Dragon Rigger (34 page)

Windrush puzzled over the structure for a few moments, trying to draw some meaning from it. Were his diminutive houseguests making these structures with some intent directed at
him.
Did they somehow sense his search for the Dream Mountain? Was this supposed to be a representation of the Mountain? If so, he could not decipher what he was to learn from it.

He felt a rush of weary annoyance, and drew a breath to blow the thing away, so as not to be plagued by such questions. Before he could do so, he heard a sudden rustling, and a squeak. One of the sweepers, a tiny creature with oversized eyes and ears, and a long tail, crept out of the shadows and pushed the sculpture along the ledge, toward Windrush—almost as though offering a gift. Windrush held his breath, then finally let it out softly. Very well. The sculpture could remain.

"Creature, do you wish to speak to me?" he murmured softly. The thing squeaked just once, then darted quickly out of sight. He could have sworn that the squeak had been a sound of approval.

Because he had saved its handiwork? There seemed no way to know.

Windrush stretched, as other questions crowded the matter out of his mind: the memories of last night, when he had enlisted Hodakai as an ally, when he had fought in the underrealm to free his brother FullSky. It was rushing back to him like a dream. But it had been no dream: one of the four windows in the underrealm was now gone. He was greatly cheered to think that, whatever else had happened, he and FullSky had struck a blow against the Enemy—and FullSky, in some way he did not understand, was now free.

FullSky had touched him, in the dizzying aftermath of the underrealm fight—but to impart what? Windrush's memories of those moments were confused; he thought FullSky had been more intent upon communicating
hope
than information. And yet, beyond the hope had been an uneasiness. Was Tar-skel preparing another attack?

Windrush could not recall anything specific, except an awareness that the Enemy was gathering his power and momentum. And this: that the dragons must be prepared for dark days to come, and must guard against fear.

He could not do that alone. It was time to rejoin the others. He had been fighting in silence and privacy long enough this day.

* * *

The sky was striated blue and pale green, and crisp with morning chill. Windrush swallowed airborne particles of lumenis that glittered on the wind, as he soared southward toward the dragon camp. It was, he thought, a good day for replenishing, for building hope.

At one point, as he snatched at the glowing bits of lumenis, he thought he heard a voice whisper in his mind, calling to him. Another lumenis magic? When he listened again, it was gone. He could not say whose voice it was, but it made him think of Jael. Was she returning at last? He longed to hear the answer
yes,
but there was no answer in the air.

He flew hard to the camp, and arrived to find the grounds quiet in the morning stillness. But Rockclaw was up and out, and he hailed Windrush with grim urgency. Windrush strode across the grounds to speak with the gnarled dragon. "Did they find the traitor?"

"Stonebinder," Rockclaw barked, as though he'd been waiting all night to pass on the information.

Windrush vented his breath in a hiss. "Stonebinder?" That was disturbing news indeed. Stonebinder was one of the leaders of the guardian-spell dragons—a friend of SearSky, but one who had served well enough, though to be sure he had been heard to complain from time to time of the Enemy's superiority. "Who found him?"

Rockclaw spat sparks onto the ground. "He betrayed himself. Fled when it was getting close to his turn." The recorder dragon looked furious. Windrush had never seen him so angry.

"And was he stopped?"

"No!"

Windrush drew half a breath.

"He waited until there was a commotion over the testing of SearSky—
the
fool—
"

"SearSky?"

"He objected to the testing, said that—forgive me, Windrush—that you and your leaders were full of yourselves, and you had no right to test dissenters—"

"We tested everyone," Windrush rumbled.

"Of course. We all knew that. But SearSky made a disturbance about it, and that was when Stonebinder escaped." Rockclaw gouged the earth with his front nails, as if he might somehow draw Stonebinder back through sheer force of will. His eyes glowed with anger. "Many gave chase, of course. But he was quick with a spell, and eluded them." Rockclaw drew a raspy breath. "Windrush, I am sorry to present you with bad news again."

Windrush scowled about him at the sight of the camp: the harsh cliffs with dark warrens in which warrior-dragons slept, the charred face of the target wall, the shreds of cloud drifting overhead. This was hardly a fit place for dragons to live; it looked more like something the Enemy would create. But for many who had joined in the war from the east and the south, or who had fled from the land taken by the Enemy, or whose caverns had been destroyed, this was home. And now even this place was threatened—by a traitor who could share the secrets of the defenses with an enemy who already held the advantage in the war. "He carries the spells that protect the lumenis," Windrush murmured, so low in his throat that Rockclaw could hardly have heard him.

Nevertheless, the old grey dragon nodded.

"Is that all?"

"So far. Farsight can tell you more, perhaps, when he returns."

"Returns?"

"He led a search party to the Scarred Ridge, in case Stonebinder hid instead of flying all the way to the Enemy. I have little hope of that, myself." Rockclaw stamped the ground and glared about the camp.

"And what of SearSky?" Windrush asked sharply.

Rockclaw peered at him with dusty eyes.

"Are we certain that SearSky did not create a distraction so that Stonebinder could flee? Was SearSky actually tested?"

Rockclaw's gaze sharpened. "I do not know, Windrush. But SearSky was among those who joined in the search."

Windrush grunted. It did not prove SearSky's innocence that he had flown with the searchers. He could as well have been trying to protect his friend, the traitor. But Windrush had no proof of that, either. He did not much like SearSky, but that didn't make the arrogant fool a traitor.

"Farsight called for another meeting tonight at dusk," Rockclaw added.

Windrush nodded and turned away.

"Where will you be?" Rockclaw called.

Windrush paused in thought. "I intend to visit some of the guardian holds. I'll be back for the gathering tonight." He was tempted to inform Rockclaw of the battle he had fought for the freedom of FullSky; he saw the hunger in the old dragon's eyes for any good news. But, he thought, Farsight ought to be present for the first telling of that. "I believe a new attack may be coming," he said finally. "But all is not dark. You must keep hope, Rockclaw. Be my ears and my eyes here. If there is news or rumor, bring it to me. Can I count on you?"

Rockclaw's eyes flared. "When have you doubted me?"

Windrush nodded. "Then good-bye for now." He spread his wings and flew into the air as one driven by silent need.

* * *

Windrush traveled far that day, dropping down to speak with dragons on the ground, even in the smallest encampments and groves. Twice he flew for a time with patrols that he met in the air. He flew southward along the Scarred Mount Ridge, to a patrol camp near the south border of the held land, and asked for news of Jael, or of drahls, or of any stirrings of the Enemy. There was no news, only dread; but he did what he could to provide encouragement to the dragons there.

If only he could linger a while longer in these places! He was aware of a profound sadness for what could be lost in this war; and at the same time, an unreasoning hope was growing within him, and an admiration for all of the dragons who remained ready to fight and perhaps die for the realm.

Flying on to the east, he wished that he could visit the whole of the realm today. It was impossible, of course. Some strongholds were too far away for one day's efforts. From a promontory at the edge of the Forest Mountains, he gazed south toward the Sawtoothed Ridge, just a jagged shadow on the horizon. It was deep in that desolation that he had found Hodakai alone in his prison. Windrush could not help thinking wistfully of the places of abandoned magic that lay that way—places once frequented by dragons, but now too remote to be guarded. In the Streams of Song, fast-moving brooks made music in the ground; and there, in times past, draconae had gathered to share song and history. And at the Pool of Visions, dragons in a previous age had joined garkkon-rakh to garkkon-rakh, drawing upon the soul-shaping power of the pool as they sought wisdom from one another. In the Moon Sea, to the south and west, the moons could at times be viewed passing
beneath
the realm. It troubled him to leave such places undefended, but what choice did they have?

There was one place of lost magic that the dragons
did
hold yet—the Deep Caverns, far to the northeast, at the extreme edge of the realm. There the currents of the underrealm had once run deep and strong, the strongest outside of the Dream Mountain itself. There, wielders of magic once created innumerable works of beauty. But the Deep Caverns' significance, too, lay in the past. Most thought that the power had gone out of the place; others believed that the dragons simply had lost the skill to use the power that was there.

But in Windrush's heart, the Deep Caverns held a place like that of his father's magical garden: a wistful memory of something that had been beautiful and precious. He'd insisted upon their defense; yet he could not defend them heavily, not with vital lumenis groves to guard, and so few dragons to guard them. He doubted that the Enemy would trouble himself with an attack there, unless maybe after all else was won. Nevertheless, he thought, the dragons guarding the caverns deserved encouragement as much as any. Perhaps tomorrow, he would visit there.

But this day was wearing on, and he had one more important stop before returning to the main encampment. He flew northeastward over the Forest Mountains, toward the Grotto Garden and the last known dragon egg.

* * *

The Grotto Garden was a deep, wedge-shaped vale, well hidden in the northern flanks of the Forest range. Banking inward, he was challenged by two guard dragons. Recognizing him at once, they escorted him to a landing near the upper ridge of the vale. "Windrush! I was beginning to doubt that I would ever set eyes upon you again!" cried Greystone, the leader of the guards, a dragon whose sea-green eyes always reminded Windrush of his brother WingTouch's. "Have you come with news, or with need?"

"I have come to see how you are holding out," Windrush answered. "And to look in upon Treegrower, if she will see me."

"Hah!" Greystone snorted. "Do you think she is so feeble she would turn away the leader of the draconi?"

Windrush blew a breath of steam. "I hope not. How is she? And how are
you,
my friend?"

Greystone arched his wings, then shrugged them downward. "How am I? Not as well as I used to be, when we flew for the joy of it and thought the lumenis would never end! But I guess I'm better off than most of you battling the Enemy head-on."

"You guess?" asked Windrush, with a fleeting wistfulness for the carefree days when he and Greystone had flown together with other fledglings to hear the teachings of the draconae. If they had known then what they knew now, how much more they would have valued those times! But Greystone, more than most, had taken the teachings to heart. He had never been much interested in fighting, though he believed passionately in guarding such beauty in the realm as he could.

"Well, it is awfully quiet here, Windrush. Not that I'm complaining!" Greystone led the way down into the garden, pointing his head one way and another, as though to ensure that Windrush would see how well the place was being preserved.

It was, indeed, a reassuring sight. Windrush stopped to peer at a cluster of bushes with purplish, upturned cups for leaves. The cups held a clear liquid which drew floating insects and several small, colorful flyers that hovered, sipping the nectar. The flyers reminded Windrush of Jael's rigger-friend Ed. He watched them thoughtfully, aching to know what had become of Ed, and Ar, and most of all, Jael. After a moment, he blinked and turned to follow Greystone.

Passing a swirling pool in a rock basin, and a row of lantern-trees, Greystone continued downward into the vale. He nudged a shadow-cat out of the way with a good-natured swing of his snout and continued down the path toward the carved-rock grotto at its bottom. Windrush paused a moment, as the shadow-cat peered out at him from beneath the low-hanging threads of a curtain-tree. The cat was practically invisible, but its eyes blinked alternately like stars winking on and off. Windrush returned the creature's gaze, and for an instant, felt a linkage. The cat, too, felt the encroachment of darkness over the land, and Windrush sensed a plain and poignant desire in its simple heart for the dragons to make the darkness go away.
We will try,
he answered silently.
We will try.
The eyes brightened for an instant, then vanished under the tree.

Greystone swung his great head around to peer questioningly, and Windrush strode after him.

The grotto at the bottom of the vale was a graceful series of openings in water-carved stone. It held within its breadth a cluster of arching, cavelike spaces. The dracona Treegrower was resting inside the third of those spaces. Her glassy head was raised, gazing at the two draconi as they approached. "It seems to me you are
always
complaining," she said to Greystone in a softly chiming voice.

"Hah!" rumbled the dragon. "Are you eavesdropping on my conversations again?"

The dracona's golden eyes turned to Windrush. "Certainly not. I've no wish to die of boredom." She sighed deeply. "Windrush."

"Treegrower," he answered, bowing his head.

"You never come anymore."

Windrush felt a flash of regret, though he knew her remark was half teasing. "I'm sorry. I try, but—"