Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  Braith let out a long, sorrowing sigh. "Your mind will not hold it. Well, it was worth the attempt."

  He had tried to give me his true name, the key to everything that he was, the great weapon that could destroy him. Blinking back tears, I shifted his arm around me, tightening its grip. "What does it mean?"

  "It is two words together, one meaning fire, smoke, warmth, and summer. The other is snow, ice, winter. I am both together."

  Snow and fire. Ice and smoke. "You are well named."

  "From you, I will choose to take that as a compliment," he said, a smile in his voice.

  "Do, for you never know when I will manage another." I gazed into the fire for a moment. "You name me mother, but I do not know if… if the future holds children for me." It was the most delicate way I could think of, to ask if a dragon and a human might have a family.

  "I do not know either," he murmured.

  "Hearken!" Elaysius said of a sudden, and all within the cave went still as stone, listening.

  Footsteps, crashing through the brush toward the cave. And an all-too-familiar voice, cursing and muttering beneath his breath.

  "To your places!" I hissed, but they were already in motion—Elaysius toward the cave mouth, Braith away from it, into his hiding spot. The cave being riddled with niches, half-walls and uneven surfaces, it was not hard to find a position where he could see without being seen. Tristan remained where he was, determined to see Owain's questioning at close range.

  From my pack I drew two lengths of rope—one long and sturdy enough to bind a man; the second, one of Elaysius's trinkets, hardly as long as my arm and thin as knitting yarn. Though I knew it to be much stronger than it looked, it still seemed a fragile enough thread from which to dangle our entire plan.

  Elaysius and I waited, out of sight, by the mouth of the cave. In Elaysius's hand glittered a tiny splinter of a knife. Hopefully it would be more effective on Owain than it had been on Braith.

  Owain came into sight almost immediately, but took endless, lingering minutes to follow our trail through the brush and rocks toward the cave. He was on foot, and rather mussed and knocked about—dirt on his knees, a torn elbow, the beginnings of a bruise on his forehead.

  "Hope the fool horse finds a real snake, that would teach him," he muttered, and I nearly crowed with laughter. Ah, yes, this explained his long delay; well did I know that Firefoot would panic and throw his rider at the mere inkling of a snake. The idiot horse would find his way home well enough, once he calmed himself.

  At length Owain noticed the cave, and stopped to gaze at it, squinting into its shadowy depths. Perhaps catching sight of our fire, he straightened with sudden confidence, and called out, "Dragon! Show yourself!"

  No reply, of course. I hoped Braith had remembered his deafening spell.

  "Harsik! Come out this instant!"

  Still nothing. After an uncertain moment, Owain drew his sword and strode into the cave.

  The moment he came within reach, Elaysius darted forward and sank his little knife into Owain's shoulder.

  Lightning danced over Owain's skin, and he gave a brief choked cry before all his limbs locked into position mid-step, his sword clattering to the ground. He stood frozen a moment, eyes wide, before his body began to tilt toward the floor.

  I caught him and propped him against the wall, winding the long rope around his arms, wrists, legs, ankles, and back again. When I was quite sure the knots would hold however he struggled, I added one final binding—the little fairy rope, knotted about his neck, tight enough only to stay in place. Then, with Elaysius's help, I arranged Owain more-or-less comfortably on the stone floor, and plucked the knife free.

  "Curse you thrice and forever, you hateful lit—"

  I clapped a hand over his mouth. "Come now, Owain, there is no need to be uncivil. I imagine your paralysis was somewhat painful, but I had to be quite sure of subduing you. You will notice I removed it as soon as I reasonably could."

  "Traitorous! Poisonous!"

  "I daresay it hurt no more than a stout blow to the head, which was my other option."

  "Some stout blows shall I address to you, Ariana, the moment I am able—"

  "Is that any way to address the maiden whom you proposed to marry? Before you say another word, Owain, you should know—"

  "Dragon! Aid me! You know you are bound not to let me come to harm. Remember your oath and come to my aid!"

  "He is not here, Owain," I said smugly. "As you say, he could not let me behave so toward you if he were. I have sent him away, and he will not return until I summon him."

  Owain was staring past me, now, at Tristan seated before the fire. "Brother? Brother! Will you not intervene?"

  Tristan, pale and grim, shook his head. "Not until I hear your answers to Ariana's questions."

  "Thou seest, Prince, that there is no aid for thee," Elaysius said, with rather alarming cheer. "Thine only hope of mercy is to answer our questions with all truth."

  "And to insure that you do so, I have borrowed a little toy from Elaysius." I tugged the thin rope about Owain's neck. "It will do you no harm so long as you speak true. If a lie passes your lips, however, you will suffer punishment. Do you understand?"

  Owain only stared.

  "Owain, who ordered Rindargeth to abduct me?"

  "I know nothing of that!" The words had hardly left his mouth before the cord tightened around his neck, only slightly, as if it were clinging to his skin—and he gave a nearly comical squeak of pain, body seizing in surprise.

  "Each lie becomes progressively more painful, by the by," I said. "I ask you again, who ordered Rindargeth to abduct me?"

  Owain glared and said nothing.

  "The rope cannot compel thee to speak," said Elaysius, and held up the knife, "but I can."

  "Answer, Owain," Tristan said hoarsely.

  "Who ordered Rindargeth to abduct me?"

  "I do not know. Yaaagh!"

  "Who ordered Rindargeth to abduct me?"

  "Curse you a thousand times, may you die in fire and agony—"

  "Who ordered Rindargeth to abduct me?"

  A long silence, Owain glancing about frantically as if searching for help. Finally, a mutter. "I did."

  "I cannot hear you, Owain."

  "I did! There, yes, truth. I gave the command. The scheme was all mine. I wished to have you myself, or more accurately your kingdom. It was not fair! Taran is eldest, Father's kingdom is his. Very well. And Tristan is Stepfather's eldest, that kingdom is his. So be it. But why should he have two?" He looked only at the stone wall as he spoke, and not at all in Tristan's direction.

  I thought of explaining to Owain that Tristan would not have inherited my kingdom any more than I his, that we would have ruled jointly—of explaining, as well, that the betrothal was based upon the friendship between our fathers, so that Owain, as son of a different king, was not naturally involved. But if Owain did not know this already, it was because he was determined not to know it.

  "Why did you wait so long," I said, "before coming to 'rescue' me?"

  "I did not at first intend it," he replied. "I had to wait for your father to offer your hand, which he was abominably slow in doing—and when he did, what should follow but that he had a new heir! I waited, I did not wish to commit myself until… It seemed certain that the babe would die and all would be well."

  "But he did not."

  "No. And then Tristan found a bloody unicorn to fix him up, and set out to find you, and when it became clear he would succeed, well, then I had to act or lose my chance forever."

  I cocked my head. "If Tristan had not been healed, what would you have done? Would you have left me here forever? Would you have ordered my death, to regain the use of your dragon?"

  Owain tested several replies, visibly conscious of the cord at his throat, before saying merely, "I had not decided."

  "I was never cursed, was I," came Tristan's grim, quiet voice. "It was your doing, wasn't it, Owain."

  "You w
ere injured in truth!" Owain said. "It grew infected. I had nothing to do—aack!" He swallowed, panting, as the rope loosened again. There was a long silence.

  "It grew infected," Tristan said. "But then it healed. And you, having seen how convenient it was to have me bedridden, unable to pursue your dragon… What did you use? Hemlock? Wolfsbane?"

  Owain swallowed. "I never knew the name of it. It was a powder… A poisoner from the dungeon, in exchange for his freedom, concocted it for me. He told me what dosage would sicken… and what dosage would kill." He looked up at Tristan at last. "I gave you rest from it, when I could, but you were so determined to ride out after the dragon if you were out of bed more than a fortnight! I could have killed you and had done with it. Every time, every single time I tipped a bit of that powder into your meal, I could have put more, and I didn't."

  "Why not?"

  Owain's voice fell near a whisper, still clearly audible in the silent cave. "Because you are my brother. I love you."

  I watched the cord at his throat, but it remained slack.

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair, his face full of betrayal and bewilderment, and turned away.

  "So you came ahead of Tristan," I said, "to 'defeat' Rindargeth and win my hand. But Rindargeth did not cooperate."

  "He fought me in earnest," Owain said dully. "It seemed clear his hatred of me had overcome his very desire to live. I fought for my survival, and struck him a blow in the throat that would have likely been fatal. It mattered little, though, as his broken oath was already killing him."

  "Why did you flee? You had won."

  "I panicked. Furthermore, my horse panicked, and my first concern was calming him before he killed us both. We were back to camp before I realized—I could not have escaped at all unless the dragon were already defeated. What a fool I felt then! But I had no chance to return without Tristan's knowledge."

  I became aware of a growing scent of smoke and winter—Braith's mounting rage as he heard the full story of his father's death. Fool dragon, I thought in his direction, get a hold of yourself.

  "I think it was less his hatred of you than his love of me," I said thoughtfully. "Your long delay worked against you, Owain—it gave Rindargeth time to care for me, to decide what price he would pay rather than see me wed to one such as you."

  "Oh, you give him too much credit," Owain snarled. "He was a dragon, they are not capable of these noble motives. His was an act of murder, of turning against one who held authority over him by every rule of law or heaven, and for such an act he got the reward he deserved."

  The smell grew stronger, and I saw Owain's brow furrow, his nostrils flare.

  "What were your plans for my brother?" I asked, eager to distract him. "Once you had won me, I still would be no heir."

  "He is still young and sickly. I might need take no action at all."

  "Not so very sickly. Suppose he did not conveniently die."

  "I do not know!" He gasped with unmistakable surprise as well as pain when the rope pulled against his skin. "Well," he said breathlessly. "Am I to understand that this little trinket knows my thoughts better than I do?"

  "It knoweth a lie," Elaysius said. "Even one directed at oneself."

  Owain looked, at least for a moment, deeply unsettled.

  "I have one more question," I said. "What price will you exact in return for cancelling Braith's debt?"

  Owain snorted. "I can think of nothing at all worth that. You forget, Ariana, that the dragon is the key to everything for me. Whatever you do to me here, I still have hope for victory and the attainment of all I desire, so long as I may call upon a dragon."

  "I see." I drew my sword. "There is, perhaps, one thing worth more to you than your dragon."

  He took a deep breath, looking alarmingly satisfied with himself. "Threaten all you like, Ariana. I do not believe that you will do me any harm."

  "What gives you such confidence?"

  "I am not utterly convinced my brother would consent to it. But that is little matter," he dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning close to me with a sly look that made my belly cold, "since my dragon is here, filling the cavern with his stench, and would be forced to come to my aid if I were in any real danger. By the debt you owe me, Harsik," he shouted, "release me, and bring me this girl's heart in your own hands!"

  Chapter 18

  There was a half-beat of stunned silence. Then Tristan and Elaysius both lunged at Owain with weapons drawn, and Braith, lurching from his hiding place as if dragged, screamed for me to run.

  Whether I was driven by pragmatic consciousness of my options or mere terror, I don't know—but run I did, out of the cave into the sunlight, and up the rocky hillside. It was steep enough that Braith, unbalanced by his bad arm, would find it difficult to follow. Below me I could hear snarls and shouts, the clash of metal, as Braith fought to follow his first order—freeing Owain from his bonds.

  A broken-legged knight and a doll-sized fairy, neither of them particularly willing to harm Braith, could not have posed much resistance. It was moments only before I heard Owain's voice, triumphant.

  "After the girl, dragon!"

  Curse Owain to the ends of the Earth, curse him for his childishness! My death did nothing to serve him now, this was only his vicious tantrum at being foiled. I might have laughed, had I the breath, for had Tristan and I not argued this very thing? Whether it were more honorable to accept failure with grace, or rob your enemy of victory even in your own defeat?

  I no longer cared for philosophy. Curse Owain to every Hell in existence for putting this on Braith's hands.

  I tried to increase my pace, hauling myself up the near-vertical rockface by the bushes and crooked little trees that clutched it. It was very like a nightmare, wherein I simply could not move fast enough, could not make my limbs respond... I heard Braith behind me, breath strained, movements clumsy, both with pain and, I imagined, the effort of resisting his orders.

  A blue light spun about my head, wings whirring.

  "Elaysius! Is Tristan—"

  "Owain holdeth him at sword's point. He bade me assist thee. Oh, that thou couldst fly!"

  "I can think of better wishes, if we—" I gasped as my foot slipped on a loose stone. I caught at a branch—it ripped through my fingers—I slid downward, scraping and scrabbling—

  —and came to a stop not three feet from Braith's outstretched hand.

  Elaysius flew immediately into Braith's eyes, waving his arms, darting this way and that, dodging Braith's attempts to ward him off. I scrambled upward again, snatching savagely at my skirts when they threatened to trip me.

  Elaysius cried out and I looked back. Braith had landed a blow, swatting the fairy out of the air—at the cost of his own balance. He was falling, he was going to fall, full twenty feet onto jagged stone.

  I slid and stumbled, grabbed for his hand, caught his sleeve, nearly went over with him—but clutched a tree root with my other hand and pulled us both back.

  "Ari, no! Run, run!" Even as he spoke his fingers locked around my arm, the weight of his body trapping my legs.

  "Braith!" What words could follow? A demand that he release me? I made what struggle I could, with my legs immobilized and my arms too close to their target for a proper blow, but my struggles abruptly ceased as his fingernails—had they always been so very sharp?—pierced the skin over my heart.

  We both froze in our places. I felt incandescent with terror. Braith, teeth locked in a rictus, trembled all over with the effort of holding still.

  "Go," he whispered. "Just go, run, keep running."

  "You'll die—"

  "Just go!"

  "Dragon!" came a sing-song call from below. "I grow impatient to see the results of your obedience!"

  Elaysius appeared over Braith's shoulder, remaining aloft with visible effort. "Braith," he announced, fairy sword in hand, "I intend to kill thy master." He dropped over the side of the hill.

  A corner of Braith's mouth quirked up. "Then I must
defend him before all else. Wythil-wir!" He released me and rushed after Elaysius.

  For perhaps five seconds, I lay there gasping, watching blood well in tiny beads from the pinpricks on my chest. Shakily, I got to my feet.

  I could run. Braith had told me to run. I could run away into the woods and... what? Come back when all was finished—Braith dead, probably Elaysius and Tristan as well? No, there was nothing of worth down that path. Owain had to be defeated.

  No, I thought, let us be honest with ourselves. Owain will very likely have to be killed.

  I took myself down the hill, as quickly as I had climbed it.

  I stopped when the cave came within sight, to survey the situation before leaping into it. Tristan stood in the cave mouth, if his limp, clinging posture could be called standing. His face was pale and twisted, and something about his leg looked very wrong. Owain was several paces out of the cave, shouting curses and commands at Braith, who only grinned wolfishly, standing in scrupulous defense between Owain and Elaysius.

  "Harsik, just kill the cursed fairy! I charge you by your true name to do so!"

  Elaysius laughed and made a lunge toward Owain with his sword, one that Braith easily blocked, but which would nevertheless have killed Owain if he had not. His "attack" might be designed as a distraction, but Elaysius would not be broken-hearted if it succeeded in truth.

  No one, I realized, was looking in my direction. If I could but grab hold of a weapon...

  There, in the cave mouth, was the sword I had foolishly dropped when I fled. I took a deep breath, willing my nerves to iron, and dashed for it. Ignoring Tristan's gasp of surprise, I snatched up the sword and swung it at Owain.

  I hit him, somewhat to my surprise, but as the blow was poorly balanced and poorly aimed, it only glanced off the back of his shoulder, leaving a line of torn cloth and welling blood. Owain turned with a howl, parrying the sword nearly out of my hand. His eyes widened at the sight of me wielding it, but it did not slow him. I raised the sword again to block his strike, and again nearly lost the weapon, receiving a nick on my wrist for the trouble. I had only a few hours' hurried training from Tristan—I could not hope to defend myself for long. But then, defense was not my primary goal, was it?