Lords of the Sky (93 page)

We slew his dream; but we gave him another in its place. Just as we’d slain Allanyn’s dream and given Urt’s people another. Just as we’d slain Jareth and shown Taerl a new vision.

And he listened—for which I was thankful, for I’d had enough of bloodshed and would not see more could I avoid it.

So …

We quit the islands of Ahn-feshang in hope, winging back to Dharbek with promises. Though our own were paramount: that there should be no more war, but only our demands met. All of these forced true by the dragons, lest we bring them again against those who’d oppose we newcome Dragonmasters.

None argued with us.

How could they?

We owned the skies: neither Dhar magic nor Ahn’s could defeat us. We could rend the Sky Lords’ boats from the air and loose their enslaved elementals. We could tear apart the Sentinels and, after, ravage every city and keep in Dharbek: we dictated our terms.

Was I corrupted by power? Were we all?

I think Rwyan was not. I think she only pursued our dream in honest belief. I think that Urt was not, for he’d only see a better world made for his Changed kind. Tezdal was not, I am sure.

Bellek?

Perhaps he was. Or gone so long into Dragonmastery that he no longer cared. Nor did he any longer see the world through human eyes, but only from that different view. It no longer matters, nor did much then, for we were only bent on the achievement of our goal and had no time for fine philosophical musings. Those should come later, when the Great Peace was secured.

For now, we’d much to do. As I’d feared, there were some few amongst the aeldors of Dharbek and the Kho’rabi of Ahn-feshang who would not accept, and we brought the dragons against them. I had hoped the bloodshed ended with our coming, but we spilled more as we destroyed those rebels. And when that last fighting was done, we must travel the land a while in reminder, so that any who still harbored notions of conquest or vengeance might look to the skies and know their thoughts were better left unspoken.

We were the watchmen of the skies, and ambassadors betwixt the three lands. We even carried Taerl to Ur-Dharbek and to Ahn-feshang. The Lord Protector was besotted
with the dragons as I’d once heard he loved horses. I think that had he not that greater duty, he’d have asked us to take him with us and he endeavor to become a Dragonmaster, but he must satisfy himself with those rides we allowed. How young he looked as he climbed astride Deburah, his face all lit with wonder as she spread her wings and launched herself into the heavens! He had no fear at all but whooped with glee as we flew.

Certainly it impressed the Khe’anjiwha that the Lord Protector of Dharbek should come to him and promise him a welcome in Kellambek. They got on well together, those two; like warriors met in the aftermath of battle, respectful of one another. Or like two young men lonely in their power, each finding in the other an equal with whom he might share a little of that solitude. It did our cause no little good that they were able to meet as friends.

In Ur-Dharbek, too, Taerl acquitted himself admirably. He met with the new-formed Raethe, and they spoke lengthily together, and I began to hope that we should not much longer need to patrol the skies but leave the world to run itself again. Though that should not be quite yet, for our plan was grand whilst the arguments and envies and rivalries of men are mostly petty and require much debating ere agreement is reached. We’d brought the world to peace and held it there, but it were better we leave the folk who should live in it after us to settle their differences than entirely force them to our will.

“Let them firm out the details of it,” Rwyan said, “so that they can, after, believe it was as much their doing as ours and not resent what we impose.”

That was wisdom, and it largely worked, and I felt happy. Rwyan, too; and Urt. Tezdal and Bellek, however, became increasingly withdrawn, as if they felt their roles in this drama were played out and would exeunt, like mummers whose parts are ended.

In those busy months I was too occupied with all those affairs of state to notice much how reserved they grew. Or when I did, to speak with them as I should have done: another charge laid against me.

Also, as that first year of peace aged to a second, I felt the growing
difference
in me. I must more and more force myself to patience as I sat with Taerl and the Khe’anjiwha,
with the Changed Councilfolk, the priests of the Attul-ki and those of my own land. I found it ever harder to spend—
to waste!
—so much time on the ground but would mount Deburah and taste the heady joy of dragonflight again. I realized I missed those fierce mountains that bordered Tartarus as I’d not missed any place before, not even my home. And with that realization came the knowledge that I had no longer any home but that Dragoncastle; that I’d return there—where Deburah’s egg lay. And even did she tell me it was safe and I’d no need for concern, still I’d know for myself. Touch it and be sure: I felt it was as much mine as hers or the bull’s that seeded her.

The bonding of Dragonmaster and dragon is a powerful thing, seductive. It gets inside your blood and holds you firmer than any chains men have ever forged.

I knew that, or sensed it, and consequently should have known better what Bellek felt and likely might do.

I remember walking with Rwyan, that second year, in those fabulous gardens of Trebizar. The Council building lay in ruins behind us, and Taerl was with Urt and Tezdal in the town, deep in discussion with the Changed and those Kho’rabi stranded in Ur-Dharbek by our destruction of their skyboats. It was Taerl’s intention (and his idea, not ours) to offer them ships, that they might go south to Kellambek or home across the ocean. Bellek had taken the dragons off hunting. It was a hot summer’s day, and it was a comforting feeling to know that ordinary summer now held sway in Dharbek and that the magic of the Attul-ki should no longer stifle the land. I heard birds singing. Rwyan leaned close against me. The sun was warm on our faces, and she’d tied a scarf about her hair, so that she minded me of a beautiful fisherwoman.

I thought on how different this place now seemed and how it was no longer tainted with Allanyn’s crystal-born madness. I asked, “Should we hunt out the crystals? Destroy them all?”

Rwyan laughed and shook her head, which sent tendrils of sun-bleached red against my face because I was trying to kiss her neck as she spoke. I sneezed. Her hair had tickled my nostrils, and the air was heavy with pollen.

She said, “I doubt we could. The crystals are part of this
land, like those fire mountains of Ahn-feshang. Could we stopper them? And if we did, what should it do to those islands?”

I frowned. I thought such a task impossible; and that were it possible, it should seal up that molten breath like a brewer bunging his casks too early—to see them explode as the sealed-in fermentation grew too powerful for its confines. I thought those islands must explode: I said as much.

And Rwyan nodded and said, “No more can we destroy the crystals. Would you tear up all Tartarus, all of Ur-Dharbek, to find them?”

I said, “But might it happen again—that seduction—should we not seek to find them and destroy them?”

Rwyan said, “Can you halt hate, Daviot? Can you excise envy from men’s minds? Can you end greed?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “No more, nor better, can you find all the crystals. Nor perhaps should you. We’ve done what we’ve done. By the God, we’ve ended a war that not even you, Mnemonikos, can trace down all its years. Is that not enough? I think we’ve done our part, only to bring that about.”

I said, “But the crystals—”

And was silenced by her finger on my lips. She said, “Are power. Lessened somewhat, now; and perhaps a lesson learned. We’ve taught the world a different way; let those who come after us learn to use the crystals better. But let them make their own decisions!”

I said, “But we decided. We found our power and forced our will on the world. And spilled blood in the forcing.”

She said, “Because we followed that dream. We only chased what we thought right. Perhaps, after we are gone, there shall be others with a different dream; and they’ll pursue it no less fierce than we.”

I said, “But is that right?”

And Rwyan smiled and turned her face to me, so that I was met by her blind gaze; and then she took my face in her hands. “I think it so. I’ve done what I’ve done because I saw no other way, and I do not feel guilty. I regret the blood we shed, aye. But—do I remember this aright?—‘you cannot cook a fish without gutting it first, lest after you fall sick.’ That’s what we’ve done, Daviot: we’ve gutted the world’s fish
and presented it for the eating. Would you have it otherwise?”

I looked at her and shook my head: “No.”

She said, “Good,” and kissed me again, harder.

We were walking hand in hand when the dragons came, like thunder out of the northern sky.

We both stopped silent in our tracks, a tocsin ringing loud in our souls. My grip on Rwyan’s hand tightened, and hers no less on mine. We turned to the north and saw them coming fast and low from the hills. I felt a fear of what message they brought.

And then it was delivered.

Deburah and Anryäle landed before us in a great skirling of dust from the sun-dried ground. Kathanria winged restless overhead. I felt their emotions, but they were so flustered I could not immediately comprehend what they told us: only that they were mightily disturbed and brought bad news. I felt a leaden weight descend on my soul and was utterly confused.

Rwyan interpreted better. She went to Anryäle and stroked the mottled cheeks of her dragon. I felt Deburah nudge me, and staggered, and turned to find her lustrous eyes fixed hard on mine. I swear, could dragons cry, she’d have been weeping then.

I said, “What’s amiss?”

And Rwyan answered me, “Bellek! He’s gone.”

I said, “What? How mean you, gone? Gone where? Lost?”

Rwyan and Deburah both answered me, and from above, Kathanria:
No, not lost Gone: dead.

I was astride Deburah’s saddle before I knew it: sometimes action runs faster than thought. Rwyan was not much slower, and we climbed into the sky as if the hounds of all the gods I could not believe in were snapping at our heels.

We winged furiously north. To where Bellek had taken the dragons to hunt. And then farther north still, over those southern foothills of the Dragonsteeth Mountains to the Dragoncastle.

The ramparts were filled with dragons. I think all the broods were there, and all filling the sky with their belling. My head rang with it. It echoed off the mountain walls and
drove me to cover my ears for the promise it sounded. It was a sad sound, and as Deburah landed in the yard. I felt a new weight of dread fill my soul.

Her emotions were a turmoil I could not properly understand: only that Bellek was dead.

He had told us nothing of that valley. Perhaps because he knew he would go there, once he was confident his dragons had new masters, and was, perhaps, afraid that it should deter us from that inheritance. I think it would not have: I think that bonding is too strong.

It was high amongst the peaks to the north and west, where crags fell down in jagged lines like dragons’ fangs on a line that let in the morning sun and saw its eventide setting. No trees grew there, nor any water ran, and the topmost hills were yet blanched with snow. It was a still place, the only sound the keening of the wind. It was filled with bones, more bones than I’d ever seen, all white and stark, no flesh on them. Or not on most of them: amongst the tangles of ribs and wingbones and skulls lay a little fragment that wore Bellek’s gear.

I saw that clear as we landed, because Deburah showed it me and I felt her grief.

I sat her back—this was so precipitous a place, I had no hope of climbing down there, and I knew she’d not descend. At least, not until it was her time; and that I’d no sooner think on than Rwyan’s demise. This was the last resting place of all the world’s dragons, and none felt happy to be here before their time. So I sat astride my saddle and heard all the dragons bell their mourning at the falling sun and, when they were done, asked Deburah what had happened.

She told me:
We came north to hunt. Bellek was on Kathanria, but he sent us off alone after we came here. He told us he’d spend a while with Aiylra, in remembrance. We hunted. Then we felt him die and came here, and he was gone.

I told her:
He wanted it so. He chose his way.

And then, because I felt her fear, that I’d never thought to feel from any dragon:
He left us behind. We’ll not forsake you.

Her pleasure overcame remorse at Bellek’s chosen death. I looked down at the broken pieces of that strange
man and surmised he’d flung himself off the heights to join his lost Aiylra in the bones below.

I think he’s happy now,
I told my Deburah.

And she asked me:
And you’ll not leave?

Aloud, I said, “No!” And heard my exclamation echoed by Rwyan.

I felt the happiness of the dragons then, and it filled me, replacing what sadness I felt for Bellek. Which, am I honest, was not much: I thought he’d lived out his span and picked his end, and that I should deny no man.

That second year became a third, and the world’s ways shifted. The Changed of Dharbek were proclaimed free citizens. Those Attul-ki not slain by the dragons reversed their magic, so that Dharbek blossomed. Under escort of our dragons, skyboats crossed the Fend for the first time in peace, to deliver Ahn back to the shores of Kellambek. Those Changed who would cross the Slammerkin went over free, knowing they might return if they would. The Khe’anjiwha ceded lands in Ahn-feshang to those few (very few!) brave Dhar or Changed who’d find a new country.

Of course there were disputes, but when the sorcerers sent word, we came with our dragons, and none would argue with them.

We saw the Changed freed and Ahn find homes in Kellambek. Taerl presided over a Council similar to that governing Ur-Dharbek. In Ahn-feshang the Khe’anjiwha and the Attul-ki now held less power and spoke with the Dhar about the future, as if that were now a thing shared between equals. Our world seemed set fair on the course we’d given it.