The Dragon of Despair (38 page)

Laughing, the crowd did part, a few of the children forming an informal escort for Edlin and Firekeeper. Elise noted to her amusement that several people were patting their pockets as they went on their way.

Once they had taken their rooms at the Long Trail Winding and reacquainted themselves with the establishment’s friendly owner, Derian sneaked Citrine and Grateful Peace in via a back stair. He reported them comfortable in the room he was sharing with Edlin and Doc.

“Glad to stretch,” Derian added. “I’ll arrange for a bite for them later. Happily, young men have hollow legs, so no one will think it odd if Edlin and I eat more than one meal.”

Soon after the rest had assembled in the public room for a glass of something cool, Edlin rejoined them.

“Firekeeper’s off,” he said matter-of-factly. “Stuck by me until we had the thief under lock and key. He’s a known man hereabouts it seems, so there was no trouble about it. She stayed long enough to ask a few questions about when a man is a thief and when a bandit, then headed for the hills. Says she’ll meet us at the docks come morning.”

Wendee shook her head.

“More than she could take, poor girl.”

“Nearly more than I could take,” Derian commented. “I thought Firekeeper would cut the man’s throat then and there. I’m not at all surprised she asked about bandits—not after last year. How’d you explain the difference, Lord Edlin?”

Edlin grinned reminiscently.

“Took some doing, what? Basically, though, I told her that a thief just stole, but a bandit threatened violence and when that happened, well…”

He blithely mimed a knife blade across his own throat.

“I suppose it will answer,” Elise said, a trace uneasily.

Suddenly she was reminded of the journey ahead of them, a journey where the threat of bandits was all too real. Last winter she had been more innocent—or at least more ignorant. Now she lacked the comfort of illusion. She shivered, wishing that the road ahead didn’t seem so long or so dangerous.

Across the table, she saw Doc was watching her, his own gaze mirroring her fears.

FIREKEEPER HAD ENJOYED
her tangle with the thief in Stilled. It was about the only thing she did enjoy for the next several days.

The river crossing the next morning wasn’t much fun. The wolf-woman had yet to grow accustomed to the feeling of a boat deck moving under her feet, but would have died rather than let anyone know how miserable she was.

She would have been happier if their group had immediately struck out from Gateway, but this, too, proved unexpectedly complicated. It seemed that Peace and Citrine could not simply emerge from their hiding places, put on their New Kelvinese clothing, and become the party’s guides.

No, this, too, must be made unexpectedly complex. Derian tried to explain.

“It’s like this, Firekeeper,” he said, “people are going to be watching us when we get to Dragon’s Breath, quite possibly before. It would look pretty strange if we suddenly had a guide—a guide no one remembered meeting before.”

“Big place,” Firekeeper protested. “Many people. Not everyone know everyone.”

Derian sighed.

“Right,” he said, “but wrong. We want people to have seen Peace—or his new self, Jalarios. Remember to call him that, right?”

Firekeeper nodded curtly.

“Peace says,” Derian went on, breaking his own admonition with that inconsistency that Firekeeper found so maddening, “that no one will look too closely at him—not with the makeup he’s wearing—because they’ll know he has something to hide.”

“So then they look to see what hiding is!” Firekeeper said.

“No,” Derian said in a way that made Firekeeper positive that he was less certain than he seemed. “Peace says they’ll think he’s a rich man grown poor or something like that, that people don’t like looking too closely at failure or defeat because they’re not sure it won’t rub off on them.”

Firekeeper didn’t understand this at all, but didn’t bother saying so. She suspected it was another of those human traits that made no sense.

“So we wait,” she replied, “and you play these games. I wonder what games Melina play while we wait?”

Derian didn’t answer, but he looked very unhappy as he walked away.

However, neither the delay nor the discomfort of staying at a New Kelvinese inn were the worst things to happen over the next few days. The worst thing was when Elation announced she was leaving.

Firekeeper was moodily practicing archery with Edlin at a vacant range near the edge of town when Elation came slowly circling in from the direction of the river. A smaller hawk was with her, and before the pair had landed, Firekeeper was certain she knew Elation’s companion.

Unstringing her bow, she strode over to meet the two hawks, leaving Edlin to gape wide-eyed and openmouthed after her.

“Go on shooting,” she called to him. “I be back.”

Elation shrieked greeting to Firekeeper, her cry cutting the humid stillness of the afternoon.

“This is Bee Biter,”
she went on.
“I am sure you remember him.”

Firekeeper nodded. She did indeed remember the brightly colored Royal kestrel, and she felt a surge of apprehension.

“I do,”
she said.
“What brings him from the lands west of the mountains?”

“As before,”
Elation replied,
“he comes to tell me that the Mothers of our people have need of me.”

Firekeeper knew that among the wingéd folk the females were larger than the males and by extension more usually their rulers. A wave of dismay washed over her.

“Just like that?”
she cried.
“You are leaving?”

Elation beat her wings as if unsettled, but her reply was uncompromising.

“Bee Biter will stay with you,”
the peregrine said evasively,
“and he will contact those of our people who have gone ahead to Dragon’s Breath. I am needed elsewhere.”

Firekeeper thought of the reasons the Mothers of the wingéd folk would call back their wandering daughter and liked none of them. Peregrines were large and agile, fine fighters, far better than a little bug-eater like a kestrel. Did that mean warriors were needed, that the situation with Ewen Brooks and his settlement had gone rotten?

Then again Elation was wise in the ways of humankind. Indeed, a year and a half ago she had understood more Pellish than had Firekeeper herself. Firekeeper suspected that the falcon still understood some subtleties that escaped her. Was Elation then needed to interpret and advise on human behavior?

Or were the wingéd folk—perhaps having heard Wind Whisper and Northwest’s report—removing their support from Firekeeper’s venture? Firekeeper tried to dismiss that thought, recalling that Bee Biter was to stay with her and help her make contact with the wingéd folk in Dragon’s Breath, but she was all too aware how easy it would be for the kestrel to take wing one day and never return. Perhaps the promise of his assistance was more a sop to ease Elation’s departure.

But the wolf-woman tried to let none of this flood of worry color her reply:

“Why must you go?”
she asked as casually as she could.

Elation puffed out her feathers.

“There is no law that says I must justify my actions to little wolflings,”
she squawked angrily.

“None,”
Firekeeper agreed.
“I only wonder, friend to friend. Weasels might have climbed into your aerie or perhaps the humans have found the Brooding Cliffs?”

“Nothing so terrible,”
Elation replied, softening slightly, but still she offered nothing more and Firekeeper must be content. She turned to Bee Biter.

“We thank you for coming with us,”
she said.

The brilliant blue and red hawk preened his satisfaction. Although much smaller than Elation, like all Royal Beasts he was larger than the Cousin kind. Indeed, Firekeeper thought sardonically, Bee Biter might be able to slay a robin rather than merely a sparrow or a bee.

She couldn’t help but feel they were getting the worst part of the trade. Bee Biter might be able to make introductions, but there was no way that he would be the fighter Elation was, nor that he would be able to scout as far.

Blind Seer, who had been asleep in a shady copse of trees some distance away, came ambling up now.

“And what is the news from home?”
he asked.

Bee Biter nervously twisted his head side to side.

“News?”
he repeated shrilly.

“News,”
replied the wolf, gaping his jaws in a yawn so cavernous that the kestrel could have perched on his tongue.

“All is well,”
Bee Biter said, recovering somewhat.
“The humans are yet in their village, but something has stirred them like a hive of hornets.”

“King Tedric’s men?”
Firekeeper mused thoughtfully.
“I would not have thought they would have had time.”

Blind Seer sat and scratched hard behind one ear.

“Perhaps it is our own people who have done the stirring,”
he said.

Bee Biter said nothing more and with this the wolves had to be, if not content, at least satisfied.

THE MAGICAL LORE OF THE NEW KELVINESE
, Melina felt certain, held the answer to what she desired. Even before the disaster of the artifacts she had begun reading text after text, trying to find secreted within the epics, songs, and stories some hint as to how magic had worked in the days of the Founders.

The Sodality of Songweavers grew accustomed to sending over their members to recite for her. The Illuminators grew resigned—if not enthusiastic—about lending her copies of their precious texts.

Melina found the attitude of the Illuminators particularly hard to bear. She thought that if they had their way not a single book or scroll would ever be read. The precious texts would only be copied, embellished, and admired as if they were mere paintings, not things of sense and meaning. Their libraries were maintained, Melina noted with disdain, not by librarians, but by custodians whose only interest was in assuring that insects and molds did nothing to damage their charges.

After the disaster of the artifacts, Melina redoubled her efforts to learn about how magic might once have worked. She even incorporated her research into her courtship of Toriovico. The Sodality of Dancers and Choreographers, in which Toriovico would have enrolled had not his brother’s death elevated him to the place of heir apparent, was custodian of a great deal of lore about the past. Indeed, a sequence of dances contained as much knowledge as did any book or treatise.

Toriovico knew many of the dances by heart. Those dances he did not know well enough to perform for her himself, he was familiar with. He sincerely enjoyed escorting her to scheduled events and later sponsored performances so that she could see some obscure pieces that might otherwise be celebrated only under very special circumstances.

Eventually, Melina narrowed the focus of her research to those events that had occurred here in the New World during the days before the Burning Times had ended the easy practice of magic and sent the Founders back to the Old Country.

No longer did she settle for stories of what might or might not have been. She wanted absolute, provable evidence of miracles. There was no doubt that these had been commonly performed once. Buildings Melina had seen both here and in Hawk Haven held evidence enough. However, the hundred years and some that had passed since the Plague was enough time for stories to build up, distorting fact, shading it with fancy.

She visited Urnacia, the Sand Melter, where some of New Kelvin’s finest glass was made, and convinced herself that though there was tremendous art and craft beyond the knowledge of the simple glassblowers of Hawk Haven, there was no magic in the crafting of even the most beautifully hued glass.

Another trip to the steaming mountains north and west of Dragon’s Breath convinced her similarly that there was no magic in sericulture. The Sericulturalists did wonders in keeping their delicate charges alive, in growing the specialized plants needed for them to thrive, and in collecting the silk thread, but unless in the original creation of the silkworm long ago, here again there was no magic.