Chapter 2
DEADLY PHILTRE
T
hey were thrown into a room that, despite its purpose, turned out to be a well-furnished prison cell. The iron-bound door was bolted and every window was barred. Nor were they alone. Zimak was lounging on a couch with his feet up, as if waiting for them. Another man was asleep on a nearby mattress.
‘Hie,’ Zimak said. ‘At least the old guy knows honest faces when he sees them.’
Daretor made to stride across and grab him, but Jelindel restrained him.
‘What punishment is this?’ Daretor demanded. ‘What have I done to deserve being locked up with a traitor?’
Zimak shifted sulkily. ‘Give me a break, Daretor. That’s not fair.’
‘You stole my body,’ Daretor thundered.
‘To save your life,’ Zimak shot back.
Jelindel pulled harder on Daretor’s arm. ‘Let’s keep to the matter at hand. We should hear Zimak’s story first,’ she said.
Daretor snorted. ‘Why not? After all, a rat’s a rat until proven otherwise.’
‘Exactly my sentiments,’ said Zimak, sitting up. ‘Besides, I’m no traitor, and I don’t even like cheese.’
‘Do you deny telling them where to find us?’ Daretor demanded.
Zimak fidgeted. He looked at Daretor, then at Jelindel. ‘No,’ he said, ‘and yes.’
Daretor turned to Jelindel. ‘His brain is addled.’
‘My brain is no more addled than yours, Daretor,’ Zimak countered, gaining confidence from Jelindel’s patience. ‘I was taken before the Sacred One, as you were. He asked me many questions, some concerning you and your whereabouts, and much else besides. Rakeem wanted me to tell him as much as I know about our world’s history, as well.’
‘That would have been a short conversation,’ Daretor said.
Jelindel squeezed Daretor’s shoulder. ‘When were you taken, Zimak?’
‘Several weeks ago. They tracked us to Q’zar, then kidnapped me back to their paraworld. In so doing they discovered that this is where they hailed from, thousands of years ago.’
‘I was right,’ Jelindel breathed. ‘These are the dragons of Q’zar or at least their descendants.’
‘So you see, I had no more say in the matter than you. Nobody can lie to the Sacred One. It simply isn’t possible, as you might have noticed.’
Daretor grunted a reply that Zimak couldn’t make out. ‘I’ll take that as an abject apology.’
‘You little skink rat,’ Daretor exploded, lunging forward.
Zimak stifled a yawn, confident that Jelindel would restrain the swordsman. She did.
‘We know for a fact that you presented yourself before Fa’red,’ Daretor grated. ‘If not to join forces with him, then what?’
Zimak shook his head in apparent shock. ‘You do me a disservice, Daretor.’ He looked at Jelindel. ‘I would have expected more from you, after all we’ve been through.’
Jelindel tightened her grip on Daretor’s arm. ‘Spare us the theatrics, Zimak,’ she said.
‘How else could I have found you? Q’zar is a big place. I would have grown old searching. No, I needed help. How better to achieve my ends than to pretend to throw my lot in with one of the most powerful men around?’
‘Perhaps we didn’t want you to find us,’ Daretor said pointedly.
‘Last I heard, you ungrateful barbarian, you wanted your body back.’ Zimak shifted wearily on the seat. ‘Yours is fine when it comes to cracking heads, but for the most part, it goes to fat too easily.’
Daretor’s eyes blazed. He leapt forward, dragging Jelindel behind him. They tumbled on to the seat, with Jelindel pinning Daretor down.
Zimak had barely shoved off from the seat before the pair crashed on to it.
‘That’s a fine way to show your appreciation for all I’ve done,’ Zimak panted, unused to sudden movement.
‘You planned to kill Prince Ulad and swap our bodies from the start,’ Daretor raged. ‘You and that wench Andzu.’
Zimak pulled his head back as though slapped. ‘Actually, she was Princess Andrella from Bazite. You think you’ve been hard done by. Look at her. She wound up in Premiel’s wasted body with dozens of voices screaming in her mind for revenge. To top that, she was slashed to death while giving me time to free you. Think of others for once in your life, Daretor.’
‘I’ll kill him!’ Daretor swore. He struggled, but somehow Jelindel managed to subdue him.
‘The Sacred One,’ Jelindel said, diverting Daretor’s rage. ‘Speak now or I’ll let Daretor go.’
‘Gah, what an abomination,’ Zimak spat. ‘What did the old clown say this time?’
Calling the Sacred One an ‘old clown’ seemed sacrilegious. ‘He wants us to find the dragonsight,’ Jelindel said. ‘I imagine there are the usual inducements.’
Zimak nodded. ‘Like, they’ll cut off our orchids if we don’t?’ ‘I imagine that’s pretty close,’ Jelindel said. ‘At least in your case. Now, before we go any further, did you or did you not steal the relic?’
‘For the last time –’
‘It was around King Amida’s neck,’ Daretor interrupted. ‘The day we fought the mantid in the arena. You pointed it out to me.’
‘Looking and stealing are two different things,’ Zimak said, wagging a finger. ‘Besides, when did I get a chance to steal anything? You were with me the whole time.’
‘You could have snuck off when I was sleeping,’ Daretor said.
‘That’s preposterous,’ Zimak said. ‘I’d need to be super human to get out of the slave pen, break into the king’s chamber, steal the dragonsight, and return to the pen unseen.’
‘We were super human on that paraworld,’ Daretor reminded him.
‘I didn’t even know that the bauble was worth anything,’ Zimak said. He flapped his hands in exasperation. ‘We’ve been framed, pure and simple, you great big lummox!’
Before Daretor could point out that it was now he, Zimak, who was the ‘great big lummox’, Jelindel flicked a glance at the sleeping man. ‘Who’s he?’
Zimak seemed surprised. ‘You don’t know?’ He crossed to the sleeper and shook his shoulder. ‘Wakey, wakey! We’ve got visitors.’
The man sat up. Dazed, he turned to face the others.
Daretor cried out, amazed. ‘Osric? Is it really you?’
Daretor grabbed Osric by the shoulders and embraced him. ‘Tell us everything that happened after we escaped the tower. By White Quell you must have a story to tell!’ He stepped back before the Bazitian could gather his wits. ‘You look unwell,’ Daretor added, as an aside.
‘It is also good to see you, my friend,’ Osric said. ‘First, you must know that time does not flow the same on the different paraworlds. In my world some ten years have passed since last we saw each other. In that time, much has happened. I reached my people and, as you foresaw, I became a hero, returning with a fertile red female dragon. We chose our best male to breed with her and in no time we had a clutch of powerful dragonlings, more than sixty in the first laying alone. It was a wonderful time. We raised the dragons as equals, as they are meant to be, not under the domination of a vain tyrant and a cruel vizier. The dragons respected this and grew in freedom, in a way that the king’s dragons did not. By the start of this year we had over a hundred sturdy dragons, each as large as those in the tower’s thrall.
‘By that time the king realised he’d made a mistake in not striking early, as his vizier had advised. But it was too late; we were a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, we were also a force to be dickered with. I and a large group of my brethren – some fifty in all, each riding a free dragon – were invited to the Tower to sign a treaty. But it was a trick.’
‘Surely you could have seen through such a lame ploy?’ exclaimed Daretor.
‘There was a woman involved,’ muttered Osric. ‘A woman that I thought I could trust.’
‘This sounds familiar,’ mumbled Zimak.
‘Whilst here, the massif was magicked back to this realm, to Ancient Q’zar, and in the confusion the king sprang an ambush. We were captured and imprisoned. And now my people – and the other free dragons – are marooned back on our adopted paraworld.’
Osric slumped as though weary. ‘Yes, my people are finally free from the yoke of King Amida, but when the citadel departed, it took everything with it, our history is within its walls and its lands for many leagues around.’
Jelindel put a hand on his arm. ‘Perhaps we will find a way to send you back,’ she said. Osric looked puzzled.
‘We don’t wish to return. Q’zar is our ancient and rightful dwelling place. We are home. But I must find a way to bring the rest of my people here … with one exception.’
‘Understandable,’ said Zimak, glancing at Jelindel.
‘Yet no one knows what will happen to us now …’
Jelindel told him about their interview with the Sacred One, and that they were charged with finding the dragonsight. Osric did not look happy.
‘I fear you are being sent on a fool’s errand,’ he said. ‘Nobody is more familiar with fools’ errands than me. How can one find a bauble lost somewhere on a whole world?’
Zimak leaned closer and dropped his voice. ‘Ordinarily, I would agree. But there’s something you don’t know.’
‘If this is some scheme –’ Daretor started, but Jelindel stopped him.
‘Let’s hear what he has to say,’ she said.
‘Glad someone’s got some sense between the ears,’ Zimak said, flinching from Daretor. ‘When I was brought here I wondered how they’d found me. After I had my audience with the old dragon downstairs, the king seemed to take a liking to me –’
‘A story I find hard to believe,’ Daretor grated.
Zimak ignored him. ‘Anyway, one day I’m lounging around trying to get friendly with one of the court ladies when I see something that baffles even me. The vizier was wearing a moon-stone ring on his little finger, and this wasn’t just any moonstone; it was one of the fabulous gems from the collection of Skeel of Gratz.’
Daretor snorted. ‘If your latest ploy is to bore us to death, then you are halfway there.’
‘Shhh,’ said Jelindel. ‘Go on,’ she said to Zimak.
‘Well, a month before I was kidnapped, Skeel’s gem house was raided, and his prized moonstones vanished. The rumour on the street had it that the gems were stolen by none other than our old friend, Fa’red, presumably to fund his war machine. Which is another reason why I was paying him a visit.’
‘So you think Fa’red travelled to the paraworld of the dragons …’ Jelindel prompted.
‘Or was invited there,’ said Zimak.
‘To perhaps dispose gems too valuable to be sold on this world?’ Daretor guessed despite his doubt. ‘So the vizier is behind this?’
‘It’s all supposition,’ said Jelindel. ‘There’s no doubt that the vizier and Fa’red are alike in many qualities. But why bring the Tower Inviolate back to Q’zar?’
‘It’s some kind of ancestral rite,’ said Zimak.
‘It’s our destiny,’ said Osric. ‘When the dragonsight went missing it was a great calamity, but in searching for the world of the supposed thieves, the dragonriders discovered Q’zar … the home of our ancestors, and the First Abode of the dragons. After that, there was no debate. They prepared the ancient dragon magic, a magic so powerful that normally it cannot be used by mortals, and hurled the massif on the return journey that was begun five thousand years ago.’
‘A charming story,’ said a dry voice behind them. They looked around to see Rakeem in the doorway. Clearly he had only heard the last fragment of their discussion. He beckoned for them to follow him. As they did so, guards fell into place around them.
‘The Sacred One has spoken and the king has agreed that you shall be sent forth this day to find the dragonsight. Please note that your freedom – indeed, your very lives – depends upon your success.’
Two old men shuffled forward, holding vials. At a signal from Rakeem, guards immobilised the trio. Their mouths were forced open and the first old man forced the Q’zarans to take a sip of a vile-smelling greenish philtre. It made them gag and caused their eyes to water. The second man daubed their foreheads with a spot of what looked like red paint.
Coughing, the three shrugged off their captors and looked at each other.
‘The mark is dragon blood from the Sacred One,’ said the vizier. ‘Even now it is depth-bonding with your flesh.’
‘Binding magic?’ asked Jelindel. The vizier nodded.
‘Our dragons can now find you anywhere on this world. There is nowhere to hide,’ Rakeem said. ‘The philtre you drank is a slow-acting poison. You have less than six weeks to complete your task and return for the antidote. Mind that the antidote is peculiar to our world, and not to be found on yours.’
‘Gah, six weeks are hardly long enough to scour the taverns of D’loom, let alone an entire planet,’ spluttered Zimak.
The vizier smirked. ‘Then you will need to spend your time wisely.’
‘I gather Osric is coming with us,’ said Jelindel, noting the red mark on his forehead.
‘You will need transport and I see no reason to risk one of our own loyal servants. Yes, the traitor and his equally treacherous dragon will go with you,’ said Rakeem, sneering at Osric. ‘My assistants will provide you with supplies, and I suggest that you waste no time in commencing your journey. You have very little time. The poison is already at work within your bodies.’
‘You have no honour,’ said Daretor, scowling.
Rakeem paused near the door, then turned to face Daretor.
‘I do my duty as I see fit,’ he replied in a neutral voice. ‘Why is that worse than running someone through with a sword?’
Daretor spat. The guards surged forward, but Rakeem stopped them with a cursory wave. He smiled.
‘Let the barbarian be,’ he said calmly. ‘I want results, you want honour. Very well, then, you may have the chance to settle all accounts at the end of your little quest.’
‘Be sure of it,’ Daretor promised.
The dragon S’cressling had been fitted with a palanquin that easily accommodated a party of four. Two rows of saddles were mounted against a solid gunwale larboard and starboard. A double saddle occupied the bow, or what dragonriders called the mane.
S’cressling had grown considerably since Daretor and Zimak had last seen her, adding further credence to Osric’s claim that time passed at a different speed between the two worlds.
They flew south at first, heading toward the Garrical Mountains before striking for Yuledan. While Osric guided the dragon, Jelindel called Daretor and Zimak together to make plans.
‘The first question is where do we begin?’ she said. ‘Gratz is the obvious choice, since that’s where Fa’red was seen last.’
‘He’s in this up to his eyeballs,’ said Daretor. ‘I think we can all agree on that. Besides, finding Fa’red would give me the chance to squeeze his neck until his eyeballs pop out.’
Zimak cleared his throat. ‘Er, Gratz might not be a good idea,’ he suggested.
‘And why not?’ Daretor asked, his voice edgy.
‘Fa’red has certainly been in Gratz, but I heard a rumour that he has shifted his headquarters.’
‘Where to?’ asked Daretor.
Zimak shrugged. ‘Even the gossips are tight-lipped on some matters,’ he said calmly.
Daretor scowled, as if Fa’red’s absence might be Zimak’s fault.
‘Our lives depend on finding this bauble in time, yet you want us to base our search on gossip?’
‘Well, let us hear your suggestion,’ replied Zimak.
Jelindel spoke quietly to Osric. A moment later S’cressling wheeled slowly to the east, heading for the Dominer Pass. Daretor and Zimak looked mildly annoyed as she returned.
‘So, do you have a revelation you might care to share with us?’ asked Zimak.
‘Once through the Pass we will turn north into Baltoria,’ she explained, sounding impatient. ‘There’s no point in gallivanting about Q’zar, and I have a feeling I know where Fa’red is.’
‘Our lives are at stake, yet Zimak wants to trust them to gossip, while you would rest them on a feeling,’ said Daretor with a hand over his eyes. ‘I’m not feeling very hopeful about the future.’
‘My feelings aren’t just vague fancies. Wants and desires cast shadows into the paraplane, and I still wander there as much in my sleep as I do in this world when awake. I have seen the ripples of people’s intents and needs. From the ripples in a pond you may deduce that a stone has been thrown in, its size, and even its location.’
Zimak opened his mouth to say something but Jelindel held up a hand. ‘No, I will not teach you how to tell which girls desire you. I’m afraid you will have to blunder about working that one out like every other male in the world. But because I am feeling malicious I will tell you that it can be done.’
Zimak nervously fingered the hem of his tunic, then rallied. ‘So we’re risking our lives on a dream of yours, are we?’
‘Do you have better insights than I?’
‘It’s your life as well,’ Zimak said moodily.
Jelindel looked at Daretor, who nodded reluctantly.
‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ she said.
S’cressling negotiated the buffeting air currents of the Dominer Pass, staying clear of the snow-capped peaks that they passed on either side. The thin air was chilly, and far below they saw travellers on the high mountain road, stopped and staring up at them. Jelindel and Zimak waved. Some waved back, others scattered to take cover. A dragon carrying people was liable to be well behaved, but it was nevertheless still a dragon.
‘They’ll have a story to tell tonight when they reach the next inn,’ Zimak laughed as they saw two men plunge into a snowdrift to hide.
The dragon turned north, crossing the Marisa River and heading across the heart of Baltoria, toward Dremari in the Passendof Mountains. Fa’red had chosen well. It was an ideal place to hide in and to defend. The inhabitants of the Passendof Mountains had resisted invasion for hundreds of years. They remained neutral while other low-lying kingdoms fought wars, and experienced rebellions and uprisings. The capital, Dremari, had a wondrous system of alpine canals that linked it to the lowland rivers and hence to the port city of Tol and the world’s seaways. Most people found the idea of a mountain city being a port rather surprising, but this was Passendof’s advantage. It enjoyed not only an enviable record of peace and neutrality, but was also rich from trade.
Despite the speed of their dragon transport, the journey was long and tiring. The ceaseless wind was chill, yet the sun burned their hands and faces because they were close to the equator. Flying was disturbing for all but Osric. While he slept, the others cried out in fear as they woke from yet another nightmare of falling. Thus they slept badly, huddled on the exposed deck, watching the stars, or peering at the inky darkness of the invisible landscape below.
They spotted the first outflung foothills of the Passendof Mountains early the next morning. Jelindel directed Osric toward the Valley of Clouds. Not only did the villagers there owe her a great debt of service for having rid them of daemons, but the cloud-enshrouded realm offered the best concealment for S’cressling.
They landed high on a mountainside in a forest clearing. While Osric remained behind to pack their gear, Jelindel, Daretor and Zimak made their way along narrow mist-enshrouded trails, past an ancient, weathered skull the size of a large boulder, to a wall-fort with a signpost that read: ‘Fontimark Federation of Squires’. After bargaining with the two fort guards over the size of the bribe, they were allowed to pass into Fontimark itself.
Jelindel headed for the blacksmith’s shop. As she made to enter, a massive, bearded man wearing gloves and a short cloak bumped into her as he stepped out.
‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said. He made to walk on, then he stopped and his eyes widened. ‘Jaelin!’ he exclaimed. ‘But you’re –’
‘Yes, Drusan, I am a girl.’
‘But, but –’
‘When you knew me I had to go about in disguise. Forgive me, the deception was necessary at the time.’
‘There is nothing to forgive. Come in, come in, you do me great honour by this visit. Your companions, too.’
He gestured them inside, calling for his wife to fetch ale and fresh bread, and what new baked honey cakes they had. While they ate and drank, Jelindel explained what she needed.
‘You’re not seriously telling me that you flew here on a dragon?’ Drusan said in wonder.
Jelindel nodded, smiling at the incredulous look on Drusan’s face.
‘But they’re figments of the imagination, stories told to frighten children into behaving.’
‘Nevertheless, Drusan, the dragons have returned to Q’zar, their ancient home,’ said Jelindel. ‘Even now they roost at Dragonfrost and despoil the country thereabouts. Our dragon is better behaved than that, but I need your help to keep people away from her. She will also need feeding.’
Drusan’s face fell. ‘Not virgins, I hope. Not many of those around these parts.’
Jelindel closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘A few sheep will do, and I don’t think they have to be virgins. With luck, we’ll call S’cressling before too long.’
She offered him money for the dragon fodder but he refused. Then her gaze fell on his gloved hands. Long ago, Drusan had been branded a coward; the backs of his hands had been marked with the sign. Even though he had proven his courage many times over, single-handedly battling terrifying daemons from which the town folk fled, the brands marked his skin forever. To keep his shame hidden he wore gloves. Even in the presence of his wife, he only removed them in the darkness of the bedchamber.
Jelindel took his hands in her own. Drusan almost jerked them away.
‘It’s all right,’ Jelindel said. ‘Drusan, when I was here last I was still an apprentice of my guild.’
‘But you fought the daemons and won,’ he exclaimed.
‘I uncovered a plot, that was all,’ she said. ‘Remove the gloves, Drusan.’ When he hesitated, she said gently: ‘Trust me one more time?’
He took a deep breath and slowly pulled off the gloves, revealing the humiliating marks. Jelindel held his hands, massaging with her thumbs the fused and furrowed skin on the backs. She spoke magical words of plasticity under her breath, and a strange blue light flickered about her lips. Gradually, a blue glow appeared around Drusan’s hands, outlining the brands so that they blazed more strongly than before.
Drusan whipped his hands away as if scalded, and muttered angry words to himself. The scars caused by the brands went deeper than the skin. The coruscating blue light shot back to Jelindel’s lips, and faded.
‘How are your hands?’ she asked.
Drusan held out his hands before him and shrieked. The skin was without blemish, the scars sponged away as if they had been sooty grease. He raised his eyes and stared at Jelindel. She shrugged and spread her hands with a smile. Drusan’s wife hurried in, saw her husband’s hands, then burst into tears.
Drusan looked at her, perplexed. ‘Why do you cry?’ he asked.
‘Your hands. The branding is gone.’
‘You knew?’ he exclaimed, tears running down his own cheeks. ‘Of course I knew,’ she said. ‘I’m your wife, am I not?’
‘But you … you stayed …’ Drusan seemed lost for words. His wife sighed and gently wiped the tears from his face.
‘Men are so foolish,’ she said. ‘You have been a wonderful husband and a loving father. Why would I leave you? Because you were once afraid in battle? Shame on you for thinking so badly of me. I’m not some silly hoyden with air between my ears.’
He threw his arms around her and they hugged. Over her shoulder he locked eyes with Jelindel.
‘Thank you, thank you, more times than I can say,’ he began. Jelindel silenced him with a flick of the wrist, and then motioned for Daretor and Zimak to follow her outside.
‘Hie, Jelindel,’ Zimak said. ‘I don’t suppose you can make my scars vanish, too? Daretor’s messed his body up a few times and –’
For several frantic moments Jelindel struggled to keep Daretor from getting his hands on Zimak.
‘Enough,’ Jelindel said. ‘Zimak, not all the gold on Q’zar could persuade me to misuse the gift of healing on you.’
‘I don’t see how that would be misusing it,’ Zimak said. ‘No more so than removing Drusan’s scars.’
‘Daretor’s scars were earned in honour. You may not be familiar with the word, but some people value it rather highly.’
Drusan joined them, and they walked most of the way back to the clearing in silence – apart from Daretor, who was muttering about how it was probably not ‘murder’ to kill one’s own former body. Jelindel kept herself between her two companions.
Jelindel introduced Drusan to Osric, and the two men discussed the feeding of the dragon. In turn, Osric told S’cressling that Drusan would be bringing food, and that he was a friend.
‘And you are sure he will not eat me or anything?’ Drusan asked yet again.
Osric smiled. ‘Only if you keep calling her a he.’
‘He’s a she?’
‘Yes. The only female I trust. The dragons are a proud race, and they admire intelligence in whatever form it takes. They don’t harm anybody, unless they’re driven to it.’
‘By being insulted while hungry,’ Zimak joked, but no one laughed.
With the dragon’s care and feeding arranged, the foursome set out along the narrow trails that led from the vales to the canal road that would take them to Dremari. The paths through the Valley of Clouds were narrow, windy, and somewhat precarious. The arches over the many ravines were usually constructed of cut stone cleverly laid together so that even a knife blade could not enter between them. There were no rails or handholds, and the paths had been cut into the sides of steep hills and even cliff faces. Invariably, one side of the trail dropped sharply away into the chasms between mountains. The vistas were such that often they found themselves whispering, as if in deference to the majesty of the landscape. Their normal voices echoed eerily between the peaks. Daretor remarked that the permanent cloud cover made it seem as if they were walking under water.
For two days they wound their way through the mountains as if they were ordinary travellers, concerned only with the cold, the damp, and not stumbling off the trail into half a mile of nothingness that ended in sharp rocks. As they approached Dremari, however, they became wary. All except Osric knew that Fa’red was probably the most formidable man on Q’zar. To underestimate him, or to ignore his fox-like cunning, was generally the last thing that the more foolish of his enemies ever did.
They finally came down out of the clouds and encountered a real road, along which a fair number of pedestrians and horse-drawn wagons moved. They followed the road round a bend and there was the capital of Passendof.
Dremari was a city of wonder, festooned with tall, slender spires and towers, seemingly so fragile that they defied gravity and wind in remaining upright. The Q’zarans had been here before, but Osric’s breath was taken away.
‘It’s … it’s beautiful,’ he cried out.
‘That it is,’ said Jelindel, ‘but it has guards and gates like any other city, so we must gain entry.’
They queued at the customs checkpoint along with a dozen other travellers, paid their transit fee, and demonstrated that they could support themselves for a month or more. After finishing with the inevitable bribe, they were permitted entry.
On the way to a hostelry, they passed a long curving stone canal raised up on a series of red granite arches. In answer to Osric’s question, Jelindel explained that this was the aqueduct that fed Dremari’s artificial lake, and that it was linked to the main canals that flowed down from the mountains to the Marisa River in the lowlands.
They found a suitable hostelry beneath the battlements of the city’s old castle, and immediately gathered in Jelindel’s room to lay their plans.
‘We must assume that Fa’red knows we are here, and why,’ said Jelindel. ‘He has many spies and perhaps still has some deadmoon warriors at his command.’
‘What are they?’ asked Osric, alarmed by the very name.
‘They are highly trained assassins that do not know fear of death,’ said Daretor. ‘They are worthy adversaries.’
‘Gah,’ Zimak laughed. ‘Daretor’s prone to exaggeration, Osric. We’ve taken on many times our number of deadmoons. Why, even Jelindel bested a hundred of them once.’
Jelindel closed her eyes. ‘I am going to count to three, Zimak. If you have not shut up by then, I shall disembowel you, and Daretor will hang you with your own intestines.’
Zimak took the hint. Osric nodded, as if he understood.
‘Fa’red will be within the castle, if I know him,’ Jelindel continued. ‘Daretor and I will attempt to get inside tonight when only Specmoon is up. Zimak and Osric, you will keep watch. Till then, I want you to scout around, pick up any information you can. Try the taverns and markets.’
Zimak’s eyes lit up at the mention of taverns.
‘Daretor,’ Jelindel said, turning to him, ‘I want you to plan our escape route, should we need to leave in a hurry.’
‘And what are you going to do till dark?’ asked Zimak.
‘I’m going to hire a palanquin and some lackeys for the afternoon. Then I will visit several gem merchants, pretending to be a rich young lady of leisure. If Fa’red has boasted about the dragonsight or shown it to anyone, then someone here will know.’
They each set out on their respective missions for the afternoon. Daylight was fading as they met again at the hostelry. They bought food and drink in the taproom, and retired to a private booth at the back where their conversation could not be overheard. Zimak took a deep draught of his drink and coughed most of it back up into the mug. ‘Black Quell’s butt! That must be the foulest muck I’ve ever tasted.’
Jelindel ignored him. ‘Apart from the quality of ale leaving something to be desired, what did you find out today?’
‘We visited many alehouses, as you suggested, and even spent some time in the marketplace,’ began Osric. ‘Your magician Fa’red is here all right. On the face of it, he is helping the new king secure his realm against the anarchy that is spreading across the lowlands.’
‘Ironic really, given that Fa’red helped to overthrow the previous king,’ Zimak pointed out, spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘I was about to wed his daughter. Why, if not for my so-called friends here, I might well be the king by now.’
‘Actually Zimak, I regret rescuing you from her. Had we not whisked you away from here, the princess would have fed you to her lepon in the morning, after your first night of amorous bliss. All her other suitors exited that way.’
Zimak waved the spoon. ‘I only have your word on it,’ he said. ‘Besides, maybe the other suitors hadn’t measured up in the pre-marital bed. I would have been different.’
‘Well yes, she might have had you soaked in red wine first, to disguise the taste,’ Jelindel sighed. ‘Osric, please go on.’
‘Many mutter that Fa’red has some leverage over the new king, so that the monarch has been forced to give him a wardship, a protected haven.’
‘Sounds like Fa’red still has enemies,’ Daretor mused.
‘Sounds like the sun still rises in the morning,’ said Jelindel.
‘He’s probably already doublecrossed Rakeem,’ said Zimak around a mouthful of food. He was merely putting into words what everyone else thought.
‘That may help us,’ said Jelindel, ‘but our task is unchanged. We must find the dragonsight.’
‘Or die horribly,’ Zimak reminded them. Suddenly not hungry, he dropped the bone that he had been gnawing and looked around gloomily. ‘How come every time I get mixed up with you lot my life expectancy plummets?’
‘Maybe Fate thinks you should be brought to book for your many misdeeds,’ Daretor replied.
‘You should talk,’ Zimak said, sucking his greasy fingers.
‘I have scouted three routes out of the city, should we need them,’ said Daretor. ‘I have also arranged horses to be stabled nearby.’
Jelindel nodded. She had her own escape route in mind, but followed the rule that the best kept secrets are those known only to one person.
‘I had less luck than you three,’ she said smoothly. ‘None of the gem and trinket merchants know of any bauble matching the description of the dragonsight. If Fa’red has it, then he has not revealed it to anybody here.’
She cast her gaze about the tavern to make sure no one was near. Then she cleared a space in front of her and spread a parchment on the table, making quick deft sketches of the castle and its environs.
‘Tonight,’ she said, looking around for objections. She found none.
Zimak and Osric knelt among mountain ferns four hundred yards from the castle walls, while Jelindel and Daretor slunk through the moonlit plaza till they reached the granite arch of the aqueduct. Keeping to the shadows, they scaled the brickwork of the arch, and lowered themselves over the aqueduct wall into the chill mountain water.
‘Ready?’ Jelindel asked. Her teeth were chattering. Daretor nodded, releasing his grip on the wall. Instantly, the current pulled them into the middle of the stream where the water was deepest. In a few moments they saw the castle battlements speeding towards them. The dark gap loomed in the wall where the aqueduct plunged through part of the castle before exiting again on the other side.
Even in this light they could see that an iron portcullis had been lowered across the flow. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Daretor muttered through cold-clenched teeth.
The aqueduct dipped and the water picked up speed, rushing towards the portcullis. Jelindel muttered a spell. Her teeth were chattering so much that it came out wrong, and nothing happened.
‘I’m too cold,’ Jelindel groaned. ‘Besides, magic is weakened over water.’
Daretor held her tightly, sharing the heat of his body. She tried again and though blurry flickering light lit up her lips, nothing happened. The portcullis was growing larger; in moments they would be dashed against it with bone-breaking speed.
‘Arnash ir aramay,’ Jelindel enunciated slowly. Blue light formed at her lips and leapt across to the portcullis. With a muffled groan it slid up out of their path just as the current swept them into the dark mouth.
As soon as they were inside, the grille dropped down again. They hurtled along in near darkness.
‘We’ll only have one chance,’ Daretor said. He pulled a metal hook from inside his tunic. It had a leather grip at one end. ‘Hang on tight. Whatever you do don’t let go.’
Jelindel’s grip on his arms tightened. ‘There it is.’
They saw light ahead, a rectangular shape set in the ceiling, a hatch cut into the floor of the castle’s kitchen so that supplies could be collected and let down. As they rushed towards the hatchway Daretor surged out of the water and whipped the hook in a great arc over his head. He grunted in satisfaction as it slid over the lip of the hatchway.
‘Quickly, scramble up!’ he urged. ‘I can’t hold this for long.’
Jelindel climbed hand over hand up Daretor’s body, grabbed the hatchway, and hauled herself up so that she was standing on his shoulders. Her head poked through the opening. She quickly checked the kitchen. It was empty. She scrabbled for a handhold, found one, and hauled herself up. She turned back for Daretor. Soon he too was slumped on the kitchen floor, shivering and panting. Then they moved away from the hatchway and found an alcove. Here they stripped off their wet clothing and dressed in the dry clothes that Jelindel had brought in a leather bag sealed with wax.
‘Lead the way,’ said Daretor. Jelindel nodded, still too cold to speak coherently.
The castle, like many ancient buildings, resembled a maze, partly from a sense of fun, and partly to confuse intruders. Fortunately, Jelindel had memorised a map of the castle’s layout. Sold as a curio, the map was more than a century old. She doubted that there had been any significant alterations.
She guessed Fa’red would be in the east wing, which was normally reserved for visiting nobility. She could not imagine Fa’red tolerating anything less. The east wing was some two hundred yards from their current position, and the guest suites several floors up. There was no stairway to the upper floors from this service level, but Jelindel knew that there had to be a service stairwell or similar arrangement for the staff.
‘Here,’ she said, indicating a small rectilinear cavity in the wall.
‘Are you seriously suggesting that I get in there?’ Daretor asked.
‘It’s called a dumb waiter,’ she said. ‘The servants place food and drink in it, then pull on those ropes to the side. The whole thing goes up to whichever floor has ordered it.’
‘Like Rakeem’s elevator.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s too small. I wouldn’t fit in there,’ he pointed out.
‘Still forgetting you’re in Zimak’s body,’ Jelindel replied. ‘Squeeze in, because this is how we’re getting up into the realms of royalty.’
Daretor scowled. She smiled sweetly back.
‘You know I don’t like small spaces,’ he said. ‘Poxy little body or not.’
‘I’m sorry, Daretor, but there’s no other way. I’ll go first.’
‘No,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘I will.’ He paused. ‘Why must we go up? Surely we could use the stairs around the other side.’
‘They will be charmed against intruders,’ Jelindel said dismissively. ‘Fa’red won’t leave his suite of rooms, so we must meet him.’
Reluctantly, Daretor climbed into the tiny space, drawing his legs up to his chest. His face glistened with sweat and he was shivering. ‘How will you know when I arrive at the right level?’
‘Stop worrying. It’s all marked here on the side. When you get to the proper level this marker will be next to the name of that floor. I told you, it’s designed for illiterate servants.’
Daretor swallowed, then nodded. Jelindel closed the door and started hauling on the ropes; fortunately, the contraption was counter-weighted to rise smoothly and easily.
Inside, Daretor kept his eyes shut. He was a fearless warrior, known among the Preceptor’s former legions and mercenaries as death on two legs, but this tiny cabin unnerved him profoundly. He sighed with relief when the dumb waiter jerked to a stop. He listened for a moment, then slid the door aside wide enough to peer out. The chamber was shrouded in shadows, and seemed empty.
Daretor pushed the panel wide open and climbed out, cautiously stretching his cramped limbs. Still nothing. He sent the contraption back down for Jelindel. In a short time she stood beside him, having endured the claustrophobic journey with less anxiety.
A tall, turbaned man entered the chamber, padding silently on soft slippers. He was holding an oil lamp. When he saw Daretor and Jelindel he froze, then opened his mouth and drew breath to cry out. Jelindel was faster. Her binding spell wrapped itself around him, shackling his legs and arms, silencing his cry. Daretor caught the lamp as the man toppled to the floor, mumbling for help.
‘That won’t hold him for long,’ Jelindel said. ‘We have to hurry. My plan will only work as long as we have surprise on our side.’
They peered out the door. No guards. They stepped out and hurried along the corridor.
Without warning, Fa’red attacked.
Zimak and Osric crouched in the shadows, conversing softly.
‘They’ve been gone a while,’ Zimak said.
Osric nodded. ‘You say Jelindel is a great mage, and that she has bested this Fa’red and his deadmoon warriors before. Why then has she not displayed her magic? She was easily caught by Rakeem and his men.’
Zimak remained silent for a moment. ‘There is more than meets the eye with that little vixen,’ he said finally.
‘You think she is a traitor?’ asked Osric.
‘I think she loves to be underestimated.’
Osric considered this. ‘According to Daretor, she could have fled ere now, but stayed to free you both.’
‘He’s bound to say that,’ Zimak scoffed. ‘Daretor’s in love with her. People in love say anything.’
‘Why, then, are you so anxious?’
‘I just don’t like waiting. Besides, she’s never really gone against Fa’red directly. He usually sends his lackeys to do his killing.’
‘I suppose we just wait then.’
‘As usual,’ Zimak said sourly. ‘But wait for what? If they fail, Fa’red’s guards will be swarming over these grounds like ants.’
‘Perhaps the only way to win is to lose,’ Osric said.
‘Osric, I hope that was meant to be a joke.’
Osric shrugged and settled deeper into the shadows. ‘I am going to call S’cressling now. If all goes according to Jelindel’s plan, there will be a sign shortly, and we must be ready.’
Zimak rolled his head, stretching his neck muscles.
There was some cause for Zimak’s unease. Jelindel and Daretor had run along the corridor and burst into a large dimly lit hall. No sooner had Daretor closed the door, than seven deadmoon warriors rappelled from the ceiling, encircling them with startling speed.
Jelindel spat out binding spells reflexively, and three deadmoons collapsed instantly, their chests constricted so tightly that the air was almost squeezed from their lungs. The others launched a coordinated attack. Jelindel pivoted on her right foot, sending a spinning side kick into the jaw of one assassin. The other flicked out his arm and barely missed crushing her larynx. She feinted, dropped, and managed to knock him off his feet with a leg sweep, but he sprang up again as though on a trampoline.
Daretor was faring slightly worse. He managed to wound one attacker with an underhand knife throw, causing him to limp. But he fared worse with his next attacker, who sliced skin from Daretor’s forearm. Daretor locked the deadmoon’s arm beneath his own, and smashed his opponent’s nose with a head butt, dropping him instantly. Cursing his carelessness, Daretor retrieved the deadmoon’s blade from the ground. Blood was dripping from his arm.
The skirmish was all blurred arms, legs, and feet, each a lethal weapon. Jelindel could utter no more binding spells till the others released their victims and returned to her. Suddenly blue trails of energy warped the air and returned to her. The sorceric blast from her mouth sent the last deadmoon warrior hurtling against the wall, stunning him senseless.
Jelindel and Daretor leaned against each other, gasping for breath when, with an air-warping flash and a foul stench, something materialised in front of them. Even before half of its body could emerge from a paraworld, Jelindel was dragging Daretor away.
‘Do something,’ he shouted as he was dragged backwards.
‘I am,’ she wheezed. ‘I’m fleeing. Why don’t you join me?’
They sprinted across the hall, into an auditorium. The creature’s pursuit was evident in the clattering echoes of its stampeding feet. Doors on the far side of the chamber opened onto a large courtyard.
Racing across the marble floor, Jelindel and Daretor reached a stone balustrade on the far side. Daretor turned as the creature burst into the courtyard, ripping the ornate doors off the hinges and flinging them aside as if they were sheets of parchment.
‘Is this what you call doing something?’ Daretor said, crouching with his dagger in hand. It seemed ludicrously inadequate.
‘You won’t need that,’ Jelindel said. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’
Across the courtyard, something was happening to the creature. It was writhing and smoke was pouring from its segmented body. It gave a deep, painful bellow, which reached a crescendo. Then the abomination burst into flames.
Daretor flinched, shielding his eyes. ‘What – ?’
‘It’s a Sivocan materialisation,’ Jelindel explained. ‘The tiniest amount of moonlight unzips the magic that binds it to reality.’
‘You could have told me,’ Daretor said. ‘I would have run faster.’
‘I doubt anyone could have run faster than that.’
They looked at each other. ‘Except Zimak,’ they said together, bursting into laughter. A voice interrupted them.
‘I’m glad to see that you two are still entertaining each other.’
Daretor and Jelindel turned slowly, preparing for the inevitable attack. The man standing behind them was heavily built, but tending to excess weight. His face bore the scars of a narrow escape from death by burning some years in his past.
‘Well met, Fa’red,’ said Jelindel, recognising the voice of the archmage.
‘Always a pleasure, Countess,’ Fa’red replied.
The words were still emerging from his mouth when he flung a freezing spell at Jelindel; but the red light met her blue flame, and the two spells collapsed with a resounding pop. Jelindel felt the backwash sweep through her like pins and needles.
‘I see your powers have grown,’ said Fa’red.
‘I see yours have declined,’ Jelindel replied. ‘Rest easy in Black Quell’s pit, Fa’red.’
‘I might say, “Ladies first”,’ Fa’red said guardedly. ‘You were never one to be underestimated.’
Jelindel pulled a small metal cylinder from a pocket. She put it to her lips and blew. Nothing happened. Daretor held his ground, clearly in the knowledge that his presence was superfluous.
As though reading his thoughts, Fa’red said, ‘Put that blade away. You have no idea how silly you look.’ All the while he remained staring at Jelindel.
Daretor sheathed the dagger, casting a quick glance to the palace gardens far below. They were two storeys down, which meant the flowerbeds would not break his fall, to any useful degree. He knew he was a liability to Jelindel. The instrument at Jelindel’s mouth made no noise, yet Daretor would have sworn that a high ghostly sound on the edge of hearing had been on the air.
Fa’red watched Jelindel warily. ‘A toy from a hard science paraworld?’ he asked, then his lips broke into a cautious smile. ‘You have risked too much this time, Countess. Your powers are no match for mine, despite the spirits you have claimed from your victims.’
‘I’m still alive, Fa’red, so don’t waste your breath with boasts. Where is the dragonsight?’
‘The paraworld amulet? Is that what you seek? Rather charming of the old prophecies to turn out to be true, don’t you think? Who would have guessed the dragons would return to the world from which they originated? Of course, I knew straight away that the dragonriders would need a guide once they arrived back in this world. They have been gone for centuries, after all.’
‘So you offered your services,’ Jelindel said. ‘For a fee, of course. Now you have a paraworld army at your disposal and you don’t even have to share it with the Preceptor.’
‘How very perceptive,’ Fa’red said, sounding amused.
‘I’m sure you and Rakeem discovered you were kindred spirits. To the Preceptor you were just the hired help.’
‘Once we dispose of King Amida, Rakeem and I will rule as equals, but what business of yours is that? I don’t have the amulet.’
Jelindel’s heart lurched. Their precious time was being leeched away without gain.
‘Lies come so easily,’ she said. ‘They just roll off the tongue with no effort at all.’
‘Why would I bother lying to one who is already dead? Mark you, Countess, Rakeem will never give you the antidote. You and the fools you call friends are merely pawns in a game more complex than you can imagine.’
‘Do you care for the dragonsight?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Then no doubt you can tell a dying woman what the dragonsight is, and what it does.’
Fa’red’s vanity was flattered. ‘Ah, so your perception does know limits? Well, the dying should be granted one last wish. The dragonsight is a gem which gives the bearer the ability to glimpse the future and, to a limited extent, manipulate it. However, it is much more than that. It is in truth the eye of the dragon they call the Sacred One, removed from him a thousand years ago by a great mage called Keretch.’
‘You’re right, Daretor. Why do all great and momentous things happen exactly a thousand years ago?’ sighed Jelindel.
‘Don’t mock. Whoever possesses the dragonsight holds dominion over all the dragons within their realm. You see, the dragons of the Tower Inviolate are little more than slaves, forced to do the bidding of King Amida and his elite band of dragonriders. If the dragonsight is not returned to its owners, the thousand year spell will be broken. It’s falling apart already, as these things do. The Spell of Renewal ritual takes days to perform, hence your deadline to return the relic. Need I tell you that the dragons are annoyed about being enslaved for a thousand years, and will waste little time in rending King Amida and his minions into small, black, crispy things?’
‘At which point, you will step in to restore the dominion and become king,’ Jelindel suggested.
‘You always were the clever one, Countess,’ said Fa’red. ‘Rakeem, as it so happens, doubts that the Spell of Renewal alone will work here on Q’zar.’ Fa’red spread his hands expansively. ‘My options are many. Return the dragonsight to my good partner Rakeem and be forever in favour; keep it and try to fathom its power, and wield it in time to save Q’zar and control the dragons; rid Q’zar of the dragons once they’ve toppled their current masters, and be the hero of all time.’
‘You’ll never be that, Fa’red,’ Jelindel said.
‘And you will never know. Now I tire of this. It’s time for you to die, once and for all.’
‘I think not,’ said Jelindel. ‘Perhaps you should take a look over your shoulder.’
Fa’red felt rather than saw the dark shape alighting on the roof behind him. He chanced a cautious glance and went rigid.
S’cressling was perched on the rooftop above the extended balcony. Osric and a rather dazed Zimak sat on her shoulders. S’cressling’s long neck looped down and her snout, leaking smoke and fumes, was barely ten feet behind Fa’red.
Jelindel brought her guard down. ‘Make the slightest move to leave, either by foot or by magic, and she will roast you. The flame that comes from her lungs is powered by dragon magic, and it will follow you into any paraplane in which you seek refuge.’
Fa’red’s fire-scarred face remained expressionless. He stared vehemently at Jelindel. ‘You too will die; the flames would reach you there.’
Jelindel’s lips curled into a smile. ‘I have spent many hours building the appropriate magical defence. You have not. I rather think that, even with your undeniable powers, it would take you somewhat longer to fashion one than the two seconds it will take S’cressling to roast you.’
Fa’red said nothing, but his shoulders slumped. ‘Damn you for the witch you are,’ he muttered.
‘I should like the location of the dragonsight,’ said Jelindel. ‘And while you’re at it, I should like to hear you recite The Oath That Binds in a statement that you will renounce all claim or use of the dragonsight from now unto the end of time. And just because I am paranoid, I shall invoke, with S’cressling’s aid, the ancient dragon magic to tell truth from falsehood, and to bind you to your word.’
Fa’red’s face darkened, but he rallied. ‘You exceed your ability.’
Daretor tensed. If S’cressling released a fireball, he needed to get both himself and Jelindel off that balcony.
‘Our time is short, Fa’red. Make your move now, or we shall reduce the number of villains in this world by one, then seek other help to find the dragonsight,’ Jelindel bluffed.
There was more silence, punctuated by S’cressling’s nasal breath. Finally Fa’red capitulated.
‘Well, the day goes to you, Countess,’ he declared.
His voice changed tone as he spoke the Oath That Binds beneath the watchful eye of S’cressling. He was unsuccessful, however, in keeping an edge from his voice as he swore under oath. As he spoke, he seemed to shrink like a pricked bladder.
‘And the dragonsight?’ Jelindel prodded.
Fa’red raised his bushy brow and scowled. ‘It is with the Stone People. They guard it for me and will not give it up. Now that I have made the Oath you can ask no more of me,’ he concluded with a triumphant smile.
‘Which is why you gave in so easily,’ Jelindel muttered to herself. ‘I should have asked for the location before you uttered the Oath.’ She paused to think. ‘You will send Daretor and me to the land of the Stone People. My friends will follow on S’cressling. Do it now, and do it very carefully, Fa’red. The dragon’s magic is ancient, yet she understands the nature and intent of our sorcery, though she regards it as the pastime of children.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I alone can allow you to reverse the Oath that you swore. In the unlikely event of you ever having both myself and the dragonsight in your power, you would really like that.’
‘Very well. Until we meet again, Countess.’ Fa’red muttered a spell and over the next few seconds Daretor and Jelindel faded from view.
Osric turned to S’cressling. ‘Are they safe?’
The huge crimson dragon nodded in a slow gesture of assent.
‘It is done,’ Fa’red said. ‘Now if you would be so kind as to leave, I have rather pressing matters to which I must attend.’ He hurried out of the courtyard.
Osric and Zimak stared at the place where Jelindel and Daretor had stood.
‘I wish to announce an uneasy feeling,’ said Zimak.