The Fire Dragon

by Katharine Kerr

  “What? You mean a fire mountain made it?”

  “No, I mean it is a fire mountain. The corpse of one that blew its head off. But the water's warm, so there must be life way down below somewhere.”

  They swept down, circling around Citadel, and Rhodry found himself remembering the volcano where he'd trapped Arzosah, and all the lore about volcanoes and dragons both that Enj, his partner in that odd enterprise, had told him as well. He could see that Citadel rose sharply from the water on one side while on the other it sloped gently down—the remains of a cone, he supposed, when the mountain had exploded through a side vent. The land of blood and fire, he thought. That's where we are, the far north, just as old Othara explained to me.

  Lower and lower they flew, and at last he could make out the boulders and the remains of some stone structure among trees high on Citadel's cliffs. Nearby, on the plaza, they could see townsfolk, many of whom were looking up and pointing at the sky. He leaned over and yelled to Arzosah.

  “Right there! What looks like a roof!”

  “I see it!”

  She banked her wings, dropped, extended them, curled, and landed lightly on the flat stones among the boulders. Distantly they could hear screaming and shouting—from the crowd on the plaza, no doubt.

  “Ah, what a welcome!” Arzosah said. “You'd best leave my harness on, Rori. Let them believe I'm tame.”

  When the dragon began circling over the town, Dallandra and Zatcheka were walking along the lakeshore. Behind them followed a pair of Zatcheka's guards, each with a ceremonial staff in one hand and a ferocious scowl on his face, which they turned upon any children or dogs foolish enough to come too near. The two women talked around the edges of important matters, exchanging bits of information about the Horsekin while never touching directly on the situation in the Rhiddaer, but even so, Zatcheka was as wary as a cat walking along a kennel fence and eyeing the hounds below.

  “You know,” Dallandra said at last, “your son thought I was a demigod at first, too, but he soon came to realize that I was flesh and blood like him.”

  “It be very kind of you to try to set me at ease. I do believe you, mind,” Zatcheka said. “Never think that I would call your words untrue.”

  “Oh, I wasn't worried about that. I know it must be a hard thing to get used to, after believing your whole life that—”

  One of the guards shrieked. The two women spun around to find both men waving their staves in the general direction of the sky. Overhead Arzosah soared, seemingly the size of a big silver owl at her distance, but she spiralled ever closer.

  “Ah, it's Rhodry,” Dallandra said. “The man I was telling you about.”

  “He be a mazrak of great power, if he ken the taking of dragon form.”

  “Nah, nah, nah, I'm sorry! He's not the dragon. He tamed her, and he's riding her. That's all.”

  “All?” Zatcheka gave her a sickly look that was perhaps meant to be a smile.

  “I'll introduce you, and you'll see what I mean,” Dallandra said. “We'd best go over to Citadel.”

  When the dragon dropped out of sight to land, they hurried back to the camp, but there they found Jahdo, standing outside Dallandra's tent, his hands full of charms and talismans, dangling from a pair of leather thongs. Zatcheka considered him with a thoughtful frown.

  “Be this the lad who did attend upon my Meer?”

  “It is, truly,” Dallandra said. “I wonder what he's got.”

  With a shout Jahdo trotted over to meet them. They all stood just outside the camp down near the lakeshore, while the two guards kept would-be eavesdroppers away.

  “Dalla?” he said. “These things do belong to the lady Zatcheka. I mean, they did belong to her sons, and I did save them, and I wager she'll be a-wanting them.”

  When Zatcheka saw the thongs and their many small burdens, she sobbed once, then held out her hands. Jahdo bowed to her and laid the thongs carefully on her palms.

  “The one in your left hand, my lady? That I did take from Thavrae's body as he lay on the battlefield. The one in your right—” Jahdo's voice dropped sharply, he gulped hard and went on. “That did belong to Meer, and he were slain by a coward's arrow when the Horsekin were a-sieging our walls.”

  “The blessings of all the gods be upon you.” Zatcheka tipped back her enormous head and howled, a long high note that seemed to stick in the wall like a spear. The guards turned, saw the talismans in her hands, and joined her in a second long howl of keening.

  “It aches my heart that I did bring you grief,” Jahdo went on. “But Meer, he did tell me that there be a need on any man who finds such things to bring them back to the mother who bore the slain.”

  “You've not brought me grief, young Jahdo, but joy, for if the gods guide me safely home, I shall be able to hang these in the temple, where they belong.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And then their souls will rest at last.”

  “May peace wrap them in soft arms,” Dallandra said. “You have my heartfelt sympathy for your loss.”

  “My lady?” Jahdo bowed to Zatcheka. “I do miss Meer powerful bad. He did treat me like a son, not a servant. I'll not be forgetting him, not if I live to see a hundred winters.”

  “My thanks to you for that speaking.” Zatcheka was staring at the talismans in her hands.

  “There be another thing,” Jahdo went on. “The white horse over there? See you him, tethered with the others? His name be Bahkti, and he did belong to Meer.”

  “In truth, the horse be mine.” Zatcheka looked up, her face so still that it might have been painted stone. “I did let him but borrow Bahkti for his journey. But my thanks for his safe return. Later, young Jahdo, I think me I shall find a little gift for you to show my gratitude.”

  “I should be honored, my lady, but truly, I expect naught. Meer was my friend.”

  For a moment Zatcheka's mask of stone seemed on the verge of shattering, but she spoke in a level voice.

  “Here, mazrak, let me not stay you. There be a need on me to remain here with my grief, but truly, you'd best give the townsfolk balm for their fears of that beast.”

  “True spoken,” Dallandra said. “We'll talk more later, if that pleases you. Jahdo, come show me how to get over to the island.”

  Since Dallandra had never paddled a boat in her life, she was more than thankful that Jahdo rowed them across. Through the mists drifting across the water she saw Citadel looming above them, closer and closer until at last they ran aground at the sandy shore. While Jahdo beached the coracle properly she stood looking up the winding path that led twixt white buildings to the summit. She could hear distant shouting.

  “I hope they don't try to hurt Arzosah,” she remarked. “Not that they could, but if they provoked her—”

  “My people, they be not stupid,” Jahdo said. “And Werda does live right nearby the plaza. She'll be holding them off.”

  “She's your Spirit Talker? Niffa mentioned that name.”

  “She is that.”

  After a long climb uphill that left Dallandra panting for breath, they reached the stone-paved plaza and found themselves in the midst of a small crowd of townsfolk, all huddled together. Some of the men carried staves and flails, but they seemed in no hurry to use them. At the far side, where worked stone buildings ended in a tumble of boulders, stood a tall woman with grey hair that hung free to her waist. She was wearing a white cloak thrown back from her shoulders, and she carried a wood staff, bound here and there along its length with flat silver rings—Dallandra could see them winking in the sun as the woman moved.

  “That be Werda,” Jahdo said. “Let's join her. I doubt me if anyone will mind our pushing in front of them.”

  Indeed, the crowd seemed more than willing to let Jahdo and Dallandra get between them and the dragon. They worked their way through the muttering townsfolk, then jogged across the open stretch of plaza. By then Werda had climbed a flat-topped boulder and stood, staff in hand, looking toward the crowd. Dallandra saw Niffa, standing on
the paving stones just below the Spirit Talker's rocky perch. She could just get a glimpse of Arzosah, sitting behind the boulders, and Rhodry, standing in front of her in an oddly protective stance—just as if Arzosah weren't capable of tearing this crowd to shreds, Dallandra thought.

  “Fellow citizens!” Werda called out. “Listen to me, if it pleases you.”

  The crowd began to hush itself in a murmur like sighs. When most had fallen silent, Werda continued.

  “I have spoken to this dragon. She does have words, she be no mindless beast. She may therefore be reasoned with, and truly, she did assure me that she wishes none of us the slightest harm.”

  The crowd nodded, murmuring in some relief among themselves. Jahdo stood on tiptoe to whisper to Dallandra.

  “Then Arzosah does lie a little bit,” the boy said. “We all do know she'd gobble Raena down if the gods did but give her a chance.”

  “True spoken,” Dallandra whispered. “But we don't need to tell anyone that right now.”

  Werda held up her silver-touched staff again, and the crowd once again fell silent.

  “Go now about the business of your day,” Werda called out, “as I shall do with mine. Fear not! If you wish, come greet her and hear her speak with your own ears.”

  Many of the townsfolk called out their thanks; others clapped or waved. Slowly, talking among themselves, they began to scatter across the plaza or head back to the downhill path. Since no one seemed to be taking Werda's offer to come meet the dragon, Dallandra and Jahdo hurried over to pay their respects to the Spirit Talker, who with Niffa's help was clambering down from the rocks. Arzosah waddled up the last few feet to the plaza as well. As always Dallandra marvelled at how awkward she was on the ground in contrast to her ease and beauty in the air.

  “Dalla!” Rhodry called out. “All's well on our end. How have things been going here?”

  “Quiet so far, and my thanks to every god for that.” “Quiet be a lovely thing, truly.” Werda joined them.

  “You must be Dallandra. Young Niffa has told me many a pleasant thing about you.”

  “My thanks, then,” Dallandra said. “And I'm truly glad to meet you. There's rather a lot we need to discuss.”

  Werda's house stood just downhill from the plaza at the end of a path made of wooden steps, some way from the ruined temple and right beside a little shrine to the gods of the lake. To talk in privacy Werda took Dallandra and Niffa into her house, but Jahdo stayed outside with Rhodry and of course the dragon, who would never have managed to squeeze herself inside even if she had been invited. The shrine itself was a simple thing: four stone pillars held up a wood roof that sheltered a roughly worked block of stone. Bunches of yellow wildflowers lay on this plain altar, and a scatter of little green stones. In front of the shrine stood a wood bench. Jahdo and Rhodry sat there, while Arzosah spread herself out on the cobbles to take the sun.

  “Where's Dar and his men?” Rhodry said.

  “Camped down by the lake,” Jahdo said. “I did see Princess Carra this morning, and she did tell me that the prince be powerful eager to leave here and go back to the grasslands.”

  “No doubt. But I think me we'd all best stay till this matter of the alliance is settled. If the Horsekin take Cerr Cawnen, it'll be so much the worse for Deverry.”

  “I'd not thought of that. I—wait. Here comes Verrarc, and we'd best hold our tongues around him.”

  With a forced smile Councilman Verrarc came striding up to them. He hadn't slept very well, apparently; the dark shadows under his eyes stood out against the pale of his skin.

  “Good morrow, Jahdo,” he said. “I did wish to thank you for those splendid tales you told last night.”

  “Well, my thanks. I did feel as if I were stumbling over my own tongue by the end of it, and my throat be a bit sore this morning.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And yet I've not told you all of it,” Jahdo went on. “I do feel that there be much I've forgotten, or mayhap knew not the meaning of.”

  Verrarc stepped back with a toss of his head, then forced out a smile.

  “All in good time, no doubt.” The councilman glanced at Rhodry. “We've not met, good sir.”

  “So we've not,” Rhodry said. “My name is Rhodry from Aberwyn.”

  “And I be Verrarc, councilman to this town.”

  The two men shook hands briefly, but it seemed to Jahdo that they would rather have challenged each other.

  “It's a strange thing.” Verrarc looked away absently. “The world's a cursed sight wider than ever I thought, and here every summer have I ridden into Dwarveholt to trade and suchlike. Tell me somewhat, lad. Think you that you'll find this town tedious from now on?”

  Jahdo was about to deny any such thing, but all at once he wondered how he would feel when the relief of being home wore off. Rhodry was watching him with a slight smile that struck him as a challenge.

  “Well now,” Jahdo said at last. “I truly hope I'll be happy to stay in Cerr Cawnen all my born days, but I do wonder.”

  “So do I,” Verrarc said. “I'm minded to make you an offer, you see. You ken a fair bit about this world of ours, and there be a need on me to take an apprentice soon, someone to learn the trading.”

  Jahdo stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets, to gain a little time. His first thought was that he was being offered something wonderful; his second, that perhaps Verrarc was trying to buy his silence; and his third, that perhaps Verrarc intended to murder him on the road when they were far from town.

  “Do think well on it,” Verrarc said. “It'll be needful for us to consult with your mother and suchlike before you can say me yea or nay.”

  “You do have my thanks, Councilman,” Jahdo said. “I promise you that I'll do some hard thinking about your offer.”

  “And no doubt your father will want to do some of his own. No rush, lad, no rush for your decision.” Verrarc glanced away, paused, then waved to someone up on the plaza. “It be old Hennis, summoning me. I'll just be off, then.”

  Verrarc turned and climbed up the stairs leading to the plaza. Jahdo stood watching him make his way over to the elderly councilman.

  “You look surprised,” Rhodry said.

  “I am that. Verrarc did his best to send me off to my death with Meer. Though—wait—truly, I do him an injustice. He did save my life, more like, now that I know the truth of it.”

  “He what?”

  “He did save my life by sending me away. I did tell Jill this tale, but mayhap not you. Last summer it was, and I was picking herbs in the water meadows, and I did stumble across Verrarc with this woman, and she did demand he kill me. I think now that she were Raena, for who else would have been working evil near our town? And Verrarc did refuse. He ensorceled me instead.”

  “That shows he has some heart left, then.”

  “Truly. And—wait! The talisman!”

  “Now what?”

  “I did find a little silver disk in the grass that day. I knew not what it might be, back then. But it were a talisman, just like the ones Meer showed me. I gave it to Tek-Tek for her hoard, but Jill did say it were important.”

  “Then we'd best go fetch it. Are you sure that woman was Raena?”

  “Well, not truly. She were all bundled in a cloak, and I do remember seeing her sweat and wondering why she did wear it, but her face was hard to see.”

  Rhodry swore in Elvish.

  “What be so wrong, Rori?”

  “I was hoping you could testify that it was Raena in a court of law.”

  “A court of law?”

  “Of course. Jahdo, think! Raena's a traitor to your people. She'd turn you all over to the Horsekin in a heartbeat if she could. We need evidence that will convince the council no matter how hard Verrarc fights to save her.”

  “Ye gods,” Jahdo whispered. “Truly—she were there at the siege! By those hells of yours, Rori! I do be as big a lack-wit as poor Magpie. Not till this very day did I remember that. Why, I wonder?”


  “I don't know, but I'd wager a fair bit of coin that it's all part of Verrarc's ensorcelment. No wonder he went so stiff when you spoke of leaving things out of your tales.”

  Jahdo turned sharply and looked in the direction that Verrarc had taken—no sign of him now.

  “Verrarc does have dweomer?”

  “He must,” Rhodry said. “You'd best talk with Dalla about this.”

  “True spoken!”

  The familiar plaza, empty now under the bright sun, seemed somehow small and strange. Jahdo stood for a long moment, looking around at one of the places that had meant home in his memories. He was beginning to realize that, in truth, he had changed, and irrevocably.

  “Here,” Rhodry said, “are you all right?”

  “I am, my apologies. Just thinking.”

  “That's a good idea in times like these. But let's go steal Tek-Tek's treasure before you forget again.”

  “She'll not like that. I'd best find a trinket to give her in return.”

  “I've got a coin or two. I'll trade her.”

  With the talisman safe in his coin pouch, Rhodry left Arzosah sleeping in the sun on the ruins of the temple and went down to the lakeshore. Since he'd been raised in Aberwyn, boats held no mysteries for him, and he paddled across fast to the welter of houses on their pilings and crannogs. By asking people here and there for directions, he found his way to the town commons and Daralanteriel's camp. The prince's guard were sitting out in the grass near their horses and squabbling over dice games, while the prince himself paced up and down by the lakeshore. At his throat the gold chain of Ranadar's Eye glinted in the sun, but he'd tucked the actual pendant inside his tunic. There was no sign of Carra and the baby, but Rhodry noticed that the tent-flap hung closed.

  “Ah, there you are,” Daralanteriel said in Elvish. “Is everything going well up on Citadel?”

  “As well as it can be,” Rhodry said. “The townsfolk seem to have taken the dragon in their stride. Dalla and the local priestess have shut themselves up for a talk.”

  “What about Raena?”