Dragon Stones (23 page)

"Women?  Gold?  Territory?"  Diasa shrugged.  "A few chips of shiny glass won't help him with any such thing."

Damona sighed and waved a hand dismissively.  "You have a quick tongue, Diasa, but you can only see that which is in front of you, that which you can touch."

"You see enough things that aren't there," Diasa said.  "I certainly don't need to.  Give me something I can stick with a sword and I'm happy."

Damona leaned back and regarded her with half-lidded eyes.  "Sometimes I wonder if you are really my daughter."

Diasa snorted.  "Only a daughter would put up with you."

Suddenly Damona's eyes widened; a moment later the room lit up, as if a white sun had risen outside the building.  Diasa jumped to her feet, whirled.  The small windows of the dining room, opened to admit the night breeze, had become squares of brilliant illumination.  It almost hurt her eyes to look at them.

"What is this?" Damona whispered.

Diasa went to the window and peered out, squinting.  The surrounding landscape was lit up, the colors grey and washed out; she could tell from the shadows that the light came from above, somewhere nearly directly overhead the college.

She knew what this was, even if her mother didn't.

This was an attack.

Suddenly a great voice boomed:  "
We want the one called Adaran!  Surrender him, or face destruction!
"

Diasa turned to the headmistress.  "I told you so."

Damona had already risen from her chair.  "This is not the way one comes to Flaurent to claim a fugitive," she murmured.

"Evidently it is, if you are Lord Dunshandrin."

"No.  It is not.  Go, Diasa.  Summon the Withered Ones.  Adaran will not be taken from us by threat of force."

"Mother, he is not worth it."

"The precedent cannot be set!" Damona cried.  "Flaurent is and must remain a refuge!"

"A refuge."  Diasa snatched up her belt and scabbard from the back of the chair where she had hung it.  "He doesn't belong here.  We should just hand him over and be done."

"That is not for you to decide, child.  
Go!"

Diasa left the headmistress's quarters.  Outside, night had become day, the grounds harshly lit by the brilliance flaring from above.  She could scarcely look up, and if she did, she could see nothing; this, of course, was the intent.

The Withered Ones had already begun gathering outside, attempting to respond to the threat.  They seemed seriously affected by the glare, stumbling along as if finding their way by hearing rather than by sight.  Sunlight didn't affect them in such a way, but this was not sunlight; perhaps it interfered with whatever sense served as their vision.  She knew they didn't see as she did, because their eyes were shriveled things, raisins in their puckered faces.

Only a true sorcerer could generate a display such as this; Dunshandrin had sent a wizard to claim Adaran.  Diasa didn't think much of wizards in general, considering most of them cheats and fakers, purveyors of tricks and sleights of hand; but the fact that this one could light up the entire college and blind her guards suggested that he might be formidable.

She strode across the grounds to the dormitory where she had left Adaran and the girl.  The students had assembled on the patio, babbling amongst themselves, shading their eyes and trying to look into the sky.  Diasa was somewhat surprised that they weren't mixing their potions and powders in an attempt to identify the intruders.  "Get back to your rooms," she told them.  "It's not safe out here."

"Are we being attacked?" one of them said.

"Not yet.  Go on, get inside."  She directed the Withered Ones to encourage the students to take cover, then went to Adaran's door, only to find it ajar.  She opened it and looked inside, but the room was empty, the occupants gone.  She'd assumed he had the wherewithal to pick a lock, and had posted a guard outside; but the guard had been blinded, and Adaran had escaped.  He could be anywhere in the college by now, or even outside it, if he had managed to find his way through a gate or over the wall.

She slammed the door in frustration and turned.  A figure approached, weapon in hand.  Not one of her guards; they carried pole arms, and this one had a sword.  She drew her own blade.  The man stopped advancing and stood there looking at her.  Now that he was closer, she saw that he wore something over his eyes, smoked goggles, protecting him from the blinding light.  "Who are you?" she said.  "What do you want?"

"My name is Gelt," he said.  "I've been following you."

"Why?"

"Because you seemed like a woman who knew where she was going.  Is Adaran in here?"

"He
was
, but it seems he has escaped."

"Really.  Where do you suppose he's gotten to?"

"I've no idea," Diasa said.  "Why doesn't your pet magician just conjure him up?"

"Pet magician?  What makes you think I'm not making this light all by myself?"

"If you were, you wouldn't need to shield your eyes."

He grinned.  "Clever girl."

"I'm not a girl," Diasa said.  "I'm a woman, and more than a match for the likes of you."

"We'll have to test that theory."  Gelt pointed his sword at her heart, then hesitated, cocking his head as if listening to something only he could hear.  He lowered his blade.  "But not tonight.  Orioke has found the thief's hiding place."

"Thief?  What did he steal?"

Gelt didn't answer; instead, he turned and ran toward the fish pond, which was surrounded by a heavy growth of trees.  Diasa watched him go.  Damona's instructions had been very clear:  She was not to let Dunshandrin's men take Adaran by threat of force.  Diasa still didn't see why they should risk the safety of the college over an obvious scoundrel, but as the headmistress had said, the decision was hers, not Diasa's.

She sighed, signaled the Withered Ones to follow, and went after Gelt.

Following several hours of flying along the dark shoreline of Barbareth, Astilan came into view, a compact collection of square buildings hugging a bluff that overlooked a harbor.  T'Sian had told Ponn to alert her when they approached the city, and so he did, shouting to be heard over the wind.  She gave a little burst of flame from her nostrils and altered course, starting to descend toward the city.

He looked at Parillon.  The other man hung limply in the dragon's talon, as he had for some time; Ponn was concerned that T'Sian may have injured him, either when she had wrecked the trailer or when she'd snatched him up.

She circled low over the city a few times, giving Ponn a view such as he had never thought to experience.  In the torchlight of the main streets, he saw a few people going about whatever business—begging, illness, adultery, murder—took them from their homes at this hour.  Furtive shapes stood in doorways and in the mouths of alleys, waiting to ply their questionable trades on customers or victims.  A night patrol passed by beneath them, four soldiers and a youth with a lantern; the denizens of the night scattered at their approach, retreating deeper into the shadows, where the flickering light could not reach.  They passed by the king's castle, the compact fortress a smaller version of the walled city that surrounded it, like a shell within a shell.  It stood on a small rise, helping to lift its towers high above the surrounding buildings.  Standing at those parapets, an observer could probably see the entire town, from wall to wall.

What must T'Sian see, with her undoubtedly superior vision?  Did anyone down there feel the dragon's gaze upon them, and look up into the night sky with a fleeting shiver?

After surveying the city, T'Sian flew to the north and landed in the rolling hills, in a sandy area that had not been cultivated for crops or livestock.  She beat her great wings rapidly, settling down on her hind legs, then leaning forward to release Ponn and Parillon.  Ponn quickly went to his friend, who lay on his side in the grass.  The other man's skin was cold and clammy, his breathing rapid and shallow.  Gently, he rolled Parillon onto his back; his eyes were wide, staring at nothing.

"Parillon?" Ponn said.  "Can you hear me?"

No answer.

Ponn didn't like this at all.  He was not very familiar with Astilan, but there had to be a healer there, and Parillon needed one.  He looked for the dragon but she had gone, most likely slunk off to change into her human form.  Turning back to Parillon, he whispered:  "Don't worry.  We will find someone in the city who can help you."

Parillon's lips moved as if he were trying to speak, but Ponn heard no words.  Where was T'Sian?  After what seemed a very long time, she approached from the west, coming around an eroded bluff.  She stopped a few feet away, looking down at Ponn and Parillon.  "Get up," she said.  "We must go into the city and learn if Gelt and his men are agents of this King Varmot.  If they are, we will punish him."

"First Parillon needs a healer.  I think you hurt him."

She cocked her head.  "But I was careful."

"Not careful enough.  The way you grabbed us and just took off, the shock alone could have killed him."

She crouched down beside Parillon, looking at him as if he were an unusual and interesting sort of insect.  "You men can be killed merely by being surprised?"

"Sometimes.  We are not so durable as dragons."

T'Sian, evidently fascinated by this topic, said:  "How else can I kill you?"

Ponn thought a moment.  "Are you asking me because you want to avoid hurting people accidentally," he said, "or because you want to be able to kill us in a wider variety of ways?"

"I have been killing humans quite effectively for years without your assistance," she said.  "I am merely curious.  You would be well advised to tell me how
not
to kill you
, so that you do not come to harm through misadventure, like your friend."

"Another time, perhaps," Ponn said.  "Right now we must tend to Parillon.  He must be kept warm.  If I gather wood, will you ignite it for us?"

She shrugged.

"You
can
start a fire without creating an inferno?"

"Of course I can," she said.  "I am not the lightning.  Gather wood, if you can find any, and I will burn it."

She made a good point; the plains of Barbareth boasted little in the way of forest, and by the moonlight he could see that this wasn't a very good spot to find anything more than kindling.  There were no trees, only tall grass, weeds, and the occasional shrub.  He walked some distance from Parillon and T'Sian, up a low, sandy rise, then circled around to the north and east and back down again.  From the terrain—scattered large stones with debris gathered beneath them, sand, ridges with eroded edges—he concluded that T'Sian had landed in a dry flood plain.  He picked through some of the detritus, but it consisted mostly of the same vegetation he saw around him, bent into odd shapes by the force of old torrents.

He returned to the others empty-handed.  T'Sian looked at him for a moment, then said:  "I thought you were going to gather wood."

"There is no wood."

"Why not just carry him into town?  I can lift him easily."

"No, you mustn't do that.  Moving him may cause further injury."

"Oh."  T'Sian looked down at Parillon, then back at Ponn.  "
I already picked him up once, to see how unwieldy it would be to carry him while I am in this form."

"What?" Ponn cried.  "I told you he needed a healer!"

"You never said not to move him."

"But …"  Ponn trailed off.  Argument was pointless; the dragon would merely say, with utter truthfulness, that she'd had no idea that moving an injured man could hurt him, and then make some comment on the infirmity of humans.  He shook his head and hurried to Parillon's side.  He didn't appear to be breathing.  Ponn checked Parillon's wrist and then his throat, feeling for the heartbeat, but there was none; he held his fingers beneath the man's nose and felt no exhalation.  Looking into Parillon's wide, staring eyes was like peering through the windows of an empty house.

He glanced at T'Sian, who was watching his efforts with close attention.  "I think you killed him."

"Does that mean we have no need for a healer now?"

"There's no point.  You cannot heal a dead man."  He reached out and shut Parillon's eyes.  "Good night, my friend."

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Close his eyes."

"Tradition.  Respect."

"That shows respect?"

"Yes," Ponn said.  "Respect for the dead."

"Why do the dead care whether their eyes are open or not?" T'Sian said.  Then, after a moment:  "You just do not like having a dead man watch you."

Exasperated, Ponn stood.  "Why do you bother to ask me so many questions, if you are already so wise?"

"To find out what lies you men tell yourselves."

"And what lies do
you
tell, T'Sian?  D
id you kill Parillon intentionally while I was looking for wood, to relieve yourself of an inconvenience?"

"Of course not.  I wanted his assistance."  Her eyes glittered in the moonlight.  "And if I did choose to kill him, why would I bother to lie about it?"