A Man Of His Word - Perilous Seas Part 11

1.

"Now I went down to Ilrane My lady-love to see. Most fair the maids of Ilrane, But none more fair than she."

If you wanted a man to find poison ivy, hornets' nests, or the wickedest thorn bushes, then Jalon was the obvious choice. If you needed a companion who would slip off a stepping-stone and lose his sandal in fast water, or let a campfire go out when he was supposed to be minding it, or fall asleep five minutes after his watch started . . . Jalon, without hesitation. He could also vanish inexplicably and be discovered an hour later, twenty paces away, lost in rapturous admiration of an orchid.

Jalon, in short, was a gigantic pain in the spinal column. But if you enjoyed unfailing good humor and cheerfulness, an unflagging willingness to apologize, laugh at himself, and promise to do better in futurea"well, he had those in abundance, although he never actually did manage to do better. And if you appreciated a comrade who could suddenly open his mouth and pour forth a strain of purest melody to banish fatigue, uplift the soul, and melt away the aches and worries of a long march . . . Even Gathmor could not stay mad at Jalon for long.

The three adventurers had seen their first dragons less than an hour after leaving the fisher village, a blaze of four or five, but very far off, mere specks weaving and circling above a distant hill. By then, too, the light had been bright enough to reveal the colors of the robes donated by the villagersa"brown for Jalon, green for Gathmor, black for Rap. Even so, Jalon had not a.s.sociated the cas.e.m.e.nt's prophecy with the steady march of events. He was far more interested in wildflowers than in dragons. In the next few days the only signs of the worms had been a few faint smudges of smoke on the horizon, and he still had not remembered the prophecy.

Nearing the edge of a small forest around noon, the travelers had found a patch of wild melons and stayed to indulge in their first good meal in two days. Afterward, sated and drowsy in the heat, they had lingered to enjoy the shade, for ahead of them stretched open sand and black rock that made a man uncomfortable just looking.

But Gathmor was a demanding leader, who insisted on a harsh pace. "Time to go!" he announced, as Rap was starting to nod. "Let's trade sandals," Rap suggested, seeking to gain time. "You and me, then. Not him."

Owning no leather, the fisherfolk made their footwear from slabs of wood and loops of rope. These removed the skin from a man's toes in about ten minutes and thereafter became very irksome. They were better than being barefoot, but not by much. As every sandal was different, the travelers traded them around to distribute the discomfort evenly. Jalon had stumbled into yet another swamp an hour or so before, and the ropes were even more abrasive when wet.

The exchange extended the rest a few minutes. Then, lounging against a mossa"soft trunk and perhaps thinking that it was his turn to find a delay, the minstrel launched into a song about the elven maidens of Ilrane. It began as a pleasant romantic ballad, but swiftly deteriorated into the sort of scabrous bawdiness that amused sailors. Gathmor barked with mirth as the tale unfolded, and even Rap found himself chuckling.

One more day should see the expedition safely out of Dragon Reach, if Nagg's estimate had been correct. Without Jalon, the other two would have traveled much faster, and he must know that. In his way, he was apologizing to them yet again.

He stopped suddenly, in midverse. The other two looked up.

"That ridge!" he said. "Look at it!"

Beyond the trees lay hot sand, a small desert valley encircled by gentle hills. The hills were wooded, but the forest cut off as sharply as a horse's mane and the hollow grew little but scabby tufts of thornweed.

A long, rugged b.u.t.tress of twisted black rock rose like an island in the middle of the clearing, crested by a few trees rooted in cracks. Loose boulders lay scattered around it. Rap studied the scene and glanced inquiringly at Gathmor, who shrugged.

They had seen many similar places. The countryside was rugged, and although they would have preferred to skirt the coast, they had been forced inland to avoid the rocky gorges by which the many streams plunged down to the sea. Everywhere they had noticed traces of old fires, from ancient charred logs half buried in jungle to much more recent evidence: long, grim stretches of bare poles with gra.s.s and weeds just becoming established in the mud between them. As obstacles, neither of those was too serious. Much worse were the intermediate stages, where the trunks had become deadfall entangled with secondary scrub of thorns and creepers.

But some of the fiercest blazes had cauterized the soil all the way to bedrocka"melting even that in some casesa"and left only patches of desert that resisted the forest's attempts to return. Whole hills seemed to have been favorite targets of dragons throughout the ages, and those had been reduced to battered carca.s.ses, ripped and melted away in streams of gla.s.s as the monsters quarried for veins of metal within the rock. The valley ahead seemed to be nothing other than that, a scar that could be thousands of years old, and might remain unchanged until the end of time.

"What am I supposed to see?" Rap asked sleepily.

"A dragon."

That brought instant alertness, but of course Jalon meant a dead dragon, and in a moment Rap made out what the eye had detected: head, legs . . . The ridge was indeed of a dragon, long since turned to stone and weathered half buried in the sand.

"G.o.ds!" Gathmor said. "It must be older than the Impire. And I never knew the beggar grew that big!"

"A primal male, likely!" Jalon flushed with excitement like a child. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Gruesome," Rap said. His flesh crawled at the thought of that hill-size monster alive, an indestructible destroyer as big as Inisso's castle; but that was the life cycle of dragons. They started as wraiths of pure fire, like the flame he had seen burning on Bright Water's shoulder. They gained substance as they aged, and they ended as gigantic beings of pure mineral. This one had crawled here to die, and in its death agonies it had burned away the forest and the very soil beneath it.

"How old would it have been, do you suppose?" Gathmor asked, rising and stamping a few times to adjust his footwear. "Centuries," Jalon said. "Come on! Let's go and have a closer look. Maybe its eyes are still there!"

Dragons' eyes were supposedly worth a fortune, but they also bore a reputation for bringing bad luck, and Rap certainly did not fancy the idea of rolling one all the way to Puldarn. Jalon would not have thought of that practical matter.

As the others set off toward the great petrified carca.s.s, Rap rose and stretched to ease his aches, then picked up his stonepointed spear. In theory he carried that to defend himself against leopards, but in practice it was useful only as a staff. He tended to agree with Jalon's theory that the easiest way to escape an attack by leopards was just to die of fright. He trudged off after the others.

As he emerged from the trees, the noon sun struck brutally. He flipped up the loose corner of his robe that served as a hood. A few steps worked the gritty sand up into his sandal ropes and he was soon limping, but so were the others. He caught up with them about halfway to the petrified dragon.

Gold?

"What?"

"What 'what'?" Jalon asked, turning a wide gaze of blue innocence on Rap.

"Did you speak?"

Minstrel and sailor both shook their heads. "Funny. I thought . . . Well, never mind."

The dragon fossil was farther away than Rap had realized, and therefore even bigger. The sand had drifted deep on one side, half burying it. The exposed flank still showed curves of muscle under the patterned hide, but many scales had fallen off and lay littered on the ground at the base of the cliff, as if a legion had thrown down its shields. Great cracks were being opened by tree roots; half the hind leg had collapsed. It all looked older than anything he had ever imagined.

In one searing flash of recognition, the scenery changed in his mind.

G.o.ds deliver us!

This was it! Why had he not realized sooner?

"Those rocks!" Rap cried. "Jalon! Forget the dragon. We've seen this place before."

The minstrel stopped dead. His face was still burned and blistered and peeling, yet now it turned an impossibly pale color. Gathmor was in the lead. He turned and noticed, and his foggray eyes narrowed dangerously. "Seen what?"

Gold?

Again recognitiona"an alien, metallic, bitter voice in Rap's mind. Of course! A thrill ran through him, mingled fear and excitement.

He scanned the sky. It was blue, cloudless, and as deep as forever. "There's a live one around somewhere." Of course. "How the Evil do you know?"

"I can hear it . . . and Jalon knows. Don't you?"

The little minstrel was cowering like a terrified child. His teeth chattered as he nodded, and his staring blue eyes held both terror and accusation. "You knew!" His voice was shrill. "No! Don't call Darad!"

"Why not? Why shouldn't I? You trapped us! You knew, and you didn't say!" Jalon half raised his spear and Gathmor's chopped down to strike it from his hand. He did not even seem to notice. He pointed an accusing finger at Rap instead. "You knew the vision was being fulfilled!"

Gold?

The call was stronger now, echoing in Rap's head. Still he could see nothing in the empty blue sky, not even birds. His farsight detected only trees on the grounda"hills were opaque to farsight, though. The dragon might be down behind any one of a dozen hillocks, and yet its voice certainly seemed to be coming closer. He did not think he could summon a dragon unless he could see it.

Bright Water's tiny fire chick had not spoken in words. Jalon was still screaming at him.

"I knew nothing you didn't!" Rap shouted. "Dragon Reach, and the gowns? You should have seen, too."

"Fool! Fool! We could have split up! Traveled separately!" Maybe, although Rap suspected that the magic cas.e.m.e.nt's prophecy had been too inevitable for that. Besides, he'd lied to Gathmor to stop him stealing a canoe. He'd been helping the prophecy along. He felt a little guilty about that, seeing how upset Jalon was.

Before he could answer, though, Gathmor roared. "Will one of you tell me what's going on?"

Rap opened his mouth, and then the alien voice boomed in his mind again, louder than ever and filled with strange reverberations and ringing metallic echoes: GOLD? It half stunned him, so that he clutched both hands to his head, dropping his spear.

By the time his wits settled, Jalon was explaining to Gathmor how he and Rap had seen a prophecy in a magic cas.e.m.e.nt. The sailor's face was pale, too, now, but with fury, not fear.

"There it is!" Rap yelled, pointing. A speck, low in the sky. Far, far, away.

Coming. Still beyond the range of farsight. Only one.

A sudden surge of doubt sent p.r.i.c.kles racing over his skin. Oh G.o.ds! If its voice is that strong now . . .

Gathmor grabbed the front of Rap's robe in one ma.s.sive fist and brandished the other. "You young b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You knew about this and you trapped me?"

"Let him be!" Sagorn snapped.

Gathmor whirled to find the source of the new voice, and staggered when he found himself looking up into the shrewd and angry eyes of the old scholar.

"Who the Evil are you?"

"Never mind now. Do not blame hima"magic prophecies cannot readily be evaded or nullified. We must take cover. Sometimes these draconic vestiges are cavernous. Come!" The old man set off, striding across the hot sand with surprising agility.

"Yes. He's right," Rap said. And yet . . . how inevitable was the prophecy, how significant its details? It had shown the three of them at the base of the cliff where the dragon's ribs rose from the sand. If they split up now, could they still balk it?

Gold? trumpeted the fanfare voice. Is gold?

Rap felt as if someone had dropped a metal bucket over his head and thrown a house at it. Deafened, blinded, he sprawled to his knees. Gathmor hauled him up and began hustling him across the sand after Sagorn.

His farsight was picking it up now, coming low over the forest, the blast from its great wings stirring the trees in dancing turmoil. It did not compare in size with the mountainous fossil, it was silvery and not black, but it was still as big as Blood Wave or Stormdancer.

He tried to answer Gathmor's questions while the sailor hauled hima"half carried hima"toward the towering pile of black rock ahead, but that last word from the dragon had left him too dazed. This was no tiny fire chick, and its sheer intensity overwhelmed him. He had blundered hopelessly. Miscalculated. Everything was lost, and they were all going to die.

Twice more the gigantic voice rang in Rap's mind, exulting, gloating, ravening after gold . . . yet curious and querying also, as if a current of doubt ran deep below. The power of that voice was unbearable now, every blast an impact of pain that made him think his head was being crushed, that sickened him, that blanked out everything else except the awareness of failure and stupidity.

Sagorn had picked his way between the litter of giant scales and was peering into a crevice in the ropy black face of the cliff itself. He turned as Gathmor released Rap to fall on the scorching sand at his feet.

"Now will you explaina""

"No. These gaps are too shallow. But there may be a cavern of some considerable size within this cadaver." The old man glared down at Rap. "Fool! I suppose you thought your mastery might work on dragons?"

Rap croaked hoa.r.s.ely, then forced himself to sit up. "It worked on a fire chick."

Sagorn roared in exasperation and shook both fists at the sky. "Where did you meet a fire chick?"

"In Milflor. Bright Water had one." Gold? Two legs have gold?

The worm was close now. Its voice was a bra.s.s band inside Rap's head, and an earthquake also, and being crushed flat. His skull would fall apart.

Inos! He must think of Inos. He was doing this for her, and he sought to draw strength from her memory.

"Bright Water! You met the witch again?" Sagorn grimaced, baring his teeth like an angry skeleton. "Moron! Young idiot! You should have consulted me! You should have told Andor." Rap began hauling himself upright, pushing himself up the rough black face of the cliff. It burned, hotter even than the sand. His head was still ringing from the dragon's last fanfare, and already the worm was much closer, sunlight flashing on silver scales as it soared swiftly over the forest. The beat of its wings was rhythmic thunder thudding against his eardrums. Huge! The next word it said was going to kill him. He cringed in expectation, waiting for the next bolt of agony like a felon hung on the whipping post, able to think of nothing but the coming lash.

"Too strong!" he muttered.

"Obviously!" Sagorn snapped. "Have you tried, though? Have you even tried to send it away?"

Rap shook his head. He was still leaning against the furnace of the rock, as he dared not trust his legs to support him. The dragon was close enough now that he could believe he was looking up at it, a silvery sky-snake, thrashing through the air on wings as wide as the courtyard of the castle in Krasnegar, its tail trailing behind it in long curves, two monstrous jeweled eyes flashing. Beneath it, trees were tumbling and shattering like matchwood in the blast.

"It wants gold," he mumbled. "It thinks we have gold." Sagorn spun around and stalked off. "We must take cover!" he shouted over his shoulder. "I must find cover."

"Why you?" Gathmor followed, firing angry questions. "Just you? And where did you come from, anyway?"

Rap pushed himself erect and tottered after the other two. He ought to try sending a command to the dragon, he knew, but he was terrified that it might reply. That voice was worse agony than anything he had ever known. It would burn his brain to ashes.

Oh, Inos! I tried! I tried too hard.

Sagorn rounded a rock fragment as large as a cottage, which might have been a part of a fetlock. He was scanning the cliff that rose so high above, looking for an opening into that mythical cavern he hoped for. Even if he found it, it would be only a death trap.

Then a gigantic shadow flashed over them, and they all stopped.

The cas.e.m.e.nt! This was the moment. Rap turned to stare across the heat-distorted sand, and for one tiny instant thought he saw a flicker of darkness there, where the observers must have been, where he must have been. If it was there, it had gone . . .

"This prophecy?" Gathmor shouted. "What happens?"

"We don't know," Sagorn growled, watching the sky monster sweep around in a curve, coming in lower for another pa.s.s. "This is as far as it went."

"You mean we may die?"

"We probably shall. Unless Rap can sent it away."

It was up to him. Rap braced himself, trying to imagine he was dealing with Firedragon, the Krasnegar stalliona"or a dog, maybe, like Fleabag. He tried to recall how he had influenced the fire chick. He took a deep breath. Go away! he commanded.

The response was even worse than he had expecteda"a shrill explosion of fright that struck like agony, that hurled him bodily backward to sprawl on the sand. His head came down a handsbreadth from a jagged rock, but he hardly noticed. The dragon shied like a foal, whirled around in the sky as if knotting itself, then spiraled down out of sight behind a hilltop. The forest exploded in a red-black mushroom of flame and smoke.

A moment later, a sound of thunder rolled over the clearing. The pillar of smoke roiled skyward, ever thicker, its feet bright with fire. Sharp booms suggested tree trunks exploding in the heat.

Gold?

That had been a quieter, almost timorous query, but there was tenacity in it. Rap did not think the dragon had given up. It was merely startled, and puzzled.

Sagorn loomed over Rap, staring down with grim fury. His ghostly pale face was slick with sweat, his bony nose and lantern jaw more skull-like than ever.

"Fool! You thought to frighten my word of power from me?" Rap grunted and struggled to rise. In the back of his mind he could feel the dragon's thoughts nowa"low self-mutterings of gold and of two-legses by the ancestral relic. It was not even speech, just musings, and it filled his mind with metallic alien echoes so torturous that he could not think.

"You thought you could control dragons!" Sagorn snarled.

"You were going to coerce me into telling you my word of power!"

Rap nodded miserably and forced himself to his knees. "I might havea"but it believes we have gold."

Sagom sneered. "The slightest hint of gold will drive a dragon crazy. Even you must know that! It puts them into a frenzy. They need metal to drive their metamorphoses, gold most of all"