The Fire Dragon

by Katharine Kerr

  “My heart isn't overflowing with joy, either, but I'll not have you murder her and end up on a gallows. We need you, the princess and I. Didn't you swear an oath to protect her?”

  Caught. Rhodry sighed, ran both hands through his hair, and scowled at her.

  “Oh, very well,” he said. “I may long for my Lady Death, but I'd just as soon not swing her way on a rope.”

  “So I thought. Now, why don't you go back to the camp? You must be famished.”

  “I am at that. What about you?”

  “I'll be over in a bit. I have one more errand to run on Citadel.”

  The town guards had locked Raena in the hut that did Cerr Cawnen for a jail. At Dallandra's suggestion, they hung iron chains from the walls—not on her body—to imprison her further by keeping “the spirits” away, as she phrased it for Admi. She had no idea, of course, that at that moment Shaetano was running for his life with Evandar close behind.

  “She'll have a proper trial,” Admi said. “For Verro's sake if naught else. Eh, the poor lad!”

  “You know, Chief Speaker,” Dallandra said, “I was wondering if someone ought to sit with Verrarc tonight.”

  “That's been attended to. Dera—Jahdo's mother—did come fetch him. No doubt she'll not leave him whilst he still might do himself harm.”

  “Good. Did anyone bind Raena's wrist?”

  “Dera did insist on that, never fear.” Admi shook his head in amazement. “After all the grief the bitch has brought us all! But that be our Dera's heart, eh? A better woman I've never known.”

  When Admi left, Dallandra lingered behind. The stone hut held two cells, one on either side of a short corridor. Unlike such buildings in Deverry, it smelled clean. The doors were slabs of wood, each with a small barred opening toward the top. Dallandra held up her lantern and looked into Raena's cell to find the prisoner sitting in a proper chair. At the light Raena looked up, scowled at her, then stood to face her.

  “And have you come to mock and revile me?” Raena said.

  “Not in the least,” Dallandra said. “I came to talk with you about Alshandra's child.”

  “So! You do admit that the baby be hers?”

  “I do but I don't. The soul of that child once was Alshandra's daughter, truly. But the child herself belongs to her mother in this world. She's been born to a new Wyrd. Even if Alshandra still lived, she'd have no further claim on Elessario's soul.”

  “She does live, you blaspheming bitch! And on the morrow, when they slay me, I shall have my proof of that, for she will come to me and guide me home.”

  “No one's going to kill you. Admi said that the punishment would be exile.”

  Raena tossed her head and considered Dallandra with narrow eyes. “I think me you speak true,” Raena said at last. “Well, then, I shall go to my goddess when she wills and not before.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I am. It would have been a splendid thing, to be free of this stinking world once and for all. When she calls me, I will dwell with her forever in her green fields and drink from her rivers of life.”

  “That's not true. Those lands were never hers. She lied to you. I wish I could make you see—”

  Raena snarled, pulled back her lips to show her teeth, and growled under her breath. And her eyes—they seemed to burn with a rage that reminded Dallandra of a trapped animal. At that moment Dallandra knew that indeed, Raena stood beyond any rational thought.

  “Very well,” Dallandra said. “We shall meet again, no doubt, so I'll warn you this. I'll never let you kill that child. Try all you want, raise mighty armies, but if I have to, I'll take her so far away you'll never find her. I'll carry her across the worlds to a land beyond your Lord Havoc's journeying.”

  Raena snarled with a toss of her head that sent her long hair dancing. Dallandra turned on her heel and strode out into the cool spring rain.

  Rhodry spent the rainy night in the elven camp, sharing a canvas lean-to with Dallandra. He woke at first light, a sullen line of silver in the east. Although the rain had stopped, the dark clouds lingered. He walked down to the lake's edge and stood looking across to Citadel, rising dark and sharp against the steamy mists. When his stomach growled, he considered staying in camp for breakfast, but he'd gone hungry often enough in his life to ignore the feeling, and he wanted to consult with Arzosah. Fortunately someone had left a coracle turned upside down on the beach nearby. He dragged it to the water, then paddled across.

  Rhodry found the dragon curled up on the roof of the ruined temple. In the rising dawn her scales gleamed like polished gems. When he climbed up, she opened one eye.

  “Good morrow,” Rhodry said. “I hope you didn't sleep out in the rain.”

  “I didn't.” Arzosah opened the other eye, then paused for a massive yawn. “Not far from here there's a mountain with a cave—a bit small, but I slept well enough. I came back here when the rain stopped.” She rose, stretching like a cat, one front paw at a time. “I think it's going to clear today, the sky I mean.”

  “Good. I want to talk the town council into trying Raena out of doors, so you can testify.”

  “Splendid idea. I'm still mulling over what you told me last night, that all they plan to do is exile her. We'll have to hunt her down if they do. I can always eat her.”

  “Not if it brings a Horsekin army down on the town.”

  “Oh, what do we care about this stinking town? Don't look so grim, Rori. I know it matters to you, but Raena—”

  “We may be able to kill Raena with this town's laws for a weapon. That's why your testimony's important.”

  “Aha! You've been thinking again.”

  “I have. Now sit down and listen carefully.”

  Normally in Cerr Cawnen the Council of Five sat as a panel of judges whenever someone broke the laws, but Admi for obvious reasons had to exclude Verrarc. To ensure an odd number, he had asked Zatcheka, whose town had similar customs, to sit as the fifth judge. Just past noon, after a fresh wind had broken up the storm clouds and taken them off to the east, the court convened. The five judges sat at a long table placed just outside the Council House. Guarded by five members of the town watch, Niffa's brother among them, Raena sat on a bench to their left. Dallandra noticed a big blotch of dried blood on her dress, from the dog bites, she assumed. Rakzan Kral and two of his men stood as near to Raena as the guards would allow. Prince Daralanteriel, representing Carra as the injured party, sat to their right with Rhodry next to him. Carra herself and the child had stayed back at the elven camp, out of harm's way.

  In front, filling the plaza, stood a good-sized crowd of townsfolk. Dera and her family had found a good place in front, but Verrarc had chosen to stay away, apparently—all for the best, Dallandra thought. The most surprising witness of all, however, came waddling along just as the trial was about to begin: Arzosah, who managed to find enough room for her massive self behind Rhodry. The crowd of townsfolk flowed back to give her plenty of space. Once she got herself settled, Admi stood up. His ceremonial red cloak rippled in the wind.

  “There will be silence in the gathering,” he called out. “We do assemble here to adjudge a grave matter this day. It is alleged that Raena, daughter of Marga, did last night at the conclusion of the Deciding attack Carramaena, Princess of the Westlands, and her infant child.” He waved his arm in Dar's direction. “Her husband has come to so attest and charge.”

  Solemn-faced, Dar stood up, bowed to him, bowed to the crowd, then sat again. Admi motioned to one of the guards, who came forward with a wood tray. On it glittered a silver dagger.

  “This be the weapon that the witness do claim the miscreant did use,” Admi said. “We do lay it here in evidence.”

  The guard laid the tray on the table, then returned to his post by the prisoner. Cradling her injured wrist, Raena sat calmly, her lips twisted, her eyes narrow with contempt.

  Admi turned to her. “Prisoner, how do you plead?”

  “Guilty, of course.” Raena stood u
p to face him. “Half the town did see, Chief Speaker. Why do you parade fine words and give yourself such pompous airs? Do spare us all, that I may ride out of this stinking town with my new folk, my chosen folk.”

  Throughout the crowd the townsfolk began muttering to themselves, angry words from the men, the women shocked at her arrogance. Admi once again called for silence and, eventually, got it.

  “Very well then,” Admi said. “If the other judges do so agree.”

  The other judges all spoke at once, stating that indeed, they did agree. Dallandra noticed that a fair number of townsfolk looked disappointed.

  “So be it,” Admi said. “Since there be no other charges against you—”

  “But there are!” Rhodry called out. He rose from the bench and strode forward to face the five judges. “I do bring a charge, that she practices witchcraft of the dark sort and foul sorcery.”

  Raena's face drained white. “You lie!” she snarled.

  “Indeed?” Admi ignored her. “Tell me, Rhodry from Aberwyn, have you proof of this charge? Under our laws it be a grave one.”

  “I have witnesses, good sir.” Rhodry bowed to him. “Arzosah of the Lofty Wings, and Jahdo, Lael's son.”

  When the dragon lumbered to her feet, the townsfolk gasped, swore, and moved back yet another distance while they chattered among themselves. Jahdo left his mother's side and trotted over to stand beside Rhodry. Admi had to call for silence for a good while before at last they fell quiet.

  “Raena,” Admi said. “Do you deny this charge?”

  “I do.” Raena's voice was shaking badly. “He does hate me for a supposed wrong I paid him, when never I did such a thing.”

  “Oh, you've done me many a wrong,” Rhodry said. “But not me alone. Jahdo, tell the judges about the woman you saw out in the water meadows.”

  “I will.” Jahdo was trembling a little as he turned toward the table, and he took a deep breath before he could go on. “It were before I did leave our town with Meer the blind bard. I did go among the meadows gathering herbs for Gwira, and I did see Councilman Verrarc. He did talk with a woman all wrapped in a cloak, and here it were a summer day. And I did find a talisman lying in the grass.”

  Rhodry took a little metal disk out of his pocket and laid it on the tray next to the dagger. “Judge Zatcheka,” Rhodry said, “can you tell us what the mark upon this disk means among your people?”

  Zatcheka leaned forward, glanced at the disk, and made the sign of warding against it. “It be a foul thing,” she said. “The sign of havoc and chaos.”

  The watching townsfolk stayed dead-silent, straining to hear. Raena made a little sound under her breath, more a moan than an angry cry, Dallandra thought.

  “Chief Speaker,” Arzosah rumbled, “I have seen this foul woman turn herself into a raven. She's what the Horsekin call a mazrak, and truly, the raven suits her. She's a scavenger like them, and like them, she'll kill a baby in its mother's nest. Isn't that what she tried to do last night?”

  “You have no proof!” Raena screamed at her. “It be your word or mine, and none in this town will ever believe me, but you lie lie lie!”

  “You claim you don't know sorcery?” Rhodry strode forward. “By your leave, Chief Speaker? Here's the dagger she carried when we caught her.” Rhodry pointed at Yraen's silver dagger, lying on the table. “Kiel, all of you—am I right?”

  “You are,” Kiel said.

  The other men of the town watch nodded their agreement.

  “Then look at this.” Rhodry picked up the dagger and held it high.

  A pale bluish light bloomed on the silver and flared like a fire in straw, clearly visible despite the sunlight.

  “She's bewitched the metal.” Rhodry turned, holding the dagger so all could see. “And for dark purposes, no doubt.”

  “Curse you!” Raena snarled.

  Rhodry ignored her and laid the dagger back down on the table. “One final thing, most honored judges,” he went on. “You've heard Jahdo tell of the war against Cengarn, how the Horsekin besieged an innocent city, all to capture the prince's wife and kill their unborn child. Raena was at that siege, and she worked witchcraft for them. I saw her, Arzosah saw her, Dallandra, the prince, all of his archers— need I go on? We'll all swear that she goaded the army on, and all to kill a woman heavy with child.”

  At that the crowd could endure holding their tongues no longer. Everyone began to talk at once, and no matter how Admi yelled, they went right on whispering, cursing, muttering in fear and anger both. Finally Arzosah threw back her head and roared, a soft sort of utterance as her roars went, but the hush that followed lay deep and profound over Citadel.

  “My thanks, good dragon,” Admi said. “Raena, come forward. What say you to these charges of such grave import?”

  With a toss of her head, Raena walked over to stand in front of the table of judges.

  “I can say naught,” she said, “for who will believe me no matter what I say? Mine enemies have banded together to kill me with their lies. Should you believe them, they will succeed, and there be naught that I may do but swear my innocence.”

  Rhodry turned to face her, and he smiled, an arrogant smirk. Raena's face blanched. With one smooth motion she scooped Yraen's dagger from the table in her clumsy left hand and leapt forward, swinging her arm to stab up from below. Admi yelled, Zatcheka screamed, the men of the town watch surged forward—all too late. Dallandra barely saw Rhodry move. He flung one arm around Raena's shoulders and grabbed her jaw with the other hand. There was a sickening sort of crack, and Raena's head flopped back, her neck clean broken. Rhodry let the corpse fall and glanced at the judges.

  “So much for that,” he remarked. “You're better off rid of her.”

  For a moment the silence held, then like the first few drops of a breaking wave a woman screamed. Voices followed, crashing down and thundering across the plaza in a babble of confusion and fear. Dallandra realized that Rhodry was leaning over the table and gripping it with both hands. A bright red stain was spreading across his chest and abdomen. The dragon leapt to her feet and roared, a boom of angry thunder that sent the crowd running.

  Dallandra rushed forward and reached Rhodry just as Zatcheka hurried around the table to do the same. His face was pale as ice and twice as cold, it seemed, but Rhodry smiled at her.

  “Dwarven silver,” he whispered. “It burns an elf like me. Ah gods, the hurt of it!”

  Between them the two women managed to pick him up and lay him on the table. His head lolled to one side in a faint. His breathing was dangerously shallow. The dragon hurried over with her peculiar lurching walk.

  “Save him, curse you!” Arzosah was roaring the words out. “Or I'll take a blood price from Cerr Cawnen that the stinking humans will remember down the long centuries of years! Save him!”

  “Don't you think I will if I can?” Dallandra yelled back at her.

  For an answer the dragon merely growled, tossing her head back and forth. Dallandra grabbed the bloody edges of the cut in Rhodry's shirt and ripped them back. The wound was a small stab, but she could hear his death in every gurgling breath he drew.

  “Did it pierce a lung?” Zatcheka said.

  “I think not, but he's drowning in blood all the same. It's the dweomer on the metal, I think, that's doing so much harm.”

  The dragon roared in rage and grief both. The very earth seemed to shake—no, it was shaking, a tremor deep inside Citadel. Dalla grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself, but the tremor passed as quickly as it had come.

  “If he dies,” Arzosah snarled, “pray to your gods, elf! I shall call forth fire, I shall make the earth shriek beneath us, I shall drown this wretched city in fire!”

  “And will that bring him back to life?” Dalla snarled right back. “Don't disturb me again, you lackwit wyrm! I'm trying to do what you want.”

  Arzosah crouched and said naught more. Dallandra leaned over the table and put her hands on either side of Rhodry's face. Beneat
h her fingers his skin felt not only cold but slimy. As she stared down at him, trying to conjure some desperate dweomer to force life into him, he stirred and woke, smiled at her—and in that faint smile she saw the truth, that he no longer wanted to live.

  “Rhodry,” she hissed. “Arzosah's crying for vengeance. She says she'll destroy the town, and she can.”

  “Ah gods.” His voice was so faint that she could barely hear him. “Call her.”

  Although the wound oozed, it no longer flowed, at least not outwardly. Deep within his chest it was no doubt drowning him in his own blood; she could only hope it was doing so slowly enough for him to calm the dragon's rage. She turned and gestured at Arzosah.

  “Come see him! He wants to talk to you. See for yourself.”

  Head down, her wings half-raised, Arzosah padded across the cobbles. The enormous black head swung round, the eyes glittering as they sought his face.

  “It's such a little cut,” Arzosah said, her voice a hiss and roil. “Heal him, elf!”

  “I can't. It may look little to you, but it's deep enough for him.”

  For a moment Dallandra thought that she was about to die with Rhodry. The great head swung up, the jaws dropped, fangs gleamed in the setting sun as Arzosah propped herself up on her forelegs and arched her back. Zatcheka screamed and ran.

  “Hush, my little one.” The voice came from behind Dallandra and sounded amused. “Mind your courtesies, or I won't even try to save your beloved's life.”

  “You!” Arzosah's voice dripped hatred. “You! What could you do of any good to anyone?”

  “Probably naught,” Evandar said. “But mayhap I can try.” He glanced at Dallandra. “He'll die here before the sun touches the horizon.”

  “I know that. It won't staunch, and it's too deep for me to reach with a bandage or suchlike.”

  Evandar knelt, slipped one arm round Rhodry's un-wounded side, and hauled him up with a surprising flourish of strength. With a yell Dallandra darted forward to stop him from killing her patient there and then. Dimly she was aware of the earth shaking as the dragon leapt up and roared. Dimly she felt cold mist wrapping them all round and grass, damp under her feet.