Dragonwitch (40 page)

“Starlight, star bright, guide her footsteps through the night.”

The words vanished with a vaporous breath into the cold darkness. The star above shimmered.

Then it turned and looked at Leta.

How may I serve you?
it said.

Leta fell over backward, landing with a thump on the library floor.

F
OR
THIS
PURPOSE
,
I
HAVE
RETURNED
to this land of my former enslavement. I have harnessed the power of mortal devotion, even as Amarok once did. And they worship me and serve me, and they would die for me.

They will die for me.

They will bring me Halisa, and all will be made right in my eyes.

The high priestess's train might as well have been links of chain, so effectually did it bind Mouse to her.

Mouse walked blindfolded, keeping careful pace with the Speaker in front of her, never allowing herself to walk too fast or too slow, as she had been trained from the day she came to the temple. Around her, she heard the murmured chants of the priestesses, the answering whispers of frightened acolytes, and the marching tread of the warriors' heavy feet.
The scrubber she could not sense at all, save for a strange, uneasy feeling that he watched her from behind.

Well, she knew what she must do. She couldn't guarantee it was right, and she was absolutely certain it was not smart. But she would do it, and she would hope, if hope could be found in the winding ways of the Diggings.

She would make certain the Dragonwitch, who had deceived her and all her people, did not gain that for which she had enslaved this world.

“Here,” said the Speaker at last, and the company came to a halt. “Remove your coverings.”

With one hand Mouse released the high priestess's train and slid her blindfold down around her neck. She blinked, for she had not expected the torchlight to be so bright. The Speaker met her gaze, her black eyes revealing nothing. Mouse looked away and found herself facing the old scrubber, who grinned and nodded knowingly.

The entrance to Halisa's chamber reflected back its shadows even when the eunuchs approached with their torches. It was difficult to believe there was or ever had been a doorway. But when the high priestess strode forward, trailing Mouse behind, the edge of the carved stone accepted the light and revealed itself in sharp contours, all the fine carvings of dreadful things.

And within lay the black stone from which Fireword protruded.

So the Smallman hadn't found it. Mouse felt her heart turn to shivering ice in her breast. She hadn't expected him to succeed, not really. He was lost in the Diggings, like the slave Diggers before him. He would not return. Some prophecies are not meant for fulfillment.

The ice of Mouse's heart hardened to iron resolve, and her fists clenched the edge of her mistress's train. Failed prophecies be devil taken! The Dragonwitch would not carry this day.

The Speaker passed under the arch, and Mouse was obliged to scurry after her. She had no desire to approach either stone or sword, but she had no choice, for her mistress walked right up and stood gazing down upon them. Mouse looked too . . . and was surprised.

The first time she glimpsed the weapon, it had seemed nothing more than an ugly object of violence chipped from the black stone itself. Now she saw, or thought she saw, the gleam of silver. A glimmer truer than firelight.

It's a gift.

The thought slipped into her mind and rested there, growing by the moment. Mouse's eyes widened with wonder.

This sword can slay dragons.

At that moment, Mouse first noticed a sound she hadn't heard the time they came with the Silent Lady—a rumbling like the snarl of a monster awakened from a long sleep. But it couldn't be that. This growl was far more alive than anything Mouse had ever heard before. Alive with power—deep, flowing power.

She looked down at her feet, down at the solid rock on which she stood. And she knew suddenly what voice made that growl.

It was the rivers. All the enchanted rivers of the Hidden Land, flowing beneath them.

Although she could not know if this was true, she believed it nonetheless. And for some reason she could not name, believing gave her hope.

“Come closer, sword-bearer,” said the Speaker, turning to the chamber door, where the scrubber stood between his two guards. They led him in, and the other warriors followed, though the priestesses and acolytes remained without, clutching torches and staring into the darkness surrounding them.

“Behold your weapon,” said the Speaker as the scrubber was brought before her. With a sweep of her hand, she indicated Halisa.

The scrubber regarded it mildly. “Yup. That's my sword,” he said.

“This, the blade with which you twice slew the Flame at Night,” said the Speaker. Her tone was incredulous, almost questioning, as she gazed from the stone-chipped sword to the wizened little beggar. “This, the blade with which you quenched her flame.”

“Same one,” said he, looking up at her. “Mind you, I was a bit spryer! There's been a lot of water under the stone since then.”

“With this sword, you will meet your doom at the hand of the Flame,” said the Speaker. “Now take it up, old one, and bear your death to her hands.”

The scrubber cracked his knuckles, each one giving off a sharp snap. As nonchalant as though Cook had just asked him to fetch an iron ladle, he stepped up to the stone, reached out, and let his gnarled hand hover over the hilt. And as he reached for it, a strange thing happened. The stone
flaked away in dry flecks of dust and debris. The nearer his skin came to touching the hilt, the brighter it grew, until it was no longer carved stone at all but wrought silver. Engraved with images of the sun and the moon and the stars, it shone as bright as any of the heavenly host.

Mouse could not breathe. She could scarcely bear to look away from that brilliance, from that glory come down from the sky and hidden here in the darkness beneath the worlds. But when at last she turned to study the faces of those around her, she saw only dullness in their eyes. Could they not see the change that had come upon Halisa?

“Wait.” The scrubber, his hand poised in the air, turned suddenly and fixed Mouse with a slant-eyed glare. “What's she doing here?”

The Speaker looked at Mouse, who met her eye only briefly before looking away.
She knows,
Mouse thought desperately.
She knows what I'm going to do!

But the Speaker said only, “She is my servant. Faithful and brave.”

“Send her out,” said he. “I don't want her in here.”

Mouse turned to her mistress, hands trembling as she clutched the end of the red robe. The Speaker looked down at her coldly. “Go, Mouse,” she said. “Wait for me outside. Our labor here is almost done.”

Dropping the train, Mouse hastened to obey. Her heart beat wildly as she passed between the eunuchs and escaped through the doorway arch into the coldness of the Diggings. The priestesses and acolytes around her were like so many red-tinted ghosts in the torchlight, black hollows where their eyes should be.

Halisa glowed upon the stone.

The rivers beneath the floor roared in distant protest.

“Take the sword,” said the Speaker.

Ancient fingers closed upon the still more ancient hilt. Though his arm was too skinny to support such a weapon, the scrubber lifted Halisa from its bed. It slid from the black stone as simply as it might slide from its sheath. Rising, it shone brighter, brighter even than the ever-burning flame atop the Spire.

The scrubber stepped back. Halisa was far too heavy for him, and after shivering for a moment in the air, the sword came to a ringing crash upon the floor, breaking tiles beneath its blade. But the old man kept his hold
on the hilt. Heaving, he lifted the weapon upright again and, tottering with each step, made his way to the door.

The eunuchs parted to give him room. The Speaker drew up behind him, her head higher than the hunch of his shoulders. Mouse saw her face, full of joyless triumph.

The scrubber stood beneath the arch. “You know,” he said, “I put a guard on this door. If anyone other than me or my heir tried to take Halisa from here, they should die. A harsh protection, I'll grant you, but didn't I just know people like you'd come poking around down here? I've won myself a number of enemies and lost a number of friends over the years. A man can't be too careful.”

“Enough,” said the Speaker. “We must hurry. My goddess awaits.”

“Yes, she does, doesn't she?” the scrubber muttered.

One foot passed over the threshold. Then the other.

And suddenly, there was a rip, a roar, and a crash. Mouse screamed and fell back, her voice lost in the screams of the other priestesses and acolytes, of the Netherworld spirits around them. For the doorway to the chamber had broken, and the carved stone fell, dragging chunks of the wall with it. The cacophony was too loud for the cries of the eunuchs and the high priestess buried within to be heard.

Mouse, fallen to her hands and knees, was kicked and stepped on as the women fled, their torches flashing and vanishing in the panic. Soon she would be lost in utter darkness, alone in the Netherworld. All her plans to grab Halisa and flee into the Diggings were for nothing! Had it too been buried under the broken doorway? Would the Dragonwitch, disappointed again, send more slaves to die as they dug it out once more?

“There you are, Mousy. I thought you'd be close.”

Mouse startled as the familiar stench of the old scrubber's breath filled her nostrils. She felt her hand grasped and something pressed into it. Something heavy, with a leather grip, that she recognized immediately even though she had never before held its like.

“Fireword!”

“Take it,” said the scrubber. “Take it and run. Find the Smallman, for though he is lost, he still has a purpose to fulfill.”

Mouse gripped the sword in both hands, feeling she must keel over
from the weight of it. A silver light ran faintly along its blade, revealing the eyes of the old man. And in that light, other things became suddenly clear as well.

Mouse turned to the wreckage of the doorway, the pile of rubble. “Are they alive?” she cried.

“They're inside,” said the scrubber. “As alive as they've ever been.”

“I must get them out!”

“No, child,” said the scrubber. His voice was firm but sad. “You must find the Smallman. Do you hear me?”

By the light of the sword, Mouse stared at broken stone. High priestess! She wanted to scream at the pile, to drive the sword into it, to tear it down. Mistress! Was she there, did she still breathe?

“Mother,” she whispered.

The scrubber's hand touched her shoulder. “They're not dead,” he said. “They're living the same death of a life they've embraced since the beginning. But you cannot stay here. Live, child. Live as you have never lived before. Take the sword to my heir and see your people freed!”

“What about you?” Tears clogged Mouse's throat. “What about the Dragonwitch?”

“I'll take care of the Dragonwitch,” said the scrubber. “Never you fear. Now go!”

Mouse ran. She fled into the Diggings without direction, without a Path, but she held Halisa in both hands, and the darkness kept its distance. Around her she could hear screams. The priestesses and acolytes wandered the Diggings in unprotected fear. Like the Diggers they had sent to perish at the goddess's command, they lost their way. Tears stained Mouse's face. They were her sisters! They were blind, and they were foolish.

They were like her.

She gripped the sword, wondering how she managed to carry it, for it should be far too heavy. But the blade gleamed, lighting a Path at her feet, and she followed without question. “Where is the Chronicler?” she whispered. “Where is the heir?”

“Mouse!”

She turned at the sound of her name, staring into the darkness beyond the sword's light. “Eanrin?” she called, her voice tentative.

“Wait! Wait right there!” called the familiar golden voice.

Mouse planted her feet, and soon two figures appeared in the ring of light around her. “Silent Lady!” Mouse cried, recognizing the woman beside Eanrin. “You're free!”

“Dragon's teeth, girl, don't make such
noise
,” Eanrin said, his face ferocious in Halisa's glow. “It's killing my nerves, all this screaming and shouting.”

Imraldera gently squeezed Mouse's shoulder. The friendly gesture was enough to make Mouse weep, but she swallowed her tears. “You have Halisa,” Imraldera said, gazing in wonder at the weapon that she had never before seen but about which she had written more than a hundred documents.

“How did you get it?” Eanrin demanded.

Scarcely able to draw breath, Mouse explained what had happened, the breaking of the doorway arch, the burying of the high priestess and the eunuch warriors. “They're trapped!” she said. “He gave me the sword, told me to run, then left me, and they're trapped in the dark!”

“That sounds about like Etanun,” Eanrin growled.

“Don't, Eanrin,” Imraldera said and turned to Mouse. “We'll get them out. Can you lead us to them?”