Dragonlinks (24 page)

Jelindel lowered herself down the town wall by a rope through the outer window and stole quickly across the mist-shrouded fields. Behind her the gate was slowly raised again, and soon the torches of the cautious pursuing militiamen shone as dim globes of light through the darkened mist.

The baying of dogs mingled with the distant bellowing of the daemon; then there was the rumble of the gate being lowered again.

‘Forgive me, Daretor, but this is the only way,' whispered Jelindel as she slipped the free dragonlink onto her finger.

It took precious moments to get the feel of the thing's powers, but her practice at moving her senses between paraplanes came to her aid. Through the eyes of a huge four-horned bull she watched the militia approaching. Brother Clevarian would be at the centre, but all that was about to change. She extended her control, and the bull suddenly charged its bramblefang fence, ignoring the thorns that ripped at its hide as it crashed through. It charged straight for the militiamen.

The men and dogs scattered, and now Jelindel seized control of one of the dogs and sniffed for the temple incense that was on Brother Clevarian's robes. Within moments the dog ran down the monk, leaping upon him even as he spat a word of binding to ensnare it. Jelindel now sent another dog after him from behind, and this one knocked him down and ripped at the leather cowl that covered his head.

Orange light blazed out of the link that he wore in his ear as the leather came away, but blue coils burst from his lips to entrap the second dog. Brother Clevarian began shrieking for help.

Jelindel seized control of the bull again and drove it back at the regrouping militia. Now the monk made a fatal mistake. He spoke a word of binding to stop the bull, a word that was at the limit of his life-force. The bull crashed to the ground, its front legs ensnared, but Brother Clevarian also fell to his knees with exhaustion.

Jelindel crept up to him now, guided by the glow of the link that was leaking through the fingers of the hand that was over his ear. Taking the link from her own finger and dropping it into her pouch, she crouched, crept closer, then spoke a word. Her aim was off, but she still ensnared the old monk's legs.

Surprise was on Jelindel's side. She sent the monk sprawling and the link again blazed out like an annular eclipse of the sun. Weakened, she staggered over, reached out for the link and ripped it from his ear.

Brother Clevarian screamed with pain and outrage, but Jelindel was already stumbling away into the mist. She crashed right into a tangle of blackberry bushes. Only the mailshirt saved her from severe injury.

‘After him; he stole a holy relic!' shouted Brother Clevarian.

Blackberry thorns tore at Jelindel as she struggled to free herself, and the dragonlink was slippery with Brother Clevarian's blood. As she fumbled to drop it into her pouch it slipped from her fingers and landed among the thorny fronds where it lay glowing brightly.

Militiamen and dogs finally approached, and Jelindel
slashed her hands and arms on the thorns trying to reach the fallen dragonlink.

Suddenly the daemon strode out of the mist and among the militiamen. It bellowed loudly and they scattered in alarm.

Mesmerised, Jelindel saw the outline of it by the light of the burning torches. It lifted someone bodily from the ground with one hand and slashed down with the claws of its free hand, again and again and again. Brother Clevarian! He shrieked for help, then screamed in pain – a scream that ended in a sickening, retching sound.

The militiamen tried to rally, but now the monster was suddenly faster and far better coordinated. The short engagement was completely one-sided and the demoralised militiamen fell back. Jelindel knew that without Brother Clevarian, they would not last long.

She turned back to the blackberry bushes, striving to reach the dragonlink amid grasping thorns and clammy wet leaves.

Heavy, thudding footsteps approached from behind her, footsteps ominously far apart. She turned to see the daemon towering above her.

Jelindel fumbled for her pouch and slipped the other dragonlink onto her finger. Casting the animal control powers of the link across the fields, she realised that the bull had a broken leg and the nearest dog was hundreds of yards away. She drew the dog racing towards them, but she knew she would be dead by the time it arrived.

Jelindel shrank back against the brambles, petrified with fear. She was too weak to speak another word at the daemon, there was nothing she could do but wait for the end.

‘Allow me,' said a deep, hissing, silky voice.

The daemon bent over and reached past Jelindel with its long arms that reeked of fresh human blood. The light of the fallen link was blotted out as a clawed hand closed around it and drew it out from amid the grasping thorns.

In an oddly dispassionate way, Jelindel considered running, yet something in the daemon's manner had drained the fear out of her. She released control of the dog that was still racing to her rescue.

Huge fingers opened before her face and the light of the second link blazed out into the mist again.

‘Treasure worth thy life, yes?' enquired the soft, hissing voice. ‘I am T'rr'll. Know thy name be Jaelin. Here. Take it.'

Jelindel's jaw worked in vain. She reached out a trembling hand and took the link from the enormous palm in front of her.

‘My race avenged,' the daemon declared. ‘Without thee, we would still be his slave. Thank thee with all my hearts.'

The daemon went down on one knee amid the blackberry bushes and bowed its head to Jelindel. It was still more than double her height.

‘Uh, how many hearts do you have?' she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

‘Three,' it replied, then slowly stood up.

Together they walked back to where the bodies of Brother Clevarian and two militiamen lay. The daemon picked up a burning torch and held it to the dead monk's ear. Along the bloody rent were rough stitch marks where he had sewn the link into his ear years earlier.

‘Thee tore link from his ear, thus freed my people
from his control. Avenged is myself. Returned, hope to be.'

‘How did you know, ah, about me?' asked Jelindel.

‘Shared his perceptions by act of control.'

So the daemon had seen and heard everything from the monk's perspective, Jelindel realised. It must have been a by-product of the dragonlink's control gift. That would save a lot of explanations.

‘I'm, ah, relieved that you're so understanding, T'rr'll.'

‘I am from very civilised paraworld. This monster plucked dozens from my homeland, then sent them back dead and mutilated.'

Jelindel looked into the slit-pupils of the huge, reptilian eyes that gleamed in the light of the torch that the daemon held.

‘You seemed so fearsome to us. We did not know that Brother Clevarian was making your kind attack our people,' she explained.

‘So I have seen,' the daemon growled. ‘But we are not evil,' it added with a voice like an approaching thunderstorm. ‘We were ripped from our plane and controlled like puppets in thy fairgrounds.'

‘How do you know our speech?'

‘We are very advanced in arts of control and enquiry. We have studied thy world's images in our crystals for a long time. Also we have heard sounds of thy world resonating from our crystals. In them we saw our people die when drawn here, but we were helpless.'

‘I grieve for your slain brothers and sisters and friends,' said Jelindel with genuine remorse.

‘And I thank thee for freeing us. What will thee do with this sevenfold-cursed dragonlink?'

‘I'll weave it into the fabric from which it came, and strive to put it where evil hands will not reach it.'

‘We have devices like to this, Mage Auditor. Should thee split it, all talents stored therein will be lost, and it will not soak in more talents until made to be joined again.'

‘Then – then the mailshirt from which it comes has no power?'

‘It has power, no doubting. It is just not same power as petty tricks of these dragonlinks. When made whole, ah,
real
power of these combined dragonlinks will be manifest, but I cannot say what that power might be. Now will thee free me to return to my paraworld?'

‘Well, ah, yes. Just tell me how.'

‘Both of us to go to blacksmith shop and split the link, if be pleased?'

They returned to the town gates. There the daemon leaped to the guardhouse in a single bound, sending the guards screaming down the stairs for the second time that night. He raised the gate for Jelindel, then left it jammed open.

The townsfolk were watching through the billows of mist as Jelindel and the daemon walked through the geometrically straight streets to the closest smithy's. As fate would have it, it was the shop of Drusen.

Nobody would open up when Jelindel knocked, but the daemon broke through both door and guard charm with a single blow that splintered boards and tore nails from beams.

The blacksmith's wife was crouched in a corner in front of their son, brandishing an axe.

‘Put that thing down and fetch a hammer and chisel,'
ordered Jelindel wearily as the daemon stood quietly behind her with its arms folded. ‘Well? The sooner you help, the sooner we're gone.'

The woman fetched the chisel and laid it on the anvil. Jelindel picked up the chisel and a hammer, but the daemon raised a dauntingly clawed hand.

‘Madame,' he said to the blacksmith's wife with a deep bow, ‘pleased to take little boy outside and wait. Danger in what we are to do. Mage Auditor Jaelin paid to face danger, but thee and thy boy are not.'

‘Oh, ah, aye,' she stammered, then reached back and seized her son by the arm.

The little boy waved timidly to the daemon as they edged past. The daemon bowed gravely and made a gesture with its claws that might have been a salute. The boy smiled back.

‘Make sure chisel is held with edge of thy hand touching dragonlink, pressing against anvil,' the daemon told Jelindel once they were alone.

‘You said this is dangerous.'

‘I lied, to get others out. Now strike with single blow.'

One blow severed the link, and Jelindel noticed that traceries of blue light enmeshed her hand. It felt as if a swarm of ants was on her skin. Suddenly the crackling blue tendrils dispersed.

‘There is a word that will release you from this plane,' she said. ‘I know the word! How do I know this?'

‘Thee did split link while thy skin did touch it. This allowed gathered knowledge to disperse into thy body, rather than die as cold steel touched it.'

‘So it's dead now?'

‘No. Link being used to harvest skills of fighting is like
war chariot being used for carrying pigs to market. It does that well, but it is made for something much grander. I do not know what that grand thing might be. Link is still potent and link needs to be joined with mailshirt.'

‘I – I do not think I want the stolen fighting arts of others.'

‘Thee must take them,' insisted the daemon. ‘Use skills to win back all other links for mailshirt.'

‘One of my good companions would beg to differ – violently.'

The daemon waved its claws as if such an idea was too silly to contemplate.

‘Warning, though. Skills will not stay with thee unless thee practise them. Dragonlink keeps skills fresh always. Without it, skills fade if not practised.'

‘But that's … like any ordinary skill.'

‘Indeed.'

Jelindel split the other dragonlink. This time she did not allow her flesh to touch it, and the animal control skills died within the steel of the chisel.

‘I – I even have some skills with words of binding and swords from the monk's dragonlink,' she said, examining what was now in her own mind. ‘Will I retain all this as well?'

‘Only with practice, as with all skills. Now speak word that thee knows and I will be gone.'

‘Wait, one moment. I saw a mage split a link, but he did not gain the sword skills stored in it.'

‘I explain again, a link split by cold steel without skin touching it is a link that loses its skills to be smothered in cold steel.'

‘I see,' Jelindel said, stalling. ‘Before you go, will you
forge these two links into the mailshirt? I have no skills to do it.'

‘A small price for home. I will do this.'

The daemon was a fast and competent blacksmith. When it had finished, the mailshirt ceased to glow for the first time in five weeks. Jelindel had been watching carefully. She shook the mailshirt back over her head as the daemon held it up for her.

‘Now I shall send you home, T'rr'll, and with my thanks. This may not mean much to you and your kind, but you are a gentleman. Goodbye.'

‘Would mean a lot, Mage Auditor, were I not female. Maybe more than on thy own plane and paraworld. Thee be gentleman, too. Be well faring, and take these as gift.'

From a fold in the tight-fitting fabric that clothed her, T'rr'll took two blue teardrop shapes. Both were attached to fine chains.

‘Be transition gates. Our cold science mages developed them to help fight Clevarian, but now not needed.'

‘You mean I could visit your world?'

‘No, but thee could use them to visit … some world. Weight of thy body all wrong, less mine by fraction of four. Speak word
ril'kss
while holding gate. Go … somewhere. Once use only. If not use, wear around neck, look pretty.'

‘Thank you,' said Jelindel, reaching her hand out to the daemon and stroking one of her jewelled claws. T'rr'll bowed again.

‘Good basking, Mage Auditor Jaelin.'

‘Goodbye, T'rr'll.'

Jelindel spoke an unfamiliar word that was somehow within her memory and the daemon winked out of existence with a sharp blast like a thunderclap and a rush of air.

Moments later the blacksmith began knocking on the remains of his door.

‘Are you all right, Mage Auditor?' he shouted frantically.