Dragon Rigger (35 page)

"Nonsense. Too busy fighting to worry about draconae and eggs. Do you come with news?"

Windrush studied the dracona, her eyes luminous gold, but dimmed with age, and cloudy. A few rays of the afternoon sun penetrated the cave to refract through her gem-like scales, but there was a dusty look to her. She looked older and weaker every time he saw her. If she were not the only living dracona outside the Dream Mountain, and therefore fiercely determined to survive, he was sure she would have given up and fled to the Final Dream Mountain ages ago.

But Treegrower was the caretaker of the last egg, laid not by her, but by the dying dracona Moonglass, shortly after the disappearance of the Dream Mountain. Moonglass had not lived, but Treegrower had—and she'd vowed that this egg would survive, despite the fact that it could only grow and hatch in the Dream Mountain. Were there other eggs in the Mountain? Perhaps—but no one outside the Mountain knew for sure.

"Not news, perhaps, but encouragement," Windrush said. His gaze dropped at last from Treegrower's eyes to the polished silver sphere she held protected between her front legs, a sphere about the size of her nose. So small—and so vital to all of the hopes of the realm!
How long had she protected that egg, and how much longer could she do so? He tried to dispel doubt from his voice as he spoke. "I come with hope," he said at last. "I have felt my father's presence, more than once, from the Final Dream Mountain. And I have found hope in the underrealm. And . . . Jael . . . may be coming."

Treegrower studied him. "
May
be coming?" Her eyes blinked and shifted to peer longingly out of the cave. She was so weak now, Windrush realized with a pang, that she would find it hard even to leave the cave. "I labor within, to keep hope alive," she whispered, as though to herself. Under her breath, he heard her murmuring words, probably of prophecy. Her gaze shifted back to Windrush. "Hope in the underrealm, you say?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Can you tell me—?"

—
before I die, hopeless?
he seemed to hear, under her voice.

At that moment, he forgot his resolution to tell Farsight before anyone else. Cautioning both Greystone and Treegrower to silence, he told them of his battle in the underrealm, and of FullSky's freedom. "I don't know what it means, really," he said—and stopped trying to explain. His words suddenly seemed unimportant, because Treegrower's eyes had indeed come alight with hope, genuine hope. He glanced at Greystone, who seemed more guardedly encouraged.

"Thank you, Windrush," the dracona sighed, her voice chiming more clearly than it had since his arrival. She blinked her eyes and nodded slightly, and he sensed that it was time to let her rest.

"Be well, Treegrower," he said, taking his leave. Speaking to Greystone on his way out, he warned the guard-leader about the danger of Stonebinder's defection, then said, "Keep her well, my friend. Whatever else you do, keep Treegrower well to see the return of the Dream Mountain."

Greystone's sea-green eyes flickered, and he exhaled a flame in reply.

* * *

Windrush returned to the encampment late in the day and found that the search parties had come in without any news of Stonebinder. Apparently the traitor-dragon had fled to join his Master. Farsight was organizing the night's patrols, and it was a while before Windrush could speak privately with his brother. When he did, he questioned Farsight about the events of last night. His brother's silver-bright eyes darkened as he recounted the confusion of Stonebinder's escape. "Winterfall had linked only briefly with SearSky, but he believes that SearSky is loyal.
I
would like him to be more fully examined," Farsight said.

"How many others have not been tested?"

"Enough to keep us busy for tonight, at least." As Farsight slumped, head low, Windrush realized just how tired his brother was.

"I have some news that will brighten your eyes," Windrush said, and told Farsight of FullSky's release. "I think," Windrush added, "we should not speak openly of this. There may yet be traitorous ears among us, and it would not be well for the Enemy to know of FullSky's activity."

Farsight angled his head and nodded. "Bad enough that Stonebinder is undoubtedly betraying our spell-secrets. We must be more vigilant than ever." He glanced up, where numerous dragons were circling in the sky. "It is time, Windrush."

The dragons were gathering toward the Vale of Decision.

* * *

This meeting was the most rancorous yet. The air itself seemed aboil with anger at Stonebinder for fleeing—and at those known to be his friends, or even suspected of being his friends. Windrush called for the testing to continue, to learn if there was more than one traitor; and Farsight, risking open hostility, proposed that the renewed testing begin with those whose examinations were interrupted by Stonebinder's flight—namely, SearSky, Sharpclaw, and Thunderwall.

SearSky objected violently, claiming that he had been subjected to enough examination already. Not so, asserted Farsight. The testing had been interrupted, and it was crucial to confirm the loyalty of all dragons. SearSky refused, until Windrush rumbled, "No one flies with us who has not shown himself trustworthy, garkkon-rakh to garkkon-rakh. SearSky, I have never doubted your loyalty—but you make me wonder. What do you have to fear? Will you be tested?"

SearSky shot him an angry glance, red-flame eyes blazing out of a craggy black head. For an instant, Windrush feared that SearSky, too, would fly away—to be pursued and brought down by his fellows. Finally SearSky belched a flame into the air. "I will not have my loyalty doubted!" His voice crackled. "Do your worst to me—for what pleasure it will bring you!" He glared at Windrush. "Bring on your deputies—if you are afraid to test me yourself!"

"I have no such fear," Windrush answered coldly. "But I do have other tasks that call me. If you show yourself loyal to any of these—" and he nodded at Farsight, Winterfall, Stronghold, and Longtouch "—I will gladly fight at your side."

SearSky snorted, but protested no further.

Windrush drew Farsight away to speak privately. "Again I must leave you in charge. Warn the others to be alert for new attacks, and organize the patrols well. I will rejoin you tonight, if I can."

"Be swift, and be careful," Farsight said.

"You as well," Windrush replied.

* * *

The underrealm passage to Hodakai's prison seemed eerily quiet. It was not that Windrush expected the presence of any other being in the passage; but there was a stillness that was disturbing—as though a certain background murmur of life were missing. The dragon paused as he approached the rigger-spirit's presence.

The spirit was dancing about nervously. Windrush waited for Hodakai to settle down.
Rigger-spirit
, he said in greeting.

Dragon,
answered Hodakai.
Windrush, I presume?
There was a sarcastic taunt to his voice.

Indeed. How are you, Hodakai?

The spirit pulsed, not answering his question.
Have you come . . . for the reasons that we discussed earlier?

The dragon gazed at him, puzzled by the spirit's demeanor, but unable to discern the creature's thoughts or feelings.
You
have not had cause to change your mind, have you?

No—
of course not.

That is good. Because I hope you can help us.

Of course, of course.

You seem nervous, Hodakai.

Well
 . . .
I
suppose I am. I'm taking a big risk, you
know
.

We all are,
Windrush said.
But I do appreciate the
risk
to you
,
as well. Do you have anything to pass on to me?

Hodakai was silent for a moment.
What . . . exactly . . . did you want to know?

Windrush drew a slow breath.
What are the Enemy's plans? I have reason to expect a new attack. Have you heard rumor? Have you heard where he plans to strike?

For an instant, Windrush wondered if he ought to have asked so directly. But the words were out—and they didn't seem to have taken the rigger-spirit by surprise.

Hodakai swayed in his jar for a moment, but when he spoke, his words seemed confident.
Yes, Windrush—I have heard.
He paused, as the dragon waited.
There have been rumors, indeed.
Rumors
that one of your number has fled, and taken with him secrets to the safety of your—what do you call them?—lumenis groves. Places that you value highly, in any case.
Hodakai paused again.
If I were you, Windrush, I'd put everything I had into defending those groves.

The dragon gazed at the spirit's kuutekka.
Do
you know exactly
where
they're
planning
to
attack? Or when?

Hodakai seemed to stare him right in the eye.
I
do not, dragon.
Not
exactly. But I
would
guard your most precious—what do you call it—the
Valley
of
Light?
The
Nail
,
I
think
,
would have great pleasure in taking that place from you.

A direct assault upon the dragons' main strength? The Enemy might well be feeling that confident, after his recent victory. Windrush growled inwardly.
Tell
me
something
else
,
Hodakai
.
What
do
you know of the Enemy's web of power?

The spirit pulsed.
What
would
you
like
me
to
know
of it?

How close is it to completion?
Windrush asked sharply.
This is important! Not just to us, but to the realms beyond, as well!

Hodakai seemed reluctant to answer. He danced silently, until Windrush grew impatient. At last he said,
I
don't know
,
dragon
.
But
I
don't
 . . .
think
you
have much time.

Windrush stared at him.

Anything
else?
the spirit asked.

Windrush drew up his kuutekka to depart.
No
.
But
if
you learn
more
,
tell
me
.
Hodakai—you've been very helpful. We won't forget it.

* * *

I'll bet you won't, Hodakai thought as the dragon vanished into the underrealm. I'll bet you won't. Not when you pick yourself up from the ruins. You'll remember for a long time what happens when you try to double-cross me. You'll remember, all right.

He danced with excitement; the danger made his spirit quiver and soar. The question about the web of power had almost thrown him—especially the business about its endangering his own realm. But he remembered the iffling's words, warning him of the dragons' treachery, and his mind was made up. It all seemed so clear now. There was only one person he would serve, and that was Hodakai the rigger.

And now it was time to call Rent and tell him what had happened. Just as soon as he had spent a little time recovering his equilibrium. Just as soon as he had flown a bit in the rigger-net of his mind, diving and soaring and reveling in the ultimate freedom of the Flux. . . .

FullSky followed the underrealm thread as it wound away from the Dark Vale and climbed toward a glowering, truculent sky. It was an extremely fine, silvery thread, only intermittently visible. To most eyes it would not have been visible at all, but FullSky's long experience in the underrealm had taught him to perceive trails that others missed. Just for an instant, before starting along this path, he had glimpsed at its other end the presence of something he was willing to risk his life to reach—the Dream Mountain.

What he was doing now was extraordinarily dangerous. Having slipped away from the fire and shadow of Tar-skel's dungeons and the camouflaging commotion of the Enemy's lesser servants, he was venturing into an open sky where watchful eyes might notice him more easily. He was still tied by a thin wisp of his kuutekka to his physical body in the dungeon, but he could think of no way to protect that lifeline, except by trying not to be seen. He assumed that there would be guardians somewhere along this thread, and he did not wish to lose his newfound freedom through carelessness.

The path had not been easy to follow, but once he'd felt his way past the upturn in the spidery thread, and risen out of the murky confusion of the dungeon's underrealm, the rest of the Mountain-concealing sorcery had come into focus quickly enough. It was as if he had climbed up and out of a foggy soup which kept the rest of dragonkind from seeing what he saw now: the layers and encircling arcs of power that cradled and shrouded the Mountain. The appearance here in the underrealm was of a mountain somehow
floating
high above the land that the dragons inhabited.

It was not that Tar-skel had in reality
moved
the Dream Mountain; rather, he had encircled it with spell-weavings that kept the draconi from reaching it or even seeing it. So cleverly had he coiled layers of the underrealm
around
the Dream Mountain that it was as effectively removed from the realm as if he had physically uprooted it. No dragon could penetrate that shroud, except through the underrealm—and even in the underrealm, it probably could only be reached by starting where FullSky had—in the heart of the Dark Vale.

He rode close to the silvery thread now as it spun upward through a clear-sky underweb. The clarity lasted only for a few moments. Then the thread took him into smoky layers of sorcery that made him think of storm clouds over volcanic fire. It seemed to him that the sorceries flashing around him did more than just isolate the Dream Mountain from the rest of the realm; they were a part of the underpinnings of the great web of Tar-skel, the weaving that seemed to reach outward from the underrealm toward the boundary layers that kept this world apart from all others. FullSky noted this, but tried not to be distracted by the larger implications. He tried to focus solely upon threading his way along the path to the Mountain. The storm layers flowed downward past him like layers of smoke, as he rose. A low, bass thrumming filled his mind.