The Gold Falcon (54 page)

“A thousand apologies,” Arzosah spoke in Elvish. “I didn’t realize I was going to panic your horses. The last time I traveled with you Westfolk, they ignored me.”

“That was Evandar’s doing,” Dallandra said. “He cast some sort of enchantment upon them, but unfortunately, I don’t have the slightest idea of what it was.”

“And of course he wouldn’t bother to tell you, nasty clot of ectoplasm that he was. I should have known.” The dragon snorted in disgust. “Well, be that as it may, here I am. I’d have answered your summons before this, but it took me a while to find you.”

“I assumed it would, yes. How would you like to help us kill some Horsekin?”

“What a lovely idea for a summer’s day!”

“Good. I wasn’t truly afraid that you’d refuse.”

“No need to worry! I swore a vow that I’d hate them forever, and they’ve done nothing recently to make me break it. Where are they?”

“They’re building themselves a fortress off in the far west. I thought perhaps you’d seen it.”

“No, and it’s a pity. I would have enjoyed picking them off a few at a time.”

“Well, it’s not too late. They haven’t finished building it yet. What you see here—” Dallandra paused to indicate the road full of warbands with a sweep of her arm, “—is just the beginning. We’ll be mustering an army to go and destroy it.”

“Splendid! Can I assume that any dead horses are mine?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Then you don’t even need to invoke my true name. What is it they say in Deverry? It would gladden my heart, that’s it, and my stomach as well, to join you.”

“Wonderful! I do thank you, but there are a couple of small matters we have to attend to first.”

Arzosah heaved a gigantic sigh. “I should have known there’d be a price to pay. Small matters, are they? Doubtless some boring tasks vexing to dragons. They always are.” She was looking past Dallandra. “I suspect one of them of arriving now.”

Dallandra glanced back and saw Salamander, dismounted and trotting toward them. He waved a greeting with a swing of one arm and called out, “Arzosah, my dearest wyrm, O, pinnacle of dragonhood!”

“What do you want me to do for you?” Arzosah rolled her massive eyes heavenward. “I know flattery when I hear it, elf.”

Salamander grinned and bowed to her. “You’re as perceptive as always, nay, not merely insightful, but perspicacious and sagacious as well.”

Arzosah growled, but only softly.

“We need your help on two matters, actually,” Dallandra said. “This warband you see here? It’s on its way to deal with a traitorous lord who’s gone over to the Horsekin. We can’t spare the time for a siege if we’re going to bring that fortress down, but he has enough archers to keep our men away from his dun walls.”

“And I suppose you have the gall to expect me to do something about those archers. I don’t fancy having arrows hissing around my head. If one hit me in the eye—”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Dallandra said. “I most certainly don’t want you injured.”

“I don’t see how we’re going to take his dun with those archers in place.” Salamander stepped forward. “And we can’t afford to leave fighting men there to hold a long siege. We were hoping you could think of some maneuver to drive the archers off.”

“I knew that a straightforward Horsekin-eating expedition sounded too good to be true.” Arzosah paused for a snarl. “What’s the second thing?”

“Lord Honelg is sending messengers to Zakh Gral,” Salamander said. “They’ll be two, maybe three days’ ride to the west of his dun by the time we reach it. We’ll never be able to catch up with them, but you, the very soul of speed, should be able stop them.”

“A simple chore at last! How refreshing!” The dragon swung her head around to look at Dallandra. “I suppose you want me to carry this prattling gerthddyn on my poor aching back.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Dallandra said. “I know it’s a horrible imposition, but he’s the only one who can scry for them. We could search the grasslands for days otherwise.”

“And when we find them, what then? Do I get to eat them?”

“No, not the men.” Dallandra put steel into her voice. “Absolutely not! No live horses, either, unless one’s injured too badly to heal. However, once we take Lord Honelg’s dun, I’m sure we’ll find some cattle for you.”

“Cattle? Ah, cattle!” Arzosah licked her lips. “I should consider myself well thanked, in that case. A hog would be nice as well.”

“Two hogs, then, if we can find some. I’ve worked out a plan,” Salamander said. “During today’s ride, I’ve been in contact with another dweomermaster. Now that you’re here, we can discuss things in some detail.”

“And we’d better do just that before you leave,” Dallandra put in. “Because it’s very complicated.” She shot Salamander a black glance. “Most likely too much so.”

“I really wish that I’d never let Evandar find out my true name,” Arzosah said. “It was stupid of me, stupid stupid stupid!”

“Be that as it may, you’re stuck with us now.” Salamander grinned at her. “The army’s making camp. Dalla, why don’t you tell this most marvelous, beauteous, and sagacious wyrm what we have in mind. I’ll go over to the supply carts and get some rope. I’m not going to stay on her back without it, I think me.”

Arzosah raised her head toward the sky and whined like a kicked dog. “Ropes! Fit only for a smelly old mule! What happened to my harness? I once had a fine leather harness with jewels upon it, not as many as I deserve, of course, but jewels nonetheless.”

“It’s in a chest somewhere in Dun Cengarn, I suppose,” Dallandra said. “But there’s no time to go back and fetch it now. Please, listen carefully to what we need to do. Oh, and one more thing, by your true name, Arzosah Sothy Lorezohaz, I enjoin you to obey Salamander as if he were me.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Arzosah muttered something else, but in Dragonish. Judging from her tone of voice, Dallandra was just as glad she didn’t understand the words. “Oh, very well.” Arzosah returned to Elvish. “I can but obey.”

 

During the day’s march north, Neb had been riding near the end of the column with the other servitors and the servants who were in charge of the baggage train. For them, the rain was a blessing—better to ride wet than to choke on the dust stirred up from a dry road by the warbands ahead of them. When the dragon appeared overhead, the gentle old palfrey Gerran had given him made a weak attempt to rear and buck like the other horses, then quieted down and merely trembled.

When the orders came back to dismount and prepare the night’s camp, Neb followed them gladly. Although he was by no means a terrible rider, he certainly wasn’t a good one either, and the dragon’s proximity was keeping all the horses nervous. The baggage train turned into an orderly if confusing mob as the experienced servants hurried to their work, tending horses, unloading tents from wagons, and going through the provisions to ensure that any wet food got eaten that very night. Neb stood off to one side and watched, wondering what he was supposed to do. Fortunately, Salamander came jogging up to him.

“Give that horse to one of the servants to tend,” the gerthddyn said. “Never forget that you’re a highly educated scribe and thus too valuable for sweated labor. Besides, Dalla wants to talk to you.”

“Very well,” Neb said. “I take it she summoned that creature?”

“She did, but the creature’s actually quite intelligent. You’ve got to treat her as if she were a great lady.” Salamander paused, thinking. “Actually, you know, she
is
a great lady, merely of the scaly variety. I’ll introduce you in a bit, but now I’ve got to find rather a lot of rope. Could you help me carry it over?”

“Gladly. I have to admit, this is all a cursed lot more interesting than sitting around the Red Wolf dun.”

With a coil of rope each slung over their shoulders, Neb and Salamander left the camp. With distractions all around him, Neb hadn’t quite absorbed the idea of “dragon,” but as they jogged across the pasture to meet up with Dallandra, he could finally get a good look and see just how huge the creature was, as long as one of the stone tax barns near Trev Hael. When she raised her head to look his way, her scaly ears and spiky crest reached the inside height of a barn, too. Despite his best intentions, Neb found himself slowing to a walk and lingering behind the gerthddyn. Apparently she had noticed.

“I won’t eat you,” the dragon called out. “You’re much too skinny.” She made a rumbling sound that stopped Neb cold.

“That’s her idea of a jest,” Salamander said, “and when she rumbles like that, she’s laughing.”

“If you say so.” Neb summoned as much courage as he could and walked on. “I’ve heard of dragons, but this is the first one I’ve ever seen.”

“They stick to the border country, truly, and the wild places. Her name’s Arzosah, by the by. I need your help to rig her up with a rope harness.”

“Ye gods! You don’t expect me to ride the beast, do you?”

“I don’t. I’m the one who’s going to do the riding. Dallandra will explain everything after we’ve gone, but speed is of the essence.”

Neb’s share of the harness work consisted mostly of holding pieces of rope taut while Salamander tied them together, following Dallandra’s directions. Ropes went around the dragon’s pale green belly like a cinch, then around her chest like a martingale, but she absolutely refused to allow anything resembling a crupper. Throughout the process she grumbled, moaned, and complained so much that Neb began to lose his fear of her. With the rope harness finished, Salamander tied on a bag of provisions and his bedroll.

“That should do,” he said. “Is it comfortable enough, O pinnacle of dragonhood?”

“Just barely.” Arzosah paused to hiss softly to herself. “It will have to do.”

“One thing quickly,” Dallandra said. “I’d been hoping that the silver wyrm would come with you. Do you know where Rori is?”

Arzosah went very still, except for her tail, which thrashed back and forth, apparently of its own will, because when she turned her head to scowl at it, the thrashing stopped. “We’ll discuss that later,” the dragon said at last. “Once we’ve done this errand.”

“Is somewhat wrong, then?” Dallandra said.

“We will discuss it later.” Arzosah swung her head around to glare at the dweomermaster. “When I return.”

Neb suddenly realized what Salamander had meant when he called the wyrm a great lady. Her tone of voice allowed no argument; she might have been a dowager queen rebuking a maidservant.

“Very well,” Dallandra said. “You need to get on your way.”

“And I need you to lower your head,” Salamander said to the dragon. “So I can climb aboard.”

“I am
not
a ship, gerthddyn,” Arzosah snarled. “You may ride upon me, but I am still a dragon, and I’ll ask you to remember that.”

“My dearest wyrm, how could I ever forget it?” Salamander made her a bow. “Where shall I impose my ugly and unworthy self upon you?”

“Put one foot on my neck.” She laid her head upon the ground. “Where it joins the shoulders. Then swing the other leg over. You can perch just behind my crest and cling to the last spike of it.”

Salamander followed her instructions, and she slowly and carefully raised her head, allowing him to kneel on her back between her wings but well forward. He slid both feet under a cinch rope and clutched the tall spike of her crest with both hands.

“Now remember,” Dallandra said. “You are to obey Salamander instantly and as thoroughly as you’d obey me.”

“I know, I know. And I promise to keep him safe as well.” Arzosah heaved herself to her feet. “Stand back, young scribe! I need a bit of room.”

Neb darted away to stand beside Dallandra. He watched openmouthed as the dragon stretched out her wings, and out and out, a vast wingspan like the ceiling of a great hall. Arzosah bunched herself, her haunches quivered, and with one huge flap of wing she leaped into the air. Her wings beat into the wind with a sound like enormous drums as she gained height, circled once over the pasture, then headed off west, flying fast and steadily. For a long moment Neb could say nothing at all.

“Well, there they go,” Dallandra said. “I suppose you’d like to know what all this is about.”

“If you’d be so kind, truly,” Neb said. “Ye gods, I feel—I’m astounded—I never thought I’d see such things!”

“I suggest you get used to it. You’re going to be seeing a good many stranger ones, and quite soon now, too.”

Apparently, most of the army shared his fearful bewilderment. As they walked back to the encampment, no one said a word to them. Most of the men they passed stared gape-mouthed and crossed their fingers in the sign of warding against witchcraft. Some others stepped back and rushed off to be busy elsewhere. A few of the braver ones did bow to Dallandra, and Gerran came to meet her.

“My lady.” Gerran bowed as well. “Prince Daralanteriel tells me that you’d like our scribe to move over to your camp.”

“If the tieryn agrees,” Dallandra said.

“I asked him, and he does. He owes you for the safety of his womenfolk, he told me. We were just wondering why.”

“Do you really need to ask?” Dallandra caught Gerran’s gaze with her own. “Branna told me about the squabble between you and Neb.”

“Oh.” Gerran swallowed heavily, but his voice stayed perfectly calm. “I see.”

“Good. Still, you can tell the tieryn that I’ll need help when it comes to tending any wounded Westfolk after the battle. Our bodies heal differently from yours, and I want to start training Neb.”

“I see,” Gerran repeated. “Neb, I’ll help you carry your gear over.”

“My thanks,” Neb said. “I didn’t bring much with me, but I do have the horse and its gear, too.”

The Westfolk had made their camp at a slight distance from the main clutter of tents, wagons, piles of horse gear, and the like. Neb would have a place in the tent shared by Calonderiel’s archers. Neb and Gerran put Neb’s gear inside at a vacant spot near the door. With a quick bow, Gerran left them, striding back to his own camp. Dallandra sat Neb down inside her own tent, and there, in safe privacy, she explained why she’d summoned the dragon.