by J H G Foss
‘Well, we can’t just leave her!’
‘Of course not,’ said Ghene quietly. ‘Everyone just wait here. I'll follow her trail and see where she went. I hope she's not silly enough as to have headed for the Spire.’
Roztov raised an eyebrow. Ghene sighed.
‘Yes, of course,’ said the elf. ‘Of course she’s gone there. Life would be too easy otherwise.’
He said the last sentence as he slipped off into the forest, heading towards the dragon’s mountain.
Meggelaine and Roztov prepared a shelter under a nearby fallen tree. The others made themselves useful gathering firewood.
‘We don’t even know any of her family,’ Meggelaine said, weeping. ‘When we get back, how will we notify her next of kin?’
‘It ahh... let’s worry about that when we get back to Nillamandor.’
‘With the captain dead, we don’t know! Did she have a mother? I didn’t even ask that. Oh!’
Meggelaine sniffed and blew her nose on her sleeve.
‘Don’t... ’ stuttered Roztov. ‘Well, the Red Maiden would have been registered at the Port Authority in Tullis. We can get the details from them.’
‘Yes. Yes. We should do that.’
A tear dropped off the end of Meggelaine’s nose. She sniffed and fished a handkerchief from her pocket. As she dried her eyes she watched Roztov set up the rest of the shelter.
‘Leave a gap at the top of the shelter for the smoke to get out. Honestly, you’ll smoke us all like kippers.’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Roztov with a sigh.
Salveri and Arrin had gone a short way from the camp to gather fallen wood. As they did so, as was the habit of everyone since the shipwreck, they would occasionally pause to glance nervously up at the sky.
‘That fressle isn’t the only one whose nerves are shot,’ grumbled Salveri.
‘Too true,’ agreed the younger man.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again after that pell-mell ride through that chasm full of dragons. If we ever survive this I’ll be waking screaming from my bed every night until my dying day.’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Arrin. ‘I think I enjoyed it. Think of the stories we’ll have to tell. Well, if we get back, I mean.’
‘No one will believe us.’
Tankle was also gathering wood, her broken arm was nearly fully healed now, and had wandered close enough to join the conversation.
‘What do you fellows think?’ she whispered. ‘The captain’s daughter. She’s gone nuts right?’
Salveri straightened up and looked at her.
‘I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, wench. That girl is going to get us all killed.’
‘I mean, I feel sorry for her,’ Tankle said, walking back her irritation a little. ‘She just can’t cope with the situation. The death of her father and the loss of the ship, I mean. And being so close to death then coming back. She would have been in the water for over a day like that. Washed up in the rocks, just barely alive, until the druids came along and brought her back. What a nightmare.’
‘Well, whatever the reason,’ hissed Salveri. ‘She’s touched. She’s a danger. It would be a blessing of that elf came back and said she was dead.’
‘Sal!’ chastised Arrin.
‘Bones blood! You are still as soft as a Borland tart Arrin, even after everything.’
Arrin shrugged and nearly dropped some of his wood. They had enough now anyway, so the conversation ended and they headed back to the camp.
Ghene found that he was now following a reasonably well maintained path. Narrow, but clear of obstacles, it reminded him of many of the paths that criss-crossed the Great Forest. He began to feel homesick, remembering his homeland. There were fewer evergreens in the valleys, but the mountains of the Great Forest in winter looked exactly like where he was now. Like most elves, he had been born in the Great Forest, a region that covered all of central Nillamandor. The human kingdoms to the north and west, the savage lands to the south and the Norob Forest to the east meant that it was closed in on all sides, but it was still vast, an area of forest and mountains larger than all the kingdoms of man put together. He had lived most of his life there, and had become a druid there. When he had been younger, the elders had seen him as a joker, which had been true, but he had also had a great curiosity, not so uncommon among druids, and it was that which had led him to Styke where he had joined the dwarven Kardane Company.
After the breakup of the Company he headed home and among other things became a member of the forest Council. He was still young by elven standards, and full of what the other elves saw as fanciful ideas, so the prospect of finding the mythical final home of the Dynar, the mother race, had greatly appealed to him. The elders had initially seen it as nothing more than a dream, but his researches had come to convince them and he had received their blessing, and more importantly, their finance for an expedition west.
To begin with he had considered forming his company from among the elven druids and rangers of the forest, but in the end it had seemed more sensible to call on his old companions again, those that remained anyway. Besides, if he had used the elves most of them would have been older and more cautious than him. It would have taken them years to get out of the forest, let alone onto a ship, and so, for the sake of speed as much as anything else he had persuaded Meggelaine and Roztov to join him. Once Broddor and Floran had also joined, they had a good part of the original company’s command back together.
He could see that Meggelaine was suffering, and he was sorry for that, but he had no regrets over the quest thus far. Everything they were discovering about the island of Tanud would be of great interest to the Council if they ever made it back.
The path led down into a dell. He paused for a moment and listened. He could feel something, sense the presence of something. It felt magical. Another wave of homesickness washed over him. This area felt very much like a druid’s grove. There was no snow on the ground, but the air was cool and crisp. He remembered his grove back at the council, with his house tucked away behind the roots of a huge sycamore tree.
He sighed quietly, and then continued on his way, using his druidic magic to mask his passage. He supposed that Lilly and the others still saw him as a boy, a frivolous kind of fellow that preferred the company of other (an in the eyes of most elves, lesser) races. He knew from stories though that Lilly had also wandered with a band of non-elves in her youth. Well, whether they thought it or not, he took his work for the Council seriously. This was more than just another escapade to him. The search for Hannah may have seemed like a fantasy to some of them, but if he made it back he would be advancing their knowledge of the world more than everything they had learned in the last hundred years at least. He was not a prideful person, but it would give him some satisfaction to return and be seen as a success, even if he didn’t bring anything back about the Dynar. Roztov sometimes mocked his obsession with finding Hannah, but frankly the human had no idea about life in the Council. Neither did Roztov have any of his reputation resting on the outcome; he was just along as a guide. That Society he wrote for would know nothing about this adventure until he got back. Ghene liked to act like he didn’t care overly much about what the elders thought of him, but in a long lived race reputation counted for a lot. When the Red Maiden set off from Tullis back at the beginning of spring, he had had a lot invested in the voyage, not just the elven gold that had paid for it. Once he had passed through the grove he did his best to put his worries to one side.
He entered the Spire like a ghost. He could see the dragons well enough; to his eyes they appeared in pale purple outline. The dragons were not only invisible to normal sight, but by some strange magic their forms were loose, as if made of clouds of gas. He could have passed right through one, if he’d dared, but from watching them he could see that they still needed to open the doors to go through. Hazy as their forms were they could not pass through solid walls.
They drifted about the p
lace like invisible smoke, but mighty as they clearly were they had no inkling that Ghene was in their midst.
When a powerful druid wishes to remain unseen there is nothing than can see them, not even an ancient white dragon wizard of the Spire. Even so, Ghene did his best to avoid their company and observed them from as large a distance as he could. He had battled powerful dragons before, but never by himself. If one of them sensed him somehow, he was in no doubt he would be squashed flat pretty quickly, or more likely trapped by some dragon magic and unable to escape.
He moved through their high ceilinged halls and chambers, then after a while crept into the small side passages used by the dragon’s servants. He observed some of the servant’s going back and forth on their errands. They looked like drulger, one of the dozens of pygmy fey races that inhabited Nillamandor. Somewhat magical beings, unpredictable and mischievous, a race that stayed out of the way of humans and dwarves, but were well known to the elves. From listening around corners he also heard that they spoke the fey tongue, a universal language, known to all races that had natural magic in their being.
Ghene slipped in and out of their rooms, followed a few of them and listened to some of their conversations until he decided on a place where he thought it might be safe to talk.
He found a small chamber where a male and female drulger were sitting by a fire warming their feet. He gently coughed and they looked around.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Ghene in the fey tongue. ‘I’m just passing through.’
‘Oh, here!’ exclaimed the female. ‘This is our house you know! Never heard of knocking?’
Ghene glanced over his shoulder at the door he had just snuck through.
‘Oh, apologies, well, I...’
‘Well go on then!’ cackled the female.
Ghene rather self-consciously stepped back to the door and knocked three times on the frame.
‘More like it. Now, who are you?’
‘My name is Ghene. I’m an elf. I’m not from here.’
‘I can see that,’ said the female as she rose from her tiny chair and fluttered her wings. ‘Well, I’m Medna, and this is my husband Bort.’
‘Hullo,’ said the male, speaking for the first time.
‘Pleased to meet you both,’ said Ghene. ‘Perhaps you can help me? I’m looking for a girl. She’d be about my height. Young though, with short blonde hair all over the place like a haystack.’
‘Haven’t seen any girls,’ said Medna with a giggle. ‘If there were any though, they’d have them up top, where they keep all their prisoners. Oh, here, there was that other fellow they brought in last week. Bort, you remember? Remember all that hoo-ha? It was quite a stir.’
‘Yes.’
'That's right. They brought in one like you, taller than you even. All dirty he was, with ripped clothes. They put him in one of the top rooms. You know what they are like when they get a new pet.
Probably play with him for a bit then release him back into the wild when they get bored.’
‘Red robes? Shaved head?’ asked Ghene.
‘That’s the fellow. I’ve brought up food a couple of times. They’ve got him in one of the rooms on floor eighty-seven.’
‘I see. So, if they had captured a girl, then they’d have her up there?’
‘There or higher. Probably higher.’
Ghene talked to them some more, but declined the offer of a cup of tea. Drulger and fey like them were tricksters, happy to lie just for the fun of it, and prone to exaggeration, but he managed to get a decent idea of the layout of the upper floors from them.
Once he’d bid them goodbye he cautiously made his way up to where they had told him to look.
Avoiding the dragons and sneaking from room to room he first found his way to where they were keeping the man he assumed to be Dreggen. Since he’d not found any sign of Ophess he decided to look in on him first.
There was a single dragon sized door, and a smaller side door for the servants. It had a gap under it big enough for a mouse to get under, so he turned into one and entered the room.
There was a bed, a table and chair, but not much else. Light filtered down from a very high window. Unlike the dragon halls, which were almost all marble, this chamber was made from undressed stone, much like the servant quarters. Dreggen was sat at the table, pushing the remains of his last meal around on a plate.
Ghene turned back into his true form and Dreggen stood up with a start.
‘You,’ he grunted. ‘Well, why ever you are here, I don't want rescued. I'm exactly where I need to be.’
Ghene took a step closer and taking Dreggen’s arm lifted it up.
‘You told us the manacle marks on your wrists were from your youth. I think they are more recent than that.’
‘So what?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Ghene paused for a moment, deep in thought. He remembered a story from three or four years ago and suddenly he had a wild idea about who Dreggen might actually be. He was by no means sure, so he chose his next words carefully.
‘Tell me then,’ he said with more certainty than he felt, ‘What message do you bring here from Garumuda?’
Dreggen started again, then smiled and pulled away his arm. ‘Oh well done. Very well deduced.’
Ghene tried not to give away that he had guessing. ‘Well?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Some sort of alliance between the dragons of the Spire and Old Bones?’
‘Hardly.’
‘So what is it?’
Dreggen moved away from Ghene, to the side of the table. ‘Go away or I'll shout and bring my keepers down on you.’
In the blink of an eye, Ghene had his knife out of its sheath and pressed up against Dreggen’s throat.
‘Don't do that,’ Ghene said calmly. ‘Now tell me what’s going on.’
Dreggen looked down at the blade and licked his lips. ‘Well, it doesn't matter now anyway. I was just a servant. All of us are servants to the dragons. Twelve dragons and ten people. Sent east by King Primus. He has a... connection to Garumuda. The dragons are crowded onto this island, always fighting amongst themselves. What they need is living room. If they invade Nillamandor from the west, while Garumuda invades from the east then the whole continent can come under the control of dragonkind.’
Ghene smiled mirthlessly. ‘Old Bones is already invading from the east, you idiot.’
‘Yes well,’ said Dreggen, licking his dry lips again. ‘I know that now.’
‘This is bad, I admit. Did you see Garumuda? What was said?’
‘I never saw him, only Kretorek, our chief diplomat, and his human consort Tverten saw him.’
‘Well, and?’ said Ghene as he grew impatient, pressing the dagger closer.
‘I don't know!’ pleaded Dreggen.‘It was between them!’
‘Then why bother coming all the way back here if there was no message to bring? You are lying.’
‘Very well! Garumuda wants to set up a gateway, a portal between east and west.’
‘What does that gain him?’
‘I don't know. But that is the message.’
‘If it’s a message for King Primus, what are you doing here?’
‘The Spire dragons found me first. I could not hide my mind from them, they know everything. Now they are deciding what to do with me.’
Ghene had put his dagger back in its scabbard by now. He was using his right hand to pull on his lower lip. He looked up and said, ‘it would probably be best if I killed you.’
‘Please don't.’
‘You’re human. You are a traitor to your own kind.’
‘Huh!’ snorted Dreggen. ‘What kind is that? I was born here. The dragons are the rulers. I am loyal to my nation. Who rules your nation, elf?’
‘Other elves.’
‘I am loyal to my lords and masters. I have a dragon for a king and you have an elf for a king, is there much difference?’
‘Queen actually.’
<
br /> ‘Queen then, but my meaning is that whatever the race of your monarch is, a subject’s first loyalty is to his nation and his ruler.’
‘Fair enough,’ conceded Ghene, ‘when you put it like that.’
Even so, Ghene’s hand returned to the hilt of his dagger. What would it mean if Dreggen’s message got to King Primus? He realised that the dragons of the Spire now knew everything that Dreggen knew, so even if he did kill him it would probably get to Primus anyway. Not unless the white dragons had more sense than he had seen them display thus far. Still, Dreggen was dangerous and certainly a threat to the Great Forest and all of Nillamandor.
Sweat was starting to bead on Dreggen’s forehead as he rightly saw that his life hung in the balance. Whatever decision Ghene was going to come to, he never found out, as after a few more moments, the big door opened and a fully visible white dragon stepped in. In almost the same instant Ghene turned into a hawk and shot up and out of the narrow window high up on the opposite wall.
‘Fly, little bird,’ said Dreggen, watching as it fluttered out and away.
Two hours later Ghene returned to the Spire and finally found his way to the room where Ophess was sleeping. The dragons knew he was here, apparently, but still found it impossible to track or locate him. He found her lying half asleep on one of the big dragon couches. Trying not to startle her he looked up and said, ‘hello Ophess.’
Initially she was elated to see a friendly face, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be angry with all the druids.
‘Humph. Hello.’
‘Well, however you feel about it, let’s go,’ said Ghene, who had run out of patience quiet some time ago.
‘Why? This place is safe. Nobody lives here apart from those little pixies.’
‘I can assure you there are lots of other things living here too.’
‘What?’
‘Well, dragons.’
Ophess sat up and looked around. ‘I've not seen any.’
‘They are invisible, mostly.’
‘Oh really? Well, even if they are invisible, how come I can’t hear them stomping about the place?’