Dragon's Ring (37 page)

"Uh. No. Not that we know of. We haven't been up there ourselves," said the duke, wisely. "But I have had a sentry on every hilltop, keeping watch. We've had horsemen ready to warn the human citizenry."

"Is he ravaging the countryside?" asked Vorlian, just a little surprised. Fionn had never seemed the type to ravage anything.

The alvar duke who had plainly been quite proud of the steps he'd taken—and by the nods the civic leadership of the humans had been too—now looked embarrassed. "Um. No. He attacked and attempted to flame a group of people in Lenter-vale. They had a lucky escape, and there was only one injury—a broken arm. But he hasn't been seen since. We've been cautiously scouting, and we've had clear nights too to watch in. Not a dragon to be seen. He's either left, or is lying up somewhere, Lord Vorlian. But unless he walked—and we searched for tracks, he has gone nowhere near your lair."

Vorlian sighed smokily. "Someone get me a couple of sheep. And then leave me in peace. I'll look into it once I've got back to my eyrie and rested for a day or two."

But when, several hours later, he had managed the last few leagues to his eyrie, and had discovered his gold still apparently intact, there was still no rest for him. The creature of smokeless flame had plainly been waiting. There was an aura of power about Belet that made Haborym seem tame. "Congratulations on your defeat of the dragon Zuamar! There were those among us who thought he might be too much for you, but I knew you were made of sterner stuff!"

"Spare me the flattery," said Vorlian. He knew that if it hadn't been for Fionn, Zuamar might well have killed him.

"No flattery! Why, the story of your duel is all over Yenfar."

"And how would you know?" said Vorlian tersely. He was too tired for this.

"I was there. There are smuggling vessels that go to-and-fro all the time. Zuamar's tax collectors charge very high rates. They have the tar-business in a stranglehold."

The fire-being paused. "The alvar nobility over there are up in arms about it. Not directly of course, but I believe that they've sent out an appeal for another protector."

"I have no intention of being overlord there," said Vorlian, yawning. "You'd think they'd be glad to be rid of Zuamar. Who have I got for a new neighbor?"

"High-Lord Myrcupa."

"They may soon wish for Zuamar back again," said Vorlian. "Now, I need to rest. Have you anything else to say?"

"Just that we have these." The fire-being produced a little fireproof box. Vorlian opened it. There were carefully painted pictures of three humans—a tall thin man with a foxy face, a beardless boy and a broad-shouldered fellow with a trident.

"The middle one is our quarry, disguised as a male. We believe that they fled Yenfar successfully. They were heading for your charming island. The one with the trident is a merrow. We have used the sprite's devotees to start a search—copies of these pictures were at every grove the night before your fight with Zuamar. But when I came here you had already left, Lord Vorlian."

Vorlian looked at the pictures. Thought of the organization on the part of the fire-beings which had gone into this quest and did not like it. "It has been four days. If you haven't found her by now, I doubt if a few hours will make any difference. I am going to rest on my gold, and then I'll see to it that Duke Ragath puts his soldiery to use looking for them. He likes to be busy. Now go away." Vorlian slumped back on his gold.

The next day, however, he was as good as his word. And he flew down to Lenter-vale and tried to get a scent of Fionn.

It was there that they brought him news that the fugitives he sought . . . were also being sought by the local law-guards. For a range of crimes . . . it would appear that the young fresh faced 'boy' was being accused of arson, rape and kidnaping, along with a local man of unsavory character. A petty thief, a ne'er-do-well, an informer. The human mage certainly picked her companions!

And the tall fellow . . . he'd last been seen the night before. They'd made their escape when the dragon had raided Lenter-vale. A little later word came in that the two, dressed as traveling gleemen, in the company of a young man and woman who did not appear to be compelled in any way, had taken a passage with a merchant vessel. The destination was unknown, but it had been sailing West.

Vorlian was not stupid. It seemed obvious that the human mage was somehow associated with the dragon Fionn. There were always dragon conspiracies . . . he was part of one, after all. It appeared that the human mage was part of another, with the small black dragon. And they were no longer on his territory. He sent messages to his fellow conspirators asking them to meet. He would also fly to the conclave . . . just as soon as his wings had recovered a little more.

Prince Gywndar of Yenfar looked uncomfortably at his new overlord. High-Lord Myrcupa had been invited to expel the tired and injured Vorlian. Myrcupa had, very conveniently for him, arrived some hours after Lord Vorlian had left. He had, however, wasted no time in stamping his authority on Yenfar. He'd made an example of two human villages. Unfortunately, one of them had been the settlement at Tarpit.

Gywndar was furious. The pit was still burning, sending its vile fumes wafting over the best hunting grounds on the island. Besides, the humans who had worked there were not easy to replace, especially now! Prince Gywndar had sent a respectful but firm message to High-Lord Myrcupa, asking him to come to the palace. Myrcupa had killed the alvar messenger's horse and eaten it. He had sent back a message that if Gywndar wanted to see him, he could come up to his overlord, not the other way around.

And when Gywndar had done so . . . "I want to make it clear to you, Princeling, that the tax revenues need to increase," Myrcupa informed him.

"My Lord, we'll do our best, but you set fire to our main revenue earner," said Gywndar bravely.

A swipe of the dragon-tail knocked him out of the saddle. And then the dragon killed his horse with a backhand slash of one talon. "Are you questioning me?" hissed Myrcupa. "Undermining my authority? Let me make this clear. I will have no such thing and I will have at least one and a half times as much gold. Strike a bit of raw terror into the hearts of these humans. And we need to continue the search for the human mage among them."

Feeling his ribs, and seeing how his precious gray mare had been killed, Prince Gywndar nodded. He was too sore to speak, and he had a long walk back down the mountain.

He had to wonder about the motives of those of his friends among the alvar nobility who had suggested that Myrcupa would do nicely as a suitable old-fashioned dragon lord. It was Lord Rennalinn of Magyn who had been so effusive about how ideal he would be. Even better than Rennalinn's own Brennarn, Gywndar recalled.

"And you need have no fear of a return of Vorlian. I have formed a strategic alliance. Lords Chandagar, Lamdian, Brennarn and I are the largest of the dragonkind. Vorlian might have defeated Zuamar, but he can't deal with more than one of us."

That, somehow, did not make Prince Gywndar feel any better. He did not inform his new liege lord that Zuamar had actually been fleeing a smaller black dragon when he was killed by Vorlian, and that the black dragon had flown from the field of battle without any difficulty.

Nor did the news, later, that a large part of the fishing fleet and their families had fled Tarport during the night improve his temper. Humans!

He could send his swanships after them, but perhaps it would be better to wait until the merrows sued for peace. Gywndar's magicians had the merrows' precious relic and were working on it right now. He hadn't heard from them in some days. The incident with Zuamar's death and the unrest that had followed had kept him from following up on it.

On Cark Island the troops were being assembled. The fire-beings had bought slaves. They had no use for them as slaves, but they made good janissaries. They were completely expendable and in the long term valuable merely as a feint. A distraction. They'd been scattered across the island in many hidden camps. But the time for subterfuge was over. Now they were coming together in a huge, and ever-growing encampment.

The fire-beings were creatures of energy. The stresses and strains in the fabric of the plane that was Tasmarin where obvious to them. Were the place to break up . . . well, without magical protection many of the inhabitants would die. Not the people of smokeless flame. They had their own plans. The hellflame would be seized and safe if it came to that. When they'd discovered the existence of the human mage some two years back the conspiracies they ran as matter of normal business had become focussed on finding her, and using her for the "renewal."

The fire-beings were far more familiar with the energies in this artificial construct than any other species. The effect on the entire ring of conjoined planes from which the raw material of Tasmarin was drawn would be cataclysmic.

This plane might survive, but the others would return to primal fire.

It made for a great deal of new lebensraum, and got rid of a lot of the threats to the people of smokeless flame, not least of all, dragonkind. Dragon-gold—and part of their magical power—had gone into creating this place. Renewal would destroy that.

The planes of existence would be a hotter, better place without the dragons. No other species could survive the home territory of the people of smokeless flame except the dragons. And while alvar magics were effective at banishing fire-beings, dragonfire could consume them utterly—and yet the dragons were immune to the energies of all but the mightiest of the hierarchy of flame.

Fionn waited until they were far out to sea, and well into the second watch of the night, before slipping overboard and changing his form. He really did not like doing that . . . especially when after a hundred yards or so a merrow swam up next to him.

"It's a poor imitation of an orca that you make, at least in your ability to swim," said the merrow.

"I swim like a rock. I've not had much practice."

The merrow nodded. "That I can see. We had word from the dvergar thanking us for returning their hammer."

"Umph. Thanking you."

"You could have told us," said the merrow.

"What, and spoil my fun? Besides, 'Brys guessed. Now if you could do me a small favor I'd be somewhat in your debt. That vessel over there has the human mage that returned the Angmarad to the merrow. I've got business to transact elsewhere for a few hours. Could you keep a watch on it?"

The merrow grinned. "She is as safe with us as it is possible to be. We knew from the moment she went onto the water. That's why I am here. There is a debt and we honor those."

"Good, because I have to go and visit the fire-beings."

"They're not overly welcoming," said the merrow.

"I wasn't planning to tell them I was there," said Fionn.

There was a small rocky islet ahead—barely a giant's handful of boulders sticking out of the sea. Fionn got as close as possible, transformed himself, and swam ashore. A little later the dragon took to the air, flying towards several fumaroles which smoked and steamed among the ash and pumice of a volcanic vent. He had to land some distance away and swim once again, as darkness and the sulphurous fog were no impediment to the vision of the fire-beings.

But the creatures of energy liked water even less than Fionn did. He swam up a lava tunnel and into caves they were unaware of. From here . . . well, he had to break down a wall, and then walk down several more lava tunnels to the place where the creatures of smokeless flame kept their stock of loot for use on other species. They had no real use for it themselves. The black lava-glass of the tunnels with its clinkery razor edges made for a good defense for the place . . . from anything less tough than a dragon. Fionn had to wait for several of the creatures to pass. It would have been so much simpler to help the flame beings to burn up, but they were still life of a sort. And therefore sacrosanct, at least from direct intervention by him.

Their treasure room had a door—but it was really just to keep the heat out. Its defense was a wall of seething, crackling energy, that would kill energy creatures and almost anything else that lived.

To a dragon it was like a gentle massage. Fionn ignored (not without difficulty) the gold and helped himself to the items he'd come to fetch, and then left. It was hard not to re-organize things or to start some trouble. But under the circumstances it seemed the wisest course, and even if the wisest was not usually his first choice, Fionn simply left.

A little later he was involved in the complicated task of getting back on board a vessel without being seen.

He was helped by the yelling.

The captain, who was trying to keep the shouting protagonists apart, was relieved to see Fionn. Too relieved to worry about the fact that his black hair was still streaming water, and that his clothes had been pulled on in haste.

"Just what is going on here?" boomed Fionn, quelling the riot by sheer volume.

"He hit me!" said Keri.

"I slapped you," said the Scrap. "Because you're a slut and . . ."