Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

She nodded, her face gone ashen, bloodless under its natural brown.

  I replaced Gareth at his post, holding down Braith and his furiously escaping blood. Tristan, hanging on Gareth with one arm and his anxious horse with the other, made his tortured, limping way inside.

  "You know that one's name," Braith said at last, hoarse and tight-voiced.

  "I do. He is Prince Tristan of Dewgent, and we have been betrothed since our infancies."

  He looked stunned for a moment, then began to laugh, a choking wheezing thing that did nothing to stop the bleeding. "Your kin have found you at last. It would naturally be now. What has delayed him so long, I wonder?"

  "I do intend to ask."

  "This is your fault, you know."

  "What?"

  "This wound, this bloody impalement that may well have me dead by tomorrow. It is your doing entirely."

  It was, in fact, for I had distracted him. "Well, you may rest in the peaceful knowledge that Tristan is as likely to die as you."

  "My revenge would not satisfied until he died twice more."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I am not his first dragon, princess. Did you not see the claws that hung from his saddle?"

  "I had other things to think of."

  "He has killed two others of my kind, your sweet betrothed, and I will see him pay for it."

  "You will see nothing," I said, "but the walls of the stable this day and night."

  "The stable?"

  "You think I will trust you in the tower with Tristan? The stable will be well enough for you, and it is closer, besides. Come, can you stand?"

  He growled, which I took to mean that he would stand if it killed him. Which it might.

  At length and with great effort from us both, he was standing, and bleeding afresh through the red-soaked cloth at his chest. He pushed me away and would not have me support him, but when his first step nearly sent him back to the ground, I latched onto his side and would not be dislodged. We made our way to the stable, and I left him leaning on the doorframe while I went to the largest stall, where we kept hay instead of a horse; he would not get manure into his wound, at least. I arranged him as comfortable a bed of hay and horse blankets as I could.

  "You are bleeding," Braith said.

  "No, this is yours. Or Tristan's."

  "Your shoulder."

  I felt of it, and gasped at the pain of touching an unexpected wound. "Ah, yes. Your work, this. It cannot be very bad, for me to forget it so quickly. Come, lie down. We must get that bleeding staunched again. I suppose we can use your clothes as easily as mine?" I began tugging the remains of his tunic from his shoulders.

  He pushed me back. "Do not—do not do that."

  "I know losing them will make your shift back to dragon more taxing, but truly, they are lost already, and if this bleeding—"

  He grabbed my hands and thrust them away from him. "I pray you begone. Your aid has cost me enough this day."

  My temper sparked. "Very well, go die in your pool of blood, if you will. I have other things to tend to."

  I left him leaning still against the wall, with the horses poking their heads in to snort at the smells of blood and dragon.

  I ran to the tower door, which had been left open in all the haste, only to stop on the threshold. Tristan lay within—I could see him in silhouette by the fire, Genevieve bent over him, Gareth standing anxiously by. Tristan was here.

  And I was but half-dressed, and all over torn and tangled and covered in blood.

  What, will you take to your chamber to bathe and dress before condescending to save the man's leg? Tegwen would box your ears. Move your feet, fool girl!

  Tristan was laid out upon the lounge-chair, and seemed as comfortable as a man with a mangled limb might be—flushed and sweating and tense, but making an effort to breathe evenly.

  "And will the dragon live, Ariana?" he asked dryly as I approached.

  "Only if he surrenders his pride long enough to lie down before he swoons," I said. "Genevieve, have we a stout pole—ah, I see you are ahead of me." I rather thought it had been a bean-pole a few minutes before, but it would do. "I daresay you wonder at my aiding the dragon."

  "I certainly do," Tristan said. "He has kept you prisoner these five long years. I called myself fighting for your freedom. Is this not so?"

  "Yes. No. Oh, it is most complex. Can we not speak of it later? I must focus all my mind upon setting your leg, for Rindargeth only told me of it in theory, never before have I attempted such a thing."

  "Who is Rindargeth? Never mind—later, as you say. I have set a bone before, at least, and can guide you through the process."

  It was no work for the squeamish, pulling the broken pieces back into alignment, with bone grinding on bone and Tristan muffling a scream by biting a wad of rag. Only when his leg was straightened, strapped securely to the pole, and wound many times over in clean cloth, did I loose the tourniquet.

  "Will I lose the leg, do you think?" he asked, with admirable calm, as we waited to see if blood would soak through the wrappings.

  "How can I know? I am no physician. But the damage is not, I think, so bad as it first appeared, when all was bloody and ragged. I see no reason it may not heal, in time."

  We did not speak of how much time. Tristan would not be fighting dragons again this season, nor likely the next.

  I was surprised, but not displeased, when Tristan reached for my hand. "Ariana, I... it is so very good to see you well! Your parents and I hardly knew whether to hope... They have never ceased to pray for your safe return, Ariana, nor have I. I do so rejoice to see you!"

  "And I you," I said, feeling tears start in my eyes. "I beg you, tell me of my parents, and Tegwen, and the Court, and my horse, and your own family, and all the news of Caibryn and Dewgent! I have had no knowledge of anything at all in this prison!"

  "Then you know nothing of Prince Edric?"

  "No, who is he?"

  "Ariana, he is your brother."

  I stared, the room seeming to walk a slow circle around me. "Brother?"

  "Born some two years after you were taken."

  "But—my mother—"

  "She is well, do not fear. It is true that we all feared for her, nor without reason—carrying and birthing this child brought her very near to death. But she recovered, and though the babe was sickly at first, his strength increases daily. He is a bold thing! Not three years of age, and he runs about the castle like a wild beast, never silent nor still if he is awake. Your parents take such joy in him!"

  "Of course," I said faintly. A brother. A prince. He would be heir to the throne, then, not I.

  "I have distressed you," Tristan said uncertainly. "I do assure you, Ariana, your father and mother love and long for you as much today as the day you were taken. Little Edric forges his own place in their hearts, he does not occupy yours."

  I swallowed, trying to believe him. "And what of... what of you?"

  He gave a crooked smile. "I have no intention of marrying your brother."

  This surprised a laugh from me. How I had missed laughing with Tristan!

  "I would never have wished your rescue so long delayed," he continued, "and yet I am glad to have found you before anyone else. Your father's proclamation makes no difference now."

  "Proclamation?"

  "Ah, of course you would not know." Tristan's mouth tightened. "Some three years ago, your father made it known that any man who rescued you could claim your hand in marriage. He did not wish to do it, and delayed it longer than most advised, but he feared gold alone would not inspire men to face a dragon. His kingly duties and his lingering injuries conspired to keep him from searching much for you himself—"

  "Injuries?" Was I capable of doing anything but repeating Tristan's words?

  "He fought with borderland brigands a year or so after your abduction, and took a mighty blow to his sword arm. He has never recovered full use of it. How it rankles him to watch others fight his battles! And as I w
as most-times too ill to ride 'round the paddock, much less the countryside, we both had to hope for the courage and wit of some other rescuer..." He shook his head in remembered despair. "Twice I tried, only to collapse on the wayside, and so my father forbade further attempts until I were well."

  My head was spinning with the influx of all this dismaying news. Of course it made sense that my father would offer my hand in exchange for my safety. My betrothal to Tristan, after all, had hinged upon uniting the kingdoms—but I was no longer heir. No longer the only hope and joy of my parents and people. "You were ill so long? Why?"

  "Do you see this scar?" He moved his tunic aside, revealing an ugly, wrinkled place on his skin. "I doubt you could have witnessed it, but I was wounded, the day you were taken."

  I did witness it, in fact. For a moment, I felt that I was twelve years old again, screaming and struggling in Rindargeth's taloned grip as the village and the scattered royal procession spun dizzily below me. I saw Tristan on his knees in the street, clutching his side. I watched him and my father grow smaller and smaller, until I could not see them at all through the clouds.

  "The dragon struck me with a curse, a wound that festered and sickened, and even when it had appeared to heal, the sickness lingered. I was too weak to rise for days at a time, and at my best I felt unwell, for three years and more. Not until a unicorn gifted me a healing did I know a day of true health."

  "Good heavens," I said, stunned. "But—a curse? Rindargeth would not—I do not think he could do such a thing, even if he wished it!"

  "Who is this Rindargeth?"

  "The dragon who abducted me."

  "Does he change color? For I would have sworn he was brown before—"

  "No, no, the white one you fought today is his son, who is called Braith. Rindargeth is dead."

  "An excellent state for a dragon."

  "Do not say that!" I snapped, and he looked at me with wonder. "Rindargeth was a true friend to me, and as much a prisoner here as I."

  "The dragon, a prisoner? Nay, Ariana, he told you some tale—"

  "Indeed he did not. It is all such a tangle—but whether you believe me or not, I will not hear you speak ill of Rindargeth, nor will I allow you to kill his son."

  "Ariana, do you not understand that he must die? I know the circles of dragons, and it will not fall while he lives, unless he wills it so. Do you think we can persuade him?"

  "No, for it would be death to him to allow my escape. He owes debt to a master, Tristan, as his father did, and it is this master who bids him hold me captive. It is no will of his own."

  "Says he. What master?"

  "He cannot say. He is forbidden to speak of him."

  "A convenient command. No, do not snap at me again. There is time enough for argument, and perhaps he will die of his wound and spare us both the trouble. Only take pains, dear Ariana, to keep this dragon of yours from killing me as I lay helpless."

  "Of course." I felt a swell of giddy joy, gazing again at the boy I had known and loved all my life. "I am so very glad you are here, Tristan." I squeezed his hand. "Now I must go see to Braith again. He has likely fainted away by now, and I may stitch his wound in peace."

  I gathered the necessary sewing supplies—this I had done for Rindargeth before, and could face with confidence, if little joy—and bade Genevieve get some nourishment into our guest, and Gareth look to Tristan's horse, before I went out the door.

  When I reached the stable, Braith was, alas, conscious, but had at least pulled off his torn tunic and vest to press against his wound. He sat on the bed of hay and horse blankets with his back to the wall, looking so weak and pale—pale even for Braith!—that I thought I should not have left him so long, even for Tristan's sake.

  "Come to finish me off?" he rasped.

  "Do not be a fool. Will you be still and let me stitch you, or shall I return when you have lost consciousness entirely?"

  He glared and snorted, but permitted me to approach.

  "This will pain you, Braith, there is no way 'round it," I said. "I can find you a rag or stick to bite on—"

  "A dragon needs none such," he growled. "I can bear a little pain, princess. Do your worst."

  "Lie flat, then, and try not to move."

  It was messy, slippery work, for I had not only to stitch the skin but, in some places, the muscle beneath. By the end of it I was up to my elbows in hot dragon's blood, and Braith, though he kept to his word and made no cry of pain, seemed hardly able to breathe. When finally I put the needle away, he lay with eyes closed, trembling like an aspen leaf.

  "It's all right," I murmured, smoothing my hand over the much-abused skin of his chest and belly, as I might soothe a hurt or frightened horse. "It's all right, you'll be all right now."

  His breath hitched and he caught my hand. Had I hurt him?

  "You go to such lengths to preserve my life," said he, struggling carefully upright, "when my death would serve you better."

  "Have we not had this conversation already? Killing his son would be a poor way to repay Rindargeth's love."

  "So certain you are that he loved you. You, an earthbound, of a race of dragonslayers, and the burden that kept him tied here." He had not released my hand.

  "So difficult, it seems, for you to believe that others might not seek reasons to hate those around them."

  "I seldom need seek at all. The reasons seem rather to seek me."

  I sighed. "As you will, then. The world is filled with terrible people and not worth living in. Better that you die as quickly as possible." I pulled my hand free and stood. "I will send Genevieve with food for you, something with meat. I must wash myself before I go back into polite company."

  There was much that needed doing—the necessary chores of the household, a good deal of extra washing and cooking, and I knew I must at some point give more than cursory attention to the wound on my shoulder—yet somehow I spent most of the day with Tristan, talking endlessly of home and all the people and events I had missed.

  My nurse Tegwen, though her rheumatism was considerably worse these days, still bustled about the castle like a mother hen, trying to keep my adventurous brother alive. My mother's health was better than it had been in years; she had not had a sinking spell since recovering from Edric's birth. Papa, despite the frustration of his ill-mended arm, continued to train the best knights in three kingdoms, and took much joy in his hounds and falcons. Two of the Royal Companions I had grown up with were now married, one with a toddling son; another had turned down three proposals in as many days and returned to her homeland of Gaul to raise horses. My own gift-horse, Bronwyn, had borne two foals now, fine foals but nothing as lovely as she. I had thought Bronwyn, with her delicate shape and gleaming white coat, the next thing in beauty to a unicorn.

  Which reminded me. "Tristan, did you not speak of being healed by a unicorn? I must have the full tale at once! How did it come to pass? What was it like?"

  "’Twas two years ago now that word came to my parents of a unicorn sighted in the farthest woods, on the side of the grey mountain," Tristan said. "They offered the king's weight in gold to any who could capture her unharmed and bring her to us. Months passed, with all attempts unsuccessful. At last a farmer's maiden daughter came upon her drinking from a stream, and begged her to take pity on the kingdom's prince, who was so undeservedly cursed."

  His eyes lit with the memory of wonder. "Oh, the unicorn was beautiful, Ariana, more beautiful than any painting or poem could convey, like a star come to earth… She would not speak to me, only to the girl, but she pricked me with the tip of her horn, and I felt a cold wave through my whole being, as if I were being washed out by the cleanest, coolest water… and I was well! I had still to recover my strength after being in bed so long, but no more did I ache and burn all over, no more was my mind clouded by pain and sickness… I asked the unicorn if there were anything at all she wanted from me in return, but she only laughed, and disappeared into the forest. The farmer's daughter—now a very w
ealthy maiden, thanks to my father's reward—says that as she understands it, I will now be immune to poison, illness and infection all my life. A comforting thought, I must say, when presented with such an injury as this." He patted his leg gingerly. "My brother will call this wound the natural result of my foolishness in leaving him behind."

  "Your brother? Which?" I knew both Tristan's brothers, of course—half-brothers, older than he, from his mother's first marriage. The elder, Taran, had already inherited his father's small kingdom; the younger, Owain, was much closer to Tristan's age, and had been part of our childhood group of playmates.

  Tristan hesitated. "I did not wish to speak of this where there were any chance the dragon might overhear. You are quite certain he is in the stable?"

  "I do not think he could possibly leave it, in his condition. But if you prefer, I will send Genevieve with more stew for him, to be certain."

  He did prefer, and so I did send Genevieve. She returned, and nodded; all was well.

  "Very well, then, Tristan," I said, "what is it you wish to say about your brother that Braith must not hear?"

  "My brother Owain and your friend Sir Elaysius are not three leagues from this place, awaiting only my signal to do whatever is needful."

  "Elaysius? You found Elaysius?"

  "He found us, rather. Owain and I have been some time in this region, for every sign and rumor seemed to say there was a dragon here. Ever since my recovery, Ariana, I have been hunting dragons—seeking you. Owain insisted on accompanying me on this particular quest, to ease our mother's heart, who still has little faith in my constitution. The two of us had made camp, two nights past, and between our voices and the light of our fire, we drew the attention of your fairy friend. He revealed himself when he realized we were dragonslayers, and when we introduced ourselves, went into such transports of excitement that we fair thought we had killed him."

  "That is vintage Elaysius," I admitted with affection, but anger was stirring within me as well. Had I not directly instructed Elaysius that the aid he sent should be apprised of the true situation, and seek to discover the master rather than harm the dragon? I had thought he cared more for Braith's life, or at least for my own honor!