Dragonsight (26 page)

‘You did not ask,’ said the dragon. There was a trace of mockery in her tone, good-natured though it might have been. ‘Would you spoil the games of children?’

To that they had no answer.

‘I should have known,’ Osric said. ‘We say, “Out of the minds of dragons”. And I call myself a dragonrider. I should be flayed alive.’

Daretor and Zimak were still frowning. ‘That still doesn’t solve our problem,’ Daretor pointed out. ‘Where on Q’zar is the “abode of the clouds”?’

Jelindel stared at him in surprise. ‘Come on, Daretor. Think about it.’ Exasperated, she said, ‘Think “valley”.’

‘The Valley of Clouds is in Dremari,’ he said slowly. ‘The Stone People’s realm is somewhere beneath Fa’red’s keep. No doubt he thought that a rich joke at our expense.’

‘Gah, he won’t be laughing when I get my hands on him,’ Zimak cursed. ‘Look what he’s done to me.’ He grabbed a hold of his flabby stomach.

‘You were well on the way to obesity without Fa’red’s help,’ Daretor seethed.

‘Right you two,’ Jelindel said pointedly. She noticed that Hakat and QeSu looked confused. ‘S’cressling, if you would be so kind?’ she said.

The dragon rested on her haunches to enable them to climb her flanks. When the group was safely secure in their harnesses, S’cressling launched into the air and began the journey back to Dremari, beyond the Valley of Clouds.

Chapter 9

ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND

T

hey landed in the same spot as before, a mist-enshrouded mountain top invisible to prying eyes and inaccessible to any but the most determined. Osric, Hakat and QeSu remained with S’cressling. Even though Jelindel healed Osric’s broken arm, it remained weak and there was little he could do in a fight. Zimak did not get the same consideration. Climbing up and down steep mountain sides and quite possibly running from an assortment of enemies seemed the perfect recipe for losing weight, and strengthening a fat, force-fed body.

‘Gah, Jelindel. This isn’t fair,’ he wailed, not for the first time. ‘I suffered as well. Do you think I enjoyed eating that food? They stuck a tube into me and poured it in. I couldn’t even taste it!’

‘As allegory, Zimak, that takes a lot of beating,’ said Jelindel, putting a hand to her head.

‘What’s an allegory?’

‘Never mind,’ she said, patting his bulging stomach. ‘Just don’t name it after me.’

‘Am I being insulted?’

‘Definitely. Meantime a little exercise and you’ll be fine.’ She stared at him and frowned. ‘Actually, quite a lot of exercise. There’s nothing magical about building muscles. I daresay the body you stole from Daretor was made by blood, sweat and tears.’

Zimak appealed to Daretor. ‘It’s your body. How can you sit there smirking?’

‘
You
need to sweat it off,’ Daretor said. ‘You will go and eat like a pig.’

‘It wasn’t my fault. They
made
me eat!’

‘Nobody can make you eat,’ Daretor said, pretending he did not know the truth. ‘Either way, it’s time you went on a diet. This little adventure will be good for you.’

‘There’s nothing “little” about any adventure with you two,’ Zimak growled. Having established that neither Jelindel nor Daretor would indulge him, he distanced himself from both.

Later that evening they came to the main gate of Dremari. This time, instead of presenting papers that they no longer had, Jelindel cast a cloaking spell. When a gap in the foot traffic opened up they joined the flow of pedestrians, carts and wagons, careful to avoid contact with anyone else.

‘I don’t see why you can’t do this everywhere we go,’ Zimak grumbled. ‘It’s a lot easier than risking being seen.’

Jelindel closed her eyes momentarily. ‘For the hundredth time, Zimak. Magic use leaves an aura. A signature visible to other sorcerers and adepts, showing that it’s being used and by whom.’

‘Then why use it?’ Zimak said.

Jelindel said to Daretor, ‘I’d ask you to hit him if I thought it would knock sense into him.’

Daretor smirked. ‘I’m loath to knock my own body about. But White Quell it’s tempting at times. Perhaps it’s not all Zimak’s fault. They say those who eat too much think less.’

Dremari was crowded. The city was in the middle of the Solstice Festival and the streets were clogged with locals and visitors. There were merchants, street vendors and entertainers of every kind. Circus acts, fire-breathers, jugglers, dancers, musicians, food sellers, trinket vendors, herbalists, refreshment stands, and outdoor cafes jostled among processions and horse-drawn floats. Moving through the city was difficult and Jelindel doubted they would find accommodation.

Yet the packed crowds also helped hide them, and what they were about.

After numerous enquiries they found an innkeeper who, in exchange for two gold oriels, allowed them to sleep in the upper section of his stable. The fact that it was filthy and stank of horse dung made no difference to the price he charged.

‘If you want to haggle,’ said the man, ‘go some place else. There’s plenty will think the stable a fine place to rest their heads this night.’

Jelindel paid, but they did not retire immediately. They found a booth in the corner of the taproom, not far from the warmth of a welcoming fire, and ordered drinks. They also managed to secure what food the scullery maid was willing to serve at this late hour. It was little enough, but after fighting the crowds for several hours they were ravenous.

They ate, drank and relaxed like all the others around them, then in furtive whispers they discussed plans.

‘There has to be some path or portal down to the realm of the Stone People,’ Daretor insisted.

‘Obviously, but is the path open to mere mortals?’ Zimak asked, looking pointedly at Jelindel. ‘Besides, Fa’red isn’t going to hang a sign on a door somewhere, that says, “This way to Stone People”.’

‘White Quell forbid anything should be easy,’ Jelindel murmured. ‘Nor do we know how far their domain is beneath Dremari. It might be a hundred yards or ten miles. I can work a portal charm, like those which lead to paraworlds, but it would have to carry me to the right place. I would hate to end up inside a block of granite.’

‘Then there’s only one thing to do,’ Daretor said.

Jelindel nodded. ‘We must pay Fa’red a visit.’

Zimak snorted. ‘Gah, that’s a great plan. You don’t seriously believe for one minute that he’s going to tell you anything useful? You could chop him up into tiny pieces and torture them individually, yet he still wouldn’t admit anything. Look what happened the last time you trusted him.’

Jelindel cocked a weary eyebrow. ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

Zimak was about to say he had no idea when a slow wide grin broke across his bulbous cheeks. ‘I’m glad you asked,’ he said.

‘Look, I’m the brains behind this. So I shouldn’t have to actually
do
anything,’ Zimak said in a hurt tone. ‘That’s what generals have captains for.’

Jelindel glared at him icily.

‘No, you can forget it,’ he insisted.

Her eyes bored into his.

‘Oh, fine then,’ he snapped. ‘Have it your way. You always do.’

‘You’re a sweetheart,’ said Jelindel.

‘I’m an idiot.’

‘Finally, a confession,’ said Daretor.

Jelindel became sombre. ‘This is still very dangerous. So take it seriously.’

‘My middle name,’ Zimak said gloomily.

‘Zimak Danger Chubby,’ Daretor said. ‘If it weren’t my body, I would propose a toast to your ill health.’

‘But it
is
your body,’ Zimak said. ‘You’d do well to remember that. I might just let it go further, so much so that not even your fanaticism will get it back into shape.’

‘Why you little snake rat –’

Jelindel stepped deftly between them. ‘If you want to fight, do it against an enemy.’

Daretor dropped his clenched hands. ‘Then find a way to switch our bodies so I need no longer look at him,’ he seethed.

‘One thing at a time, Daretor,’ she said. ‘We’re going to need Osric’s help. If I can trust you two alone for five minutes, I’ll fetch him.’

Daretor thumped Zimak on the shoulder. ‘Send Lord Chubby here. He needs the exercise.’

‘I could squash you like a fly,’ Zimak threatened.

Jelindel left them to their bickering, hoping that neither would mangle each other’s body. Not permanently, at any rate.

They left the stable after dark. This was more by habit than necessity since the streets were brightly lit for the benefit of the festival revellers and were, in any case, packed. The sheer numbers afforded better camouflage than any amount of darkness could have provided.

They moved slowly, going with the ebb and flow of the crowd. They stopped now and then to sample wares on stalls, to watch street performers, or listen to diatribes by incensed citizens that stood on soap boxes at street corners, all with missions to save the world.

Despite the gravity of the situation and the days inexorably passing, they enjoyed the festive spirit that gripped the streets. Jelindel walked hand in hand with Daretor, and Zimak kept a moody silence.

In this way they crossed several city blocks and came close to the castle, which was, uncharacteristically, open to the public. This was a rare event, only occurring three times a year. Along with dozens of sightseers they strolled into the castle grounds where more tents and side shows had been set up, along with a long tent displaying a visual history of Dremari and its illustrious royal family. It was, most knew, pure fabrication. But it was also standard procedure for new would-be dynasties replacing overthrown houses.

As they wandered amongst the tents and hawkers, Jelindel suddenly nudged Zimak, indicating a portcullis with her eyes. In a low whisper she said, ‘The inner courtyard lies through there.’

Zimak scowled. ‘And how am I to get to it? Fly? Why, there must be two dozen guards that I can count, and more inside maybe.’

‘One day, Zimak, you will hopefully learn to look for the silver lining instead of perpetually seeking the rain,’ Jelindel said.

‘I had a rotten childhood.
You
spent little enough time in the D’loom marketplace, and if it hadn’t been for me you’d have rotted there.’

‘Maybe,’ said Jelindel. ‘Although I’m sure our poor scribe friend, Bebia Ral’Vey, would have something to say about that. He did provide us with security and shelter, after all.’

‘Tch,’ Zimak scoffed. ‘You call his table shelter? It was me who kept the bully boys away from you. And Daretor who led you to the mailshirt that released the magic in you.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You owe us, Jelindel.’

‘Enough!’ Daretor growled. ‘Is there a way for Zimak to get in there?’

‘Let’s keep wandering. Some method may present itself.’

They continued their apparently aimless wanderings around the outer courtyard. As Zimak had pointed out, the portcullis, thick, heavy, and presently lowered, was well guarded. No entry could be hoped for there.

Jelindel looked up at the inner wall. It rose at least twenty-five feet and what embrasures it possessed were narrow. It was designed for shooting fire arrows and scrutinising the enemy, not wriggling through.

Half an hour later they were in a large brightly coloured tent in the shape of a tower. It was some eighteen feet tall and bedecked with pennants and ribbons. The three paid the huckster, who ushered them inside. Madame Mooska sat at a small table, ready to divine their futures.

The soothsayer smiled when she saw her customers. They were perfect. Just the sort of country bumpkins she liked. She waved them to chairs. A lamp of milky crystal sat on the table – the fabled Crystal of Hegiza’a, or so she claimed. Madame Mooska had no idea where Hegiza’a was or even if it existed, but it impressed people.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ she said huskily. ‘I am Madame Mooska. Now, which one of you wants to go first?’

‘I will,’ said Jelindel gravely.

‘Place your hands on the table so that the Crystal of Hegiza’a can pick up your vibrations.’

‘Vibrations?’ Zimak asked frowning.

Daretor nudged Zimak in the ribs and he lapsed into silence, looking bored.

‘I am going to foretell your future, dear,’ said Madame Mooska dramatically.

Jelindel shook her head. ‘Actually, I came here to foretell yours.’ Madame Mooska looked at her, confused. Then she jumped in alarm. The Crystal of Hegiza’a was glowing. She stared at it. ‘It’s never done that before.’ She looked up at Jelindel, suddenly suspicious. ‘What do you mean you’ve come to tell my fortune?’

‘You are going to meet a very powerful adept, who is going to put you to sleep,’ Jelindel said. ‘When you wake up you won’t remember any of this.’

‘Now just one moment –’ Before Madame Mooska could remonstrate further, Jelindel waved her hand and the woman froze, her mouth open, the spittle still gleaming on her lower lip. Then she collapsed slowly and gracefully.

Jelindel stood up, businesslike. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get to work.’

Zimak swallowed. ‘Is it going to hurt?’

‘Hopefully not not much, anyway. I mean, not a lot.’

‘Oh, you’re the Archmage of Reassurance, you are.’

‘Get on with it,’ Daretor said impatiently. He opened a pack and removed a series of poles that fitted into one another, each containing several holes. He then poked smaller rods through the holes, forming a crude ladder.

Meanwhile, Jelindel murmured a charm. Zimak started to feel queasy. Suddenly he went limp, as if he had no bones in his body. His flesh distorted, losing shape.

Zimak wailed softly. ‘I don’t like this …’

‘Shhh. It’s only for a few minutes. Besides, it was you who gave me the idea back in Ishluk. Does “Dissolving bones and leaving behind one big pile of useless human sludge” ring a bell?’ she asked merrily.