Perilous Seas (16 page)

“What
do you think, Aunt?”

Kade
shook her head and gnawed her weathered lip. “I don’t know, dear. I
suppose I’m just being a superstitious old woman, but ... but I don’t
like it! “

“Go
back, you mean?”

Stiffly
Kade glanced over her shoulder, to where the steep western escarpment loomed
above the treetops. She shivered. “Oh, no! Not back!”

“Well,
we don’t exactly have many other choices. Big Man?” Azak studied
Kade for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he peered over the bristling red
yashmak of his beard. Then he flashed his teeth at Inos. “I see no sign
of people. What do you think, my precious one?”

He
expected courage in royalty. Inos took another look at that serene idyllic
landscape.

“I
say we have no choice!” She slammed her heels into her mule’s
flanks, and the startled little beast seemed to leap forward with all four feet
at once. Then it charged off down the slope, and the others came thumping
after.

Battles
long ago:

Perhaps
the plaintive numbers flow,

For
old, unhappy, far-off things,

And
battles long ago.

Wordsworth,
The Reaper

Man’s Worth
Something

“Now
I went down to Ilrane My ladylove to see. Most fair the maids of Ilrane, But
none more fair than she. “

If
you wanted a man to find poison ivy, hornets’ nests, or the wickedest
thorn bushes, then Jalon was the obvious choice. If you needed a companion who
would slip off a stepping-stone and lose his sandal in fast water, or let a
campfire go out when he was supposed to be minding it, or fall asleep five
minutes after his watch started ... Jalon, without hesitation. He could also
vanish inexplicably and be discovered an hour later, twenty paces away, lost in
rapturous admiration of an orchid.

Jalon,
in short, was a gigantic pain in the spinal column. But if you enjoyed
unfailing good humor and cheerfulness, an unflagging willingness to apologize,
laugh at himself, and promise to do better in future-well, he had those in
abundance, although he never actually did manage to do better. And if you
appreciated a comrade who could suddenly open his mouth and pour forth a strain
of purest melody to banish fatigue, uplift the soul, and melt away the aches
and worries of a long march . . . Even Gathmor could not stay mad at Jalon for
long.

The
three adventurers had seen their first dragons less than an hour after leaving
the fisher village, a blaze of four or five, but very far off, mere specks
weaving and circling above a distant hill. By then, too, the light had been bright
enough to reveal the colors of the robes donated by the villagers-brown for
Jalon, green for Gathmor, black for Rap. Even so, Jalon had not associated the
casement’s prophecy with the steady march of events. He was far more
interested in wildflowers than in dragons. In the next few days the only signs
of the worms had been a few faint smudges of smoke on the horizon, and he still
had not remembered the prophecy.

Nearing
the edge of a small forest around noon, the travelers had found a patch of wild
melons and stayed to indulge in their first good meal in two days. Afterward,
sated and drowsy in the heat, they had lingered to enjoy the shade, for ahead
of them stretched open sand and black rock that made a man uncomfortable just
looking.

But
Gathmor was a demanding leader, who insisted on a harsh pace. “Time to
go!” he announced, as Rap was starting to nod. “Let’s trade
sandals,” Rap suggested, seeking to gain time. “You and me, then.
Not him.”

Owning
no leather, the fisherfolk made their footwear from slabs of wood and loops of
rope. These removed the skin from a man’s toes in about ten minutes and
thereafter became very irksome. They were better than being barefoot, but not
by much. As every sandal was different, the travelers traded them around to distribute
the discomfort evenly. Jalon had stumbled into yet another swamp an hour or so
before, and the ropes were even more abrasive when wet.

The
exchange extended the rest a few minutes. Then, lounging against a moss-soft
trunk and perhaps thinking that it was his turn to find a delay, the minstrel
launched into a song about the elven maidens of Ilrane. It began as a pleasant
romantic ballad, but swiftly deteriorated into the sort of scabrous bawdiness
that amused sailors. Gathmor barked with mirth as the tale unfolded, and even
Rap found himself chuckling.

One
more day should see the expedition safely out of Dragon Reach, if Nagg’s
estimate had been correct. Without Jalon, the other two would have traveled
much faster, and he must know that. In his way, he was apologizing to them yet
again.

He
stopped suddenly, in midverse. The other two looked up.

“That
ridge!” he said. “Look at it!”

Beyond
the trees lay hot sand, a small desert valley encircled by gentle hills. The
hills were wooded, but the forest cut off as sharply as a horse’s mane
and the hollow grew little but scabby tufts of thornweed.

A
long, rugged buttress of twisted black rock rose like an island in the middle
of the clearing, crested by a few trees rooted in cracks. Loose boulders lay
scattered around it. Rap studied the scene and glanced inquiringly at Gathmor,
who shrugged.

They
had seen many similar places. The countryside was rugged, and although they
would have preferred to skirt the coast, they had been forced inland to avoid
the rocky gorges by which the many streams plunged down to the sea. Everywhere
they had noticed traces of old fires, from ancient charred logs half buried in
jungle to much more recent evidence: long, grim stretches of bare poles with
grass and weeds just becoming established in the mud between them. As
obstacles, neither of those was too serious. Much worse were the intermediate
stages, where the trunks had become deadfall entangled with secondary scrub of
thorns and creepers.

But
some of the fiercest blazes had cauterized the soil all the way to
bedrock-melting even that in some cases-and left only patches of desert that
resisted the forest’s attempts to return. Whole hills seemed to have been
favorite targets of dragons throughout the ages, and those had been reduced to
battered carcasses, ripped and melted away in streams of glass as the monsters
quarried for veins of metal within the rock. The valley ahead seemed to be
nothing other than that, a scar that could be thousands of years old, and might
remain unchanged until the end of time.

“What
am I supposed to see?” Rap asked sleepily. “A dragon. “

That
brought instant alertness, but of course Jalon meant a dead dragon, and in a
moment Rap made out what the eye had detected: head, legs ... The ridge was
indeed of a dragon, long since turned to stone and weathered half buried in the
sand.

“Gods!”
Gathmor said. “It must be older than the Impire. And I never knew the
beggar grew that big!”

“A
primal male, likely!” Jalon flushed with excitement like a child. “Isn’t
it gorgeous?”

“Gruesome,”
Rap said. His flesh crawled at the thought of that hill-size monster alive, an
indestructible destroyer as big as Inisso’s castle; but that was the life
cycle of dragons. They started as wraiths of pure fire, like the flame he had
seen burning on Bright Water’s shoulder. They gained substance as they
aged, and they ended as gigantic beings of pure mineral. This one had crawled
here to die, and in its death agonies it had burned away the forest and the
very soil beneath it.

“How
old would it have been, do you suppose?” Gathmor asked, rising and
stamping a few times to adjust his footwear. “Centuries,” Jalon
said. “Come on! Let’s go and have a closer look. Maybe its eyes are
still there!”

Dragons’
eyes were supposedly worth a fortune, but they also bore a reputation for
bringing bad luck, and Rap certainly did not fancy the idea of rolling one all
the way to Puldarn. Jalon would not have thought of that practical matter.

As
the others set off toward the great petrified carcass, Rap rose and stretched
to ease his aches, then picked up his stonepointed spear. In theory he carried
that to defend himself against leopards, but in practice it was useful only as
a staff. He tended to agree with Jalon’s theory that the easiest way to
escape an attack by leopards was just to die of fright. He trudged off after
the others.

As
he emerged from the trees, the noon sun struck brutally. He flipped up the
loose corner of his robe that served as a hood. A few steps worked the gritty
sand up into his sandal ropes and he was soon limping, but so were the others.
He caught up with them about halfway to the petrified dragon.

Gold?
“What?”

“What
`what’?” Jalon asked, turning a wide gaze of blue innocence on Rap.

“Did
you speak?”

Minstrel
and sailor both shook their heads. “Funny. I thought ... Well, never
mind.”

The
dragon fossil was farther away than Rap had realized, and therefore even
bigger. The sand had drifted deep on one side, half burying it. The exposed
flank still showed curves of muscle under the patterned hide, but many scales
had fallen off and lay littered on the ground at the base of the cliff, as if a
legion had thrown down its shields. Great cracks were being opened by tree
roots; half the hind leg had collapsed. It all looked older than anything he
had ever imagined.

In
one searing flash of recognition, the scenery changed in his mind.

Gods
deliver us!

This
was it! Why had he not realized sooner?

“Those
rocks! “ Rap cried. “Jalon! Forget the dragon. We’ve seen
this place before. “

The
minstrel stopped dead. His face was still burned and blistered and peeling, yet
now it turned an impossibly pale color. Gathmor was in the lead. He turned and
noticed, and his foggray eyes narrowed dangerously. “Seen what?”

Gold?

Again
recognition-an alien, metallic, bitter voice in Rap’s mind. Of course! A
thrill ran through him, mingled fear and excitement.

He
scanned the sky. It was blue, cloudless, and as deep as forever. “There’s
a live one around somewhere. “ Of course. “How the Evil do you
know?”

“I
can hear it . . . and Jalon knows. Don’t you?”

The
little minstrel was cowering like a terrified child. His teeth chattered as he
nodded, and his staring blue eyes held both terror and accusation. “You
knew!” His voice was shrill. “No! Don’t call Darad!”

“Why
not? Why shouldn’t I? You trapped us! You knew, and you didn’t say!”
Jalon half raised his spear and Gathmor’s chopped down to strike it from
his hand. He did not even seem to notice. He pointed an accusing finger at Rap
instead. “You knew the vision was being fulfilled!”

Gold?

The
call was stronger now, echoing in Rap’s head. Still he could see nothing
in the empty blue sky, not even birds. His farsight detected only trees on the
ground-hills were opaque to farsight, though. The dragon might be down behind
any one of a dozen hillocks, and yet its voice certainly seemed to be coming
closer. He did not think he could summon a dragon unless he could see it.

Bright
Water’s tiny fire chick had not spoken in words. Jalon was still
screaming at him.

“I
knew nothing you didn’t!” Rap shouted. “Dragon Reach, and the
gowns? You should have seen, too. “

“Fool!
Fool! We could have split up! Traveled separately!” Maybe, although Rap
suspected that the magic casement’s prophecy had been too inevitable for
that. Besides, he’d lied to Gathmor to stop him stealing a canoe. He’d
been helping the prophecy along. He felt a little guilty about that, seeing how
upset Jalon was.

Before
he could answer, though, Gathmor roared. “Will one of you tell me what’s
going on?”

Rap
opened his mouth, and then the alien voice boomed in his mind again, louder
than ever and filled with strange reverberations and ringing metallic echoes:
GOLD? It half stunned him, so that he clutched both hands to his head, dropping
his spear.

By
the time his wits settled, Jalon was explaining to Gathmor how he and Rap had
seen a prophecy in a magic casement. The sailor’s face was pale, too,
now, but with fury, not fear.

“There
it is!” Rap yelled, pointing. A speck, low in the sky. Far, far, away.

Coming.
Still beyond the range of farsight. Only one.

A
sudden surge of doubt sent prickles racing over his skin. Oh Gods! If its voice
is that strong now ...

Gathmor
grabbed the front of Rap’s robe in one massive fist and brandished the
other. “You young bastard! You knew about this and you trapped me?”

“Let
him be!” Sagorn snapped.

Gathmor
whirled to find the source of the new voice, and staggered when he found
himself looking up into the shrewd and angry eyes of the old scholar.

“Who
the Evil are you?”

“Never
mind now. Do not blame him-magic prophecies cannot readily be evaded or
nullified. We must take cover. Sometimes these draconic vestiges are cavernous.
Come!” The old man set off, striding across the hot sand with surprising
agility.

“Yes.
He’s right,” Rap said. And yet ... how inevitable was the prophecy,
how significant its details? It had shown the three of them at the base of the
cliff where the dragon’s ribs rose from the sand. If they split up now,
could they still balk it?

Gold?
trumpeted the fanfare voice. Is gold?

Rap
felt as if someone had dropped a metal bucket over his head and thrown a house
at it. Deafened, blinded, he sprawled to his knees. Gathmor hauled him up and
began hustling him across the sand after Sagorn.

His
farsight was picking it up now, coming low over the forest, the blast from its
great wings stirring the trees in dancing turmoil. It did not compare in size
with the mountainous fossil, it was silvery and not black, but it was still as
big as Blood Wave or Stormdancer.