“I must go and find this mountain of power,” Brenyn replied, “however many they be. I do not fear darkings, and if their power comes from Soreana – as must be so – then I need not fear her.”
At that, the dragon fell silent and remained so for some time. Brenyn, watching him, discerned that Alongar was deep in thought, so he waited without speaking. Then, Alongar stirred himself.
“You must go to Androlon,” he told Brenyn.
Brenyn frowned. “Androlon? Why?”
“There are spirits there – spirits that dwell within that city, left there by the gods, perhaps, long ago. I perceived their presence when we sojourned with King Massinae – and I discerned that they distrusted Soreana. They will dwell there yet. Those spirits may be able to tell you things that I cannot. Though the king is no more, and the city likely as cursed as is my prison, you will enter easily enough, as you have done here.”
“Where is this city of Androlon?” Brenyn asked.
“To the east,” Alongar told him.
Brenyn shook his head in frustration. “That is all I know of the mountain of power – that it lies in the east. And now you say that the city of Androlon is also in the east. The east is a large place. Must I search it all?”
The dragon chuckled. “Nay, you need not search in vain for the city of the gods. You need only follow the ancient roads, for all the roads lead to Androlon.”
59.
All the roads lead to Androlon.
As the dragon uttered these words, Brenyn thought of the odd configuration of every junction he had ever encountered. “The roads, when they cross, they point the way?”
“They do indeed,” Alongar affirmed. “The builders designed them thus. Follow the roads and they will guide you thither. But I must caution you, Brenyn – the way will be fraught with danger. Indeed, Androlon itself is undoubtedly cursed, as is the countryside round about the city, for Soreana intended this ere she set about tormenting the peoples of the world – and this she will have done.”
Brenyn nodded and once again indicated the outside world. “I passed through this curse of hers – what more can she have done to Androlon than this?”
The dragon swept his great head from side to side. “I know not, Brenyn. This was done to contain me when I refused to aid her in wickedness. But her hatred for that city and all those that dwelt therein surpassed all I have ever known. Ere she fled to her secret fortress, she will have placed a terrible curse upon it and upon the land round about. Therefore, I urge caution.”
“I will be cautious,” Brenyn agreed, “nonetheless, I mean to go and find her and slay her.” He frowned. “What can those spirits in Androlon tell me that will guide my search?”
“They may, perhaps, know what happened here, upon this world, so long ago,” Alongar replied, “and that knowledge may aid you as you go to seek out Soreana.”
Brenyn considered this and then nodded. “If Androlon lies upon my path, I will seek it out,” he promised. He glanced out through the veil of magic and then looked back at the dragon. “Is there aught that I can do for you ere I go?” He asked.
The dragon did not answer at once but seemed to hesitate. “I am hungry,” he said at last.
Brenyn frowned. “What does a dragon eat?”
Alongar raised his head and gazed out into the glade. “There are creatures that exist here, upon this world – deer, I think they are named. There are many of those creatures that feed upon the meadow outside this cavern every evening. I cannot see them, but I can smell them.”
“You would eat deer?” Brenyn asked.
“I often feasted upon their kind,” Alongar replied, “ere I was imprisoned. I can smell them as they wander the meadow outside this cavern.” He laughed, but it was a harsh, sad, and disconsolate sound. “It is measured into my punishment, I suppose, for denying Soreana. She knew that I cannot die of starvation, but I can suffer hunger. And I have suffered. It has been most difficult.”
“How many?” Brenyn asked.
Alongar looked at him. “How many?”
“I am a skillful hunter,” Brenyn told him. “How many deer can you consume?”
The dragon stared at Brenyn, his unseeing eyes wide. “You would do this for me?” He wondered, and there was an undertone of excitement in his voice.
“I will,” Brenyn assured him. “How many?”
Alongar considered for a moment. “Four,” he answered, “or perhaps even six. Such a feast would suffice for a hundred years. We dragons, you see, do not eat very often. One good meal will last me a century.”
Brenyn nodded. “Ere that many years pass away, my friend, either Soreana will be destroyed and you set free,” he stated in hard tones, “or I will have been in my grave for nigh on a century.”
“Let us hope that it is the former and not the latter,” Alongar answered solemnly.
Brenyn turned away toward the outside, where the bright sun had fallen down through the afternoon sky.
Then he hesitated and looked back.
“I will bring six,” he told Alongar, “eight, if I can find them.”
“Bless you, Brenyn.”
Brenyn hesitated once more, frowning. “How do you wish them to be cleaned?” He asked.
Alongar returned his frown. “Cleaned?”
Brenyn nodded. “Yes – you know – do I remove the guts and the hide, or only the antlers?”
Alongar laughed. “What? – remove the tastiest bits? Nay, Brenyn, bring them as they are, I beg you. Remove nothing.”
For the rest of that afternoon and evening, Brenyn stalked deer through the patch of forest that grew in the southeast corner of the vale. Numerous, and having been unmolested for centuries, the deer were easy prey for him and his bow.
Later, when Alongar had feasted, Brenyn, who had stood by, addressed the dragon with a sense of regret. “I must go,” he stated, “for the road before me is long and no doubt difficult.”
“Yes, I suppose you must,” the dragon replied, “Though I will miss your company. These few hours have given me pleasure, as well as new life – and hope.” He lowered his great head. “I thank you for the feast, Brenyn; it was kind of you to do – and I hope that I can repay this kindness of yours someday.”
Brenyn shook his head. “There is no need. It is my honor.” He frowned as he remembered something spoken by Johan Murlet. Looking up at Alongar, he asked, “Have you heard tell of a wizard that dwells in the east of the world? One whom the darkings fear?”
Alongar swept his great head from side to side. “Nay, sorry, Brenyn; I have heard of no such wizard. And I knew naught of the darkings ere you told me of them, remember? If there be such a wizard, it is a new thing, and unknown to me.” He went silent for a moment. “And if it is a new thing, indeed, then it is a hopeful thing as well, is it not? – an ally in your quest, perhaps?”
Brenyn grimaced and shook his head. “Likely, it is no more than a tale, and there is no hope in it, else the darkings would not travel the earth with impunity.”
Alongar considered him in silence for a long moment. “Then all our hope is bound to you,” he said.
Brenyn sighed. “I must go,” he told the dragon, “for the day wanes and my mount awaits me unattended on the road.”
Alongar lowered his great horned head to him. “May good fortune ever be your companion, Brenyn; I pray for success in your endeavors – and I hope to see you again.”
Brenyn nodded. “You will know that I have succeeded when your eyesight returns, and you are set free.”
“Your gift of food has given me strength,” Alongar said, “and you leave me with hope that I have not known in a thousand years. I will now await the future with patience, even as I pray for your safety and success. May Heaven’s grace go with you.”
Brenyn gazed into the rheumy, unseeing eyes of the great beast. “Farewell for now, then, my friend,” he answered. He could think of nothing else to say.
“Farewell, Brenyn, my friend.”
Afte
r leaving the cave, Brenyn crossed the meadow, entered the river, and made his way back through the steep-walled chasm, wading through the chill waters of the stream. At the south end of the canyon, the bear stood guard once more but took no notice of Brenyn as he passed by and went on toward the bridge and then climbed the slope to the road where he had left Noris. The sun was far down in the sky behind the intervening peaks as he regained the road, mounted up, and continued through the pass that led eastward through the mountains.
For ten days, he travelled the high country along the ancient roadway. The days gradually grew warmer, for spring was pushing northward, though nights were still bitter, here, among the peaks.
At last the road began to descend, the high peaks fell behind, and the slopes upon either side diminished while the forests upon their flanks thickened. The day came when he halted in a curve in the road and gazed out upon a broad country of plains, hills, and hollows. The distance was yet too great for him to see whether humans inhabited that landscape, but hope flickered in him that there might be a town somewhere down there, for his supplies of food grew thin, and Noris was in need of new shoes.
The distant borders of the countryside that lay below him, far away, were defined by a range of small, yet rugged, knife-edged mountains that ran along it from north to south, perhaps a hundred miles off, over to the east.
From this vantage, he could see perhaps a hundred leagues across the face of the earth. The sun was nearly directly overhead. For some time, Brenyn kept Noris motionless while he studied the landscape through which he must pass as he sought the ancient city of the gods, Androlon, and then, he hoped, the dwelling place of the hideous and hate-filled Soreana, where he would at last find – and free – his beloved Emi.
To the south, there was a region of rugged brown hills that defined the limits of the broad land that spread out below him. Way off there, beyond those hills and the lowlands that stretched away upon the far side, at the edge of the horizon – indeed, at the very edge of the world – he saw the blue of a vast ocean of water. Then he looked the other way, to the north. There was gentler land there that was bounded in the far distance by great white-topped mountains. Ahead, to the east, beyond the knife-sharp range of low and jagged mountains, lay yet another region of green hills and plains, and there was the glint of a large body of water there, too.
And away off there, in the distant east, the snow-white peak of a great mountain peered above the curve of the world.
He returned his attention to the country immediately below him. There was a strangeness to that land that he could not fathom. In places across that landscape, the earth took on a strange brown and tan cast, as if, in places upon that land, the green of nature had been stunted, its normal vitality impeded.
He gazed for a few moments longer but could not discern the meaning of those brown patches. It mattered not, for he would know soon enough. This was the land through which he must pass as he journeyed into the east. Below him, the ancient road wound back and forth as it descended the mountainside. Though he could not make it out upon the landscape far below, that land was where it went.
For three days more, he descended the mountains and came into a region of foothills. Forest grew here, tall, thick, and dark, that had never known the ring of the lumberman’s axe.
That night, Brenyn camped by a large rock bluff just off the road in a stand of trees. He started a fire as night fell and laid his bedroll next to the base of the rock. Overhead, as the sun fled the earth, the stars came out and pierced bright shining perforations in the black arc of the firmament.
As he stared up into that sky, Brenyn pondered about how, once more, he was alone in the great wide world, seeking for the woman that gave meaning to his existence.
Once, he had hoped to take Emi into a wild place, away from the things of humans, and dwell there in peace. But that dream had been stolen away, and he had been forced out and into the world he had once hoped they could abandon.
And there, in that world of humans, he had discovered his powers – powers he did not understand, and could not control, but that seemed sufficient to any threat.
Would his powers suffice to defeat Soreana, he wondered?
Could he find and free Emi, or would they both perish at the whims of an ancient goddess that had fallen from grace?
While he pondered these things, bleak and disheartening though they were, he fell asleep.
60.
He sat beside Small River in the warm, bright, yet discreet sun of spring.
Emi sat beside him, gazing at the sparkling waters.
Over on the roadway, Captain Grizeo leaned on the railings of the bridge, wreaths of smoke from his pipe curling about him.
Off to the south, beyond the curve in the road, Gran’s house sent tendrils of smoke from the fireplace up into the air, telling him that she was baking.
He glanced across the river, at the deep woods casting their dark shadows under the bright sun. Soon, mushrooms would push up through the musty damp soil and he and Emi would go and seek them out.
He looked over at Emi and smiled. “I wish every day could be as this one,” he said. “Don’t you?”
She turned her marvelously sapphire eyes upon him.
But she did not return his smile.
Instead, strangely, she seemed filled with sorrow.
Seeing the lines of distress etched upon her lovely face, he caught his breath.
“Emi. What is the matter?”
“Brenyn, my love,” she replied in her soft, gentle voice. “You must turn back; you must not seek for me. There is danger, terrible danger here, and I would not have you come to harm; I love you so. Turn back while you can, my love, I beg you.”
While Brenyn gazed at her, wondering at her words and her expression of sadness, the image of her face began to fade, and to recede, as if she was being drawn through a veil and out of his sight.
Desperate, not comprehending what was happening to her, Brenyn reached for her, but she went away from him the faster.
Just as her face faded from view, she said softly, sorrowfully;
I am so lonely.
Brenyn jerked awake.
His breath came quick and fast; his heart pounded against the walls of his chest.
“Emi!” He called out desperately into the darkness.
For the bright spring day had vanished – around him, upon the side of the mountain, it was yet night.
He leapt to his feet and stared about him, into the blackness, still tormented by the dream, by Emi’s sorrowful words of warning and by her heart-breaking, distressing utterance as she was taken from him.
Over to the east, along the dark horizon, the very edge of the world was brightening with the promise of dawn.
Fully awakened now, he comprehended the awful truth of his circumstances and his eyes filled.
All around him was wilderness, behind him, the mountains, ahead lay the lowlands through which he must travel, seeking Emi.
For she was not with him.
It had been a dream.
Only a dream.
Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Brenyn faced that slowly lightening horizon.
I am coming, Emi, he promised. I am coming, I swear it.
I will find you.
While the sky lightened and the stars began to fade, Brenyn waited no longer, but saddled Noris, mounted up, and turned the horse down the mountain and toward the east, into the unknown.
End Book One
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 53