[Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones Page 14

  Before the words had left my mouth, Bastilla and Ciarra were off. As soon as he was finished with his horse, Tosten followed with Penrod beside him. Axiel took the small shovel off the pack saddle and began digging a firepit. Oreg, looking uninterested, gathered dry sticks that were lying around on the ground.

  I took my time, grooming Pansy until his coat gleamed and only a slight roughness showed where his cinch had rubbed. Finally, he stamped his foot, impatient to go out and graze with the others. I put his brush away in a saddlebag and let him go. I didn’t hobble him; he’d stay with his herd.

  “I’m going to look around,” I said. Axiel grunted, but Oreg left his pile of dry tinder where it was and followed me.

  Penrod or Axiel had chosen a camping ground some distance from the main buildings. That put us on the northern edge of the hilltop, farthest from Estian with the remains of the temple tower between us and the city.

  The top of the hill was a flat field encompassing about six acres. Though the sides of the hill had been covered in tall trees, the top was a grassy meadow. Once, I supposed, most of the acreage had been paved. Now there was soil over the old stones, but it was too shallow for anything but grass.

  “Why did you bring us here?” I asked when we were alone.

  Oreg ducked his head so I couldn’t see his face. “Wait and see. It might be important, most likely not.”

  I stopped. “Is this dangerous?”

  He smiled a little. “Life is dangerous, my lord. Death is the only safety. But the Tamerlain keeps evil spirits away from here. It will be fine, Ward.”

  I stared at him for a moment. The Tamerlain was the legendary guardian of the temple, a great predator who fed upon the night demons and lived only on the mound of Menogue. Sometimes I wasn’t certain whether Oreg was mad or not, but he seemed calm and sincere about our safety. I nodded briefly, mostly because I didn’t really want to trek down the hill again, and continued toward the place where the largest section of walls remained standing.

  It was a tribute to the Tallvenish fear of Menogue that most of the temple was still here, not carted off as building stones for more humble dwellings. There were stories about nasty things that happened to people who took things away from Menogue, plagues and ill luck. My father had once observed, cynically, that access to a trove of building materials would have upset the natural order of things. Peasants would have had good stone houses just like the merchants. They’d have gotten above themselves. Much better to make the stone off limits to the peasantry, and superstition has always been the cheapest guard.

  The end result for us was that as Oreg and I approached the standing walls, we had to scramble over a lot of loose rubble. Some of the fallen bits were taller than I was, and a fair number showed carving, mostly cracked and broken. Even so, I marveled at the quality of the stonework.

  “Did the dwarves carve these?” I asked Oreg.

  “Eh?” Then he grinned. “You believe the dwarves’ claims that they’re the only ones who know how to carve stone, too? Not that they weren’t masters—they did the carving in Hurog’s library—but there were skilled human masons, too, like the ones who carved this. But stone carving fell out of fashion a couple of centuries ago. Plaster and wood carving are cheaper and faster.”

  The piece of standing wall I approached would have towered above the highest roof at Hurog. At one time it would have been even taller, but the top had tumbled to the ground. The wall was gently curved and layered in four-foot-tall sections, each one a little farther inset than the one below it. I imagined that at one time it was part of a dome. The sections were covered in stone carvings but we were still too far away for me to see them in any detail in the growing shadows of evening.

  We skirted a few piles of stone and crawled over another into a small cleared area right next to the wall.

  “This was the inner temple,” said Oreg a little sadly. “It was painted in brilliant colors, blue and purple, orange and green. There was nothing else like it anywhere.”

  After he spoke, I could see that the wall had been painted once. Where the panels were undercut, protected by the weather, the paint was obvious. The bottommost panel contained a series of comically exaggerated people who seemed to be occupied holding up the next layer with their stone hands. Upon closer examination, each of them differed in feature and clothing. Some were standing on their hands and supporting the top with their feet instead of the other way around. The lip of the upper layer even bent upward a little where a particularly stout little man pushed on it. Near the first break in the wall, one of the little fellows had a particularly sly look on his face. Upon closer inspection, I could see that neither of his hands were touching the slab above.

  The second tier of panels were trees, but they were trees I wasn’t familiar with. The one above that . . .

  “Siphern,” I exclaimed, sending Oreg, who had been waiting patiently for me to notice, into a fit of laughter.

  Like most Tallvenish gods, Aethervon was deity of two opposites: sorrow and merriment. The folks in the third tier looked very merry indeed.

  I examined one particular scene. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  “Only if the woman is very flexible,” smirked Oreg.

  I looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t think I’d want to be this fellow if she loses her balance.”

  “Some risks,” he asserted with all apparent seriousness, though his eyes still danced with fun, “might be worth taking.”

  I shook my head at him and continued on in my explorations, leaving Oreg to the carvings of the inner temple. I found Ciarra standing on a wide section of broken wall staring at Estian far below. I stepped up behind her to make sure she didn’t fall.

  “Big, isn’t it,” I said. Ciarra had never seen Estian before.

  She shook her head and made a shrinking motion with her hands. I looked down again and considered what she’d said. Estian was an old city, maybe older than Hurog. Oreg would know. From this height, successions of city walls, each added as the population outgrew the safer space inside, gave the impression that the city had been laid out by a spider of some sort. The older inner walls were softened by the buildings that had been built against them.

  I frowned. The outermost wall was narrower and shorter than the wall that had preceded it. There were few buildings between the outer two walls. For the most part, the space was filled with the blackened remains left by the fire that had ravaged Estian near the time of my birth.

  Ciarra was right. Estian was shrinking.

  I SLEPT BADLY THAT night; I kept hearing bells. But when I sat up and looked around the first two times, everyone else was asleep. The third time, Ciarra and Oreg, who were on watch, were both gone.

  I woke Tosten up and moved to Axiel, while Tosten woke Penrod. Axiel opened his eyes before I could utter my whispered warning, but neither he nor I could wake Bastilla, who slept as one drugged.

  “I’ll stay with her,” offered Penrod in our whispered conference.

  I nodded at him, and the rest of us set off to look for Ciarra.

  “It’s too dark to track,” whispered Axiel. “We need to split up and meet somewhere.”

  “Let’s meet at the wall,” I said pointing to the silhouette of the tallest section of wall where the comical men held the tower upon their shoulders. I knew where she was; I’d found her and Oreg some time before. My magic was telling me that if they weren’t at the wall, they were somewhere very close to it. But, for some reason, I knew I wanted to go there alone first. It was such a strong feeling that later I decided it hadn’t been my own. So I sent Axiel and Tosten off.

  The summer night was alive with the sounds of insects and night hunters going about their business. The white, ghostly shape of a haar owl flew above me, making the distinctive sound for which it was named. The scattered stones made it impossible to run, but I wasted no time heading for the wall.

  Ciarra stood on top of the wall where she had been earlier this evening. The cool night w
ind ruffled her hair as she stared at Estian. Oreg lay curled into a small ball on the ground at the base of the wall.

  “Ciarra,” I said kneeling next to Oreg’s huddled form. “Oreg, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t,” he cried out. “I can’t stop it, master. I tried, I tried . . . Aethervon . . .”

  “Ciarra, do you know what happened to him?” I asked.

  She faced me then, and the hairs on the back of my neck crawled, and a chill clenched my heart, for her eyes glowed a brilliant orange in the night. She put out her hand and something materialized in the darkness, a great beast that made Ciarra look even smaller than she was. It shoved its head under her hand, like a cat asking for a scratch. I was close enough to smell the predatory odor of its breath.

  “Ciarra?”

  My sister smiled gently and spoke. “Wardwick of Hurog, there will yet be dragons if thou art willing to pay the price.” There was no tone to her voice at all, it could have belonged to a man or woman, child or grandfather.

  “Hush,” I said to Oreg, who was still muttering soft, broken words to himself.

  “Child of the dragon killer, choose thy path carefully, for in the end it will be thy choice upon which everything rests, but the heart of the dragon is rotten through.” Her voice this time rang with bass overtones; it might have been my father’s.

  Numbly, I recalled the stories I’d heard of Menogue. There had been a seer here who would speak at the god’s dictation. The last seer had died when Menogue was razed.

  “I didn’t find . . .” Axiel’s voice fell silent as he came around a large block of stone to see us.

  “Son of the dwarf king, what brings thee to this circumstance?” She was all female this time, with a sensuousness that had never belonged to my sister.

  “Prophecy and necessity,” he answered plainly after a moment in which he took in the scene before him. “My people are dying.”

  “Thy father dreamed a dream,” agreed Ciarra, now sounding like a child much younger than she was. “And you are necessary for the cleansing.”

  “Ciarra!” It was Tosten, sounding out of breath as if he’d been running.

  “Singer,” she said in a musical tenor.

  He stopped dead at the sound of her voice.

  “Dig out thy knowledge and use it well. Minstrels have always been close to the way of the spirit, and melancholy touches their heels. But be thou a warrior, also. This world has need of song and sword.”

  “What have you done to Bastilla and Oreg?” I asked, tiring of Aethervon’s games. Oreg was shuddering and shivering against my hands, whispering to himself, and it made me angry.

  “The woman woke before times,” said Ciarra, this time in my mother’s light, faraway tone. “She’ll sleep until morningtide under Tamerlain spell.” The big animal pulled away from Ciarra’s touch and dropped to the ground.

  Unblinking eyes caught mine and tried to pull me into them. I tugged my gaze away and turned back to Ciarra. “And Oreg?” My mouth was dry; ignoring the bear-sized predator standing almost on top of me wasn’t easy.

  “Quit, now, Tamerlain. Thou’lt never catch a dragon so,” chided my father’s voice, rich with amusement. “That one tried to overreach himself and needed a reminder of what he is.” Oreg flinched at each sound Ciarra made, reminding me of the day he’d inflicted wounds upon himself in Hurog’s great hall.

  It made me angry, the way I’d been angry when my father hit Ciarra. I surged to my feet with a roar, startling the Tamerlain into backing away. “Enough! You have no need to torment him so. Leave my sister.”

  She looked at me through ember eyes, and still in my father’s voice said, “Can you make me?”

  Rage shook me, and magic from the foundations of the ancient temple came to my call, flooding me from my feet to my head as it forced a searing path through my body and mind.

  She smiled, waved her hand, and the magic was gone as if it never had been. My body felt as if someone had filled it with ice water rather than blood, and I dropped to my knees, holding my head against the pain of it.

  “Ward!” Tosten’s warm hands closed on my shoulders.

  “Not with my power, you can’t.” Ciarra’s voice changed back to the first sexless whisper. “This is not the dragon’s eyrie.”

  Ciarra closed her eyes, and her body toppled off the wall toward us, rather that down the hillside. Axiel caught her before she landed on the ground. Her body was limp, and she didn’t awaken when Tosten patted her cheeks. The Tamerlain twitched its tail twice and disappeared.

  I forced down panic and the throbbing headache that kept me on my knees. “Axiel and Tosten, take Ciarra back to camp and keep her warm. Oreg and I’ll follow you.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Tosten in a low voice.

  I nodded and gritted my teeth. “Yes. Fine. Go.”

  Tosten threw his head up at my tone like a young horse trying to evade the touch of the bit.

  He looked at Axiel, said, “Let’s go,” and stalked off without looking at me again.

  Axiel looked after him thoughtfully and glanced at Oreg. “If you’re not careful, Tosten’s going to hate Oreg—if he doesn’t already.”

  “I’ll deal with Tosten,” I said shortly. “You take care of my sister.”

  Axiel nodded and followed Tosten into the darkness with my sister laid over his shoulder. I should have been tending to Ciarra, but she had Tosten and Axiel, and Oreg had only me. Aethervon said he’d reminded Oreg of what he was.

  “It’s all right,” I told him, settling uncomfortably on the ground, for every muscle in my body hurt. “Aethervon’s gone. You’re safe.” What was Oreg? A slave? Hurog?

  He flinched away from my touch, pressing his face cruelly hard into the rock. “He wouldn’t leave her.” He said. “I tried, and he wouldn’t leave her. It’s my fault, my fault, my fault.”

  “Shh,” I said.

  “You told me to protect her, and I couldn’t. It hurts, it hurts . . .” he moaned.

  I was in pain myself, and it distracted me. I almost didn’t catch the import of his words. “Trying’s enough,” I said, my throat tight. “Do you hear me, Oreg? Trying is always enough. I don’t expect that you’ll be able to protect her from everything.”

  I’d told him to protect her, I remembered. He had to follow my orders. I hadn’t realized there would be consequences if he could not. At my words, his body relaxed, and he quit banging his head into the stone. After a moment, I realized he was unconscious. The pain that the Tallvenish god had inflicted on me seemed to have settled into the sort of muscle aches I got from training too hard. Resigned, I pushed myself to my feet and gathered Oreg over my shoulder for the walk back to camp.

  I found Axiel, Penrod, and Tosten at the fire. Neither of them commented when I set Oreg on his blankets and covered him up. When I came up to the fire, Tosten walked pointedly back to his blankets and rolled up in them, his back to me.

  Axiel watched him, then said, “I told Penrod what happened. Bastilla and Ciarra seem to be sleeping now. Hopefully, they’ll wake fine after they’ve slept it off.”

  “I wish we could get them out of Menogue,” I said. “I won’t feel safe until we’re well away from here.”

  Penrod nodded.

  “Did Aethervon tell you anything helpful before I got there?” asked Axiel.

  “No,” I answered. “All he told me was something about the heart of the dragon rotting—as if I haven’t known that Hurog is in trouble.” He’d revealed that the stories about Axiel were true, though. Pushing aside my smoldering anger at the suffering of Oreg and Ciarra, I thought more carefully. “He said something about the return of the dragons if I choose carefully.”

  Penrod shook his head, but Axiel stiffened to alertness, like a hound at the sight of a leash. A small, satisfied smile touched his face.

  AFTER EVERYONE WENT TO sleep, I cupped my hands and stared at them for several minutes. At last a small silvery light hovered, cool and bright, a few inches above
my fingertips—a child’s exercise in magic. Untrained as I was, I could do no more with my magic. But it was my magic once more.

  8

  Wardwick

  The Oranstonians had a difficult time deciding who they’d rather fight, we Northlanders or the Vorsag. They didn’t like either of us much.

  MY FATHER ALWAYS SAID that you knew you were in Oranstone when the wind picked up and it began to rain.

  Tallven, through which we’d been traveling, was mostly flat with a few rolling steppes, good grain country. Oranstone was more like my native Shavig in that it was rocky and edged in mountains. But Shavig had never been this wet.

  Axiel slowed his horse until I was riding beside him. Mud-spattered, he looked nothing like the son of a king. He hadn’t said anything about being a dwarf prince, so I’d left it alone.

  “If the land’s flat, and there’s no road through it, likely it’s marsh. We’ll have to stay on the road until we reach the mountains,” he said.

  Penrod, on my other side, nodded. “Just wait until night falls and the mosquitoes come out,” he said cheerfully.

  As we started down the old road through Oranstone, the wind picked up, and it began to rain. About midday, wet and miserable, we passed by the first village.

  I sneezed. “We’re short on grain. Penrod, you and Bastilla bargain, and we’ll set up camp just down the road. Get news about the raiders, if you can.”

  Penrod nodded, and the rest of us continued on. We found a stand of trees in a rocky outcropping (as opposed to marsh) and set up our tent for the first time. Because we didn’t carry tent poles, we had to find two trees the right distance apart so we could stretch the tent between them. I left Axiel and Oreg to it and had Ciarra help me with the horses, who were as miserable and wet as we were.

  I’d just taken off Pansy’s saddle when he stiffened and stared down the trail. After a moment, I heard someone coming at a thunderous gallop.

  Penrod beat Bastilla into the camp, but it was Bastilla who called, “Bandits. In the village—a dozen or so.”