Lords of the Sky (86 page)

At last I must emerge and face her, this woman I loved deeper even than what I felt for Deburah. And likely tell her lies. I think I’ve not felt sorrier than that in all my life.

And in a way she made it no easier for me—love’s fond cruelty—for what she did was fling her magic at the hearth so that the fire flared brighter to warm me better, and hold back the bed’s coverings that I climb in beside her, and then fold her arms around me to warm me with her own body’s heat. And all I could do was crawl guilty in and lie against her, as she told me I was cold and asked if I’d have her warm me ale or wine. And I could only shake my head and ask she keep her arms around me and trust me.

And then the worst: she said, “I do.”

I could only extemporize then.

Or was it prevarication?

I said, “Bellek’s bond-mate died.”

She stiffened. I felt her shudder, knowing she experienced the same shared horror I’d known; that she felt the growth of the bonding no less than I.

She said, low, “That must be …” And shook her head, her sunset hair curtaining my face until she flung it loose and finished: “Poor, poor man. And you were there. You shared his grief.”

Against her breasts I mumbled, “Yes. He wept … He …”

Almost, I told her all of it, but she kissed me then, soft, and said, “Some of that I felt. It was like a dream, but I think Anryäle sent it me. I think she’d not lose me. … I think I begin to understand what it is to bond with dragons.”

I asked, “Do you? Truly?”

If she’d told me no then, I’d likely have broken trust with Bellek and told her everything, but she did not. Instead, she kissed me again and said, “There are sometimes things revealed in grief that are private and should not be shared. Did you promise him as much?”

I said, hoarse and hollow against her breasts, “Yes.”

And she said, “Does your promise gainsay our purpose?”

I said, “No. My promise ensures it. But—”

She set her fingers gentle against my lips and told me, “Then I trust your promise. Bellek asked you hold it secret, no?”

I said, “Yes.”

She said, “Then honor your word.”

I said, “But you don’t know what it was. You should.”

She said, “No,” and laughed, rising over me in the bed to straddle me and pin me down with her soft thighs and arms against my shoulders. “Shall I not trust you, Daviot? Shall I not believe the man I love is capable of promises I can trust? What should that make me?”

I said, “I don’t know. But this promise concerns not only you and I but also Urt and Tezdal.”

She lowered her face to mine and kissed me soft and long and said, “Do you tell them, shall it threaten our purpose?”

I said, “Perhaps it should.”

She asked, “Shall it harm them?”

I said against her lips, “I think not.”

“But it might? Or should it turn them away from this new world we’d build?”

I moved my mouth from hers. I pushed her hair away that I might see her face clear. I looked into her green eyes. Blind—aye!—but clear with total purpose, with such certitude as gave me no choice but to nod my head and say, “It might.”

She said, “And should it be a better world if they turn from it? Should we change anything?”

I could only say, “I think not. I think it should be much the same—all war unending.”

“Then honor your promise to Bellek,” she said. “Honor that greater obligation. I’ll not ask what the Dragonmaster told you; say nothing to them.”

I asked, “Is that fair?”

I was startled how well she could mimic my voice. She said, “All war unending,” and it was as if I spoke to myself. She smiled. “Daviot; Daviot. Shall we stand by and watch our world go down in war and blood? Shall we do nothing, save contest with our finer conscience? Spend all our time wondering what’s right and what’s wrong? Shall we take this path, or that? Or shall we—when we see a way—take it? Do you believe that what we plan is wrong?”

I shook my head. It was a pleasant sensation: it brought my lips against her breasts.

She rose, so that I could not any longer, and faced me square, “looking” deep into my eyes. She said, “Then to do other than what we believe is right must be wrong, no?”

I said, “Yes.”

I felt horribly tired, and at the same time lustful. I wanted Rwyan badly, and I wanted sleep no less. I felt guilty, and she persuaded me I was innocent. She held true to her belief; I doubted mine.

I said, as I’d said to Bellek earlier, “I’ll not tell them.”

She said, “Good. I think that shall be for the best. I think we’ll build a better world.”

Then she bent down to kiss me, and sunk me into her, and I lay back as she moved on me, and I almost forgot my weariness. Because I loved her, and loved Deburah, and
knew that we, all of us, built fresh eggs, and dragons should once more ride the skies, become again the Lords of the Sky, and the one thing was the other, all mingled, and I was no longer sure whether I lay with Rwyan or Deburah, and cared not which, only that they both loved me, and I them, and we were together.

W
inter’s fist still gripped the mountains of Tartarus as we readied to fly south.

Bellek would ride with Urt on Kathanria, and all swathed in furs against the chill, we climbed astride our bonded steeds. I buckled myself in place on Deburah’s back and felt her eagerness. My blood quickened. I felt the lust to hunt. I was no longer entirely myself, but a gestalt creation—dragon and rider bound in such union as only Dragonmasters can ever know. I looked to where Rwyan sat Anryäle, and on her face I saw the same excitement I knew must infuse my features. I had not seen so many dragons gathered in one place before. Our castle was augmented by the others, so that there was not a perch or ledge or tower did not seat a dragon, and more beat restless wings against the snow-laden sky, anxious to go south, to the hunting.

Bellek raised an arm, like some ancient general readying his troops.

Before it came down, the bulls were lofting. I felt their battle-hunger, wild in my blood. Then Deburah spread her magnificent wings and hurled us skyward. I shrieked my joy, which small cry was quite lost amid the belling of the dragons.

Up we went, the loftiest peaks as nothing to us; up to where the clouds ended and the sun shone. Up higher than any bird could dare; up and up to the true domain of the
dragons, up to the great panoply of unsullied blue that covered all the world. Then south, beating high above the Dragonsteeth Mountains and the empty moorlands of Ur-Dharbek that came after. I saw those hills that ringed Trebizar draw steadily closer as the morning gave way to afternoon.

I grew afraid we came too late: it was already spring here. I told myself it was not yet Ennas Day.

Crops sprouted in the fields below, the cattle grazed on verdant grass. I thought on how that magic the wild Changed commanded could do all this, of what a fruitful land this unknown country was; and then that it must surely be enough for anyone. I thought it likely was for the ordinary Changed who lived their ordinary lives here, and that it was Allanyn and her ilk who’d bring these peaceful folk down over the Slammerkin in war. And then that had we Truemen not treated the Changed so poorly, they’d not go to war.

A memory of Pele and Maerk flashed through my mind: confirmation that understanding was possible, that Changed and Trueman might live together in peace and love.

But not easily. Surely not without this lesson we’d deliver. Surely not without we impose our design on the world. Not for the first time, I wondered if what we did was right. If we looked to overturn some natural order that defined men in strata, master and servant, friend and foe. I pushed the thought aside: I was committed now. There was no turning back: we’d tear down that we might erect a better society from the wreckage of the old.

And Deburah’s enthusiasm filled me. She sensed the magic ahead, and it sharpened her appetite. She’d contest with these upstart creatures for mastery of the skies. As would the bulls: I felt their battle-lust as a heady tide that denied all doubt. They’d only fight now and turn on any who turned back. I gave myself up to it: better that than wonder if what we did was right.

I looked around and saw the sky all filled with dragons, dread squadrons come out of legend to fall upon a younger world.

They were superb! They were incarnate glory. Their wings hid the afternoon sun; their fangs shone bright. They were winged wrath; and I was with them: one with them. I
forgot all else as we rose over Trebizar’s footling hills and swept down toward the skyboats.

There were more now. Where a score or so had hung moored beside the shining lake, there were now hundreds. They sat like blood-filled slugs above the land, and spread below them were the pavilions of the Sky Lords, all bright banners in the sun.

Men came out as we approached. They looked like ants swarming from myriad close-packed nests, all gleaming black armor, with useless swords and ineffectual bows raised against us. I saw a handful of the little skyboats climb to meet us and felt the surge of the bulls’ contempt as they—forerunners of our dread army—beat their wings and turned to attack.

The Sky Lords were brave. Let no man ever say different, for those few tiny boats came hard against us, and the Kho’rabi wizards flung their magic at us, and the warriors in the baskets, though they were so few, strung bows and hurled javelins at creatures that must surely have terrified them.

But they were not enough, and the elementals the Kho’rabi wizards held in bondage did no more than their masters forced them to. I heard their joyous laughter as the bulls dove, talons spread wide, jaws all agape. I saw the little skyboats erupt incandescent, like crimson flowers blossoming against the blue of that springtime afternoon. I heard the belling triumph of the bulls and the wild laughter of the elementals as they were freed of occult shackles. I saw more than a few Kho’rabi taken from the air by invisible hands and rent apart. But not so many as the bulls slew.

And then we were closing on the greater skyboats, all of us; all our terrible battalions.

The Kho’rabi boats were moored, grounded. Neither the warriors nor the Kho’rabi wizards were readied for our attack. I doubt it should have been different had they been. Perhaps longer, but not different: they were not accustomed to fighting dragons. How could they be?

We came on.

I gave up all thought, all doubt: I was one with Deburah as she slavered hunger. We chose a skyboat and beat our wings hard, to catch height. The prey lay below us: we furled our wings and dropped. Our limbs thrust out, talons spread
wide. Elementals screamed encouragement, howling to be freed. We fell out of the sky. We struck. Our talons burst the skyboat’s skin, and fire gusted around us. Elementals drove the flames away. We fell down through the ruptured canopy and hooked our claws in the basket beneath. There were men there. I supposed they thought to loft the airboat. We lowered our head even as we spread our wings wide to avoid the ground. And ducked our head to pluck the men out. Bite them. Sweet taste of warm blood! And drop them; to select another. Fore and hindlimbs clutching; tearing. Beating wings sending ragged flags of burning hide in tatters around us. Until there was nothing left living there, and we rose to find fresh prey.

From the elementals: gratitude that we set them free.

That part of me that still looked out from behind my own eyes saw a Kho’rabi running below us. He was armored but without his obscuring helmet, so that I saw his face as he looked up. He held a sword that was the sister of Tezdal’s, and he raised it even as Deburah’s talons closed on him. Never doubt the courage of the Kho’rabi: he swung his blade even as he was lifted up and carried to her—to
our!
—jaws. I did not hear him scream, but I think he did. Surely his mouth sprang wide and his eyes were huge as those fangs closed on him and severed him. I watched the two pieces fall down onto the bloody, burning ground.

I laughed.

We gained height and saw our sister, Kathanria, tearing at a skyboat. We flew to join her. I saw Bellek’s face lit as I’d not seen it before. I wondered if it was vomit that stained Urt’s furs. But no time for that: this was battle, and we’d win it. We sank our talons into the skin of the sky’s usurper and rent it asunder. Men fell out of the basket, and we quested after them in sisterly rivalry. We claimed more. And ours the Kho’rabi wizard: that taste sweeter for the impotent magic he flung against us as our jaws closed on him. Fool! To think his weakling magic should be of use against us, who own the skies!

We went on.

There were no more skyboats left, only burning wreckage, but we could still pluck tents and the little fleeing figures of men. Like tidbits after a feast, taken almost lazily.
Not hunger anymore, but only the gratification of sated appetite: to be taken because they were there.

Then Bellek’s call. We rose to meet it, circling the blue sky over Trebizar.

Under us the lake was lit by the flames of the burning skyboats, red upon the blue. Like the darkening of the grass where men’s blood had fallen.

Trebizar? The Council? Allanyn?