Dragons of War (46 page)

The girls were as surprised to see them as they were to see the girls. Both girls wore leggings of deer hide, moccasins, and stiff leather shirts. They carried weapons. Their skins were burnished by sun and sky, and their hair was blond, sun-bleached, and blown wild behind them.

"By the breath," muttered Swane.

The one on the left, the slender one, quickly notched an arrow to her hunting bow.

"Who are ye?" she said in strongly accented Verio. The other girl had unsheathed a small sword. They were plainly used to their weapons.

Swane made to pull up his bow, dangling from his wrist down in the chimney. The girl's bow shifted, and she prepared to release.

"Freeze, Swane, not a muscle unless you want to die here."

Swane turned a truculent face to the girl, but did not move. Relkin was right. For a long second they all hesitated. The arrow did not come.

Relkin turned to the girl.

"Dragoneers Relkin and Swane of the 109th Marneri Dragons at your service, young lady." He saluted and stopped himself from asking them what young women of evident fertility were doing leaving themselves this close to a host of enemy imps.

"I thought the refugees were up ahead of us, Relkin," said Swane.

"They are, Swane. I don't think these are refugees."

"Then who the hell are they?"

"And who the hell are ye talking about?" snapped the one with the bow.

"Begging your pardon, young miss, but yourself," said Relkin. The arrow swung to cover him. It was a hunter's arrow, long, sharp blades of steel, at this range it would probably go right through his body. He hoped she didn't release.

The other girl, the heavier of the two, approached, still holding that sword at the ready.

She gave them a long look. "They are dragonboys!" she announced. "I recognize the uniform."

"That's all very well, Silva, but what are they doing here?"

"Why are you here?" said the girl with sword.

Relkin let out a breath. "Perhaps you don't know this, miss, but there's an enemy army just down there in the valley."

"That's right, young ladies," said Swane. "Five thousand imps or more. Maybe a hundred trolls. They be coming up this way, too. You don't want to be here then."

"Of course we won't be here. I am Eilsa Ranardaughter.

This is my friend Silva Geisga. We have been scouting the enemy for days now."

"You're scouts?" said Relkin, still incredulous that women would be so risked around forces of the great enemy.

"Well," for the first time the girl behind the bow seemed something less than imperious. "Not officially."

"Then what are you doing here? That enemy army down there is an army of imps and trolls. They will take you for the breeding pens."

Relkin had seen such things and worse, in Tummuz Orgmeen.

"They will never catch Eilsa Ranardaughter," snorted the girl, as she put down her bow and unknocked the arrow.

The other girl put away her sword.

"Ye are dragonboys?"

"Yes, miss."

"Where are the dragons, then?"

"Down below. We came up a narrow little switchback and found ourselves trapped. There's no way the dragons can climb the cliff, and the enemy is down the bottom of the switchback gulley we came up."

"The dragons cannot climb the cliff?"

"They're too big, too heavy."

"I see." Silva stood up and walked over to Eilsa, who shook her head violently.

"Pardon my asking, miss, but who are you scouting for?" said Relkin.

Eilsa Ranardaughter sniffed. "Clan Wattel, of course. Ye are on our land."

The other girl broke in, trying to soften Eilsa's arrogance. "Clan Wattel holds all the land on this side of the river, from the lake to the heights at Fire Rock."

All Relkin knew about Clan Wattel was what he'd heard through the scuttlebutt. Another highland clan, only a big one. They'd lived up here since the beginning of time.

Swane spoke up. "Don't take this wrong, miss, but I'm gonna pull my bow up now if you don't mind. It's hanging down the well on a strap, if you see what I mean."

Eilsa nodded, impatiently. "Bring it up, but set it down where I can see it."

Swane did so and then got to his feet.

Relkin had a hunch.

"So you know this place well, then?"

"Very well."

"So if there was a way for our dragons to get out, you'd know of it."

The girl seemed to waver. Relkin pressed.

"We have to find a way to get them out of there, or they'll die. We've got thousands of refugees, lots of women among them, just ahead of us. Without those dragons, they're done for."

The girls looked at each other.

"Silence, Silva. By clan law I command thee."

"Eilsa, 'tis not right."

Relkin recalled the girl's confidence that they would be able to escape any imps that managed to make it up here. These girls had come here somehow. There must be a secret way out.

"Well, Eilsa Ranardaughter, perhaps you could tell me how you were going to climb out of here. We have to find some way out for our dragons."

"I cannot do that. It is a clan secret."

Silva was impatient. "You must tell them, Eilsa. Think of the dragons."

Eilsa was torn. "My father will never forgive me."

"The chief will understand the need. We saw the refugees. The enemy will take them. We cannot allow that to happen. Your father would not let it happen."

"To give up a clan secret is to give up one's own life."

"Eilsa, ye have no choice. Ye cannot let all those people die. They will eat the children and the men. The women they will take to one of their hellholes. Ye know their ways."

Eilsa struggled with herself. Relkin could see that she was a young woman of enormous principle, clearly a chief's daughter and proud of that fact.

She gave a big sigh and shrugged her shoulders.

"All right, may the ancestors forgive me. There is a way. We can show ye. The ancient stair."

"The what?"

"The stairway of Veronath," said Silva. "We will show you."

"A stairway? Big enough for dragons?"

"Oh, yes, big enough for many dragons. We will show you."

And so Silva and Eilsa lead them through the pinnacles to a flat wall of rock hidden in deep shadow. Eilsa stood close to the rock and put her palm to it and said the word "peace" in an antique form of Verio.

The wall suddenly shimmered with lines of gold running through the rock. An outline of a gate appeared. At the top was the crown of the king, on either side were stonemason signs, a hammer and anvil, a compass and ruler, and written in the ancient Verio script was a blessing from an ancient king.

" 'Written in the 13th year of the reign of his august majesty King Kuskuld the Second,' " Relkin read in the first lines. "Enter here if ye abideth by the king's peace. They that abideth by the peace shall prosper and live long. Their children shall be many and so unto the many generations.' "

"We abideth by the king's peace," said Eilsa clearly.

The gate in the stone rolled back silently on hidden hinges. A dark opening lay ahead of them.

The girls swung back to look at the dragonboys. Swane was stunned. His knees actually trembled.

"What?" was all he was able to get out.

Relkin, however, simply walked in, through the gate, seemingly unconcerned. Eilsa's eyes snapped fire.

"Ye take this for a small thing, Dragonboy?"

He turned to her. "No, lady, I do not. 'Tis of ancient Veronath, is it not?"

" 'Tis a great magic from the ancient ones, and ye should not be speaking their name. Ye are not worthy."

Relkin bridled, but bit off an angry retort.

"In Marneri we make less reverence of the old kings of Veronath than perhaps you do in the hills. We have new kings of our own, and we have the emperors in Cunfshon."

"Hmmmf!" Eilsa turned away from him. She and Silva found more satisfaction in Swane's evident awe.

He ran his hands up and down the edge of the great gate.

"This is very great magic. Hey Quoshite, what about this? I never seen anything like."

Relkin had seen far too much magic, especially terrifying great magics that could blind thousands of men, or charm armies of rats to do one's will. He felt no threat in this gate, and he recognized it for what it must once have been. An entrance to one of the great hidden palaces of the kings of Veronath. This was awe inspiring no doubt, but Relkin Orphanboy of Quosh was an old hand when it came to awesome magics, and while his interest was aroused, his knees did not set to knock.

"Yes, friend Swane, it is a powerful magic. A hidden door, and it leads to the stair?"

"Yes," said Silva.

"And the stair leads to the king's palace?"

"No longer, dragonboy. The king's palace was burned by the demon of Dugguth. Long ago in the dark time."

Eilsa clearly knew the history of that time well.

They went on inside. The door swung shut on its own accord when they were safely within. A row of dim illuminations swelled along the ceiling. When standing beneath them, Relkin saw patterns of stars picked out in the rock above and guessed that these were "secret" constellations known only to the ancient kings.

By this light they made out a landing, with walls decorated with enormous bas-reliefs, portraits of the ancient great King Kuskuld, all done in the smooth, realistic style of the middle-Veronath period.

In the center was the stair, a winding circular staircase cut in the rock, following the line of an ancient fault. It was certainly wide enough to accommodate a dragon.

"Where will the stair take us?" said Relkin.

"To the top of the north cliff, where the palace once stood."

"The enemy never found this stair?"

"The secret died with the king. They roasted him over slow fires for days but could not get it from him."

"Great magic, I have seen great magic." Swane was still mumbling to himself in awe. Suddenly he stopped. "We still have a problem. How will we get the dragons up here so they can use this stair?"

Eilsa blinked a moment. "The stairs wind down as well as up, see," she pointed. Swane almost capered on the spot.

"There are three doors to the stairs; this is the middle door," said Silva. "There was once a road that ran from the cliff to the lake."

"One last question," said Swane. "Can we open it from the inside?"

Eilsa Ranardaughter led them down the stair. "Of course, Dragonboy."

When cracks in the rock face suddenly emitted golden light, Vlok jumped up with an oath, scrambled back, and would have fallen down the notch if the Purple Green hadn't seized him by the tail.

Then a piece of the rock wall silently swung inward to reveal a dark cavity out of which stepped Relkin and Swane. Behind them came two wild-haired young women, clad in the deerskins of the hill folk.

The young women put their hands to their mouths when they saw the dragons looming over them. Both went into dragon-freeze and were unable to speak or move. The Purple Green leaned over them and examined them closely for a moment, which only intensified the freeze.

The other dragons were still staring at Relkin and Swane and the hole in the ground they'd emerged from.

Digal Turrent came alive with a jerk.

"What the hell?"

Relkin noticed the dragon-frozen state of the girls, and he reached over to close their eyelids manually. It was the only way to break the freeze when it was this strong.

"Dragoneer Relkin, stand to attention and report!"

Relkin stiffened. "Dragoneer Relkin, reporting, sir!"

Turrent strode forward to inspect the hidden gate.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it possible."

"It is a great magic, sir," said Swane proudly, as if he had discovered it himself.

"A great magic, what the hell is that?"

"It was wrought by the ancient ones, the old kings from before the fall of Veronath."

"Oh, that nonsense. Well, I don't belive it for a minute. There must be some rational explanation."

But as Digal Turrent contemplated the work of the ancient Mage-King Kuskuld II, his confidence in that statement began to fade.

The doorway had just opened in the rock. He had seen nothing. It had not been there. Then just "poof" and it was. And this stone was cut perfectly smooth. He shivered at the thought of it.

Meanwhile the young ladies had emerged from dragon-freeze. Slowly their minds unlocked. They opened their eyes again and gasped at the sight of the dragons. Relkin seized their attention. "Don't freeze again. Remember, they're like people in their own way; they talk. It's hard to understand them sometimes at first. Their vocal chords are different from ours, but you can catch it after a bit. They won't harm you."

"All my life," whispered Eilsa Ranardaughter, "all my life I have been wanting to see such dragons. They are wonderful."

"They are," said her friend, "I did not realize they were all so different."

And different they were, from the huge wild dragon, purple on the upper surfaces and black where his wings were folded, and green below, to the leather-colored ones and the dark green one. Each was different. One had an oddly kinked tail, the last few feet were set at an angle and seemed almost as if they belonged on some other beast.

"Come, I will introduce you," said Relkin.

"Correction, Dragoneer," said Turrent, "I will do that job. You will see to your dragon."

Relkin seethed, but he did as ordered.

Turrent took the girls over to introduce them to the dragons.

Relkin had ascertained that apart from being extremely hungry and extremely thirsty, his dragon was not suffering too much from any of the multitude of cuts and abrasions he had suffered. Then Turrent was there, with Silva and Eilsa, whose eye had softened into something lovely to observe, a true beauty.

"And this is our famous broketail dragon, Bazil.'"

Eilsa introduced herself and Silva to the dragon, beating Relkin to it. Bazil thanked her for opening the lower gate to the stair. At the utterance of Verio by this huge beast, Eilsa almost went into dragon-freeze again. Until then, she had somehow not connected it all up. It was as if she'd been addressing a clever horse or something. But it spoke like a person! Even if the sound was different from that of a human throat. If it spoke like a person, then it had a mind like that of a person!