A Guile of Dragons (17 page)

The Eldest's eldest son bowed and vanished into the darkness and the dust clouds drifting from the wreckage of the gate.

Morlock knelt down by the fallen dwarves and looked long at each one of their beardless faces. In the midst of his contemplation he glanced up and said to the Eldest, who was gazing fixedly at him, “Is this fitting?”

“Certainly,” the ancient dwarf replied. “Look on them. Remember their deeds, good and bad, and, in your own heart, praise their names. After the Praising of Day we will bury them”—and he gestured with the point of his long spear—“there, where the old gate opened up.”

Morlock nodded, then glanced sharply down at one of the fallen.

Earno, following Morlock's eye, saw that one of the dwarves lay beside a battered shield . . . the one bearing the Ambrosian hawk and thorns.

“Yes,” said the Eldest, who had apparently been waiting for Morlock to notice this, “she seized it at the dragon's first approach and bore it through the whole battle. She won the honor of
rokhlan
under its protection. Let none say the Ambrosii have brought bad luck to Thrymhaiam!”

Morlock did not say so. He said nothing at all.

“Will you bear it now,” the Eldest asked quietly, “since danger has come again to the north?”

“No!” said Morlock sharply, and stood up.

The Eldest turned away for a moment. Earno dimly understood that the exchange had some awful significance. But in his weary bewildered state nothing was clear to him. Why should the Eldest, Morlock's
harven
father, wish Morlock to take up the shield of his
ruthen
father, the disgraced and exiled Merlin? Why was the Eldest not pleased when Morlock refused to consider himself an Ambrosius at all, with what Earno was inclined to consider as a laudable shame? Of course, he
was
an Ambrosius: his very stance, the trick of his expressions gave him away. But at least he tried to overcome his heritage, to deny it, to hate it. That was good, wasn't it?

Eldest Tyr had turned back to the group. “Then,” he said matter-of-factly. “The shield will be placed as a marker over their tombs. Let it remain there until someone arises who can bear it. I have spoken.”

There was a tense brief silence. The Eldest broke it, saying calmly, “What word do you bring of your comrade Guardian? I heard a message that she died.”

With Earno's permission, Morlock told the Eldest and Deor the whole story of the encounter with Almeijn at the Helgrind Gate. Vetr returned in the course of the telling, and what he had missed was recounted to him in the Dwarvish language. All three dwarves appeared very disturbed by the story.

“This is troubling, Morlocktheorn,” Tyr said, when the thain was finished. “We had discussed this before your arrival. It is obvious (now!) that the dragons have been in the north for months—because of the fire and the poisonings at Ranga, the trouble with the Wards, some other things. Why, then, did they wait till now to show themselves?”

“We guessed that they didn't want to, even now,” Deor explained. “It would have made sense for them to wait until winter had closed the passes southward. Then they would have had all winter to deal with us alone and to settle into dwellings through the north, and the southern holds would know nothing of it. But we supposed the vocate had escaped them, and that for some reason they felt they must pursue her, even at the risk of showing themselves.”

“Now, though,” Tyr continued, “you tell us she was under their spell. That undermines everything we had thought we knew.”

“Well,” said Deor, “we don't know what the spell was for, or whether it was effective. Maybe her story was the simple truth.”

“I couldn't tell,” Morlock said. “I'm no adept at dragonspells.”

“Few are,” Tyr acknowledged, “save the dragons themselves. I must say for myself that I don't understand this guile business. Or those collars: our dragonlore says nothing of them. But the dragonlore is not what it was: we have striven to forget what we no longer needed to know.”

The other two dwarves and Morlock seemed embarrassed, reluctant to explain. Because of himself, Earno realized. So he explained to the Eldest that the guile was what the dragons of the Blackthorn Range had for a tribe or a clan. Each guile had a varying number of members and was invariably led by a powerful male, the master of the guile, who wore a collar of office.

“I understand that well enough,” the Eldest answered patiently. “That's the point, isn't it? Since they all wear collars—”

For a moment the remark did not penetrate. Then they all turned with renewed interest toward the Eldest.

“You saw them, Eldest Tyr?” Deor asked.

“Not every one. Don't be a fool. But the three dragons who attacked the High Hall of the East all wore collars. You must have seen them.”

Earno closed his eyes and tried to remember, but all he could call to mind was the small black silhouette of the Eldest against a bank of fire-bright windows.

“Our view was maybe not so uncluttered as yours,
yedhra,”
said Morlock, with his peculiar half-smile. “Could you describe the collars?”

“Some sort of metal,” said the Eldest, disgruntled and pleased. “I could sketch them, I suppose. But I don't need to. Yonder dragon has one. Vetrtheorn, Deor—go, bring the collar and lay it at the feet of our
rokhleni
.”

Vetr looked reluctant. “Two of the five gate-keepers live,” he said, after a moment. “Despoiling the
rokh
—it is their right.”

“Yes,” agreed Tyr, “but they lie in the Healing Chambers where we will, I guess, be standing their vigil in a few days.”

Vetr continued to argue, more fluently, in Dwarvish.

Tyr lifted his free hand in a commanding gesture, and his son fell silent. “Vetr!” Tyr said. “Be at peace. Those-who-watch do not forbid what is needful. Bring me the collar, that I may see it.”

Vetr lowered his head in submission. He and Deor hurried away up the slope where the fallen dragon lay. Soon they returned, bearing between them a long heavy chain. The links were as long as a man's arm and as wide as a dwarf's body. The chain was made of iron, and looked to Earno to be the sort of thing that might be used to seal a harbor. But it was partially covered with red gold, as if it had been dipped in precious metal like dye. Deor and Vetr had severed a link to remove the collar; in another place it looked as if two loose ends had been fused together by draconic heat.

Earno examined the chain very carefully, down on one knee at the feet of the
rokhleni.
When he glanced up he saw that the others' eyes were upon him, as if they were awaiting his verdict.

“It is very unlike the collar of Kellander Rukh, whom I slew,” Earno said slowly. “It is cruder. And yet . . . there is a likeness, too; I cannot deny it. It would be very strange if the members of a guile were all permitted to wear such collars.”

“Do you suppose there could be different collars,” Deor suggested, “as for different ranks within the guile?”

When Earno said nothing, Morlock responded, “It seems hard to believe, from what I've heard. As if the dragons could form a military cohort . . . How could they cooperate so closely? The guile—from what I've heard—is just a group dominated by fear of a single individual.”

“What else is any army, Morlocktheorn?” Deor countered.

“Morlock is more or less correct,” Earno said reluctantly. (He would have said nothing, but the others were turning to him to settle the matter.) “That is the reason the guile invariably scatters when its master is killed.”

“Then. Maybe there is no guile here,” Deor suggested. “Perhaps it is just a group of dragons who have come together to raid the hold.”

Vetr muttered in Dwarvish, then said, “The difference? If they pretend to cooperate . . . they must cooperate to pretend. It would be worse than a guile.”

“Well, if it seems worse let's drop the notion at once!” Deor replied, laughing. Vetr did not join in or reply.

Earno took no part in the ensuing discussion. The sky in the west was turning a deep radiant blue—the abrupt gloaming of the Wardlands had begun, and the light of the second moon was suddenly pale. Earno saw the red stars circling the black fire-scarred outlines of Thrymhaiam's peaks rise up and pass over the high crooked horizon to the east. The dragons were retreating over the Haukr.

Many among the dwarves laboring in the ruin of Southgate also noticed the departure. Cries of victory and defiance rose up from the broken stones, pursuing the dragons on their storm-swift wings.

“Now they return to Haukrull,” Tyr said. “If we knew just a little for certain we would know a great deal besides. But we know nothing for certain, except that they are here.”

Tyr's remark oddly echoed the thoughts whirling in Earno's mind. Morlock might be a traitor (loyal to his natural father) or he might not. His hostility toward Merlin might be feigned—or it might not. Tyr had testified to that hostility, expressed concern about it. Tyr might be honest . . . or he might not be. Tyr would be inclined to aid Morlock, no matter what, and he clearly held Merlin in high esteem. That last, in a way, argued for his honesty: he did not hesitate to display a bias that might give rise to suspicion. But if he knew the suspicion had already arisen he might display the bias to, paradoxically, allay the suspicion with the appearance of honesty by being honest. Earno might be able to trust them all completely. Or he might not.

In any case, and this was the crux of the matter, Earno had to
seem
as if he trusted them completely, especially if he did not. Therefore he must do exactly as he would have done if he had been able to trust them. But he would preserve his distrust within him, bury it like treasure in his heart to keep it safe. That way he would do two things while seeming to do one, and at least one of him would be preserved. Yes.

“The course is clear,” he said aloud, and for the first time that night his voice was strong and decisive. The others all turned to him in surprise.

“The course is clear,” he repeated. “I will issue a challenge to the master of the guile. My thain will carry the challenge to Haukrull. Pride, and the need to maintain prestige before his followers, will force the master to accept the challenge, if there is a guile. Also, pride will compel him to respect the embassy of a challenger. And if there is no guile, if this is just a crowd of equals . . .”

“Then,” Morlock said, “I should learn what I can and return as I can.”

“Yes,” Earno agreed. He did not add what they all knew: that, if there was no guile, Morlock would be unlikely to return at all: there would be no master to enforce restraint on the ravenous dragons. But if Morlock did not return, that itself would answer the question they needed to answer.

But (and Earno realized this too late) it would not answer
his
questions. If Morlock did not return, it might only mean that he had stayed with his natural father's allies, the dragons, to give Earno the wrong impression. Or it might mean what it seemed to mean. . . .

He began to suspect that, from now on, everything would have two meanings for him—one possibly true, the other certainly false—and he would never have a way of choosing between them. He would have to learn to live with both: betraying the enemy in his friends, befriending the ally in his enemies.

For if Morlock was a traitor, he deserved the treachery this mission would be if he were not a traitor. Similarly, if he was not a traitor, there was no treason: Earno was merely requiring the self-sacrifice Morlock had sworn to give. Earno was satisfied, and would have been completely satisfied, if only it were not so difficult to meet Morlock's eye. Nevertheless he began to speak aloud the cold clear unambiguous words of his challenge.

Before he was finished, sunlight struck the smoke still rising from the mountains and the dwarves began to sing.

PART THREE

E
NVOY TO
D
RAGONS

He entered the doors of hell, the deep gates of Dis, the forest shrouded in fear's shadow.

He stood before the dark gods and the dreadful king—those hearts unable to pity human prayers.

—Vergil,
Georgics