This Broken World, page 55
“I see that.”
“It is special.”
“So,” Ahearn quipped, “it isn’t more of your rubbish, then?”
The flat stare the dragon turned upon him was infinitely more unnerving than any of its more animated expressions or colorful threats. The sudden close of the swordsman’s mouth made a faint pop.
Druadaen forced himself to look up from the blade. “You still have not said anything about the battle whereby it came to be here. I presume you do not wish to speak about it?”
“I did not speak about a battle because no battle was involved.”
Druadaen frowned. “So, did you find it in your travels?”
“Quite the opposite. The one who had it found me. After long travels of their own.”
Elweyr’s question sounded a bit too eager. “So you were able to ambush him, take it without a fight?”
“Or did you catch him trying to steal from you?” S’ythreni added.
A ripple of annoyance briefly clouded the dragon’s otherwise emotionless gaze. “The one who brought the blade was neither a warrior nor a thief. Merely a traveler.”
“Who sought you…to what end?” Druadaen asked.
“To bring me the sword.”
“That’s quite a gift,” Ahearn commented broadly.
“I did not say it was a gift. I said it was brought to me.”
“Why?” Druadaen asked, uncertain he’d get an answer to so direct a question.
“I did not know.” The dragon’s eyes met the velene’s briefly, then rose to meet Druadaen’s. “Until now.” Its tail drew fully back from the sword.
“Are you giving it to me?”
“It is not mine to give.”
Druadaen frowned, then remembered that Shaananca had used a similar phrase to describe…
The velene was looking up at him with its silver-statue eyes.
“But I may take it?”
“If you wish and if it is allowed.”
Druadaen was tempted to ask allowed by who or what? but decided to skip another round of cryptic answers. He stepped forward, grasped the hilt, and lifted the sword.
And almost swung it up over his head. It was light, phenomenally so for its length, which was just under that of a true hand-and-a-half sword. The hilt was a similar compromise between the kind found on a longsword and its longer cousin. But on closer examination, the blade’s most peculiar feature was what it lacked: maker’s marks of any kind. No master’s stamp, no guild sigil, not even a single letter or icon giving a hint as to its owner or origin. “Does it have a scabbard?” he wondered, realizing a moment later that he had spoken it aloud.
The dragon had stepped well away from him. “It did not arrive with one.” It shook its head slightly. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. Now, if we mean to follow this plan of yours, we should make haste.
“Dunarran, you and the steel-waver have at most two hours to ride far enough to the west so that the settlers will believe that you are arriving from that direction. The other three must make their way north and then east through the hills beyond this one until they reach a position from which they may observe and, ultimately, rejoin you. And I must make my way toward the Dragon’s Talon, flying low and then waiting until the sun is high enough so that I may be seen flying among the peaks and then returning to my other lair. But before we part…”
He turned to look at Druadaen. Dragons’ eyes were so different from humans—or any other animals’—that they were difficult to read. But they seemed…concerned?
“Dunarran,” it said quietly, “I offer a word of personal perspective on an inquiry you have not been able to pursue…yet. Bear this in mind: the lands and seas of Arrdanc may not be as new—or unchanging—as short-lived races believe. This could become a considerable complication the further you pursue your admirable quest for the truth of the world.”
Druadaen swallowed at the onerous phrase that the dragon dropped almost casually: “the truth of the world.” It sounded, and felt, like seeing an anvil plummeting out of the clouds at his upturned face. “Thank you for that warning. That topic is at the core of my next inquiry, as soon as I return to Tlulanxu to investigate the history and origins of Saqqaru.”
The dragon nodded slowly. “An intriguing subject. But, unless things have changed greatly, you will not find answers in dusty repositories of ‘knowledge.’”
Druadaen frowned. “Truly? An esteemed Saqqari scholar repeatedly traveled to the Archive to seek information on related matters. He has requested me to visit him in his homeland. Perhaps there, I will learn more about the mysteries you mentioned regarding both lands and seas.”
The dragon looked away. “I suppose you may find some of what you seek by visiting the libraries of great nations. But still, I counsel you to seek out those places where ancient truths are not a matter of record but living memory. Such as Mirroskye.” The wyrm glanced at S’ythreni.
She shook her head. “I cannot help him. I…I am not entirely welcome there.”
“A pity.” The dragon’s eyes returned to Druadaen’s. “Then you have little choice but to seek others who, by one means or another, have recollections of such early times.”
“And where would I begin searching for such persons?”
The dragon smiled. “Even if I knew, I would not deny you the exhilarating experience of discovering that for yourself.”
“Well, perhaps my researches at the Archive will give clues as to how I might find them.”
The dragon sighed, closed its eyes. “I do not wish to unduly influence you—we must follow our own paths through the Great Skein of Fate—but I would be remiss if I did not share this.” His tone became not merely serious, but dire. “Mark me well, Druadaen: you must not return to Dunarra. Not yet.”
Druadaen was puzzled and intrigued, but he shrugged. “And yet, I must. I am still an Outrider and I am duty-bound to report what I have learned in my travels.”
“Did they not free you of any obligation to return in the near future?”
If ever, Druadaen emended. “Well, yes, but they could not have foreseen how much I have learned. And a small amount of additional research at the Archive could produce exactly the direction needed to determine the next step of my—”
“Human. If further answers were to be found in the Archive, you would already know them. As for reporting what you have learned, is doing so worth the risk of being unable to ask further questions?”
Druadaen frowned. “And why—or how—would that happen?”
The dragon shook its head sharply. “I do not know. And if I did, I could not say. I only know that it could happen. Almost anything can, when one delivers oneself into the hands of a greater power. And if you return home and find yourself prevented—or worse yet, prohibited—from continuing your quest, you will have a stark choice: obey or break with your homeland. That might be one of the prices you must pay along your journey toward the truth of the world.”
There’s that soul-withering phrase again. And maybe there is something to the dragon’s warning. But for now, I must do my duty as I understand—and feel—it.
Still, it never hurt to gather a little more information, and the dragon might be willing to share a helpful destination if Druadaen signaled that he might consider it as an alternative to returning to Tlulanxu. “So, if I should not be seeking answers in the archives of Dunarra, where should I be?”
“On a ship bound for Shadowmere.”
“In Far Amitryea? I just came from there.”
“Life is nothing if not a font of perpetual ironies.”
“And what,” Ahearn asked impatiently, “would we find there that isn’t better found here?”
The purple eyes snapped toward the swordsman. “Well, firstly, you won’t find yourself face to face with an increasingly annoyed dragon.”
Druadaen smiled. “A situation I will be sure to avoid. That said, I have resolved that peril must not be an impediment to my quest.”
“Oh, there will be peril aplenty for you in Shadowmere, Dunarran. Just not the same kind of peril.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said earlier: that you will have to find those answers and discern those dangers by traveling there. Which cannot start until you leave here. And that cannot happen until your friends have the information necessary to carry out your ploy.”
The dragon rose and approached Ahearn and Elweyr. “I will show you where you need to go, unfold what you need to know,” it told them somberly. “Meet my eyes. Do not look away, and do not resist.” For a moment, neither the humans nor the great wyrm moved. Then it turned away and the two humans started, Elweyr much more violently than Ahearn.
“There,” it said, “that is done. And it is time for us to part.”
It started to move toward the mouth of the cave and the night sky beyond it, but Ahearn jumped after him. “Ah, before you take flight, I was wondering…”
The dragon turned, eyes and voice suggesting that its patience was very limited. “Yes?”
Ahearn struck his trademark “reasonable man” pose: hands out in appeal, tentative smile on his mouth, concerned frown on his brow, and a calculating look in his eye. “Now, Yer Wyrmship, since you consider your cave to be filled with, er, rubbish, and since you find it so foul and unsightly, I suspect we’d be willing to remove some.” He started fitting his actions to his words. “By way of showing our appreciation for your toleration and hospitality, of course.”
“Put that down. Yes, it is rubbish. But it is my rubbish.”
Ahearn looked crestfallen.
“However…”
The swordsman looked up, hopeful.
“If you should happen to find anything outside, I lay no claim to that.”
Ahearn’s face returned to its prior mournful state. “I’m afraid there’s not much call for dead, burnt trees.”
“Is that all that’s there? Hmm. Well, better luck next time, perhaps.” The dragon stepped out into the night, nose high, as if smelling the wind. Then, with an irritated shake that ran the length of its body, gold and silver coins once again showered down from where they had become caught in his scales. As the great wyrm smoothed its macled hide, Druadaen heard Ahearn gasp in what sounded like shocked bliss infused with ecstasy.
The dragon gathered its thighs for a reprise of the first mighty leap with which it had launched into its earlier flight, then stopped, looked back at Druadaen. “Regarding your tale of what occurred at the river with the Kar Krathauans and Caottalurans. From what I know of your species’ mantics, an attack so determined and carefully planned as that one invariably grows from deeper roots than mere vengeance. As your associates have conjectured. So walk carefully. I would be annoyed if you did not come back to pester me again. It has been…moderately diverting.”
In a rush of movement too fast for Druadaen’s eye to fully capture, the great wyrm took off into, and was consumed by, the darkness. They heard one flap of immense, leathery wings. Then it was gone, and the night was still.
An instant later, Ahearn rushed out and started scooping up the coins that had rained out from between the scales of the dragon’s hide, murmuring gleefully to himself.
Umkhira’s already-packed kit was slung over her left shoulder. “What now?”
Druadaen nodded at Elweyr. “What did the dragon show you?”
Elweyr was packing his own kit in an uncharacteristic rush. “We go north and follow behind the next bank of hills. We’ll be watching for you from the crest of the one with the best view of the eastern sward. When you show up there, we’ll ride to join you.”
Ahearn called from his determined search of the area in front of the cave. “Gotta hand it to wyrm-scales; he gives adequate directions.”
Elweyr stared balefully at his friend’s back. “Yes. The dragon didn’t leave much to the imagination.”
“I think it would be interesting to have my mind touched by a dragon’s,” S’ythreni mused.
Elweyr stared over his shoulder at her. “Trust me,” he said in a hollow voice, “you wouldn’t enjoy the experience.”
Wondering at the difference in the two men’s reaction to having their minds in contact with the dragon’s, Druadaen put his hands on his hips as he thought aloud. “One last thing to settle; where do we go after—if—we manage to draw off the settlers?”
“Do you mean to take the dragon’s counsel?” Umkhira asked.
“You mean, not to return to Dunarra?” Druadaen shrugged. “If I had a clear path, any path, elsewhere, I would certainly consider it. But as it is, I have none. So I suppose—”
“The wyrm mentioned Mirroskye,” S’ythreni muttered.
Druadaen frowned. “Yes, but you said we are not welcome there. And I know from Shaananca and others in the Consentium that the Iavarain of Mirroskye are not in the habit of inviting outsiders to visit.”
“I’ve heard the same. For years,” Ahearn called over.
S’ythreni’s eyes were aimed straight ahead, but whatever they were seeing was not present in the dragon’s cave. “There’s another way.”
“Tell us on the trail,” snapped Elweyr, slinging his pack roughly over his shoulder. “We all have a lot of ground to cover. So let’s get out of this damned place.”
PART SIX
Conundrum:
Humans
Journal entry 205
2nd of Iron Fang, 1798 S.C.
Herres
Given how varied and long this journey has been, I had come to presume that no event, no outcome, could be so unique or unexpected that novelty alone would justify inclusion in this journal. But just when one believes a thing to be impossible, that is when fate reminds them of the hubris of such presumptions. Thus it was with my ruse of leading the settlers away from the dragon, because every part of the plan’s execution defied what I have come to expect.
Which is to say, the plan worked without flaw.
The weather was excellent: clear and temperate, but not so warm that it wearied our mounts. With never more than a single moon in the cloudless sky, we had just enough light to ride from landmark to landmark, but not so much that we were at risk of being seen. Neither of our groups encountered any troublesome species, and an hour or so after the sun cleared the horizon, the dragon appeared flying high over the mountains, the occasional flap of its wings like a black flag waving in the middle of the light blue sky.
The settlers, whose numbers had grown overnight, had just arrived at the edge of the killing field and were debating whether they should go through or around it when Ahearn and I came galloping in from the west.
Ahearn told the tale of our having learned that this was the creature that slew his grandfather. He followed that poignant revelation with warm inquiries about their communities, striking a perfect balance between ignorance of their region with enthusiasm for learning more about it and them.
Those winning ways—what Ahearn called his “common touch”—quickly secured their trust (and, from the younger women who comprised just under half of the contingent, more than a few furtive, encouraging glances). I suppose he was just foreign enough to be intriguing rather than off-putting. He spoke a wild mix of Commerce, Vallishan pidgin, and Midlander. Taken together, his exchanges with the settlers were just broken enough to convincingly resemble the conversational efforts of a foreigner, create a plausible impediment to detailed questions, and yet clearly communicate our shared purpose: to kill the dragon.
All the while, the settlers kept wary eyes on the distant, soaring wyrm. Although they never said so openly, it was pitiably clear that they were very glad indeed that we had showed up—which, for Kar Krathauans, was the equivalent of weeping in relief.
When the dragon finally broke off from its swooping and gliding, Ahearn stood resolute and impassive as the settlers’ fear increased in direct proportion to the growth of the creature’s silhouette. However, after spending several eager minutes watching it approach, he cried in frustration when it veered off and headed for a hill far to the east. He pointed his sword in that direction and called upon any settlers who were so inclined to follow him to its apparent lair.
It was agreed that we would go ahead with two of their riders to attempt to locate the presumed cave, assess the approaches and the beast’s alertness, and perhaps determine a plan of attack for the morrow. At no point did the settlers stop to wonder if their hide and worsted clothes and motley assortment of hunting spears, shortswords, and wood axes were sufficient for dragon hunting. While one could not help but admire their bravery, it also invited one to doubt their faculties.
By the time we reached the hill five hours later, stealthily climbed up its slopes, and crept into the wide cave, it was obvious that the dragon had been there but left. The riders cheered; the dragon had been chased off! But Ahearn’s response was a grim shake of his head. “He’ll be back,” he intoned like Fate itself. “And I mean to stay and see this through.” Alone? the settlers wondered. If need be, he replied.
A rider went back to communicate this to the approaching mob which spent the rest of the day walking to reach the foot of the hill. A few returned to the cave with the rider who’d borne the message to them all. But eventually, as the sun started sinking, the throng began to disintegrate, groups of two and three breaking off to make their way back west. Between the vindication of believing themselves to have scared off the great wyrm, and the lurking dread that it might return, the rest of the settlers departed after waving solemnly to Ahearn, the hero of the hour.
As the sky began to darken in the east, the riders who’d remained became restless. The four young settlers who’d joined us—all young men and women with impressive physiques but dull affect—seemed less worried. However, they were very attentive to the opinions and intents of the two riders, who were both leaders of respected steadings.
Ahearn congratulated them all on their resolve and courage, encouraged them to take a few handfuls of coins—and then stopped in mid-exhortation, listening intently. When asked, he said in hushed tones that he thought he’d heard the swoop and flapping of immense wings. He listened some more, announced that he’d probably been mistaken, and returned to chewing on the dried meat the settlers had pressed upon us.
