After the Dragon

by Wendy Palmer

  Trick stopped. The Golden Hand. That was what gave Jarrett the power to assume the form of others, and cross blithely back and forth between the world and the There. That was what made the LightElves flee in terror. Twenty years ago, Fingers had gone off the side of the pirate ship during a storm, and Trick had mourned him. But Jarrett had leapt into the wild waters deliberately, having finally located the Golden Hand after perhaps hundreds of years of sailing a hundred seas, always searching.

  'Not then,’ Jarrett said. ‘I had much to plan for.'

  'Yes,’ Mizzle said. ‘You persuaded King Fillip's uncle to shut off the treasury, did you not? That spell was yours on the treasure door.'

  Trick started moving again, edging towards the LightStone. The two Elves seemed to have forgotten him.

  'Clever.’ Jarrett's voice was scornful. ‘I thought King Fillip would have to take the LightElves’ offer of financial help. He established the Company instead.'

  'You wanted him indebted to the LightElves so you would have power over him once you became the Light.’ Trick could tell from Mizzle's voice that she was still feeling her way. It didn't matter as long as she kept him talking until Trick could give her the LightStone.

  'That's right.’ The amusement in Jarrett's voice grated along Trick's spine. Of course the DarkElf wasn't worried. He held the Golden Hand and Mizzle was defenceless against it as soon as he decided to act. ‘I also set Moraine on to King Rouen. Did you guess that?'

  Trick hadn't. He took another few steps, circling widely around Jarrett, trying to stop listening. Mizzle stood stock-still. ‘To weaken the LightElves and their standing with the humans.'

  'The LightElves trusted me. The Light trusted me, for many, many years. I gave her the idea about practicing resistance to iron. She truly thought I had reformed. A male would never have trusted me.'

  'Did you mean for my mother to steal the idea from Kintore?'

  Trick peeked a look in time to see Jarrett's face darken. ‘That alone was worth killing her for.'

  He saw Mizzle nodding slowly from the corner of his eye. ‘You had no idea.'

  Don't provoke him, Mizzle! Trick moved faster. He was behind Jarrett now. ‘You killed the Light—when?'

  'A few years ago. I killed Rouen first so Lanerol would be distracted.'

  'And started preparing for war, smelting iron swords.'

  'Yes,’ said Jarrett. ‘I was busy in Livania as well, I suppose you know that.'

  'You shrank the crown jewels with the Hand to delay the rightful heir from the throne—I could not have broken your spell without the DarkStone.'

  'I wanted Mikcul.’ Jarrett laughed. ‘He was easily controllable and he cut off Bourchia's income by allowing the Cult free rein.'

  The world seemed to stop for Trick. Mizzle did not look to him as she said, ‘You loosed the Dragon, did you not?'

  'Hesperus did whatever Mikcul said, and Mikcul did whatever I said. I told him where the heir was.’ Trick breathed sharply in but otherwise made no sound. ‘If I'd known earlier about Fillip, I might have kept Crethen on our side.’ He leant towards her. ‘Did you really believe all that nonsense I said about being trapped and fooled by him? I loosed the Dragon? I created it.'

  Trick's hand tightened on his sword and he took a few steps towards Jarrett's back. Mizzle signalled to him, her eyes on Jarrett, and he lowered the sword. If she had signed—no—he would have tried anyway, tried for revenge and failed and died. But she had given him—not-yet-, so he waited to have revenge and live. And knew then that he did after all want to live.

  'I did believe you,’ Mizzle said. ‘But the Hand does that to the wielders of the stones, does it not? Entangles them to it?'

  'I did my damnedest to make you use it. You were so friendly to me when you used it.'

  Trick winced but Mizzle ignored his sudden insinuating tone. ‘You would rather I had given it to you.'

  'Your theft was a blessing,’ said Jarrett. He seemed unaware of Trick standing at his back with a sword. Trick picked up the LightStone with his free hand. ‘I had had to abandon my plan to destroy the DarkElves through iron warfare.'

  'Yes,’ said Mizzle, with a touch of ice. ‘You killed the Dark—a year ago? Yes. And found the DarkElves too were iron-resistant. But you were going ahead with the war, just to weaken both sides. The DarkElves prepared for war, and I had to leave.'

  'You stole the DarkStone.’ Jarrett flung his hands into the air in mock exaltation. ‘This was my chance. I had had no way of getting either of the stones without alerting the Elves and the other Ancients.'

  'You still wanted to keep your secret from them or you would have openly attacked me with the Hand.'

  'Yes,’ said Jarrett. His voice smiled. ‘I could only use its more benign powers, illusion and crossing, or they would know. So I followed you. I meant to take the DarkStone off you when you finally got caught, and blame you for its loss. But then I realised if you made it here, I would have both stones within my reach.'

  'Once you have both stones,’ said Mizzle, very quietly, and stopped.

  'That's right,’ said Jarrett. ‘Now that I have both, it doesn't matter. Let them all know I have the Hand and Stone. Let them tremble. No one can stop me.'

  'Was your goal always revenge against the DarkElves?'

  Jarrett laughed out loud. ‘Is that what you think? Fool. All I've done is just means to an end.'

  'Yes?'

  Jarrett's hand was a blur as he reached for the Hand inside his cloak. Mizzle leapt at him, the DarkStone flashing red. The LightStone in Trick's hand kindled in response. Jarrett whirled and grabbed hold of him. Light enveloped him and faded to the grey of the In-Between.

  He was alone with Jarrett in a blank featureless grey space, as if they stood in thick dirty fog.

  'Interesting,’ said Jarrett. ‘It must be because you're human.'

  'Right,’ said Trick, iron-tainted sword in one hand, stone in the other. ‘Where's Mizzle?'

  'Dead,’ said Jarrett with great cheer.

  Trick's heart stopped. He almost collapsed. The LightStone lit to life. ‘Interesting,’ said Jarrett, in a very different tone.

  The DarkElf stepped towards him and Trick backed away. ‘Stop waving that silly sword around. LightElf blades can't hurt me here. Nothing can hurt me here. Just give me the stone.'

  'Kill me for it,’ said Trick.

  'Would that make you happy?’ asked Jarrett in his soothing mocking voice.

  Trick asked the only question he cared about. ‘What did you need me for in all your convoluted plans?'

  Jarrett laughed and it echoed all through the grey place. ‘I didn't,’ he said. ‘You were a project while I waited for the right conjunction to raise the Hand. I realised you might come in handy later, so I kept an eye on you.'

  Despite everything else, that still hurt. ‘Oh,’ Trick said blankly, but when Jarrett reached for the stone, he leapt away, slashing at him.

  Jarrett raised the Golden Hand. It was not true gold but blackened and shrivelled. Only gilt around the fingernails betrayed it. ‘You don't understand yet, Trick. I will bring back Kerna. You will serve me, petty thief, so my effort wasn't all wasted.'

  'All hail Lord Telamon,’ said Trick hollowly.

  'Quite,’ said Jarrett.

  'Why?’ he asked.

  Jarrett exploded with a torrent of words. ‘Have you any idea what it was like, living with those humans? Every night searching the tunnels for the way I had come, every day forced to return to them to survive. And when I finally found my way home, to be rejected by my clan, as too tainted by human contact.’ He wiped spittle from his mouth with the back of his fingerless hand. ‘They will bow to me before I kill them all. Humans will bow, and the Ancients—'

  A noise seemed to echo through the grey In-Between, and he spun, looking every which way.

  A single pure note of a bell rang through Trick's head. ‘She isn't dead. The DarkStone is enough to protect her. You came here to hide.'

  And M
izzle was there, expanding into existence, as if she came very fast from very far away.

  'You dare face me again?’ cried out Jarrett, but he was backing away.

  'You cannot cross completely,’ said Mizzle. ‘And therefore you cannot flee the stones.’ She flicked a look at Trick.

  Jarrett hunched into himself, then drew his shoulders up and laughed softly. ‘And what will you do?’ he said. ‘I still have the Hand. If I kill the boy, I can fully cross to the There where the stones are useless.'

  He raised the Hand. Mizzle took hold of the DarkStone in both hands. Trick swung his iron-smelted LightElf sword at Jarrett's back with one hand. With the other he tossed the LightStone to Mizzle. His sword bounced harmlessly off Jarrett and he staggered back.

  Jarrett turned and loomed over him. ‘Pointless to fight me,’ he said. ‘She can't help you, she can only protect herself.'

  Trick looked at Mizzle over his shoulder as she held the DarkStone in one hand and the LightStone in the other.

  As he watched, she faced the two stones together. They glowed and melted together, the black and white mingling until she held a large grey Stone.

  Jarrett had half-turned to see as well. ‘But do you dare use it, little one?'

  Mizzle paused and looked down at the Stone with that considering expression on her face. Trick sagged in pure shock as Jarrett turned back to him, smiling softly.

  'She thinks too much,’ whispered Jarrett. He raised the Hand at Trick.

  Trick, faced with death, raised his sword and shoved it at Jarrett, expecting again to have it bounce away. But a lightless soundless wave washed over the In-Between and the sword pierced upwards into Jarrett's stomach.

  'I am aware of the fault,’ said Mizzle, holding the Stone as it died again to soft grey.

  Jarrett clutched the sword, pulling it from Trick's hands. ‘Iron,’ he hissed. ‘Iron.’ He glared at Mizzle, eyes bulging, and something flashed in them. Then he fell back and out of the grey place.

  Mizzle said a very nasty word in DarkElvish, and the grey faded to a great green forest, with blank blue sky above them.

  A soft warm breeze blew against Trick's face. He barely felt it. The shock of the sword thrust still tingled in his arms and shoulders and drove shreds of shadow from his heart. Jarrett, master of the Dragon, killer of precious Linnet, was dead.

  He caught sight of Mizzle and belatedly registered her swearing. ‘What happened? Where are we?'

  'We are There,’ said Mizzle grimly. The Stone lay dead in her hands. ‘The other side. Jarrett realised the iron in the sword stopped us crossing so he took it back to the Here, the only way he could go. His parting gift to me.'

  'So when he went back, we crossed?'

  'Yes,’ said Mizzle. She sat abruptly, and lowered her head to her knees.

  'We're stuck here?’ Trick heard a rising note of panic in his voice.

  She raised her head and looked at him. ‘You are not,’ she said. ‘Look behind the There, and you will see the In-Between. From there, you know the way home.'

  Trick didn't understand what she meant. He looked up into the bright blue sky, where light came from all directions and he could not find the sun. Then his perception shifted, and he saw the grey. He could touch it at any time. His panic subsided.

  'Jarrett thought he couldn't cross because of me.'

  'He was wrong,’ said Mizzle. ‘Humans cross. Narcotics help. It was the iron. He could not go forward, so he went back.'

  'And you can't go back?’ He felt sick.

  'No. I need a gateway.'

  Trick looked for the Hand and saw it lying a few feet away. ‘You have a gateway.’ He picked it up and held it out to her.

  Mizzle looked at it as if he offered her poison, her hands firmly clasped together. ‘I cannot use it. I will fall.'

  He could not believe she could so refuse it. ‘Use it just once.'

  She did not take her eyes from it. ‘I cannot.'

  Trick looked down at it, dry and desiccated. It seemed a harmless thing. ‘So you'll just stay here?'

  'Yes.'

  'Where the Ancients go when they weary of the Here?’ Their death, their doom.

  'Yes.'

  He was at a loss and kept trying. ‘Can I use it?'

  'No.'

  'Just use it once!'

  'Jarrett was insane the moment he took it up.’ The knuckles of her long-fingered hand had gone white and she still did not look away from the Hand.

  'Nonsense,’ Trick said. ‘He planned for hundreds of years to lay hands on it. It did nothing to him he hadn't expected.'

  She took a jerking breath. ‘He did not use it as he could have—it did not want him.’ Her eyes were intent on the Hand. ‘It wants me.'

  He did not believe her. He walked away. ‘The place is nice enough, I suppose,’ he said over his shoulder, testing her, calling her bluff. ‘You should be happy here.'

  She turned her face away as if she could not bear to watch him leave but made no move to stop him. Fortune's eyes, she was frustratingly stubborn. He came back and tried again. ‘You said other bridges exist.'

  Her gaze went back to the Hand. She jerked away, stared up at the infinite blue sky. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The Giants who tend them will not let me pass.'

  'Make them.'

  'I could,’ she said, her voice distant, her silver-eyed gaze sinking to the Hand. One hand twitched towards it, and she wrenched it back again determinedly. ‘It would be easy, to hurt one and make the others stand aside.'

  He had suggested force first but could not like the way she was talking. ‘Or you could just use the Hand once, now, and be done with it.'

  Mizzle blinked. ‘It corrupts as I sit here! Take it from me back to the Here.'

  'Where any Ancient could take it off me?'

  'Stop tempting me with it.’ She scrambled away from him.

  'It needs destroying.’ He stalked her now, as she tried to turn from him. ‘But the Stone is useless here.'

  'Leave me,’ she said, her voice gone to shards.

  'I'm not leaving you here.’ He shouted it and didn't care. ‘I trust you, Mizzle. Take it up, use it to come back with me, and use the Stone to destroy it. I trust you to do it.'

  He shoved the Hand into her hands and refused to take it back when she tried to push it away from her. She seemed about to throw it to the ground, but she just stopped. Holding the Hand in one hand, the Stone in the other, her silver eyes glowing, she crossed back, bringing him with her.

  They stood in the hall. LightElves crowded around Jarrett's body lying on the floor with the iron blade still sticking out of him. As Mizzle and Trick stepped out of the In-Between, LightElves scattered from her as they had from Jarrett.

  Mizzle stood looking around her at the fleeing LightElves, a great darkness wrapping about her. Those who fell under her gaze dropped to their knees. Trick felt the compulsion in his own knees and fought it.

  He had gambled greatly to bring her back, and lost. She was lost.

  She had stopped surveying the room and looked at him. All the air fled out of him. ‘You trust me?’ she asked, that same old smoke-and-mirrors voice.

  Trick could only nod, lying.

  Mizzle dropped the Hand to the floor and took the Stone in both hands. It lit iridescent, a shining pearl. She crushed the Hand underfoot until it was nought but powder. Still the terrible look did not fade from her. Trick remembered then that the Stone had created Telamon and could easily create another. But she twisted apart the Stone into the two stones. She stood with one in each hand, looking at the remains under her feet.

  She turned. ‘You are well?’ she asked, entirely normal.

  'Yes,’ said Trick meekly. He waved a hand. She turned.

  Every LightElf was bent to the floor in full submission. Only Kintore kept his feet, leaning against the wall on the very far side of the hall. He had a bow in his hands, with a nocked arrow he only now relaxed from the string.

  Mizzle took this in. ‘My mother
taught him to be sensible, I see,’ she said to Trick. ‘It could not have touched me, of course.’ Trick suppressed a shiver.

  'You have saved us from the reincarnation of Telamon,’ said Antonic fervently.

  'Mistral SilverEyes, we welcome you,’ said Tyndalle at her feet.

  Mizzle looked at Trick, plainly amused. ‘I will take you to your horse, Trick Matray.'

  * * * *

  The area was deserted but the horses waited where they had left them. ‘You may take Skye,’ she said.

  The gift of his own horse. ‘And that's it?'

  'You expect more?'

  Trick shook his head and took hold of both horses’ reins, starting to turn down the track. He needed to be away from her and she was pushing him away. That didn't matter—he was murchuri to her and would never be entirely free of her. But he was not trammelled by her.

  'Trick,’ she said.

  He looked over his shoulder and had to turn fully about as she strode to him. ‘Give me the flask of milk.'

  He did, hoping for brandy. She took it, held it, and gave it back. It warmed his hands, radiating heat it had not had before.

  'Your mother will drink this and be well.'

  Trick shook the flask gently, hearing the last of the milk—not milk—slosh around. ‘I thought that couldn't be done.'

  She smiled, that rare slow sweetness she was capable of. ‘I have bigger magic now.'

  'You're keeping both the stones,’ said Trick. When she just shrugged, he had enough sense to give up. Let her keep her temptations close. Let her hold her secrets, as he would hold his. ‘Thank you, Elvish.'

  'And thank you, Trick,’ she replied. She leant forward and kissed him, very gently, on the lips.

  They looked at each other. He would never know what took hold of his tongue. ‘You can do better than that.'

  She looked at him, askance and amused. ‘You would like me to?'

  'Maybe later,’ he said.

  The spring sun shone warm, the breeze stirred his hair, the two horses blew air on the back of his neck, later existed, and he walked away from her alive and happy in it.

  * * *