Prophecy, Child of Earth (5 page)

Ashe sat up, sweat pouring from his clammy skin, wrapped in the cool vapor f the mist cloak, shaking. If only the same magic had worked for him.

Firbolg guard standing watch at the hallway's end nodded deferentially to Achmed as he emerged from his chamber and made his way down the corridor to Rhapsody's room. He knocked loudly and swung the door open, part of the morning charade performed for the benefit of the Bolg populace, who believed Rhapsody and Jo to be the king's courtesans and therefore left the women alone.

Both Achmed and Grunthor derived great amusement from the smoldering resentment they knew this survival game stoked in Rhapsody's soul, but she had adopted a practical attitude about it, mostly for Jo's sake.

The fire on her hearth was flickering uncertainly, mirroring the look on her face. She did not look up from the scroll she was poring over as he entered.

'Well, good morning to you, too, First Woman. You're going to have to work a little harder at this if you're going to convince the Bolg you're the royal harlot."

'Shut up," Rhapsody said automatically, continuing to read.

Achmed smirked. He picked up the teapot from her untouched breakfast tray and poured himself a cup; it was cold. She must have been up even earlier than usual.

'What Scum-rian manuscript are you reading this time?" he asked, holding the tepid tea out to her. Without looking up, Rhapsody touched the cup. A moment later, Achmed felt the heat from the liquid permeate the smooth clay sides of the mug, and took a sip, making sure to blow the steam off first.

'
'''The Rampage of the Wyrm
. Amazing; it just appeared out of thin air under my door last night. What an extraordinary coincidence."

Achmed sat down on her neatly made bed, hiding his grin. "Indeed. Learn anything interesting about Elynsynos?"

Finally a small smile crossed Rhapsody's face, and she looked up at him. "Well, let's see." She sat back in the chair, holding the ancient scroll of parchment up to the candlelight.

'Elynsynos was said to be between one and five hundred feet long, with teeth as long and as sharp as finely honed bastard swords," she read. "She could assume any form at will, including that of a force of nature, like a tornado, an earthquake, a flood, or the wind. Within her belly were gems of brimstone born in the fires of the Underworld, which allowed her to immolate anything that she breathed on. She was wicked and cruel, and when Merithyn, her sailor lover, didn't come back, she went on a rampage that decimated the western half of the continent up to and including the central province of Bethany. The devastating fire she caused lighted the eternal flame in the basilica that burns there to this day."

'I detect a note of sarcasm in your voice. Do you reject this historical account?"

'Much of it. You forget, Achmed, I'm a Singer. We're the ones who write these ballads and this legend lore. I'm a little more versed in how it can be exaggerated than you are."

'Having done so yourself?"

Rhapsody sighed. "You know better than that. Singers, and especially Nam-ers, can't make up a lie without losing their status and abilities, although we can repeat tales that are apocryphal or outright fiction as long as we present them that way, as stories."

Achmed nodded. "So if you reject this story out of hand, why are you worried?"

'Who said I was worried?"

The Firbolg king grinned repulsively. "The fire," he said smugly, nodding at the hearth. Rhapsody turned toward the thin flames; they were lapping unsteadily around a heavy log which refused to ignite. She laughed in spite of herself.

'All right, you caught me. And, by the way, I don't reject the story out of hand. I just said there are some parts that I think are exaggerated. Some of it may very well be right."

'Such as?"

Rhapsody put the manuscript back down on the table and folded her arms.

"Well, despite the disparity in the reports of her actual size, I have no doubt that she was—is—immense." Achmed thought he detected a slight shudder run through her. "She may actually have the ability to assume those fire, wind, water, and earth forms; dragons are said to be tied to each of the five elements. And though she may, in fact, be evil and vicious, I don't believe the story about the devastation of the western continent."

'Oh?"

'Yes, the forests there are virgin in most of the parts we passed through, and the trees are the wrong kind to have sprung up after a fire."

'I see. Well, I don't doubt your knowledge of forests, or virgins—after all, you've been one twice—

'Shut up," Rhapsody said again. This time the fire reacted; the weak flames sprang to violent life, roaring angrily. She pushed her chair back, rose and walked purposely to the coat peg near the door. She snatched down her cape. "Get out of my room. I have to go meet Jo." With a savage shrug she donned the garment, then rerolled the scroll and slapped it into Achmed's hand.

'Thanks for the bedtime reading," she said sarcastically, opening her door. "I assume I don't need to give you specific anatomical directions as to where you should store it." Achmed chuckled as the door slammed shut behind her.

I

was beginning to abate, or so it seemed. It had been hovering •
i't't
isively on the threshold of leaving for some time, reluctant to release its erip entirely while giving way grudgingly to a fairer wind and sky. The air f early spring was clear and cold, but held the scent of the earth again, a promise of warmth to come.

Rhapsody climbed carefully up the rocky face of the crags that led to the heath at the top of the world, a wide, expansive meadow beyond the canyon that a long-dead river had carved many millennia before. The basket she was lugging had almost spilled twice by the time she reached the flat land; she was off-balance, weighed down by the additional burden of the gear for her impending journey.

Waiting above in the dark meadow, Jo watched in amusement as the basket appeared at the crest of the heath, wobbled a moment, then righted itself. It slid forward a few inches as if under its own power, then finally a golden head surfaced, followed by intense green eyes. A second later Rhapsody's smile emerged over the edge; it was a smaller version of the sunrise that would come in an hour or so.

'Good morning," she said. Only her head was visible.

Jo rose and came to help her, laughing. "What's taking you so long? Usually you can make this climb in a dead run. You must be getting old." She offered her elder, smaller sister a hand and hauled her up over the edge.

'Be nice, or you don't get any breakfast." Rhapsody smiled as she laid her pack on the ground. Jo had no idea how right she was. By her own calculations she was somewhere in the neighborhood of sixteen hundred twenty years old in actual time, though all but two decades of that had passed while she and the two Bolg were within the Earth, crawling along the Root.

Jo grabbed the basket and unhooked the catch, then dumped its contents unceremoniously onto the frozen meadow grass, ignoring Rhapsody's dismayed expression. "Did you bring any of those honey muffins?"

'Yes."

The teenager had already located one and stuffed it into her mouth, then pulled out the sticky mass and looked at it in annoyance. "Ick. I told you not to put currants in them; it ruins the flavor."

'I didn't. That must be something from the ground, a beetle, perhaps." Rhapsody laughed as Jo spat, then hurled the partially masticated muffin into the canyon below.

'So where's Ashe?" Jo asked as she sat cross-legged on the ground, picking UP

another muffin and brushing it off carefully.

'He should be here in half an hour or so," Rhapsody answered, sorting through her satchel. "J wanted to see you alone for a little while before we leave."

Jo nodded, her mouth full. "Grnmuthor um Achmmegd are commiddg, too?"

'Yes, I expect them shortly, although I had a hostile exchange with Achmed earlier, so perhaps he won't bother."

'Why would that stop him? That's normal conversation for Achmed. What was his problem this morning?"

'Oh, we just had an argument over a Cymrian manuscript he slipped under my door last night."

Jo swallowed and poured herself a mug of tea. "No wonder; you know how much he hates the Dum-rians."

Rhapsody hid her smile. Since the Cymrians had come from Serendair, their homeland, she, Grunthor, and even Achmed were technically Cymrians themselves, a fact she had not been allowed to share with Jo. "Why do you think that?"

'I heard him talking to Grunthor a few nights back."

'Oh?"

Jo leaned back importantly. "He said that you had your head wedged up your arse."

Rhapsody grinned. "Really?"

'Yes. He said the dragon probably had a Cymrian agenda, because she was the one who invited the arse-rags here in the first place to please her lover—that's what he called them: arse-rags."

'Yes, I believe I've heard him use that word about them myself."

'He also said that you were trying to find out more about the Cymrians, to help bring them back into power, and that it was stupid. He thinks the Bolg are much more worthy of your time and attention, not to mention your loyalty. Is that true?"

'About the Bolg?"

'No, about the Cymrians."

Rhapsody looked off at the eastern horizon. The sky at the very edge of the land was beginning to lighten to the faintest shade of cobalt blue; otherwise the coming of foredawn was still indiscernible. Her face flushed in the darkness as she thought back to Llauron, the gentle, elderly Invoker of the Filids, the religious order of the western forest lands and some of the provinces of Roland.

Llauron had taken her in not long after the three of them had arrived, had made her welcome. He had taught her the history of the land, as well as many useful things that were now helping Achmed build his empire, among them planting lore, herbalism, and the healing of men and animals. His voice nagged in her head now, expecting information and solutions to problems she didn't understand.

Now that you've learned about the Cymrians, and the growing unrest that
threatens to sunder this land again, I hope you will agree to help me by being my
eyes and ears out in the world, and report back what you see.

I'll be glad to help you, Llauron, but
—

Good, good. And remember, Rhapsody, though you are a commoner, you can
still be useful in a royal cause.

I don't understand.

'I lauron's eyes had glinted with impatience, though his voice was soothing.
Th
reunificati°n of the Cymrains. I thought I had been clear. In my view, noth-isfloing
to spare us from ultimate destruction, with these unexplained upris-• und acts of
terror, except to reunite the Cymrian factions, Roland and Sorbold, and possibly
even the Bolglands, again, under a new Lord and Lady. The time is almost here.

And though you are a peasant
—
please don't take offense, most of my following are
peasants
—
-you have a pretty face and a, persuasive voice. You could be of great
assistance to me in bringing this about. Now, please, say you will do as I've asked.

Tou do want to see peace come to this land, do you not? And the violence which is
presently killing and maiming many innocent women and children; that is
something you'd like to see ended
?

Jo was staring at her intently. Rhapsody shook off the memory. "I'm going to find the dragon to give her back the claw dagger, in the hope she won't come and lay waste to Ylorc, and all the Bolg in the bargain," she said simply. "This journey has nothing to do with the Cymrians."

'Oh." Jo took another bite of her muffin. "Does Ashe know that?"

There was a warning note in her sister's voice that Rhapsody heard, a fluctuation to which she, as a Singer, was sensitive. "I assume so. Why?" An awkward silence took up residence between them. "What aren't you telling me, Jo?"

'Nothing," said Jo defensively. "He just asked if you were Cymrian, that's all.

More than once, in fact."

Rhapsody's stomach turned over in the grip of cold to rival the chill that the land still held. "Me? He asked you that about me?"

'Well, about the three of you; Achmed and Grunthor, too."

'But not you?"

A blank look crossed Jo's face as she considered the question. "No, he never did. I think he assumes I'm not. I wonder why that is."

Rhapsody rose to a stand and brushed off her trousers and cloak. "Maybe you're the only one of us he doesn't think is an arse-rag."

Jo's eyes sparkled wickedly. "I hope not," she said, looking innocently up at the sky. "Grunthor's certainly not an arse-rag, either." She laughed as a shower of snow and dried leaves flew into her face. "Seriously, Rhaps, I mean, have you ever even met a Cymrian? I thought they were all long dead."

The sky was lightening at the horizon to a thin gray-blue. "
You've
met a Cymrian yourself, Jo," Rhapsody said flatly, beginning to pack up the remains of breakfast. "Lord Stephen is of Cymrian descent."

'Well, I guess that proves the arse-rag theory," said Jo, wiping the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand. "I meant an old one, one of the ones who lived through the War. The kind that lives forever."

Rhapsody thought for a moment. "Yes, I think so. I was once almost trampled on the road from Gwynwood to Navarne by the horse of an obnoxious soldier named Anborn. If he is the one mentioned in the history we heard, he was Gwylliam's general in the War. That would make him fairly old. The War ended four hundred years ago, but it went on for seven hundred."

Jo had been there when they had opened the library vault and found Gwylliam's body. "Guess the old bastard didn't look that bad, then. He didn't seem dead a day past two hundred." Rhapsody laughed. "Was he the one who started the war when he hit his wife?"

'Yes; her name was Anwyn. She was the daughter of the explorer, Merithyn, the first Cymrian, and the dragon Elynsynos—"

'The one you're going to see now?"