Dragonsight

by Paul Collins

‘You’re free to go,’ he said. ‘But Zimak, if you have uttered one lie to me, I shall seek you out and you will wish never to have been born.’

  Zimak rose from the bunk, satisfied with his performance. His plan, embellished by Jelindel and Daretor, was going as smoothly as he had hoped. He carefully considered what he had said. Had he actually told a lie?

  Fa’red stalked through the hallways, heading for his private quarters. He was housed in sumptuous luxury in the section of the castle normally reserved for visiting royalty, a fact not lost on the mage. In accordance with custom, he was given an honorary guard, although attack by ordinary mortals was unlikely. The real protection surrounding his rooms was less substantial yet far more powerful. They could not be seen or smelt or touched, yet they could strike like lightning when needed.

  He strode past the guardsmen, hardly noticing them. As he stepped through the main entrance to his quarters he made a small, subtle sign beneath his robes, so that no prying eyes might see, and muttered a single ancient watch-word. The forces that guarded his rooms were barely constrained and were as inimical to him as to anyone, yet it was he who had summoned them to this world and it was he who held them in check by the sheer power of his magic.

  Once inside, he went to his workroom and unlocked a stone cabinet, removing a silvered scrying mirror in a gilt frame. He waved his hand across it. The surface became milky. A face appeared – stern, hard, with a button nose and small glinting eyes.

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Come quickly. Meet me in the antechamber.’

  Jelindel sat perfectly still. Indeed, she hardly seemed to breathe. Daretor watched with concern. She was pale, and there was a slight sheen of sweat across her brow. She was in another place, exploring the paraplane as she had done many times before, most notably when they were searching for the dragonlinks.

  Daretor felt helpless. Frustrated, he began to pace. It bothered him that Jelindel was somewhere he could not follow. He was not jealous, just worried for her safety. If something happened he could not protect her. His sword and his fighting skill could not prevail in the insubstantial realm.

  Jelindel’s eyes suddenly blinked. She sucked in a long noisy breath before slumping over. Daretor caught her and held her tight. She finally looked into his face, smiling wanly.

  ‘It’s done,’ she said. ‘He took the bait.’

  ‘He went to the Stone People’s domain?’

  Jelindel shook her head. ‘No, he sent a lackey and I managed to track him.’

  ‘So you know where it is?’

  ‘I know, but there is a problem. It’s sort of …’

  Daretor looked at her sternly. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Fa’red has constructed some kind of magical shield around the Stone People’s domain.’

  Daretor sat back. ‘Then that’s it. He’s won.’

  Jelindel shook her head. ‘I didn’t say I couldn’t get through it. I’ll just need help. I know the spell he used, and there’s a configuration key for it.’

  ‘So he’ll be expecting you to work it out?’

  ‘If he’s still not underestimating me.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for?’

  ‘Apart from rest, inspiration,’ Jelindel said, closing her eyes.

  Chapter 10

  RESCUING MELYAR

  R

  ested, Jelindel called Daretor over. ‘It’s possible that Fa’red’s power, even his surveillance abilities, are being drained by the exhausting magic he’s employed against us.’

  ‘And?’ Zimak prompted.

  ‘I’ve worked out a key to unlock Fa’red’s configuration.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Think of picking a lock with a hair pin. Use too much force and it breaks or bends.’

  ‘So if Fa’red’s spell isn’t too strong, your key will unlock it?’ Daretor deduced.

  ‘That’s the theory,’ Jelindel said.

  ‘And if your key breaks?’

  ‘Then we could be in for a rough time.’ Jelindel smiled quickly. ‘Life’s dangerous and horrible, and then you die.’

  They returned to the stable. Hakat and QeSu joined them. They had had an interesting time amid the festivities, and both were exhilarated to be in such a beautiful city, in the middle of a festival, without the constant worry that something dark and dreadful might swoop out of the sky and carry them off. The only news they had gathered was that Fa’red, according to the rumour they had picked up in the taverns near the castle, had collapsed and even now was bedridden. They had not been able to confirm it.

  They moved the discussion to the inn, and Jelindel ordered food while they debated their next move. Jelindel made it clear that she could open a gap in the shield that Fa’red had constructed around the Stone People’s domain, but she would have to go alone.

  Daretor wanted to know why she had to go alone. She explained that the Stone People lived four miles beneath the city. Her powers could not transport anyone other than herself such a great distance through solid rock. Even then there was some chance she might miscalculate and end up inside the rock itself, an interesting fossil for future generations to unearth.

  Daretor was adamant. ‘You’re not going alone,’ he said again.

  ‘Be reasonable, Daretor,’ Jelindel said, spreading her hands. ‘This is the only way to retrieve the dragonsight. Without it we’re going to die.’

  Daretor grumbled and muttered, but there was little he could say. Hakat stared at them both. This was the first the young couple knew of Jelindel’s plans. Jelindel had not told them much, partly because they had endured enough already and deserved some semblance of normality in their lives, and partly because it was not wise to have too many people privy to a secret.

  ‘I don’t know why you got to go to this stone place,’ Hakat said, ‘but am I right in sayin’ it’s underground and hard to get to?’

  Jelindel sighed. ‘My magical powers are limited,’ she said. ‘Nor are they all equal in strength. I am stronger in some areas than others, just as Daretor is a better swordsman than an archer.’

  ‘There has to be a way,’ said QeSu.

  ‘There is a way,’ Hakat said. ‘There’s the paraworld machine.’

  They all looked at him. Jelindel frowned. ‘But it’s for travel between paraworlds.’

  ‘So it is.’

  ‘It can be used to move from one place to another within the same world?’ Daretor asked eagerly.

  Hakat shook his head. ‘No, it can’t do that.’

  Daretor scowled. ‘Then what good is it?’

  Hakat was grinning, as if he saw a joke the others did not. Jelindel stared at him. Then she too grinned.

  Daretor looked at them. ‘What?’ said Daretor. ‘What is it?’

  Jelindel took his hand. ‘Hakat is right. The machine cannot transport us within the bounds of a paraworld, but it can take us to another paraworld and bring us back to a different location from the one we left.’

  ‘Zimak, you stay here with Hakat and QeSu.’ She beckoned Daretor. ‘Looks like you can come after all.’

  Zimak smiled. ‘For once I agree with your plan,’ he said.

  Whatever Jelindel was expecting, the reality was far more overwhelming. That was partly because she knew, within two seconds, that they were not in a paraworld that she had remotely heard of. A moment later she knew that they were probably not leaving any time soon.

  Hakat had been quite emphatic. They would be there for the blink of an eye. Everything would be a blur, then they would be on their way again. After they had prodded him, he had admitted that glitches occasionally developed.

  ‘So if it’s not the blink of an eye, then how long?’ Jelindel had asked.

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ he had said. ‘Or forty-eight. But you must be back on the same spot.’

  The ‘spot’ was a cobblestone alleyway filled with rotting refuse and a dank smell of decay. Almost as soon as Jelindel and Daretor materialised a thunderous noise boomed overhead. They covered their ears, looking about in
great alarm. An enormous metal creature lumbered across the gap of sky above the alleyway. It had long wings that did not flap and wheels fixed beneath them. Even as they watched, the wheels folded up into the underbelly and disappeared, as if they had never been.

  The thing was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but its roar lingered in the air. Jelindel and Daretor edged closer to one another.

  ‘Some kind of bird?’ Daretor asked hesitantly.

  Jelindel shook her head. ‘It was made of metal and there was no magic in it.’

  ‘Well, what of it? We’ll be out of here soon enough.’ He gazed around him in repugnance. ‘It smells worse than the D’loom fish market,’ he said.

  ‘Hakat may still make the transfer,’ she said. ‘Let’s give him some time.’

  Daretor gripped his sword. ‘Hakat’s machine is unreliable,’ he said. ‘Such things will never catch on.’

  ‘I wonder. I think the metal bird was a machine.’

  ‘What would be the good of such a thing?’

  ‘Maybe there were people in it.’

  He stared at her. ‘You think it eats people? Then it’s some kind of dragon.’

  ‘I meant that maybe people get inside it to travel from one place to another, the way we rode in Fa’red’s airliner, and on S’cressling’s back across Q’zar.’

  Daretor was not much cheered. The concept seemed crazy to him.

  They waited another twenty minutes, but clearly nothing was going to happen. They would have to return to the alley twenty-four hours from now.

  ‘We must mark this spot,’ said Daretor.

  Jelindel spoke a spell and a tiny flicker of blue light leapt into the cobblestones. ‘Done,’ she said. ‘I could find this place blindfolded now.’

  ‘What do we do in the meantime?’

  ‘Lay low. Get something to eat. Try not to attract attention.’

  ‘I’ve had some experience at that these past few years.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It frequently doesn’t work.’

  ‘Maybe you were trying too hard.’

  The injustice of that left him speechless so he followed Jelindel to the end of the alleyway. Opposite was a large building, some forty or fifty floors high, seemingly made of panes of glass that reflected the scene behind them. It was an awesome sight but also a puzzling one.

  ‘Why build something so high?’ Daretor wondered.

  Jelindel pursed her lips. ‘Maybe they don’t have much land.’

  ‘These paraworlds are usually reflections of Q’zar, are they not? Which means they must have about the same land surface.’

  ‘But perhaps more people,’ Jelindel guessed.

  She stared at the road. It was strange enough in itself, being surfaced with some kind of unbroken black substance. Even from here it smelled of tar. If the road was strange then the creatures travelling on it were bizarre in the extreme. Except they weren’t creatures, unless the humans inside them had been swallowed alive or had willingly stepped into the jaws of the creatures.

  Metallic-looking wagons of an endless variety of shape and colour raced along the tar-surfaced track. Their speed was frightening. Just as odd was the orderliness with which they raced. Jelindel suspected that it was a race of some kind. Maybe whoever reached those strange, changing coloured lights at the end of the street won. If so, what was the prize? And why did they not stop long enough to collect it? Perhaps it was a symbolic triumph, pride being taken in the accomplishment itself.

  If so, that suggested a high order of social development. A paraworld of evolved human beings, thought Jelindel. How wonderful. Imagine the learned discourse one could have with them.

  ‘Are the animals dangerous?’ Daretor asked, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword.

  ‘I don’t think so. I think the humans inside are controlling them.’

  Daretor spat. ‘Machines again. This must be a cold science paraworld. Let us hope there are no Farvenu here.’ His eyes raked the sky, looking for the beasts.

  ‘If I’m not much mistaken that looks like a tavern over there,’ Jelindel said. ‘Let’s see if our gold is acceptable here. And if we can speak the language.’

  It turned out that the language was similar to one spoken in Lycellia, confirming a long-accepted theory that the paraworlds – being slightly flawed duplicates of Q’zar – often duplicated species, languages and customs, though usually with bizarre twists.

  The language spoken here – called English – was hard to understand, mainly because it contained much slang and many odd words. But with hand gestures, lots of pointing, and good will, they made themselves understood.

  As for whether gold was acceptable, it was, though it took the proprietor some time to believe that their coins really were gold. In the end his wife decided the matter, apparently knowing something of the value and nature of gold coins. She appeared from a back room with her hair ornamented with small cylinders made of some kind of mesh.

  After that they were served drink and food, though the looks they received were many. Obviously, their manner of dress was outlandish, just as the bland clothing of the people here seemed lacking in personal style. The clothing of the women was another matter. As such Daretor enjoyed watching them, especially the ones with short dresses. He had cause to ponder how much Zimak would kick himself for missing this.

  A middle-aged woman appeared with some kind of contraption and asked them if they wanted their picture taken.

  Jelindel apologised, mistaking the word. ‘I’m sorry, we have no pitcher for you to take.’

  The woman stared at her a moment, then spoke very slowly, over-enunciating each word: ‘No, dearie. I. Take. Your. Picture.’

  Daretor whispered to Jelindel, ‘Is she a thief?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It must be some local custom. Let’s humour her.’ They both nodded, smiling. The woman whipped up her black box, aimed, and apparently pulled a trigger, for it clicked.

  Daretor’s hand went to his sword. But Jelindel’s stayed him. ‘It’s similar to Hakat’s machine. Only that drew “photographs”.’

  A flash of light dazzled the pair, and a piece of paper slid out of the base of the machine.

  The woman pulled out the paper and waved it in the air for awhile. Then she handed it to the bewildered Q’zarans. They stared at it with fascination. It was an instantaneous painting of them. It showed Jelindel and Daretor, smiling hesitantly.

  Daretor let his sword slide back into its scabbard. They had, of course, seen something similar back on Farvane, although this parchment sketch was uncannily lifelike, considering it was drawn so quickly and didn’t have to be ‘developed’ like Hakat’s.

  The woman said, ‘Oh, you want another one? This time with your sword out, dearie?’

  ‘No,’ said Jelindel, nudging Daretor.

  The woman said, ‘Used to be a Doctor Who fan meself. Went to all the conventions and masquerade parties.’

  ‘Doctor who?’ Jelindel asked.

  ‘We won’t go down that road, deary me,’ the woman chortled. When Jelindel and Daretor looked bemused, she said, ‘That’ll be five quid, love.’

  The proprietor called out, ‘They got gold coins, Mabel. Best take one. Trust me.’

  She took one, frowning suspiciously. The proprietor reassured her a second time and she went away grumbling.

  ‘This is a strange place,’ Daretor said. ‘When they say take, they mean give. If someone offers to help us we must be very careful.’

  Jelindel nodded. ‘They seem a fairly peaceful lot though.’

  Jelindel settled for water, while Daretor drank beer out of a glass tankard. They ate what was called a steak and kidney pie with a thick red sauce. It was not unlike pies of their own world. Jelindel thought she would like the recipe for the Heinz Tomato Sauce. It would be a big seller in the D’loom market stalls.

  When they finished eating, they left the establishment, intending to look for somewhere to sleep. The proprietor told them to keep their eyes
peeled for a hotel. The image of peeled eyes was horrific but it was said in an offhand manner that made them think the suggestion was purely metaphoric. Possibly it indicated a grim and cruel history, now long behind them.

  After nearly being run over by a large two-tiered vehicle with ‘Covent Garden’ written on a faceplate, they found a hotel and trouble.

  They entered a large square, full of fountains and pigeons and strolling couples. On the far side was a sign. In large glowing letters it said, Ritz Hotel. They struck out for it. Halfway across the square, which was dark in this spot, two men stepped out from bushes. One of them had a metallic device in his hand and was pointing it at them. His manner made it clear it was a weapon.

  ‘Hand it over. Everything you got!’ he snarled.

  Daretor smiled. ‘I think I’m beginning to get it,’ he said. ‘He means he wants to take all our money.’

  The two men looked at each other. ‘You’re winding me up.’ He stepped forward menacingly. ‘What are you?’

  ‘I’m a warrior,’ Daretor said, stating the obvious. ‘Do you wish to fight?’

  ‘No, pal, I wanna swap recipes.’

  ‘Really? Do you know the recipe for tomato sauce?’ Jelindel asked.

  One of the men said to the other, ‘They’re friggin’ retards.’

  The one with the gun cocked it, pointing it at Daretor. ‘Give me all your money, retard, or I’m gonna blow your friggin’ brains all over the park. Comprende, retardo?’

  His finger tightened on the trigger. Daretor whipped out his sword. Jelindel spoke a word of magic. Blue light leapt to the gun. The bullet rolled out of the barrel and dropped to the ground. Then the weapon turned red hot.

  The mugger holding the gun screamed. He dropped it, and clutched his burnt hand, staring at Jelindel accusingly. He staggered backwards and fell over a bush. The pair had seen enough. The fallen mugger scrambled to his feet and both men ran for the trees.

  ‘Nothing really changes,’ said Jelindel. ‘There are those who give and those who take.’