The Forgotten Beasts of Eld (14 page)

She touched his throat. “You are bleeding.”

“I know. You are shaking.”

“I know.”

“Sybel. Could you have killed that guard? He believed you could, and I was not sure, then, myself.”

“I do not know. But if he had killed Moriah, I would have found out.” She sighed. “I am glad he did not, for his sake and mine. Coren, I do not think we should stay here long. I do not trust those guards. Let us pack the books and leave.”

Coren nodded. He picked up a chair that had overturned, found his sword in a corner and sheathed it.

Gules Lyon lay muttering softly by the fire. Moriah prowled back and forth in front of the door. Sybel dropped a soothing hand on the flat, black head. She looked around vaguely at the house and found a strange emptiness that seemed to lie beneath the cool white stones. She said slowly,

“It seems no longer my house... It seems to be waiting for another wizard, like Myk or Ogam, to begin his work here in this white silence...”

“Perhaps someone will come.” He unfolded the big, tough grain sacks they had brought to pack the books in, and added wryly, “I hope he will have gentler memories of it than I ever will.”

“I hope so, too.” She gave him a tight parting hug, then went out to speak with Gyld and the Black Swan while he packed. The late afternoon turned from gold to silver, and then to ash gray. Coren finished before she returned; he went into the yard, calling her name in the wind. She came to him finally from the trees.

“I was with Gyld. I told him there would be a place for him at Sirle, and he told me he would bring his gold.”

“Oh, no. I can see a glittering trail of ancient coin from here to Rok’s doorstep.”

“Coren, I told him we would see to it somehow... he will have to fly by night, when we are ready for him. I hope he does not frighten all of Rok’s livestock.” She glanced up at the night-scented, ashen sky, and the green-black shapes of trees. “It is getting late. What should we do? I do not think we should even stay at Maelga’s house.”

“No. Drede would not mind risking a war by killing me if he could trap you, take you to Mondor. If he wants that, they will return tonight to look for us.”

“Then what should we do?”

“I have been thinking about that.”

“The horses are tired. We cannot go far on them.”

“I know.”

“Well, what have you been thinking about that has put the smile in your voice?”

“Gyld.”

She stared at him. “Gyld? Do you mean—ride him?”

He nodded. “Why not? You could pretend he is the Liralen. Surely he is strong enough.”

“But—what would Rok say?”

“What would any man say if a dragon landed in his courtyard? Sybel, we cannot ride the horses far, and this mountain is no safe place for us tonight, wherever we are on it. You can loose the horses, call them back to Sirle when they are rested.”

“But there is no place to put Gyld in Sirle.”

“I will think of a place. And if I cannot, you can send him back here. Would he be willing?”

She nodded dazedly. “Oh, yes; he loves to fly. But Coren, Rok—”

“Rok would rather see us alive on Gyld than dead on Eld Mountain. If we make a slow journey back with these books, we may be followed. So let us sail home through the sky on Gyld. Sybel, there must be a silence deeper than the silence of Eld between those stars; shall we go listen to it? Come. We will throw all the stars into Sirle, then go and dance on the moon.”

A smile, faint and faraway, crept onto her face. “I always wanted to fly...”

“So. If you cannot fly the Liralen, then make a fiery night flight on Gyld.”

She called Gyld from his winter cave, and he came to her, soaring slowly above the trees, a great, dark shape against the stars. She looked deep into his green eyes.

Can you carry a man, a woman and two sacks of books on your back?

She felt a tremor of joy in his mind like a flame springing alive.

Forever.

He waited patiently while Coren secured the books on his back, wound with lengths of rope around the base of his thick neck and wings. He heaved himself up, so Coren could pass and repass the rope beneath him, and his eyes glowed like jewels in the night, and his scales winked, gold-rimmed. Coren placed Sybel between the two bags of books and sat in front of her, holding onto the rope at Gyld’s neck. He turned to look at her.

“Are you comfortable?”

She nodded and caught Gyld’s mind.
Do the ropes bind you anywhere?

No.

Then go.

The great wings unfurled, black against the stars. The huge bulk lifted slowly, incredibly, away from the cold earth, through the wind-torn, whispering trees. Above the winds struck full force, billowing their cloaks, pushing against them, and they felt the immense play of muscle beneath them and the strain of wing against wind. Then came the full, smooth, joyous soar, a drowning in wind and space, a spiraling descent into darkness that flung them both beyond fear, beyond hope, beyond anything but the sudden surge of laughter that the wind tore from Coren’s mouth. Then they rose again, level with the stars, the great wings pulsing, beating a path through the darkness. The full moon, ice-white, soared with them, round and wondering as the single waking eye of a starry beast of darkness. The ghost of Eld Mountain dwindled behind them; the great peak huddled, asleep and dreaming, behind its mists. The land was black beneath them, but for faint specks of light that here and there flamed in a second plane of stars. The winds dropped past Mondor, quieted, until they melted through a silence, a cool, blue-black night that was the motionless night of dreams, dimensionless, star-touched, eternal. And at last they saw in the heart of darkness beneath them the glittering torch-lit rooms of the house of the Lord of Sirle.

They came to a gentle rest in his courtyard. A horse, waiting in the yard, screamed in terror. Dogs in the hall howled. Coren dismounted stiffly, his breath catching in a laughter beyond words, and swung Sybel to the ground. She clung to him a moment, stiff with cold, and felt Gyld’s mind searching for hers.

Gyld. Be still.

There are men with torches. Shall I—

No. They are friends. They just did not expect us tonight. No one will try to harm us. Gyld, that was a flight beyond hope.

It pleased you.

I am well pleased.

“Rok!” Coren called to his brother’s torchlit figure moving toward them down the steps. The dogs swarmed growling between his legs. The children jammed the doors behind him, then scattered in a wave before Ceneth and Eorth. “We have a guest!”

“Coren,” Rok said, transfixed by the lucent, inscrutable eyes. “What in the name of the Above and the Below are we going to do with it?”

Coren caught one of the dogs before it nipped at Gyld’s wing. “I have thought of that, too,” he said cheerfully. “We can store it in the wine cellar.”

NINE

They sat late with Rok, Ceneth and Eorth, until the great hall quieted and the dogs had gone to sleep at their feet. Coren told of their meeting with Tam and Drede’s guards, and Rok listened silently, whirling a wine cup slowly between forefinger and thumb. Me grunted when Coren finished.

“The boy is soft, yet. I wonder what Drede himself would have done.”

“He would have done what I wanted him to,” Sybel said. Rok’s tawny eyes flicked to her face.

“Could you have controlled all of them?”

“No. They could have overwhelmed us, but it would not have been a pleasant encounter for them.”

“But you could control the King.”

“Rok,” Corers murmured, and Rok’s eyes dropped. He leaned back in his chair.

“Well. I am thankful you are safe. It was foolish of me to think of you for a moment as simply a man and his wife who could move safely as children through Eldwold, and to let you go alone.”

Cores shrugged. “It was best that you did. There would have been a small war in Sybel’s house if Eorth and Herne had been with us, and we would all be licking our wounds in Mondor by now, including the animals. Besides, even if Eorth had kept his temper, he probably would have broken his neck falling off Gyld on the way home.”

Eorth refilled his cup. “At least, I would have had enough sense not to let myself get trapped in a corner by three of Drede’s men. They must have made enough noise riding up the hill to warn you.”

Coren flushed. “I know,” he said. “I should have heard them. I was distracted. Cyrin was telling me about the time he met the witch Carodin in her doorless tower and answered six out of her seven riddles and discovered even she could not answer the seventh.”

Eorth looked at him bewilderedly. “A Boar told you all that?”

“He talks.”

“Oh, Coren, you have told us ridiculous things, but—”

“It is not ridiculous. It is true. Eorth, you never could see farther than the sword in your hand—”

“Well, that is as far as any man needs to see in this land.” He appealed to Sybel. “Is he lying?”

“He never lies.”

He looked at her incredulously. Rok said, with a grunt of laughter, “Eorth, do not start a fight on my hearth. I never would have believed Coren would ride a Dragon to my doorstep, but he did and I do, now. And I am also beginning to think twice about other things he has said.”

Coren reached across the table for Sybel’s hand. “You see what a poor reputation I had before you married me.”

“So. You married me for my animals. I always knew it.”

“I married you because you never laughed at me. Except when I asked you to marry me.”

Eorth leaned back in his chair and grinned. “She laughed? Tell us about that, Coren.”

“No.”

“I laughed because I thought you had sent him to marry me,” Sybel said. “Then, when I realized he loved me, I stopped laughing.”

Ceneth rose, moved to the fire. The great house was still about them; shadows fell like tapestry from the walls.

“If you are not careful, Eorth, Sybel will have Gyld leave you naked on top of Eld Mountain and no one will miss you.”

“I am sorry.”

“You are not. You are jealous that you did not marry a woman with a dragon.”

“Now we have one in our wine cellar,” Rok murmured. “I wonder what our father would have said about that.”

Eorth gave a snort of laughter. “He would have quit drinking. I thought of something a moment ago.”

“Did you?” Ceneth said wonderingly. “What?”

“That if Sybel had a daughter, she could marry Tamlorn, control him, and in two generations the Sirle Lords could be Eldwold Kings.”

“I hardly think Tam would wait fifteen years to get married,” Rok said dryly.

“He could marry into Sirle anyway,” Ceneth said. “Herne’s daughter Vivet is twelve in summer.”

“Drede would never permit it.”

“So? The boy could melt Drede like wax.”

“And who in Sirle is to melt Tam to this plan?”

“Sybel, of course.”

Coren’s hand came down sharply on the table. The wine quivered in their cups. He looked at the three silent men: Rok, big, gold-maned; Ceneth with his sleek black hair and cat-calm eyes; Eorth, slow, and leaf-bright and powerful. He lifted his hand from the table and closed it. Eorth said, flushed,

“I am sorry. I was babbling.”

“Yes.”

“We all were.” Ceneth troubled the fire a moment with his foot. Then he turned, dropped a hand on Coren’s shoulder. “It will not happen again.”

Coren sighed, his face loosening. “Yes, it will. I know this house. And I know what talk is worth these days. Like a dragon flight, it comes to nothing in the end but sleep.”

“Harsh, but true,” Rok said. They were silent awhile. The fire dwindled to a single flame that danced above the embers. Eorth yawned, his teeth winking white as Moriah’s.

“It is late,” he said surprisedly. Ceneth nodded.

“I am going to bed.” He stopped beside Sybel, took her hand and kissed it. “Lady, be patient with us.”

She smiled up at him. “You make it easy to be patient.”

He left them. They sat finishing their wine, while the shadows lengthened and locked over their heads. Coren put his empty cup down, swallowing a yawn.

“Coren, go to bed,” Sybel said. “You look tired.”

“Come with me.”

“In a moment. I want to talk to Rok about Gyld.”

“Always Rok. I will wait.”

“And then I want a bath.”

“Oh.” He pushed his chair back and leaned across the table to kiss the top of her head. “Do not keep Rok up too long. He is an old man and needs his sleep.”

“Old— At least I am not getting so slow and deaf I am easy game to any fool in Drede’s service.”

“Three fools,” Coren said. “It took three. Good night.”

“Good night,” Rok said. Beside him, Eorth’s head drooped, his cup dangling empty from his hands. Rok took it from him and set it on the table. “Eorth.” He began to snore softly. Rok turned away from him, his mouth crooked.

“I am sorry if we troubled you tonight. Coren is right, though: since Drede stopped us at Terbrec, we talk a good deal and do little.” He paused a moment. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Sybel’s eyes lifted to his face. The hall was dim around them but for the flame of a last torch; Eorth’s snoring sounded weak against the great rising of silent, ancient stone. She leaned toward Rok, her eyes dark, unwavering on his face as the black, moonlit pools of Fyrbolg.

“Something,” she said finally, “that I have never told any man.”

Rok was silent. Eorth was silent, too, a moment; he caught a sudden breath midsnore and woke himself up, blinking at them.

“Eorth, go to bed,” Rok said impatiently, and Eorth heaved himself to his feet.

“All right.”

Rok watched him go. Then he turned back to Sybel, his eyes narrowed.

“Tell me.”

Sybel folded her hands on the table. “Did Coren tell you about the wizard who called me?”

Rok nodded. “He said you had been captured—called—by a very powerful wizard who was attracted to you, and that the wizard died and you came back free. He did not tell me how the wizard died.”

“Let that be for a moment. What Coren does not know is that the wizard was paid by Drede to take me, and to make me—obedient to Drede, so that Drede could marry me without fearing me.”

“How—obedient?”

Her mouth twitched a little, steadied. “He was paid to destroy a part of my mind, the part that chooses and wills of its own. I would have retained most of my powers, but they would have been subject to Drede. I was to be made—content with Drede.”

Rok’s lips parted. “Could he have done that?”

“Yes. He held—he held my mind so completely, more completely than any man holds his own mind. I would have been controlled by Drede; I would have done whatever he wanted without question or hope of question, and I would have been happy, afterward, that I had pleased Drede. That, Drede wanted.” Her taut hands loosened; one lifted, cut the air. “For that, I will destroy him.”

Rok sat back in his chair, the breath easing from him soundlessly. “Is that why you married Coren?” he asked suddenly. “As part of your revenge?”

’Yes.”

“You do not love him?” he asked almost wistfully.

“I love him.” Her hands eased apart then. “I love him,” she repeated softly. “He is kind and good and wise, all those things I am not, and if I lost him, I would hunger for those things in him. For that reason, I do not want him to know what is—what is in my heart. He might hate me for this. I do not—I do not like myself so much these days. But I want Drede to suffer. I want him to know what dread and hopelessness I knew. He is learning a little of it now. Tam said he is beginning to be afraid, and with good reason. I want war between Sirle and Drede, and I want Drede powerless. I will help you under two conditions.”

“Name them,” Rok breathed.

“That Coren will not know I am involved. And that Tam is not used in any way against Drede. For that, I will call the Lords of Niccon and Hilt to side with you against Drede; I will use my own animals against Drede, and I will give you a king’s treasure for the gathering and arming of men.”

Rok gazed at her wordlessly. She saw the muscles of his throat move as he swallowed. “You yourself are a dream come true, Lady,” he whispered. “Where will you get the treasure?”

“From Gyld. He has amassed enough gold through the centuries to arm every man and child in Eldwold. If I ask him, he will give me part of it. You see, Ter was captured, too, that day, and he watched powerless himself, while Drede and Mithran spoke of their plan. When I came to Eld Mountain today, every animal there knew what had been done to us.”

“But how did you escape that wizard, if he was so powerful?”

“Rommalb killed him.”

“Rommalb—” She saw the memories flick in his eyes. “The nightwalker— How?”

“He—crushed him.”

Rok’s face was shocked, motionless in the firelight. “That is what Coren met on your hearth?”

She nodded. “It was not a pleasant meeting, but Coren did what—what few men have ever done.”

“What?”

“He survived.” She stirred, her hands stretching taut on the table. “I never meant for that to happen; it was Cyrin’s doing, and I was terrified. But Coren is wiser than I dreamed he could be.”

“So he must be—wiser than we all dreamed. Why do you not set this Rommalb at Drede?”

“Because I want a slow revenge. I want him to know what is being done to him and why, and who is responsible. The things he fears most in the world are the power and energy of Sirle, and me. He came to Mithran’s tower that day expecting to find a woman who would smile and take his hand and do his bidding. Instead he found that woman gone and a great wizard lying broken on the floor. Since that day he has been afraid. Now, with your help, I will overwhelm him with his fears.”

His head moved slowly from side to side. “You are merciless.”

“Yes. If you choose to refuse me, I will go to bed and we will never speak of this again. But with or without Sirle, it will be done.”

“You have such things involved with this—Coren’s love, Tamlorn’s. Do you want to risk them?”

“I have thought deep in the night, night after night, about this plan. I know the risks. I know that if Coren finds out how I have used him, or if Tam suspects that I am destroying his father, they will be hurt past bearing, and I will lose all that I value in this world. But I told you tonight what I have decided.”