So after half an hour had passed, as the sun drooped across the horizon, he led his dragons back across the desert and they did it all again. As things turned out, he did want to watch things burn after all.
Three
The White Dragon
24
The Worldspine and the Hills Beyond
The deeper they flew into the Worldspine, the taller the mountains became. Jagged spikes and streaks of rock stuck out, black and brutal, from the monotony of snow below. The trees fell away, then the lakes, and then everything except the glacial ice and stone. They had nothing to eat and only melted snow and ice to drink. Each day they flew higher, until the air grew so thin that Kemir could barely lift an arm before he was out of breath. If he hadn’t had Snow to keep him warm, the cold would have frozen him hard in an hour. After the first day, the wind of Snow’s flight was so biting that he could hardly raise his face to see where they were going; when he did, even through the dragon-rider’s visor he wore, he felt as though the skin was being flayed from his flesh by a thousand razors dipped in acid. After the first day he had cramps from clenching his muscles, from hugging Snow so tightly. By the end of the second he could barely move. And then there were the nights. If the days were cold, what were the nights?
‘Dragon, do you even know where are you going?’ he slurred, when he decided for the hundredth time that he’d had enough. The roar of the wind whipped his words away but the dragon heard him. He wasn’t sure quite how it worked, but as far as Kemir could tell, Snow could hear him think.
To the other side, Kemir.
Snow’s thoughts were far away, lost in distant memories that she kept carefully to herself. She wasn’t really paying attention and Kemir was slowly starting to recognise the difference.
‘I know the realms backwards and forwards, top to bottom. I’ve never heard of an other side to the Worldspine.’
Whatever you have heard, Kemir, that is where we are going. Everywhere has an other side.
‘And what if it doesn’t, eh?’ he grumbled. ‘What if it goes on like this for ever, getting taller and taller?’
Then you will die of hunger and I will eventually follow. But nothing goes on for ever, Kemir.
That made him laugh. ‘Except you.
You
go on for ever. And it’s all very well you talking about dying. Even when you die, don’t you just come back again?’
That is true
.
‘Well I don’t. You might live for ever, but I’ve just got what I’ve got, and I’d quite like to make the most of it.’
How are you so sure, Kemir?
He could feel Snow’s thoughts moving back to him, growing warmer and closer. When she tried, she could almost pretend that she wasn’t a monster.
We are different, that is all. And we are not eternal. We were made, long ago, by sorcerers as old as the world. When that world ends, we will end with it, just as everything else.
‘It doesn’t look like it’s ending any time soon to me.’
Between our lives in flesh and bone we walk the realms of the dead. I have seen things there. Things that should not be. They have broken loose of the sorcery that held them still. There is a hole where one of the four pillars of creation once stood. Tell me, Kemir, would you know the end of the world if you saw it?
‘I don’t know, but all I see right now is white down and blue up, with some more white and blue coming up in the middle distance, and far, far away, probably a hundred miles from here, guess what I can see? Can you guess? Yes! More of exactly the same. How far have we flown since that lake, eh?’ He had to hiss the words out between clenched teeth, not daring to breathe too deep lest the cold strip the flesh from his lungs.
Not far enough to have reached the other side.
Kemir gave a frustrated groan and shifted to press himself face down onto the dragon’s scales, trying to keep warm. ‘That’s a dragon answer, not a real answer. Whether there’s another side or not,
I
definitely won’t go on for ever if we keep going like this much further.’ There was no getting off though. He was stuck here, for better or for worse.
Which means there’s really not much left to do but grumble and gripe about it, is there?
You are right, I
am
getting hungry again.
There was a pause, and then Kemir snarled ‘Was that a joke, dragon? Was that humour? Because if it was, it was a long way from being funny.’ It had only been two days, but the ever-present driving freezing wind had almost pushed Nadira from his mind.
It is the answer as you would have given it.
‘Yes.’ Now Kemir chuckled. ‘I suppose it is. Well that’s me told then.’ His anger faded. ‘I hope you’re right, dragon. I hope there is an end to this. It would really piss me off to have saved you only to have you starve to death.’
And Nadira deserves better than that too. That would make her death about as pointless as it’s possible to be.
You did not save me, Kemir.
‘No? So everything would have been just dandy if you’d done what
you
wanted to do and stayed to watch Ash and the others burn from the inside? You, for some reason, would have been spared?’ For a brief moment he risked a glance down. The wind tore at his face and froze his tears to his cheeks and all he could see was an endless featureless white.
No. But
you
did not save me, Kemir. The ice-water of the lake did that.
‘And who dragged you to the lake, dragon?’
I have said I am grateful for your advice, Kemir.
‘You don’t sound it.’ Every conversation eventually came to this, mainly because Kemir couldn’t stay away from it. He’d saved the dragon’s life. He knew it; the dragon knew it; Nadira knew it -
had
known it; probably even the alchemists knew it, but the dragon was damned if she was going to admit it. Even gratitude came with grudging reluctance. The whole idea that she might have been even a bit helped by a mere ‘little one’ seemed to be a severe embarrassment. Did dragons feel embarrassed? Did dragons feel anything? He didn’t know, but this one certainly acted like she did. Stupid, really.
What am I going to do? Run to all the other dragons, point my finger at her and laugh?
Very hungry indeed, Kemir.
Oh. Yes. Reading thoughts.
Well then you know I’m still terrified of you, dragon. In my own strange little way. And I still despise you for what you did.
Snow, Kemir. The name your kind gave me is Snow. It is not my true name, but it will suffice.
‘Just don’t waste me, Snow. You need me. Don’t waste me like you wasted Nadira. You need what I know.’
Yes, and I’ll keep telling myself that. Eventually at least one of us might believe it. Ancestors! What am I doing here?
Staying alive. That’s what he was doing, even if he had to remind himself from time to time. Not taking his choice of either freezing or starving beside a glacier lake somewhere in the depths of the Worldspine, that’s what he was doing. Living and breathing. Desperately existing. Just like he’d always done. Waiting for his first chance to get off and run away.
You know I cannot let you go.
He had no idea how far they flew. They might have been in the air for three days and nights, or else he might have missed one in the general numbness of cold and hunger and it might have been four. He was dizzy with fatigue by the time he noticed that the air was warmer again. When he next bothered to look, he saw that the mountains were shrinking. There were lakes and rivers below them again, dark little lines in the shadows of their valleys, bright flashes of light where they caught the sun. As the dragon let herself glide ever lower, gleaming white snowfields rose up to either side of them. They flew between tufts of cloud snagged on jagged black peaks that fell away into grey stone slopes and black valleys filled with trees. Snow flew on and the mountains shrank still more, fading into crumpled hills and then into an endless sea of rolling forest. Kemir, too exhausted and ravenous to think, felt the dragon’s hunger mingling with his own. As the trees spread out further below them, he felt an irritation growing inside him, too. Snow again.
Do you see anything for me to eat, Kemir?
Kemir peered down over Snow’s shoulder. ‘All I see is trees.’ His eyes were too tired to focus, so all he saw most of the time was a great big dark blob that was the ground.
I do not like trees. It is hard to find prey.
Kemir digested that. ‘That’s why we outsiders build our villages deep in the valley forests,’ he told her. ‘So you and your dragon-riders won’t find us. And up on stilts so that the snappers won’t eat us while we’re sleeping.’
They found a river. Snow dropped to follow it, still far above the treetops but close enough that Kemir could make out the individual trees. He looked wistfully to either side, out across the misty green expanse. Not just trees but a great forest like the Raksheh Forest of the realms. He saw deer too, coming out to drink at the edge of the water. Too small for Snow, but perfect for a man with a bow. He closed his eyes.
I could live here. I could hunt and build a shelter and stay out in the wilderness. Just let me off here and leave me be. I don’t mind being alone. Just let me rest and sleep and have something to eat. Leave me be with my ghosts.
No.
Snow flew on until the green hills petered away and the river drained into a lake.
Look.
Kemir leaned forward and peered down at the water. He could see the ripples of a tiny boat and, as Snow dropped closer, he made out a single person sitting in it. Excitement gripped him. ‘Land!’
Why? There is only one of them and they are small and skinny. Barely a mouthful.
‘It’s a boat, dragon. And a person. Where there is one of us there will be more, and where you find people you’ll find cattle.’
Is that so? Your kind have changed then, for that is not how I remember the world.
Without warning, Snow tucked in her wings. They plunged out of the sky and Kemir was suddenly too busy holding on to see what she was doing. He might have been strapped into a dragon-knight’s saddle, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to trust the thing. He gripped Snow’s scales, fingers rigid as they levelled out and skimmed across the lake. He caught a glimpse of the boat again, straight in front of them, then Snow suddenly started to climb. Kemir pitched forward, smacking his face into the dragon’s back. He thought he heard a scream, but he couldn’t be sure.
Ah! Useless! Your kind are too fragile.
Snow tossed something up into the air in front of them. Kemir was sure he saw flailing arms and legs before she snatched it into her jaws.
‘That was the person from the boat, wasn’t it?’
No, no. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think about it.
I did not mean to break him.
‘You didn’t have to eat him!’
I am
hungry
, Kemir. I have barely eaten in close to ten passings of the sun. Ahh . . .
The taste of Snow’s thoughts changed. Kemir felt a satisfaction, an anticipation. She changed her course, arrowing across the lake. Kemir tried to see what she’d spotted.
A house. He saw a house at the edge of the lake. More of a hut than a house. With people, standing and staring at them . . .
He saw them for an instant, saw their faces, their mouths open, their eyes wide, their feet frozen to the spot in terror, too stupefied to run away; and then Snow opened her mouth and spat fire. A wall of burning air erupted in front of them. Snow slammed through it. Kemir screamed. Snow screamed. There might have been other screams too, but if there were then Kemir didn’t hear them. He covered his face with his hands and wrapped his arms around his head, all far too late. He could smell scorched hair.
His
hair.
The next moment Snow crashed into the ground. Wood split and splintered. Kemir pitched forward, thrown helplessly back and forth and only kept on Snow’s back by the saddle. Her head and neck lunged forward and she spat fire again. Kemir cowered, pressing himself into her, covering his face as best he could, but there was no burning wall of air this time. She lunged a second time and then a third, and then she stopped.