Dragonsight (34 page)

Recognising S’cressling, several called out greetings in deep-throated trumpeting sounds. S’cressling answered.

‘So this is a dragon nursery,’ Zimak murmured to himself.

‘Remember what I said,’ Osric reminded them. ‘Do not leave S’cressling even for a second. Dragons are lethal when protecting their young.’ He looked at his bandaged arm. ‘And they smell blood,’ he added, keeping a straight face.

‘Are we safe here?’ Jelindel asked, picking up on Zimak’s unease.

‘We’re safe for as long as S’cressling keeps us safe.’

‘Good old S’cressling,’ said Zimak, uncharacteristically patting the dragon on the flank. He nervously eyed the horde of dragons that diligently eyed him back. ‘I’ve always said, you can’t beat S’cressling, a dragon among dragons, honest, friendly,
loyal
…’

‘Zimak?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m shutting up, okay? See? I’ve shut up.’

S’cressling made her way through the vast cavern, wending her way between the great rocky nests, all the time heading for the mouth of another tunnel that opened in the far wall.

Sometimes she stopped to exchange greetings with a dragon sitting on a clutch of eggs. The long-vowelled sonorous tongue of the dragons was hypnotic to the ear, even oddly reassuring. It made Jelindel feel strangely safe, as a child might in the dark night, when she suddenly hears the familiar tones of her father’s voice. She wondered why this should be. It was apparent that Daretor and Zimak felt the same way.

Only once did Jelindel glimpse a dragon egg. She was not surprised to see that it was like a polished stone, something made from the bones of the earth and shaped into a smooth, gleaming ovoid by a trick of nature. She could hardly believe that such a solid-looking object could house new life, or indeed that it could even be hollow.

Osric later told her that she was lucky to see an egg. The dragons jealously guard them from view, even from dragonkeepers, with whom they generally have a good relationship. ‘It is probably because they sense magic in you,’ he said. ‘In some way, they see you as a kindred spirit.’

Before long they left behind the great nesting cavern and entered the tunnel that led to a vast rookery in which dragons sheltered with their young. The young dragons were actually far more dangerous than their elders, though not by design. They were not malicious, just big and strong.

‘They could bite you in half, though not mean to,’ said Osric.

After a while they came to a series of smaller tunnels, clearly intended for men. After brief farewells, Jelindel, Daretor and Zimak lit smoky torches and entered the tunnels. Osric returned with S’cressling to the canyons.

Jelindel and the others had not gone far when a dreadful odour washed over them.

‘By all the gods, what is that foul smell?’ Zimak asked, gagging.

‘Perhaps if you listened when things were explained to you, you would know,’ said Daretor, whose own nose was screwed up in disgust.

‘You mean Osric’s little speech before we landed? For your information, I was trying valiantly not to throw up on everyone, so I was a little busy.’

Jelindel, breathing through her mouth, waved them to silence. ‘Creatures live here,’ she said. ‘Scavengers that keep the dragon caves clean.’

‘And I suppose they’re huge, with great teeth and unpleasant dispositions?’ Zimak said.

‘Not at all,’ said Daretor. ‘They’re blubberous and irritating and they talk too much.’

They came to a wide cavern studded with stalactites and stalagmites. The stream running in the middle was ink-black. Even when a torch was held above its surface, its depth could not be guessed.

But that was not what held their attention.

‘I’m not walking through that,’ said Zimak. ‘I’m not.’

‘Fine. Go back and say hello to the dragons for me,’ Daretor said, despite the fact that he himself looked ill at the thought of crossing the cavern.

They stared in dismay at the cavern floor. It was covered in pools of seeping, pulpy matter that heaved and pulsed and smelled like putrefying flesh. Whole segments seemed to be dissolving slowly into ropy threads of saliva-like liquid that glistened noisomely in the torch light.

‘I’m not crossing that,’ Zimak said again.

Jelindel was squinting. ‘Maybe you won’t have to,’ she said. ‘If we climb that rock we can reach the stream. Assuming it’s not too deep we should be able to follow it to the other side.’

‘Gah, assuming it’s not packed with nasty things just lying in wait for the unwary.’

Jelindel looked at Zimak. ‘Can you stop being so negative?’

Zimak shrugged. ‘Just pointing out the obvious dangers.’

Jelindel did not reply. Instead, she clambered onto the rock and crawled along to a point where she could, with some difficulty and a badly skinned knee, lower herself into the water.

Daretor stood on the rock looking down at her. His face was grim. ‘Zimak could be right,’ he said. ‘We should test the water first.’

‘We have nothing to test it with,’ said Jelindel. ‘Except me.’

She started splashing with her feet. ‘Jelli!’ cried Daretor, suddenly alarmed. ‘Have you gone mad?’

The dark waters lay still all around. ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get moving.’

With many sideways glances at the dark stream, Daretor and Zimak climbed down and followed Jelindel along the shore, about six feet out from the bank. Here the water was up to their hips. They moved quietly and said little. It was hard enough to breathe the stinking air without trying to talk as well.

They were almost within reach of the exit tunnel when the things attacked. They appeared to be giant water rats with thin, elongated snouts, almost like a species of alligator, and armed with many lethal teeth. The creatures came surging up from the inky depths, water cascading from their furry backs, jaws snapping. Jelindel would have been pulled under at once if Zimak’s reflexes had not been faster. Finding it difficult to walk he was using his sword as a staff. In one quick move he thrust it deep into the mouth of the animal as it lunged at Jelindel.

A great thrashing began in the water as dozens of the creatures surged forward. There were so many they got in each other’s way. Zimak and Daretor’s swords flashed and thrust. Blood added a deeper flush to the dark stream. Jelindel spat weak binding spells, adding one that tripled a creature’s weight so that it sank to the bottom.

‘This way,’ yelled Daretor, scrambling onto a rocky outcrop. With the last of his energy he dragged Jelindel out of the water, then they covered for Zimak. In seconds, they were several feet above the stream. Below them was a frothing sea of snapping jaws.

‘It doesn’t look as if they are much into climbing,’ Jelindel said, trying to regain her composure. She gulped in air to stay conscious. An indefatigable fatigue was sweeping through her.

Zimak hawked some bloodied bile down at the slavering creatures. ‘If blood’s what they want, they can have it.’

Daretor forced himself to stand. ‘Give them all you want,’ he said. ‘I’m saving mine.’

They climbed over more rocks, putting as much distance between themselves and the maniacal animals as they could. Oddly enough, the creatures did not pursue them into the pulpy mass. The humans understood why soon enough. Daretor had spotted a tunnel in the wall and made for it. It led for a moment toward the stream. An over-eager creature surged partly out of the water and onto the bank, its forepaws sinking into the putrefying mass. With a speed that was frightening, knotted tentacles whipped out of the mass and dragged the creature into the sodden depths. The amphibian squealed once and was gone.

‘What in Black Quell’s pit was that?’ Zimak demanded shakily.

‘Let’s not find out,’ said Jelindel. They hurried towards the tunnel mouth, taking extra care not to come within reach of the morass.

Behind them, the water creatures were enjoying a feeding frenzy.

‘They’re eating their dead,’ Zimak gulped.

The three climbed wearily into the tunnel. Here a faint breeze blew in their faces and brought a warm earthy smell free of taint. They breathed easy for the first time in a while. The tunnel bore them quickly and effortlessly through the remainder of the barrier wall into a narrow ravine on the floor of the inner crater. Some miles away, across the crater, could be seen the single tall pinnacle of rock, atop which sat the Tower Inviolate. They stopped for a rest.

The path ahead looked dry, but forbidding and long. Nor was danger far off. Dragons patrolled the airways, circling the tower, while single dragons looped around the crater. Osric had explained that the only way to reach the tower unseen and uninvited was via the network of narrow ravines on the crater floor. These ravines were often no more than six or seven feet across and as much as forty feet deep. No dragon, Osric had said, flying normal patrol, could see to the bottom. Nevertheless, he had cautioned them not to look up, in case their pale faces became visible. He’d also cautioned them to hide all shiny gems and buckles. This done, they set off.

If it was hot in the crater, it was sweltering in the ravines. Within minutes sweat was pouring off them, and their clothes hung dank and heavy, weighing them down. Their packs chaffed and added to the burden. Before long they trudged along the snaking maze-like ravines feeling so fatigued that they could not imagine fighting off any attacker.

‘Our water won’t last at this rate,’ said Daretor, panting.

‘We shall see,’ Jelindel replied, somewhat cryptically.

Then they both looked at Zimak.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘What did I do now?’

‘Nothing,’ said Jelindel.

‘Which is the point,’ said Daretor. ‘You haven’t complained once since setting foot in these canyons.’

Zimak, who still carried quite a bit of fat, shrugged. ‘No one ever listens anyway. Besides, I’ve come up with a whole new philosophy of life.’

Daretor raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Daretor gazed at him for a moment. ‘Well, are you going to share this wondrous revelation, or keep it to yourself?’

‘I’m going to live in the “now”.’

‘The now what?’

‘Just the now. The moment. The present. I’m going with the flow of events.’

‘What flow? What are you talking about?’

‘The flow. Life is like a stream. It flows along. You can either go with the current or you can fight against it and try to swim upstream, or you can get out of the water entirely. It’s your choice. Me, I’m going with the flow. And right now, this is the flow. Trudging along, sweating like a pig, about to die horribly in all likelihood.’

‘I’ve heard of something like this,’ Jelindel said. ‘The monks of the Nerrissi Plateau have a similar faith.’

‘They do?’ Zimak said, surprised.

Daretor groaned. ‘You’re only encouraging him,’ he said. ‘The poison has driven him mad, and you’re making it worse. Going with the dummart “now”. Being in the “flow”. The babblings of a deranged brain, if you ask me. Next thing you know he’ll be talking to common stones.’

‘Well, the Nerrissi monks do –’ Jelindel began.

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Daretor said. The others shrugged and they continued. For the next several hours they moved wearily, but they covered a lot of ground. At various junctures they were reassured to see that they were closing in on the tower.

They were probably half-way across the crater floor, when they spotted several high-flying dragons soaring overhead. It was at this point that their water ran out.

Jelindel called a stop and they rested for several minutes. They knew that they had little chance of reaching the tower without water. Even if they did, they would be in no condition to carry out the plan.

‘What are we going to do?’ Zimak asked, his eyes glazed.

‘Isn’t that a question about the future?’ asked Daretor. ‘I thought you were the fellow who lived in the now?’

Zimak waved him away, too drained to waste words. ‘Jelindel?’ he asked again.

‘There is something I can do but I am loath to do it. It may give us away.’

‘We may be dead either way then,’ Daretor pointed out.

‘Perhaps. In any case it’s too soon. Let’s move on.’

They trudged on, putting one weary foot in front of the other. In this manner, they covered half the remaining distance, but then could go no further. All three were stumbling, their mouths gaping, their breath coming in dry gasps.

They finally staggered to a stop. Zimak sat down, unable to get up again. Daretor lowered himself to the ground with as much dignity as he could manage and looked to Jelindel. She swam in and out of focus before his eyes.

‘Whatever you’re going to do,’ he said, ‘now would be a good time.’

Zimak smiled through cracked lips. ‘See?
Now
would be a good time.’

‘Imbecile,’ said Daretor.

Without speaking Jelindel slid to her knees and began to rub her palms across a section of the ravine wall. As she did so she murmured an incantation. Very slowly, as if reluctant, a flickering blue light gathered on her lips. Instead of leaping out, it slid across her cheek, down her neck and arm and into the rock, where it sparkled and foamed.

A moment later the rock darkened and began to sweat. Water started oozing from the very pores of the stone until a small trickle formed.

‘Quickly,’ Jelindel said. ‘Fill the canteens, drink as much as you can, then fill them again. I can’t maintain this for long.’

Rakeem’s head whipped up. A puzzled look flashed across his face, cutting him off in mid sentence. The guard captain he was speaking to raised his eyebrows.

‘Vizier? Something troubles you?’

Rakeem silenced him with a motion and frowned. ‘I sense something …’ he said, ‘not far away but not close either … an unfamiliar magic …’

The captain looked troubled.

‘Double the guard,’ Rakeem snapped. ‘It may be nothing but … something …’

They made it to the base of the tower. As Osric had promised they found an ancient fissure through which they squeezed. Inside was a natural chamber that seemed to have no ceiling. The walls were perfectly smooth and there appeared to be no way to scale them.

‘What now?’ Daretor asked.

‘I can use the last of my magic,’ Jelindel said. ‘We’re inside the pinnacle itself. Some magic must be practised within the tower from time to time, and that might cloak mine.’