Grimwold cursed in astonishment.
“What is it?” asked Cara. “What’s happening?”
“Something has interfered with the connection,” he said. He shivered, and the look in his eyes sent a chill down Cara’s spine as well. “This has never happened before,” he continued. “The pool is a powerful magic. The Queen herself set it up for me. I cannot imagine what could —”
“Look!” said Lightfoot.
All eyes turned to the pool. A message had appeared on the surface of the troubled water, written in large, flowing letters, as if from some great pen.
It said: “Surrender the Amulet.”
It was signed, “Beloved.”
17
UPWARD
“You must leave this place at once,” said Grimwold.
“Why?” asked Cara, who was still shaking with the shock of the message,
“Because she knows that you are here.”
They had returned to Grimwold’s writing room. The old dwarf was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, chewing his lips.
“This is worse than anything I could have imagined,” he said. “Beloved has not been heard from for years. I had even dared hope she might finally have died. Now you arrive with this amulet, a Hunter hot on your trail, and the ancient enemy tracing your path. I do not like this. I do not like it at all.”
Cara shifted nervously in her seat, feeling vaguely guilty, as if the entire situation were somehow her fault. She started to say something, then stopped herself.
“Why not destroy the amulet?” growled the Dimblethum.
“Be my guest,” said Grimwold. Gesturing toward the fireplace, he nodded to Cara and said, “Throw it in, if you wish.”
“Won’t the Queen be angry?” she asked, at the same time wondering what such an action would mean for her own chances of getting home.
Grimwold shrugged. “Probably not. I suggested it merely for the sake of demonstration. If you throw it in, it will not melt. Hammer it, it will not bend. To destroy it would take a magic more powerful than can be found in this cave.”
“Things that cannot be broken are generally a bad idea,” said Thomas.
Cara shivered. “Where is Beloved now?” she asked. “On Earth — or here in Luster?”
“I do not know,” said Grimwold, “though I dearly hope that she is still in your world. Bad enough that she has some agent in this world — probably one of the Hunters, which is even worse — without her being here herself.”
“If she knows where we are, knows to send a message here saying she wants the amulet, isn’t it likely that she will have someone in place to steal it as soon as we leave here?” asked Lightfoot.
“Absolutely,” replied Grimwold. “Which is why you must leave in secret. I will take you to one of the back tunnels. It will let you out in Firethroat’s territory.”
“Yikes!” squealed the Squijum.
“She should not bother you,” said Grimwold. “I have long since made peace with the Great Lady. In fact, she herself suggested this emergency exit.”
“What do we do after we leave?” asked Cara.
“Make for Summerhaven and the Queen with all the speed that you can manage. I had hoped to summon help, an honor guard to take you and the amulet safely to court. Now you will need to travel as swiftly and secretly as you can. The amulet must not fall into Beloved’s hands! If it does . . .”
He shook his head, as if the magnitude of the catastrophe was beyond his power to describe.
* * *
The trip through the tunnels was longer than Cara had expected, mostly because it had not occurred to her that Grimwold could have such a lengthy passage underground. They traveled first through a corridor lined with wood, then for a long way through natural rock, crossing underground streams, traversing caves so huge she wasn’t sure they would find the other side, and narrow places so small the Dimblethum could barely squeeze through them. Finally they left the caverns and entered an earthen tunnel supported by beams.
Man-made! Cara thought to herself, then realized that here on Luster handmade was the most she could say and be sure that she had the truth.
The Squijum rode on her shoulder for most of the journey, nervously crooning nonsense syllables in her ear. His fluffy tail curled around her neck felt as friendly and safe as the stuffed animals that lined her bed at home.
Home. The thought nearly stopped her in her tracks. She could not think of home without thinking of her grandmother. And she could not think of her grandmother without a pang of fear, wondering what had happened to her in the tower of St. Christopher’s — though now that she knew who had chased them there, she was even more confused.
Aside from the Squijum’s chatter, they traveled in silence. Once or twice Lightfoot made a point of stepping beside her. When she put her hand on his shoulder he thought to her, “I just wanted to see if you were all right.”
Eventually they reached a set of five earthen steps. The steps led up to a wooden door. The door slanted toward them. The angle was so sharp that when Cara pressed her forehead to the door, its base was still some five feet ahead of her, level with her knees.
Grimwold said something to the Dimblethum. The creature put a pawlike hand on Cara’s shoulder to draw her back. Stepping past her, he pressed his shoulder against the door. It opened into twilight, revealing a sky just starting to blossom with stars.
Cara now saw that the reason for the door’s angle was that it was set in the side of a hill. Once outside, she saw that the door’s exterior had been disguised with grass and wildflowers and rocks that she guessed must somehow have been glued in place. (Or, she realized, held there by some sort of magic.)
Grimwold pointed ahead of them and began to speak to Lightfoot — giving the unicorn directions, Cara assumed.
The dwarf turned to her. “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Cara,” he said with such obvious sincerity that she suddenly felt somehow more at home here. “Not all stories are good, not all endings are happy. May your story, on which may ride the fate of us all, be both good and happy. Give my regards to the Queen, and to your grandmother, if you are lucky enough to see them.”
“I will,” replied Cara, somewhat confused by the combination of gloom and hope in the dwarf’s words.
Grimwold turned and stepped into the hillside. When he closed the door, it was almost as if he had never been there.
The Dimblethum made some growling noises. Cara put her hand on Lightfoot’s shoulder, too late to understand the meaning of the growls, but in time to catch the unicorn’s response, which was basically, “As fast as possible.” Turning his attention to Cara, he added, “Would you like to ride?”
She scrambled onto his back, twining her fingers in the spun silk of his mane, pressing her knees to his sides. No need to urge this steed to speed, or for a bridle to guide him. She merely held on as he sped through the grassland, straight into the domain of the dragon.
The Squijum and the Dimblethum traveled beside them, the Dimblethum usually on his hind legs, but occasionally dropping to all fours. Thomas ambled along behind, seeming not to hurry, yet never falling very far back.
They were nearing the foothills. A full moon had risen, painting the entire landscape with silver light. Suddenly the Squijum screeched and leaped onto the Dimblethum’s back. “Look see look look look!” he cried, pointing moonward.
Cara looked up and gasped. Dark against the darkness of the night, Firethroat was flying. She crossed the moon once, and then again, her great and terrifying shape stark against the silver orb. On the second pass Cara realized that the dragon was getting closer. For a moment she tried to convince herself it was mere coincidence, but too soon it became obvious that Firethroat was heading straight for them.
“Run!” she cried to Lightfoot, forgetting that her spoken words carried no meaning for him. It didn’t make any difference; the thought was so strong in her that she didn’t need to try to send it to him. It flowed from her in a wash of panic so power
ful that he reared back and pawed at the air.
Cara slid from his back, landing with a thump on the soft grass. Part of her remembered Lightfoot’s warning that to run would only anger the dragon. But with that great, bat-winged form swooping toward them from the darkness, such advice was hard to heed. Scrambling to her feet, she shot off through the grass. Something grabbed her neck. She screamed before she realized it was the Squijum, who had leaped onto her shoulders and was gibbering with a fear that matched her own.
To her astonishment, Lightfoot held his ground. He stood in the moonlight, wind streaming through his mane, staring up at the dragon as if daring her to take him.
Cara caught her breath as Firethroat swooped low above the unicorn. The creature was enormous, her head the size of a car, the span of her wings wider than a house. Lightfoot, even the Dimblethum, suddenly seemed tiny in comparison.
Raising her head, the dragon shot a column of fire into the sky. Then she flapped those enormous wings a single time and swooped over Cara. Closing her right claw around the girl, the dragon turned and headed upward.
Cara screamed and kicked as she was lifted from the ground. But the talon that had closed around her waist was like a band of iron: smooth, hard, unbreakable. Her stomach lurched as the world fell away below her. Her legs dangled uselessly, and with nothing supporting her she was terrified that she would fall. At the same time, irrationally she was struggling to escape the dragon’s grip, even though success would have sent her tumbling to the ground, increasingly far below. The Squijum, which still clung to her neck, was screeching in terror.
The dragon wheeled, and, almost as an afterthought, veered toward the ground again and snatched up Lightfoot with her other claw. Then into the air she rose. As Cara watched the land fall away below them she spotted Thomas and the Dimblethum, the latter roaring and stretching his fists toward the sky. Slowly they dwindled, until they were nothing but specks.
The dragon flew on.
18
IN FIRETHROAT’S CAVE
Firethroat flew higher and higher, until Cara felt that all of Luster was spread below them, a world of forests and plains, broad swamps and great rivers. In the distance, sparkling in the moonlight, a vast body of water stretched on farther than she could see, some huge lake, or inland sea, perhaps even an ocean.
Cara looked to her right, where Lightfoot dangled from the dragon’s other claw, which held him around the middle. She wanted to speak to him, but it was impossible without direct contact.
To her surprise she was quite warm. She soon realized that the warmth emanated from the dragon’s belly.
The Squijum, muttering in terror, had burrowed between her body and Firethroat’s claw. Cara worried that he might tickle the dragon into dropping them. But once he stopped squirming she realized it was almost comforting to have the little fellow snuggled against her.
They were above the mountains now, rising higher with the beating of Firethroat’s great wings. The land below them, marked with cliffs and crags, grew wilder and rockier the higher they flew.
Was Firethroat planning to eat them? Perhaps she was simply going to drop them from some great height. Why was she angry with them? Simply for invading her territory? Or had they committed some other crime? She remembered Lightfoot saying that Firethroat had no patience with fools. She also remembered Grandmother Morris asking if anyone could be sure that he was not a fool.
The dragon banked to the right, and Cara felt dizzy as the world tipped beneath her. Then they swooped toward the side of a mountain. For a moment her heart leaped with new fear as she thought the dragon was going to dash them against the cliffs. At the last moment Firethroat flapped her wings just enough to lift them above the edge of the cliff onto a broad shelf of rock that fronted an enormous cave. After depositing them on the flat surface, the dragon settled in herself. She had no need to fear her prey would run away; the only possible routes were over the cliff or past herself.
On wobbly legs Cara stumbled to Lightfoot and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” she thought.
“Better than I’m likely to be in a few moments,” he replied.
Suddenly the Squijum bolted from her shoulder and attempted to race past Firethroat. The dragon put out one enormous claw to block the little creature’s path. Squeaking with distress, the Squijum scrambled over the claw and disappeared on the other side.
Firethroat made a dangerous noise deep in her throat. Cara wondered if the dragon would now cook her and Lightfoot out of mere annoyance. Instead, Firethroat simply looked at them, which was almost as frightening. Indeed, after a few moments in the dragon’s gaze Cara felt as if she had been cooked.
The dragon did not move. After a time Cara forced herself to look back. She realized, with some surprise, that Firethroat was quite beautiful — if astonishingly large. The eyes that stared at her were nearly the size of her bedroom windows. Tendrils of smoke curled from flared nostrils so big that you could easily have roasted a turkey in either of them.
Reddish scales that had the appearance of burnished metal covered her massive head. Her long neck disappeared into the darkness of the cave, though the end of her tail looped forward again so that its pointed tip lay only a few feet from Cara. Finally Firethroat said, “So. You are the one for whom I have suffered so much humiliation.”
Though Cara had her hand on Lightfoot’s shoulder, she didn’t need the connection to understand the dragon. The beast spoke in perfect English!
Cara was so surprised that she ignored the dragon’s strange statement and asked, “How do you know my language?”
“Each species has its gifts,” replied Firethroat. “The unicorns are healers. You humans have your hands and your inventive brains, always thinking of new things to make. We dragons have — among other things — the gift of tongues.”
This time Cara understood that the dragon was whispering, and realized that if she spoke with her full voice it would probably blow them off the mountainside.
Cara paused. The next question felt dangerous, as if once asked, it would open the door to a problem that could overwhelm them all. And yet there was no way back, no choice but to ask it. Realizing that the very presence of the dragon seemed to demand that she speak formally, she asked, “How have I brought humiliation upon you?”
Firethroat made that terrifying noise in her throat again. The smoke curling from her nose became thicker, darker.
“I am very old,” she whispered. “It has been many hundreds of years since anyone dared trifle with me. Yet two days ago a man came to this cave while I was out flying. Few men there are in Luster and even fewer that would dare come here. This man dared to come, and much more. He went to the store of my treasures, which no man on Luster has ever done. Worse still, he disturbed that store, rummaging through it for the greatest prize of the lot, which he stole from me, to my shame and humiliation, and to your great sorrow.”
“What was it that he stole?” asked Cara nervously.
Firethroat snorted twice. Little gouts of flame licked around the edges of her enormous nostrils.
“One does not become as old as I am without being wily as well. Before I came to Luster, many a man wished to kill me for the sake of impressing some fair lady whose span of days would be no more to me than the mayfly is to you. Most of these men were easily defeated. Yet I knew the day would come when some man would catch me while I was contemplating the poetry of the sky and the messages written in the clouds and not thinking about men and their treachery. I knew that in that moment I would die.
“So I wove a great enchantment. It took the help of many, for many were the magic makers, witches and wizards and sorcerers of all sorts, who were in my debt. Together we took my heart from my body and placed it in a golden casket. So long as my heart was in that casket it was safe, and I could not be harmed.
“The man who came to my cave yesterday did what no man has ever dared to do, or even thought of doing. He stole my heart, and told me he would not
return it until I did his bidding.”
The dragon closed her eyes for a moment, and Cara felt a flash of pain and embarrassment so overwhelming that she almost wished she could fling herself from the cliff.
“He who holds the casket holds my heart. He who holds my heart, holds me, and can command me as he wishes. This was the price of the magic, the geas that is laid on me. I have no quarrel with you or your companions. But the man who holds my heart asked for you, and I had no choice but to obey.”
“Who is it that holds your heart?” asked Cara, sickeningly sure that she knew the answer already.
Firethroat did not speak. From behind the dragon a clear strong voice said, “I do.”
Footsteps echoed across the floor of the cave as the man stepped from the darkness, stood beside the dragon’s head. He was tall, with red hair. His eyes were dark, his face hard and lean. In his hands he held a large casket made of gold. Placing it on the ground, he put one foot on top of it, triumphant, confident.
Firethroat groaned.
Cara’s heart was beating like a captured bird, and something thick seemed to have lodged itself in her throat.
The man turned to her and spoke. She did not need to hear his voice to know he was the man who had pursued her into St. Christopher’s — to know he was that man, and so much more.
“Hello, Cara,” he said.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. Then she whispered, “Hello . . . Daddy.”
19
FAMILY MATTERS
Lightfoot cried out and flinched away from her as if he had been burned. In the instant before he moved, she could sense the feeling of betrayal that washed through him. Firethroat closed her eyes, like someone pulling the shade over a window. It was a gesture of understanding, of resignation, of defeat.
As for Cara, her heart was running wild with so many emotions that she simply could not move. She stared at the man she had longed for for so long, a deep and indefinable ache stretching through her body. At last she saw the face for the voice in the tower, the secret face that had haunted her dreams since she entered Luster.
Into the Land of the Unicorns Page 9