The Dragons of Winter (29 page)

Pym chose to remain
with the Unforgotten, which suited the companions just fine—especially Burton, whose main contribution to the group seemed to be that he was suspicious of everyone. Not that Pym didn’t invite it—more than one of them noticed he knew how to open the Sphinx’s chamber in the pyramid, a place he had supposedly never been.

No one the companions passed even glanced in their direction as they made their way up into the tower, to the room where they’d left their belongings. The door was open, but the room was not entirely as they’d left it.

“It’s Archimedes!” Edmund exclaimed joyfully as he dashed to the far side of the room. There, perched on a beautiful mahogany stand, was the owl—whole again. The gash across his torso had been completely repaired.

Forgetting the urgency with which they’d arrived, the companions circled around Archie in grateful relief.

The bird was silent, but his head pivoted to each of the companions, observing them with an unblinking gaze. Rose almost hugged him, and for a moment, she thought Edmund actually would.

“Greetings, Moonchild,” Azer said . . . “What do you desire?”

But it was Rose, the one who had known Archimedes the longest, who realized something was wrong.

“Step back,” she said, gesturing for the others to move away from the still-observant bird. “Something is amiss here.”

“What’s wrong?” Edmund said, unwilling to move away. He stroked the owl’s back and beamed. “Tell them, Archie. Tell them you’re all right.”

Archie looked at him, but still didn’t speak.

“Archimedes,” Rose said slowly, “how long is a rope?”

The workings of the bird whirred and clicked as it answered. “There is no answer to that query. It has no absolute value.”

Rose frowned. “He taught me that question, when I was younger. It’s a test of numbers, but also of philosophical thinking. The answer is, ‘Exactly twice the length of the distance from the center to one end.’ But he answered it like . . .”

“Like a machine.” Vanamonde appeared at the doorway and bowed.

“We have taken the chaos from him,” a chilling and familiar voice said from the corridor behind Vanamonde. “We repaired his form and cleared all the clutter from his mind. He is now a creation of perfect order.”

Lord Winter stepped inside the doorway and stood next to his servant. “How, pray tell, was he broken?”

“He was . . . ah, damaged,” said Edmund. “Outside the city, when we found—”

“It was an accident,” Rose said, interrupting Edmund before one of the others could. He was a smart young man, but he did not have the kind of experience the rest of them had in dealing with a Shadow-possessed person—especially one he
might believe he could trust. “Thank you for fixing him.”

“Of course,” Lord Winter said, almost dismissively. “Such repairs are a simple thing in the city of Dys.”

“What clutter are you talking about?” Edmund asked. “Archie was smarter than all of us, and he never hesitated to say so.”

“Indeed, and that is exactly my point,” Lord Winter said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. This time, the click of the lock was definite. “His brilliance was cluttered with the detritus of free will—but we removed that. And now he functions as he was meant to—as a machine.”

“We’re grateful that you helped Archimedes,” Bert said, “but it appears that we’re expected to stay here now, whether we like it or not.”

“I apologize for treating guests in such a manner,” Lord Winter said with a tone of sincere regret. “I had assumed that you would be unable to cause any mischief if I allowed you to wander freely. It is obvious that I was mistaken.”

“What mischief?” asked Charles. “We simply went to—”

“The Renegades,” Lord Winter said. “The ones who have prevented us from completing our control of this world.”

“The keepers of the faith, you mean,” said Bert. “The ones who preserved your own legacy . . .
Jack
.”

Lord Winter tried to suppress a slight smile. “Not for much longer, I fear.”

He spun about on his heel and opened the door. The corridor outside was filled with Winter Dragons—far more than the companions could evade or fight. “It is time to begin our negotiations,” he said curtly, “regarding what place each of you shall have in Dys. I would speak with Charles first.”

He walked out of the room, with Vanamonde close behind. It was clear they expected the Caretaker to follow.

“You aren’t going to go?” Rose said, aghast.

“I must,” Charles replied. “Following him, negotiating . . .” He dropped his head and gestured with his hands in frustration. “We may have nothing else left.”

“Yes we do,” Bert said. “We have hope. And that cannot be taken from us.”

“How can you say that, Bert?” asked Charles. “You’ve even lost your wife. Here, in this time, she never even existed.”

“She did exist,” Bert said simply, his eyes brimming with tears. “She existed, and I loved her, and together we had a daughter whose name was Aven. And Aven lived a long, full life, and was brave and beautiful, and when it seemed as if all hope was lost for her, she found a way to keep it alive. And that act is what paved the way for your own redemption, Charles. To make right a mistake you have paid too dear a price for already. And you know, as much as the rest of us, that it’s in the darkest moments that hope shines brightest.

“Here,” he finished, pressing Weena’s petals into the Caretaker’s hand. “Let these guide your choices. As they have mine.”

Charles gave Bert a long, appraising look before slipping the petals into a pocket and turning away. The door closed behind him with silent efficiency as he strode away from the room. He did not look back.

The Winter Dragons escorted Charles to an expansive room where Lord Winter was already waiting. He was looking out a window toward the Last Redoubt and did not turn when Charles entered.

“Once, you were my mentor,” Winter said, never taking his
eyes from the window, “and now it seems I have become the teacher, and he who was once my teacher may now become my apprentice.”

“You were made a similar offer long ago,” Charles said softly, “by someone who also had no shadow. And as I recall, you declined the invitation.”

At that, Jack lowered his head and smiled. “Not without a struggle, I assure you, old friend. I was young and far too innocent to understand what Mordred was offering me.”

“As I recall,” said Charles, “he also had a penchant for stabbing his teachers.”

“Just the one,” replied Winter. “Otherwise, he was an excellent student himself. He just had his own ideas of how to go about things. It never went well when his affairs were guided by someone else’s intentions.”

“As your intentions guide the choices of your Dragons, Jack?”

“They’re Dragons in name only, you know,” Winter said, indicating the masked servants who stood at posts around the great room. “It was my way of establishing a hierarchy among the Lloigor. But none are really Dragons. There have been none here for millennia who even knew what becoming a true Dragon meant, and then,” he said, turning, “
you
came.”

“The Echthroi are mighty,” Charles said, “and obviously dominate this world, even if there are places left that still defy your rule. So what need have you of Dragons?”

Winter inhaled sharply, and the breath rattled in his throat. “Because,” he answered, “only a Dragon can leave this world and travel to another.”

All at once Charles understood. A real Dragon, who had
accepted his calling, as Madoc once had, could cross even the great wall that existed at the far edge of the Archipelago.

“Then the chains in the sky . . . ,” he said.

“My fetters,” Winter answered, “imposed by Shadow.”

Charles started, surprised. “Your own masters imprisoned you here? Why?”

“Because of that,” Winter said, gesturing to the pyramid in the distance. “Because I do not control the whole of this Earth, I am not permitted to leave. But with a Dragon as my apprentice, who could also take me as her apprentice, there will be no boundaries to stop me.”

“I hate to tell you, old fellow,” said Charles, “but I’m not . . .” He stopped, suddenly realizing what Winter had actually said:
her
apprentice. “You mean . . .”

“Rose,” Winter said, nodding. “When Madoc became the Black Dragon, he entrusted her with his heart. That is how the mantle of responsibility is passed. She is now the Dragon’s apprentice. And all she need do is choose it, and she will become a Dragon in more than name.”

“And the reason you asked to speak with me first . . .”

“We are old friends, are we not?” said Winter. “Together we could convince her. The others need not be involved. Just you and I. Just like old times.”

He turned and placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “I know you,” Winter said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know you chafed, as John and I received the recognition and the glory. But what I’m offering you now can be far greater than that, Charles. Greater than you are able to imagine.”

“Yes,” Charles replied. “But at what cost?”

“I paid the cost myself, long ago,” said Winter. “All your friends died, long ago. Their work turned to dust, long ago. All you have to do now is say yes.”

“If I agree to help you,” Charles said slowly, “will you let the others go?”

“I’m sorry, but that just isn’t possible,” Winter said, an almost gentle tone in his voice. “They cannot remain as they are. But join me, help me convince Rose to take the mantle of Dragon, and I as her apprentice, and we will all be together forever, living lives of perfect order as servants of the Echthroi.”

Charles couldn’t contain his reaction, and he recoiled in horror. “You want us all to become Lloigor? Are you
insane
?”

“I understand,” Winter said soothingly. “But you have no idea how free will has burdened you all. You may argue, but eventually you must agree.”

Charles shook his head. “That isn’t a reality I have the right to choose for my friends. And I refuse to choose it for myself.”

“There
is
no other reality,” Lord Winter hissed, irritated that the Caretaker was not ceding his point. “There has been no other reality for eight thousand centuries. There has been no opposition to my dominance of this world for a longer time than all of human history before it, many times over. Open your eyes, Charles, and see the world as it truly is.”

Almost absentmindedly, Charles put his hand into his pocket and removed what he found there, cradling them gently in his hand.

Weena’s petals.

“My eyes
are
open,” said Charles, “and what I see is that you have nothing to give me that I do not already have. I decline your
offer. I will not join you, nor will I help you convince Rose to do so. And that is
your
reality.”

Lord Winter stared at Charles, trembling, then with a gesture had him escorted from the room.

“He wants us to
choose
to become Lloigor?” Bert exclaimed. “He
is
insane.”

“It’s greater than that,” Charles said after he’d related the gist of the conversation with Lord Winter to his friends. “He wants our Dragon to make him her apprentice.”