Dragonfire (4 page)

The Protector raised a silencing hand. “You cannot climb down there. The cliff is too sheer. Besides, she may be dead,” he added in a tone that almost suggested that would be a convenient solution to an annoying problem.

Just then, however, Catryn stirred. She sat up, looked around her as if dazed, then raised her eyes.

“Take care,” Dahl called. “Don’t move!”

Catryn looked into the abyss below her and shrank back against the cliffside. The movement she made, small though it was, sent a shower of stones
into the depths below her. There was no noise of them hitting bottom. She watched them fall, then looked back up.

“Don’t move!” Dahl called again. “I’ll come for you.”

“No! You mustn’t! It’s too dangerous!” Catryn pulled herself to her feet and turned to face the wall behind her. She clutched the cliffside and flattened herself against it. Her head dropped against the rock for a moment, as if she were gathering her strength, then she began to reach around and above, searching for handholds. More stones cascaded down into the seemingly bottomless pit.

“Catryn, don’t—” Dahl began, but the Protector’s hand on his shoulder cut him short. The fingers dug in with such strength that they sent an arrow of pain shooting down his arm. Dahl looked at him in surprise.

“You stay here. I will deal with this.” Dahl had never before heard the Protector speak with such fury. He loosed Dahl. The air quivered around him, then he was gone. In his place a hawk thrummed the air with powerful wings. An immense hawk. The wings spread—as wide across as a man is tall—and then, with a strong downward thrust, the hawk lifted into the sky. It wheeled and dove for Catryn. She made as if to ward it off, but it ignored her puny gesture and clutched her in its talons.

“No!” Her scream was cut off as the bird spiraled upward.

At that instant a hiss of steam rose from the depths. The hot draft caught the hawk and, for a moment, it faltered. At the same time Dahl saw something stir far below. A glimmer, an obscene sheen of iridescent scales. A stench as of long-dead devils. Dahl stood rooted to the spot as it rose toward him. A monstrous head emerged from the stinking steam. Cold, evil eyes, yellow and unblinking, fixed onto Dahl. There was a blaze of fire…then a thump as Catryn was dropped none too gently onto the ground beside him. The hawk hovered, dimmed and disappeared. The Protector stood in its place.

“There was no need! You hurt me!” Catryn rubbed her shoulders. Blood seeped through her woolen shift. “I could have climbed out…I…”

“You know not the half of the danger you were in,” the Protector said. “You are a foolish maid and a trouble to us all. I knew your coming here was a mistake.”

“Dahl…” Catryn began, turning to appeal to him.

Dahl, however, was not looking at her. He was staring back down into the depths of the crevasse, quiet and black again. The steam and the stench were gone. Slowly, his heart came under control. He looked up to see the Protector staring at him.

“What is it? What is the matter?” Catryn, too, was staring at him, her anger forgotten at the sight of his face.

“Question him not,” the Protector said. His tone silenced even Catryn.

They made camp that night in a grove of trees beside a small stream. The Protector had saved some of the strange fruit, and they ate that and drank of the cool, running water. The ground was soft, and the valley air warmer than that of the mountains from which they had descended. There was the scent of earth and growing things in the air, but Dahl had still not heard birds. Perhaps there were no birds in this world. He remembered the sparrows that fought for crumbs outside the kitchen door of the inn, the robins that nested in the eaves, and a sadness took hold of him. For a moment a wave of homesickness washed over him. His adopted world had been harsh, but it had been familiar to him, and he would never see it again. He shook his head and put the thoughts from him. There was no place in his mind for such weakness.

Catryn had been unusually silent since her misadventure. It wasn’t until after they had eaten and
were settling themselves for the night that she finally spoke.

“I have an apology to make,” she said. The words were contrite, but the tone still bold. “I endangered Dahl’s whole mission, perhaps even his life. I am sorry for it. You would have done well just to leave me there.”

“I considered it,” the Protector answered.

Dahl leaped to her defense. “It was not your fault. Of course we could not leave you.”

Catryn, however, was looking at the Protector. “You are certain I am a hindrance, and possibly a danger as well.”

“Not certain.”

“Not certain, but afraid it may be so.”

“Concerned.”

“I will act with more prudence in future.” She drew herself up to as full a stature as her small frame could achieve. “If I cause any further threat to Dahl, either by accident or by my own stupidity, I beg you to abandon me. I will save myself or I will not be saved.”

“We cannot…” Dahl began.

Catryn ignored him. She fixed the Protector with an intense, unflinching green-eyed stare. “I mean what I say.”

“And I accept it. A world depends on Dahl. It cannot be forfeited for a mere maid.”

“Mere maid I am not,” Catryn said. Anger flashed,
but she controlled it quickly. “I will hold you to your bargain. You will abandon me if I endanger Dahl, but, remember, if I am of help in this venture, you have promised that I have a claim on you.”

“I remember. I have promised, and it will be so,” the Protector replied. He returned her stare, an appraising look in his eyes.

Catryn nodded, satisfied, then turned her back on both of them and sought shelter in the hollow formed by the generous roots of one of the trees. She curled herself up as tightly as a kitten seeking to preserve its own warmth, and within minutes was asleep.

Dahl stared at her sleeping form. This was not the Catryn he had known all his life. What was happening to her in this world of his?

And to me, he thought. What is happening to me?

Sleep would not come to Dahl. He remained sitting beside the Protector until long after the radiant sun had sunk below the horizon. No moon rose to take its place, but two distant stars on opposite sides of the vault above them shone with such intensity that the grove was illuminated with a dim, pulsating glow. The heavy scent of some night-blooming flower seeped in. To Dahl, in his present mood, it seemed cloying.

Finally, the Protector spoke. “You saw the beast that lives in that hole of hell, then.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Dahl replied.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Frightened.” Dahl folded his arms on his knees and let his head sink onto them. “More frightened than I could have ever believed possible. The world of Taun depends for its salvation upon a coward.” The words were bitter.

“Think you that brave men are never afraid?”

“If they were, how could they be brave?”

“If they were not, how could they be brave?” The Protector laid a hand on Dahl’s shoulder and, tenderly now, rubbed the spot where his fingers had dug in so painfully earlier on. “Your fate advances to meet you, Dahl, and the fate of all Taun with it. I have taught you as well as I could. I will help you all I can, but in the end it will be up to you. How you will meet that fate, what will be the outcome, is not ours to know just now. But meet it you will.” The arm encircled his shoulders, and Dahl allowed himself to rest into it. Just so had he rested many a night when he was young and sorely tormented.

After a long while, Dahl spoke again. “There is something else. I feel…I have always felt…” He groped for the proper words. “You said it yourself. There is a lack within me. Something missing. I am not complete, Protector. I am not whole.”

“You are young,” the Protector answered. “There is much you do not yet know.”

“It is not that,” Dahl answered. “It is something else. Something else…”

Above them, the branches of the trees stirred, although no breeze sifted through them. A murmuring passed from branch to branch and faded into the distance. Dahl shivered, suddenly cold.

Again, the next morning, there was nothing but water to sip. Dahl barely noticed the emptiness in his stomach, however, as the emptiness in his heart was so much greater. For years he had prepared for this, but now…The first test, and he had not been able to meet it. It was the Protector who had saved Catryn.

Is this how it is to be, then? He scuffed at the stones on the path beneath his feet. I am not only a coward, but a useless coward. The Protector says the salvation of Taun depends on me, but his powers
are so much greater than mine, why would he need me? What can I possibly do that he cannot?

Catryn, too, was strangely silent. She walked behind Dahl, her expression pensive. As they dropped down into the valley, the bushes gave way to trees again. Graceful, slender trees with tender leaves that flashed silver whenever a whisper of wind passed through them. It grew warmer still.

“Dahl!”

The sudden cry from behind startled him.

“Dahl, wait!”

Dahl felt his stomach lurch. The beast from the crevasse—was it following them?

Ahead of Dahl, the Protector halted and looked back.

“There’s something…something here,” Catryn called. Seeing Dahl’s face, she added quickly, “Not something evil. But I can sense it…feel it…” She twisted to look into the trees beside the path. Then, before Dahl or the Protector could reply, she darted into the undergrowth.

“Catryn, wait!” Dahl tore through the bushes after her.

At first he could not see her, then he broke through into a clearing. In the center stood Catryn, hands outstretched. In front of her, head drooping, was a horse. It was so big, it dwarfed her slight figure, yet it stood tamely, unmoving, as she advanced toward it and laid a hand upon its neck. In spite of
its size, it was the most sorry example of a horse Dahl had ever seen. It was filthy, scrawny and strangely misshapen. It could originally have been white, or any other lightish color, but at the moment was a dingy, mottled grayish hue. Mud speckled its hocks and withers, its mane was long and tangled, the tail was a mass of burrs. It leaned its head forward and nuzzled Catryn’s cheek.

“I think it’s hungry,” Catryn said, her voice a whisper.

“Stay, Catryn,” the Protector said. Dahl had not heard him come up behind. “Do not move.” There was urgency in his voice.

The horse raised its head and looked at the Protector.

“It is a poor-looking beast,” Dahl began, then the horse turned its gaze full upon him and Dahl forgot what he was about to say. It was like looking into twin pools of dim green fire.

“Dragonfire,” the Protector said, his voice a murmur. “It is weak, but there is dragonfire in those eyes.”

Catryn began to caress the beast’s neck in long, measured strokes. She alone did not seem dazzled by the animal, only concerned.

“Well done, little cat,” the Protector said. “Oh, well done. Could it be that I was mistaken about you?”

Catryn ignored the question. She countered with
one of her own. “It needs help,” she said. “What can we do?”

“Come. See if it will follow you.”

She began to walk slowly toward the Protector and Dahl, watching the horse over her shoulder. It took one hesitant step after her, then another.

The Protector smiled.

They walked all day with only the briefest of stops. Of them all, the horse seemed the weariest. It followed Catryn almost blindly, head lowered, eyes hooded. They tore leaves off bushes and ripped up handfuls of grass whenever they could find any, but they could not tempt it to eat. Dahl began to fear the animal would collapse.

“How much farther must we go today?” Catryn asked, echoing his fear.

The sun was low. They had descended deep into the valley, and its rays slanted weakly now through the trees and across their path.

“We are almost there,” the Protector answered, and would say no more.

Finally, as the last of the sunlight began to leave them, the Protector paused. He seemed to sniff the air.

“Ah.” He sighed. His expression relaxed.

The air in front of them began to shimmer. It thickened, became opaque. The Protector raised his hands. An opening appeared, lengthened, widened. In contrast to the darkening forest, a brilliant light shone through from the other side.

“Come,” the Protector said. “We are awaited.”

Dahl followed him through. Catryn entered after Dahl, one hand on the horse’s mane. As it stepped through to the other side, the horse gave a sudden toss of its head. For a moment its eyes flashed. The entrance closed itself behind them.

The light on the other side was so intense that at first Dahl was forced to squint. He looked for the source, but could find none. There was no sun. The sky above them, if sky it was, seemed an unbroken dome of luminescence. Dahl felt a strangeness about the scene in front of him, then he realized why. They were on a hillside, lightly dotted with trees and bushes, but, in this all-encompassing brilliance, there were no shadows.

Total silence hung over them. No whisper of breeze, no rustle of leaves. It was as if this land had never known sound at all. Nor was there movement. The leaves on the trees hung motionless, each fixed in place. Flowers twined around his feet, set in lush, fertile earth, but there was no scent from them. Each blossom was perfect. There were no buds. There were no dying blooms. Dahl reached down to touch
one of them, to ascertain whether it was truly real, truly alive, but something stayed his hand.

In front of them was another cave. It was illuminated with the same radiance that had filled the cave on the first night of their journey. The Protector led them into its mouth. Immediately, sound filled Dahl’s ears. The trickle of water somewhere deep within, the sigh of moving air, the scurry of small, unseen feet. Life surrounded him again.

The cave was vast. Dahl could not begin to see the end of it. The Protector strode confidently forward into the depths. They rounded a bend. The walls narrowed, then widened again to form a cavern. Dahl looked up, but the ceiling was so high above him that he could only vaguely make out dim, hanging extrusions of the rose-colored rock that formed the walls around him. He lowered his eyes and saw, at the far end of the cavern, a group of people sitting on a platform carved into the stone.

“Draw near, Dahl,” the Protector commanded. Dahl obeyed. He could heard the soft echoes of the horse’s unshod feet on the earthen floor as Catryn followed, leading the animal.

There were two men and one woman. The men were white-haired and bearded; the woman’s golden hair was streaked with silver. They seemed old, even ancient. They were dressed alike in flowing gowns of a color that Dahl at first thought to be silver, then saw as green, then believed to be gold. The platform
upon which they sat was draped with cloth of the same color. There were no pillows, no signs of anything that might make the seat more comfortable. All three sat easily, but absolutely erect. An aura of power emanated from them. They dominated the immense cavern surrounding them.

“You have brought him, then.” The woman spoke. Her voice was soft. It seemed to flow outwards and fill the chamber. Her eyes fastened onto Dahl. They were intense, imperious, but there was something deep within that startled Dahl. It was almost a pleading. “It is early. We did not expect you so soon. He is still so young.”

“I had no choice, my lady,” the Protector answered. “We were discovered.”

“By whom?”

“By a messenger of the evil one himself.”

One of the men rose and took a step toward Dahl. He towered over him. His eyes locked onto Dahl’s with the same passion, with the same pleading deep within. “You are welcome here, my son,” he said.

The other stood as well. He moved more slowly. There was a stiffness to his body that spoke of pain. If one such ancient being could be said to be older than another, it would seem to be he.

“We have waited long for you,” he said. He looked beyond Dahl to where Catryn stood, her hand entwined in the horse’s mane. “Who is this
girl?” he asked. “Why have you brought her?”

“It was an accident,” the Protector said. “Or so I thought. But perhaps nothing is truly an accident.” He gestured toward the animal. “It was she who found the horse.”

The horse threw up its head and tossed its long, uncombed mane back. For a second, its eyes blazed.

“A horse with dragonfire in its eyes,” the woman said. “It is a myth oft repeated in our land, but no one has ever had more than a fleeting glimpse of the creature. Certainly no one has ever laid a hand on it.” She fixed Catryn with a piercing stare. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Catryn, Madam.”

“And your mother’s?”

“Ethelrue.”

The woman drew a breath. “Of course,” she said. She turned to the Protector. “Truly spoken, Protector. Nothing is an accident. This girl was meant to be here. She has her part to play.”

Dahl looked from the woman to Catryn, puzzled. Catryn had never told him her mother’s name, yet here she revealed it without hesitation.
Ethelrue
. The name seemed to be familiar to the woman. A look passed between her and Catryn that he could not fathom. As if they recognized something within each other. Then Catryn threw a triumphant glance toward the Protector. Her hold on the horse’s mane tightened.

“So,” the woman said, raising her head to fix Dahl with her eyes, “we begin.”

“We begin, indeed.” It was the elder of the two men who spoke. “But, first, you must rest and prepare yourselves for what is to come. Leave the animal here. It will be fed and tended to.”

“No.” Catryn’s exclamation startled them all. “I would stay with it.”

The older man seemed about to object, but the woman laid her hand on his arm. “It is fitting. Leave her be.”

“It won’t eat.” Catryn directed her words to the woman.

“It will here. We know what it needs.” She rose. “Follow me, I will show you what to do.”

She put her arm around Catryn’s shoulders and led her to an opening at one side of the cave. The horse followed. Dahl watched them go. Unreasonably, he felt a snake of jealousy twining around inside him.

I am the King of Taun, he thought. I am the one who is to save this world. Why is this ancient woman treating Catryn as if she were the important one? Then he was filled with shame. Not only am I a coward, and a useless one, he thought bitterly, but I’m jealous as well. Of Catryn! What manner of person am I, anyway?

The Protector broke in on his thoughts. “Come,” he said. “All else can wait until tomorrow.” He led the way to the back of the cavern. There were three
small openings there. He chose one and disappeared through it.

Dahl forced himself to go. The Protector led him into a smaller chamber. In the middle was a pool of steaming water.

“Bathe, Dahl, and rest. Food will be brought to you. You have been through much, now is the time to restore yourself.”

With an effort, Dahl put Catryn out of his mind. “What do we do next?” he asked. “Will these people help me?”

“Tomorrow.” The Protector’s firmness allowed for no further words from Dahl. “You will find out what you need to know tomorrow.” He left.

Dahl started to go after him, then stopped. He was tired and dirty. The pool beckoned irresistibly. Slowly, he took off the grimy rags he was wearing, then lowered himself into the welcome heat of the water. He closed his eyes. The Protector had told him much about Taun. About his mother and father, and about what his world had been like before the Usurper had taken control. But when Dahl had questioned him more closely about what they must do to retake it, what path they must follow, he had been vague. Now that Dahl thought on it, it seemed he had been so deliberately. Could it be that he didn’t know? That it was going to be up to him, Dahl, to find the way? The thought struck a fear inside him even greater than that he had felt when
he had seen the beast in the crevasse. Surely not. Surely the Protector, who knew everything, would know what they must do. He could not possibly expect Dahl to find the way.

He must have dozed. When he awoke, the aroma of food sent a stab of hunger through him. While he slept, someone had taken his clothes and left a light tunic beside the tub, and good leather boots, as well as soft cloths with which to dry himself. He dressed. The food was laid out in bowls on the floor near a mound of pillows and blankets. He sank down onto them and lifted one of the bowls to his lips. It contained a soup, hot and nourishing. Dahl drank, but before he could finish half of it, his eyes closed again. This time he let himself fall into deep, fathomless unconsciousness.

In the soft light of the cave, Dahl at first had no idea where he was when the Protector shook him gently by the arm to awaken him.

“Good morrow, Dahl,” he said. “Have you rested well?” He held out a bowl of porridge to him.

Dahl took a moment to collect his wits, then accepted the bowl. He could feel strength pouring back into him with the first spoonful.

“I did,” he answered, mouth full. He was ravenously hungry now. He shoveled another spoonful in. He felt extraordinarily refreshed, with more energy than he ever had before in his life. The doubts and fears of the night before had magically disappeared.

“I did,” he repeated. “I believe I have never before rested so well.”

“That is good. You will need your strength.”

Even these ominous words failed to dampen Dahl’s revived spirit. He felt ready to conquer anything. When he stood once again before those who the Protector called the Elders, his smile was returned. Then their faces settled once more into the creases of time.

“Today you go forth,” said the woman. “From today on, the fate of Taun lies in your hands. You will face a foe armed with the forces of evil. We are limited in the ways in which we can help you.”

“This alone can we give you,” said the older man. He reached behind him, picked something up from a low table, then turned back. Dahl caught his breath as he realized what it was. The man held a sword, but a sword so large and weighty that it took both his hands to hold it. The weapon was as long as the man’s arm; the hilt, sized for a hand far larger than a normal man’s. As the Elder held it out to Dahl, his frail arms seemed to bow with the weight of it.