Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  "What other forms can you take?" I asked. "Or are you limited to one alternate only?"

  "Nay, a dragon might learn as many shapes as he chooses. The spell is difficult, however, and few dragons learn much beyond human. That is the preferred form for the wounded, as I have said, because human bodies heal quickly, and are among the more dexterous and capable options. One dragon of my clan prefers to take the shape of a unicorn, but this presents a great disadvantage in the lack of claws or hands."

  "What of simpler creatures? A bear, for instance, has hands of a sort."

  "Ah, but bears are not thinking creatures." He frowned. "A misleading term, that—all animals think in their own animal way. But they are not self-aware, and when one takes such a form as a bear, it becomes easier by the moment to think only as a bear, and not as a dragon at all, until the dragon is lost forever."

  "What a chilling fate."

  "Much worse than a straightforward death. Human form for the wounded, then, for lack of any better option. Ah, here is the cave."

  The cave was a slanted gap in a rocky hillside, much grown over with brush and saplings. It was dark and cool, but dry, its floor an uneven checkerboard of rock and drifted soil marked with the remains of a fire—here had Braith cooked a wild pig on the day he hunted in the rain. A dragon could not fit through the opening; once Braith had changed form, I helped him through the jagged gap. After rudimentarily binding Braith's arm—he had remembered to preserve his legs this time—and giving him a sword from our very handy rucksack, Elaysius and I left him to fetch wood and water.

  When we returned, heavy laden with branches and full water-skins, Braith was sleeping—a conclusion I confirmed, with great relief, with a touch to his chest, which rose and fell reassuringly in the near-dark.

  "I will build the fire, Elaysius," I said, pitching my voice so as not to wake the sleeping dragon, "if you will kindly scout from above, and see if we are being pursued yet."

  By the time Braith woke, I had a fire—small and fitful, but sufficient for the moment—and was warming my hands before it.

  "I did not mean to sleep," Braith murmured, easing himself upright with a wince.

  "You snore abominably." I took up a skin of water and what medical supplies we had brought, and moved to tend his arm.

  "Dragons do not snore, and it is not maidenly to lie. Here, gentle with that!"

  "The grit must come out of the wound, Braith, there is nothing for it. And dragons certainly do snore, like a very avalanche. I would have you hear yourself, only it might deafen you prematurely, and I do need you able to hear for the moment."

  Thus was he distracted while I cleaned and bandaged the wound, which involved not only the removal of grit and debris but the trimming off of the more hopelessly mangled skin.

  When at last it was finished and tucked into a sling, I handed him the remaining water and some bread. "Here, nourish yourself. Heavens above, dragon, I spend so much time keeping you in one piece! I do not know how you ever kept yourself alive without me."

  "Nor I," he muttered, handing back the now-empty water-skin. Our fingers touched as I took it from his hand, and the cave seemed suddenly much warmer than the fretful little fire could have made it.

  "Well, physician, speak your diagnosis," Braith said after a moment. "Shall I fly again?"

  "The damage is all to the skin and muscle, which is not to be sneezed at, but the bone is whole. I cannot say how it will be when the arm is made a wing, that is for dragons to judge. I have to believe you will, in time, find yourself more flight-worthy than you were today—that was quite dreadful." I shuddered.

  He chuckled. "I see I have yet to convert you to the wonders of flight."

  "I would as soon forgo any 'wonder' that leaves my latest meal frantic for escape. Now, I should see to your face, as well, if you will be still."

  "I shall be very still, have no fear. I've no desire to lose an eye to your clumsy fingers."

  "Continue speaking so, do, and you will discover how clumsy I can be!"

  I did what little I could for the cuts, applying an ointment of Elaysius's that he thought might help the pain. It worked splendidly, judging by Braith's sigh and the tension that left his shoulders.

  "The blood is beginning to clear from your eye, at least," I said.

  "Yes, I can see some little bit better than yesterday." He added more diffidently, "The whole mess is very likely to scar, I should think."

  "Oh, most certainly," I said. "But I believe your sight will be spared after all, thank heaven."

  "Do you not care?"

  I blinked. "For your sight? Of course. I have been doing all in my power to preserve—"

  "No, no. For the scar. You do not mind it?"

  I cocked my head at him, baffled, and saw in his face an insecurity quite unexpected, and... strangely endearing. "What, Braith, you think I admire you for your pretty face alone? When I have seen you become a fifty-foot monster, all scales and fire and teeth? Nay, beloved, if my regard for you can survive that—not to mention the prickles of your unfortunate personality—a little scar will be nothing at all."

  "Beloved?"

  I swallowed, cheeks heating. Surely I had not misunderstood—he had used endearments—yet we had not directly spoken of love... "It is a t-term of address… for a person that one... loves."

  "Beloved." He pulled me close, fingertips tracing delicate lines around the edges of my face and hair and throat. "Beloved." Lips followed fingers, and I elected to accept that as close enough to a declaration.

  "Princess! Braith, Princess, prepare to act!" Elaysius filled the cave with blue light, circling our heads in agitation.

  "Curse you, fairy—"

  "Elaysius, what—"

  "My lady, Prince Tristan approacheth the cave!"

  Chapter 17

  "Stay here, Ariana." Braith tried to get to his feet.

  I put a hand on his head and shoved him down again. "Have you run mad? You have an arm in a sling, you cannot subdue a knight."

  "Whereas you, of course, being untrained and quite tiny—"

  "Tiny? I am hardly an inch shorter than Tristan. Unlike you, I am able-bodied, and unlike you, I am not likely to provoke Tristan into killing me."

  "All humans are tiny," he muttered. "And you are untrained, whereas he is a warrior."

  "A warrior with a broken leg. And who was it who left Owain trussed like a goose in the kitchen? It was not you. And I will have Elaysius to aid me. Now stay here." I buckled my sword to my waist, and drew also a battered old dagger from the sack. I hoped I would not need them, but if Tristan required persuasion, I would provide it. "Tristan is alone?"

  "Indeed, princess," Elaysius said. "When I caught sight of him, I searched round about for his brother, but he is not nearby."

  "And suppose he becomes nearby?" said Braith. "You cannot possibly fight them both."

  "I do not intend to fight them at all. Braith, do please trust me a moment. I will return as soon as I may."

  Elaysius led me out of the cave and north, toward the tower. As I walked I fidgeted with the hilt of my sword. My vaunted victory over Owain had been the result of luck and surprise, and hard-won at that. Tristan would not harm me, of course—but drag me kicking and screaming back to the tower, that was a possibility.

  We had not gone far when I began to hear a faint crashing of footsteps behind me, as of someone trying to move quickly with poor balance. Due, perhaps, to an injured arm.

  "Elaysius," I said wearily, "pray tell me that my ears deceive me."

  "They do not, princess," he sighed.

  "Perhaps we may at least reach Tristan before him. Pick up the pace, my friend."

  I was soon nearly running, making hardly less noise than Braith as I shoved through underbrush and low-hanging limbs, Elaysius fluttering before me to show the way. Nevertheless, the great fool dragon seemed to be catching up.

  "My lady, this is not far from where I left Prince Tristan. I am not certain which way—"

/>   I opened my mouth, lifted a hand toward the horse and rider I had just caught sight of, through the trees—and had no chance to speak, as Tristan galloped past me, shouting.

  "Stop where you stand, foul beast, or I swear I will run you through!"

  All was shouting then, between our cries for Tristan to stop, his for Braith to surrender, and Braith's incomprehensible curses as he dodged Tristan's attacks. Just as I reached them, Braith seized Tristan by the leg and hauled him off the horse. Tristan hit the ground with a wrenching cry, sword trapped flat beneath him, and pulled a dagger from his belt, with the face of a man who knows it will not be enough to save him—but Braith was no longer attacking.

  "Tristan, for heaven's sake, will you listen for a single moment?" I half-screamed.

  "What is this?" Tristan said, glancing from me to Braith and back again. "You defend him still? Did he not abduct you?"

  "No, in fact, he did not. We planned our departure together."

  "But he was chasing you just now!"

  "He was following me, certainly, because he is a great idiot and would not be left behind when I came to speak to you. If you look closely, Tristan, you may notice a great lack of his trying to kill you at the moment."

  Prince and dragon regarded each other, Braith's arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against a tree. Blood was seeping through his bandages.

  "But why?" Tristan asked. "Why have you fled into the forest this way? You are free at last! Do you not plan to go home?"

  "I am not free. Not while Braith is bound." I took a deep breath. "Before we go into explanations, I must know where your brother is."

  Tristan frowned. "We split up, each of us interpreting the trail differently, and thinking it best to cover—well, to be frank, I think my brother is an utter dunce at reading a trail, but he would have you going due west, so due west he went."

  I looked at Braith. Surely even Owain could not mistake the trail we had left. He had some scheme in mind, doubtless to the effect of finding us before Tristan did, where his actions would not be witnessed.

  "If your plan is to seek Braith's master—I must assume you have a reason to include the forest in this venture—surely it was not necessary to depart in so alarming a manner!" Tristan was saying. "You could not even bid me farewell?"

  "We have no need to seek Braith's master," I said. "He is already here."

  Tristan glanced about in alarm.

  "No, not... not here." I strangled a hysterical giggle. "I mean he is already among us." The desire to laugh died utterly. "Tristan, Braith's master is Owain."

  Tristan looked at me calmly a moment, as if waiting for my words to form sense in his head. When they did not, his face clouded with confusion. "I fear I have misheard you."

  "Owain is Braith's master, and was Rindargeth's master before him. Rindargeth first belonged to Owain's father. With both of them dead, Braith inherits the debt and Owain the debtor."

  "This is nonsense."

  "This is fact. Elsewise explain Owain's victory over Braith in battle. You said yourself he is not trained for battle with dragons. He had no lance, no fire-charm. He is the very sort of idiot that so densely populates our graveyard. Braith, tell the prince, could you have defeated Owain had he not ordered you otherwise?"

  "Very certainly."

  "Forgive me," Tristan said, "if I find your word less than entirely trustworthy in that matter."

  Braith gave a lazy shrug, acknowledging this as a fair criticism.

  "Suppose I entertain the idea you propose. What, then, is Owain's motivation? He has schemed, deceived, kept you prisoner all this time—to what end?"

  "In order to marry me."

  "Owain might marry any number of ladies without going to the trouble of kidnapping them," Tristan said, but I heard a note of uncertainty enter his voice. Thinking, perhaps, of what he had acknowledged to me already—that Owain gave no attention to any lady who could not lift him up in the world...

  "Taran has a kingdom," I said, "and so shall you. What will Owain have? Why should you be heir to Caibryn as well?"

  Tristan was shaking his head now, methodically, as if blocking out my words. "You cannot be correct. Owain harbors no such resentment of me, I am sure of it. He has many faults, but he has never been less than an honorable brother to me. All the years I lay sick—sick from your father's spite," he jabbed a finger at Braith, "it was Owain more than any other who nursed me, sat with me to read or sing or make games, supported me when I tried to walk and ride and train—no, Ariana, you have been misled. Perhaps even the dragon himself is misled, I do not know! I only know Owain cannot be guilty."

  "What is this sickness you speak of?" Braith said, frowning.

  "When your father carried Ariana away, I was injured in the event. It seemed at first a normal wound, perhaps from some of the debris that flew so thickly—but it grew swollen and fevered, and even when it seemed outwardly to heal the pain and weakness remained. Now and again I would seem to recover, for a few days or weeks—enough that I could learn the knight’s art, in some measure, but never for long before I relapsed again. Not until I was blessed by a unicorn did I regain my strength at last. Your father did this, flung some manner of curse at me, so that I could not pursue him."

  "No," Braith said. "What you describe is not within a dragon's power. Furthermore, a unicorn could have but little effect on any enchanted illness. Unicorns do, however, excel at the dispersion of poison."

  There was a long silence. I waited for Tristan to shout, rage against the insult to his brother. Instead, he was pale and quiet. When he spoke at last, he said only, "I will not believe such a thing of Owain without certain proof."

  "That," I said, "we will supply."

  Waiting at the cave was a slow torture. Every minute in which Owain did not come was another minute for us to drown in our own nerves. Tristan sat alone, sharpening his sword, cleaning his boots; he would not be drawn out of his brooding silence. I pressed rations and water on all, and forced down my share. Braith stared into the fire, an occasional wisp of smoke curling from his shoulders. Elaysius, abuzz with nervous energy, flew round and round the cave, humming tunelessly. I began to fear Owain might have approached from the opposite side of the cave, somehow, and spied Star hidden among the trees. Warned of Tristan's presence, he would… what, precisely? Turn and go home?

  "He has your true name, is that it?" Tristan asked abruptly. "Is that how… your master controls you?"

  "Yes," Braith said after a moment. "And when charged by my true name, I must obey, or die."

  "And if he merely says 'do this,' without speaking your name?"

  "Then he speaks merely words, and I may heed them or not, as I choose." Braith added, "I suppose, in your effort to disbelieve us, you are thinking of instances when Owain has given me some command that I did not follow. He did not have my name then, only the right to have it. I avoided his attempts to get me alone, and he could hardly demand it of me where others might hear."

  "He forgot caution, however, in the wake of his horse's death," I said. "He did not realize I was only steps away when he demanded that Braith challenge him, come dawn. Nor that I saw the cruel and humiliating way in which he treated one whom he knew could not retaliate."

  Tristan said nothing.

  "Much as you love your brother," I murmured, "you must surely have seen how he treats those over whom he has power."

  "My brother has flaws," Tristan snapped. "Which of you does not?"

  There was a long silence then, during which Tristan put away his sword and stretched out on the cold stone floor, head pillowed on his pack. I did not believe he slept, but it was clear he was done, for now, with conversation.

  I myself was feeling somewhat sleep-inclined, after so long a night and so momentous a day, though it was hardly noon. I leaned back against Braith's warm chest. "How does one's true name differ from the call-name?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

  "One's call-name is given by one's parents and most commonly concer
ns itself with some circumstance of the hatching, or some character trait the parents have either observed or wish to encourage in their young one. The true-name is revealed only to the dragon himself, whispered to him on the wind in the course of his… I don't know how to translate this word… his alone-time, the weeks between childhood and adulthood, when he lives alone out of the Clan. He leaves a child, and returns an adult, with a true name that… distills and encapsulates all that he is, a name that he is required to reveal only to his Clan Leader."

  "How comforting it must be," I said, "to know for a surety that you are now an adult."

  "Do not humans have an age of maturity? I had thought it was seventeen, in Caibryn."

  "It is. But I am seventeen now, and I feel little different than the frightened child who was brought here at barely twelve. Perhaps if I knew my true name, this word that somehow contains everything that I am… perhaps then I would feel… better acquainted with myself."

  He did not respond immediately, but I sensed that he was only considering his reply with care. I waited patiently, enjoying the many comforts of his presence—his warmth and smoky scent; the slow rush of blood and breath in his chest, against my ear; the casual security of the pale arm holding me to him.

  "A true name cannot be given to you by another," he said at last, "yet if I were tasked with doing so… I would call you Takka."

  "Takka," I murmured, slowly, as if tasting the syllables, the two soft vowel sounds, the sharp click in the middle. "What does it mean?"

  "It has shades of many of your words—queen, leader, caretaker, mother."

  This from Braith, who had no mother. This for me, who would never be queen. Unexpectedly touched, I took hold of his hand and kissed it, and felt an answering kiss on the top of my head.

  "My name is Harsik," he whispered, nearly inaudible even directly by my ear. "I give it to you of my own will. Say it, if you can."

  I repeated the sounds in my mind, first, trying to form the draconic language into a word I could see and spell. The first part was a growling breath, the second almost a whistle, like winter wind. "Harsik," I whispered, but knew it came out wrong, a deeper wrong than mere mispronunciation.