This Broken World, page 42
“Other creatures that live a very long time, naturally. But I doubt there are many of those left.”
S’ythreni picked venison daintily off a bone. “Why do I suspect that very few of those acquaintances die of old age?”
“Because you are aeostu and you know the way of such things. Still, there are things in the world even older than you.”
Druadaen took a guess. “I suspect that the long-lived beings of your acquaintance also spend a great deal of time asleep.”
Heela nodded. “How did you know?”
“Because if they do not die of old age, it means they must die from killing each other—which makes little sense—or from having to find food regularly and come into contact with ‘littlings.’”
She nodded. “So you understand.”
“I’m starting to,” Druadaen answered hopefully. “So I presume our best chance of talking to an ancient being is to find one that spends a great deal of time asleep. Like you.”
She shook her head. “Even more than us. Waking every year still makes us easy to find and predict. No, the more a species sleeps, the more likely some of those old acquaintances are still alive.” She thought, nodded to herself. “You need to speak to dragons.”
Druadaen thought he might swallow his tongue. “Dragons,” he repeated in a croak.
“Yes,” she said. “Not that I am personally acquainted with a lot of dragons—”
—he managed not to blink: not a lot of dragons?—
“—and most of those I knew have probably fled to North Omthrye. Not enough room for them down here, anymore. But I have suspicions where a few others have gone, and where their kin still lair.”
“And how long do dragons sleep?”
“Long enough to digest a whole town, I suppose,” Ahearn mused, deftly picking his teeth with his dagger.
Heela ignored him with a small smile. “They seem to sleep longer as they grow older. Or larger. Or both. I am not really sure. Some are said to sleep for decades.”
“Well,” said S’ythreni far too brightly and with far too wide a smile aimed at Druadaen, “I guess we’ll just have to ask them when we drop in for tea.”
Heela had not yet learned to discern the aeosti’s arch irony. “I do not know how they would feel about such questions. Dragons are cagey folk—”
—Wait: Dragons are “folk?” Really?—
“—so I don’t know if they would answer you. Or consider it polite for you to ask. But I suppose the only way to find out is to try.” She rose and stretched. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take your scraps and throw them down the slope. That will keep the cats from bothering me while I eat and tell you what I know of dragons.” She picked up the hopelessly battered shield that had been pressed into service as a bone dish and walked toward the far side of the footpath, making the same psss-wsss-wsss cat-summoning whisper that Druadaen had heard in human cities and farmlands since he could remember.
As soon as she was out of earshot, S’ythreni made a whisper of her own. “So let me guess: Now you mean to go have a chat with ‘not a lot’ of dragons?”
“Well,” Druadaen answered with a small smile, “I suspect just one would do.”
Chapter Forty-Two
They returned to the farm where they had left their horses and by the time they had paid for that and purchased what little of the remaining food the shattered family could spare, they had fewer billon marks in their pockets than when they had crossed the southern border of Crimatha.
The farmers goggled at the news that they would soon be visited by a giantess who wished to be a helpful friend rather than misunderstood foe and who would be congenial so long as they refrained from doing anything untoward. Such as attacking her with spears or flights of arrows. They waved limp hands in farewell, still reeling from the notion that a giant would come in daylight, solely for the purpose of chatting with them.
Toward the end of the day, Umkhira pointed at a stretch of woods that was miles away from any habitation. “We should seek game.”
“It will delay us considerably,” Padrajisse observed.
The Lightstrider shrugged. “The food we acquired last night will last us two days at most. By then, we will be in thickly settled farmland. There will be no place to hunt and we have no money to buy food.”
S’ythreni glared at Ahearn. “So far, this ‘profitable trip’ to Far Amitryea has been a dismal failure.”
Before he could respond, Elweyr turned to her. “I wonder if the farmers of the region would agree.”
She frowned. “Well, I suppose not. Although when the giants come, I wonder if they’ll remember to greet her with fair words instead of sharp spears and arrows?”
Elweyr shrugged. “We can’t control everything.”
Ahearn sighed. “Can’t control anything, really. But one does what one can.”
“Now there is sense spoken by a swordsman,” Padrajisse pronounced. “Let us be equally sensible and seek game in that forest, as Umkhira suggests. It is a long road back to Treve.”
“And beyond to the rest of Far Amitryea and the dragons in its Uplands,” Ahearn added with loud enthusiasm. “I’m eager to see the whole place!”
And plunder it, Druadaen added silently. But he smiled at the swordsman’s ebullience, in spite of himself.
S’ythreni had leaned over the neck of her horse to glare at Ahearn again. “Really? We are truly going off on a wild-goose chase—well, dragon chase—across this gods-forsaken continent? Based on memories and rumors that are centuries old? You heard Heela: most of the dragons have left. Or said they intended to.”
“And by now, I warrant they are all safely dead,” Elweyr added.
“Not all,” Umkhira said with what sounded like grim finality.
“According to whom?” S’ythreni snapped.
“According to Aji Kayo,” Druadaen put in sharply. S’ythreni stopped with her mouth open. Druadaen nodded. “It seems you know him.”
“I know of him,” she muttered. “Is he still alive?”
“He was, just before we left Tlulanxu.”
Elweyr waved a hand. “Well, even if a few dragons are still alive, I’m sure they’re very hard to find.” His hands were gripping the pommel of his saddle so tightly that they were white. “Which means we all get to live that much longer.”
“Actually,” mused Ahearn, “I think I know someone who knows where to find them.”
Elweyr sighed, glanced at Ahearn. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?”
Umkhira frowned. “What are you two talking about?”
Padrajisse raised her chin. “They are talking about me.”
“You? And what do you know about dragons in Far Amitryea, Sacrista?”
“Only that it has few, if any, remaining.”
S’ythreni sounded both sardonic and nervous. “And you know where they are, then? Maybe you have their address?”
“Not precisely,” Padrajisse answered with a stiff spine and tone, “but several are still said to exist among isolated peaks beyond the northeastern end of the Thelkrag Kar.”
Umkhira shook her head as if a fly were trapped in her ear. “But…The Thelkrag Kar is a mountain range back on Ar Navir.”
“Correct. The northern half of the range is in wildlands. The southern half is within the borders of Kar Krathau.”
“Wait,” interrupted S’ythreni sharply.” Isn’t that the home of those soldiers we almost fought in Treve? The nation that is Corrovane’s hereditary enemy? That Kar Krathau?”
Padrajisse’s reply to the aeosti’s histrionic sarcasm was haughty. “To my knowledge, there is no other ‘Kar Krathau.’ And you may both recall that its sigil is a great serpent.” When Umkhira’s face showed no such recollection, she added. “Surely you saw it on their livery.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“But you thought it was simply fierce symbology. I assure you: it is more than that. Their oldest legends are filled with the affairs of dragons.”
S’ythreni rolled her eyes. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”
Elweyr’s voice was low and cautious. “‘Affairs of dragons’…you mean, the Kar Krathauans routinely killed them?”
“There are reports of that, too. But I did not mean ‘the affairs of dragons’ as a euphemism. Kar Krathau’s ancient kings are said to have had converse with various direkynde, dragons being first and foremost among them.”
“And now?”
“No one knows. Or perhaps, those who know will not say.”
“I could understand why,” Elweyr muttered.
“They would be called liars and madmen,” Umkhira agreed with a sharp nod.
“Or worse.” Elweyr looked from one puzzled face to the next. “Well, think on it: How much would you trust anyone who confers with dragons?”
“Or with whom dragons are willing consort. I’m not sure which is a more ominous sign,” Umkhira pointed out. She glanced at Druadaen. “Are you sure you wish to seek out monsters that seek the company of Kar Krathauans?”
He shrugged. “You make a good point. I would certainly prefer to speak with creatures that sought out the Iavarain.” S’ythreni’s small smile was both annoyed and grateful. “But since there are no such dragons, I must seek the only ones of which we have word.”
“Which means we’re headed back to Ar Navir,” Ahearn concluded through the gust of a great sigh, “rather than seeking our fortune here on Far Amitryea.” He made a tsk sound. “Well, there’s nothing for it, I suppose. I tell you true, I never thought I’d spend more time a-sea than most sailors!”
Druadaen doubted that he appeared any less surprised than his companions. He—and apparently, they—expected that Ahearn would be the one most likely to complain about having to leave Far Amitryea’s legendary lost cities and ostensible treasures. But mysteriously, he had accepted it with a shrug and a wisecrack. It was a surprise, to be sure, but very welcome indeed.
They rode toward the woods in silence.
Except for Elweyr’s and S’ythreni’s intermittent grumbles.
* * *
Game in the modest forests of Aswyth Plain proved moderately plentiful but not prodigious. So, by the time the fellowship dragged into Treve almost a week later, they were not only unwashed and tired, but so hungry that their stomachs were growling at each other with far greater frequency than they were.
Happily, when they stopped by the Dunarran station house to return the horses, Talshane had not yet returned to Shadowmere, but instead, heard of their return and sought them out for a report on their activities. In the first moment, his eyes—and nose, apparently—told him that baths and a meal would be a welcome show of gratitude—and fair trade, besides.
Over a savory stew in which mutton, potatoes, and currants figured prominently, they learned that Captain Firinne’s Swiftsure had just returned from her errand to Shadowmere the day before. The prompt dispatch of a messenger alerting her to the group’s return produced a prompt reply in which she offered them working passage back to Ar Navir. Inasmuch as such intercontinental transits were rare and usually quite expensive, it was a singular piece of good fortune. It also meant that the fellowship would not be sundered by parting from Padrajisse, now that they were all returning not merely to the same continent, but the same region upon it.
Upon taking their leave of Talshane, none disputed Ahearn’s happy assertion that returning to Treve had meant, at last, a return to good fortune, and he pronounced it as an omen of fine things to come when they reached Ar Navir. S’ythreni did not exactly disagree, but sardonically asserted that she’d wait and see, since the only luck they seemed to possess was of the bad variety. Ahearn challenged her to reconcile that with the fact that three hours in Treve saw them fed, clean, and furnished with a ride to exactly where they wished to travel. The aeosti offered a predictably sly reply: that this was, of course, the exception that proved the rule.
So the following dawn, it was something of a surprise to Druadaen when, having ascended the companionway to the Swiftsure’s deck, he discovered Ahearn already fully awake and quite morose, even though Raun was still fawning over him in fits of canine ecstasy, undiminished from the day before.
The immense wolfhound broke away from his incessant circlings and nuzzlings long enough to briefly jam his muzzle into Druadaen’s outstretched palm, and then leapt back to Ahearn as if discovering him newly returned, all over again.
“A fine day,” Ahearn announced unconvincingly.
“It is,” Druadaen agreed, “but not cloudless.”
“No?” Ahearn asked, looking around. “Haven’t seen one.”
“You wouldn’t. It’s the one right over your head.”
Ahearn smirked and smiled. “True enough, I suppose.” The frown returned quickly as he ran his hand along the dog’s spine. “I’ve been thinking. About when we return to Ar Navir.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I can’t help but feel that it’s been no kindness to Raun, waiting on us as we charge about on horses he can’t pace and chasing down giant creatures he can’t fight.”
So you’re finally realizing that? But Druadaen’s own experience immediately had him repenting that thought: You wouldn’t have felt any different, if you’d ever had to leave Grip, or Shoulders, behind for their own good.
Possibly misinterpreting Druadaen’s silence as disapproval, Ahearn was quick to add, “And then there’s the cost. If Captain Firinne and then Chief Talshane hadn’t been so good as to give him a home while we were out galivanting after giantesses, I think we’d have spent far more coin on his care than we made. Not that we made anything at all on our sorry southern foray.”
Druadaen heard the almost histrionic tone of Ahearn’s concluding gripe. “‘Sorry foray’? Really?”
Ahearn glanced sideways and couldn’t help grinning. “Ah, you’re coming to know me too well, you are. Catching me at playing brusque and bothered. So I guess that means we must now either part ways or stick together like glue.” Seeing Druadaen’s mute surprise, he added, “Well, it’s only common sense, isn’t it? Once you become predictable to another feller, that either means he’s going to eventually bring you the worst kind of harm or the best kind of help.”
Druadaen could feel that his smile was lopsided. “There’s rarely a middle course for you, is there?”
“See? There you go again, knowing me far too well for your own good—to say nothing of mine!” He folded his hands as he let them slide out beyond the gunwale, and his tone became more serious. “But, jolly talk aside, it’s the way of the world, isn’t it? At least for people like us. It’s the way we have to live, if we’re to survive.”
Druadaen frowned. “That could mean many things…and I don’t know which you intend.”
Ahearn shrugged as he stared out over the timeworn towers of Treve. “In this line of work, you have two choices. One: you stay light on your feet and keep your associates at a distance where you can watch for their hand in your pocket or holding a knife at your back. Or two: you become siblings of the sword. That way, you know you’re safe, because your mate’s back will always be right up against your own, come what may.”
Druadaen smiled. “So we’re mates now?”
Ahearn rolled his eyes. “Gods help me, but it seems so. What a fate I’ve come to! Shackled to a bookworm Dunarran who doesn’t appreciate manly obliquity between two brothers of the sword.” But he was smiling as he said it.
“I’m sure you’ll correct my deficiencies in time.”
“Ye’re not a very promising pupil,” he sighed. “Even so, I’ll give it a try. But by guts and gabars, the mere thought of tutoring a Dunarran to be a suitable comrade makes me wobbly. I’d best get a stiff drink before breakfast to fortify myself for such a trial.” He was halfway to the companionway. “Well, are you coming or not?”
PART FIVE
Conundrum:
Dragons
Journal Entry 188
13th of Last Remembrance, 1798 S.C.
Araxor
As journeys go, our return across the Great Western Ocean was remarkable only for its interminable annoyances and delays. We were twice becalmed for days, endured a grippe which made its way through most of the crew, and discovered that half our potable water was infested with almost invisible sea worms. Although not uncommon in the tropics, these parasites are rarely encountered elsewhere and are almost unknown in Far Amitryea. Captain Firinne suspects that the Caottalurans who had made so much trouble in Crimatha might have had a hand in contaminating the water we took on in Treve. It would also have been well within their capabilities to have insinuated some grippe-bearing rations into the ones acquired for the crossing. In consequence, the company of the Swiftsure was especially glad when the shore of Corrovane hove into view over the eastern horizon.
I probably found the monotony of the voyage comparatively easy to endure because I had no shortage of work to occupy me. On the one hand, I had my various notes on Heela to compile and assess. On the other, rereading the tomes on dragons and direkynde that Aji Kayo gifted me might now mean the difference between life and death.
I initially expected to finish and seal away my observations from our time with Heela a few days after sailing out of the Earthrift Channel and back into the Great Western Ocean. But the findings were so extraordinary that I examined and double-checked them multiple times, assuming that they were artifacts of my own error. But after doing so, and even when assuming that every estimate and measure was either fifty percent too great or too small, it made no difference to the final outcome.
As Ahearn had joked, I presumed that Heela cannot possibly exist. Or, more precisely, not without the aid of wholly unprecedented anatomical structures or, as Padrajisse had insisted, the constant intervention of miracles or mancery.
Even allowing for the crudity of the measurements I devised and the instruments I assembled, there is no way to explain how enough blood circulates through her body to maintain her observed levels of activity. Furthermore, she has none of the compensating anatomical adaptations present in all other supragants. Therefore, something other than nature must be at work. Which was a significant enough discovery for my purposes. But as I was completing my research, I stumbled across an unlooked-for revelation that not merely supports my conclusions but is an unprecedented exception to all known natural science. And I found it in the strangest place of all:
