“What?” shouted Cerah aloud. Her voice echoed down the mountain.
“It is true,” Tressida continued. “They have placed themselves under his control and he has magically built a wall around their fetid city.”
Cerah was furious, and the golden dragon could hear it in her mental voice. “They will rue that decision!”
The furor took Tressida by surprise. “You sound awfully angry.”
“Of course I’m angry! I’m furious! How could Free People of the Green Lands turn their backs on their brethren? How could they ally with the Great Filth?”
“Cerah, when you left us you could feel no anger, or any other emotion. Ma’uzzi had helped you banish them.”
Cerah stopped short. Tressida was right! She was flushed with a blistering anger such as she hadn’t felt since that day she had humbled herself before her God and he had told her she must put down her hatred and anger. “Tress, why would He give me back my emotions now?”
For several moments Cerah did not hear an answer. Finally, Tressida said, “Perhaps I know why.”
“Tell me!”
“Perhaps it is no longer necessary for you to hide.”
“I cannot see how lighting the beacon for Surok once more could do us any good,” she replied, trying to think through all the many permutations of logic that this revelation required. “In the past when he sensed my hatred, he used the knowledge to avoid me. I will tell you this much about the time I was gone from you: during my wanderings I faced him, directly.”
“You did?” the dragon asked, amazed and a little horrified at the news. “What happened? Obviously you survived the encounter, and I sense that the scum did as well.”
“Yes, he survived. But I got the better of him. I could not kill him, but I was able to hurt him. It was an act of desperation on his part that sent me back to this mountain. He did not like the way our duel was going, and he needed me away from him quickly.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to face you alone. But what if he loads his hoard back aboard the black ships and brings them to meet you as well? It would make things a little tougher on you to battle the entire Army of Darkness without your forces with you.”
Cerah had never really questioned Tressida’s wisdom before, but she felt in her heart that the dragon was incorrect in this assumption. Still, she was reluctant to contradict her. Tressida, for all her great size and fearsomeness in battle, was a very gentle and sensitive soul. The last thing Cerah wanted to do was hurt the feelings of her match-mate, especially while she was pushing herself to the limit to reach her as fast as possible.
So finally she said, “Well, that’s certainly a possibility. If we’ve learned nothing else about the beast, it’s that he doesn’t often do what we expect. At any rate, he and his army will not be able to reach me before you do. If it is his intent to strike me here, he will be every bit as disappointed by my absence as I was when I found him gone from his lair.”
“I sense your anger has abated as quickly as it arose. Did my questions distract you into releasing it?”
“Actually, I intentionally put it down once more. Could it be that Ma’uzzi trusts me to control myself, and thus gave me back my emotions? This seems like a simple thing, but there is a lot I need to consider,” Cerah said, careful to not let frustration well up as rapidly as her anger had.
Tressida felt a trickle of tension between them as Cerah answered, so she changed the subject back to Slurr. “Well, at the very least your heart will once more burn blindingly for your husband. No more flatness in your soul.”
“That is the thing I mourned the most when I lost my emotions,” Cerah replied.
“Let me finish telling you of his great bravery and leadership,” Tressida said. She went on to relate how Slurr had restored order to the frantic Trakkasians, and how he had marched his relatively small force to face the force Surok had sent out of the walled city to attack them. She had left before learning the outcome of the battle, but she assured Cerah that he was more and more wonderful with each passing hour.
“I do not doubt that for a moment,” Cerah said smiling. A moment later a brutish roar caused the smile to evaporate. Mighty Ma’uzzi! she thought as a snow beast, one of the largest she’d ever seen, leapt at her from what had appeared to be a benign drift off to her left.
“What is it, Cerah?” Tressida asked fearfully, hearing the shock in her thoughts.
“Snow beast! Give me a minute,” she replied, already jumping to avoid the monster’s grasp. Cerah back-peddled quickly to put some distance between herself and the raging animal, but it corrected for her evasive maneuver and again raced toward her. She’d managed to separate from him enough to be able to act, however. Placing both hands before her as if she were going to shove the monster, she did just that. She did it while it was still about six feet from reaching her however, and the magical impact of her spell clearly frightened the snow beast. He flew backwards some ten feet. Cerah saw that he was near a ledge and as he was regaining his feet, she again pushed her hands forward. This time the creature soared back twice as far, suddenly realizing there was no ground beneath him. With a howl, he plunged out of sight. Cerah ran to the ridge and looked over. The air below was misty and the visibility was very limited, so she could not see where the huge animal had landed, but she was confident he’d met his end.
“It’s alright,” she told Tressida. “I’m not hurt. He is though.”
“That is my girl!” Tress replied, her mental voice oozing with pride.
“The outcome might have been different if he’d waited a moment later to strike,” Cerah said. “I must still be careful. The furry snowmen are no match for me head to head, but if one took me by surprise I could be in trouble.”
“By all means be careful. I will not be completely free of worry until you are seated upon my back,” the dragon said.
“Thank you for keeping me company, Tress,” Cerah said. “This is a very lonely place.”
“It’s my joy to do so. Being apart from you these past days has been hellish.”
“How long has it been since I…left?” Cerah asked, remembering how difficult it had been to reckon time in the nether regions.
“Tomorrow will be nine days,” the dragon answered.
“Only nine days? It seemed to me a lifetime.”
“As Vellus rose and set, yes nine days. In my heart: eternity.”
“Sweet dragon! Beautiful dragon! How I ache to touch you!”
“I will be with you soon,” Tressida said.
Cerah heard something in the dragon’s voice when she said that. “Tress, you sound to me as though you are straining. Do not fly so fast that you hurt yourself. Be sure to rest, to feed. I will be fine until you get here.”
“Silly child,” the dragon said. “Only when I’m with you again will I be well. Whether I fly hard or easily, until we are together I will suffer. And you know that you are much better when we’re together as well.”
Cerah’s heart nearly exploded with love for her match-mate. “Stop!” she chided. “You will make me cry, and in this place tears freeze to your face!” Still she was grateful to once again be able to feel such depth of emotion.
Cerah heard the dragon’s laughter in her mind.
She forced herself to keep traversing the mountain side for another few hours then told Tressida that she was stopping for the night. “I will dig myself into a drift I can see ahead. The snow, as cold as it is, will insulate me from the real danger, which is the wind. It rips into my face and hands when I’m moving.”
“Very well, beloved. I shall fly silently and let you rest. Are you sure the drift doesn’t contain any surprises? It’s probably not a good idea to burrow into a snow beast!”
“No critters. Only snow,” she replied, kicking the snow pile, just to make sure.
“Then good night. I know you cannot see it, but your cherished Giselle and Antera dance together in the sky tonight. Soon I will reach you and you can once again see the pro
menade for yourself.”
“Good night, Tress. I can’t wait see the moons, the stars…YOU!”
Again the dragon’s warm laughter reached her as she settled in for a period of much needed rest. The last thing she heard before closing her eyes was Tressida’s repeated single-word promise: “Soon!”
Ban saw a thin shaft of light make its way between two of the many planks that comprised the hatch. He knew that his voyage was nearing its end. The slapstick sailors had said they expected to reach Harundy by dawn, and the small hint of Vellus’s rising brilliance made him sure that it was now that hour.
Above him he heard the footfalls of both Crane-man and Big Words as they raced madly about the deck to prepare to bring the sloop into the harbor. About twenty minutes later he began to hear the sounds of Harundy, and a few moments after that he felt to motion of the ship cease, and a rather loud thump shook the boat.
“Ya hit the bleeding dock!” screamed Big Words.
“No damage done!” replied Crane-man, hopping down from the helm. “Let’s go get an ale then we’ll get this bucket unloaded.”
“How ’bout two ales?” Big Words countered.
“Ya drive a hard bargain. Two then. But no more. At least not till we dump this cargo and collect our gold.”
“Deal!” his mate replied.
Ban waited until their voices grew distant, (for indeed the two never really stopped talking), and then he began to plan his exit strategy.
The hatch was out of reach, but there were plenty of things he could use to stack up to allow him climb to it. Now that the men were on shore he was unconcerned with the level of noise he made. At once he began pulling crates from where they’d rested in dubious security for the duration of the ocean trek. It took him only a few minutes to build a pile that was far more stable than any the sailors had managed and it afforded him access to the doors.
When he reached them however, he found they were still securely latched. Ban had anticipated this. The sailors were by no means intelligent, but they had enough sense to not leave their cargo unfastened.
Still, he thought, they are heroically stupid. Ban pulled out his pocket knife and began working it between the hatch timbers. He had an approximate notion of where the latch should be, and he hoped that his assessment of the sailors’ idiocy was accurate. As he slid it up and down he eventually felt the knife blade come up against something solid. He began moving the knife rapidly up and down.
Ban was banking on two things: that the latch was made of wood and that it wasn’t held in place with a padlock. He knew that ships were both aided and plagued by the salt water over which they sailed. The brine tended to corrode metal fixtures on sea vessels, and ship builders often opted to use wood in places where structures on land would utilize iron.
But even if the latch was wood, should it be padlocked in place he would probably not be able to cut through it with his small knife before the sailors, their parched throats dampened by cheap Harundy ale, came back to commence off-loading their cargo.
As he worried the knife back and forth he eventually felt it dig into the latch slightly. It was wood, then! Encouraged, he began to attempt to move the hasp by digging into the wood, and then by fractions of an inch at a time, shifting it. If it was locked down, it would not move, he knew. But almost at once it did begin to move. No lock either! My luck, she is running good!
Ban’s initial elation grew strained quickly, however. The latch was moving, but not very quickly. He didn’t know how large the ales were in Harundy, but he knew from hard-gained experience that the beverage could go down fast. That meant he might not have that much time before the crewmen returned. His previous night’s intake had left its mark on him; his head was pounding and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen with regard to his churning stomach. Now the intensity of his concentration had brought a fair amount of sweat to his forehead, and that was running into his eyes, stinging them.
But he continued to work feverishly at the latch, moving it by tiny measures. Just as he was sure it was taking too long and that he’d be discovered, he felt it move a little further than before. Cautiously he pushed up on the hatch. It opened!
Resisting his first impulse, which was to fling it wide and flee for all he was worth, he eased it just enough to allow him to peek out. There was activity everywhere, but no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to the sloop. Pushing the door a little farther, he crawled out. He walked in a crouch toward the gangplank, which was some ten feet from the hold. When he reached it he stood. For all the bustle, there was still not a single person looking his way. He took a step onto the ramp.
“Hey! Boy! Whaddarya doing on my boat!” came Crane-man’s unmistakable voice. He turned in the direction of the sound and saw the two sailors pushing their way through the crowd at a dead run. They were every bit as ugly as they were dim.
“Stop, thief!” called Big Words.
Ban did not hesitate. Dashing down the gangplank, he sprinted in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry him, which after a few years of running from the guard or irate merchants, was pretty fast.
He did not know the Port of Harundy, but he knew how to evade. Making a series of sharp turns behind cargo waiting to be loaded and barrows taking goods away from the harbor, he quickly left the irate seamen far behind. He finally found a secluded alley and seeing a large mound of garbage, he hid behind it.
Immediately he realized this was not the ideal concealment. The stench from the trash heap hit his nostrils, and his already churning guts exploded. He wretched for a full five minutes before beginning to feel slightly better. But only slightly. When he got his breathing under control and was sure there was nothing more trying to get out of him, he said aloud, “No more ale. Never.”
Ban moved away from the scene of his discomfort, down the narrow alley and out into a large market square. If possible, there appeared to be more people here than in the harbor itself. Stalls selling every manner of merchandise seemed to be crammed together so tightly that he wondered if anyone’s goods were ever sold by the merchant next to him.
So, I’ve made it to Illyria, he thought. What now? He wound his way rather aimlessly through the crowd, unsure of which direction to head. Then a thought came to him. Back in Tarteel there had been a garrison of warriors who were assigned to the defense of that city. They had patrolled the outskirts of town, as well as made occasional sweeps of the harbor. He quickly scanned the faces of the people nearest to him, looking for someone who looked kindly, or who would at least not shoo him away. He saw a woman with three young children in tow, with a fourth in a swaddle-pack on her back.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Mother’s asked me to bring a message to father. Do you know where the defending army is stationed?”
Swatting the oldest of the four she said, “Thadeal, I promise you if you touch one more thing…I’m sorry young man. The army you said?”
“Please ma’am. If it’s not too much of a bother.”
“What a polite boy you are!” she said, punctuated by another rap against hapless Thadeal’s cranium. “Why can’t you monsters behave like him?”
“I din’t even do anything!” the boy shouted, rubbing the side of his head.
“Oh, you will!” his mother countered. “Now then, the army. They are encamped in the plain to the west of the city. Do you know the way?”
“I’m afraid I don’t ma’am. Mother doesn’t let me roam far from home. It’s only that she’s about to have my baby brother or sister, and she wants papa to know. That’s the only reason she sent me out alone.”
“Oh my! Then you must get to him at once,” she said, obviously well acquainted with the needs of a woman in labor. She took a few moments to explain the best route to the western border of Harundy, and after making sure that Ban understood the directions she wished him luck and turned her attention once more to her own children. “Thadeal! I warned you!”
Ban ran off in the direction she had indicat
ed, not waiting to see Thadeal’s fate. Harundy was a much larger city than Tarteel. He had never attended any formal schooling, but pretty much everyone knew that though Kamara had been the capital, Harundy was the largest metropolis on the continent. As such it took him almost an hour to make his way from the market to the western outskirts. As he followed the street that led out of the city and onto the plain, he could see the tents of the Army of Quadar.
Well, I’ve found them. Now how do I convince them that I need to see the general, if he’s even here? Although he knew from the force stationed in Tarteel that the warriors and wizards worked together, he somehow felt he would have better luck if he approached one of the sorcerers. There were several scattered about the encampment. It was easy to spot them as they were the only ones with giant dragons by their sides. Also, they were dressed differently than the warriors, who tended to wear some form of armor. The wizards were all dressed in leather garb, colorful but less likely to stop a sword, he figured. Again, Ban surveyed several faces, trying to sense one that would be most receptive to hearing from a dirty little boy. Eventually he spied an older looking wizard standing beside a rather fierce looking red dragon. As off-putting as was the dragon’s countenance, the wizard seemed approachable. Ban took a chance.
“Excuse me great wizard…” he began.
“Great wizard! Well there’s a hoot of a thing”! Laughed the man. “Please, young waif! My name is Kelsum. This rascal here is Pronus,” he said giving the dragon an elbow to the side. It let out a quiet snarl, which caused the wizard to laugh again. “Easy, tough guy,” he told the huge red beast. “You’ll scare the lad. He doesn’t know that you’re really a cream puff! Now, how can I help you?”
Ban suddenly realized he had no idea what to say next. Pretty much anything was going to sound insane. It sounded crazy inside his head, and he hadn’t even spoken yet. Finally he blurted out, “I heard a voice in my head telling me I must find the General of the Army. She didn’t really tell me why, only that I had to do it at once.” Immediately he regretted saying anything. He thinks me mad, he assumed.
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