The Raging Fires (25 page)

Air, as cold as the first breath of winter, rushed over me. Tears streamed down my cheeks from my useless eyes. Though I told myself they came from the wind, I knew they also came from the memory of the many faces I might never see again. Cairpré. Rhia. My mother. And another face, full of intelligence and feeling, with brown eyes that shone like pools of liquid light.

As Ionn galloped, I glanced back at the cliff walls, streaked with bands of orange. I shuddered to think that, somewhere up there, lay the lifeless body of a doe. Whether Hallia had been destroyed by the kreelix or by the onslaught of lava I would never know. It gave me no comfort to imagine that now, at least, she had rejoined her brother.

Ahead, the remaining rays of twilight faded, revealing a few quivering scenes—a twisted tree here, a pair of tilting boulders there. Behind, heavy clouds of ash, darker than night itself, rose into the sky. The rumbling cliffs soon vanished, obscured by the hillocks, which themselves started to diminish as the valley widened. In time, stretches of thick, ragged grass replaced the meager tufts that had interspersed the stones. The valley opened into an expanse of rolling grassland that I knew to be the eastern reaches of the Rusted Plains.

My arms embraced Ionn’s broad neck, while my legs pinched his heaving chest. Galloping, galloping, we drove across the plains. Night deepened around us. But for the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance, the only sounds were the relentless pounding of the stallion’s hooves and the continuous surging of his breath. Once or twice I almost dozed, but awoke with a start just before I tumbled off his back.

As dawn’s first light dappled the grasses, Ionn whinnied and veered to the north. Minutes later, I glimpsed the sparkling surface of a braided stream ahead. Ionn slowed to a trot, then pranced to the water’s edge. Stiffly, I dismounted. On unsteady legs, I stepped to the stream and thrust in my whole head. Even with the frigid water washing over my ears, I could still hear the pounding of hooves.

We drank deeply. Finally, we lifted our heads in unison. While I stretched my neck and back, Ionn frisked a bit, seeming to shake the weariness from his bones. I beckoned him toward some tall clusters of grass, but he moved there only reluctantly. I could tell that he, like myself, knew that our time was fast disappearing. Only after he saw me pull some shriveled berries from the vines on the bank did he, too, take time to eat. Soon he nudged my shoulder to mount again.

Onward we rode. The plains rose and fell like gentle waves, tinted with the yellows and tans of autumn. Following the arc of the sun overhead, we pushed westward. By the time the ridges of mist-shrouded hills lifted on the horizon, late afternoon light painted the grasses. As the plains stretched before us, I continued to scan the vista, searching for the fog-filled banks of the River Unceasing. There, I knew, lay the outer edge of the dwarves’ realm.

Despite the continual thumping of Ionn’s back against me, I felt always aware of the emptiness within my chest. What I would give to sense my old powers coursing through my veins again! To grip the shaft of my staff again.

Was there any chance that Urnalda might be convinced to restore my lost powers? I grimaced, knowing the answer. If she hadn’t believed me before I humiliated her—escaping from her very grasp—she would surely not believe me now. Her wrath toward me no doubt rivaled the dragon’s. Besides, I doubted she could restore my powers in any case. Cairpré’s doubts notwithstanding, I could feel in my depths that they had been utterly destroyed, no less than the Galator itself.

The grasslands seemed to stretch on forever. Another day ended, marked by another sunset. Deep into the night we pressed ahead, with no moon to light our way. I could feel Ionn’s muscles straining to keep running. My own back and shoulders ached; my head swam with dizziness and exhaustion.

Sometime after midnight, a new rushing sound mixed with the wind. We pitched forward. Suddenly the stallion neighed and turned sharply. Panic flooded me, along with the fear that Ionn had stumbled. Then a cold wave slammed against my right leg, splashing the side of my face.

The River Unceasing! His mighty frame leaning into the current, Ionn waded deeper into the waterway. Turning, I viewed with my second sight the ragged mounds lining the bank behind us. Though I caught no more than a whiff of the stench of rotting flesh, that was enough to rekindle the memory of the devastated eggs—and the last of the hatchlings. Somewhere nearby, I knew, her immense young body lay rotting. And not far away, the body of Eremon lay under a mound of river rocks. Through the surging water and chilling spray Ionn pushed, though not fast enough for me.

At last, the stallion clambered up the far bank, his hooves slapping against the mud. Spray, luminous in the starlight, glistened on his coat. I stroked his neck. “Let us rest, old friend. You need it, as do I. But not here. Find us a secluded spot down the river, where no dwarves or dragons are likely to disturb us.”

Moments later, we came to a patch of fragrant fern. I dismounted and crumpled to the ground. Though I glimpsed some edible mushrooms, I was far too tired to eat them. With my back hunched, my head between my knees, I fell into a fitful sleep. I dreamed of running through an endless field of fire, with no chance to rest, no chance to escape.

The sun was already riding high when Ionn’s wet nose nudged my cheek. With a start, I awoke. Whether from perspiring in my dreams or from the misty air, my tunic was soaking wet. Worse, it was nearly noon. Nearly half a day’s travel, I remembered well from my first run as a deer, lay before us. After a brief meal of mushrooms for me and fern stalks for Ionn, we set off again.

Through the meadows and stands of cedar we rode, following the staircase of plateaus into the heart of the dwarves’ realm. As the sun dropped lower, the air grew smokier and the signs of recent burning more common. Alert for any dwarves, I scanned the charred fields and scorched rocks that had replaced the verdant lands along the river. No trace of them . . . yet.

The setting sun spilled crimson over the ground as a tall, pyramid-shaped hill came into view: The place where Valdearg would land. “There,” I pointed out to Ionn. “That’s where we go. But tread carefully. The dwarves could be—”

At that instant, a tumult of shouts filled the air. From behind boulders and bushes, from out of trenches and gullies, leaped an army of the stocky warriors. Waving their spears and slashing their swords, they formed a line between us and the hill. Ionn’s ears flicked forward. Galloping ever faster, he bore down on them.

As we neared, more dwarves joined the barrier, their beards and helmets glowing red in the sunset. Now their line was at least four deep. Short as they were, they stood as firmly as oak trees planted in our path. Yet the stallion’s speed did not slacken.

Out of the middle of the line jumped a paunchy dwarf wearing a conical hat and a black cloak. “Stop!” Urnalda cried, swirling her cloak about her. “This be my command!”

Ionn only galloped harder. I leaned forward, peering straight into the eyes of the enchantress who had stolen my best hope.

Seconds before the great hooves trampled her, Urnalda raised her staff, as if preparing to stop us by magic. But before she could, Ionn abruptly changed direction, swerving to the right. Somehow, I managed to stay on. He plunged toward a thin section of the line and, with a powerful leap, sailed right over the heads of the awestruck dwarves.

Soon the angry shouts faded behind us. The pyramid-shaped hill loomed closer. Then, without warning, a violent rumbling filled the air.

29:
B
ATTLE TO THE
L
AST

Like a landslide on high, the rumbling rolled out of the sky, overwhelming Ionn and myself, shaking the charred ground beneath us. An outcropping of rock on the summit of the pyramid-shaped hill broke loose, clattering down the slope. Ionn reared back, arresting his gallop, as we both turned toward the source of the sound.

Valdearg, wings outstretched, plunged at us with incredible speed. Caught by the rays of the setting sun, he looked at first like a clot of crimson against the smoky sky, though soon armored scales of green and orange showed along his tail and wings. Then, as he banked to one side, his terrible claws flashed brightly. Closer he came, and closer, until we could see the smoldering yellow of his eyes.

Writhing columns of smoke poured from his flared nostrils. Beneath his nose, the scales had been so blackened that he seemed to wear a thick moustache. Immense slabs of charcoal clung to the rims of his orange ears, flaking off every time the ears twisted. Several of his claws sported black humps, resembling knuckles. More lumps of charcoal, I thought at first—until the truth struck me like a hammer: They were skulls, burned in the fires of his wrath, worn like so many decorative rings.

As if entranced, we did not move as the dragon descended. Waves of rumbling rolled over us. If the sky itself had ripped apart, I thought, the noise couldn’t have been louder. I was wrong. Soaring straight at us, the dragon opened his cavernous mouth. Row upon row of dagger-like teeth glinted in the reddish light. The gargantuan chest rippled and contracted, releasing an explosive roar so loud that I almost toppled from Ionn’s back.

The roar broke our trance—fortunate indeed, for along with it came an enormous, twisting tongue of flame. Ionn whinnied and bolted from the spot. The fire blasted the ground just behind us, splitting the very rocks with its heat. While flames singed my back and Ionn’s flank, we galloped away.

“Quick,” I cried. “Behind the hill!”

The stallion drove for the pyramidal hill, even as another deafening roar struck our ears. Ionn barely had time to dodge behind a boulder, shaped like an immense fist, before more licks of flames flooded over us. As we cowered behind the wall of stone, blazing fingers curled over the top and around the sides, scorching all they touched. Only the boulder’s thickness saved us from being reduced to heaps of ash.

The flames had hardly dissipated when I cautiously lifted my head to check the dragon’s whereabouts. He had just landed! He drew his wings to his back and slid his titanic form, nearly as huge as the hill itself, across the ground. Strangely, he was turning—not toward us but to the side. In a flash, I understood why.

I slapped Ionn’s neck, and he charged for the rim of the hill. At the same instant, the dragon’s massive tail uncoiled. Like a hideous whip, its barbed tips waving, the tail sliced through the air. It slammed into the fist-shaped boulder, sending chunks of stone in all directions. Shards rained on us as we rounded the hill’s edge just in time.

“Grandson of Tuatha!” The dragon’s voice, deeper than thunder, exploded against the slope. “You murdered my children!”

As Ionn continued to run behind the hill, I bent forward. “Wait. I must answer him.”

Although he slowed to a trot, the stallion gave a loud neigh, shaking his head vigorously.

“I must, Ionn.”

Again, he protested.

Sadly, I stroked his neck. “You’re right—it’s madness for us both to go back. Here, I’ll dismount, so at least you can run to safety.”

Before I could lift my leg, Ionn reared back, forcing me to grab his mane more tightly. He whirled around, turned his muzzle toward me, and scanned me with a dark eye. With a loud snort, he trotted back to the edge of the hill.

From astride his back, I peered cautiously around the charred rocks. Drawing a deep breath, I called as loud as I could to Valdearg. “Your rage burns deep, great dragon! But you must hear me. I did not kill your offspring!” I waited for the wave of rumbling to cease. “It was another man—who serves Rhita Gawr. And who brings the kreelix, the magic eater, back to our land. His name is—”

A torrent of flames erupted, cutting me off and driving me back behind the rocks. “You dare to deny your crime?” Valdearg’s voice shook the air, as his tail smashed against the ground. “Even your evil grandfather did not try to hide from his deeds! You do not deserve to bear the title of wizard.”

The emptiness in my chest almost throbbed. Grimly, I led Ionn back to the hill’s edge. “You speak truly. I don’t deserve it. But I did not—did not—murder your young.”

The dragon’s yellow eyes flashed. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. “And I did not come to hear your prattle about kreelixes and Rhita Gawr. Ages ago I fought the last of all the kreelixes—a battle to the death. His death, not mine! Now I shall do the same to you. And you shall die nine deaths, one for each of my slain children.”

“I tell you I didn’t kill them!”

“Liar! They must be avenged!”

With that another roar rocked the smoky skies, the charred ground, and all between. The mammoth tail lifted and swept toward me. Ionn needed no command to break into a run. The tail slammed full force into the side of the hill, sending up a shower of broken rocks. I turned just in time to see an enormous slab, heavy enough to crush a dozen people, topple over onto the midsection of the tail. It struck the green scales and bounced harmlessly away.

Ionn galloped with all his strength, trying to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and Valdearg. As we neared the far side of the hill, I glanced to the rear just as the massive head came into view. The dragon’s eyes, as bright as suns in the waning light, glared at me. More flames shot out. Fire nipped at Ionn’s hooves as we rounded the bend.

Using the hill itself as our shield, we avoided one assault after another. Back and forth Ionn ran, his legs churning, his ears attuned to any sound. For although we could not see our attacker behind the hill, we could still hear him maneuvering, roaring, or slapping his huge tail against the rocks. If his vast bulk slid one way, we dashed the other. We paused, breathless, whenever we could no longer hear him, then galloped off again as soon as he stirred.

Deep into the night the pursuit continued. Once Valdearg tried to take flight, hoping to surprise us in the darkness, but even then the noise of his approach gave him away. Yet I knew that, with enough time, he would surely outlast us. Ionn was bound to make a mistake, to stumble or misread the sounds. And one mistake was all that the dragon needed. Or was he merely toying with us, prolonging his moment of vengeance?