Köthen frowned, dropped his hand from Hal’s shoulder, then let the remark go by. Erde decided his curiosity had got the better of him. “It is true that your sudden disappearance was never adequately explained to me. I blamed all the confusion on the earthquake.”
Hal cocked his head, increasingly unable to restrain his immense satisfaction that this conversation was finally taking place. He drew in the air with a finger, outlining a pair of shining ivory horns and a vast swell of plated hide. “He was the earthquake.”
“He what?”
“His name,” Hal offered, “is Earth.”
“It . . . he . . . made the earthquake?”
“Is that so hard to believe, now that you see him before you?”
Köthen frowned again. “I’m afraid it’s all rather hard to believe, my knight.” He gripped Hal’s shoulder again, briefly, then turned away. “A dragon. Congratulations. It’s all you ever wanted.”
“Not all. I wanted my estates once more in hand, the King secure on his throne, and you fighting beside me.”
Köthen growled in his throat. “Leave it, Heinrich!” He paced away, out of the lantern light, saw Rose waiting silently in the shadows, and swerved aside like an animal evading capture.
“But,” Hal continued lightly, “he’s a fine consolation prize.”
Köthen’s path became circular and brought him around to be startled again into stillness as the sleeping dragon loomed once more before him. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he muttered. And then he grew thoughtful. “Will it help fight the hell-priest?”
“Perhaps. Although he has a great Mission of his own that he must pursue. A dragon has his own mind, you know.” Hal gave up his struggle for restraint and turned his joy on Köthen like a beacon. “I told you there was magic in the world, Dolph!”
Köthen stared back at him, then looked down with a small laugh and a shrug. “So you did, my knight. So you did.”
His words were agreeable, but his tone was bitter. Erde guessed that the past weeks together had been a horror of mutual recriminations for these two men, honing this argument and others to a lethal edge. At any moment, they could come to blows. She decided to intervene. She sent the dragon a mental nudge.
SHOW HIM ALL YOU ARE, DEAR DRAGON. HELP HIM TO UNDERSTAND.
The dragon woke and opened one golden eye, as tall as a man. In the darkness of the barn, his gaze glowed with inner fire.
Köthen recoiled. His hand jerked reflexively for the sword that was no longer at his hip, then dropped uselessly to his side. Next to him, Hal Engle bowed, then knelt to bask in the unearthly light. Erde saw Köthen’s fingers tremble as the actuality of a living dragon finally overtook him. Before, it could have been a fake, a statue cleverly lit. But now, that one great eye, alight with ancient life—and now the other, as Earth stirred and lifted his big head. Like a man in a raging cyclone, Köthen fought the urge to kneel as Hal had told him he would—and won that skirmish. This man thinks he should kneel to no one, Erde noted. But the battle of belief was over, it seemed. Baron Köthen saw no reason to suspect the evidence of his own eyes.
“A dragon,” he murmured again, to no one in particular.
Hal rose, complaining of stiff joints. With his formal greeting and obeisance accomplished, Erde knew he would now feel free to treat the dragon as he usually did, with a good deal less reverence. Which meant he’d be wanting to talk to him, and would need her to translate. Erde grinned from her hiding place as he leaned closer to scratch Earth familiarly on his horny snout, in just the spot she’d once revealed as the dragon’s favorite. She was so relieved to see him alive and well, after her terrible nightmares of the war. Greetings were long overdue, and she knew it was time to face Köthen in a normal way. She’d been down this road only too recently, this foolishness of thinking that a man had noticed her when really, he hadn’t, at least not in that way. And how much more presumptuous of her to think this of Adolphus, Baron Köthen, a powerful lord and nearly a stranger to her, than of a childhood companion like Rainer. Never mind the fact that he was nearly twice her age. Besides, if Köthen hadn’t recognized her back in the farmhouse, there wasn’t even going to be that awkward moment she’d anticipated.
Erde slipped around behind the manger and came up beside Rose.
“Ah,” said Rose, moving forward as she did. “Here she is.”
“Milady! At last!” Hal honored her with a deep and courtly bow, then grasped her hands warmly. “Ah, look at you! A gown and everything! My little squire-boy is more grown-up every day. I wish I could say the same of myself.”
“But we are both alive and that’s what matters.” Boldly, Erde went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I worried about you all the time I was away!”
Hal laughed. “You know you’re getting old when the young ladies feel free to kiss you without consequence!” Then he said to Rose, “I can’t get used to having her talk.”
“Get used to it,” Rose warned. “She has a lot to say.” She took Erde’s elbow to turn her gently toward Köthen. “Dolph, I think you’ve met Lady Erde von Alte?”
Köthen nodded politely, his mind still on the dragon. “Yes, I do believe . . .” Then he turned his head slightly, as if memory had failed him, or was just then returning.
“Erfurt . . .?” Hal supplied helpfully.
Erde raised her head to glance sidelong past Köthen’s frown. She could not look him full in the face. She felt more than saw him focus on her, felt the steel come into his gaze.
“The witch-girl,” he muttered.
“So Fra Guill would have it,” Hal agreed jovially, “but of course it isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?”
Köthen’s tone chilled Erde to the bone. Was he recalling Erfurt only, or her dream-presence as well? That night in the clearing, or his suicidal charge? Erde let her glance drift back toward him. She hoped he’d be looking at Hal, so she could observe him unawares. But he was staring straight at her. Their eyes met and held, and she saw how angry he was.
“My lady, a pleasure.” He stepped close to lift her hand politely to his lips, then murmured for her hearing alone, “Better to have stayed that night and died with honor.”
So he’d been aware of and remembered everything. Worse, he blamed her for what had befallen him since, when he’d heard her dream-warning, heeded it, and fled.
“Oh, no, my lord baron,” she protested faintly. “Surely not.”
“Surely yes.” And then he stepped back with a curt bow. To say more would bring inquiries from the others she was sure he did not wish to answer.
He might as well have struck her. Drowning, Erde let her courtly training take over. She returned a gracious curtsy. “My lord baron. How charming to see you again.”
Oblivious, Hal chuckled and rolled his eyes at Rose. “Look at the graceful thing she’s getting to be. Is this your doing, Rosie?”
“None of mine. This child is dragon-raised.”
“We should all have so excellent a parent.” He drew Erde toward the dragon. “Come, nearly-grown. Your skills are needed. What can my lord Earth tell us of where he’s been and where he’ll be off to next? How stands the Quest?”
Thinking each moment that she might fall to the floor, Erde struggled to give to the elder knight all the cheer and enthusiasm she knew he deserved. But she could not fool Rose, Rose who saw everything, Rose who took up her elbow again with a firm sisterly grasp.
“Let him rest, Heinrich. You can talk to him tomorrow. He’s been working hard, and sorely tired of late. Besides, you know how long-winded a dragon can be, once you get him started. We’ve plenty of our own news to exchange and it’s much too cold in here to be standing about. Let’s all go in to dinner, shall we?”
CHAPTER TEN
At dinner, after the men had slaked the first rush of their hunger, they talked about the war, or mostly, Hal did, now and then referring to Captain Wender for reinforcement or a clarification of fact. He spoke quietly because the news was bad.
“These farmers’ hearts are gallant,” put in Wender. “But most would do better by the plough than by the sword.”
Hal nodded. “Still, if mere numbers would win the day, we’d have a fighting chance. And all’s not lost. We had split the army even before we heard of the Prince’s death. Rainer’s taken part of our force west to raise men and provisioning among the estates not corrupted by Fra Guill on his first tour through the countryside.” Hal made maps on the tabletop, with spoons and platters and lines of bread crumbs. “I sought to draw the rebels southward. When it became clear that this mad priest would go on fighting no matter what the weather, I sent His Majesty west to Köln, where hopefully, he will last the winter. He is not well, and Carl’s death has grieved him sorely. The truth is, we’d be in full retreat but for these recent heavy snows, which have forced even Fra Guill to call a halt.”
“A mercy,” Rose murmured.
“If it was an honest winter, there’d be a mercy in it. But this weather’s as unnatural as the priest himself. It’ll clear and we’ll have a bit of a thaw, just enough to sink every cartwheel hub-deep in mud. Then as soon as we’re good and stuck, it’ll freeze and the hell-priest’ll be on us again. It’s uncanny. There’s some saying he has the weather in his thrall.”
Rose nodded. “Those rumors have reached even this far.”
“How could such a thing be?” muttered Doritt.
Hal blew out a long sigh. “Well, I’d hate to credit it, but somehow he’s always prepared and we’re always surprised. We could use a few month’s rest, not a few days. Aye, Wender?”
“Aye indeed, milord.” The captain lifted his mug of ale in salute. “Were there food like this to rest with.”
“Or any place left to rest in.” Hal gathered the bread crumbs into a pile as if saving them for later. “Guillemo’s ordered his men to burn any village or farmstead that refuses to pledge to his cause.”
“And join his march,” added Wender. “The roads are filled with refugees, even in this weather. The devil’s own spawn, he is.”
Captain Wender was just as Erde’s dreams had presented him: Köthen’s most favored and loyal man, a tough battle veteran who had followed him unquestioningly into exile. But she thought Wender seemed a bit more at home on the King’s side, which might explain Hal’s easy way with him, and his willingness to trust this former enemy, while not his superior lord.
That lord sat silently now, a bit apart, as if news of the war no longer interested him. He had eaten little—just enough, Erde thought, to keep from making a show of refusing his hostess’ hospitality. Nowhere near enough to sustain him, and certainly not enough to soak up the quantities of drink he was consuming. Raven had at first taken up station across from him, laughing and sipping from his cup in a flirty, familiar way designed to keep it out of his own hands as much as possible. He’d replied briefly, politely to her queries about people and events in the past, the youth they’d obviously shared, but he would not speak of the present, the war, or his situation. Eventually, Raven gave up and left him alone.
Erde wished he wouldn’t drink so much. He reminded her too much of her father. But surely it was more than rage and shame twisting in him. He was like one grief-stricken, like a woman who’s lost an only child, or like Josef her father, who’d lost a beloved wife. Erde wondered how a mere throne could mean as much, but nonetheless, she thought she understood Baron Köthen better than anyone in the room, and she felt heartsick for him. She did not even ask why. She herself could hardly eat, even though Sir Hal, in his courtly way, had reverted to the habit developed during their travels together, of transferring the tenderest morsels to her own platter.
“And how has the King received young Rainer?” Rose inquired.
Hal shrugged. “In public, merely politely. In private, he has expressed some possibility. Wisely, Rainer has not pressed his claim officially. We let the rumors circulate, but there yet remains the problem of proof. Our best hope is popular acclaim.”
Down the long table, Baron Köthen stirred. “Fine conspirators you are, so beset by moral standards. Can’t you discover a convenient birthmark? Isn’t that the usual ploy?”
Hal eyed him with impatience. “Dolph refuses to believe that Prince Ludolph could have survived the baron’s plotting. After all, a true heir—one who actually wants the throne—would be very inconvenient to his purposes.”
Raven propped her chin on her fists. “What if Rainer of Duchen is the lost prince?”
“He isn’t,” Köthen growled.
“But what if he is? Speculate. What would you do?”
Köthen looked cornered. He sipped his wine and seemed to find great interest in the decoration of the cup.
“He’s young, strong, intelligent, probably very able,” Raven pursued. “It seems he’s even charismatic. What if he is, Dolph?”
Köthen refused to meet her bright, insistent stare. He laughed lightly, gestured bravely with his goblet. “Then there would be no further use for me.”
“A strong king needs strong advisers,” Rose countered.
“I can think of several uses for you,” Raven smiled.
And Erde wondered if it was only she who heard, not a fallen lord’s drunken plea for sympathy, but a man’s sober, bitter conviction. That his life was over.
Finally the empty bowls and trenchers were stacked and cleared. Doritt threw more wood on the fire. The women refilled their cups with heated cider or wine, and everyone—except Köthen—drew nearer. Erde understood that it was finally time to tell her own story. She reached out to the dragon in the barn, for his support and commentary, then gathered N’Doch and Water-as-Sedou beside her.
“Well . . . after Lord Earth rescued Hal and Rainer and myself from Erfurt and brought us back to Deep Moor, he heard the voice of the Summoner ever more strongly, calling him back to the Quest. So we left to follow it.”
“Without even warning us,” Hal complained.
She tipped her head apologetically. “You were so distracted with the war and the idea that Rainer was . . .”
“I know, I know, but the Quest . . .”
“Would you have gone?” asked Rose. “Would you have left the war behind? Would you have deserted your King?”
Hal pursed his lips. “A difficult choice.”
“So, you see? The wise beast saved you that choice.”
“Let the child continue,” demanded Doritt from the fireplace.
Now Erde felt self-conscious, with the entire household watching. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the Voice did not lead us to the mage we sought, or even to itself. It led us to N’Doch and Lady Water.” She was shamed by the awkward formality that tied her tongue in knots. But soon the tale took hold, telling itself of its own accord. “We were in a place called Africa, so fantastical and strange that I grew at last to believe N’Doch’s assertions that the dragon had transported us not only in location, but in time.”
“2013, no doubt of it,” N’Doch put in. “Eleven hundred years from now. When I laid eyes on these two, I was sure they were some kind of special effect. Took me a real long time to figure it otherwise.”
2013. Amazed by the thought yet again, Erde translated for him, stumbling over the equivalent of “special effect.” Murmurs and headshakes ran around the table like a ritual response. “And then immediately, we were being pursued . . .”
“There’s always someone after my ass, y’see,” explained N’Doch.
“. . . but N’Doch took us to his grandfather Master Djawara, a great mage himself, though not the one we searched for.”
“Papa Dja’s no mage, whatever that is, but he’s witchy, all right.” N’Doch beamed his dark smile at Rose. “Like you ladies.”
“Master Djawara sent us to the city and Mistress Lealé, a dreamer and prophetess . . .”
“A scam artist, you me
an.”
Erde bit back a pout. Perhaps she should just let N’Doch tell the story. The listeners around the table seemed to enjoy his posturing, his willingness to try for a laugh even with his own dignity at stake. Then she could sit back and translate his exaggerations and embellishments, at least as directly as she could bear to without blushing, or worrying that his boasting was reflecting poorly on her. But the dragon in the barn had an opinion about that.
ALL SIDES OF THIS TALE MUST BE TOLD. IT IS MORE THAN JUST AN ADVENTURE STORY.
Erde agreed. She saw Hal warming to N’Doch’s colorful description of the escape into the bush, questioning him directly in Frankish and eagerly sharing out his replies. She cleared her throat once more and gently interrupted. “And, remember, there at Mistress Lealé’s, we uncovered the first hints that the Summoner might be the dragons’ elder sister Air, and that the Summons might be a call for help.”
Water-as-Sedou had listened quietly from the start, but now he caught Erde’s eye. Relieved, she let him take over. With Sedou, there was no need to translate or worry that the proper telling of the tale would get sidetracked. And when he spoke, the entire room quietened.
“There is much,” he began in a voice like the tolling of bass bells, “that the dragons did not remember when they were waked from their long sleep, my brother Earth from under the mountain, myself from beneath the sea. So suddenly awake, so engendered by urgency and purpose, yet ignorant of how or why to put it to use. But memory returns.” Sedou wet his lips and surveyed his listeners gravely. “You have heard our sister Air mentioned. But there is yet another: our brother Fire.”
“Four!” Hal exclaimed softly. “Of course there would be.”
“Indeed, Sir Knight. You perceive the symmetry. But the symmetry is incomplete. Our sister Air is nowhere to be found. Were all in balance, there would be no need for dragon to be seeking dragon. We’d be four and already about the task we were awakened to accomplish.”
“You’ve discovered the Task, then?” Hal asked hopefully.
The Book of Fire Page 12