Doom of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  “I will come with you,” said Skylan.

  To his surprise, Aylaen refused to allow him, saying it was business between Kai Priestess and dragon. “I must speak with Kahg alone. Besides, someone else wants to talk to you.”

  Skylan looked around to see Farinn wearing a mended tunic, pants, and boots, with his hair combed and braided. Judging by a cut on his face, he had even shaved, though what he had to shave was open to question.

  Skylan frowned. “Where do you think you are going?”

  “I asked him to come with us,” said Wulfe, before Farinn could answer.

  “Out of the question,” said Skylan curtly.

  “My mother likes music,” said Wulfe. “She wants to hear him sing.”

  “Please, Skylan, let me come,” Farinn pleaded. “This meeting is an important part of your song and I should be there.”

  “I’m not certain I want a meeting with the fae to be in my song,” Skylan muttered.

  He was about to insist that Farinn remain behind, then he thought of what might happen to the young man if by some mischance Sigurd ended up taking command. Sigurd had always thought Skylan was too soft on Farinn. He’d put him in the front row of the shield wall.

  “Very well, you can come,” said Skylan. He began to buckle on his sword belt.

  “What are you doing?” Wulfe cried, shocked. “You can’t take your sword with you! My mother won’t like it!”

  “I’m not going to go roaming about a strange land filled with wizards without my sword,” said Skylan. “Aylaen is bringing hers, as well.”

  “Then I can’t take you,” said Wulfe, blinking back tears, his lips quivering.

  “I will make a bargain with you,” said Skylan. “We will carry our swords…”

  Wulfe violently shook his head.

  “… but we will take them off before we go to the feast,” Skylan finished. “We’ll hide them under a bush or a tree or somewhere so your mother won’t see them. Will that work?”

  “No,” Wulfe said, scowling. “She’ll smell the iron on you. But she might let you come if you bring her a present.”

  “A present?” Skylan repeated, amazed. “What sort of present?”

  Wulfe thought this over. “You could give her Farinn.”

  “I am not giving her Farinn,” said Skylan grimly.

  Turning to see that Aylaen was still talking to the dragon, Skylan set off in search of Bjorn and found him flinging buckets of animal blood onto the sand, while Dela Eden was dropping torn scraps of leather, broken spears, and arrows that were no longer of use.

  “The tide will probably wash most of this blood out to sea, but Sigurd thought this was a good idea,” said Bjorn.

  “Watch Sigurd,” said Skylan. “Don’t let him get himself and everyone else killed.”

  “I’ll keep a club handy,” said Bjorn, grinning.

  “How in the name of Torval do you plan to get up into the clouds, Vindrasi?” Dela Eden asked, joining them. She glanced at the storm raging over the plateau, gray and angry, flickering with lightning.

  “To be honest, I don’t know,” said Skylan. He touched the amulet at his neck. “Torval is with me. He will find a way.”

  Dela Eden eyed him. “I think this has less to do with Torval and more to do with the fae child.”

  “And I think your three eyes should stay out of my head,” Skylan replied, annoyed.

  Dela Eden smiled, and reached out and, before he knew what she was doing and could escape, she was tracing the outline of a third eye on his own forehead.

  “Go with the Cyclopes’ blessing as well as Torval’s, Skylan Ivorson,” she said. “And be careful. Some doors even the gods fear to open.”

  Skylan walked back to where Aylaen, Farinn, and Wulfe were waiting for him. His skin itched where she had pretended to draw the eye and he longed to rub his forehead, but he didn’t dare, for fear of offending her.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Skylan, Aylaen and Farinn left the Venejekar at dusk, slipping away quietly while the others were celebrating a good day’s work with a great feast. The Cyclopes prepared fish. The ogres roasted deer, and Sigurd and the Vindrasi contributed a keg of honey mead—a gift of gratitude from Joabis.

  The warriors sat around a blazing bonfire telling tales of valor and singing the old songs of their people. Skylan watched the flames leap in the air, smelled the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat and listened to the boisterous laughter, then thought of the fae feast he was destined to attend. He would have given twenty silver arm rings to join his friends.

  He pointed to Sigurd and Raven’s-foot, sitting with their arms around each other, bawling out some ogre love song, and shook his head.

  “Of all the strange things we have seen, none is stranger than that,” he told Aylaen. “I may have nightmares.”

  Aylaen took hold of his hand and said with quiet pride, “You did this, Skylan. These people have been killing each other for years and you brought us together.”

  “Being dead changes one’s outlook on life,” said Skylan.

  Aylaen laughed at him, which was what he intended. He loved to hear her laughter. But he was secretly pleased with her praise.

  “Where is Wulfe?” Farinn asked, trudging alongside of them. “Isn’t he going to guide us?”

  “He went on ahead to tell his mother we were coming,” said Skylan. “We are supposed to meet him on the beach at the foot of Gray Beak.”

  “Did he say what time?”

  “When the moon rises from the sea,” said Skylan. “We are supposed to dine with them.”

  Farinn looked alarmed. “I have heard that their food is enchanted, so that anyone who eats it is forever forced to live among them.”

  “Then we won’t eat,” said Skylan.

  The night sky was clear overhead, though the ever-present storm clouds massed in the north. Skylan had brought wood-and-rawhide candle lanterns to light their way, but for now they did not need them. The lambent light of the stars made the sand gleam. Skylan sent Farinn on ahead to scout the way, then asked Aylaen about the dragon.

  “How did your talk go with Kahg?”

  After a moment’s pause Aylaen said, “I not only spoke to him, I summoned him.”

  “You did?” Skylan was startled. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He asked to be a dragon of air and I thought that was a sensible suggestion,” said Aylaen. “Since he may have to attack ships.”

  Skylan thought this over. He would have liked to have the dragon fight as an earth dragon, ponderous and strong, with crushing fangs and a tail that could knock down walls. But an air dragon’s powerful breath could blast a ship apart or sink a fleet in a gale.

  “Summoning him was good idea. Sigurd and the others might need him in our absence.”

  “Yes,” Aylaen agreed, but he had the impression she had summoned the dragon for a different reason.

  He waited for her to tell him, but she said no more. He was disappointed, but then he reminded himself that Priestesses of the Kai have their sacred mysteries, not to be revealed to any others.

  He looked at her as she walked beside him, her hand twined in his. Her red hair was the color of dark wine. Her dragon-scale armor glimmered with a faint luminescence in the starlight. She was more somber and serious than usual, yet serene. Her eyes were clear and bright and unafraid, and when they looked at him, filled with love.

  “Are we doing the right thing?” Skylan asked. “Trusting Wulfe?”

  “The boy loves you, Skylan,” said Aylaen. “He wants to help.”

  Skylan looked to the north to the dark mass of clouds that blotted out the stars and tried to imagine a city—dwellings, shops, a Chief’s Hall floating in the air—and he failed. But then, he could never have imagined a floating globe of stone.

  “Wulfe loves us,” said Skylan. “But to the rest of the fae we are the Uglies.”

  When they reached the outskirts of the forest Skylan called a halt. They were early. The moon had
not yet risen. Farinn collected driftwood and they built a fire to keep them warm, for the breeze off the ocean was cool, and also to let Wulfe know where to find them.

  Colorful sparks from the driftwood rose on fragrant smoke. Their talk circled around to their homeland, as they wondered what might be happening to their friends and families. They spoke of how good it would be to return.

  “The first thing I will do,” said Skylan, “is find Farinn a wife.”

  Farinn blushed and mumbled something about no woman would want him.

  “Nonsense! The Talgogroth is an honored position among our people,” said Aylaen. “Any woman would be proud to be married to the one who keeps the laws and history of the Vindrasi.”

  “Talgogroth!” Farinn’s blush deepened. “I could never aspire to such an honor.”

  “You can and you will,” said Skylan. “I will recommend you to the current Talgogroth. You will have to study with him for many years, of course, but I can think of no one better.”

  Farinn was so overcome with emotion that Skylan feared he might start weeping, and hurriedly changed the conversation. As they were laughing over some remembered childish adventure, the moon rose out of the sea, gilding the waves with silver, and a boy of astonishing beauty seemed to materialize in silvery light.

  The boy’s glistening hair fell in sleek ringlets around his face. He wore a shirt and breeches made of soft green fabric decorated with feathers and strands of pearls and other gems.

  They were all startled, for none of them had heard the boy approach, and they rose hurriedly to their feet. He regarded them expectantly, as though waiting for them to do something.

  “Who are you?” Skylan demanded.

  “I’m me, of course,” the boy said, frowning.

  “Wulfe?” Aylaen gasped, amazed.

  “Yes,” said Wulfe and eyed her and the others suspiciously. “What’s wrong? Who did you think it was? We should go now.”

  As Skylan lit the lanterns and Farinn threw sand on the fire to put it out, Aylaen reached out to touch Wulfe’s shining ringlets.

  Wulfe drew back. “What are you doing? Why are you acting so strange?”

  “I had no idea you were so beau—” Aylaen stammered. “I mean … that you could look so…”

  “It’s the clothes,” said Skylan. “You don’t look like yourself.”

  Wulfe scratched and tugged at his shirt. “I don’t like them. They itch.”

  Once the fire was extinguished, they started off, following Wulfe.

  “My mother says that so long as you take your swords off before you enter her bower, you may still come. Did you bring her a present? I told her about Farinn. She thinks she would like to have him.”

  Farinn cast an alarmed glance at Skylan.

  “We have a present for your mother and it’s not Farinn,” said Skylan.

  “I think she will like her gift,” Aylaen added. “I chose it myself.”

  “I don’t know…” Skylan heard Wulfe say in a low voice. “She might still like Farinn better.”

  The trees closed in around them. Skylan lost sight of the moon beneath the thick cover of branches and leaves and was glad he had thought to bring the lanterns.

  “Keep together,” he said, taking hold of Aylaen’s hand while she clasped hold of Farinn’s.

  Wulfe had no need of light, seemingly, for he often pattered on so far ahead that he lost them and kept having to come back, accusing them of dawdling.

  Skylan judged they had walked more than a mile from the shore when Wulfe suddenly called a halt in a clearing.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  Skylan lifted the lantern to look around. Trees formed a circle around a patch of bare ground covered with dry pine needles. In the center was a ring of mushrooms. Wulfe stepped into the center of the ring.

  “Well, hurry up,” he said.

  “Oh, Skylan!” Aylaen whispered. “A faery ring!”

  She shivered and drew near. Skylan felt cold sweat trickle down his chest. All his life, he had heard the tales of faery rings: traps set by the fae to lure humans into slavery. Once a human stepped into the ring, he would plunge through it to the fae kingdom below and be forced to serve them the rest of his days. Wulfe’s own father had been caught in such a trap.

  “We are staying here,” said Skylan. “Tell your mother she must come to us.”

  He was startled by the sounds of laughter: light, lilting laughter like the tinkling of silver bells.

  Wulfe shrugged. “If you want to meet my mother, this is the only way. Leave your swords beneath the trees. Don’t worry. No one will touch them.”

  Skylan unbuckled his sword belt, wrapped the belt around the sheath, and commending the sword to Torval’s care, laid it beneath a tree with a misshapen trunk and covered it over with pine needles. Aylaen took off her sword belt and placed it beside Skylan’s. He steeled himself, telling himself he was going to go stand in that mushroom ring with Wulfe, but he couldn’t move a muscle.

  “I’ll go,” said Farinn. “You stay here with Aylaen.”

  Before Skylan could stop him, Farinn jumped straight into the middle of the ring of mushrooms. The soft ground gave way beneath his feet and both he and Wulfe disappeared as the ground closed over them.

  “Damn it!” Skylan swore. “Farinn!”

  There was no answer, but he could hear voices and more laughter coming from down below. He found Aylaen’s hand in the darkness, clasped it, and together they stepped into the faery ring.

  CHAPTER

  26

  The ground gave way beneath Skylan. Air rushed past him, bright colored lights blurred around him and he had the terrifying sensation of falling a great distance. He was certain he was going to dash out his brains, only to make a tumbling landing onto some soft, cushioned surface. He lay still a moment, too shaken to move, then hurriedly climbed to his feet and looked around.

  He had landed on soft green moss that covered the floor of a woodland arbor, lit by tiny twinkling lights flitting among the vines and the leaves. A canopy of trailing morning glory vines draped over the boughs of trees formed the ceiling. The trunks of the trees glowed with foxfire.

  He could see eyes watching him from the shadows and sometimes faces—some lovely, some grotesque—that appeared in an instant and vanished the next. Whispering voices rustled around him.

  “Aylaen?” he called softly. “Farinn?”

  “I am here,” Aylaen whispered, stepping out of the shadows. “But I don’t see Farinn.”

  “I have him,” said a woman’s voice, adding with lilting laughter, “I would tell you that he is safe, but since he is with me, perhaps he is not.”

  The twinkling lights and shifting shadows confused Skylan, and he could not see who was speaking.

  “Faery folk!” the woman called. “Our prince has come back to us and he has brought guests! Let the celebration begin!”

  Small creatures with laughing faces, big ears and stomachs, and spindly little legs came running from the forest. Each carried a giant white lily whose fragrant blossom glowed with bright light. The brownies hung the gleaming lilies from boughs and vines or stuck the stems in the ground, then gathered around Skylan and Aylaen and stared at them, giggling and whispering.

  Other fae folk ran into the arbor, dryads and satyrs, fauns and oreads, laughing and calling, while other tiny faeries flew into the arbor on wings like dragonflies. Joining together, the fae folk began to sing and clap their hands.

  “All hail our radiant princess!”

  A woman walked into the light—or perhaps she was the light—Skylan was so dazzled he could not tell. Silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, falling to her feet. Her eyes, gazing upon him, glittered with starlight. Iridescent wings sprouted from between her shoulder blades, fanning the air gently, wafting the perfume of the lilies through the bower.

  The fae bowed down before her, while Skylan stood staring, dumbstruck, unable to move. The woman smiled at him, seemingly amused by his disc
omfiture.

  “Fae folk,” she called in a voice that was like the brushing of harp strings, “I give you our prince, my own dear son, Casimir.”

  Reaching into the shadows, she brought forth Wulfe.

  The fae folk cheered and bowed. Wulfe wriggled, obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable. His face brightened when he saw Skylan.

  “This is my mother,” said Wulfe, presenting her proudly. “Her name is Emerenta.”

  Turning to the woman, he gestured to Skylan and Aylaen. “Mother, these are the Uglies I was telling you about.”

  Wulfe whispered something to his mother, who bent down to hear him, all the while keeping her beautiful eyes on Skylan and Aylaen.

  “My son tells me you take good care of him,” said the woman. “Though I do think you should make him bathe more often. What are you called?”

  “I am Skylan Ivorson, Lady of the Fae,” said Skylan, his voice sounding gruff as a crow’s raucous caw after the woman’s musical tones. “My wife, Aylaen Adalbrand.”

  “I am honored to meet you, Princess Emerenta,” said Aylaen. “I have never seen anyone so beautiful.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” said Emerenta languidly. “Silly Uglies!”

  The fae folk all laughed heartily. Skylan looked around the crowded arbor, searching for Farinn, and couldn’t find him. He was starting to grow worried.

  Emerenta was calling for food and drink and the fae began running everywhere, eager to obey her commands.

  “Please be seated,” she said.

  Skylan saw no table, no chairs, and could only assume she meant the ground. He remained standing.

  “Where is my friend Farinn?” he asked, trying to sound stern and severe and ignoring the fact that several of the brownies were untying his bootlaces. “What have you done with him?”

  “I told you, Ugly,” said Emerenta. “He is in my care.”

  She made a graceful gesture to a bower set amid flowering bushes. Farinn was sitting on a moss-covered log, while several lovely and scantily dressed dryads bound him with daisy chains. He cast a pleading glance at Skylan.

  Emerenta regarded the young man with pleasure. “My son says he is a gift, that I may keep him.”