Dog and Dragon-ARC (27 page)

“I think,” said Avram, “that we’ll keep going a bit, and let it all settle down.”

He flicked his whip and the horses began to trot. They didn’t stop and the soldiers didn’t bother to try and stop them.

They slowed up about a mile further on. “That, Finn, could have been ugly,” said Avram.

“The law of unintended consequences,” said Fionn, “and how all things are interconnected and balanced always amazes me. I tossed a spark in there, I suppose. Didn’t expect a wildfire. Yet, I couldn’t have made as big a one if I tried.”

“Still, it makes getting ourselves and our goods on the trail to Alba ever more important. Civil wars are bad for trade and bad for travelers. I’ll be glad to get there.”

“I’ll be glad to be going with you if I am,” said Fionn. “Let’s see what Díleas says.”

Díleas informed Fionn by leaping off the cart—and away from Mitzi—that he was going straight on, on foot toward the staging post of the army, not on by cart towards a stone arch—a Tolmen which opened a Way to Alba—but to one which intermittently led to Lyonesse. There were a couple of other possibilities beyond that, but that was the closest. And what could be more likely than that his Scrap of humanity would be in the middle of a war, in a place which everyone seemed to detest?

***

The countryside became hillier, and intermittently wooded as they walked on. Fionn had rather expected it to be full of troops heading back to their homes or to the city, but it wasn’t. In fact the road was deserted, as were most of the farms. He did see smoke coming from the two chimneys of an odd, shadowy, angular building on a hilltop that had some magic-use problems which he would have gone to deal with normally, but that was the only sign of human life he saw. There were signs of devastation though. Reading the map, late that afternoon, Fionn decided they had barely a mile or two to go, and was about to press on, when he realized they were being approached. By a tall, graceful tree-woman.

“Fionn. The black dragon?” She asked as if she were some messenger, checking she had the right person.

“Yes,” said Fionn. There seemed little point in denying it.

“You move fast and far. My sisters have sent me news for you,” she said. “The trees pass word slowly from tree to tree, plant to plant, growing thing to growing thing. The planes are not a divider to them, because they do not understand them or comprehend them, and thus are not limited by them. They bring us word, in time. The woman you seek,” said the tall tree-sprite, “is in the land humans know as Lyonesse. She walks among the new-leaf oaks there. And at her side and following behind her are the myriads.”

Fionn took a deep breath. He’d found her, and his secret, never-voiced fear had not been realized. The wilder worlds out there had not killed his precious Scrap of humanity. “I owe you…your kind…a debt. And I never forget,” he said, his voice thick. “Hear that, Díleas? We know where we’re going now. It sounds like she has a big army.”

“It is not a big army. Just very numerous,” said the sprite. “Or that is how the trees see it.”

She gave him a swaying bow, and turned away. Fionn knew her kind better than to waste his time running after her and asking for clarification.

At least he knew she was alive and where she was.

“Come on, Díleas. Let’s go.”

So they went.

But their way was blocked by an army that was both numerous and big. And which had rather effectively blocked the gate, even for a dragon in a hurry.

The gate looked rather like a castle gatehouse, and was—unlike the ancient triliths—an obviously recent construction…so much so that there were still construction materials piled near them. It was quite different too in that it smelled of oil and human magic to Fionn’s senses. Quite unlike the other Ways.

The gatehouse still looked imposing. Complete with solid gates, and a portcullis. And an army camped outside, and a formation of pikemen at the ready.

“The Annvn invasion force might not be going through at the moment,” said Fionn to Díleas, inspecting it from a nearby hill with a convenient forested gully for cover, “but nothing is coming out, either.” Fortunately, it appeared that the army was looking for trouble not from within Annvn but from elsewhere.

He inspected the gate as carefully as he could at this distance. Breaking into places was, after all, very much his stock in trade.

Normally over, rather than through, would have been his chosen method.

Only he doubted that would help here. “Over” would merely get him to the other side of the gate, not to another plane. The same probably applied to “around” or even to “under.”

It would have to be “through.” And while dragon fire would deal with their gate, and even with the portcullis…That rather depended on no humans being in the way to get incinerated.

Fionn scratched his head in irritation. “The answer might be to frighten them off. But every now and then, they can be very hard to frighten. Their unpredictability makes planning interesting. Normally I enjoy that.”

He fished out the maps while Díleas stared curiously. “On the other hand…It’s late afternoon now. How about if we try a two-pronged strategy here. Come dusk, a dragon will drop on the army with as much tumult and hair-searing flame as I can muster. If they run, the dragon’s dog guide will be sitting ready on this hillside in his flying basket for me to pick up. Are you with me? Two barks for yes.”

“Hrf, hrf.”

“Then a bit more dragon fire and we’re into Lyonesse, and we go hunting for your mistress’s magical pyrotechnics.”

“Hrf hrf!”

Fionn held up a hand. “But if they stand…well, the Tolmen Way to Vanaheim is close, and then from that, it’s a flight out to sea, and we come to this islet, from which we can get to Lyonesse.”

***

Never had a wait seemed quite so long to Fionn. He was used to exercising patience. Energy was about alignment and flow, all in their proper times…Right now he would have moved the sun itself, if he could.

At last the sun touched the far horizon in a crimson blaze of dying glory. Fionn readied the basket for Díleas, made sure it stood securely. The dog was pacing, plainly impatient too. The moment it was ready he jumped in, but he didn’t lie down. Instead, he sat, looking at the gate.

“I can understand you wanting to do that, I suppose,” said Fionn. “If we get through, we can stop. If we don’t…we can stop in a mile or two.” He took on his dragon form, spread and stretched his wings. Warmed them up with a few flaps. All good things for a dragon to do, but seldom done. He was putting this off, he knew. He leapt upwards into the purple sky spattered with the first stars and still with the memory of red on the western horizon. He flapped his way upwards, and then dived, spreading wing tendrils and talons to make the loudest possible air-shriek.

As pale faces turned upwards, he gave their wagons and mess tents a brief wash of flame. And then began to climb again, to arc around, letting his claws rip canvas down one row of tents, sending men diving into the mud. Then he climbed again, looking down at the chaos he’d stirred.

The camp was scattering. Parts of it were burning.

But, to his annoyance, the pikemen assembled before the gate had not joined the chaos. They’d turned their formation to defend the gate. Their officers must be made of stern stuff, and the pikemen, hard men.

Normally, with dragons, that would have meant crisp men. Fionn climbed higher, and dived again, this time coming from behind the gate that they had just turned away from.

Dragon fire seared over them, melting pike points, causing considerable blistering.

But they held. Fionn flapped upward. Someone even managed to loft an arrow at him. He burned it midair, to discourage that.

“Hold hard, the forty-fifth!” bellowed a voice that would have done a bull mammoth proud. “About…turn! Face the gate. They must be planning to break through!”

Fionn sighed. It was cook them or give up and go around. So he flew back and picked up Díleas, and flapped off into the night.

The glorious forty-fifth would remember their night of triumph. By the looks of it, half of the rest of the army wouldn’t. From a bit of altitude and in the infrared spectrum, Fionn could see them scattering. He dropped down and encouraged a few to keep running, and then flew onward, to the gate into Vanaheim.

He stopped a few miles down the road, to tuck Díleas in, and apologized. “I can’t just cook them, Díl. It’d be easier if I could.”

“Hrf.” A resigned sort of “Hrf.”

“There is no point in your getting out of the basket. You’ll get killed back there. We’ll just go around them. It won’t take any longer than your walking would.”

They flew on. Fionn had the feeling that his status was a little dented. But when they landed at the little stone Tolmen, Díleas gave Fionn a lick. On the nose.

They walked through together. Into sunlight and a crackling breeze.

***

The queen of Shadow Hall was tempted to spit into her seeing pool. She knew it would not make her vision any better or sweeter, and they would not feel it on the other side, but it might make her feel better.

She’d worked so hard on Annvn. And now, when an army twenty times the size of anything Lyonesse could possibly manage, with siege engines and good maps and wagonloads of provisions, and more and more reserves pouring in…

A revolution. A slave uprising too. The army dispersed and their stores demolished, and half their war machines burned. And the survivors were all very pleased with themselves for holding off the dragon. Why had the fools not let it through to ravage Lyonesse?

With an exasperated sigh she turned her attention to the next place the Changer would link Lyonesse to. Or should. She looked to Vanaheim. She’d kept them from their normal happy pastime of butchering each other for the last few years and goaded them into building a vast fleet to attack Lyonesse instead.

It seemed, on looking at the empty harbors in West Vanaheim, that the fleets were at sea.

Sweeping her gaze around, she found them to the southeast, heading for shelter…

Loaded for war and conquest.

Only the wind wasn’t helping.

Where did they think they were going! She’d prepared them for her use against Lyonesse, not their own petty wars. She had her cauldron-men among them of course. She would find out.

And she did. They had own seers and seid-women, the völva. Ones who were as capable of finding the Ways and when they were open.

They were sailing to attack Lyonesse. Just as soon as the wind cooperated.

The queen set her muryan slaves to work, moving Shadow Hall to Vanaheim.

It was late that evening that it occurred to her to check on the gate in Annvn. She might as well start the slow process of reorganizing against the next cycle.

Out of habit, she checked the Way.

And it was open too.

Then she began feverishly checking the others, cackling with glee. Rubbing her bony hands in delight. How had he botched so? Ha ha ha.

At last. At long, long last! She began sending out messengers to her cauldron-men, to those she had implanted as counselors and advisors to the kings, queens, princes and chieftains of the nineteen worlds.

Someone was at her outer door.

How dare they interrupt her triumph? And how could they? Shadow Hall was moving steadily. It was not easy to see. And it had its defenders. She used the seeing bowl to look.

The creature of smokeless flame, which the locals would probably call a demon, had no trouble keeping up with Shadow Hall, or with seeing it. And it could probably devour her cauldron-men, if they succeeded in attacking it.

She’d done business with them before, so she went to see what it wanted. She had some defenses on hand, but theirs was a mutually beneficent arrangement. She could kill this one, if she needed to, but she would rather hear what it had to say.

The hooded creature bowed respectfully. That, of course, was something it would do, and she was not fooled. They had scant respect for any other life-form, except where that was reenforced by fear. Among their own, of course, they were hierarchical to the extreme. Other life-forms were theirs to use…if they could. If vanity was the key, they’d use it. She did not bow back. “Well. Why do you interrupt my work?”

“My apologies, great queen of Magic Workers. My master’s masters…offer great rewards for a simple service.”

They paid. They paid in whatever form she asked and without any form of haggling—no matter how ridiculous her asking price. The entire funding of that Spathos had come for the hire of one cauldron-giant. Giants were hard to make, being so large, and needing thus to be assembled in sections, but still…“What do you need?” She had a list of raw materials for the cauldron needed from other planes. She’d had difficulty getting them before.

“My master’s masters require the disposal of two beings. One is in Lyonesse, and one is proceeding there. We think he is in Vanaheim now. We believe you will be in the best position, with your seeing device, to find them and destroy them. I have images of both.” He handed her a crystal into which a three-dimensional image of a young woman with an axe sprang into existence, sitting in a little coracle.

“A little warrior princess,” said the queen of Shadow Hall, faintly amused. The child had a determined chin. But, as she had found out when she had tried her own hand at armed combat, those many, many years ago, men were physically stronger. You had to defeat them more subtly.

“She goes by the name of Meb. We believe she fled Dun Tagoll. Briefly she was on the water but she has returned to land.”

“If she fled Dun Tagoll she is hardly an enemy of mine.”

“She is one girl-child,” said the flame creature dismissively. “There are many such, but my master’s masters have concerns about her associate. She must die, to control him. Name your price.”

“Tell me about the other one,” said the queen.

The flame creature produced a second crystal. In it was the image of a black dragon.

“The dragon that thwarted me in Annvn,” said the queen.

“He’s a shape-changer. Turn the crystal over, and more images will show. We had a very good visual trace on him, but it has been obscured. He is both clever and a great deal harder to kill than most dragons, and dragons are not easy to kill. This one can only be bespelled with gold, and only confined in adamantine.”