Dragonsight

by Paul Collins

  Uthven sat down heavily. ‘One man has as much power?’

  ‘Indeed he does,’ Jelindel answered. ‘But other powerful forces stand in the path of what he desires.’

  Leot looked at her shrewdly. ‘And would you be part of those forces?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, then, if what you say is true, we must certainly look to the defence of the town. Will this infernal blizzard last long? It makes everything more difficult.’

  ‘Now that I have rested, I think I can be of some help,’ Jelindel said. She walked over to the table, sliced one last chunk of meat from the leg of lamb, and stood chewing while she rubbed her hands together. The locals eyes her uneasily. Magic was something everyone had heard about, but rarely did the common folk come into direct contact with it. As such, anyone who said they had a flair for the arcane arts was usually treated with respect.

  Jelindel went to the door, paused as if bracing herself, then quickly opened it and stepped into the storm.

  ‘Jelli,’ Daretor called.

  Jelindel waved for him to stay back. A part of her lurched at the concern in his voice, before she closed the door against the pounding wind.

  Steadying herself against the building, Jelindel spoke a long string of words in a language so old that it had never been heard in Ogven. Intense blue light flickered on her lips, then grew into a small vortex about her. After some moments it expanded several feet to form a perfect circle that swirled around her like a troupe of magical dancing girls. The pulsating ring expanded outwards, gathering energy from the very storm itself.

  Roused by the sudden quiet, Daretor flung open the door. The locals gathered behind him. The air was again still.

  Leot’s eyes widened. ‘The storm is gone?’

  ‘No,’ said Jelindel. ‘See for yourself.’ She looked very tired.

  Leot pushed to the front of the crowd and peered out. He turned to Jelindel, awestruck. The others filed outside. It was still very cold but what caused mouths to drop in wonder was that the storm now raged some hundred yards away. Indeed, Ogven now existed in a bubble inside the storm. Beyond the bubble, the blizzard continued. If anything, it seemed to have grown even more ferocious now that it had been pushed back.

  The townspeople could not believe their eyes. A snow storm stretched over their town like a giant eiderdown, yet not a snow flake touched the roofs. They were simple folk, and seeing this left them in awe of their guest.

  Leot started issuing orders. Jelindel interrupted him to suggest he arm the townsfolk with fire and steel, and also call for any known mages.

  ‘Do you think the storm is going to get worse?’ said Daretor.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Fa’red is behind this; I can smell his vile magic. He will stop at nothing to see us undone. On the positive side, the longer he strikes at us with the storm, the more his reserves will be drained.’

  Zimak nodded, sneering. ‘So much for oaths that you people swear by.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to speak, you little scad heap,’ snapped Daretor. ‘You should ally yourself with Fa’red. You two could spend your days betraying each other to your hearts’ content.’

  Jelindel stepped between them. ‘Things would be so much better if you two would sort out your problems some other time. Zimak, Fa’red may have forsaken direct use of the dragonsight but he will find some other means to wield it, or to exploit the dragons. In the end it is dragon magic itself that he wishes to control, and no magic on Q’zar can oppose such power. It is fortunate that dragons are by nature noble creatures. If they wished, they could destroy Q’zar.’

  ‘Destroy their birth world? Daretor said. ‘They would no sooner do that now that they’ve found it than, well, than Zimak can walk past an unattended coin.’

  ‘What will Fa’red do now?’ asked Zimak, ignoring Daretor.

  ‘I don’t know. The storm may be part of a more subtle plan. I wish I knew if the storm was meant to kill us, or if it was meant to keep us imprisoned.’

  ‘Either way,’ said Osric, ‘we are imprisoned. You can defeat him, can’t you?’

  ‘We will see. I have used a lot of energy holding back the storm. At least with the weather in check, we can see clearly, and organise defences. In the meantime, we can best help these people by getting what we came for and leaving quickly.’

  ‘If leaving is a possibility,’ added Daretor.

  ‘I say we whistle up S’cressling and get out of here,’ Zimak said.

  Before Jelindel or Daretor could respond, Osric said, ‘Were it that easy I would have called her when the storm first struck.’ Worry lines creased his forehead. ‘Something is blocking my empathy with her.’

  ‘Someone, I would hazard to guess,’ Jelindel said.

  Leot returned. He had been busy. Behind him, it seemed as though the town’s entire population had gathered to catch sight of the sorceress and her companions.

  Leot placed several burly men at the door to keep the crowd back, then approached Jelindel. He outlined the town’s defences and what he had so far accomplished. Jelindel then told him the nature of their quest, though there were parts she left out.

  ‘I have never heard of the Stone People,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘Nor do I know who might.’

  One of the locals spoke up. ‘What about Thaddeus Pike? If anybody knows of these creatures, he might.’

  ‘That old fool?’ Uthven sneered. ‘He’s only good for selling potions to lovesick maidens, and prattling nonsense to those whose brains are addled.’ Most of the others muttered agreement.

  Leot raised his hands for silence. ‘Still and all, after what we have seen here today, I for one might change my views where magic is concerned.’ He pointed at the bluish light that held back the raging storm. ‘Is there one among you who cannot see that this magic is strong?’ Silence answered his question. ‘I thought not. There is no one else who remembers the old stories as well as Thaddeus, so it is him that we must consult.

  ‘Sarat,’ he called. ‘C’mere lad, and be smart about it.’

  A freckled youth with a mop of red hair eased his way through the crowd. Leot told him to take the newcomers to Thaddeus’s shack.

  The boy looked alarmed. ‘Thaddeus lives on the edge of town, close to where the storm now howls!’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Leot softly, ‘I need you to take these folk to him. You’d not be thinking the witch can’t look after you, perhaps?’

  Jelindel winced at the word ‘witch’.

  Sarat misconstrued the wince and said, ‘I’ll go.’ He looked nervous all the same.

  Daretor said that he would stay at the inn and ready himself for any conventional battle that might threaten. In truth, he felt it was better to have a presence than to leave the townspeople to start blaming their woes on the foreigners. Sensing Daretor’s purpose, Osric volunteered to remain as well.

  Jelindel and Zimak followed Sarat. The crowd parted reluctantly, some of the people touching Jelindel as she passed, as though doubting her reality.

  Sarat led them past the livestock palisades, towards the edge of town on the east side. The streets were for the most part cobbled and lit by oil lamps, but the storm affected the lighting so that it was gloomier than it ought to have been. Meltwater had turned the ground to slush. There was no escaping the cold. Nor did they try – their clothing and footwear were sodden, anyway.

  ‘What can you tell me about Thaddeus Pike?’ Jelindel asked Sarat.

  The youth shrugged. ‘He’s old,’ he said, as if that was all one needed to know. When he saw that Jelindel expected more he thought carefully. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘My mother reckons he was once a powerful warlock or something. That was back in my grandfather’s time. Anyway, it’s just stories Thaddeus tells the idle children who listen to such tales. He’s just a crazy old man. And we’re not allowed to speak of him in case he turns us into toads or something worse.’

  Jelindel groaned inwardly. Such ignorance gave her occupation a bad name.
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  They came out of a narrow lane and headed towards a small hut standing some distance from its nearest neighbours. The storm raged only a few yards away. Zimak gazed at it nervously. He reached out to touch it, for the coruscating bubble looked like water defying gravity. When his finger touched the bluish light, it sent out ripples as would a stone thrown into a still pond.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ was all Jelindel said.

  ‘It looks as though it might cave in at any moment,’ Zimak said.

  The winds were more powerful now and the snow was piling up at the boundary line, as if whatever guided the storm sought to bury the town beneath a great weight of snow and ice. Sarat might have bolted had Jelindel not foreseen his reaction to Zimak’s comment and held on to him.

  Sarat knocked on the door. ‘Go away, Sarat,’ an ancient voice croaked.

  The youth looked startled but did not leave, though he clearly wanted to. He pushed open the door and yelled, ‘Visitors here to see you.’

  Jelindel relaxed her grip on his arm. The moment she did so, Sarat took to his heels without a backward glance.

  Jelindel and Zimak stepped inside and shut the door behind them. ‘I’m not reading the cards today,’ said the voice. A small fire flickered in a grate. By its light they could make out a bent and huddled figure sitting in a chair by a rickety table. The wrinkles on Thaddeus’s face were like fissures of an ancient mountain. His fingers resembled claws, and his sea-green eyes shone bright and inquisitive.

  ‘You’re not here for the cards, are you?’ he said as they came closer.

  ‘My name is Jelindel dek Mediesar and this is Zimak. We are from D’loom in Skelt, in the far lands that border the Tanglesea Ocean.’

  ‘A long way from home, you are,’ said Thaddeus, peering. ‘What would you ask of Thaddeus?’

  ‘May I?’ Jelindel asked, gesturing to a chair. The old man nodded. Jelindel sat down while Zimak stayed by the fire. ‘I am a mage. I trained in the Great Temple of Verity in Arcadia.’

  Thaddeus’s eyes flickered. ‘Under Lindkeer?’

  Jelindel sat back, surprised. ‘Why yes, she was Head Priestess at that time, though she passed away before I ended my training. Kelricka succeeded her.’

  Thaddeus sighed. ‘So my empathies have not dulled after all. It is as I thought. I felt her passing some time ago, but doubted myself. She was a Great One, you know. I trained with her in the Passendof Mountains long before she joined the Great Temple of Verity. I was young then, younger than you are now.’

  Jelindel felt humbled. She was sitting opposite one of Lindkeer’s peers. Surely he must be the last of that great line.

  Zimak said, ‘We’re seeking information about –’

  Thaddeus silenced him with a wave of his hand, his eyes not leaving Jelindel. Somehow he managed to quell the anger that rose in Jelindel at Zimak’s crass interruption.

  ‘Make a pot of tea,’ Thaddeus said. Jelindel suppressed a smile. It was the Temple’s old pecking order. The younger women were always put in their place by being asked to make pots of tea. Jelindel did not mind; indeed, she felt it was the old man’s due.

  She poured water into a blackened pot and hung it from a bracket so that it dangled low in the fire, close to the glowing coals. She then fetched herbal tea, honey and cups from a shelf above the table and started to carefully measure out the correct amount of tea.

  ‘No, no, you’re doing it all wrong,’ said Thaddeus. ‘Warm the cups first. Careful you don’t bruise the tea. And you must turn the pot clockwise.’

  ‘Didn’t they teach you anything at the Temple?’ Zimak joked. The laugh died in his throat when Thaddeus glanced at him.

  Jelindel hardly noticed Zimak, and she did as instructed. Memories, unbidden, flashed upon her. She remembered making tea for Kelricka, her friend; she remembered long night-time vigils with the other acolytes, during which they talked about the world outside the wall of the Temple, of men and magic, and their futures.

  Having warmed the cups and placed tea in the pot, she ladled several spoons of honey into each small cup. Herbal tea in the Temple of Verity was taken without milk. It was more like a hot liqueur, so sweet was it made.

  When the water boiled, Jelindel poured the tea, handing the first cup to Thaddeus, and the second to Zimak. Thaddeus did not scold her again. He seemed satisfied with the brew.

  They drank in silence, savouring the tea. Then Thaddeus spoke. ‘Tea made by another’s hand is always nicer than one’s own. Why is that?’ he wondered. ‘What is it that you think you seek, Jelindel dek Mediesar?’

  Jelindel put down her cup. The old man’s question suggested that he knew what she was seeking, and that she did not. ‘The Stone People,’ she said uncertainly.

  Thaddeus gazed at her. ‘They are a solitary race that relish isolation. Why do you seek them?’

  Jelindel wondered how much to tell the mage. She decided that any attempt to hold back the truth would be foolish. Besides, in all probability Thaddeus already knew the answer.

  Jelindel explained their quest in more detail than she had given Leot and the other townsfolk.

  When she finished, Thaddeus sat back and regarded her appraisingly. ‘So the Dragons of Q’zar have returned, and you have come to the heart of Dragon’s Breath to seek the heart of the dragon.’

  Jelindel drew a lengthy breath. She had not thought of it like that, but now that it was laid out before her, she saw the true significance of their quest. Was it possible that she and the others were fulfilling an ancient prophecy? Had they been brought together to restore the dragonsight to the Sacred One, thereby bringing the dragons back to Q’zar?

  She started to ask a question, but Thaddeus held up a hand. ‘There are no coincidences,’ he said, ‘and the naming of things and places, and people too, is no accident.’

  ‘Then this was foretold?’

  ‘To those who can read the ancient riddles, which they called “foretelling”, yes.’

  ‘Well, what’s supposed to happen?’ asked Zimak.

  Thaddeus lifted his eyes and gazed at him as he might a recalcitrant child. ‘Impatient, aren’t we?’ he said. ‘If you were supposed to know what happens before it happens, then you would know already, would you not?’

  Zimak was about to reply but a sharp glance from Jelindel cautioned him.

  Thaddeus tilted his head as though listening for something. ‘You must go shortly,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Things come.’

  Jelindel finished her tea. There was much of Lady Forturian in Thaddeus. If the old man said leave, then he had good reason. Still, she needed to ask questions. ‘What things? Where?’

  The old man clucked his tongue as though Jelindel were dimwitted. ‘Out of the storm, girl. Dreadful things. The others will need you.’

  Jelindel placed the china cup on its saucer and sat back. ‘Can you help us?’

  Thaddeus pursed his thin lips in thought. ‘My time is nigh,’ he said simply.

  ‘And the Stone People?’

  ‘The legend of a story of a myth, so old it makes mountains seem young.’

  ‘They do exist,’ Jelindel hedged. ‘We were told they are in the Hazgar Mountains.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ Thaddeus said. ‘But if you had not come here then you would never have found them.’

  ‘That does not follow the rules of logic,’ said Jelindel.

  Zimak grew impatient with the old man’s riddles. He must have made a derisory sound because Thaddeus remarked over his shoulder, ‘Curb your fretting, tadpole, or the frog of your future will fail to croak.’

  Zimak stared at him, confused.

  Thaddeus gave Jelindel a toothless smile. ‘The Stone People dwell far underground in some hold nigh inaccessible to mortal man. Beneath mountains they live, that is known. That they live beneath a city built by men is not.’

  Where better to hide from inquisitive men than right beneath their very noses. ‘Which city, Thaddeus?’ Jelindel asked.


  ‘I do not know. In the language spoken by men before they came to Q’zar, the city was called Hadirr.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jelindel said. ‘Before men came to Q’zar? Weren’t men always here?’

  ‘No, only the dragons and the Stone People. Some say a rift occurred between paraworlds and men poured through into Q’zar. Others say a great battle took place between wizards and a portal opened. Indeed, some believe the Dragon’s Breath is where the portal first touched down and anchored itself.’

  ‘Then Hadirr is a word in the language of another paraworld?’

  ‘So I would fathom. Now you must go. You are needed. I shall be along when I am prepared.’

  Outside, Zimak hugged himself against the cold and scowled. ‘A complete charlatan,’ he said. ‘He wouldn’t last five seconds in the Charm Vendors’ Guild.’

  ‘Zimak, if you can’t make considered judgements, don’t make them at all.’

  ‘I’ve met considerable charm vendors,’ Zimak said. ‘Got to know some of them quite well, in fact. There was one in the D’loom marketplace that –’

  Jelindel stopped. Zimak ran into her outstretched hand. ‘I am not remotely interested in your conquests,’ she said coldly. ‘If you directed as much focus to the problem at hand as you do on your sordid past, then we would fare much better.’

  Zimak brushed her hand from his chest. ‘All right. Since you believe everything you hear, Hadirr seems to be in another paraworld. How many paraworlds are there?’

  ‘How many grains of sand are there?’

  Zimak slapped his forehead. ‘Gah. The only thing between us and slow death by poison is the little matter of a billion billion paraworlds.’

  They continued walking. ‘You’re so negative,’ said Jelindel.

  Zimak came to a complete stop. Jelindel kept going. He stared after her. Him? Negative? That was so unfair. He hurried to catch up. ‘Someone around here has to make sense of all the scud that goes on …’

  Leot and his militia were at the inn as Jelindel arrived. She was followed by Zimak, who was still arguing his case. She pushed her way to the front.

  ‘Creatures will be coming out of the snow,’ she said.