Song of the Beast (46 page)

My immediate surroundings were little more than a strip of rocky sand, stretching perhaps ten paces to the lapping waters of the lake. Beyond the vastness of the water were jagged cliffs of mottled red and gray granite, and a strip of blue sky above them. I lay on my side, and my cheek rested on the bundled wool blanket in a puddle of drool. My mind wandered over past and present, drawing no conclusions, forming no plans, scarcely awake.

The afternoon glare was bright, and it would have been a wretched misery indeed if I had been left exposed to the direct sun, but the rock which supported my back had enough overhang to keep me in the shade. Though the air felt cool enough, waves of blistering heat swept over me all through the day, until the manacles on my wrists began to sear my skin. As the endless time passed, I grew desperately thirsty, a nasty torment with so much clear water so near, yet unreachable—poisoned water that would leave the dragons in a state akin to mine. Thirst captured every scattered thought, and even the flash of copper and green wings spread across the blue strip of sky could not divert my attention from it. Wild, thundering cries echoed from the cliffs and in my bones, echoing cries of distress ... of loss ... of pain. Yet they were only a fleeting sorrow, quickly forgotten in my craving for water.

As the angle of the sun grew steep, and the cooling air bred fogs from the waters of the lake, I saw a bit of rock detach itself from the distant cliffs and move toward me. Madness. I felt its insistent fingers scraping away the few bits of sense I had left. I struggled to move, to scream, to weep, but I could not. The rock kept coming. I closed my eyes and wished myself dead.

A quiet thump ... some sloshing ...

Though I raged when the cup touched my lips, nothing but a soft moan displayed itself outside my hot skin. The drink was not the oily jenica, however, but water. I gulped and choked and came near drowning in my frenzy, sucking every drop of it down to cool the blaze that was my body. When there was no more, I opened my eyes. Two pairs of boots stood near my face, beads of water rolling off the leather onto the thirsty sand.

“Are you sure this will work?” A new voice. What was it about that voice that made my heart pound like the sea on the ice cliffs of Eskonia?

“Roelan has been hunting him all day. We've had to keep everyone inside. Clearly the beast is leery of the lake, but it won't be long until he finds what he's looking for. Once he finds Aidan, he'll touch the water. Once he touches the water, he'll drink. I'll be ready.”

“I'm glad I got here in time to witness it.”

“I always knew you were exceptional, but to escape from the Ridemark ...” A counterpoint of suspicion. A minor key in the melody of his welcoming relief.

“They were distracted when Cor Neuill was emptied in a single hour. I don't think MacEachern believed the reports until he saw the dragons leaving one by one.”

The boots moved, replaced by slender legs in leather breeches. A thin brown hand lifted my head, so that I looked into the face of the one who knelt beside me. I wanted to shout, to scream for joy, to leap into the air and thank every god who might exist. “Lara.” Even in my living death the name burst from my lips.

“I hope events unfold quickly, Narim. This is pitiful. Why couldn't the weakling fool do as he was told?” The icy calm of her voice withered my swelling joy as frost shrivels an autumn garden, leaving a monstrous emptiness where her name had been. Despite my confusion I could recognize the gleam of red at her neck.

“Few men are capable of rational choices when their hearts are so involved.”

“Better not to have a heart than to be this way.”

“I thought you loved him, Lara.”

“Why would I? He cared more for his beasts than for me. He saw Desmond drag me away out of Aberthain Lair, and he knew what MacEachern would do to me. A foot cut off ... a hand ... torture until I told him everything. That's what was going to happen, and this Senai fop did nothing to prevent it. What love is that? I despise him”—she spit into my face and dropped my head back on the blanket—“and I'll put the knife in him myself when the time comes. And this”—torn scraps of paper covered with crabbed writing drifted onto the sand beside my face—“blathering. Good riddance.” One pair of boots walked away and stood by the boat.

Narim crouched down beside me. “Ah, lad, I am sorry. I thought that seeing Lara might give you some joy. She arrived here unharmed this morning and insisted on seeing you. I didn't know her feelings had changed.” The Elhim gave me more water, splashing a little on my face, then before I realized what he was doing, forced one more vial of jenica into me. “Make your peace with whatever god is left to you, Aidan. Once your dragon is controlled ... well, I promise you will feel no pain.”

Never had I felt anything as urgent as the question that forced itself through the impossibilities of speech and movement—beyond madness, beyond dying, beyond mystery and love and everything that had been my life. I had to hear it. “She knew?”

“Of my plan to control the dragons? That you would have to die if it all came to pass?” He smiled sadly. “Of course she knew. She knew everything. As we told you, she very much wants to fly.”

With that simple revelation did all my struggles end. All hope was dead, all love, all strength. I could do nothing for the dragons. Nothing for Lara. Nothing for myself. Nothing. I closed my eyes as Narim's poison did its work, and I let the madness come.

LARA

Chapter 34

“Aidan. Aidan, can you hear me?” The night was far too long on its way, and the Senai ... one would think he was already dead save for the heat that pulsed from him like fever. I shook his shoulder and slapped his cheeks; I scooped lake water in the cup Narim had tossed onto the sand and dumped it on his face. His eyes fluttered open briefly, but there was no sense in them. He didn't move. “You've got to wake up. We've no time to waste. Listen to me, Aidan MacAllister.” I got more water and poured it over his head until it made a puddle around his face. He would have drowned if I hadn't hauled him upright and propped him up against the rock. “Are you a weakling fool or are you going to wake up and save these damnable beasts?”

A bird swooped across the stars, its screech echoing across the silent water. The breeze-driven lake spread across the tiny strip of sand, reaching for Aidan, while I dug in my tunic for the key I'd stolen from Narim's pocket. “Damned stupid ...” The manacles were clogged with damp sand, almost impossible to unlock. Aidan lay slumped against the rock like a dead man. “I'll get you out of these, but you've got to wake up. I can't get you away by myself. You've got to help.”

Aidan's wrists were ringed with seeping blisters crusted with sand, and I cursed Narim yet again for his single-minded cruelty. I could not reconcile it with the gentle Elhim hands that had nursed me back to life when I was thirteen. Yet who was I to condemn anyone? My own sins were beyond redeeming.

“Come on, Senai. Narim is so nervous he won't sleep. He'll come back here to see to you, to watch, to stand on the shore with his bloodstone and be ready for your dragon. You can't be here when Roelan comes, or you'll never leave this place.” I slapped him again, then grabbed his lean face between my hands. “I know the paths you wander, Aidan, but I can't sing you out of them as you did for me. You've got to find the way back on your own.”

His eyes dragged open again, dark holes sunk in his pale face, his scant hair and brows scarcely visible in the starlight. A death's-head. He shrank back against the rock, shivering, whether from cold or mindless fear or poison-wrought vision, I didn't know. I was afraid Narim had given him too much of the jenica. The fool Elhim had never gotten it right. I could not forget Tarwyl's description of the dead younglings. Well, Narim wasn't going to give Aidan any more poison or stick a knife in him or anything else. If Aidan MacAllister was going to die, then he would die in the arms of those who cared for him and not on a barren chip of rock in the middle of this cursed lake.

I hitched my arms around his middle and dragged his limp body across the sand to my little boat, dumping him over the bow, leaving his head dangling in the gunwales. Though he was slender, his long limbs made him blasted awkward. I lifted his sand-coated legs and flopped them over the side, then rolled him into the middle so the boat wouldn't list so badly and dump us both into the water. He ended up on his back, and I felt wickedly guilty, as I knew how painful it was for him, but it was a measure of his state that he didn't even moan.
Daughters of fire, Aidan.

I set the oars and got to rowing. The wind had come up. The water was choppy. The boat ducked and dipped awkwardly from wave crest to wave crest. I'd never been comfortable on water. The Ridemark had no use for such skills. It had been Narim who taught me to swim and to row, as he had taught me so many things.
Damn, damn, damn you, Narim!

The slop of the water against the bow, the creak and splash of the oars ... it was all too loud. Sounds carried too well across the water. And it didn't help my jitters when there came a single, mournful bellow from the cliffs. Powerful. Haunting. Dragon. I picked up the pace. If I let the dragon find Aidan, its wings would touch the water, and then it would drink the poisoned stuff, and Narim would win. I hauled on the oars until my shoulders burned, but my luck ran out far too early.

“Lara!” Narim's call came faintly from behind me, somewhere across the dark water between the shore and the island. I could stop rowing and pray Narim wouldn't find me in the dark, but it wouldn't get us any farther away. Better to keep moving and hope the Elhim would check on his bait before giving chase.

Narim wasn't fooled. He knew exactly what was happening. “Lara! Don't do this!”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the dark outline of his boat, much closer than I'd imagined. I gritted my teeth and rowed faster.

“I trusted you. You swore an oath,” he called.

A child's oath.

“You'll be our death.”

I closed my ears. I'd heard it far too often, and for too long I'd let it rule my conscience. That was done with. There was no honor in torture and murder.

“Kells, Jarish! She's headed for the western shore!” Torches flared on the eastern side of the lake, where the old tunnel from the destroyed home cavern of Cor Talaith emerged from the cliff wall.

I was aiming for a spot exactly opposite the cavern, a strip of shoreline on the southwestern side of the lake near the gap in the cliffs. The lake of fire was not formed from meltwater or a captive mountain river, but from springs deep in the rocky bottom of the valley. At some time long before Narim was young, a massive rockfall had blocked a gap in the cliffs, and over the centuries the springs had filled the basin, forming the deep, cold lake. In the lonely time after I had healed from my burns and Narim had gone back to work in the city, I'd spent a lot of time exploring the trails and peaks around Cor Talaith. I had often climbed up to the rocky dam, sat, and gazed out at the breathtaking drop to the lower valleys. On one of those occasions I had discovered an unexplored maze of tunnels close by.

I hoped to reach those caverns undiscovered, for I had never told even Narim of my find. If I could just get Aidan inside, we could hide until help could reach us. I strained at the oars. I had no idea how I was going to manage once we landed, but even if I had to drag him the whole distance, Aidan would be away from the lake. Then perhaps his cursed dragon wouldn't get trapped again.

From somewhere nearby came a faint moan, and for a moment I wondered how Narim could have closed on us so fast. But the sound of choking followed, and I hauled in my oars and grabbed Aidan's shirt, rolling him onto his side. He vomited up acrid nastiness. Aidan had once told me he'd do almost anything to avoid boats.

“Well, this is fine. You come to life only enough to foul my boat.” I dribbled water over his pale, hot face, making sure none of the poisoned stuff got in his mouth. He still didn't wake up. “Daughters of fire, you make this difficult.”

It was a long half hour until the bow of the boat scraped against the rocks, and I jumped out to drag it onto the shore—a half hour in which torches were moving quickly around the lake toward my landing spot. “This would be a most excellent time for you to regain your senses,” I said, wrestling Aidan halfway over the thwarts, then wrapping my arms around his chest again and dragging him across the splintered wood onto the land.

The west side of the lake had very little shore, only a few flat, sandy patches between steep rockfalls that stretched from the water's edge up to the clifftops. A few larger boulders jutted out from the cliffs like the bulging roots of a giant tree. I had planned to scuttle the boat and avoid the sandy patches to hide our footsteps, but there was no time and no point with pursuit so close. Speed was far more important. What I needed to do was to get a mostly dead body across two hundred paces of rough terrain up a steep path and far enough into the maze of passages that no one could find us.

I crouched behind Aidan and wrapped my arms around his chest to haul him up again, when I heard a weak cough and soft slurred words, almost indecipherable. “Am I dead?”

“No,” I said, blinking back unbidden tears, pleased it was dark so he couldn't see. “You tried, but you weren't very good at it.”

“Lara ...”

Changing my approach, I folded him forward, and he promptly vomited again. When he was done with it, I moved around beside him, draping one limp arm over my shoulders.

“... we've got ...”