Dragonsight

by Paul Collins

  Jelindel was dumbfounded.

  ‘Sort of vaguely not of our world,’ she said, confused. ‘I think … this is not possible.’

  ‘It’s the Tower Inviolate,’ Daretor said.

  She stared at him. ‘That’s in the other paraworld.’

  ‘Well it’s here now,’ Daretor said, wide-eyed.

  The truth dawned on Jelindel. ‘Is this the mountain shield wall that you told me about? The one that surrounds the crater in which stands the Tower Inviolate?’

  Daretor nodded, too pensive to comment.

  ‘Don’t you see what this means?’

  Daretor didn’t turn. ‘No, I don’t. To me it looks like they’ve brought their entire domain through the portal.’

  ‘That’s exactly what they seem to have done,’ Jelindel said.

  ‘But no magic could achieve such a thing. Could it?’

  ‘I’m open to suggestions.’ Jelindel shook her head, still gazing at the massive wall. ‘With such magic, they could do much, much worse. Nobody on this world could hope to stop them. Then again, they might come in peace, and achieve greatness.’

  The dragon dived into one of the canyons, the sheer walls of which were barely wider than the beast’s powerfully beating wing tips. The flight through the canyon was frightening but also exhilarating, though neither Jelindel nor Daretor were in any mood to appreciate it.

  ‘This is definitely some powerful magic of the ancients,’ said Jelindel.

  The dragon flew from the inner canyon opening out over a vast crater some five miles across. At the centre of the crater rose the Tower Inviolate. The scale of the magic used to transport such a huge object from one paraworld to another stupefied Jelindel. Power to do that simply did not exist. And then another thought occurred to her.

  ‘I have remembered something from the writings of an oracle,’ she said. ‘An ancient prophecy that claims that one day the dragons of Q’zar are destined to return.’

  ‘Of Q’zar?

  ‘There once were dragons on Q’zar. You’ve heard the fairy tales, the curses – remember I showed you and Zimak the fossilised remains of one such beast in the Valley of Clouds. Places such as Dragonfrost, which till now has lain empty … it makes me wonder if this is where they originally dwelt. Maybe this entire massif was originally from Q’zar. From this very spot. Maybe it has finally found its way back home.’

  ‘Why and how?’ asked Daretor, dreading the obvious answers.

  ‘Why? Who knows? How? Well, because you and Zimak showed them the way.’

  Daretor drew a deep breath before replying. ‘Are you saying it’s my fault?’

  Jelindel shook her head. ‘This isn’t about whose fault it is, Daretor. Perhaps you acted as a beacon. A candle can’t help but attract moths.’

  ‘These dragons are a little larger than moths.’

  ‘True, but what matters is how are we going to deal with them. Are they here as friends or foes?’

  ‘Something must have made them leave in the first place,’ Daretor reasoned.

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘And that something can be found again.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Jelindel.

  ‘I didn’t say I knew everything.’

  Jelindel thought for a time.

  ‘It was thousands of years ago. Some scholars say the dragons’ land sank beneath the sea, and yet others say that a terrible foe came through the portal from another paraworld. Seashells have been found in the middle of Dragonfrost, and in other unlikely places.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll soon learn the truth,’ Daretor said, eyeing the dark tower that was growing closer with every moment. Dozens of dragons, all bearing passengers, swarmed about the castle and the huge roosting holes.

  Below, the floor of Dragonfrost appeared a dry dusty desert, networked by a maze of thin ravines that covered the floor like the wrinkles on the face of an ancient crone.

  The dragon landed heavily in one of the roosting holes, and Jelindel and Daretor were once again flung to the floor. At the same moment the door opened and the guards hurried in, seemingly used to the swaying of the deck. They snapped shackles on both prisoners.

  Jelindel and Daretor were escorted to the main deck. From there they were taken over a gangplank to a ledge halfway up the roost wall. Then they were led along a dark tunnel.

  ‘I never wanted to see this place again,’ muttered Daretor.

  After several winding passageways, lit by little more than smoking tallow torches, they emerged in a grand chamber that rose in shallow tiers – like high steps – to a central stage or lounging area. King Amida and his courtiers held court here, and suffered whatever entertainments were brought before them.

  The prisoners were dragged before King Amida and forced to their knees. Rakeem appeared from another entrance, followed by several lackeys. He had found the time to change into courtly robes, and looked as if he had been anointed with oils. His skin gleamed in the lamplight.

  The king, resplendent in fine robes and regalia, stared disapprovingly at Jelindel and Daretor. ‘You have found them,’ he said, beaming at Rakeem. ‘Tell me about the girl.’

  Rakeem inclined his head in abeyance. ‘She is the man’s mate. I deemed it wise to bring her also, as she may know something of the dragonsight. She will, in any case, provide the other with incentive to speak truthfully.’

  ‘As always, Rakeem, you see all the ways. You are not unlike the dragonsight itself, I think.’ The king chuckled and Rakeem bowed humbly. The king stared at Daretor fixedly.

  ‘Where is it?’ he demanded. ‘Where is my talisman, you wretched thief?’

  Daretor kept his eyes downcast, trying to efface himself as far as his pride would allow. ‘Is it permitted to speak to the king?’ he asked.

  ‘It is. Speak. And none of your barbarian lies.’

  ‘Your Majesty, your esteemed vizier has explained the nature of the thing that you seek, but I do not have it. I did not steal this talisman nor have I ever laid hands upon it. I am a warrior and a man of honour. I have spoken the truth.’

  The king contemplated Daretor’s words.

  ‘I remember your deeds in the arena, Q’zaran,’ he said. ‘I know you as the gladiator that felled the mantid. Yet it stands that when you escaped from the citadel so too did the dragonsight go missing. Such a coincidence suggests its own answer.’

  ‘Sire, it may be that my former companion, whose honour is less than desirous, may have stolen the object that you seek,’ Daretor said. ‘If that were so, he would not have told me about it, but hoped to sell it for his own gain.’

  The king laughed. ‘That is exactly what he said about you.’

  Zimak stepped out from behind a hanging tapestry, a spear point encouraging him to move along. He was scowling.

  ‘Zimak,’ said Jelindel, genuinely surprised. Daretor struggled against his manacles. The sight of his once bronzed and toned body now turned to flab dismayed and angered him.

  ‘Well, thief and betrayer,’ he growled. ‘Now we know how we were found. What profit have you negotiated for handing us over?’

  ‘None,’ said Zimak. ‘I am a … er … guest of King Amida, like you. I was deep in some negotiations in Skelt when these fine people located me.’

  ‘Deep in the process of selling us out to Fa’red, I’ll wager,’ Daretor shouted. ‘Or selling something that doesn’t belong to you.’

  The king watched the exchange, enjoying the display as though it were a pantomime. He clapped his hands. ‘Enough,’ he announced. ‘Take them away, Rakeem. Test them. The Sacred One will know the truth.’

  Guards hurried forth and grabbed Jelindel and Daretor. They bustled them from the audience chamber and raced along dark corridors, through several chambers in which industrious men and women were hard at work, to a jutting inner buttress in which a door was outlined.

  One of the guards tugged at a rope and a distant bell sounded. A moment later it was followed by a harsh grinding noise.

  A clattering s
ound came from behind the door. The guards pulled it open, revealing a small enclosed chamber with no door or window. Jelindel and Daretor assumed this was their prison cell, but the guards pushed inside with them and closed the door. One of the guards tugged on a rope which again caused a bell of a different tone to sound.

  Without warning the room lurched then dropped downwards, as if it were falling into a hole in the ground. Jelindel and Daretor clutched each other as the primitive elevator descended.

  The guards laughed at the fright on their faces. One explained how the elevator worked: a series of ropes and pulleys, operated by slaves in the depths of the castle. They winched the hanging cabin up and down the vertical tunnel, as required.

  ‘It is a wonder,’ Jelindel said sincerely.

  The cage stopped and they were ushered into a chamber with a deep fissure in the floor. Jelindel suspected that lava flowed inside it. The air was oppressively hot, wafting up and carrying the reek of brimstone.

  The sweating guards led Jelindel and Daretor towards a dark shapeless mound sitting on a kind of rocky island where the magma fissure split in two before rejoining again. The prisoners crossed a small stone bridge to the island.

  Rakeem appeared from the other side, his face expressionless. He crossed another bridge and gestured for the prisoners to kneel. An intensity behind his eyes caused Jelindel to frown.

  ‘You are in the presence of the Sacred One,’ Rakeem softly intoned, as if he were in the holiest of churches. ‘Here you will speak the truth, for nought else can be heard in this place.’

  The dark mound stirred. A huge sinuous shape uncoiled and lifted a gaunt serpentine head to gaze at them with a yellow cat’s eye the size of a dinner plate. The other eye socket hung limp and shrouded by loose skin. It was an ancient and withered dragon. Bat-like leathery skin hung from his frame like a quilt. Where once scales would have shone in myriad colours, they now hung dark and dank as their surroundings.

  ‘Who comes?’ asked a deep sibilant voice. The dragon took a deep breath, struggling for the strength to speak. ‘Who comes to trouble me?’

  ‘It is I, Sacred One,’ said Rakeem. The dragon’s eye narrowed, peering at the vizier. Rakeem took an involuntary step back as if the weight of this gaze was too much to bear. ‘It is Rakeem – the king’s adviser.’

  The ancient dragon pondered the statement and a slow chuckle rumbled from his heaving stomach. ‘That is nothing to me,’ he wheezed. ‘The king of men is still a man and he and all his descendants will be dust before I breathe my last. Why do you disturb my slumber?’

  Rakeem seemed affronted by the speech, but betrayed not an ounce of verbal disapproval. ‘Sacred One, we have need of the truthsense. We believe these prisoners stole the dragonsight.’

  The dragon’s head swivelled and the piercing yellow eye stared into Jelindel and Daretor. The creature’s breath rattled, a long juddering sound that reminded Jelindel of a lowering drawbridge.

  Although Jelindel had time to cast a stronger barrier between herself and the dragon, the beast’s gaze bored straight through it. She felt a profound lethargy come over her.

  ‘Did you take the dragonsight?’ the old dragon asked.

  They both answered that they did not. ‘Know you who did?’ Again they answered in the negative. The dragon considered this, or maybe – as Jelindel came to believe – it used the moment to probe deeper into their beings.

  The dragon’s breath grew laboured. ‘Have you experience of finding that which is lost?’ the Sacred One asked.

  ‘We have,’ Jelindel said. Daretor nodded in agreement. Jelindel later said that she sensed a deep sadness behind the dragon’s words.

  ‘Then I bid you find the dragonsight and restore it to its … proper place. Go now. Let me return to my Dreaming.’

  The ancient dragon’s head sagged; the eye closed, extinguishing the remarkable lantern. Jelindel and Daretor jerked as if waking from a dream. They looked at the dragon in wonder. The only sign of life was his deep rumbling breath.

  Rakeem ordered the guards to remove the prisoners. He seemed only too happy to leave the slumbering giant to his sleep.

  Chapter 2

  DEADLY PHILTRE

  T

  hey were thrown into a room that, despite its purpose, turned out to be a well-furnished prison cell. The iron-bound door was bolted and every window was barred. Nor were they alone. Zimak was lounging on a couch with his feet up, as if waiting for them. Another man was asleep on a nearby mattress.

  ‘Hie,’ Zimak said. ‘At least the old guy knows honest faces when he sees them.’

  Daretor made to stride across and grab him, but Jelindel restrained him.

  ‘What punishment is this?’ Daretor demanded. ‘What have I done to deserve being locked up with a traitor?’

  Zimak shifted sulkily. ‘Give me a break, Daretor. That’s not fair.’

  ‘You stole my body,’ Daretor thundered.

  ‘To save your life,’ Zimak shot back.

  Jelindel pulled harder on Daretor’s arm. ‘Let’s keep to the matter at hand. We should hear Zimak’s story first,’ she said.

  Daretor snorted. ‘Why not? After all, a rat’s a rat until proven otherwise.’

  ‘Exactly my sentiments,’ said Zimak, sitting up. ‘Besides, I’m no traitor, and I don’t even like cheese.’

  ‘Do you deny telling them where to find us?’ Daretor demanded.

  Zimak fidgeted. He looked at Daretor, then at Jelindel. ‘No,’ he said, ‘and yes.’

  Daretor turned to Jelindel. ‘His brain is addled.’

  ‘My brain is no more addled than yours, Daretor,’ Zimak countered, gaining confidence from Jelindel’s patience. ‘I was taken before the Sacred One, as you were. He asked me many questions, some concerning you and your whereabouts, and much else besides. Rakeem wanted me to tell him as much as I know about our world’s history, as well.’

  ‘That would have been a short conversation,’ Daretor said.

  Jelindel squeezed Daretor’s shoulder. ‘When were you taken, Zimak?’

  ‘Several weeks ago. They tracked us to Q’zar, then kidnapped me back to their paraworld. In so doing they discovered that this is where they hailed from, thousands of years ago.’

  ‘I was right,’ Jelindel breathed. ‘These are the dragons of Q’zar or at least their descendants.’

  ‘So you see, I had no more say in the matter than you. Nobody can lie to the Sacred One. It simply isn’t possible, as you might have noticed.’

  Daretor grunted a reply that Zimak couldn’t make out. ‘I’ll take that as an abject apology.’

  ‘You little skink rat,’ Daretor exploded, lunging forward.

  Zimak stifled a yawn, confident that Jelindel would restrain the swordsman. She did.

  ‘We know for a fact that you presented yourself before Fa’red,’ Daretor grated. ‘If not to join forces with him, then what?’

  Zimak shook his head in apparent shock. ‘You do me a disservice, Daretor.’ He looked at Jelindel. ‘I would have expected more from you, after all we’ve been through.’

  Jelindel tightened her grip on Daretor’s arm. ‘Spare us the theatrics, Zimak,’ she said.

  ‘How else could I have found you? Q’zar is a big place. I would have grown old searching. No, I needed help. How better to achieve my ends than to pretend to throw my lot in with one of the most powerful men around?’

  ‘Perhaps we didn’t want you to find us,’ Daretor said pointedly.

  ‘Last I heard, you ungrateful barbarian, you wanted your body back.’ Zimak shifted wearily on the seat. ‘Yours is fine when it comes to cracking heads, but for the most part, it goes to fat too easily.’

  Daretor’s eyes blazed. He leapt forward, dragging Jelindel behind him. They tumbled on to the seat, with Jelindel pinning Daretor down.

  Zimak had barely shoved off from the seat before the pair crashed on to it.

  ‘That’s a fine way to show your appreciation for all I’ve done,’ Zimak pan
ted, unused to sudden movement.

  ‘You planned to kill Prince Ulad and swap our bodies from the start,’ Daretor raged. ‘You and that wench Andzu.’

  Zimak pulled his head back as though slapped. ‘Actually, she was Princess Andrella from Bazite. You think you’ve been hard done by. Look at her. She wound up in Premiel’s wasted body with dozens of voices screaming in her mind for revenge. To top that, she was slashed to death while giving me time to free you. Think of others for once in your life, Daretor.’

  ‘I’ll kill him!’ Daretor swore. He struggled, but somehow Jelindel managed to subdue him.

  ‘The Sacred One,’ Jelindel said, diverting Daretor’s rage. ‘Speak now or I’ll let Daretor go.’

  ‘Gah, what an abomination,’ Zimak spat. ‘What did the old clown say this time?’

  Calling the Sacred One an ‘old clown’ seemed sacrilegious. ‘He wants us to find the dragonsight,’ Jelindel said. ‘I imagine there are the usual inducements.’

  Zimak nodded. ‘Like, they’ll cut off our orchids if we don’t?’ ‘I imagine that’s pretty close,’ Jelindel said. ‘At least in your case. Now, before we go any further, did you or did you not steal the relic?’

  ‘For the last time –’

  ‘It was around King Amida’s neck,’ Daretor interrupted. ‘The day we fought the mantid in the arena. You pointed it out to me.’

  ‘Looking and stealing are two different things,’ Zimak said, wagging a finger. ‘Besides, when did I get a chance to steal anything? You were with me the whole time.’

  ‘You could have snuck off when I was sleeping,’ Daretor said.

  ‘That’s preposterous,’ Zimak said. ‘I’d need to be super human to get out of the slave pen, break into the king’s chamber, steal the dragonsight, and return to the pen unseen.’

  ‘We were super human on that paraworld,’ Daretor reminded him.

  ‘I didn’t even know that the bauble was worth anything,’ Zimak said. He flapped his hands in exasperation. ‘We’ve been framed, pure and simple, you great big lummox!’

  Before Daretor could point out that it was now he, Zimak, who was the ‘great big lummox’, Jelindel flicked a glance at the sleeping man. ‘Who’s he?’