Dragon Rigger (24 page)

The Enemy controlled the Dream Mountain, as the dragons controlled their tiny patch of territory and their tiny lumenis groves.

As he watched, the mountain faded from the sky. But the image persisted in his mind like the lightning that flashed in the clouds.

Without warning, a third bolt flashed out of the clouds and struck him and in the blast of pain the dragon lost consciousness altogether.

* * *

WingTouch awoke to darkness, and to the sound of murmuring voices. Tar-skel's voice? No—these were voices of torment and despair. He couldn't even tell if they were dragon voices. "Who is there?" WingTouch murmured, but he heard no answer.

A short time later, he heard the sound of footsteps. They were not the footsteps of a dragon. He squinted into the darkness, where he was now able to discern some shapes. He seemed to be imprisoned in a large open area, some sort of crater, surrounded by dark, jagged shapes of stone, just at the edge of visibility. He tried to move, but his legs were frozen in place. The effort to move sent shudders of pain through his body. The wound at the back of his neck throbbed. He peered down at his feet and saw that they were embedded in solid stone. Enraged and humiliated, he could only vent steam.

A figure came into sight before him, nearly obscured by his breath. WingTouch grunted in surprise. It was not a dragon, nor any other creature of the realm. But it was a
kind of
creature he knew. It was a
human
—a human like the rigger Jael. Only not like Jael—taller, more muscular, darker in demeanor. But, surely, a rigger. His mind was clouded with confusion. A
rigger
. What was a rigger doing here, in the Enemy's camp? Was this . . . could it be . . . a rigger of the prophecy?

The human walked around an angular boulder and stood before him. It stared at him for a time, then said, "You have gazed upon the Dream Mountain." Its voice rippled like dragon scales, smooth and yet threatening.

WingTouch stared back at him, trying to decide what to make of this being.

"Do you begin to understand how useless your struggle is?" the human asked.

WingTouch drew a slow, difficult breath. After knowing Jael, if only for a short time, he had come to think of humans as allies, as forces for good from a realm beyond the realm. But he suddenly recalled Windrush's report of the human-spirit he had met in the abandoned warren to the south. WingTouch didn't remember that one's name, but it had seemed clear enough that it had counted itself no friend of dragons. WingTouch decided, staring at this one, that perhaps it was of the same order as the being his brother had met.

"Are you a spirit?" he asked the human.

The rigger drew itself up, in surprise. It did not appear pleased by the question. "Do I look like a spirit?" it barked. "You are exceedingly impudent for one who has no hope, dragon-named-WingTouch!"

WingTouch closed his eyes for a moment. That was certainly true. He had no hope left for himself, and he didn't know why he persisted in taunting the Enemy and his servants with his own . . . yes,
impudence.
Except that . . . he refused to admit despair into his thinking. Even now.

He blinked his eyes open. "You have me at a disadvantage, human—or human-spirit, as the case may be. You know my name, but I do not know yours."
But
I
have not
given
you my name, remember that,
he thought.

The human laughed. It was an ugly sound. "I have you at a disadvantage in
many
ways, dragon. But for the sake of convenience, since I harbor some expectation that you and I will become colleagues, you may call me
Rent
." His tone of voice made it clear that he was giving a form of address only, and not his true, full name. Not his garkkon-rakh, not the key to his inner being.

"Rent," the dragon murmured. It was, he thought, not nearly so attractive a name as Jael. It was, however, a suitable form of address for a servant of the Enemy.

Rent nodded, and strode around the dragon with his hands on his hips, studying the captive. "Now, if these questions are out of the way—"

"Not yet!" WingTouch said, wheezing with pain. "You haven't told me—" and he paused, breathing slowly "—whether you are a spirit or a true human."

Rent returned, scowling, to face the dragon. "You
are most persistent, WingTouch. Headstrong, I should say. That
could
be to the good—if coupled with common sense and wisdom."

"You evade—" WingTouch began—and cried out as a sharp new pain clamped onto the back of his neck. Rent waved his hand, and the pain vanished, but left him shuddering.

"Let that be a lesson. Do not
ever
speak disrespectfully to me."

WingTouch vented silent steam.

Rent smiled. "But I will answer your question—because in doing so, I may help you to understand something important." He waited for a reaction from WingTouch, and nodded when the dragon remained silent. "Good. You're learning. Now, then. I am a spirit, yes—a spirit from another realm. You know the meaning of that, I believe?" He paused. "But perhaps you don't know
this
. It is with the power of the Nail of Strength that I walk in the form that you see. I was once bereft of my form, through the viciousness of your own kind. But now I have my form once again, and it is far greater and stronger than ever before." He studied the dragon. "Do you understand what I am telling you?"

WingTouch considered before answering. "I understand. Your form, as I see it, is not yours at all. It is a sorcery-thing, a trick of the underweb, a—"

The pain this time was blinding, and it lasted for a longer time than he could measure; it lasted nearly forever.

When it did finally stop, he was reeling. He needed desperately to shift his stance, to lie down—but with his feet embedded in the stone, he could not move at all, he could only wobble in pain. Shuddering, he knew that the torment was only beginning. The suffering of being trapped immobile like this could alone drive him mad, if it lasted long enough.

Rent was watching the dragon from atop a nearby boulder, where he was sitting with one leg drawn up and his hands clasped around his knee. "Had enough?" he asked.

WingTouch contained his anger. His legs ached fiercely, and were shaking. He tried to flex his claws, but they were locked solidly inside the stone.

"My point, dragon-WingTouch, since you seem unwilling to perceive it for yourself, is that your allegiance to
this
side—to the side of Strength, to the side of the
Nail
—will serve you far better than your meaningless persistence in your present frame of mind." The human leaned forward, gazing at him. "It is not, after all, as if we would ask you to fight in any way that is wrongful or unnatural. Is that what you fear?"

WingTouch felt his weight shifting dangerously. His leg muscles trembled on the verge of spasm. He did not answer the demon-spirit.

"You're suffering. Allow me to help you." Rent stretched out a hand toward the struggling dragon. The stone softened and melted away from WingTouch's feet, freeing him. He sank down in shuddering relief, letting the weight off his legs. "You see, we are not without understanding," Rent said.

WingTouch breathed quickly, gulping air. He struggled not to act on his greatest desire right now, which was to incinerate the demon with his breath.

"Now, then. What we are asking for is really just some information," Rent said, rising to his feet. "Your brother Windrush is the leader of all the dragons—we know that. He has sent for the demon Jael to help him—we know that. The battle has not much longer to run before we are the victors—we know that. But . . ." He paused, stroking his chin. "We wish not to prolong the suffering. And so we would like merely to know certain aspects of your brother's plans—"

WingTouch could not hold back a snort.

Rent raised one human eyebrow, and continued with apparent patience. "So that we might quicken the end—end the suffering, and quicken the release of the Dream Mountain for the benefit of all." His gaze sharpened. "We would like to know, for example, if the demon Jael has reappeared in the realm."

This time WingTouch kept control. He made no sound, no response to the human's ridiculous claim. No response to the question. He had no knowledge of it, in any case—but he was not going to tell the human that.

"If you are wise, you may share in the pleasure and the rewards of the victory," Rent pointed out. "Just as, for example, your brother FullSky has chosen to cooperate with us—"

WingTouch lurched to his feet.
FullSky!

"Oh—you didn't know?" Rent asked mildly. "Why, yes—your brother has long been a part of our effort."

"FullSky . . . is . . . alive?" WingTouch whispered, not wanting the human to hear the anguish in his voice, but unable to keep his silence.

"Why, yes. Yes, indeed. And being a wise and strong member of your race, he is doing all that he can to help us—"

"
You
are lying, demon!
"

"Watch your tongue,
dragon
!"

WingTouch swayed on his feet, drawing himself into a crouch. He felt fire tingling at the back of his throat. What if the human wasn't lying? He and Farsight had once been that foolish. Suppose FullSky was alive—and still a traitor? WingTouch did not think he could stand to know that, even if it were true. He would rather die now.

"FullSky is a noble dragon of the Nail," Rent said. As he spoke, he suddenly began growing in size before the dragon. "
He
will see the Dream Mountain freed, even if your other foolish brothers do not. They with their stupid attacks! Even now we are turning more of their precious lumenis groves to ashes."

WingTouch could stand it no longer. He loosed a breath of fire upon the loathsome human, drenching him with flame. "
Die
,
demon-liar!
" he cried.

The flame crackled harmlessly through the human, who did not move a muscle until it had passed. WingTouch drew breath for another blast of flame, but his breath froze in his chest as Rent raised a hand and waggled a finger at him.

Molten stone rose to swallow his feet in agonizing heat—and hardened in an instant, locking him into a trembling crouch.

"You are a great fool," Rent said, and turned and walked away.

WingTouch bellowed and bellowed in helpless rage.

The watcher floated silently past the dragon FullSky's kuutekka—a ghostly jailer in the underrealm passing over the ghostly spirit of its prisoner. Suddenly the Watcher struck downward, flashing with fire and shadow at a movement in the adjoining, lower cavern, where a great chasm seemed to drop out of the bottom of the underrealm. FullSky froze in mid-movement. He had been slipping carefully along the walls of the prison, probing tirelessly at the spell-weave that had held him for what seemed a lifetime. But the last thing he wanted to do was provoke the Watcher, or attract attention of any sort. After a moment, when the Watcher had not reappeared, he stretched his kuutekka forward to the lip of the opening between the coalfire-walled cavern where he was imprisoned, to peer down into the larger, darker cavern where the murmuring voices and flickering lights of imprisoned, bodiless spirits never stopped floating up from depths of the underrealm.

FullSky caught a glimpse of fire erupting from the chasm. The angry shape of the Watcher flew back up toward him. He retreated hastily; but even so, the Watcher shot a flare of punishment in his direction, a blue flame that crackled around him in quick, hot circles, darting and biting at his kuutekka before finally expending itself. FullSky gasped, and tried not to shudder in the underrealm as he recovered from the casually administered punishment.

One corner of his mind felt his body shake and tremble in the outer world, where it was chained to the rocks of Tar-skel's dungeon. He strove to disassociate himself from the pain that burned through his body. Though he could not wholly ignore the pain, his effort to do so gave him just enough relief to retain some semblance of endurance, of purpose in his underrealm consciousness.

Eventually he found the strength to peer back into the glowing labyrinth of the Enemy's underrealm. The Watcher, the fire-serpent, the creature of the Enemy—whatever the terrible thing was—was gone for the moment. Gone elsewhere, tormenting other imprisoned spirits, no doubt. This was probably a good opportunity to creep out again into the glowering light, to seek other pathways, other windows in the underweb that might conceivably be of benefit. Escape, of course, was out of the question. His physical body remained chained here, and the Watcher would certainly notice if he tried to reach out of this place with his thought for more than a few minutes at a time. But it was those breathless minutes, snatched when the Watcher wasn't looking, that were as precious to him as life itself.

Cautiously now, he began to stretch his kuutekka out again from his body, probing the hazy underrealm walls of the dungeon. Something didn't feel right. He paused, concealing his presence against a wall. An instant later, he felt a quivering in the underweb, and the Watcher flashed back across the cavern, answering some new movement, punishing some feeble challenge to its authority as jailer.

FullSky slipped back into his body, so quietly as to make no disturbance in the underrealm at all. He had worked very hard at learning to move stealthily in the underrealm; but there were times when it was best to wait, and clearly this was one of them.

There would be opportunities later to try to reach Windrush. There would always be opportunities. He had to believe that, or he would lose hope altogether.

* * *

Time, to FullSky, had become something that shifted and moved in his mind with little connection to the world beyond. Pain had come to seem eternal in his body, imprisoned and broken by the Enemy's spells of cold and darkness. His imprisonment and his pain were something he was determined, not just to endure, but to turn to good purpose. He knew now he could not do that without help—though, for what had seemed an eternity, he had tried. But that had been before he had learned to open silent, secret passages in the underrealm—before he had learned to reach out, even in imprisonment, to his brothers on the other side of the realm.