Dragonmaster (11 page)

T
hey rested for the remainder of the day and left as darkness fell. Norl flew distractedly, the memory of the laughter haunting him. What had it meant?

Then, suddenly, something struck him. Pain seared through his body and his wingbeats faltered. Before he could get himself back under control, a dark shape, blacker than the black night around him, swooped down upon him again. It was a bird, but a bird of monstrous size, bigger even than Lorgan. With a vicious slash of its razor-sharp beak, the bird sliced into Norl’s back. Hardly had it finished its attack than another shot in after it to inflict yet another wound. Norl felt the strength drain out of his wings. He could not lift them, could not make them keep him airborne. In a haze, he felt himself sinking to the ground. It took every bit of his remaining strength to keep himself from turning back into human form; he knew that if he struck the earth he would surely perish. He forced himself to spread his wings and willed them to stay rigid,
then managed to turn into the night wind and glide. He expected another attack at any moment; he knew it would be the end of him.

Incredibly, the attack did not come. He fell into the branches of a tree, felt himself dropping through them, could hold on to his bird self no longer and landed hard upon rocky ground. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the sky above him exploding into an inferno of flames.

When Norl regained consciousness, Lorgan was sitting beside him, watching him. He struggled to sit up and looked anxiously at the sky above. “The birds…?” he began.

“They wanted to harm you,” Lorgan replied. “I killed them.”

“How…?” Norl began again, then recalled the flames that had lit up the night just before he had lost consciousness.

But all Lorgan said was, “It was not hard, but why did they want to destroy you?”

Norl hesitated. He was thinking. “Dahl told a story of birds such as those. They attacked him when he was about to face the Usurper, who had stolen his throne,” he said. “They had been sent by the evil that threatened Taun.” He
stopped again. “Now I am certain that we face the same enemy,” he added slowly. “And we must be getting near to him, no matter how peaceful the land looks. He has given himself away.”

“Will that help us?” Lorgan asked.

“I do not know,” Norl answered. “But it might give him pause. Now he knows that we can defend ourselves. At least…At least
you
can defend us. I could not have held out against those birds.” Norl fell silent, then looked back up at Lorgan. “Yet again, I owe you my life,” he said. “You have repaid me twofold.”

“As perhaps you will for me, too,” Lorgan replied. “Who knows what will befall us now?”

“Who, indeed,” Norl answered, still shaken.

“How badly are you hurt?”

Norl started to get to his feet, then gasped with pain as he tried to raise himself on his left arm. Only then did he realize that he was bleeding badly.

“My shoulder,” he said. He twisted his head but couldn’t see the wounds. “Tell me, Lorgan, what it looks like.”

“It bleeds,” Lorgan replied. “I will hunt for us both tonight.”

While Lorgan hunted, Norl staunched the wounds on his back and shoulder as best as he could with a strip torn off his tunic, but reaching them was awkward. The pain was different from before. Much greater. It was as if a poison had entered deep into his body. Finally, he could
do no more. He slumped against a tree and waited for Lorgan’s return.

When he returned, Lorgan dropped a hare, torn and bloody, beside Norl, then curled himself up under a tree and slept. Norl regarded the hare with disgust. In his present form there was no way he could eat it and he was too weak to try to change into his eagle self. That brought another thought to mind:
could
he change?

That question was answered as dusk fell. Lorgan had slept all day, but Norl had not been able to eat or sleep. There was a nearby stream where they had been able to drink, after Norl had examined it carefully and found no polluting streak of darkness, but he was exhausted when the dragon awoke and yawned hugely, sending out another plume of smoke and flame. Safely distant this time, Norl noted.

“Are you strong enough to fly now?” Lorgan asked. He looked at the uneaten hare and back to Norl, but said nothing.

Norl struggled to his feet. The bleeding had stopped, but his shoulder throbbed and his left arm hurt him so much that he could not move it. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes, drew into himself, and willed himself to change.

It was happening! He felt his bones lighten, his body shiver into feathers. He opened his eyes again, weak with relief, but the relief was short-lived. His left wing drooped,
useless. He tried to lift it; the pain almost caused him to lapse into unconsciousness yet again.

He could not fly!

In the Domain of the Elders, the air had become thick with the taste of decay. There, where age and death had never been known, the gardens were perishing. The sun was smothered by the suffocating mist, the river ran dark and blind.

A black panther roamed desperately around the borders, testing first one portal, then another, leaping over the river without touching paw to its surface. The animal panted and thirsted, but nowhere could it find pure water. It had been searching every corner of the Domain for days, padding into every cave and cranny, but with no success. The Domain was dying. Finally, the panther returned to the vast cave of the Elders. There, at the entrance, the animal crouched, shimmered in the failing light, and for a moment ceased to be. In its place, Catryn stood, shivering and weak with exhaustion. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, then stepped forward, dreading the sight that she knew she would see, dreading the report that she must make.

The cave of the Elders was bleak and gloomy. Where before the walls had shone iridescent with stones and crystals of every hue, reflecting light and a brightness that was almost too much to bear, now the walls stood grey and stagnant. The three Elders sat
on their silver dais, but even its brightness was tarnished. They slumped, as if overcome with lassitude. Beside them, the Protector rested with his head upon his knees. His hair fell grey over his shoulders. His body was so slight that it seemed almost as if there were no more than a skeleton inside the cloak that covered him.

“You found nothing?” It was Tauna who spoke, but it was not really a question.

“Nothing,” Catryn answered. “There is no way out.”

“And Norl?” The Protector spoke as if the mere uttering of words was an unbearable pain for him.

“I can no longer reach him,” Catryn answered. “My seeing bowl is gone…” She shook her head at the question in Tauna’s eyes. “It was useless. It would show me nothing. But Norl was able to get through to me, if only for a moment, to tell me that Caulda is dead.”

Hope flared in Tauna’s eyes, only to die as Catryn went on.

“Caulda is dead, but she bore a son and Norl was with him.”

“So Norl lives still?”

“He did then…” Catryn’s voice trailed off.

“Is the son of Caulda tainted with evil as well?” It was Ygrauld who spoke now.

His voice sounded as if it came from a tomb.

“I know not,” she said.

“Did you ask about the creature who travels with him?” the Protector asked. “The maid who carries the stench of dragon within her? Did you warn him?”

Catryn shook her head, numb with despair. “I did not,” she replied. “There, too, I failed. I did not have time.”

The Protector rose to his feet. The colour drained from his face and he staggered. Catryn rushed to support him. Then she stiffened as a curl of black mist wisped through the cave’s entrance. She wrenched herself out of the Protector’s arms and held out a hand as if to stay the encroaching murk. An incantation against evil sprang to her lips, but even as the words fell from her mouth, she felt the mist stealing them, absorbing them into itself. The Protector moved to stand in front of her, arms outstretched to shield her.

“You will not have her!” he cried.

At the same time the Elders rose to their feet and encircled her in one last faint luminescence.

“Norl is the Bringer of Light, Catryn,” Tauna said. “You must have faith.”

But even as she spoke, the mist enveloped them all, and light ceased to exist.

“
I
cannot fly,” Norl said. With a shudder, he willed himself to return to his human form. The wounds on his back and shoulder had begun to seep again; he could feel the blood oozing down under his tunic. What was he to do? He could walk, in spite of the pain, but that would take too long. Besides, dragons moved awkwardly on land and someone was certain to see them. He could think of only one solution.

“I will have to ride on your back,” he said to Lorgan. He waited the space of ten heartbeats for the dragon’s answer. Was this pushing the boundary too far? Then Lorgan nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

“I will cling with my knees behind your wings,” Norl said. “I will guide you with my mind only. We will speak to each other as we spoke when first you hatched.” But how would he clamber up onto Lorgan’s back? He shook
the misgiving out of his mind. It had to be done; he would do it.

In the event, it was not so difficult. The dragon’s scales gave Norl purchase, even as had Caulda’s when he climbed over her body. When Norl had wedged himself into the hollow between the dragon’s wings, he grasped the fringe of scales that encircled Lorgan’s neck with his good hand, and gripped tightly with his knees. The scales dug into him but there was nothing he could do about that. The effort of getting up and settled had sent wave after wave of pain through his shoulder. For a moment his head swam, but he shook the dizziness out of it.

“Are you all right?” Lorgan asked, twisting his head back over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Norl said, teeth clenched. “Fly, Lorgan. Keep the brightest star in the sky in front of you.”

There was another perilous moment when Lorgan lifted off. The beating of his wings almost unsettled Norl and he was forced to crouch low and tighten his grip. His left arm and hand were useless, numb from the shoulder down.

Once they were airborne and Lorgan was flying smoothly, Norl forced himself to relax and feel the rhythm of Lorgan’s wingbeats.

Fly on,
he commanded, sending the thought to Lorgan through his mind. For a moment he wondered if the dragon had heard and an arrow of fear shot through him. What if he could no longer communicate with the dragon
in this fashion? What if that power had been taken away from him as well? But finally Lorgan responded.

I will,
he answered.

Norl breathed a sigh of relief.

Hhana stared at the five young dragons with a mixture of feelings. Pride, because she had found them and nurtured them, but concern also. They were all healthy and lively. Perhaps too lively, and that was the problem. Controlling them was more difficult than she had anticipated. For the first few days she had hunted for them, but now they were able to forage for themselves. Although she insisted that they all keep together, that was not always possible, and one of them in particular, the first one she had found, he who had called her most insistently and loudly, and who had led her to the others, was fast becoming difficult. Tragaur, he had told her his name was, and he had spoken it with a certain arrogance. He seemed to have been hatched knowing far too much, and he resisted her teaching. She had a suspicion that he sensed she was not fully dragon and was even slightly disdainful of her because of that. He had stopped just short of insubordination, but was treading the line closely. The others, however, two males and two females, had not even chosen names yet and were confused and uncertain still. She much preferred that. They were growing quickly, as had Lorgan. She decided she would do as Norl had bade and take them to him in Daunus.

For now, anyway…

“We have a journey to make,” she announced.

The dragons had been curled up, each in his or her own space, resting with eyes half hooded. Tragaur was the first to rise to his feet.

“Where do we go?” he asked.

“Why?” asked one of the other males, without stirring. “It is peaceful here. There is good hunting and I am content. Why must we leave?”

Tragaur looked at him with contempt. “Do you think only of your comfort?” he asked. “Are you not curious about this world we have been born into?”

“No,” the dragon answered. “Hhana has told us about it. That is enough, is it not?”

“Enough for you,” Tragaur snorted, then jumped as a plume of flame shot from his nostrils. He was not yet used to that, it seemed. He drew himself up to his full height and tried to mask his momentary lapse of dignity.

Hhana, on her part, had to suppress a smile. It would not do to insult this proud youngster. Nor would it do to let him get too conceited, she thought.

“We go to the most important city in Taun,” she said, making her voice stern. “It is called Daunus. The master of all dragons is there and he has bade me take you to him.” She was slightly amazed to hear herself speak of Norl as Dragonmaster. The Sele had said that there should have been a dragonmaster in Taun in those ancient days. That if there had been, tragedy might have been averted. Norl had found her, he had rescued Lorgan, it was
even because of him that she had found these dragon children—was that what he was meant to be?

What of it? she thought rebelliously. Master of dragons he might be, but he was not her master. She shook herself out of her thoughts as one by one the other young dragons raised themselves to their feet.

“I must know your names,” she said.

There was silence for a moment, then one of the females spoke.

“I am Fahn,” she said. She seemed astonished by her own words.

“And I am Saulena,” the other female said, looking equally amazed.

“Durghan,” said one of the males.

That left only the hesitant one, the one who was loathe to leave the comfort of their refuge. He was the last to get to his feet, and rose with some reluctance. “I don’t know my name…” he began. He swung his head to look at each of the others in turn. “How did you know?”

“Look inside yourself,” Tragaur said. “You will find your name there.”

Hhana started. Just so had she found her name. Truly, she was more dragon than human. Even Norl had been named by another human: his Taun mother, Mavahn. He had told Hhana that.

The last dragon child stood silent for a long moment, eyes closed. Then he opened them and dragonfire shone forth. “I am Kuhn!” he said.

His amazement was so great that this time Hhana was unable to hide her smile.

“Tragaur, Fahn, Saulena, Durghan, Kuhn,” she said, inclining her head slightly in the direction of each dragon as she spoke their names, and with each name she could feel joy rising within her. “The world of Taun has forgotten about dragons. The world of Taun has wished to forget about dragons, but now…Now the dragons have returned!”

Then, yet again, an insidious shaft of loneliness knifed through her. The dragonlings of ancient history had had each other for support—how was she to do this alone? She fought the sudden weakness down. Her singularity would but make her more valuable. She could see herself bringing the dragons to Norl, presenting them to Dahl, the King of Taun himself. They would be impressed—perhaps even a little alarmed—at the sight of the five dragons ranged behind her. And they were
her
dragons. Even if Norl were Dragonmaster, neither Dragonmaster nor King could rule without her.
This
would be her role. “A fearsome race” Sele the Plump had called the dragonlings. She would command respect. What else she could do she could not foresee right now, but the possibilities were limitless.

But, until this came to pass, she realized, as had Norl, that dragons must not be seen by the people.

“We will fly to Daunus by night,” she said.

“Do you know the way?” Tragaur asked.

“Of course,” Hhana answered. “We will fly when the sun sets at our backs and rest when it rises again before us.”

“Is it far?” Kuhn asked.

“A few nights’ journey, no more,” Hhana replied.

They flew silently, secretly, in the shelter of darkness, five dragons and a dragonling, slipping unseen over the sleeping villages below. As they neared Daunus, however, Hhana became uneasy. She knew where Daunus lay, at the foot of the mountain where Norl had found Caulda’s cave, but, as she led the dragon children down the mountainside she could not see the city. The night was not far advanced and she should have been able to make out firelight in village houses by now. Instead, beneath her was nothing but an impenetrable darkness. It could not be cloud—the night through which they flew was clear and the stars shone brightly above them.

Perhaps when the moons rise I will be able to see better,
Hhana thought, but even when they did, their light did not illuminate a city below them where a city certainly should be. The moons’ beams seemed to disappear into an unfathomable darkness. Hhana circled the valley uncertainly.

“Where is Daunus?” Tragaur challenged her. “Have you erred?”

“No,” Hhana shot back. “It is below us.”

“Then why do we not descend?”

“I am waiting…” Hhana began, but Tragaur forestalled her.

“You are afraid!” he exclaimed. “I can feel it!” He banked steeply down toward the darkness.

“Wait!” Hhana cried, but it was too late. Even as she
watched, horrified, the darkness below seemed to reach for the dragon and enfold him. With a cry, Tragaur was swallowed by the blackness.

Norl hung on grimly until the first rays of dawn began to lighten the sky.

Look for a safe place to land,
he sent to Lorgan.

The dragon circled down. Below them now, in the gradually lightening day, they could see a vast wasteland. No trees, no villages, no tidy pastures. Norl was puzzled. When he had gone north to seek work as a boy he had found no such barren land. But perhaps they had flown farther north than he had ventured then, farther north even than the Usurper’s palace, where Dahl had been kept prisoner. There was no cover here for them, but neither did there seem to be any people.

Land anywhere,
he sent to Lorgan. It would not seem to matter. In any case, they had no choice, and he was in such distress that he doubted he could hang on much longer.

When Lorgan had alighted, Norl let himself fall off the dragon’s back and sat for a moment, collecting himself.

“There is no water here,” Lorgan said, using ordinary speech now.

Norl unslung the waterskin that he kept always hang
ing at his waist. He had filled it with water at the stream before they left. He took a small sip now, then looked at Lorgan. How would the dragon drink?

“Do not worry about me,” Lorgan said, seeing the question in Norl’s eyes. “Dragons have little need of water.”

Finally, Norl allowed himself to sleep. When he awoke, it was night again. Lorgan was dug into the dusty ground beside him. As Norl stirred, the dragon opened his eyes.

“What now?” he asked.

Norl considered. “There is no need to fly at night,” he said. “There are no people to see us, and I am certain that whoever we go to knows where we are, day or night.” Even as he spoke the words, he heard a faint echo of laughter in his mind. Then…words.

Yes. I know where you are. I am waiting.