Dragonmaster (8 page)

“
B
ut will I not be a traitor to Taun if I help this beast to live?”

Norl and the Sele sat together beside a trickle of a stream that rippled down the mountainside. Hhana sat a little apart, glowering.

“This is your decision, Norl,” Sele the Plump said. “You know that we Sele abhor the taking of life in any form, but I cannot make it for you. I cannot even advise you. Truth, I would not know what to say if I tried.”

Norl threw a pebble into the stream. It splashed, then sank.

“It is a dragon,” he said. “It will be as dangerous as Caulda when it is full-grown. As dangerous as its brother, who attacked Dahl and nearly killed the Protector.”

“But they were under the control of evil,” Sele the Plump said. “This dragon child is not. Yet,” it added.

“The evil is vanquished,” Norl said. “Why do you say ‘Yet’?”

“I wonder,” the Sele said. “Is evil ever really vanquished? Or does it just wait to surface once more?”

“I saw Launan die. I walked amongst his bones,” Norl said. He shook his head to rid himself of the memory.

“So,” the Sele said then, “if you truly believe that, what danger does this dragon child pose?”

“When it is full-grown it will be capable of striking terror into the people. Of incalculable violence. Of murder!”

“Only if it has a reason to do so,” the Sele said.

“Is that not the nature of a dragon?” Norl argued.

“It is not
my
nature,” Hhana said.

“But you are not true dragon.” Norl spoke without thinking.

“Perhaps I am, or will be.” Her voice was flat. Cold.

Her words gave him pause; a chill suddenly shivered down his spine. What did she mean by them? How could he trust this creature who seemed now to be almost as much dragon as maiden?

“There is no way I can help this beast,” he snapped, the fear edging his words with anger. “How can I possibly save it when all it wants is my death?”

“It seems that all it wants at the moment is food,” Hhana said. “Not your death. Why not feed it?”

Norl looked to the Sele, but Sele the Plump remained silent. As it had said, this was Norl’s decision and it would leave the making of it to him.

Could he really leave the child to starve? He could save
it, but should he? It would mean doing Caulda’s bidding. Acceding to the demands of a
dragon.

He whirled away from the Sele and Hhana and strode back to the stream. He stared into the tiny trickle of water without seeing it. Without seeing the worm of darkness that threaded itself down through its centre.

Catryn stood petrified for only a moment, then, with a shimmering of the air around her, she gathered into herself. Where she had stood, a sleek, black panther crouched. She tested the air with cat-keen nose and her whiskers quivered. The scent that arose from the black pool was acrid and burning. With one spring she leaped over the mist and was free of it. She lost no time in making for the cave of the Elders. They must know of this immediately. Never before had the Domain been invaded by any kind of evil—and evil this was; she knew it with a certainty.

In her haste, she left the seeing bowl where it lay. The mist swirled around it, engulfed it. In less time than it would take to draw breath, it was gone. Only when she had regained her own form and stood before the Elders and the Protector did she remember it. How could she have done that?

But it does not matter,
she told herself.
The bowl was useless. Will be so until I find the cause of the water’s
corruption.
She put it out of her mind as she told them what had transpired.

“I must go to Dahl,” she said then. “There is evil afoot in the Domain—where never before has evil trespassed.”

“What of Norl?” the Protector asked. “Do you know how he fares?”

“I cannot see him,” Catryn replied. “The water in my bowl ran as black as the water in our stream. I will go first to Daunus, then Dahl and I together can search for him.” But a sudden thought caused her heart to falter. What if this evil had something to do with Norl’s quest? What if he had failed—if he were already dead and the dragon about to attack Taun again?

“The evil may not have died with Launan,” Ygrauld, the eldest of the three said, reading her thoughts.

“But how could it have invaded here without our knowing?” Ronauld demanded.

It was Tauna, the woman, who spoke their silent fears. “Perhaps our powers are waning,” she said. “Or perhaps the power of evil is growing.”

Catryn could not reply. Never could she have imagined hearing such words from the Elders. They were immortal. They had guided Taun since the beginning of time and would continue to do so until the end of time. This is what she had been taught, what she had always believed. She turned to the Protector. He was immortal, as was she, but not an Elder. He answered her unspoken question.

“There is a whisper of change in the air, Catryn,” he said.

“We have felt it, but did not know what it meant. Go,” he ordered. “Go and find out.”

Catryn needed no further urging. With an obeisance to the Protector and to the Elders, she was out of the cave and running toward the portal. She reached it, and raised her hands to unlace the opening, but couldn’t. Disbelieving, she ran her fingers down the seam as she had done so many times before. Always, space had parted for her easily. She had never even thought about it. But not this time. She stood frozen for a moment, then turned and raced back to the caves of the Elders. Her horse waited for her there. The horse with dragonfire in its eyes. As she sprinted into the dark cave where the animal was housed, she could see its white form glowing in the darkness. With a bound she was on its back. She twined her fingers into its mane, settled her knees beneath the wings that grew from its withers.

“We must fly again,” she whispered.

The horse galloped out of the darkness, into the light. Its great wings unfurled and within seconds they were airborne. They rose high into the air—Catryn urged it even higher. Never before had she tried to leave the Domain this way. She did not even know if it was possible, but it had to be. It was the only way.

But, as they rose, the land below them shimmered and grew dim. Colours faded, then disappeared. Without warning she and the horse found themselves flying in a void. There was nothing below them anymore, nothing above them, nothing around them. She was suddenly dizzy, seized with a terrible vertigo. All sense
of balance deserted her. She could not tell which way was up, which way down.

The horse faltered. Its wingbeats hesitated. In that moment they plunged back down. The blankness that surrounded them became colour again, but colour that whirled and spun around them in a dizzying array. Catryn buried her face in the horse’s mane and held on. It took all of her strength not to fall off as the horse tumbled over and over. There was not air enough around her to breathe, let alone scream. Then she felt the horse right itself, its wings gathered air to them and began to beat. When she dared to raise her head and look, all was as it should be again.

“Land,” she commanded. “Land quickly.”

A light rain was falling when they woke the next morning. Hhana tunnelled into her cloak and grumbled. Norl had hardly slept the previous night. He had examined every possibility over and over in his mind, but in reality there were only two courses he could take: he could leave the dragon child to die and return to the Domain of the Elders, or he could give it food until it was old enough to care for itself. He had let his mind run on to explore what the consequences of each decision might mean. If he left it and returned to the Domain, what then? He had learned to transform and fly, but for what purpose now? And how would the Elders and the Protector react to the news of the dragon child and what
he had done? What would Catryn say? A profound uneasiness took hold of him when he thought on that.

What of the other choice: to help the dragon child survive. What would happen to the beast? What would be Norl’s role then? If it were because of him that the dragon lived, would he be responsible for it for the rest of his life? Dragons live for many years, far more than he could expect to live—what legacy would he be leaving to Taun? It was altogether likely it could be a legacy of chaos and terror.

The questions had tormented him until his mind felt bruised. Only when the moons had set and the mountainside was shrouded in darkness had he finally managed to sleep. When he wakened this morning, in the fresh and cleansing rain, he found that he had made his decision.

“I will lead you to the cave,” he said to the Sele and Hhana now. “I will show you where it is, and then I will return to the child. I will care for it until it is old enough and strong enough to survive on its own.”

Or until it makes an end of me.

He could not suppress that thought, but he did not voice it.

Hhana was on her feet in an instant.

“And then what?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Norl snapped.

Hhana shrugged off Norl’s irritation. Her face was alight with excitement, her eyes glowed.

“Let me help you care for it,” she cried. “I am dragonling, am I not? Perhaps this is what I was meant to do.”

Norl shook his head. “There is no way you can reach the child,” he said. “It is at the bottom of a cleft deep within the mountain. There is no way down to it, or up from it, except by flying.”

Hhana frowned. “Do dragonlings fly?” she asked the Sele.

“The old tales did not say,” it answered.

“But you cannot,” Norl said quickly. Truth be told, the last thing he wanted was for Hhana to help with the dragon child. The maid was already too much dragon. Who knew what might happen if she and the child were brought together.

“But you will take us to its lair,” Hhana insisted.

“Yes,” Norl agreed, his voice reluctant.

“Then I will see it,” Hhana said.

Norl was even more perturbed by her eagerness. He caught the Sele’s eye. There was a corresponding look of apprehension on its normally expressionless face.

D
ahl dressed hurriedly. When Coraun had summoned him he had left the palace in such haste that he had only had time to throw on a cloak over his sleeping clothes. He had but one thought in his mind: he must get to the Domain of the Elders and seek their advice. Magic was afoot here and only their magic could counter it. Pausing to make certain that his orders had been carried out and the banks of the river well-guarded, he strode to the stables. Magnus, the black stallion that had been the Usurper’s own steed, stood ready and waiting.

He swung himself into the saddle and raced through the courtyard. Within minutes he was in the forest that edged Daunus. Magnus followed the narrow track through the trees without guidance. He seemed to sense where they were going—and the urgency of their mission. Dahl bent low over the horse’s neck and drove him on to even greater speed with low whispers in the animal’s ear. The horse responded as if it truly understood every word—which Dahl knew it did. Catryn’s magical white winged

horse was the only other horse in the kingdom that could equal this one for magnificence.

The portal to the Domain was within an hour’s ride of Daunus. They made good time, but even so Dahl was feverish with impatience. Finally, he reached the quiet glade where the portal stood, invisible to any ordinary person

Dahl dismounted, dropped Magnus’s reins, and strode forward. He lifted his hands to part the air that hung heavy before him but, for the first time, could not find the seam. He stepped back, confused. Had he been mistaken? No, the portal lay in front of him, he was certain of it. He tried again. Once more he failed.

The portal would not open.

“Catryn!” His cry rang out, then rebounded back as if he had shouted into a wall. There was no answer, but he knew Catryn was inside. This had never happened before. It was impossible to believe, but the Domain was closed, and Catryn…Catryn must be sealed within it.

Norl led Hhana and Sele the Plump back to where the path leading to the dragon’s den branched off. None of them spoke. The climb was steep in any case and Norl had no wish to talk. He was wild with impatience at the slowness of their pace. He yearned to take flight, but he could not abandon them.

By the end of the day they had reached the entrance in the mountainside that led to the cave. Norl had not been with Catryn and Dahl when they had made their way in through this passage, but Catryn had told him of it afterward.

“We will need light,” Norl said now. “I am sorry, Sele, but I must make a torch.”

Sele the Plump nodded. “As you wish,” it said. “But if you do not mind, I will follow at a safe distance.”

Norl set to gathering an armful of dry brush. He wove it together into a kind of club and fastened it with a sturdy vine. He packed one end with moss so that it would not burn too quickly, then turned to Hhana. Reluctant though he was to ask it of her, he would need her help.

“You are the fire maker here,” he said. “Do you still have your flint and steel?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I would not be without them.” Then, for a moment, she looked pensive. “I wonder if I could…” she began, but stopped. “Flint and steel,” she repeated. “How else to start a fire. Unless, of course, you are a dragon…”

Norl and the Sele exchanged a glance.

But within minutes she had lit the torch using flint and steel only. “Shall I lead?” she asked then.

“No, I should,” Norl replied.

Reluctantly, Hhana handed the brand over to him. Norl took it and stepped into the darkness of the passageway.

Even with the light of the fire Norl stumbled as he made his way through the tunnel. The darkness was dense and oppressive. He could smell the dragon stink and it grew stronger and stronger as they made their way into the heart of the mountain.

“How much farther?” Sele the Plump’s voice barely carried to Norl.

“I know not,” Norl answered. “I did not come this way. The sorcerer, Launan, brought me by another path. I remember little of that—he had me entranced, I think.”

Even as he spoke, he rounded a bend in the tunnel and light shone forth ahead of them. Norl caught his breath. He hurried forward and stopped, teetering, as he found himself on a ledge far above the dragon’s lair. He looked down. At the bottom of the abyss he could barely make out the shape of the dragon child. It lay curled up and immobile.

“Does it live?” Sele the Plump’s voice startled him. The Sele was standing just behind him, craning around him to look down.

“He does,” Hhana answered before Norl could speak, and just then Norl felt the creature’s mind reach out to him. Weaker now, much weaker.

“He is dying,” Hhana cried. “Norl, you must help him!”

The dragon child seemed to sense them standing so far above him. It rose to its feet and tilted its head up sending a defiant plume of smoke toward them. At the same time, Norl felt a wave of hatred surge into his mind. He took a step back with the force of it, but the intensity of
the emotion seemed somehow to join him to the beast—to make a connection, strong and impossible to resist.

Then Hhana’s voice broke it. “Norl!” she cried again.

“Go back to the woods, make camp,” Norl said. “I will find you later.” His voice was rough, the words rasped in his throat. He knew what he must do, but sickness rose within him at the thought of it. He handed the torch to Hhana, then, without giving himself time to think, he stepped off the ledge into space.

The transformation was effortless this time. He circled the abyss below him and let himself rise on the currents of air that ascended from the depths below until he was through the opening and flying high above the mountain. Immediately, he was overcome yet again with the glory of effortless soaring, the joy of slipping and flirting with the wind. This was what he had been born for! For long moments he flew thus, then, reluctantly, his mind took over once more. He forced himself back to the task at hand. His exultation faded, the sickness in his belly rose again. There was only one way he could bring food to the dragon. He had to find prey. Find it and kill it. Kill it as would the predator that he now was, not as would a human.

His wings found a downdraft and he plummeted earthward. He raked the ground below him with a gaze far keener than his poor human eyes could ever manage.

There! A scurrying for cover, a flash of brown fur against brown earth. Even as he saw the hare he was stooping toward it, wings folded tight against his body. He reached
out with his talons, grasped the warm and squirming animal, then thrust powerfully with his wings to twist himself back up into the air. The hare screamed, but Norl did not hear it with human ears. The noise meant nothing to him now, other than success in the hunt. He flew back to the dragon lair, found the opening, and glided down to drop the now silent but still bleeding prey in front of the waiting beast. The dragon child pounced on it and devoured the hare as quickly as it had the rat.

More!

The eagle that was Norl recognized the strength of the hunger cry. He soared aloft once again and returned with another hare. Twice more he hunted, finally bringing back a good-sized fox. With that, the dragon child seemed satiated. Blood dripping from its maw, it curled back down beside the bones and remains of its repast, and slept.

But Norl could not rest. Blood lust had been triggered, he had no thought but to feed himself now that his duty was done, and he went on the hunt yet again. This time when he snatched his prey he carried it to the top of a tall tree and there he feasted, tearing the warm body apart while it yet lived, gorging himself on the taste of it, revelling in the sweetness of its blood.

Norl did not seek out Hhana and Sele the Plump that night. Instead, he returned to the ledge above the sleeping dragon child. He willed himself back into his own form and sat, crouched, staring down at the dragon until darkness fell and he could see no more.