Dragon's Ring

by Dave Freer

  The dragons flying down on the renegades had never worked together, so it was perhaps less coordinated and effective than it could have been. But, suddenly blanketed in the concentrated dragonfire of at least thirty dragons, the feast became a funeral pyre.

  As dragon combat went, it was clinical and quick, the worst damage being that some of Vorlian's allies got their wind tendrils scorched. The gout of flame was probably visible fifty leagues away.

  That would have been enough for most of the dragons, but Vorlian marshalled them again. "The compact between the dragons on Tasmarin and the lesser people has been that we protect them. Brennarn, Myrcupa and their companions betrayed us. Now we must show that we honor that compact. There are other invaders. Let us harry them."

  Even that might have gone over quite rapidly, had some of the creatures of smokeless flame, invested among the invaders, not tried to fight back. Dragonfire could consume them too. But it didn't end there. The invaders were crazed, it would seem. Alvar and human and sprites tried to take combat to the dragons. Arrows were fired. Ineffectual spells tried. Resistance wasn't something that had happened to the attacking dragons before, and by dawn, they'd made sure that it never would again. And more and more dragons kept coming to join in the fight. As the night wore on, some of the alvar began to surrender. Once again, Vorlian found himself needing to exercise control. The dragons were in no mood for accepting surrender. He had to force his will on them. But they listened. He did have a point. They needed survivors to make sure word got out about the folly of trying this. Some Alvar and humans were spared, thus. It was too late for Prince Gywndar, though. He and several of his nobles tried to flee with their troops, and found out that dragons fly faster than horses run.

  By the dawn, though, Vorlian was once again feeling that he ought to fly on Arcady.

  So he did.

  Of course, a lot of the others followed him.

  The mist clung, pinkly pearlescent, to the sea in the light of the new-risen sun, as they flew toward the green, forested island with its single peak that thrust up out of the cloud. Looking back, Vorlian could see the batwing silhouettes of hundreds of dragons against the still purple-dark sky. And on the far horizon stood the great tower, jutting out of the ravel of the sea, defending Tasmarin, anchoring the world. It thrust up dark and monolithic in the first rays of sunlight, windowless, impregnable and old and strong beyond all the fire and strength of dragonkind. It defended the anchor of elsewhere, keeping Tasmarin safe and isolated while it stood across the way to the other planes.

  In the shrouding sea-mist Meb found herself on board a part of a mighty flotilla. It was frustratingly slow. To her surprise she'd actually slept like the dead after a good meal, and a much less-than-satisfying wash in a horse trough. The centaurs could be quite civilized in other ways, though. They were completely unworried by the fact that she was not a male, or that she wore trousers, for example. Male and female centaurs all got onto the transports to go to war together, and they were wearing nothing but battle-gear. The same battle gear.

  The vessels had been rigged to allow them to row, which was just as well, as it was wind-still down in the cold, damp sea-mist. Meb sat on a small piece of decking near the prow with Díleas—quite the experienced sea-dog, provided he was a reasonable distance from the water—and looked at the black water parting in a slow curl around the bows.

  "It would seem that you have a lot of company," said the merrow, surfing the bow-wave, turning to speak to her. "We and the sea are in your debt. Can we help you?"

  "The sprites have got Finn as a captive on their island. They offered to free him in exchange for me."

  "The sprites are not to be trusted," said the merrow shortly. "Wait. I go to call Hrodenynbrys."

  A little later 'Brys put his head up. The familiar jesting tone was missing from his speech. "They'll kill him and you, girl, if they have the chance. It is weak we are against them, and strong that they are against us. Still, we'll stand by you."

  Then Meb saw how the froth from the bow-wave curled and the phosphorescence shaped itself into a face. A woman's face, and it spoke with a woman's voice. "But she is not weak. Her magic is strong against them. And it is reinforced by the magic of the dvergar, who have great power over them, and the dragons whose fire they are powerless against. There is also the power of wood-stone about the opal, and water and light. You and the dog carry primal fire, and some of the breath of the centaurs, it would seem. And besides all of that, you gave me my own again. You can call on the water. I can bring a wave that will wash clean all but the mountain. I'll even bring that down in time," said the sea.

  Meb had spoken to the mountain. So she was, after that initial moment, less taken aback than she would have been. She bowed politely. "Primal fire. I don't understand? And I'm not too sure about the rest either, really."

  "The glowing jewels on your dog's collar, and on the chain around your waist. The dragon gave you a piece of primal fire each to protect you. It is both precious and powerful."

  "He really is a dragon, then?"

  The sea laughed. "Oh yes. One of the oldest and the first."

  "I love him anyway."

  The sea sighed. "It cannot always work . . ."

  "That," said Meb firmly, "is because the two of you want your own way all the time. Find a mountain that comes down to the sea. Finn said that most islands are just mountains in the sea anyway. Now, tell me about the rest?"

  There was a pause. "I see that the breath of the centaurs added still more to your courage. Tell him I will think about it. I need my freedom too."

  "So does he," said Meb firmly. "Work around it. Finn says there is always more than one way of doing anything."

  "And he should know," said the sea. "Well, as to the rest. You are a human mage, with the power of summonsing. You can command the powers of the earth, of stone, of fertility. The dvergar made that more powerful still by giving you a talisman of gold full of dragon-magic, and of course their own artifice. So you can command strength and fire and gold—the attributes of dragons. You are proofed against the rest to a greater or lesser degree."

  "But how . . . I don't know any spells or anything?"

  "Just tell them. That sort of power needs no aid. It will find its own way. And the land is close now. There is water there. I will be listening. Call on me in need."

  "And you think about what I said," said Meb, gruffly. "Seeing as you're here, 'Brys, play her that last song you played for Groblek."

  High up on the plains of Lapithidia, well above the mist, the centaurs that surrounded the foreseeing pool waited eagerly for the light. It was wind-still, and the surface of it was like polished sliver.

  If they had looked far out towards the dawn they would have seen dragons tiny in the distance. Instead they focussed on the pool. Which showed them much the same as looking over their shoulders would have.

  Except it also showed the black dragon. And for once, an unclouded view of the face of the mage.

  They'd seen her before, and not in the pool. Standing next to it.

  Actaeon, for so long a spy and exiled in the course of his stern duty to watch over the conspiracies between the creatures of smokeless flame, sprite, alvar and dragon, arrived at Port Lapith in the misty dawn. He'd had a mishap-ful journey, but he was home. He jumped from the ship to shore. Breathed the air of home. It was the same air he had been breathing from a few yards away, but it tasted better, made him feel stronger. He was greeted by a clattering-hoofed sentry patrolling the empty dock. "Hail!" he said. "I need to find my brother Ixion. And to carry word to the high plains. The black dragon is disguised as a human called Finn. He is actually the dragon Fionn. He's accompanied by a woman, a human mage."

  "Hail Actaeon," said the sentry. "Ixion is away with the war fleet, bound for Arcady."

  "What?"

  The other centaur stopped. It was Cyllarus, with a bandaged shoulder. "We should have guessed she was a human mage. She restored the pool, she and the one we now kno
w is the black dragon himself."

  He paused. "We may have misunderstood our vision."

  Chapter 48

  Meb, Díleas and Ixion had boarded the small boat. Meb had to reflect, again, that centaurs ought to stay on land. They were ill-suited to ships, and even worse suited to small boats. Still, the water was quiet, and it was not too far to row.

  Up on the bow as they came in sight of the mist-twined shore line Díleas growled. A deep angry burr that ought to come from the throat of a mountain-lion, not from a few pounds of young sheepdog. Meb took the chain that she had wrapped around her waist and threaded it through his collar.

  They nudged into the shore with the keel crunching on the coarse sand. The water was virtually still, but a sudden wave pushed the boat up and broached it sideways. They stepped out into the wash. There, higher up the beach, stood ranks of sprites, and among them hooded and cloaked glowing creatures.

  "I said that she would come," said one of the fire-beings.

  "Seize them," said the sprite.

  "Hold!" shouted Ixion in a voice that carried out into the mist like a clarion. It was enough to give pause even the sprites and fire-beings. "The centaurs lie offshore within earshot, many thousands strong." He held up his horn. "If I sound this, they will come. With fire and axe, they will come. We know your strengths, but still they will come. And the commanders watch an hourglass. If I do not sound the right call on the horn on the hour, they will come. We expected your treachery. We will bring down the wind on your demon allies. They are not proof against us."

  "And if you think that's all," said Meb, her voice grim, "try me." Finally, she'd had enough. "I can turn you to stone. Remember that. You offered a deal. Now take us to Finn. Then I'll stay as your captive or whatever. When you have let him go, safely. Not before."

  The breeze stirred the mist around the tall, pale, tree-women. They stood still. Then one of the fire-beings—a taller, larger individual—said, "Let them have their way. For now."

  Meb decided she'd trust him just as far as she could throw Groblek. He was going to try some form of spell or trickery on them. Well, she didn't know if it would work, but she tried to think of a shield over her and Ixion.

  The sprites and the fire-beings formed up in a mass around them as they walked uphill.

  "It appears that you have some of the very life stuff of smokeless fire about you," said the fire-being a little later.

  "Oh yes," said Meb. They had lied to her, she'd lie straight back. "One of your kind tried to make me come to him. That's what could happen to you." The mist was thinning now and a stiff breeze was blowing. They'd come to an enormous rock that must have rolled down from the mountain eons ago. Just ahead a stream splashed in the valley.

  It had been getting lighter as mist burned off.

  Now it got much darker. Something enormous flapped at the last of mist. A dragon settled slowly down to land.

  "Lord Vorlian. We are all gathered," said the demon. "Let us call a merrow and one of the dvergar."

  "I'd be thinking there is no need for that," said 'Brys from the water. "And I'd guess the dvergar would be around here somewhere too. They have tunnels everywhere."

  Meb looked at the huge dragon. "Are you Finn?"

  "Finn?" asked the dragon, looking at her.

  "Uh. Fionn."

  Vorlian shook his great head. "No. But you are his companion. The one we seek to remake Tasmarin. Will you help us? Our world breaks. Only with a human mage can we remake it."

  The fire-being nodded his flame. "This is our quest. To save the world. It is in great danger. One guardian tower has fallen. The others show cracks. We must act now. As soon as possible. With great urgency."

  Meb had almost been swept up by the honest conviction in the dragon's voice until the fire-being spoke.

  "There is the matter of the treasures," said the dragon.

  "They can be restored as soon as it is done," said the fire-being. "There is no time. War, chaos and confusion spreads across the land." He pointed to a group of alvar standing under the trees—looking very much the worse for wear. "Here are alvar from Malarset. They brought word this morning of the blight that spreads. Let them tell you of the horror. It is a magical thing . . ."

  "Show me Finn," said Meb interrupting.

  "He is here. We had to ensure his cooperation . . ."

  The fire-being had led her forward. There, under the edge of the rock was a stone slab. Some cords. A sleepy looking lizard, that scrambled away leaving only a twitching tail.

  No Finn.

  The sprites and the fire-beings were all as surprised as it was possible to be. More so than Meb, the truth be told.

  Díleas barked. Jerked at the leash—one end of which slipped free. He ran through the sprites and up the edge of the earth-embedded side of the huge rock.

  The rock grumbled and slowly sat down on the empty stone slab. The lizard scampered away.

  Looking up, Meb saw her dog dancing around a black dragon, sitting next to an elderly black-haired dvergar. Motsognir.

  "I smell right, I suppose," said the dragon in Finn's voice. "You should have known better than to leave me so close to a dvergar hole. And they too were watching this place."

  Meb shrieked and ran, too. A sprite tried to stop her, only to get a slap that sent it, petrifying as it fell, to the ground. She hugged Finn's dragonish neck, tears running down her cheeks.

  "Well," said the creature of smokeless flame. "How charming, if a little odd. Food that loves its devourer. Nonetheless, by agreement or by compulsion, the renewal must be done. We have the balance of power." He pointed upward. The last of the mist was burning off, and through it they could make out dragon shapes, circling. "And there is an emergency that must be dealt with. Malarset and many other lands are aflame."

  "It was only Malarset," said Vorlian. "We could see most of Tasmarin from the conclave. It's a bunch of stupid and renegade dragons, humans, alvar and fire-beings. I'll want some explanation about that, Belet, because your kind will only act on orders. We've dealt with them. Fionn. You and I need to talk." He looked at the rest of the assembled species. "Although I have differences with some of my co-conspirators, I think we need to work together. Human mage, I beg your help. I never thought I would beg a human . . . but I love this place. It is a place of dragons . . . but we will change the way things are. And I will guarantee your safety and your freedom in exchange for your help."

  "And he is an honorable dragon," said Fionn cheerfully. "And by the looks of it he has managed to unite most of dragonkind behind him."

  Vorlian bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. I . . . was mistaken about you, Fionn. Misinformed."

  "Indeed," said Fionn. "It's a pity that you are also misinformed about what the creatures of smokeless flame seek to do. The consequences of attempting to recreate the magics of this place without returning the tokens of trust—the treasures as you called them—to their own species—would be catastrophic for those species. Let me guess. You were at the conclave. Does the light at the entrance of the caverns still burn? The hellflame?"

  "Uh. No. It is gone . . . I never had time to investigate," said Vorlian, taken aback.

  "I would think that it has been transported to the fumaroles of the fire-beings," Finn sniggered. "And very happy they must be with it. Actually, Vorlian, that's what I've been up to the last while. You see, when I destroyed the first tower, I discovered that without those treasures the life forms and intelligent species of Tasmarin will die or be torn apart, and not return to their source. So my assistant and I have been working on returning them to their rightful owners. Speaking of which," he turned to Meb, "will you give the sprites back theirs? They're a painful and foolish bunch, but you have to save the bad with the good sometimes."

  Meb nodded and took the stick out of her pack. A low moan went up from the sprites. She walked down from the rock with Finn. She reached out to hand it back to the nearest sprite. . . .

  To have a fire-being seize it. The stick
burst into flames. Meb nearly dropped it when a sudden spray of water from the stream put it out. It soaked her too, but that was the least of their problems. The sprites were shrieking in anguish.

  "Treachery!" shouted Belet. "Quick, dragon. The human burned . . ." He was doused with a shower of water himself. He may have said some more, but it was lost in the steaming hiss.