After the Dragon

by Wendy Palmer

  The LightElf wears a rueful look again, wavering. Then he draws his own sword and just as quickly drops it beside hers.

  Jacoby jerks. ‘Do not ever—'

  'But we are friends, ‘Coby,’ he interrupts blandly. ‘We even have pet names for each other now.’ He sits down next to her gingerly.

  'That sounded suspiciously like good humour, hiruko,’ the DarkElf says, calm again. ‘I am shocked.'

  Kintore is unable to hide a smile. ‘This creature wishes to learn herbcraft?'

  'This creature suffered rather badly in the war.'

  One of Kintore's hands creeps up to touch his eye patch.

  'It seems useful knowledge,’ finishes Jacoby, looking away.

  'It is.’ Kintore stands and fetches bags from under the table by the window. ‘The herbs must be fresh. I got these from the market yesterday.'

  He shows them to Jacoby and she touches each of them and repeats their names after him. He shows her which ones to grind to paste and which ones to boil for an infusion and which ones to collect seeds from.

  Their heads are bent close together and their hands keep brushing. Kintore finally draws back. ‘Are you doing it on purpose?'

  Jacoby does not dissemble. ‘It is allure, not glamour.'

  'I cannot fault you then,’ says Kintore dryly.

  'You radiate it yourself.'

  Kintore raises an eyebrow, but before he can answer, Jacoby jumps and looks at the floor. ‘What is it?’ he asks, gaze flicking between her and his sword tangled with hers on the floor.

  'A great commotion below,’ she says, standing. ‘I hear it.'

  She opens the door and the noise floats in, voices shouting, glasses clattering, footsteps tromping.

  Jacoby closes the door. ‘It seems they clear the tavern because the king of Bourchia visits here.'

  The LightElf keeps stirring the ugly grey mess of herbs they have created together. ‘You must let the mixture sit until it smells like summer.'

  Jacoby leans on the door, a smile playing around her lips. ‘An odd way to conduct a clandestine meeting.'

  'Then we mix in comfrey and heat it again.'

  'Who do you suppose the king of Bourchia visits?'

  Kintore is determined. ‘When it turns green, it is ready.'

  Jacoby sits down again with a lift of one shoulder, the approximation of a human shrug. ‘Human affairs are human affairs,’ she says, misquoting an old dwarf saying.

  'Not for us,’ says Kintore, with the slightest grimace.

  'Too late for second thoughts, hiruko.’ Jacoby shoots him a wicked look. ‘What will you offer the king?'

  Her queer violet eyes gleam at him. ‘We are at a truce, yoruko,’ he says. ‘But I cannot forget our people are at eternal war.'

  Jacoby dips a finger into the mixture. ‘You create Ardmore for Livanian discontents, and now you further seek to alienate the Livanian Emperor by aiding one of his provinces against him; the one province with a harbour, no less?'

  Kintore stares at the wall, a strained expression on his face.

  'Seek to wedge Livania between two independent nations friendly to the LightElves?'

  The LightElf sighs and flops backwards. ‘Too clever,’ he says. ‘Do you have what you pursued me for now?'

  Jacoby smiles. ‘No.'

  'I was caught the moment I saw you, I think.'

  'It is only allure,’ says Jacoby.

  'Give me strength.’ Kintore shuts his one eye.

  * * * *

  The cottage was still and quiet in the freshly fallen snow. The sky had cleared and the sun made everything shine as new.

  Trick dismounted and helped the grey man off Bet. He could not guess at the old couple's reaction, when they had wanted a strong back and legs for support in their old age, and their son was returned to them as mute as Mouse and helpless as a baby.

  But standing in front of the sun-blessed cottage with full light on his face for the first time in twenty years, the man spoke, rust falling from his voice. ‘Home?'

  'Home,’ said Trick.

  The man wept tears and a little of the grey tinge left his skin. Trick felt his heart move as he had not guessed it still could. The door of the cottage opened and the old couple ran down the path, age peeling from them like leaves in their happiness. The man fell into their embrace, and Mouse slipped past them and held his hands out to Trick.

  Trick loved the imperiousness of the gesture. The boy was worse than Mizzle and so much more innocent in it. Trick grabbed him and swung him up on Bet and went up after him. They were around the edge of the cottage and across the bridge into the forest before the cries of joy had faded.

  The horses settled back into a sedate walk. They would reach the castle before eveningfall. Until then, they had exchanged one silent man for a wary mute boy.

  'What's your name?’ he asked the boy, sitting behind him on Bet.

  Mouse, the boy wrote on his slate, passing it forward.

  'No, your name,’ said Trick, and let it drop. A Wizard had reasons to protect his true name. ‘And you're delivering a message to Kiara Valley.'

  Kiara Valley was the sole authorised human settlement allowed near Wyvern Forest, the capital and only city of Ardmore. They would pass by on their way to the LightElves. Mouse could travel with them and make himself useful with his Illusions and innocent, reproachful eyes.

  Mizzle must have read his intent. ‘He may not travel with us.'

  'Mizzle, he's a child.’ He found himself unable to callously catalogue the benefits of having Mouse with them as if he was a cow at market, while he listened so carefully to them.

  'A child who may not travel with us.'

  And so. She herself must be able to see that an Illusionist could aid them but she went stubborn on this point. He let Linnet have control of his tongue. ‘You cannot be afraid he will surpass Faustus in his obsession with you.'

  Mizzle took a breath and her hands went white on the reins. ‘Count yourself lucky I have my mother's humour.'

  'Not your father's? You surprise me.'

  The look she turned on him then showed she was sorely missing the stone. But she had in truth surprised him when she had owned her subtle sense of humour to her DarkElvish mother. He had not guessed the females could be anything other than how Fingers had labelled them. He reined back for Mouse's sake and they were silent until they reached the gates of the castle.

  She looked at Mouse. ‘I must have the hostage back.'

  Mouse nodded and they rode through. They dismounted near their original camp. Coal still waited there, but he had both hay and water, and looked more sleek and satisfied than Trick's two horses.

  Trick had expected his knee to hurt but it took all his weight without complaint. The swelling had gone on his wrist as well. Mizzle's salve, whatever it was made from, worked miracles of healing.

  Avenir appeared in a puff of smoke, too old hat in fairy tales for Trick to be impressed by it. ‘You have him.'

  Mouse shrunk back behind Trick. Mizzle said, ‘You will return my companion before we hand the boy to you.’ Trick feared betrayal but he quashed the thought.

  'Just give him to me.’ The Wizard pointed the tip of his staff at them.

  Trick flinched back but Mouse clasped his hands to his chest and suddenly a great wall was between them and the Wizard. The wall exploded into a thousand bits as the burst of light from the staff hit it. When the dust settled, the tip of the staff still pointed at them but the Wizard looked more cautious. Trick helped Mouse up and dusted himself off.

  'Ho,’ said the Wizard. ‘Not as helpless as you used to be, boy. But you will be mine.'

  Faustus appeared in a smaller cloud of smoke, still wearing Mizzle's cloak. He was chewing on a chicken leg and stared around him in surprise. ‘Mizzle, you're back!'

  'Here he is,’ said Avenir. ‘Now, DarkElf, chain the boy's Illusions.'

  Faustus's gaze fell on Mouse. He instantly jumped to the right conclusion. ‘This is the powerful enem
y you failed to defeat?’ he said with curled lip.

  Avenir raised his glowing staff, rage written across his face. A bolt of light slammed into Faustus and he flew backwards, hitting Trick and Mouse and throwing them clear.

  The blast knocked Mizzle to the ground as well. She lay flat between the Wizard and her companions. Her gaze flicked from the growing ball of fire gathering between the Wizard's outstretched hands and her cloak, still worn by Faustus.

  Faustus struggled up and towards her and towards the Wizard's next shot. Trick lurched after him, pulling him back down. Beside him, Mouse sat up, blinking and holding a hand to his head. He looked in no condition to cast another Illusion.

  'Let me go!’ Faustus hit at his hands. ‘She needs help.'

  'She's a DarkElf.’ Trick told himself he didn't care if his cousin threw his life away. He just didn't want it to be for so false a reason as the allure. ‘She doesn't need anything.'

  Mizzle turned her head away from the fireball and caught his eye, her silver eyes fierce and not in the least pleading.

  Trick glared back. Then he swore and let his grip loosen. Faustus tore away from him and launched himself past Mizzle at the Wizard beyond her. As Avenir turned to this unexpected threat, Mizzle leapt up behind Faustus and pulled the DarkStone free from her cloak hanging from his shoulders.

  Avenir loosed the fireball at them.

  In Mizzle's hands, the stone exploded into light. The fire streamed into it and the light dwindled into nothing. A pause like the moment between heartbeats caught Trick off-guard. Then the light pulsed back out and caught the Wizard in a column of pure pale red luminance extending high into the sky. Only his eyes, furious, moved back and forth in the sockets. A groan leaked from between his gritted teeth.

  Trick looked at the stone half-hidden in Mizzle's hands. It was made of a black glassy material and reflected the evening light unpleasantly. It was flat along one side, presumably where it had been cleaved from its other half thousands of years ago. Red flecks of lights swirled through the glossy darkness. Mizzle took off Trick's old cloak, pulled hers from Faustus, wrapped herself up and made the stone disappear somewhere in its folds.

  She sat down and Trick heard her give a long tired sigh. She must be glad to have the stone back and yet he felt only a great weariness from her.

  Trick gave his cousin a hand up. ‘You just have no concept of your own mortality, do you?'

  'I'm a favoured child of a Goddess,’ said Faustus, brushing at snow and ashes without concern. ‘In company with the favourite child of that Goddess. I was never going to die.'

  Trick fetched back his old cloak and gave it to Mouse. He sat down, glad to be off the horse until the Giant arrived. ‘Did you ever think She wants us to make our own luck? Sit down, Mouse.’ The boy obeyed, the soldier's cloak folded over to fit him and by that surely warmer than it had been for Trick.

  'This isn't actually the powerful enemy though, is it?’ asked Faustus. ‘He's just shapeshifted into a child's form.'

  'That's right,’ said Trick, prompting an askance look from Mizzle. ‘Fortune won't always take care of you, Faustus.'

  'Of course She will,’ said Faustus blandly. ‘That's why we marry in the family. Then your wife or children can't have unlucky accidents. You'll learn.'

  Trick's hands went to fists. That his cousin could be so blithe about the murder of Linnet and their infant son! But he held himself back. Faustus didn't know. No Ullwyn knew, not even his mother, who surely still expected to meet his bride one day.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mizzle look up. A moment later, he heard the rumbling noise too. It came louder and louder and stopped. The Giant stood peering through the roofless chamber. One hand reached down and took the Wizard. The red light snapped out. The Giant's shadow passed over them, and the rumbling faded away into a last faint scream.

  'That keeps your hands clean, doesn't it, Miz?’ said Trick, just because Faustus had put him in a foul mood.

  'This is justice.’ She turned away.

  Mouse plucked insistently at Trick's arm, showing him the slate. Trick read it, then went over to Faustus and peered into his hair.

  'What are you doing?’ Faustus pushed him away with an embarrassed look at Mizzle.

  'Mouse says Avenir uses some sort of tracking device.’ Trick picked something from behind his cousin's ear with nimble fingers and showed it to him, a tiny red garnet. Mouse took it from him and crushed it between forefinger and thumb.

  The location of the garnet is traced with a crystal device. Avenir makes them and sells them but once the planted stone is destroyed the crystal is useless.

  Trick read this out to Mizzle. She looked from him to Mouse and turned back to Skye.

  'Miz, we've been travelling all day.’ She had shown sympathy last night when he had known he could not go on but tonight she just swung up and waited for them to follow.

  Coal wasn't even saddled yet. Trick got started on that, wondering if the DarkElves had regrouped from the Giant's attack and were close, or whether the recovered DarkStone took kindness from her as well as her darker emotions.

  'Mouse,’ he said. ‘If you know where Avenir kept his food, you go get it now. Faustus, you help him.'

  Mouse lit out at a run through the ruins of the castle but Faustus tarried. ‘I shouldn't have to be your fetch-and-carry boy.'

  This while Trick was trying not to get bitten while he got the bridle on Faustus's horse.

  He had help from an unexpected quarter. ‘Move,’ said Mizzle, none too nicely, and Faustus went off, following Mouse's fresh tracks through the snow.

  Trick hoisted the saddle on and had his usual fight with the damn stallion about how tight the girth was going. Mizzle had spoken sharply to Faustus and that was not her wont. Still he could not decide, DarkElves nearing or the stone reasserting its power?

  Mizzle said, ‘The boy will not come with us.'

  'The boy is coming with us.’ He spoke more forcefully than he had intended, on a surge of effort with the girth. He finished and stepped back out of range of a snap of teeth. He turned to Mizzle. ‘He is coming with us, Mizzle.'

  Mizzle stayed silent. He had the sudden vivid impression that she would strike Mouse down to prove herself right.

  'If you won't let Faustus go, why does it hurt you to take the boy as well?'

  'I do nothing to Faustus,’ she said, and had that moment of blankness. When awareness stirred again, she was calm and cold.

  'I hope you lose that abyss-bound stone again,’ said Trick. ‘I liked you better without it.’ He spoke nothing but truth. She had been much more dangerous to be around, and given to flashes of humour and impulses to kindness that he could not see thriving under the control of the stone.

  She turned Skye's head to the gate. When Mouse and Faustus came back with sacks of food, and he helped Mouse up onto Bet, she gave him a silver-eyed stare and said nothing.

  * * * *

  Trick sorted through the sacks as they rode. They had fresh roast chicken, which would have to be eaten by tomorrow, salted and dried meat, hard cheese, loaves of bread, and a sack of apples. One sack was full of grain for the horses and he attributed that thoughtfulness to Mouse, not Faustus.

  He had enough to split the food across three sacks, one for each horse. Then he unscrewed his flask and tested the contents. Mizzle could perhaps weigh a refill of water as adequate substitution for Livanian brandy. But it was brandy, honey and sunlight in his mouth, and the flask was entirely full. He took three more gulps, enough to make his head spin.

  They rode steadily upwards through the pass, the way narrowing as the night went on. Mizzle and Faustus, with one fresh and one artificially sustained horse, pulled ahead of Trick and Mouse on the long-suffering Bet. Trick finally dismounted and led Bet up the path, Mouse sitting uncomfortably on the big saddle.

  'She doesn't learn, does she?’ Trick murmured to the big mare. ‘She will kill you and all of us if she can.'

  As they came around
a bend, shapes became visible in the gloom. Trick stopped. Too many shapes by far. He moved to draw his sword, and found none. He had forgotten to retrieve it after dropping it in the grey place by the Giant's fire.

  For a single long breath he was tempted to turn Bet around and go back down the pass. But he had not left Mizzle to the Goblins, he had not left her to the Wizard, and he would not leave her now. The pattern of three had claimed him.

  Trick moved forward cautiously, leaving the mare and holding a firm hand up to Mouse when the boy started to dismount. If it was what he thought it was, he had no need of Illusion.

  Closer, the shapes resolved themselves into Mizzle and Faustus facing a half-circle of men armed mainly with bows.

  One man shouted, ‘Pay the toll and we'll let you pass.'

  Trick knew the voice.

  Faustus looked at Mizzle. She gazed steadily ahead, expressionless. ‘We don't have anything of value,’ he said.

  'Of course you do,’ said the bandit. ‘You can hand over the horses, for a start.'

  Faustus pulled Coal back as the man tried for the reins and was suddenly confronted with a circle of arrows. ‘Don't make us hurt you,’ he snapped. The men laughed.

  As he reached Skye, Trick saw Mizzle reaching back slowly for only she knew what. He caught her hand without thinking and let go before she could jerk herself free.

  'Are you arrow-proof, Elvish?’ he said. ‘Be calm.'

  'Who are you?’ shouted the leader, and all arrows pointed at him.

  Trick stopped and held up both hands. ‘You know me, San.’ By Fortune he hoped San knew him. Otherwise Linnet would have her way.

  San paused and frowned and squinted. ‘Matray,’ he said at last.

  'Yes.'

  The man's shoulders slumped. ‘Damnation, we need this. We're starving to death out here.'

  'Go to the city,’ said Trick. He had to feel sorry for any thief who tried to make a living in this forsaken forest but he didn't have to show it. ‘Or learn to hunt. I'm saving your life, brother. Now let us through.'

  San waved a hand and the line of men melted aside. Trick whistled and, as Bet thundered up with Mouse holding on as if he rode a tiger, he added, ‘That's a DarkElf you were trying to rob, you fool.'