Dragonfire (5 page)

“Your father’s sword.”

Dahl shrank away from it. Doubts poured back in. The bright, soul-restoring confidence he had felt upon awakening drained out of him like water streaming through a holed bucket. The Protector had told him of this sword, had even instructed him secretly in its use, but Dahl had not expected anything so formidable. The man who had wielded this sword had been a king indeed. A true warrior.

“I am not worthy…I cannot…”

“You must.” There was iron now in the old man’s words. “You are the son of a king. You must
be
a king.”

“Go ahead, Dahl.” The other man spoke. Both he and the woman had risen to their feet.

“The spirit of your father is in that sword, Dahl. We have kept it safe for you. Take it. You will be worthy.” The woman spoke softly, but there was no denying her.

Dahl reached for the sword. The Elder laid it in his hands. It was heavy. Awkward. Foreign to him. Dahl fumbled to buckle the belt around his waist. He felt like a fool. Worse—like an imposter.

“Draw it.” The Protector was by his side.

Dahl’s right hand reached for the weapon. His fingers closed around the hilt. He drew it clumsily, but, once free of the scabbard, the sword seemed suddenly to lighten. The grip molded itself to Dahl’s palm. Tentatively, he raised it. A shudder ran
through him. A singing began in his veins. A voice spoke in his mind.

“To you, Dahl. To you, now.”

It lent strength to his arm. He grasped the sword more firmly and raised it even higher, saluting first the Elders, then the Protector.

Surely, with a weapon such as this, I am invincible, he thought.

Then, even deeper within his mind, he heard a laugh. A mocking laugh. Taunting. A laugh that reeked with contempt, yet a laugh that was, somehow, familiar.

He thrust the sword back into its scabbard. The laughter ceased. He drew himself together. With an effort, he straightened and lifted his eyes to the Elders of Taun.

“Go with our blessings. With the hope of Taun.”

He tried to speak, to assure the Elders he was ready, that he would not fail them, but the words would not come to his lips. His head echoed and whirled with the memory of that laughter. He saw again the eyes—not his eyes—that had looked back at him out of the pool in the first cave. A coldness settled within him. He was not the hero they believed him to be. He could not do this!

Catryn walked in, the horse beside her as if bound to her by an invisible rein. Catryn, like Dahl, was dressed in clean new clothes and sturdy leather shoes. Her hair, freshly washed and shining
for perhaps the first time in her life, blazed in a halo around her face. The horse, head held high, bore little resemblance to the sorry beast of the day before. Its dappled gray coat gleamed. It tossed its head impatiently. Its eyes flashed fire, its nostrils flared. Only the hump-like deformity of its shoulders marred its magnificence. Together, they moved to join Dahl.

“We must plan how we will go.” The Protector rose to his feet.

After leaving the cave to return to the valley, they had gathered around a small fire to eat the provisions that had been given them. Catryn was feeding the horse grain from a sack. She had spent most of the night caring for the animal, the Protector had told Dahl. Remembering his own night of comfort and sleep, Dahl felt a twinge of guilt.

“No one except the messenger that found you knows what you look like, Dahl,” the Protector
continued. “He is also the only one who has seen Catryn. As long as we avoid him, we will be safe from recognition. Your enemies know you are here, but until now they have only felt you, not seen you. They are aware that you travel with me, however, and I am known to them. Therefore I must return to another form.”

“You will become a dog again?” Catryn asked, with a slight wrinkling of her nose.

“No. They will be expecting a dog, because that is how the messenger saw me. I will be a hawk again. As such I can keep watch from on high and warn you of danger. Catryn, you must ride the horse and look tired and sickly. Dahl, wear your sword strapped to your back and, whatever you do, keep it hidden beneath your cloak. Walk beside the horse and look worried. Our story can be that you are a youth on his way to Daunus to find aid for his sister, whom you fear is dying.”

“But what are we to do when we reach Daunus?” Dahl asked. “We have made no plans for that. I have no idea what lies in wait for us there.” In spite of himself, a note of desperation unsteadied his voice.

“Nor have I. That we will have to decide when we reach it. Those who wait for you are laying their traps. I can smell it. They will not make it easy for us. But you have your father’s sword and the blessings of the Elders.”

“Much help blessings are,” Catryn muttered. “I thought they would do more for Dahl. This world seems to be a place of strange powers—have they no magic to give him?” Her words were heavy with scorn, but fear lurked under them.

“Magic cannot be given from one to another. Each must make his own.”

“Out of what?” Catryn seemed to prick up her ears. Her eyes leaped to fasten onto his. “Out of what may one make one’s own magic?”

The Protector stared back at her.

“Out of one’s own courage. Out of one’s own soul,” he answered slowly.

“Can it not be passed down? Parent to child?”

“The ability, perhaps. The possibility. But in the end it is up to each of us alone.”

Catryn dropped her eyes from his as if suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze.

“You are curious, my little cat,” the Protector murmured. “I wonder why…”

Catryn didn’t answer.

Dahl, too, was mulling over Catryn’s question and the Protector’s response.

“How is it,” he asked, “that I cannot be given magic but my adversary would seem to have it? He tracked me down in Catryn’s world and he has invaded my mind twice since I have been here, without my willing it. Why does he have such power?”

“He has earned it in his own way. Since birth, he has been the obedient servant of the dark forces that oppose us.”

They threw a tattered blanket over the horse’s back. As if sensing what they wished, the horse dropped its head. Its whole body seemed to droop, and instantly it became a wretched nag.

Dahl looked at Catryn dubiously.

“Have you ever ridden before?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Will you be able to do it?”

“Of course,” she answered. “The horse and I know each other. We belong to each other now.”

Again, Dahl felt a stab of jealousy.

“If I am to fight, surely it is I who must own the horse. It has been so in every tale I ever heard around the evening fires. It is the hero of the tale who rides the wondrous horse.”

“Tales told by men to other men.” Catryn sniffed. “The truth oft lies elsewhere.”

There was a curious sort of snort from the Protector. Dahl looked at him quickly, but, if it had been laughter, there was no sign of it on his face. Dahl fought back the jealousy.

It is unworthy of me, he thought. He could not completely tamp the feeling down, though, as he made a stirrup of his hands and motioned to Catryn to mount.

“Cover that hair of yours with the hood of your cloak, little cat,” the Protector said. “It flames like a beacon. We would not have it attract attention.”

Dahl arranged the sword so that it lay comfortably across his back. With his cloak on, nothing showed except the plain leather of the belt holding it, and yet it was within easy reach. Jealousy forgotten now, he marveled, when he had it adjusted, at how normal it all felt. His father’s sword—had he ever worn it thus? He turned to the Protector again. There was no one there. In a sudden panic, he called out.

“Protector, where are you? Where have you gone?”

A sweep of wings was his only answer as a hawk uttered a hoarse cry, then rose effortlessly into the air. It circled once, high enough so that its immense size was not apparent to anyone below, then flew out of sight.

Dahl stared after it. Never had he felt so alone.

“Dahl?”

He didn’t answer.

“Dahl?” Catryn repeated. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” With an effort he tore his eyes away from the void above him. He reached for the horse’s halter.
The Protector’s instructions to look worried were easy to carry out.

The Protector had mapped out the path they had to follow, and had shown him where they would camp for the night. As they descended farther into the valley, they would find a copse of pine trees on the outskirts of a small village. There was shelter there, where they would be able to build a fire. Only then, he had told them, would he return.

Their first test came almost immediately. They had not yet met anyone other than the Elders in this strange world, so it was with a shock of surprise that they saw a band of men coming toward them. The men were dressed as Dahl was. Dahl’s heart sank as a thought occurred to him. How would they understand them? How could they speak to them? Surely the people of this land would speak a different language from their own. But even as the leader of the band hailed them with familiar words, Dahl realized he and Catryn had been speaking and understanding the language of this world ever since they had arrived.

“Hail, fellow. Where go you?” the stranger called.

Dahl returned the greeting with a raised hand. He furrowed his brow. Beside him, Catryn slumped on the horse. “My sister is ailing,” he answered. “We come from a village high in the mountains, and there is no one there who can cure her. We seek help in Daunus.”

“I wish you luck, then, but I sorrow to tell you that you must not hold out many hopes. Daunus itself is an ailing city. The people there cannot even help themselves, much less strangers.”

“What do you mean?” Dahl asked, but the man, as if aware that he had spoken unwisely, checked himself. His face, at first sympathetic, closed, and he looked around furtively.

“I have said more than is wise. The trees have ears these days,” he muttered. “Go well,” he added quickly, then motioned to his companions. They hurried on. Dahl sighed with relief as they disappeared down the path.

“We passed that test well, did we not?” Catryn asked. Her voice was gleeful.

“This is not a game,” Dahl retorted. Then, in spite of himself, he broke into an answering smile. “Yes, that we did,” he answered. For the first time since the disappearance of the Protector, he felt a finger of confidence returning.

“We will make a good pair, you and I,” Catryn went on. “I’m certain of it.”

Dahl looked up at her. She had thrown back her hood and her hair seemed to revel in the freedom of the sunshine.

“Put your hood back on,” he said quickly. “There are bound to be more people on the road.” He tried to sound stern, but the sight of her gladdened his heart.

Perhaps we
will
make a good pair on this quest, he thought. He dared, hesitantly, to consider it. For a moment he let himself relax, remembering all the years of their life together. How many times had they consoled each other when things had gone badly for one of them? How many times had each connived to help the other avoid a punishment? They had worked well together there. Why, then, should they not work well together here?

They met several other groups of people along the way. To each, Dahl gave the same story. None of the others were as talkative as the first, however, and all seemed more anxious even than Dahl to get on their way without attracting attention.

When the sun was high in the heavens directly above them, they paused to eat by a fast-flowing stream. Catryn led the horse to drink before she would accept any food herself. For a moment Dahl was irritated at the care she lavished on the animal, then he forced the feeling away.

The sun was warm, but Dahl did not dare remove his cloak lest anyone chance upon them unexpectedly. He made himself as comfortable as he could while they rested. The horse cropped noisily at its grain beside them. The stream plashed its way past. A sense of tranquility began to steal over him. Almost, he could believe he was lying in the fields behind the inn where he had spent his youth. He closed his eyes. His hand reached out unconsciously
to grasp the warm fur of the dog that had never been far from his side.

“Will we ever go back again?”

Catryn’s voice jolted him into the reality of this world. It took an effort to bring his thoughts back as well.

“I will not,” he said.

She picked a leaf from a nearby bush and began to shred it with slender, nervous fingers.

“And I?” she asked.

“If what the Protector said is true, I suppose you will not.” Dahl opened his eyes to look at her. “What think you, Catryn, about that?” It was the first time he had considered the question.

“There is nothing there that I miss,” she said. “No one who would miss me.” The words were thoughtful. Slow. As if she were speaking to herself. “If my mother were alive…But she is not.”

She crushed the fragments of the leaf into a ball and cast them into the stream. They were caught and swept away.

“I think I shall not return, either,” she said. “Even if it should become possible.” She leaped to her feet and brushed off the skirt of her shift. “Should we go on now?”

Dahl looked up at her, a question on his lips, but now it was she who avoided queries.

“Will you help me mount?”

When the sun set, they made camp in the grove of pine trees. As they lit their fire, the hawk swooped down through the branches, and the Protector was once more with them.

They boiled their evening soup made from vegetables given to them by the Elders—some almost like turnips, others strange, but good-tasting and nourishing—then sat close together around the blaze. The warmth was not really needed, but for Dahl, at least, the companionship was. There was a lengthy silence. Catryn finally broke it.

“Can you now,” she asked, “tell me more? About what happened to rob you, Dahl, of your kingdom, and force you into such a long exile?”

For a moment it seemed as if no one would answer her, then the Protector spoke.

“Yes,” he said. “It is time, now, for you to know.” He leaned forward to prod the fire into a sudden, quick blaze.

“Almost seventeen years ago a son was born to the king of this land.” The fire cast flickering shadows across his face. The shadows, or perhaps the telling of the story, caused the lines etched on either side of his mouth and around the corners of his eyes to deepen. The eyes themselves were sunken and
hidden in the blackness of their sockets.

“That son was Dahl,” he continued. “It was a blessed, welcome event. When the child was born, there was great rejoicing. The babe was brought out to show to all the world. I was named as his Protector, and I myself carried him in my own arms. It was to be a joyful presentation, but the joy did not last long.”

The Protector fell silent. Dahl stared at him, waiting for him to continue. It was a story Dahl knew well, but he wanted to hear it again, here in his own world. Here the story held new meaning for him—new pain.

“There are forces of evil in all worlds,” the Protector went on. “Usually there is a balance between that evil and the good that exists alongside it, even as there is a balance of good and evil in every person. Let a rift appear, however, and that balance can shift. That is what happened in Dahl’s world.” He paused again, folded his arms tightly across his chest and seemed to draw into himself. He continued with an obvious effort.

“Dahl’s father had a twin brother, Launan, who was as evil as the king was good. Launan was a man who had all his life been eaten from within by jealousy. Dahl’s father was the elder by only a few moments, but those moments were enough to give him the crown, and his brother hated him for it. Nothing the king could do for him was enough.
Launan did not want what his brother could
give
him; he wanted what his brother
had
. The evil in his soul and his festering hatred gave the dark ones the opening they needed to come among us and shift that careful balance of good and evil.

“Even as the people joined to celebrate the birth, a storm arose. The sky darkened as if it were night, and the earth beneath the old castle began to twist. The walls collapsed upon themselves, burying all within under the rubble, killing most of them instantly. Dahl’s parents—the kindest king and queen this land has ever known—both died.”

A branch tumbled from the fire in a shower of sparks. Catryn jumped up to kick it back in, then sat down quickly, intent on the story.

“I was spared, but the babe was wrested from my arms in the turmoil.” The Protector’s voice held all the anguish of his remembering. He put out his hands to warm them at the small blaze. “I searched for him frantically, and found him finally, lying almost lifeless in the ruins, but when I fought my way out of the wreckage, clutching him to me, it was only to find that another babe had been discovered. Launan was triumphantly presenting this child to the people as their rightful ruler, and himself as his rescuer. When I stood forth with Dahl, he proclaimed me a liar, and Dahl an imposter.