Silent Hall (39 page)

Higher and higher he climbed with Bandu in his grasp, until at last they burst out into the sky. The castles became visible as he rose further, easily distinguished from one another by the weather that hung over each.

“You are wise for such a young child,” Salemis told Bandu, as they approached Goodweather.

The girl said nothing, or perhaps her answer was lost in the wind. When they reached Goodweather, a crowd of fairies rushed out of the castle to stare at them, pointing and gibbering in fearful confusion.

“Burn them,” said Bandu. “They are wicked.”

“I know,” Salemis answered. “This whole world is wicked. The Gods didn't build a mesh at first between them and this world. It filled with too much magic, and all its inhabitants were driven mad. In the end, God Most High had to build a solid firmament to spare the lower Gods from its chaos.

“Even so, I will not burn these elves. The time for killing will be upon us too soon as it is – I will not start it early.”

He could sense Bandu's disapproval, but it did not bother him. She was still young. She would learn.

He landed on Goodweather's roof and set Bandu down there. “We are here for the seed,” he told Goodweather.

But can I give it to you?
the castle asked.
You know what this world is made of. Illweather's seed was endangered some months ago, but the elves recovered it. The planting time is nearly upon us. If I give you my seed, Illweather's roots will outgrow mine and my influence on this world will diminish. Balance must be maintained.

“You agreed to the bargain before,” Salemis pointed out.

The leaves twitched.
Where you spoke to us before, our beings are intermingled. Illweather wants to accept your bargain. That alone makes me wary. Illweather always strives for power, never for balance. Keeping balance is my greatest mission.

Bandu sat cross-legged on the mossy roof and ran her hands along its surface, almost caressing it. “You are kind to me before,” she said. “You save me. I want you strong always. But you are wrong, Goodweather. You are wrong.”

I am not wrong, little one,
the castle maintained.
Balance is essential.

“No balance now!” Bandu insisted, growing frustrated and pounding the moss with her hands. “Where is balance? Illweather is wicked. Elves are wicked. Even animals here are wicked. Only you are good!”

“The girl is right,” said Salemis. “This world was lost to madness a long time ago. But Illweather has no say in the new world. Even the elves hardly touch it, except now and then. In the new world, your influence will be felt. The new world needs balance too.”

I will need permission,
Goodweather confessed.
Without the queen's blessing, the seed cannot grow.
God Most High has punished us by making us subservient to these creatures.

“Then let her come up to speak with us,” Salemis said, his eye on Bandu as she hurriedly stood up. She looked terrified.

The queen of the Goodweather elves emerged from a staircase in the center of the living castle's roof. Though her beauty meant nothing to him, even Salemis felt her power. The scent of it tickled his tongue.

“To what purpose have you called me, Goodweather?” she asked, gazing up at Salemis without much concern.

This emissary of God Most High wishes to return to his land, to plant my seed in the younger world and tear a breach in the heavens so that he may escape.

“I see. And what does he offer us in return?”

“People,” said Bandu, coming around Salemis' side. “My world has people who want to come here and do not know you. Children, and big ones like me who can make more.”

“Well,” laughed the queen, “if it isn't our very own wicked little thing, all grown up. You would sell me your kin, for the sake of this dragon?”

Salemis felt the clash of wills as Goodweather's queen forced her way into Bandu's mind, and Bandu beat her partially back. “They have a wizard,” the girl admitted. “She saves them from you, I hope. I hope, but I don't know. You don't know too. If you help, then you see. Maybe you eat the wizard and her people. Maybe they eat you.”

The fairy queen smiled and nodded. “You offer me a war with children of your land, and a chance to grow my own supply. I accept. Plant your seed, Goodweather. May you reap the fertility of the young world just as I mean to.”

She turned away, waving a dismissive hand to Goodweather. A moment later its acorn fell, landing almost in Bandu's lap. Bandu scooped it up and rose unsteadily to her feet. “Thank you,” she said to Goodweather. To the queen she said, “I hope you lose.”

They left then, before anything could get in their way.

“You did well,” Salemis told the girl.

”I know,” she said.

When they returned, they found Criton and the other humans waiting anxiously in the mouth of their narrow tunnel, squinting upwards as if afraid they would miss the dragon's arrival. When Salemis set Bandu down next to them, their relief was palpable.

“Here is Goodweather's seed,” Bandu said, presenting it.

“Great,” said Narky. “So all we have to do is plant it?”

“And infuse it with Godly power,” Salemis agreed. “Eramia will help, but I don't know that Her strength will be enough. It took three Gods to get me here; it will probably take at least two to let me out. I'll widen the breach from this side, once the job is started.”

“Will a hole that big take long to repair?” Phaedra asked. “We wouldn't want our world exposed to this one for too long.”

“The sky repairs itself,” Salemis told her. “Even a small hole cannot last very long – a larger one will collapse even sooner.”

“In that case,” said Narky, “we'd better get out of here. If the way back closes on us now, we're all in trouble.”

Salemis agreed. “Good luck,” he called out, as they disappeared back into the tunnel. “I will be waiting.”

T
he High Priest of Magor
finished with the sacrificial knife and threw it on the platter for cleaning. “Magor is not concerned with wizards,” he said.

“He would be if He knew more about this one,” said the Atunaean. “It's the wizard Psander who ordered the Boar of Hagardis slain.”

Bestillos turned to face him, wiping the blood off his hands. The grizzled nobleman met his gaze without blinking. “The wizard promised my prince that he would retake Atuna for us if we brought him the boar's carcass,” he went on. “I had deep reservations, but I followed my prince's orders.”

So the truth was coming out! Bestillos reached back down toward the platter, playing idly with the knife's hilt. “It was Tana, then, that killed the boar?”

The Atunaean shook his head. “No. It was the islanders Psander hired to help us.”

Bestillos stared at him, as images of the black dragonspawn rose before his eyes. “Tell me about the islanders,” he said.

The Atunaean smiled, happy to deflect attention from himself and his compatriots. “There were five of them,” he said. “Three men and two girls, and not a one of them over sixteen, I should say. Tarphaeans who left home before the plague. Suspicious, I'd call it.”

It was the same group, Bestillos was sure of it. The dragon spawn had ridden behind a girl during their shameful escape from Anardis.

“One of the girls was a tracker,” the Atunaean continued. “Ugly girl, but useful. The other one was good-looking and useless.”

“I'm not interested in the girls,” Bestillos told him. “Tell me about the others. There is a tall one, yes?”

The Atunaean looked at him suspiciously. “You've met them before?”

“No, no, only seen them from afar.”

“Well then,” said the gray warrior. “You probably know that the tall one is Dragon Touched. He hid it well, but he changed when the boar came at him. Other than him, there's the one that actually killed the boar, though I'd say it was more luck than anything else. He didn't even have a weapon 'til we gave him a spear. The last one has his sword and his fancy shield and scaled armor, and thinks he's really something with them. Acted like the big protector for the others, but I didn't see him do anything in the fight. If it were me, I'd worry most about the Dragon Touched and the ugly girl.”

The priest of Magor smiled. “No man worries me. Only tell me where I can find them.”

“I can't say for sure,” the other man answered. “After all, that was months ago. But I'll say this: the islanders are young and homeless, and Psander is a clever man. He probably still has them running errands for him, just like he did then.”

Bestillos considered this. The Atunaean clearly held a grudge against this Psander, and would likely say anything to bring about the wizard's destruction. But wizards were second only to the dragon spawn as abominations before the Gods. He would have to die, even if he no longer consorted with the accursed islanders.

“And where does this wizard live?” Bestillos asked.

“South of here,” said the old hearthman, “in a fortress that cannot be seen until you stand at its door. Raise your army, and I will guide you.”

The younger acolytes had finished with the ritual and were now looking at them, waiting for their leader's command.

“I will sleep on it,” Bestillos said. Magor often came to him in dreams.

The Atunaean nodded and withdrew, saying that he would be ready to ride southwards at the priest's earliest command. Yet that night, as the first dry winds of the season blew in from the north, Bestillos did not dream of wizards. He dreamt instead that he had gone out hunting, and that in his absence a fire had sprung up in the fields of Ardis.
If only I had not gone out,
 he thought in his dream, 
I could have stayed and extinguished the fire.
When Bestillos awoke, he rose and called for the Atunaean.

The old warrior met him at the temple door, horse and arms at the ready. “We will not ride today,” Bestillos told him, “nor tomorrow. Magor spoke to me in a dream. The dragon is coming to us.”

The Atunaean's face registered skepticism and disappointment. “Why would the islanders come here? Even they must know that you would kill them.”

“They are coming,” Bestillos said. “I have seen it.”

“So what do you want me to do, then? Just wait around?”

Bestillos eyed him coldly. “I don't care what you do with your time,” he said. “I will go nowhere until I hear word of the islanders' arrival.”

“And the wizard?”

“–Does not seem to be going anywhere,” Bestillos replied. “His time will come as well. First, the last remnants of the dragonspawn must be eradicated.”

The warrior slouched off despondently. Bestillos watched him go. They had never impressed him, these Gallant Ones. If they had been as brave or noble as they told themselves, they would have stayed in Atuna to fight and die – or else to conquer. Even now, this man's revenge against his wizard enemy was a weak one. Only a coward would seek aid from his old foes instead of trying to slay the wizard himself.

For two days, Bestillos waited. On the third day, news came. A group of islanders had been traveling northward through the outskirts of the city, a small crowd of children in their wake. Bestillos called for the Atunaean and raised a pig of thanksgiving to Magor. The pig's squeal was short and loud when Bestillos slaughtered it, a good omen. He burnt it to a cinder, relishing the smell.

“Charos is here, Holy One,” announced one of the lower acolytes while the first ashes were still blowing in the air.

“Charos?” asked Bestillos.

“Yes, Holy One. Charos the Atunaean, of the Gallant Ones.”

“Ah,” said the High Priest. “He is outside? Let him wait. Bring me my spear, and have Peskas saddle the black mare. I'm going hunting today.”

Hearthman Charos drew in his breath when he saw the red robes and the spear. “They are here, then?” he asked.

“They are here.”

They rode east, taking two skilled hunters with them. Mageris was one, Balkon the other. At each farm, the inhabitants pointed them northward. “They've been avoiding Ardis,” said Charos the Atunaean. “At least they're not total fools.”

“It is foolish for them to be anywhere in Hagardis at all,” Bestillos told him. “The whole region is unsafe for the slayers of the boar.”

Charos nodded and licked his lips. Had Bestillos' words made his mouth go dry? The priest smiled to himself. That was as it should be.

They continued northward, following the islanders' trail. “Where are these fools going?” asked Balkon.

Bestillos looked westward, to where the mountains of the Calardian range loomed ever closer. He thought he knew.

The last village brought confirmation. A stranger had been to town, and brought with him a gaggle of children from all across the continent.

“Was the man an islander?” asked Mageris.

“It doesn't matter,” Bestillos told him. “The dragonspawn can change their skin. Tell me,” he added to the nervous villager, “where are these children now?”

There were five of them, a boy and four girls. “These two are mine,” the villager said. “I don't know where the others came from.”

Bestillos ignored him, gazing down at them. They were all about five years old – afraid of him, but too young to know how frightened to be.

“Tell me,” he said. “Why did the islanders come here?”

“They were bringing Temena and Adla home,” said one of the girls, a dark haired little thing. “They wanted to take us all home, but they didn't know how to get there.”

“But they left you all here,” said gray Charos. “Why the hurry?”

“They wanted to go to the tune,” said another girl, either Adla or Temena.

Their father hastily clarified. “The fellow who brought them asked for directions to the Dragon Knight's tomb,” he said. “I think he was planning to go there next.”

The Ardismen looked at one another. “Paying his respects?” suggested Balkon.

“How long were you traveling with them?” Mageris asked the girls.

“A long way,” said the first one. “The sea tried to eat me, but Criton saved me and we flew away!”

“They're all full of stories,” said the villager apologetically. “Don't believe a word of it.”

Bestillos ignored him. “The Dragon Knight's tomb,” he commanded his companions.

When they had mounted their horses, the priest turned to the father one last time. “Question them thoroughly,” he said, “and make sure they have not fallen under the islander's sway. If this Criton's influence upon them remains, I will be back.”

The villager acknowledged the warning with a gulp. “I'll drive away their influence if I have to beat it out of them,” he said.

“I hope so,” said Bestillos, with a curt nod. They rode for the mountains.

They reached the Dragon Knight's tomb just before sunset, climbing up through the yellow glare with their hands over their eyes. When they had almost reached the mouth of the cave, Bestillos put up his hand to stop the others. Four horses were standing idly outside the cavern, loosely tied to a bush.

Bestillos smiled. “We have them,” he said.