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Chapter Forty-Nine



The next day’s pace slowed as the ground became increasingly rugged and the Final Talon scratched its way higher over the other mountains and into the blue sky. But Druadaen hardly noticed.

He was slightly more aware that the group was unusually quiet. Except Elweyr, who triumphantly reported that he’d cracked the Sanslovan’s code and had deciphered the labels on all the vials in his alchemical treasure trove.

But Druadaen only half heard the details. For the first full hour of their slow ride toward the mountains, he had struggled to make sense of the previous night. And now that he had, it was imperative that he sort through the realizations, the consequences, and address them as quickly as possible.

Leaving aside the many questions raised by his apparent ability to see distant reality in place of dreams, Druadaen’s unintentional eavesdropping had produced several unpleasant but important realizations. He had always known that Ahearn, S’ythreni, and Elweyr had reservations about working with him and were tentative about the future of their fellowship. He had begun with enough reservations of his own. But time and shared peril had eroded a great deal of his skepticism. Happily, it had the same effect upon theirs: more so, since their attitudes had changed from an initial readiness to abandon him to last night’s final resolve to stick with him, come what may. Ultimately, then, time together had changed their attitudes to a far, far greater degree than Druadaen’s.

But that paled beside the ugly revelations, the ones that revealed how jaded his companions had been. That their true attitudes toward him had not merely been uncertain, but dismissive and denigrating. That their hypocrisy had been fueled by pure mercenary opportunism. That they had remained with him because he might bring them to the attention of persons of wealth and power—which was to say, useful persons. That, in brutal summary, he had been nothing more than a means to a very meretricious end.

And that was not the worst of it, because the most alarming failure was his own: failing to recognize their true motivations. Which meant he could not be sure that he’d detect other lies or half-truths they might tell in the future. Leaving him with a crucial and fundamental question: How could he ever trust them, now?

At another time and place, his instinct would have been to confront them or simply declare their association at an end. Unfortunately, he happened to be in wilderlands, just beyond the border of an enemy country, traveling to find a dragon in its lair. And given how far he’d come, and how close he might be to the cornerstone of all the answers he sought, he was unwilling to allow a few petty dissemblers to ruin such a singular opportunity. But how best to move forward?

If he openly confronted the three about their duplicity, there were two ways in which that was likely to cause the group to fracture instantly. One was that they might try to reject or deny his accusations, which would leave them all at an impasse. But the other was even less promising: once he explained how he had learned of their deceit, why would they—why would anyone—remain with a person who not only possessed the ability to eavesdrop upon them, but could not control when and where it happened?

That dubious “ability” raised a host of unrelated issues as well, not the least of which was the realization that the exchange he had seen between Shaananca and Alcuin was real, and that it had profound ramifications upon not only his own situation and fate, but the security of the Consentium. But those and other internal debates had to be put off until time and circumstances allowed. Right now, he had to decide if he could confront the three without driving them off, but without doing to them what they had so often done to him: lie.

As they topped a small rise, the Final Talon reared into view again, as if challenging him. Challenging him to act, because before they went any further, any closer to so fateful a destination, Druadaen needed the answer to a question even more urgent than the ones he hoped to ask a dragon. And he needed that answer right away.

“Umkhira,” he called ahead, “do you still have those antelope in sight?”

“I do!” she answered eagerly. For the past two days, she had kept to the front of the group, hoping that there might be enough time to bring down some game with which to supplement the dry rations they’d salvaged from the boat.

“Then we’ll check our path forward while you get us some fresh meat!”

She smiled broadly and wheeled her horse down toward the small herd they’d spotted a few hundred yards away.

S’ythreni cleared her throat. “You are quite aware that with my eyes, I could have told you—”

“And I am telling you,” Druadaen interrupted, turning his horse and facing them directly, “that right now, I want your attention, not your eyes.”

Ahearn leaned back. “Hey-ah, now Druadaen, what’s amiss with y—?”

“I want your attention, too, Ahearn. All of you.”

They stopped and stared at him.

He rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle. “We part here.”

For two whole seconds, they simply gaped at him. Then they burst into protestations of “What?” and “But that’s—!”

“That was a statement,” he interrupted, “not an invitation to discussion. But since that wasn’t clear, I will rephrase: I am going on without you.”

It took them a few more seconds to realize that he was neither joking nor insane; he was deadly serious.

“Why?” Elweyr asked finally.

He stared at them, one at a time. “Do I really have to say?”

They looked into his eyes. Then they looked at each other. When they looked back at him, their eyes had changed to those of snared rabbits. They knew, now. Knew that he knew. They didn’t even bother to ask how; they didn’t have to. His look told them that, after last night, their secrets were secrets no longer.

Ahearn put out a hand in appeal and put forth his best temporizing voice. “Now, Druadaen, you have to understand—”

“No. I don’t ‘need to understand’ anything. But you do. And then you must make it clear that you do understand. Or we have no further reason to speak.”

“Certainly. Yes,” Ahearn said. Elweyr nodded. S’ythreni was still so surprised that only her friend’s bobbing head reminded her to set her own into matching motion.

Druadaen looked at each of them again. He waited a moment, then: “Never lie to me again. Ever. About anything. If you do, we are at an end. Do you understand that?

Ahearn was about to speak but S’ythreni poked him. They just nodded.

“Good. Now you have a choice to make. If you come with me, you are promising that you will never lie to me again. If you can’t make that promise in good conscience, then take your horse and your shares and leave.” He stared at them. “I’m waiting.”

They looked at each other sheepishly. It was Ahearn who explained. “Er…we mean to go with you. We’re just waiting for you to, well, start going, again.” He nodded toward the mountains ahead.

Druadaen rolled his eyes. Then he turned his horse and urged it in the direction of the Final Talon.

And smiled as he heard three sets of prompt, following hoofbeats.

* * *

A night of camping upon the open plains left all of them eager to press on. In none of their earlier travels had they ever been so exposed and so far from any refuge or retreat. And never had the group been so quiet.

But the next day, Ahearn’s banter proved to be irrepressible. “Why, it’s almost as if these plains are the perfect front yard for a dragon!” he observed with histrionic surprise as they climbed back into their saddles. “With a good pair of eyes, you could see anything coming from miles away and at least a day before it reached you. And with a good pair of wings, you could fly out and catch them in the open.” He smiled grimly. “Just like our current circumstances. My, what are the odds of that?”

“I don’t know,” S’ythreni muttered, standing in her stirrups, “but I think the odds are good that we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Why?” asked Elweyr in a cautious tone.

She pointed forward. “Because this is where everybody else learned the answer to that question.”

With the shadows of clouds scudding across the wide green carpet of sweetgrass, Druadaen could not immediately force his eyes to focus upon what lay before them. Then the last of the streaming patches of darkness sped past and the sun shone brightly.

The plain was littered with bleached bones and half-intact skeletons. Most were of larger animals: elk, sheep, cattle, and horses. But there were also a variety of two-legged remains, as well as a smattering of rusted weapons and shredded armor which left little doubt as to how the owners met their various ends.

“Well,” breathed Elweyr, “this certainly looks promising.”

S’ythreni leaned forward to look at Druadaen. “You are still certain you wish to go forward?” He met her eyes. She sighed. “Of course you do.” Leaning back, she added, “Why did I even bother to ask?”

They urged their mounts toward the field of death.

* * *

Upon entering the outer edges of the scattered remains, Ahearn pointed out one of the more withered skeletons. “Urzhen. Rot, if I’m not mistaken.”

Umkhira sighed. “You are not. There are Red amongst them as well.”

S’ythreni nodded. “It’s quite a gathering of the realms, really. And historical, too. That half-chewed shield is First Consentium auxiliary, the armor next to it is Iavan sheath, and the sword in the hand of the thin brown skeleton just beyond them is Ballashan, Late Empire.” She settled back in her saddle with a resigned grunt. “At least we can console ourselves by knowing we’re to become part of a very august collection.”

“And even here, there are grave—or barrow—robbers,” snarled Umkhira, gesturing into the distance with her axe. “See there? The low ridge of fresh dirt?” She shook out her reins, got a better grip on the axe. “But to desecrate the fallen here—well, they have courage uncommon among their ilk.”

Druadaen held up a hand, focusing on the fresh soil she’d indicated. “I’m not sure you are correct, Umkhira.”

“You think they are less than bold, digging among the dead in this place?”

“No,” Druadaen answered, “I do not think they are grave robbers at all.”

Elweyr nodded. “I haven’t seen a burial site yet. I’m not even sure this was where the killing was done.”

Ahearn looked around quickly. “Ye’re right. It makes less than no sense that any dozen armies brought so much livestock with ’em. Besides, half the horses are unshod and there’s no remains of barding or heavy tack on any of them.”

Umkhira frowned. “So…?”

“So,” muttered Druadaen, “this isn’t a battlefield. This is a killing ground.”

“For the dragon?”

“No,” answered S’ythreni in a tight voice, pointing at another low heap of dirt, “for its spawn.”

A distinctly reptilian nose popped up from the soil, questing. Then the whole head emerged in profile; a single thin-irised eye rotated toward them and assessed. It reminded Druadaen of swamp lizards he’d seen during his single fateful visit to Solori. And since it was coming up out of the ground—

“Dismount!” he shouted, swinging rapidly out of the saddle.

They followed his lead, Ahearn asking, “Isn’t this the moment we want to be higher than ’em?”

“No. Get ready.”

“Wha—?”

Before Ahearn could finish his question, the creatures’ actions answered it. Four more of them appeared with little warning, two writhing up through cattle skeletons that concealed the entry to their burrows. They were low to the ground and moved in the same sinuous slither-crawl as the ones Druadaen remembered from Solori, but whereas those were slightly larger, these were more heavily built, and their hide looked more rugged.

Ahearn was already standing beside him. “You seem to know a bit about these beauties, so—?”

“They’re likely to come in pairs. Don’t use a shield; one will just grab it and hang on while the other chews a limb off. And if they seem to give ground, watch out for the tail.”

“Okay,” shouted S’ythreni, “so that’s how they kill us. What about us killing them?”

“Hold fast; they’ll charge. You want that. Makes their head vulnerable. Get a leg, otherwise. Body wounds won’t stop them in time.”

And then there was no time left to do anything but try to make sure the horses stayed back and to keep a rough line in front of Elweyr.

Whose first thaumate probably saved them all; the three in the lead suddenly slowed, as if forcing their way through cold mud, heads straining to reach the four bipeds that were so close they could smell them…

Which was the last sensation any of those three experienced. Swords and axes flashed fast and hard and laid them all out, their heads cleft or pierced. More flowed toward them, but in ones and twos that the group was able to surround and bring down quickly. When a total of six lizards lay in front of them, the seventh paused and considered the difficult and death-strewn ground before it. Then it considered the rear leg of the closest of its slain fellows and began gorging on it.

Ahearn and Umkhira made to move forward, but Druadaen called them back. “To the horses. Keep distance. Use bows,” he shouted.

A minute later, having retreated fifty yards, Druadaen and S’ythreni sheathed their swords and strung their bows as Umkhira and Ahearn each guarded a flank. The air began to hum with arrows and quarrels, and the first target upon which they concentrated their fire thrashed, almost pirouetted on its tail, and fell back, legs kicking spasmodically. The others looked up stupidly and resumed gnawing into the bellies of the dead.

But the next one they hit—the largest—snarled, reared up, and began scrambling toward them over the other bodies, hissing like a monstrous snake. The smaller ones ventured after it, but cautiously.

Their prudence saved them. By the time the leader reached Umkhira, it had half a dozen arrows and quarrels sticking out of it, one in its head. The Lightstrider did not so much attack the half-blind and staggering creature as she provided a merciful coup de grace. Whether out of experience or instinct, she took one menacing step toward the others. They spun and sped back to their burrows.

They looked at the slain reptiles, then each other, panting but very glad to be alive.

“Tell me, Dunarran,” Ahearn exhaled mightily, “you’ve read a few books on the great wyrms, haven’t you?”

Druadaen drew a deep breath before replying, “I have.”

“Do they say anything about how dragons react when you kill their young?”

* * *

After recovering as many arrows and quarrels as they could, they rode back to the edge of the bone-field in an attempt to follow it around to the other side of the plain, rather than pressing on through even more dragonspawn.

However, upon finally discovering open ground a mile to the east, they also had a better view of the entirety of the death-ground. It was not, as they had initially believed, a rough oval. It was wedge-shaped, the sides narrowing as they drew closer to the foothills just a few miles to the north.

“That’s odd,” Umkhira murmured.

“It is indeed,” Druadaen agreed, projecting the point at which the death-ground’s two converging sides would meet.

Elweyr’s comment matched Druadaen’s observation. “The narrow end of that pie slice does not lead to the Final Talon.” His finger traced the segment of the horizon that separated those two points. The Final Talon was decidedly further to the west.

“But does that matter?” S’ythreni wondered. “We don’t know that the dragon, if there is one still alive, flies to this place.”

“Strange the bone-field would be shaped that way, then,” Elweyr replied.

Umkhira nodded. “The shape is not the doing of the dragonspawn. The spoor of burrowing animals always spreads out in a circle. So do their young, as they dig new dens.”

Druadaen frowned. “The more I look at all the bodies, and how no two of them had the same equipment, the more I start to wonder if the dragon doesn’t just come out here to attack, but to drop what it’s killed elsewhere. To feed its young.”

The others stared out at the field again, except Elweyr, who was nodding. “It’s the simplest answer. Some of those skeletons, particularly the cattle and horses, don’t look like they were torn apart so much as they were shattered. As if they were smashed by a hammer, or—”

“—or dropped from a great height,” concluded S’ythreni in a murmur. “Yes, but that would also mean the dragon is not flying here from the Final Talon. At least, not directly.”

Druadaen aimed his finger at the point where the two converging sides of the wedge intersected; it rested upon a high, stony hill. “Unless it takes the same indirect route from the Final Talon every time, that hill would be the dragon’s logical point of departure.

S’ythreni sighed. “And that’s where we’re going, then?”

Druadaen nodded. “That’s where we’re going.”

“Well,” Ahearn pronounced, “at least it will be a death and a deed worthy of song!”

Elweyr stared sideways at him. “It’s not as if anyone will ever know we were here. Or up there.”

“Elweyr, you are my friend and my brother, but I must tell you true: sometimes, you are a very depressing person. Now, let’s be about becoming the stuff of legend! Druadaen: lead on!”


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