by Dave Freer
Dog and girl still faced seven men.
"We have to take her alive!" yelled one of the attackers.
She didn't feel the same about them.
Ixion ripped at the old thong that bound the windsack with his teeth as he rode. It broke . . . and he and the phalanx found themselves carried along on the gale, as it swirled in a fury down on the invaders. Some had run for their galleys already. The rest . . . the dry wind full of the dust of high plateaux hit them. And somehow it breathed new strength into the outnumbered centaurs too. Like the heroes of old they charged again out of the dust. Javelins, sabers and war axes came slashing down on the invaders.
Ixion rallied the centaurs, and, shortly, faced by the sudden berserker onslaught, their foes tried to flee. They'd left it too late. Centaurs swarmed the ships, burning, chopping and kicking holes in the planking.
Only two of the twenty-one galleys managed to get to sea, rowing as if their lives depended on it. They did. The centaurs, having faced no conflict for centuries, were giving no quarter now. An old battle rage filled them. Arrows followed the galleys, with centaurs actually running into the sea and swimming after them.
In the midst of the wind, and the chaos of battle, Ixion found the water-diviner's apprentice—a slight young human—walking into a gale that made armored men stagger. With the dog under one arm and a stick in the other hand, the young human walked forward, head bent against the wind. A small human, but a very determined one, Ixion realized. He stopped next to the apprentice. "Where is your master?" he called down above the gale.
"They took him. I couldn't get there in time. I think he may be dead." There was utter heartbreak in that voice.
It took a little time to return order from chaos, but it happened eventually. Ixion took the apprentice to a warehouse at the quay-side, and set a strong guard, and then began organizing a systematic search and capture operation. A force of some fifty were sent to search the grove that the centaurs had allowed the sprites to set up.
They found the human that one of the centaurs escorting the cart had seen precipitate the entire affair. He wasn't going to be telling them anything. Centaur hooves could make a terrible mess of a man's face and rib-cage. They found his leman too, tied up in the little patch of forest.
The woman was terrified when they released her. Cursing her lover. And then, as they walked out, went from fear and some relief, to anguish and rage, when they came across two of the other centaurs dragging his body to add to the rest.
Ixion—who had been told of the finding of the man's body—came on the scene at this point, with the woman screaming furious accusations, not at whoever had put their hooves down on his face and chest, but at the sprites and at some woman in trousers that she seemed to blame for all her misfortunes. "It's her! She did this. She killed Justin. She did this to me. She's ruined my life!" She clung to the body.
"Hysterical," said Hylonome.
"So it would seem. I am going down to the docks. The water diviner's apprentice is down there. Perhaps a human can comfort her."
The woman lifted her tear stained, fury and despair contorted face from the dead man's chest. "She isn't a water diviner's apprentice. She's a woman! She did this!" she spat out.
"But we saw her find the water," said Hylonome, slightly puzzled.
It came pouring out of the woman then like a lanced boil. Much was illogical . . . but it did mention the black dragon, and Starsey and, repeatedly, the fact that the water diviner's apprentice was a woman, who had tried to steal her man. A man who had promised her gold and jewels if she slept with the apprentice . . . And of how badly the sprite had treated her, when Justin had gone to tell her about the pair. The sprites had been looking for them. But they hadn't rewarded Justin after all . . .
"I understand now, why we find our scrying of human affairs so confusing," said Hylonome.
"I think we know now that this raid was simply to capture the water diviner and his apprentice. And that the sprites had a hand in it," said Ixion grimly. "I must treble the guard on her and move her up to the high plateau."
He galloped down to the warehouse, to find that she had other ideas.
Fionn awoke groggy and confused. And thoroughly tied up. Well, that was an interesting conceit. He cursed himself for a fool. Many the dragon had been taken that way, once, with a bait. And gold was so hard to resist and held magic so well.
He wondered just what had happened to Anghared and her dog. He was constrained against killing, but he could make the lives of the creatures of smokeless flame and sprites hardly worth living. He would think of something particularly cruel and unusual. It wouldn't be punishment if they didn't find it cruel. And expecting something made it possible to prepare. It would be exceptionally unusual. He felt the bonds. Gold thread in them, and some form of spell on that. They knew he was a dragon—well, that had been obvious from the trap. That might have worked for another dragon.
"It would seem that the prisoner is awake," said the sprite to her companions, one of the fire-beings named Belet, and an alvar called Rennalinn. Fionn understood the strength of the spell on the gold now. Three of the intelligent species had lent their magic to it.
They had tied his jaws, with a rope lashed repeatedly around his head. Tied him to a large slab of stone. He was outdoors but in the shade—under an overhanging lip of rock. A stream splashed into a cascade and a pool off to one side of him, to remind him of how thirsty he was. The place was slightly higher than the surrounding woodland, affording a fine view out over the treetops to sea, and, ironically, to Fionn's next target. The second tower. So: he was on Arcady.
"We have sent messages to the human mage that we hold you hostage. Our informant told us that she was infatuated with you," said the sprite.
"We need some answers from you as to how she was able to fend us off," said the fire-being. "And by the way, there is a boulder above you, weighing many tons. We can't effectively bind you, but we can bind your bonds to it. Dragons are tough but you too can be crushed."
Fionn's relief at the fact that his Scrap of humanity was still free made any rock seem light. And now that the grogginess was gradually fading he could see the structure of the place and the force lines as well as the view.
"I don't think he can answer you," said Rennalinn. "His face is tied up."
"True. I will have to work out how to remove those bindings without bringing down the stone. In the meanwhile, we have work to do. A few things to prepare before Vorlian gets here," said the sprite.
"I have issued orders for the others too," said the fire-being. "The transports are leaving Cark. Let the war begin," said the demon.
"What about a centaur?" asked Rennalinn.
"We will ask for one of those too, along with her," said the sprite. "We will need the windsack as a bargaining chip."
"We agreed to provide that," said the demon, all too easily. "It shall be fetched."
Left to himself, bound and beneath an immense boulder, Finn looked about in the deeper spectra for signs of life-energy. He found some, soon enough. A lizard, slow and cold in the winter sun, basking on the rock. The reptile mind was small and simple. Quite easy to command. There were things about this island that the sprites did not know.
Vorlian stirred on his hoard. The healing had left him hungry. He began shaking out his wings, only to be aware that one of the creatures of smokeless flame—not Belet, but something far smaller, had entered his cave. He was going to have to remind the fire-beings just how close it was safe to come to a dragon's hoard, soon.
"I have a message from King Belet," it said. "You are to come to Arcady Island with all due speed. They have the dragon who is the human mage's companion captive and have sent for her. We must be ready to enact the rites of creation anew." It turned and left, as Vorlian stared.
Vorlian sat for a while in thought. He had to go, but . . . Then he reached his decision. He pulled himself out of the cave. Closed it with the sealing rock. Activated the traps. And then looked out t
o sea. There were some half a dozen dragons flying closer. He wondered, briefly, if he ought to open the cave and retreat into it. A dragon was safe like that. He could fill the tunnel with fire, and draw strength from his hoard.
Then he decided that if they wanted conflict, they could have it. But that looked very like Tessara, leading.
It was. "Vorlian. We need you," she called. "Strange and terrible things are happening."
She was in earnest, and it was, Vorlian discovered, good to be told that he was needed. Yet, strangely, he felt compelled to fly to Arcady. "What am I needed for?"
"We need you to lead us," said one of the others. "Brennarn, Myrcupa and some of the others have gone mad. They're attacking Malarset island at the head of an army of men and alvar and even fire-beings. They've killed Kyria."
In a way that made things simpler. Malarset was near to Arcady and Cark and Lapithidia. Which in itself made some kind of sense. Brennarn was the dragon-ruler of Cark. It was late afternoon already—a long flight to Malarset or Arcady. And then looking east, Vorlian saw the answer.
Moon-rise.
"We go to the conclave," he said. "It will transport us west, and give us a height advantage."
"And help us recruit!" said Tessara.
"Will I have trouble there?" asked Vorlian, beginning to beat his way upward.
Tessara shook her head. "The sisterhood of dragons did some investigating, Vorlian. They asked questions of fishermen. The humans bore out your version of events. And they have no reason to lie. Word has been going around about it. But we dragons do not unite and act together easily."
So they flew toward the conclave.
No trouble greeted Vorlian there.
No hellflame either.
The orb was gone from the entry. Just two sheared copper pipes dangled from the plinth.
Vorlian knew what that meant. The creatures of smokeless flame had their "treasure."
And some other dragon had taken it to them.
He was surprised to find himself given a hero's welcome inside.
The lesser fire-being on duty had not known quite what to make of the object that the dragon Myrcupa had deposited on the edge of the fumarole before taking off to complete his allotted work on Malarset. It took the orb down to deposit in the saferoom that the people of the smokeless flame used for objects that were of no use to them. In the process he discovered that two other objects, a bag and a harp, were missing.
The creatures of smokeless flame work according to a strict hierarchy, and many were away, busy with the great program. It took a little while for the news to be dispatched, by the fastest means practical, to King Belet.
Chapter 47
"We cannot let you just go over there," protested Ixion. "They came purely with the intent of capturing you."
Meb had stopped shaking in reaction by now. The sweet wine she'd been given had helped. Now she was just bloody-mindedly determined. When Ixion had arrived she'd already bullied her way down to the quay and was attempting to bribe the captains of successive vessels to follow the galleys. Despite having offered a fairly large amount in gold, which she seemed to produce by clapping her hands, she hadn't yet had any takers. Then Ixion had told her what Keri had told them. Now she knew where she was going. And if she had to take a rowboat and paddle herself into the dusk across a wildly choppy sea, she'd get there.
Then a vessel had come in—flying a truce flag. It was allowed to approach—under the readied bows of a full phalanx. The bronzed, hard-bodied half-horse warriors were grim faced, unmoving, and apparently ready to kill.
The human messenger found it unnerving. "I come in peace," he said. "I am the high priest of the sacred grove of Arcady. I have a message for a human apprentice to one Finn. A person known as 'Scrap.' And I have a message for the Children of Chiron from the Lady of the Forest."
"Speak," grated Ixion.
The messenger gulped. The bows were still ready. "The Lady of the Forest says to tell the apprentice that we hold her master. If she will return to Isle of Arcady with me, he will be released unharmed. She too will not be hurt. I have been instructed to say to the centaur people to send one representative of their kind along with her, and that the Lady holds the windsack of the centaurs. They will exchange it for the holy staff of Lyr."
Meb felt as if she was going to faint. Only a strong centaur arm prevented her from falling. She started forward. "Wait," said Ixion calmly. "Take back this message to the tree-woman. We will meet in council tonight. If this is agreed we will send a small vessel tomorrow with the dawn, to ascertain that the prisoner is safe and in good health. But tell your mistress to understand this: The act of aggression against us was an act of war."
"Uh . . ."
"Go," said Ixion firmly. "We have no further words to exchange with you."
The priest scrambled back onto the boat. Ixion kept a firm hold on Meb. "It will be all right," he said reassuringly. "This was foretold. We saw the possible battles. We just did not understand it. Now we do. And at least our course is one with honor. And the Lyr are treacherous to the core. Their assurances are worth nothing. But they will see him kept safe until the morrow."
"And then?" asked Meb.
"And then we go to war. We told the messenger that much, but I do not think he will understand it. They are liars—they do not have the windsack—and they attacked us without warning or mercy. We will sail tonight and pay them back in kind. Their magic is effective against the Children of Chiron, but we have their precious staff."
"No, you don't," said Meb firmly. "I do. And I can deal with them. Take me over there."
"You can deal with them?"
Meb put her hands on her hips and faced them. "You got the windsack back from Finn. We fixed your pool. If you want to go and fight with them, you go and fight with them. But me, and this stick, are going over there. I don't know if they'll honor their bargain, or if they lied to me. But I don't care. Finn gave me my life. If it costs me mine for his . . . that's the way it is going to be."
Her speech was slightly marred by the fact that at the end of it, the giddiness overwhelmed her, and she fell over.
She was surprised to see through blurry vision, the great centaur nodding solemnly. "You are something of a lesson to us, little one. Loyalty to one's own and honor, they are what we are. And, true enough, the staff was given to you. We have no debt of honor to the tree-woman. In fact we owe them a punishment. We will help you in whatever way we can. But first—looking at you—you must rest and eat."
"I'm not going to be a lot of good if I keep passing out like this," admitted Meb. "And I really need a bath. No, Díleas, there is no need to look at me like that. You learn some words very quickly!"
"We'll feed you and provide a place to rest. Would a horse trough do for a bath? We will provide the vessel we promised. We will also ready our transports. We have been preparing for war for many years now. If they do not honor their bargain—we will land and do our best to avenge you and our dead. They can bespell us, but their forests burn," he said, in deadly earnest. "We are in debt to the two of you." He took a deep breath. "And though it was unthinkable before, possibly we are in debt to the black dragon. Not all foreseeing is clear. We saw war as something only to be feared. That we had grown past it, and that its return was an evil we were forced to contemplate. Now . . . yes, it can be. But there is need and honor too."
"I think your courage was in the windsack," said Meb, remembering the way that wild gale had felt.
He nodded. "You see very clearly, human. It was the breath of our nation."
Vorlian had not realized that he was good at giving orders. He also had not realized how good Tessara was at organizing. Vorlian retained a core of some thirty of the largest dragons. But the others were sent as messengers. Calling all to come to the conclave, or to fly toward Malarset. The moon moved westward, and soon they could see Malarset.
Burning. Vorlian knew Arcady would have to wait until morning, although he really felt he ought to
get there. They flew out and downward, and, for the first time in hundreds of years, flew to war against other dragons.
In the small hours of the night, the in-coming dragons spotted Brennarn and her cronies feasting on the corpse of Kyria. Marsalet was an island of low, rolling hills, sparsely forested on its granite uplands. Those who had come to ravage the fertile little island had plainly driven its dragon-defender to the last high place, a rounded granite dome. Against the pale grey of the granite the dark spiky shapes of dragons could be seen from above, engaged in a gory noisy dismemberment of their victim. They plainly expected no further resistance to their conquest. Thoughts of being attacked themselves were far from them. The dragons high above looked down in horror and hot rage. Vorlian checked them before they could start to dive. "Hold," he hissed. "This we must deal with together. This we must obliterate. On my word we dive and flame. But you will watch each other. We must arrive together, or we will burn each other."