Dragonfire (11 page)

“Die!” he screamed, but he didn’t know he had done so, did not even hear his own voice. The birds surrounded him; he welcomed them with a fierce joy.

Over and over, he swung his father’s massive sword. The horse needed no guidance from him. It twisted and circled in the air, evading their attackers, bringing Dahl into position to kill yet once more. Dahl’s sight blurred. These were emissaries sent by his enemy himself. These
were
his enemy! A frenzy of hate and lust rose within him as he slashed and cut. Each fresh slash brought a greater and greater surge of triumph. His sword dripped red down onto his hand and arm. The birds, monstrous and numerous though they were, were no match for him. Bloody, wounded, feathers shredded and ripped out, the survivors gave up. As suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. The horse wheeled back to earth.

Catryn was waiting, her face flushed and glowing as if she had fought the battle herself.

“Well done, Dahl! You were magnificent! A king, indeed! But you have wounds—let me bind them.”

Only then did he realize that his back, arms and shoulders were bleeding from a multitude of wicked pecks, but he stayed her hands. He dropped his sword onto the ground beside him and buried his
face in his bloodstained hands. A sob racked his body, then his stomach heaved with sickness. He vomited until he felt drained of everything but overwhelming disgust.

“Dahl! What ails you? You fought nobly and well!”

Catryn was beside him, her touch cool against his forehead.

“I enjoyed it,” Dahl said, the taste of bile bitter in his mouth. “God help me, Catryn. The killing…The feel of it…I
enjoyed
it!”

Laughter rocked within his skull. Words echoed in his mind.

“Now you know, my friend. Now you know.”

The Usurper had found his mind again. And Dahl had found the Usurper’s. He had tasted the thrill of evil—and gloried in it.

“You worried not when you killed the dragon,” Catryn protested. “You were proud then.” With Sele the Plump’s help, they had rubbed down Magnus and the winged horse, given them water, and were now resting beneath the trees, planning for what was to come.

“That was different,” Dahl replied. The voice still
reverberated in his mind. “When I killed the dragon”—the words forced themselves out—“I was afraid and I was fighting for our lives. It was not the same…I enjoyed this, Catryn,” he repeated. There was a horror stirring in the bottom of his mind that he did not want to know.

He looked up and met the eyes of the Sele. There, he found his horror mirrored. Sele the Plump knew how he felt.

Magnus snorted. It raised its head and tested the air, nostrils quivering. Its ears twitched forward as if listening. Then, before either Dahl or Catryn could make a move to stay it, it reared, tore its bridle from the branch where Dahl had tethered it and galloped off in the direction of Daunus.

“The Usurper,” Dahl said. “He has called Magnus to him.”

Dahl had no idea what time of night it was when he felt Catryn stiffen beside him. The twin stars had not yet risen and the blackness surrounding them was intense.

“What is it?” he asked, but Catryn did not answer. “Catryn?”

Catryn sat suddenly straight and pushed away
from him. “It’s back,” she cried. “The voice!” Then she covered her ears with her hands. “Call me not!” she begged, as she had before. “Call me not—I will not come!” But she struggled to get to her feet. Dahl held her back.

“No one is calling, Catryn. There is no one here.”

“But I hear her! She commands me!” Catryn twisted in Dahl’s grasp like an animal caught in a trap.

“No, Catryn!”

“She will have me!” It was a shriek of despair. With a desperate lunge, she tore herself out of Dahl’s grasp and, before he could stop her, ran into the forest.

Dahl leaped up and ran after her. At first he thought he had lost her, then he heard her cry out as she tripped over something. He, in turn, almost tripped over her. He threw himself down on top of her and held her.

“Let me up,” she screamed. “Let me go!”

“No!” Dahl answered. “I won’t let you go. I won’t let her go!” he shouted into the darkness around them. “
I won’t let her go!”
Catryn struggled again; then, abruptly, her body went limp underneath him. She began to sob, but no longer fought to escape. Whatever had possessed her was gone.

When she could speak again, she raised her eyes to Dahl. “It was my mother,” she said. “My mother calling me.”

“Your mother is dead.”

“Yes, but it was her voice. She wants me to join her.”

“But she would never…”

“She was condemned and burned as a witch,” Catryn went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “And rightfully so. She had powers, too, Dahl, and she, too, used them for evil. That is my heritage. That is what I fear most of all.”

As she spoke, Dahl felt rather than saw a movement in the trees behind him. Another movement drew his eyes sharply to the shadows ahead of them. Then, all at once, the unseeable forest all around him was alive with the obscene shapes of his own terrors. Every instinct in his body urged him to run. For a moment he sat paralyzed with fear; every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. A burning, intolerable prickling ran down his arms and into his hands and fingers; his legs cramped with the urge to flee.

Instead, he dropped his arms from Catryn’s shoulders and stood. It took every particle of willpower he possessed to force himself to look. To look straight at the shapes that darted and swarmed around him.

My own terrors, he thought. My own fears and doubts. I recognize you. I can face you now.

As he looked, they dissolved. Another second, and the forest was once more quiet and empty.

“Dahl?” Catryn questioned.

“My own demons,” he answered. “But they, too, are gone.”

A wind swept through the trees then, as sudden and harsh as a breath of anger.

“We have thwarted him,” Dahl said. “He will come now.”

“Dahl.” The Sele’s voice broke the stillness.

“Yes. I see.”

Catryn was instantly at his side.

The gates of Daunus were swinging wide. From where they stood, they could just see them. A darkness greater than darkness yawned behind the opening for a moment, then a party of horsemen emerged into the eerie light of the twin stars. They rode slowly, purposefully. No noise reached Dahl and Catryn, not even the hoof beat of a horse. At the head, on Magnus, rode the Usurper. They rode
on at the same deliberate pace until they reached the exact center of the path between the city and the forest. There they stopped. The Usurper walked Magnus a few steps forward, then halted as well. He called out no challenge. There was no need.

Dahl hefted his sword. With the action, his doubts dissolved. His fear became a memory. A singing began in his head and swiftly coursed with the flow of his blood to every cell in his body. His sword felt light and yet powerful at the same time. He turned to the winged horse and vaulted onto its back. The horse tossed its mane, and its eyes suddenly blazed out with all the force of the dragonfire within them. Slowly, as slowly as the Usurper himself, Dahl rode forth to battle.

He stopped directly in front of the Usurper. His adversary’s face was shadowed by the hood of his cloak. Then, unexpectedly, Dahl dismounted.

“I would battle you on foot,” he said. He raised his sword high. “The sword of my father, the sword of the rightful ruler of Taun, will avenge my long exile. And will avenge the enslavement of my people.” The blood-song in his veins swelled to a roar. “Dismount, Usurper of Taun, and face me!”

The Usurper laughed. “Die as you wish, it is all the same to me.” He dismounted in a bound and flung the reins to the ground. With one swift gesture he unsheathed his own sword and swung it through the air in a high, menacing arc. He laughed again
and threw back his head. His hood fell away from his face. Starlight shone on long, fair hair that tumbled out and over his shoulders, just as did Dahl’s.

The blood that had been coursing so wildly through Dahl’s veins froze; the arm that hefted the sword dropped, bereft of all strength. The figure before him was tall. No taller than Dahl, really, but there was something in his bearing that made him seem so. The dragon-branded face that looked back at Dahl was his own in every respect. The hand that held the Usurper’s sword with strong, square-knuckled fingers was his own. The set of his shoulders, the way he stood wide-legged and determined—it was as if Dahl were looking into a mirror. It was only the eyes that were not his. They were the eyes that had looked back at him out of the depths of the pool in the cave. The eyes he had seen in his mind. Cold, and glittering with hatred.

Dahl felt as if he had been turned to stone. His throat tightened until words were not possible. How could it be? How could the Usurper—he who had done so much evil to Taun and to Dahl—how could he be his very twin?

“Who are you?” he gasped finally, the words strangled and almost inaudible. Then, with the coldness of a growing dread, “Are you my brother?”

“Not your brother, Dahl. I am you, yourself. Your dark side. The evil side, if you will, that you are missing. Have you not felt the lack all your life?
Have you not known you were but half a person? Incomplete?”

Of course he had. Dahl recognized the truth in one overwhelming sweep.

“You and I, Dahl, we are one. Separated at birth by those whose powers you cannot even imagine. We are two sides of the same soul, you and I.I have visited your mind, and let you visit mine. How did you like it, Dahl, when you killed the birds I sent? When you learned to enjoy murder?” His laughter rang out again. “You fear me, don’t you, Dahl? You fear the evil within you.” The words became taunting, still fringed with laughter. Dahl felt them tearing into him, one by one.

“Now is your chance. Put an end to it.” He saluted Dahl with his sword. “Do what you intended. Kill me. I have shown you how. Kill me and be rid of me forever. Be the only man in the world who has no evil in his soul.” His voice dropped. “Think how well you could rule then, Dahl. A perfect man. A man with only goodness within him. A god, Dahl—you would be a god.”

“And if I fail?” Dahl fought to speak.

“Why, then, I would win.” The voice became sly. “And I would continue to rule Taun. I would be the god. But I would be a god of evil—a god with no goodness within him, for you would be dead. Finally. And a threat to me no longer. You have no choice, Dahl. If you would rid our beloved Taun of
the evil that is yourself,
raise your sword!”

In that instant Dahl knew what he had to do. His sword arm straightened.

“Kill me, Dahl,” the whisper tempted. “Kill me and rule Taun alone.”

He could do it. Dahl was certain of it. He tightened his grip on the bloodstained sword. The memory of murder flooded his mind, hot and tempting. He saw the Usurper’s eyes narrow with satisfaction, with an eagerness that reflected his own. The Usurper’s fingers tightened on his own sword.

Dahl’s fingers opened. The sword dropped. Dahl spread his arms wide and took a step toward his dark image.

“No,” he said. “That is not the way.”

The Usurper’s eyes widened in shock. He took a step back. “Pick up your sword, Dahl,” he commanded.

“No.” Dahl took another step forward. He reached out with both hands.

“Touch me not!” his image cried.

Dahl moved yet closer. “We cannot kill each other,” he said.

Though outwardly calm, a war raged inside him. He was desperate for battle. His fingers trembled to feel the hilt of his sword within their grasp. In front of him stood all that he hated. How could he not destroy it? He could taste the sweetness of revenge; he thirsted for the release that only blood could
bring. But his mind refused. This…this image in front of him was the other half of his very self. Evil or not, without it he would be forever lacking. He would never be whole. And just as there was a lack in him, a weakness in him, there must be a lack, a weakness, in this, his other half.

“We were one at birth,” Dahl said. He could barely recognize the voice as his own. It was cold and hard, implacable. “We must become one again.”

The Usurper raised his sword. “Come one step closer and I will kill you where you stand, unarmed or not!” The scar on his cheek flamed scarlet. His face was strange, twisted with some emotion Dahl had not yet seen. Fear? Could it possibly be fear?

Dahl stopped. He stared hard into the eyes that had terrified him so. “I think not,” he said. He took yet another step forward.

The sword slashed down, cold and glinting in the starlight. Dahl did not move.

At the last possible instant, the blade wavered. In that second Dahl stepped to one side. As the sword whispered past him, Dahl stepped in and embraced his attacker.

“No!” It was a scream of agony. “You know not what you do!”

“I know,” Dahl answered. He tightened his grip. The Usurper’s sword dropped to the ground. He reached up to break Dahl’s hold, but Dahl grasped his hands instead. The hands that were his hands.

A wind swept through him. Dahl staggered, but held fast. The earth beneath his feet rose up around him; still he held fast. Blackness, thick and suffocating, closed his eyes, his nostrils, poured into his mouth. A scream died in the air around him. Then, where there had been two figures, there was only one.

Dahl turned to the guardsmen sitting on their horses, paralyzed with fear at what they had seen.

“Disarm yourselves,” he commanded. “Throw down your weapons and your armor. We will have no more need of such things in Taun.”

Dahl and Catryn rode into the city with the dawn, with Sele the Plump striding at Dahl’s side. The guardsmen, still unable to believe their eyes, but too terrified to disobey, had been sent ahead to prepare the city for their entrance.

“Tell the people they may leave their houses,” Dahl had commanded. “The slaves will not go to work. Ask the women of the castle to give them
food and bread—as much as they wish. There is a new order now in Taun.”

Dahl sat astride Magnus; Catryn rode the winged horse. There was something about Dahl that made him seem bigger in stature. He could feel it himself. He sat tall; the horse beneath him seemed almost to be a part of him. The Sele walked with its hand on the animal’s withers. It was striving to hold itself with dignity, its face was smooth and impassive, but Dahl could see the excitement in its eyes as they darted first one way, then another.

Dahl’s sword was strapped to his saddle. He knew he would never wear it again. The sun rose just as they passed through the city gates. The guards there stood aside dumbly to let them pass, their eyes wide with fright. The news had traveled quickly. They wore no armor, were unarmed. Dahl reined in Magnus when he saw their expressions.

“There is no need to fear. A new rule has begun in Taun. A rule of peace. We will all prosper together.” He smiled down at them, then urged Magnus forward again.

The winged horse had not furled its wings, but held them wide and high. The feathers fluttered in the slight breeze and glistened like thunderclouds in the sunlight. The dragonfire no longer blazed forth from its eyes, but danced deep within. Catryn herself seemed a creature of fire sitting lightly on its back, hair flaming wildly around her face.

They proceeded up the cobblestone street. Faces appeared at windows as they passed. Here and there a door opened tentatively, but no one dared to emerge. Hushed cries of wonder and fear followed their progress. Otherwise all was silent—eerily so.

Dahl looked around as he rode. This was Daunus. His city. These frightened people were his people. A feeling of love rose within him until it almost overwhelmed him.

“This will soon change,” he said to Catryn. “This will be a lively, bustling city again, full of laughter and noise.”

“And children playing,” Catryn answered with a smile. “A city without children is a dead city.”

They dismounted in the castle courtyard. There had been no guards at the castle gate; there were no guards in evidence here. The slaves, who had all been eating greedily, hastily began to press back into the stables and their pen. Confusion showed on their faces; their movements were distracted and unsure. Dahl turned to face them.

“My friends,” he said in a loud, ringing voice that carried easily to every corner. “There is no more slavery in Daunus. Those of you who wish to return to homes and families may do so. Those of you who wish to remain will be paid for your work. I am Dahl, the rightful ruler of Taun. I promise you this.”

There was a murmuring of voices, then a sudden silence, and the slaves looked fearfully around as if
anticipating punishment. When none came, the murmuring began again. A figure detached itself from the crowd and walked up to stand before Dahl. It was Bruhn.

“Welcome, Master,” he said, eyes averted. He made as if to bow.

Dahl dismounted, caught him by the arm and pulled him erect. “Bow not before me, Bruhn, and call me not Master. I am Dahl, and I am ruler of Taun, but, more than all else, I am friend to all who wish to live in peace here. Most especially am I friend to you.” His face broke into a wide smile. “You have shared much with me, Bruhn; now, perhaps, I may be able to share with you. Come, meet Catryn and my friend the Sele, and explore with us what lies within this castle.”

“The witch?” Bruhn’s expression was dubious. He looked askance. “All are speaking of her. And of the animal you bring with you.”

Catryn shuddered. “Witch, I am not. But hungry, I most certainly am. Let us hope there is food left in the kitchens for us!” She dismounted as well, sliding easily off the back of the winged horse.

“And animal,
I
am not,” Sele the Plump said. At the sound of its words, not only Bruhn, but everyone else in the courtyard gasped.

“The Sele are a great and hospitable people,” Dahl said. “They have been friendly to me. From now on we will be friendly to them.” His voice rang
loudly, and echoed back from the walls of the castle. There was no mistaking the authority with which he spoke. He paused for a moment, then went on more quietly.

“The horses must be seen to first. They, too, must have food.” He gathered Magnus’s reins in one hand. With Catryn leading the winged horse, they led the two beasts into the stables. Bruhn followed, eyeing Sele the Plump somewhat nervously. Magnus went of its own accord into its stall; Dahl secured the winged horse into one beside it. He found grain for them. When he was finished, with Sele the Plump eagerly leading the way, they went back to the castle and entered the kitchen doorway.

The women who had been ladling out soup uttered small cries of surprise and dismay. Clearly, the Master of old had never entered the castle by this way.

“Do you not recognize me?” Catryn chided them. “But two days ago, I was one of you. It is I, Catryn.” She grabbed up a bowl from a long table and ladled soup into it, handed it to Dahl, did the same for Bruhn, then filled one for herself and another one with porridge oats for the Sele. “One thing certain, we will need to improve this slop,” she said with a grimace of distaste as she spooned up a mouthful of her soup.

“I think the food delicious,” Sele the Plump said politely. “Quite the best I have ever tasted.”

Bruhn looked at it with raised eyebrows.

“Now,” said Dahl, after they had eaten, “let us see what there is to be seen here.”

They walked from room to room. A few of the servants, bolder than the others, trailed them. Guards standing at doorways watched warily. They had followed orders and all were unarmed. Not all looked pleased, however.

“There are some here who will not take kindly to your new order, Dahl,” Bruhn said in a low voice. “Some who will miss the old ways.”

“You are right, Bruhn,” Dahl agreed. “They will bear watching.”

Finally, they reached the great hall. At the far end stood a chair—more like a throne. From here, then, had the Usurper ruled. Dahl stared at it. A symbol—of the power that was now Dahl’s. Behind the chair, set into the wall, was a door. Dahl’s attention was drawn to it in a strong, strange way. Then he dismissed it from his mind. There was much to do.