover the process. If so, he had failed, as Alemar spied no additions to the main enclosure.

  The dome peaked less than two fathoms below the surface. Huge ventilation towers sprouted upward, reaching far above the waves. Next to the west, north, and south gates were massive watermakers capable of processing enough drinking water to supply the entire city. Despite the briny sea in every direction, the inhabitants of communities built by Alemar and Miranda never needed to worry about importing water. The younger Alemar shivered to think of the power his ancestor must have had to create such wonders.

  Between their location and the perimeter of the city were broad tracts of cultivated sea bed, and small underwater outposts. The traffic between the city and the surrounding ocean was constant. There was no way to approach the walls without being seen. For a moment, Alemar worried that they might have to get closer, but Toren led them in a wide semi-circle that carried them farther away. They forsook the dolphins, hugged the bottom, and kept in the shadows of reefs and stands of kelp, keenly aware of the proximity of the city. They encountered no patrols, though once a spearfisherman passed by in the near distance. They successfully hid from him.

  They arrived at a crevice in a reef. Barnacles and coral made the opening too small to accommodate the men. Toren began tearing loose the growth. The others tried to help, but the task required the strength of the gauntlets. Silt clouded the water. As currents carried it upward, Alemar grew worried that, like smoke on a horizon, it would reveal their position. But shortly thereafter, Toren pulled away the last piece.

  The Vanihr removed his vest and supplies, except for the airmaker, and squeezed through the opening. Alemar followed, slipping down a cramped tunnel and into a manmade chamber lit by a dim, cerulean glow. Match, Ebben, and Tregay came next. Geim relayed down the cast-off gear and joined them. Once everyone was inside, Toren closed a hatch across the entryway and spun the lock wheel.

  Three of the walls were featureless-fused, bare stone or coral. The fourth contained another hatch and spindle similar to that in the ceiling, but larger. Not far from it was a lever. Toren swam to the latter and yanked it downward.

  Four small ports opened in the floor and began sucking the water out of the chamber. Another pair of ports appeared in the ceiling, out of which came air. Within a quarter of an hour the group stood with their heads and shoulders out of the water.

  They peeled off their airmakers. The atmosphere was stale, but breathable.

  "Obviously no one's been here for a very long time. That's a good sign," Toren told Alemar. "By the way, I had to neutralize a guard spell on the way in. Otherwise we would have been squeezed to death in the tunnel."

  "That sounds like my ancestor's touch," Alemar said.

  "Does it? Well, it's repairing itself. Keep that in mind on the way out."

  The water receded to knee level, below the bottom of the hatch in the wall. They found a niche in a corner of the floor into which they placed their airmakers, suits, weights, and vests. Toren opened the side hatch, revealing a tile-walled tunnel. Geim reached in, rubbed his fingers across the smooth floor, and blew on them, producing a cloud of dust.

  "Not exactly a well-travelled route," he commented. He lifted his foot as if to cross the threshold.

  "Don't," Toren said firmly. He ducked, reached an arm's length into the tunnel, and pressed a tile that Geim might have stepped on had he entered.

  A pair of crossbow bolts suddenly shot out of the walls to either side, whisking over Toren's head and impacting so hard they chipped the masonry.

  Geim whistled. Ebben cursed.

  "The Dragonslayer really didn't want strangers to use this route," Toren explained. "There's a booby trap like this at the other end. I'll have to lead, so I can trip it."

  "Be my guest," Geim said.

  The drains sucked up the last of the water with loud, indelicate sounds. The men sorted through their gear, selecting the bare essentials. In particular, they each broke into carefully wrapped, identical packages and withdrew long, tapered daggers. Each ceramic sheath was sealed with wax. They made sure the seals were intact. The blades were coated with fellit-dragonsbane-a substance which could kill a man with the slightest contact.

  They ate a somber, quiet meal and set out down the tunnel.

  XXXI

  THE TENDONS IN THE back of Toren's heels ached, unaccustomed, after so much swimming, to a normal, dry tread. He welcomed the discomfort; it proved he was a man, not a fish. But he did not like the low ceiling. His lower back rebelled from the constant stooping. Of all the party, only Alemar was able to walk upright.

  Geim cursed as he bumped his head again. "Let me guess. The Dragonslayer was a short man, and this is his revenge on the rest of us."

  "Is this tunnel ever going to end?" Tregay asked.

  Toren felt sorry for his companions. To them, the dim illumination and featureless walls must have made them feel as if the tube were constantly squeezing in on them. It was not that way for him. As they had approached the city, and eventually passed under its foundations, he sensed more and finer details about the place they were breaching. He detected several routine magical spells in progress. He estimated that several dozen sorcerers lived in the city, including fourteen adepts worthy of a king's court. T
hree were as powerful as Omril. He felt one particularly potent miasma of power.

  "The Dragon is in residence," he told Alemar. "I smell him."

  "Good," the prince said flatly. Toren caught a certain ambivalence in his tone.

  The palms of Toren's hands broke out in a sweat inside the gauntlets. Another league and his journey would be over. He tried to focus on the center of the energies, learn what he could about the exact strength of Gloroc's magic. His probing yielded unexpected results.

  "Strange," he muttered.

  "What?" Alemar inquired.

  "The Dragon's emanations are diffused. I can't pinpoint them. What could be causing that? I can locate every other source of magic with complete clarity."

  "I don't know. You'd think such a powerful nexus would stand out like a beacon."

  "Yes." Distracted, Toren bumped his head again.

  When his forehead stopped throbbing, he probed once more. The source refused to resolve itself sharper than a wide, vaguely defined sphere. He estimated the zone to be about a hundred feet in diameter. He would need greater precision than that once they reached the great hall and he tried to snare his prey.

  The tunnel angled upward. Belly cramps plagued Toren as they climbed. He murmured prayers to his ancestors. What had he gotten himself into? Surely, if he was right for the gauntlets, he would be able to pinpoint his enemy. A bitter, adrenaline tang filled the back of his throat.

  "Geim?" Toren called.

  "Yes?" the other Vanihr called from the back of the group.

  "I just want you to know that whatever happens to you up ahead, it's your own fault for capturing me back in the Wood."

  "I've been thinking what a stupid thing that was to do," Geim replied dryly.

  Toren tried to laugh, but he coughed instead. An image of his and Deena's farewell lovemaking took form, but the memory of her musk drowned in the stale sea reek of the passageway. Maybe he did not need to know if the gauntlets worked. If he hid well enough in the Wood, Gloroc might never find him until long after he had died of old age.