Dragonfire (3 page)

Hunger woke Dahl early the next morning. He reached for the gourd beside him and took a drink of water, but that did nothing to assuage the cramps in his stomach. The cave was cold and dark. He stretched, rubbed his arms, and looked around. Catryn, curled beside him, stirred slightly. He felt guilty as he looked down at her. She had tried to insist on more explanations the night before, but he had not been able to give them to her. He knew she deserved to be told the truth, to be comforted and reassured. She had been his only friend in that other,
alien world. There, she had cared for him.

Here, where all is so new to her, I should care for her, he thought. But how can I, when it is all just as new to me?

He had been certain that he would not be able to sleep, but, his mind as weary as his body, oblivion had come quickly and mercifully to him.

At first he could not find the Protector, then he saw him silhouetted against the faint light at the mouth of the cave. The man was standing quietly, with his back toward Dahl, as if listening to something outside.

“We must make haste. The word has been passed. They know we are coming.” He had not turned, but seemed to sense Dahl’s eyes upon him.

“Make haste to where? Who passed the word? Who knows we are coming?” Catryn was instantly awake and alert.

“There are messengers everywhere here. By now the Usurper of Taun has heard that Dahl has come to challenge him. He will be setting his traps. We must move on before he finds us here.”

“The Usurper…” Catryn began. One look at the Protector’s face silenced her. She did not immediately rise, however, but dabbed the hem of her shift in the pool and dribbled the icy water over her sore and swollen feet. She returned the Protector’s glare with one of her own.

“Are we to be walked to death again today? If so,
may we at least know where we are going and when we will get there?”

“There are those who wait to welcome Dahl back to his world, and who will help him,” the Protector said. “We must make our way to them, and then lay our plans for the struggle that lies ahead. It is not too far. Your feet will toughen up, my maid. Just, pray, do not get overmuch in the way.”

Catryn grabbed for the remnants of her shoes and began to bind them on. She knotted the fraying laces furiously, then swore a barroom oath under her breath as one broke.

“I am not so useless as you think,” she grumbled. “It may be you will be thankful for my help before this is done.”

“If it should be so, then you will have my gratitude, fully expressed, in any form you wish,” the Protector answered. His manner left no doubt as to how unlikely he thought this possibility.

Dahl looked from one to the other, his brow furrowed, his delight at having Catryn here beside him slightly dimmed. How were they to manage if she and the Protector were to be continually at each other’s throats?

“Don’t worry, Catryn,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’ll take care of you…”

Catryn rounded on him with fury. “I thank you very much,” she spat out, “but no one has ever had to take care of me, and no one ever will. I chose to
bring myself here—I will take care of myself.”

Dahl flinched. “I only meant—”

“Enough,” the Protector broke in. “There is no time for this.” He stepped outside the cave and signaled to them to follow him, then reached out and began to make the opening. “The way is rough and even more dangerous now,” he said. “Keep your wits about you.”

Dahl took one last look at Catryn, but she avoided his eyes and stalked through the opening behind the Protector. Dahl heaved a sigh, then made his way after them.

The path continued ever upward, through gradually thickening scrub and bushes. At points it disappeared entirely, but the Protector proceeded confidently, as if it were a path he had trodden many times before. Dahl and Catryn pushed their way through behind him. It was not cold; neither was it warm. Instead, there was a heavy oppressiveness around them that made Dahl fight for every breath he took. It was still cloudy, and they were beginning to climb into the cooler, misty layers. Not a whisper of wind. No birds sang; no noises or rustles betrayed the presence of any animals. Talking was impossible; it took all their concentration to keep up to the dimly seen figure of the Protector ahead of them.

Dahl turned back to hold aside a thorn-laden branch for Catryn. When he turned again, the
Protector had vanished, then his voice boomed out invisibly from somewhere ahead.

“Just a few steps more, Dahl.”

Dahl caught his breath. He knew what the Protector was about to show him. He scrambled past the remaining bushes, heedless of the thorns. He broke through the cloud into clear, strong sunlight at the very peak of the mountain they had been climbing. Behind him was the lowering gloom through which they had fought their way, but in front of him…His heart seemed to stop with a jolting thump. Behind him, Catryn gasped.

Gently rolling hills, intersected by a valley with a river and several smaller watercourses cutting through it, all bathed in the light of an almost impossibly brilliant sun high in the deep blue vault of the sky. Nestled at the foot of the hills and spilling over into the valley, a city drowsed in the sunlight. Houses painted in many colors kept one another company up and down winding, tree-lined streets. Streams burbled down out of the hills and ran through it, spanned by arched stone bridges wherever they crossed a road.

There was a market square, bordered with taller, red-roofed buildings. The roads seemed to wander without plan, but all of them eventually converged into one wide avenue that led from the marketplace back up to the hills. There, overlooking the city as if to protect it, sat a castle, many-spired and imposing.

At first the scene seemed idyllic, but, when Dahl looked closer, the truth appeared. The many-colored houses were dull and in need of paint. Doors were broken, windows boarded up. Gardens that should have been filled with flowers overflowed with weeds.

It was silent, almost lifeless. There should have been people, filling the streets, bustling into shops, hurrying to the marketplace. The parks should have been loud with children playing. Instead, there was scarcely a person to be seen, and those he could see scurried from place to place with a hurried, furtive air. No dogs barked. No cats slunk from roof to roof. Cows there were, in a meadow on this side of the city, and sheep in a pasture nearby, but, if there were shepherds, they were not lolling in the sun, enjoying the fine warm day as their charges grazed. A pall seemed to hang over the city. Even the windows of the houses seemed blank and secretive.

Suddenly, a drum rolled and a raucous, clanging noise split the air. The gates of the castle opened. A line of men, chained together, marched out through them. An overseer snapped a whip at their heels with a crack that could be heard even at this distance. The men shuffled out onto the road and then into the woods nearby.

Dahl watched without a word. He had no need to ask the Protector what this meant. The Protector had told him. In the dark nights of Dahl’s youth,
huddled in the straw of the inn’s stable, the Protector had related how the citizens of Daunus were allowed no freedom. Children played or sat indoors, forbidden to make any noise. Any dog or cat that was found on the street by the Usurper’s guard was immediately killed. Men could leave their dwellings only to tend to their work or their fields. Women had permission to venture out to scurry to the shops to replenish their meager supplies, no more. All families had to pay tithes to the Usurper whether their crops flourished or not, whether there was any market for their work or not. And as it was in Daunus, so it was in every other city of Taun. As a result, in a land that should have produced plenty for all, there was starvation, poverty and, always, fear. The Protector had told him also of the slaves kept to work for the Usurper, but Dahl had not been prepared for the actual sight of them. Men and boys, torn from their homes and families and condemned to work, chained together, until they dropped dead from exhaustion.

“Behold, Dahl,” the Protector said. “Your city. Daunus.”

Dahl looked down upon it and felt his heart grow cold.

“We can rest here,” the Protector said finally, breaking a long silence. “There is a stream, and trees that bear a fruit that is nourishing. You have need of that, I believe.”

The sight of Daunus had made Dahl forget the hunger that had been tearing at him all day, but, with the Protector’s words, it returned in full measure.

“Wait here,” the Protector said. He disappeared into the soft green bushes below them.

Catryn dropped to the ground. She, too, stared at Daunus. Dahl could not take his eyes away from the city. He had no memory of it, but he had imagined it so often, listening to the Protector describe it in the dark, secret hours of the night. At last, he was here. Every fiber of his being yearned to run to it, to the city of his birth. The city he should rightfully be able to call his own.

A hollowness began to grow inside him. It started in his chest, then spread until his knees felt weak and he, too, had to sit. Now that he was actually here—now that he was actually in Taun—the enormity of his task came fully home to him.

I, Dahl, am to be the one to remedy this?

It had all seemed so far away when he had talked to the Protector about it. So unreal. He had been certain that, when the time came, he would be prepared, would know what to do. But the magnitude and impossibility of the task ahead of him crashed around him. Overwhelmed him.

“Dahl?”

He wrenched his eyes away. He had forgotten all about Catryn.

“I have so many questions, Dahl.” She was staring at him now. The anger that had possessed her that morning was gone. Her face was drawn and tired. “I am so confused,” she said. “I must know what is happening. What we are doing here.”

“I will answer your questions,” Dahl said. He looked again at the city slumbering below them, so deceitfully tranquil. “I promise you, Catryn. But not now. I cannot. Not now—”

“Here. Eat of this and refresh yourselves.” The Protector’s voice interrupted them. “We have still a long way to go.” He was holding out fruit—lumpy and greenish.

Dahl took one. Catryn hesitated, staring at him still. Her mouth quivered, almost imperceptibly, then she turned away and held out her hand for a fruit as well.

Following the Protector’s example, they dug their fingers in and broke through the thin skin. Inside, the flesh was white and pulpy. Dahl took a hesitant taste. The fruit was at once moist and cool, and very sweet to his tongue. He finished it quickly, then accepted another. His stomach growled with relief, and settled down into a comfortable feeling of fullness. The Protector had also refilled their water gourds. They drank, then sank onto the soft, sweetsmelling
moss that covered the rock of the mountaintop. Dahl sighed, but it was not a sigh of contentment. His hunger was appeased, but the fears were back, and growing.

“I have never before tasted fruit so wonderfully satisfying,” Catryn said. She pushed a dark, sweat-soaked lock of hair off her forehead. “What is the name of it?”

“It is called deliverance fruit,” the Protector answered. At her questioning glance, he continued. “It is a strange fruit—some might even say magical. It contains no seeds, and cannot be grown. The trees that bear it hide themselves among the bushes here and there, and, if you are not truly in need of food, you will never discover them. If you are, however, you know that, if you seek, you will find.”

“Can you show me where you found this?” Catryn asked. “I would know what the tree looks like.”

“No,” the Protector answered. “Our need is satisfied. Not even I would be able to find it now.”

“But what if I need to find such a tree again? How should I know what to look for?”

“If you truly need, and have the necessary faith, it will be delivered to you.”

Catryn frowned, but the Protector stood again.

“You are rested; we must continue.”

“To Daunus? Is Dahl going to tell them he’s
come?” Catryn’s face lightened and she sprang to her feet.

“No,” the Protector answered. “We have things that must be done first.”

“What things?”

The Protector heaved an exasperated sigh.

Dahl spoke quickly. “As he said, there are those who will help us. We must find them. We cannot just march into Daunus. We would be taken prisoner.”

“Taken prisoner by whom? I
must
know, Dahl.” The fruit had revived Catryn. Her spirit was back.

Dahl did not answer. As the Protector led the way down a trail that wound away from the city, he hung back. He fastened his eyes onto Daunus. He felt as if he were trying to fill his very soul with the vision before he was finally forced to turn his back on it.

The trail dropped steeply. Dahl held out a hand to Catryn, but she shook it off, angry again.

“You will give me no explanations. Very well. I will make my own way. I have no need of help from you.” She pushed ahead of him. There were loose pebbles underfoot. Without warning, she stumbled. She reached out, but found nothing to grab onto. She fell into the bushes beside the path, then, as Dahl watched, plunged through them and disappeared from view.

“Catryn!” He dove after her, only to emerge into an alarming emptiness. He checked himself, but
even so one foot slid over the edge of a crevasse that yawned at his feet. He felt himself hurtling over and snatched desperately for a handhold among the bushes. His fingers found a sturdy branch and locked onto it. His fall arrested, he closed his eyes in momentary relief, then opened them again quickly. He was lying half over the lip of the cliff. He scrambled back to safety and, with a sinking feeling of dread, turned to look for Catryn.

The crevasse sank down into darkness, but below him a narrow ledge jutted out. On the ledge, ominously still, lay Catryn.

The Protector appeared at his side.

“What is amiss? Are you all right?” He looked beyond Dahl down into the crevasse. “Oh. The maid.” He sounded disgusted. “She brings trouble, as I feared.”

“She’s hurt. I must help her.”