Dragon Stones (20 page)

"Wert!" the headmistress said sharply.

The old man stopped squirming.  "Yes, Damona?"

"Wert, I've told you, you must call me
Headmistress
like everyone else."

"Yes, Damona."

She sighed, then said:  "Wert, what did you see happening when you spoke to this man today?"

"I've never seen him before.  May I go now?"

"Wert, you accosted him on the avenue not one hour ago."

"Oh."  Wert inspected Adaran again.  "That was him?"

"Yes," the headmistress said.  "That was him."

Wert nodded slowly, and made a clucking sound with his tongue.  The headmistress watched with steadily compressing lips as he leaned back in the chair, looked up at Diasa, and said:  "You're pretty.  Your mother looked like you once."

Diasa and the headmistress both flushed red.

"This seems pointless," Adaran said.  "Why can't you just ask one of the other oracles?"

"I told you, whatever is coming, we cannot see it clearly.  But Wert came up to you and made a very specific prediction.  It may help us to understand, if only he can be persuaded to tell us what he saw."

"But Diasa said he was always wrong."

"
Nearly
always," Diasa murmured.

Adaran eyed Wert, who sat there goggling at them, a tiny bubble of foam on his bottom lip.  "What makes you think he even remembers any—"

"Beware," Wert said suddenly, his voice deep and resonant, nothing like the wheedling tone he had used before.  Was this the way he had sounded before he'd gone mad?  "Earth and fire unite.  Future and past are interchanged.  The shadow of the two-headed beast falls over us all."

He paused, shivering all over, as if suffering a seizure.  The room remained utterly quiet except for the faint rattling of the chair in which he sat; when his convulsions stopped, as suddenly as they'd begun, the silence seemed a physical presence.  "The scales go out of balance," Wert cried.  "Stone burns!  The ground flows like water!  Fire falls like rain!"  He turned, looking directly at Adaran.  "The river.  Remember!"

Then the old man slumped in his chair; his head fell forward and he shuddered once more, just for a moment.  When he looked up again, it was with his former pop-eyed look of bewilderment.

The headmistress said:  "Wert?"

The old man farted loudly, then said, "Damona, I'm hungry."

She would not kill the soldiers right away, T'Sian decided, even though she certainly could.  Slaughtering the four armed men, while satisfying, would not bring her any closer to those who had slain her hatchlings.  She noticed the one called Pyodor Ponn glancing at her nervously as the soldiers took him into custody.  He was probably afraid she would spit fire at them and burn down his inn, or turn into a dragon and swallow them all whole.  He did not know her capabilities; his fear and ignorance would help to ensure that he continued to do as he was told.

The soldiers put shackles around Ponn's wrists, black iron cuffs linked together to keep him from moving his hands freely.  He had said he would be led away in chains; this must be what he had meant.  "Where are you taking him?" T'Sian asked.  "Will you put him in your punishment area, with the fence and the wooden things inside?"

"Not that it's any business of yours," Apperand said, "but he will be dispatched directly to Astilan."

"What?" Ponn said.

"Oh, yes, Ponn.  A special prison wagon has already been prepared for Parillon; you will join him on his journey.  King Varmot is most eager to meet the men who have cheated him of duties and taxes for so many years."

"I see," Ponn said.  "Then will you be coming as well, Apperand?  Is Varmot not interested in what taxes
you
may owe him?"

The mayor laughed tightly.  "You would do well to follow Parillon's example, Enshennean, and avoid making claims you cannot substantiate."  He snapped his fingers at the soldiers.  "Take him away."

The other men exchanged a look that T'Sian recognized as contempt; they obviously did not like being ordered around by this little man.  Still, they surrounded Ponn; one attached a longer length of chain to the manacles that bound him, so that they could lead him like a beast on a leash.

This changed the situation; T'Sian had not understood that they were going to send Ponn off to their human king in some faraway palace.  She needed his help to navigate this strange human world, and he was the only person she knew of who had seen Gelt and his associates.  Apperand held the door open as the soldiers marched Ponn toward it; T'Sian watched, not intervening, as they took him out of the building.  A cart waited outside, surrounded by more armed men.  Ponn climbed into the back, a guard on either side.  He faced straight ahead, his jaw clenched, the muscles of his neck tight.

She approached Apperand.  "I will accompany you."

"I hardly think so," the mayor said, "unless it be in irons."

"I would prefer not to be separated from Ponn."

"Arrange your own transportation, then.  The prison wagon does not carry freight."

His tone insulted her; she raised a hand and he shrank back, frightened.  A coward, like most men.  She thought better of striking him, running the hand through her hair instead.  Apperand turned and departed quickly, slamming the door behind him.  A moment later she heard the wagon's wheels clattering on the cobblestones as it drove away.

She turned to the one called Timmeon.  He was larger than Ponn and probably more physically powerful, but he was also manifestly less intelligent; and he had never seen Gelt.  Or had he?  "Have you seen any men recently who rode on large birds?" she said.

The man looked confused.  "Birds?"

"Yes.  Feathered creatures, with wings."

"I know what birds are," Timmeon said.  "I've never seen one big enough for a man to ride on, though."  Pause.  "Do they have big birds where you come from?"

"No."

"Oh.  Where
do
you come from?
"

"The mountains."

"How did you meet Ponn?  Did he go to the mountains?"

"No."

Evidently deciding to change the subject, Timmeon said:  "Are you going to stay here tonight?  All the rooms are open, I could get one ready for you.  No charge, you being Ponn's … friend and all."

"I do not need a room," T'Sian said.  "I will be traveling to Astilan with Pyodor Ponn."

"But the mayor said—"

"The mayor said to arrange my own transportation."  She smiled at Timmeon, showing him her teeth.  "I will be doing exactly as he suggested."

CHAPTER EIGHT

After sending Diasa to take Wert back to his home, or wherever he lived, the headmistress sat for a long time, elbows on her desk, chin resting on her interlaced fingers, staring at Adaran with a fixed gaze that he found disconcerting.  At length, though, he realized that she wasn't really seeing him; her eyes were unfocused, her mind elsewhere.  He had begun to think she had suffered some sort of stroke or brain seizure, when suddenly she shook her head and blinked for the first time in many minutes.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She coughed into her closed fist.  "Yes," she said, when the fit subsided.  "I'm getting old, I'm afraid, and unexpected visions sometimes take me."

"You mean you see the future, just like that?"

She nodded.  "Our young oracles, the students and the inexperienced, use a mixture of herbs and powdered stones to create vapors that allow them to open their minds and exercise their gifts.  After a lifetime of exposure to those vapors, I find that my mind is sometimes open when I wish it to be closed."

"What did you see?  Anything interesting?"

She looked at him sadly.  "You do not understand.  You are a common ruffian; you think knowledge comes, unbidden and fully formed, with tags and labels to explain its meaning."

This remark was uncomfortably close to the truth, and it annoyed him to hear it.  "Yes, very well; but what did you see?"

The old woman sighed, then said:  "I saw a piece of blue stone in a huge glass tank.  It breathed like a thing alive, and grew before my eyes.  The tank shattered and the stone flowed out, as a glacier in the mountains; it spread across the land and covered everything like ice."  She cocked her head.  "Does that have any meaning to you?"

"Some of the stones we took from the dragon's lair were blue, but they didn't grow and they certainly didn't breathe."

"Dunshandrin is getting up to some mischief with these crystals," the headmistress said.  "I must send a messenger to the Crosswaters, and tell Klem to be wary."

"Who's Klem?"

"The head oracle, and my agent out in the world."

"Shouldn't you warn the other kingdoms as well?  Madroval, Barbareth, Yttribia?  Enshenneah?"

"Warn them of what?  These kings and tyrants are already suspicious of each other.  They do not need vague warnings from me to increase their paranoia."

"But obviously the blue crystal is Dunshandrin spreading his territory," Adaran said.  "Isn't it?"

The headmistress shook her head.  "A common ruffian," she said again.  "Things are rarely so literal as that."

The narrow side door opened, revealing Diasa; she looked grim, and did not enter.  "Something has happened to Wert," she said.  "He started hitting himself in the head and wailing, and then he collapsed."  She paused, and added:  "I think he may be dying."

The headmistress rose.  "Where is he?" she said.

"The Withered Ones carried him to the infirmary."

"I will go and see him.  Take our guest and his charge to the hall, find him an empty room."  To Adaran, she said:  "A flatboat is going downriver tomorrow.  It will take you to Achengate, and from there you can go where you will."

Diasa stood aside as the headmistress departed through the side door, then entered the room and glared down at Adaran.  "On your feet," she said.

He lifted Prehn onto his shoulders, then stood.  "You needn't speak to me like an enemy," he said.

"Are you not?  Twice now, Wert has named you as inviting our destruction."

"I have no intention of—"

"
Your
intentions are not of concern," she said.  "I'm worried about those who will come here seeking you."

"But you said Wert was always wrong."

She grimaced.  "Almost always.  Just follow me, and for your own sake, pray nothing happens."

They left the building the way they'd entered, down the short hallway, through the foyer, out into the parklike environs.  The sky had taken on a dusty bluish hue as the sun crept from one set of mountains to the other.  Diasa led Adaran back to the hard-surfaced path, then up a narrow gravel walkway that ran between beds of fern and foliage.  It ended at a small, long, squat building, where it turned into a narrow patio.  About a dozen doors alternated with tiny windows; candles flickered behind some of them.  It looked not unlike a stable, but for humans instead of horses.  "This is where the students stay?" he asked.

"Yes.  Students, honored guests, visiting dignitaries."  She gave him a sidelong glance.  "Interlopers.  All reside here."

"Charming," he said.  "It reminds me of a prison."

"Well, as the headmistress likes to say, we all do see things through the prism of our experiences."

By the time Adaran realized he'd been insulted, Diasa had already ushered him to an unoccupied room.  Producing a truly prodigious keyring from somewhere inside her garment, she unlocked the door and opened it, revealing a barren stone chamber.  It really did resemble a jail cell; a narrow cot stood against the wall on the left with a chamberpot nearby, while a counter made of projecting stone ran along the back wall.  An old mat, woven of what looked like river reeds, lay in the center of the floor, worn smooth and fraying at the edges.

Diasa nudged Adaran and Prehn into the alcove.  "I'll come back for you tomorrow, when the boat leaves," she said, "and someone will be along shortly with food and drink."

"Wait—" Adaran said; but before he could get another word out she had shut the door and he heard the click of a key in the lock.  Setting Prehn down on the cot, he went to the window, standing on his toes so he could see out.  Through the dusty glass, he saw Diasa striding away.

"I've escaped from worse prisons than this before," he told her retreating back, "and I'll do so again."

Behind him, he heard the little girl giggling.

Tolaria sat in her usual spot by the tall windows, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun neared the horizon, turning the sky to crimson gold, burnishing the distant grass to bronze.  The remains of dinner, half-eaten as usual, sat on the table beside her.  Too much food and a lack of appetite meant that she never finished a meal.  It would not go to waste, though; Wyst would eat what was left.  Tolaria's leftovers seemed to be the girl's only source of food, and so she was careful to leave more than just fat and gristle and crusts of bread.  Poor Wyst; everyone treated her as if she didn't exist, and she often acted as if she believed it herself.