The Dragons of Argonath (47 page)

Then the dream changed to a dark landscape. Eilsa was at the edge of a precipice, and Relkin staggered on a muddy rock.

Something like a gigantic steel-legged insect was emerging from a scrub of black brush. Long pincers snapped toward Eilsa. She ran across a flat lawn that writhed in the warm evil wind. The thing behind them was giggling. Relkin ran, the evil wind stank of corruption and death. A huge house rose up ahead.

He stirred, shaken awake by the dragon. For a moment he stared into Bazil's huge eyes.

"Boy not happy in sleep."

The evil dream was gone.

"You can say that again."

Wearily he moved to sit up and take stock. This time the dream was etched on his memory. Even the way the thing had moved, so swift and fluid a motion, like a snake made of water.

"What wrong?"

"I keep having this dream about Eilsa."

The wyvern clacked his jaws a couple of times. Amused.

"That not unusual. Boy dream of fertilizing the eggs of Eilsa all the time."

"No, not like that. She's in danger. Something weird, some magic, I think."

The way Relkin said this, Bazil knew that he was no longer joking.

"This dragon not like to hear that word. We suffer every time."

"Too right, but something's happening, and I keep feeling these strange flashes when I see things. I don't know, Baz, I hope I'm not losing my mind. You know what happened in Mirchaz and everything."

Bazil studied him carefully. He understood something of what Relkin had gone through. It had reinforced his innate dislike of human magic. Boy had done well to stand up to it.

Of course, Bazil also remembered that strange, magical force that had brought him back from death. He was grateful to that being, whatever it was that had stood there so still and watchful.

"You seem the same Relkin, but who can see mind of dragonboy?"

"Who indeed? Not even this boy."

Relkin found sleep impossible now, so he pulled himself to his feet and wandered down the line to the latrines. On his way back he passed the thunderous snoring of the Purple Green, who had also been relieved from duty to catch up on sleep. Manuel wasn't around, probably at the cook fires.

He saw Curf running somewhere carrying a pack. Cuzo was still riding Curf pretty hard, trying to see if he would shake off that dreaminess. So far the boy had shown himself able to take it. Whether he could ever handle a dragon was another matter, though.

Then Relkin saw a familiar figure in officer's dress coming toward him. Captain Kesepton it was, and his face was set in a frown. Long before Kesepton reached him, Relkin had prepared himself for the worst.

"Relkin, I have bad news for you."

"What is it, sir?"

"The Lady sent me word. Eilsa Ranardaughter has been abducted and taken to Nellin."

Relkin shook his head. The dream! Hollein put a hand out to steady him.

"Nellin?"

"Yes. Lagdalen too. Snatched off Water Street in a rainstorm. It was Lagdalen they were after, but Eilsa tried to stop them and was taken too."

Relkin understood. Eilsa Ranardaughter would have been bound to throw herself into any fight that involved Lagdalen of the Tarcho.

"Why? Why would they want Lagdalen? Why Nellin?"

"Lagdalen kept the case against Porteous Glaves alive through to his conviction. That made her many enemies in Aubinas, particularly among the wealthy farmers of Nellin."

"What can they do to her?"

"That we don't know. They are gentlemen, so presumably they will not harm either of them. Eilsa is noble-born, the Wattels are an ancient clan. One can only hope that they will offer them nothing but respect."

But Relkin couldn't forget his dream.

"The new enemy, the one we aren't supposed to name, he is in Nellin, isn't he?"

"I do not know. You fought him it seems, or some demon that he employs."

"It was a demon all right, so strong and so fast. Stretched the dragon to his limits."

Hollein nodded, sobered by the thought.

"This enemy is foul, I sensed that last night very strongly," said Relkin in a quiet voice.

Hollein nodded with a thoughtful glance at the younger man.

Relkin pawed the ground with his foot feeling angry, but afraid. He thought of that elf-lord face and its soul-searing hate. He prayed that Eilsa would not end up in the hands of that enemy.

After a few uncomfortable moments, Hollein made his excuses and left. Relkin squatted down beside the softly snoring wyvern. The Purple Green's snores warbled from nearby, but Relkin didn't hear them.

Eilsa in the grip of that monster! He couldn't allow it. Her darling face framed in her wild, corn-gold hair floated in front of his mind's eye.

He sat there, leaning against the warm mass of the dragon and wondered what to do. Where were the gods now that he needed them? Was old Caymo paying attention?

He was still there when General Tregor came marching in just before dusk, raising a ragged cheer from the men in the woods. They were saved!

Behind the general came a thousand foot soldiers, two hundred horsemen, and a welcome surprise in the seven dragons of the 155th Marneri. This was a unit that had seen hard service recently at Axoxo. They were stationed in the Blue Hills for recuperation, but at the first news of the rebellion, their dragon leader, Yufa Dayn, had put them on the road for Posila. Tregor and his men had caught up to the dragons about forty miles north of Posila, coming down the Argon Road.

Tregor's men joined in the cheering, and the 155th dragons roared and woke up the sleeping members of the 109th who roared back, leaving the men in Posila in no doubt that their decision not to attack had been most wise. There were far more dragons out there than they'd seen before. It was a damned good thing they'd refused the demands from Nellin that they attack that day. The great night attack hadn't succeeded. Why did anyone think a day attack would do any better?

Urmin happily surrendered command to General Tregor, who listened to the descriptions of the night attack with widening eyes. Lessis had briefed him about a sorcerer that had taken up residence in Nellin, but he hadn't worried about it too much. Whatever it was, if it stayed in Nellin, then he needn't concern himself overmuch about it. The report about the swarm of bewks and the even newer things that they were calling "bewkmen" changed his mind.

Tregor and Urmin talked for a while, then Urmin went off to get some much needed sleep. Tregor studied the maps in the failing light and went over the scouting reports. The crushing weight of preserving the Argonath now rested on his shoulders. He could not afford to make any mistakes.

Commander Urmin, on the other hand, slept well for the first time in weeks.

In the lines, the two dragon units met up with much bellowing and slamming of bodies and tails in cheerful greeting. Among the older dragons there were friendships built up through previous campaigns. Younger dragons were soon welcomed into the circle. Then they sat down to eat, and a big boil-up was soon being rolled across to them, with everything lathered in akh.

As they ate, they discussed the situation: the march that had just been completed and the likelihood of more fighting. The loss of big Churn was mourned, and revenge was spoken of.

Later when every scrap of food was gone, the dragons broke up and headed for individual bivouacs. Bazil found the little glade he and Relkin were temporarily calling home. Relkin was just tying on his sandals. He was wearing a freecoat and had a pack waiting beside him.

Relkin was not the type to seek out extra duty.

"Boy volunteer for night watch?"

"No. Look, I have to tell you something. Hard news."

Bazil sat back on his huge haunches and listened while Relkin told him what had happened to Eilsa.

"So I have to go. It's wrong, I know it, but I can't leave her to that monster. Nobody else should do this, but I have to."

"And what happens to this dragon? You leave me behind?"

"It's up to you, what you do."

"This dragon comes with you, of course. Lagdalen dragonfriend, Eilsa dragonfriend, I not leave them."

"This is desertion, Baz. We'll be drummed out of the legions for this, no matter what happens."

"We take early retirement, then."

Relkin took heart from the dragon's cheerful acceptance of the hard road ahead of them.

Later, when big snores were shattering the» peaceful night all around them, Bazil and Relkin rose silently and crept out of the lines. The southern flank was still resting on that deeply cut little valley, but there were more men there now. So they had to work their way back through the small army's position to the rear. Then they moved off to the south, across the upper part of that rocky little valley and into the woods beyond.

Through the great house in the valley of the Running Deer went Faltus Wexenne, his voice a symphony of anxiety as he ordered, cajoled, and wheedled his servants to make them hurry. Haste was vital. The paintings had to be taken down and hidden. Later he would smuggle them away to one of his other properties elsewhere in Aubinas. For now let them be hidden carefully in the hayloft. It was dry, recently reroofed, and repaired throughout. It was away from the main house, and it was quite insignificant-looking. The monster would never notice it.

Wexenne fought off the formless dread that kept threatening to well up and paralyze him. It was essential to keep going, to stay active, and to retain the initiative. Still, there was this pit of dread in his stomach. He did not know how he was going to finesse this situation. Things had gotten badly out of hand. This ancient lord that he had allowed to penetrate Aubinas was no mere remnant of another time. Wexenne feared for his very life. This brought on such craven speculations as to whether he could successfully bargain for his own freedom, by handing over the young women.

The loss of his honor as a landed lord in Aubinas would be total, but if he was still alive and far away from Nellin, what would be lost? In the great scheme of things, what was the need to live down here in the countryside? His money was banked in Kadein. So what would he really lose?

His identity, said his conscience. He was Aubinas; Aubinas was he. How could he abandon the cause he had championed so long? He would have to live under cover, hidden by a new identity, afraid of discovery at any time, unless he forsook the Argonath and headed away to some far part of the world.

But then a vision of Porteous would 'rise up before him. He had only to think of Porteous to start to plan a departure to Kadein. And from Kadein to the ends of the world if necessary, anywhere that was out of the reach of this monster he had let into his life.

How gulled he'd been. He cursed himself for a fool. "Our master will bring you the assistance you need to make your dream of free Aubinas come true," they'd said, those greasy emissaries of the lord. And he'd bought it, especially after the incident in Blue Stone. They said the emperor had come within a hair's whisker of death. The door to Aubinas was then opened wide by an awestruck Wexenne. He now realized with a dreadful shock of self-realization that his hatred for the empire had made him stupid.

On the landings of the first floor, in the rooms facing west, were a series of charming pastoral scenes painted by Aupose in his early years. There were six of them, all painted in the Running Deer Valley, and each was valued at ten thousand gold pieces. They were taken down and packed up in thin crates, ferried out to the stables, and spirited up into the hayloft. Secrecy was the watchword. The servants of the house, loyalists all to the cause of Aubinas, took this to heart.

In the bedroom of the grand south apartment suite, there were two more major works by Ieff Hilarde, great battle scenes from Spargota and Jelm. They had to be carefully taken out and packed in hurriedly knocked-up crates. There were also some lovely minor works by such as Dowdly and Kenor Cherdaden. Everywhere Wexenne's eyes were cast, he saw more beauty, more jewels in his truly extensive collection of great art.

Then came the dreadful news that the young women had vanished. None dared say the word "escaped," but it hung there in the air. Fear and anger produced a shriek of anguish from Wexenne, who ran through the halls, pushing servants out of the way. In the orangery he stood, bewildered. The young women had climbed the drainpipes and broken through the glass roof. Wexenne, portly throughout life, couldn't imagine young ladies doing something like this. The ceiling was twenty feet high. The young women had even been bound at the wrist.

Now they were loose somewhere in the house. The house would be searched. They must be found, at once!

Wexenne staggered away. Found that Honoriste Aupose's
Sunberg
had still not been packed up because the case had been built six inches too short, and began screaming. Carpenters and hangers dropped everything and ran to attend him.

There were more than a dozen there when there came a grim interruption. A pair of Lapsor's brutal-looking creatures, the bewkmen, appeared from a lower floor. They wore black armor and carried swords and spears. Behind them came Kosoke, Lapsor's lackey.

"May I have a word with you, Wexenne?"

Faltus Wexenne stared at him, trembling a little, fighting down the urge to flee.

"Of course."

He stepped away from the huddle of craftsmen.

Kosoke murmured in his ear.

"The Lord Lapsor has returned, and wishes to interview the young women that were brought here for him."

"Ah, yes, well, please tell Lord Lapsor that I must review this situation most carefully. The laws of Aubinas do not allow for the wanton murder of young ladies of noble blood."

Kosoke gave no sign of being prepared to go away with such instructions.

"The Lord Lapsor insists that the young women be brought to him at once. His agents secured them in the first place; they are his."

Wexenne disliked Kosoke, and he particularly disliked this contempt for all men that was expressed over and over by these men who served Lapsor.

"Look, my friend, this is my house. The Lord Lapsor will have to wait while the Aubinan Council makes a decision."