by Dave Smeds
Geim, rubbing his pate, nodded and walked somewhat drunkenly toward the door. When he was gone, Janna opened the entrance to the frog god's sanctum. She and Toren descended into the strange blue depths.
Struth's chamber already blazed with the werelight, boldly displaying her gigantic amphibian contours. "Welcome," the goddess rumbled, broadcasting directly to his mind. "How does it feel to be alive?"
"It is much better than being dead," Toren said. He frowned. It did not seem natural to exchange jokes with a goddess. He blinked several times. Something was odd. The image of the giant frog was blurry, almost smoky. Struth winked. Instantly her outlines sharpened. Their clarity then matched the walls and columns surrounding her.
Toren's jaw dropped.
"Can you sense her spellcasting?" Janna asked.
"No." He described what he had noticed.
"She allowed you to see that," the high priestess explained.
"Magic has many levels," Struth declared. "Though you are an adept considerably beyond the talents of most wizards, there is a great deal you cannot do. Enough. I'll tease you no more. You've passed the test. You have earned the right to see me as I am, and learn my story. First, let me show you how I weave my illusions."
Struth winked again. Immediately an itch flared in Toren's head. No, that was not correct. The itch had been there previously, but he had ignored it. Thin tendrils of sorcery, almost undetectable even now, held a part of his perceptive apparatus bound. He growled and pushed at them. They clung like spiderweb. At first, for each one that he eliminated, three took its place, but he counselled himself to patience and methodically dealt with them. At last he checked the invasion, and after more effort, forced the last of them out. He shuddered, relieved. He looked at Struth.
There was no giant frog in the room. What replaced the illusion was just as big, but the new shape had a serpentlike torso, massive talons, and deep indigo eyes.
Struth was a dragon.
And a very old, crippled one. The flesh of one of her wings hung in scarred shreds, incapable of sustaining flight. Great bags ringed her eyes. The tips of her fingers, at the base of the talons, were dry and deeply fissured. Unlike the brilliant tones of the dragons of legend, her skin was uniformly grey, showing no scales. But even decrepit, Struth was an intimidating sight. Age had not dimmed the incredible depth of her eyes. And Obo had once told Toren that the older a dragon was, the greater its power.
"How?" Toren whispered. "Why?"
"You are ready for my story?" Struth asked.
"Yes."
"At one time I was like other dragons. I lived apart from humans and others of my kind. I ruled an island in the strait between the Dragon Sea and the Sea of Luck. More than three thousand years ago I fought a battle with another dragon, named Triss. As you can see, I lost. I was in estrus, a thing that happens to a female dragon only two, or perhaps three, times in her entire life. I needed a male, and unfortunately the closest available was Faroc, the mate of Triss. Dragons do not usually mate for life. When I seduced Faroc, I did not expect his jealous spouse to attack me. My condition made me weak, and Triss, though young, was powerful. She left me for dead."
"But you lived."
"Yes. Triss did not stay to kill me herself. She had ruined my wings, which eliminated the threat to her sexual territory-dragons mate only in the air-so she decided to nurse her wounds while I bled to death from mine." Struth lifted a great, taloned leg, and Toren could see massive scars across her underbelly. "She rather enjoyed the thought of me taking many days to expire.
"But luck was with me. As I lay, unable to move, growing weaker, a man appeared. This was unusual, since Faroc, Triss, and I did not tolerate humans in our region, and few ever came there. But come he did, and even in my desperate condition, I had the ability to capture his mind. I made him tend my injuries. He found me food and water. It took weeks, but I was eventually able to move, and in time I returned to health, save for my wings.
"Naturally, I could not live as I had. Originally, I tried to reestablish my domain. But this was impractical without flight. Furthermore, Triss discovered my survival. Now that I was recovered, I was able to protect myself from her by retreating within a ward, but eventually she succeeded in driving me away from my lands. It was only then I thought back to the circumstances of my rescue. I had eaten the man when I no longer needed his services, but I realized there were others like him, and through them, I had the means to create a new domain.
"I made one mistake. At first, I did not conceal the fact that I was a dragon. I soon found that humans avoided me. They would run away unless I kept them constantly under my mental control, which grew quite tedious. Thus, over the centuries I created the frog god. Now my temples attract men of influence from far and wide, willingly yielding useful information to my priestesses. In various indirect ways I am able to pull the strings in all the countries of the Calinin Empire, and several beyond. It is not a path I would have ever dreamed of in my youth, but all in all, it has been a comfortable and amusing existence these past millennia."
"And you've managed to hide even from Gloroc?"
"Yes, though as I told you when you first arrived at the temple, he knows there is a being of great power somewhere in or near Headwater, because of the spell I cast to find candidates such as you. Perhaps he suspects another dragon. And perhaps not. Dragons are creatures of the sea. We absorb most of the energy for our sorcery from water. Unless there is a large body of it nearby, our magical strength is greatly reduced. That is precisely why I chose to locate my main temple so far inland-no one would suspect a dragon to be here."
"But how do you maintain your power?"
"There is a vast underground reservoir beneath this city, fed by the Slip River. There is no rule that a dragon needs salt water. In fact, thick storm clouds will do, as Gloroc's enemies in Tamisan learned this winter. With luck, my ruses have defeated Gloroc and his spies. Only those who live at the temple know that Struth is more than a great statue with an oracular voice, and until this moment only Janna, Obo, and the royal family knew that a dragon hid beneath the guise of the goddess."
Struth stretched her body, and Toren took a step back. "I see now why you're allied with the dynasty of Alemar," he said.
Struth seemed to chuckle, if the light trumpeting could be called that. "Let us say that I was pleased when the wizard destroyed Faroc and Triss. In time Alemar sensed my existence, and I made myself known to him. We understood each other, kept our spheres of influence from encroaching on one another. And when the wizard's time grew short and he came to my temple to die, I gladly promised him that when the offspring of Faroc and Triss at last appeared, I would aid his descendants in their fight should they ask it."
"Your gratitude has lasted a thousand years?" Toren asked.
"It is more than that. Gloroc is an impulsive, feral child. He has never been educated in the proper limits of behavior. He wants to rule everything-the entire world. If there were a portal back to Serpent Moon, he would go through it and try to rule there, too. He threatens my realm. Even if I didn't hate him for his mother's actions, I don't need an upstart disrupting my handiwork. Kill him, Toren. The gauntlets will give you the power to negate his powers of illusion-all his powers if you can get near him. Touch him with them and even his physical strength will fail him."
"That powerful? It sounds as though they could stop you as well."
"Why do you think I've insisted they be kept in Cilendrodel? I would not take kindly to their presence within the borders of Serthe. Had it been otherwise, Alemar would not have had to hide them in the Eastern Deserts."
For a moment, Toren pictured himself as a giant, with his hands around the neck of a pitifully small dragon. Suddenly the tiny creature spat flame. The bolt struck Toren in the eye and killed him. Somehow Struth made the prospect of Gloroc's assassination seem overly simple. "You're sure I am properly attuned to use the talismans?"
"As certain as I can be. Only the actual use of them wi
ll prove it. The Dragonslayer wasn't absolutely sure they would work even for him."
Toren glanced at Janna, seeking the reassurance of a familiar face, but without the sorcery affecting his perceptions, he saw only her older aspect. He sighed. If one dragon could trick him so thoroughly, what might Gloroc do? "Let's not waste time, then," he told Struth. "How am I supposed to do this thing?"
"First, of course, you must journey to Cilendrodel, to obtain the gauntlets from Alemar and Elenya, the children of King Keron. From there you'll travel to Gloroc's capital, Dragonsdeep. It will be a hazardous mission, but I have high hopes. Thanks to a trap the Dragonslayer laid long ago, Gloroc has unwittingly left himself vulnerable."
****
Deena tightened her belt and checked her reflection in the burnished urn on her vanity table. "I'm ready," she told Toren.
The modhiv scanned her riding garments, a sentimental gleam in his eye. "Now you look like the woman I walked beside through the long leagues of the Wood." He gently brushed the underside of her chin, his habitual gesture of affection. "Though I was getting used to the accommodating temple girl."
She stroked his wrist. "I may be friendlier on this road than on the last." They grinned knowingly at each other.
"Come, then," he said, smile fading. "The rest of the party should be there by now."
Pinpricks of nervousness danced along the soles of Deena's feet as they walked toward Janna's dome. No safe haven at the end of this journey. But she could not have stayed, as Toren had suggested, not when she had a chance for revenge. The ghosts of her family clung to the hem of her cloak.
Three guards nodded gruffly at the entrance to the dome. An empty chamber greeted Toren and Deena as they stepped in. The opening to the stairs yawned. They descended without pause.
Deena heard the shuffle of feet and hooves and the murmur of voices even before they reached the bottom. The great frog, as motionless as the statue in the amphitheater above, waited at the far side of the audience chamber. To the left stood Janna. To the right Geim and a group of five temple guards clustered near the wall, holding a dozen oeikani-eight handsome saddle animals and four sturdy pack beasts with heavy loads.
Deena wondered how the oeikani had been brought underground, but was not surprised to see them. One became accustomed to the incredible at the temple of Struth.
The men seemed glad to see Toren and Deena. Their glances darted nervously in the direction of the frog god. Deena, who had only seen the goddess twice face to face, empathized with them.
"The party is assembled," Struth boomed. "Tarry no longer. I have waited more than a thousand years to see Gloroc fall. Remember what I have shown you, Toren."
Toren nodded. Of all those present, he alone faced Struth squarely.
The modhiv patted Deena on the shoulder and strode alone to the wall near the assembled travellers. "Cover your eyes," he said loudly.
Deena did as she was told. Daylight blazed into the chamber, banishing the werelight, shining red between the gaps of her fingers. The oeikani cried in confusion, dancing on their cloven hooves. Blinking, Deena faced the other way. She saw Struth towering toward the ceiling, ugly and horrific in the full illumination. She gulped and turned back to the wall.
Where dank stone had been, now the view showed a mountain valley, deep in shadow, thick with trees. A meadow spread out before them, lush green, dotted with wildflowers, waterlogged from the midsummer run-off from the glaciers much higher up.
Toren lowered his hand. Deena noticed that he lacked a lens or other talisman. It seemed to be no strain to him to keep the portal open without one. Perhaps it was as Obo had once hinted to her: A portal was a talisman, for those who could use it that way.
It was at times such as these that Toren was a stranger to her. The scope of his sorcery chilled her.
Toren smiled ironically at Geim. "Your turn to go first, my friend." To the whole party he said, "Remember to keep your mouths open as you pass through. There will be a slight change in the pressure of the air."
Geim gathered the reins of his animal and one of the pack beasts and stepped through. The other men followed in disciplined order. Toren gave Deena both of their mounts. "You showed me how to do this once," he said, and chuckled.
She smiled, knotted the reins tightly around her hand, and pulled her charges through. The usual slight tingle flitted across her skin as she crossed the line. Abruptly her ears felt as if they had been skewered with needles. She worked her jaw. Her eardrums popped five times in a row.
The oeikani did not appreciate the change in altitude, either. She pulled them forward across the spongy grass, momentarily awed by the magnificence of the snowcapped peaks. The ranges just north of Serthe were foothills by comparison.
"The Syril," Geim said. "I wandered through these mountains once, a year before I came to Headwater."
Deena began to fret. Toren had not come through, and she could see only a black rectangle behind her. Finally he appeared. He winced at the pressure shift and waved his hand, closing the portal.
"Problems?" she asked.
"A farewell kiss from Janna," he said, straight-faced. Her eyes flashed. He grinned. She slapped him good-naturedly. Perhaps she had misjudged his composure in the face of Struth; he seemed tremendously relieved to be out of her sight.
"The frog god seems to have a portal for every occasion," she commented. The annoying ring in her ears was fading.
"Far from it," Toren replied. "Portals are rare. Struth chose to build her temple there partly because of the presence of that one. For escape."
"Struth needing escape? That's a frightening thought."
"I don't think she's ever had cause to use it," he replied. "In any event, it's mostly luck that we had a short cut north. As it is, we still have a long journey out of these mountains and across the western half of Cilendrodel."
The sun blossomed into incandescent glory along the ridgeline to the east. Toren stepped forward, reconnoitering. To either side rose towering cordilleras. The terrain would force them to ride due north for many leagues, even though their destination lay eastward. The meadow loam sucked noisily at his heels. Thickets of aspen and birch shivered in a brisk alpine wind. A falcon skimmed above a barren, scree-ridden slope. A partridge suddenly bolted from concealment.
"No settlers, plenty of game," he said. "For once may we travel with no incident." Deena could tell he was pleased to be moving, gratified to be in command.
"Let's ride," Toren said, and helped Deena into her saddle.
XXV
THE SOUND OF RUSTLING cloth pulled Elenya gently out of slumber. She opened her eyes. A beam of light shone down through a pinhole in the fabric, announcing the presence of full day. Alemar was sitting cross-legged with one of the water bags in his lap. From time to time he would sip.
She raised up on one elbow. The euphoric feeling of the night before had dimmed, but she still felt wonderful-alive, rested, tranquil. She smiled. He nodded calmly.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome."
"How are you feeling?"
He sipped again, held the water in his mouth, and swallowed. "What's important now is how you feel."
"What about your powers?" she insisted. "Does this mean that they've come back?"
Alemar smiled wistfully, and played with the pattern of the blanket like a boy lost in a dream. His eyelids hung half-closed. "I'm not ready to talk about that just yet. I have some… things to do, things to think about."
After the events of the preceding night, Elenya felt closer to her brother than she would have thought possible. It was a shock to be suddenly outside of him, cut off from his thoughts. She rose into a kneeling position, wearing a small frown.
"I would like you to fetch my wife," Alemar said.
She didn't want to be put off, but she wouldn't argue, not when she was feeling so peaceful. She crawled over to Alemar and kissed his cheek. He hugged her, and his firm fingers pressing into her back told her that she wa
s not being banished-she was still loved. She, who had fretted that he had seen too much in the journey into her past, sighed and held him close.
"I'll join you soon," he whispered.
She nodded, climbed into her clothes, and left the tent.
A breeze stroked her, taking the edge off the hot sunshine. It was a clear, warm day, the perfect complement to her mood. She walked with long, easy strides, and even the sight of the ever-vigilant sentries and the fugitive demeanor of the camp could not bring her down. The rebels greeted her appearance with interest, though they were too polite to intrude.
She found Wynneth helping the camp women to sort chaff from their dwindling supply of grain. "Alemar wants to see you," she said, and chuckled out loud at her sister-in-law's bright smile. Wynneth immediately dropped her task, straightened her hair clip, and hurried toward the far side of the valley.
Elenya turned to one of the other women. "Is that porridge I smell?"
It was, still hot from the midday meal. She took a bowl to a shady spot and began to assuage the fierce hunger left by the healing. Again, the rebel company left her alone, letting her decide when to mingle. She waved at Tregay, Solint, and one or two others, but for the moment enjoyed the solitude.
As she licked the last dollop from her spoon, she noticed that the stranger from the south was putting his mount through a few paces. He was a superior rider. He ran the animal only briefly, just enough to bring a faint glisten of sweat to its deerlike coat; then he made a thorough check of its joints and hooves and wiped it down. The oeikani had clearly done some hard riding. In lesser hands such a trek might have lamed it. She waited until he had tethered the beast to let it graze, then she approached him.
"That's a Zyraii steed," she stated in Surudainese.
He patted the animal's flank and smiled. His face was smooth and open, with glittering, large-pupilled eyes. "Yes. We can speak Zyraii, if it pleases you." His accent was distinct, but he obviously understood the nomad language far better than she knew his tongue. She accepted his offer.