Katarina The Dragonslayer and The Foebreaker's Curse

Katarina the Dragonslayer and the Foebreaker's Curse
Book One of The Fetters of Wizardry
SAMUEL MEDINA
Copyright 2012 Samuel Medina All rights reserved. ISBN: 1478297018 ISBN-13: 978-1478297017
Published in The United States by Melloren Press via CreateSpace
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ii
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There is a long list indeed of people who encouraged, pushed, and harassed me into putting this story to paper, and I am thoroughly grateful to you all. Most especially to my wife, for all her input, her forbearance in all the difficulties of writing, for doing the typing when I injured my right hand, and for believing in me perhaps more than I did, as well as to my mother-in-law, who has been a tremendous support through all the ups and downs of this adventure.
iii
iv
DEDICATION
To every child who has dreamed of adventure, and to every hero at heart.
vi
CONTENTS
Foreword Map 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 Katarina The King's Road Disciple Warpath The Valley of Achor Dalandra Conspiracy Lessons and Loose Ends Amaru Reavers Gaminol The Toothed Hills Razic Nettles and Nests Weeds and Wherefores Mayakal The Salt Flats Into the Gloom The Sun Dragon ix xii 1 22 32 45 54 70 88 94 112 131 140 159 166 178 189 199 211 227 241
vii
20 Appendix A Appendix B
Ayakush The Elvish Tongues Glossary About the Author
270 287 288 296
viii
FOREWORD
"It is imperative that the Catalyst be acquired and converted to our cause, or failing that, eliminated entirely." Mossar Khal, High Inquisitor of the Stone Prophecy Dynasty Somewhere in the Orion constellation a highly advanced race of beings rebelled against their maker. They fed the punishment that they believed was coming, and during their long exile, they fourished. They made many discoveries about their newfound home world, among which was the existence of a sort of magnetic field emanating from their planet's core, and before long, it powered every aspect of their technology. Certain individuals of specific attunement were also able to receive, focus, and direct this energy. In some worlds, this power was called magic. As the eons passed, they depleted their world's source of magic, and they looked to other worlds with the same kind of magnetic fields, finding one such place in a remote corner of a neighboring galaxy. At a great cost of their world's remaining power, they built a hyperspace portal to that other world, and small contingent of their people traveled there to establish a colony. Not long after this, they constructed a device whereby they could draw that world's magic and transmit it to their own world. When the inhabitants of the Pellorean continent witnessed the arrival of this strange new race, they called them the Stone Prophets because of the great wonders they built from the very living rock of the earth, and because it was said that they possessed a system of mathematics whereby they could make accurate predictions of future events. The keepers of the great forest of Melloren, an ancient race of Elves, viewed the Stone Prophets with distrust. The Stone Prophets established embassies throughout the
ix
continent, and the Men of the East eagerly sought to learn their sorcerous crafts. The Stone Prophets sought to control all resources of magic, and so few centuries after their arrival, the entire continent erupted in a confict of such destruction that to this day it is called the Desolation. The Elven kingdoms were decimated. Even among the great dragons of the Covenant only a relative few survived, for among the wonders built by the Stone Prophets were living machines of war. These were called foebreakers. On the brink of a complete victory over the Elven kingdoms, the Stone Prophets suddenly vanished from the world. Their great embassies fell into ruin, but their sprawling capital in the jungles of Arrenor stands to this day. According to legend, deep within that ancient city is a relic of untold power left behind by the Stone Prophets to limit the use of magic for all time. Its effects were felt throughout the world as magic grew weaker, and as the centuries passed it came to be known as the Fetters of Wizardry. It was, however, the Stone Prophets means of harvesting magic for their own world. With the Elven kingdoms in ruins, the Harkad Emperor saw the opportunity for conquest. His armies crossed the mountains, invading the great forest of Melloren and centuries of murder, pillage and enslavement ensued. This gave rise to the rechaizo, half-elven children of the enslaved, dispossessed and impoverished, while the population of the Elves dwindled to a mere remnant. Much of the eastern forest was hewed down, and several minor kingdoms arose in what came to be known as the Borderlands. Though the Stone Prophets had seemingly vanished, they continued to exert their infuence, having left behind a number of their own to manipulate events to the advantage of their enterprise. The Elves soon detected their presence, and called them tomachnar, which is to say, demon kings. With the passage of time, the tomach'nar aged, but did not die. Instead, they withered and faded until all that remained
x
was their spirit, twisted and misshapen by the cruelty of their deeds. The Elves seek to destroy them when possible, but those who practice the darker arts revere them as gods. Over the many centuries which passed, the tomach'nar never forsook their ancient purpose, nor did they forget the predictions made through their mathematics. Among these predictions it was said that three distinct individuals of great power would be born. It was the intent of the Stone Prophets that all three individuals would be controlled by the tomach'nar. The first of these they called the Exponent, who would one day break the outer casing of the Fetters, and whose attunement would be such that it would increase the efficiency of the device, creating a permanent supply of power while no longer harming the planet. The second individual they named the Balance, who could be used to ensure that the Exponent's power could be controlled. Similarly, among the Elves there is a prophecy of someone known as the Balance, of whom it is said that he will one day restore all things. This, as you may suspect, is not a coincidence. The third of these individuals they referred to as the Catalyst. The Catalysts decisions, it was surmised, could affect the course of history. It was in time discovered through their algorithms that this individual had been born just a decade ago in the village of Moonshadow, and the tomach'nar moved quickly to capture their prey. This is the tale of what happened when the Catalyst, whom they thought they would so easily control, unknowingly eluded their grasp.
xi
xii
* You dare to question us? We, who are your masters? A dark, shapeless figure stepped out from the shadows of the cave and stretched forth a single claw. Niles Gelham, the youngest man ever to command a Harkad Legion, fell to his knees in agony. Forgive me, my master! He cried. I will do as you say! We will take Moonshadow as planned, and none of the rechaizo children will be sold. We will take them all back to your temple in the capital. The tomach'nar settled back into a dark alcove. Do it then, and do not forget your place, little man. Our favor is easily lost you would do well to remember that! Now, leave us. The shadowy creature faded away, and the man staggered out of the cave. A few moments later, Niles Gelham, the youngest Legion Commander in the Harkad Empire, issued the order to take the village of Moonshadow, and then fell off his horse and broke his neck. *
xiii
xiv
1 KATARINA
In an untidy village in the Border Kingdom of Heinmark there lived a worm farmer. Now, he was not the sort who dug up earthworms for the ends of fish hooks or who raised grubs for the keepers of pigeons. Nor did he raise poisonous angarra for sale to apothecaries and murderers. He was, in fact, a cultivator of giant silk worms, but not a very good one. Hendrik was his name, but only his wife ever called him that, and although his surname was Keltsen, he was most often called Sulk, but never to his face. Hendrik, or Sulk, if you will, was a moody man of average height and outstanding girth, with a surly disposition. Some attributed his ways to his notable lack of success as a worm farmer, and others to chronic indigestion,
SAMUEL MEDINA
but in either case, Sulk was pleasant enough to be around if he was in a good mood. Such moods were rare indeed, and it was during one of these bouts of uncharacteristic goodnaturedness that Sulk went down to the local slave market to acquire some help for the farm. The slave market was really not much more than a moldy wooden platform of questionable workmanship where men of poor manners and poorer hygiene bought and sold those unfortunate enough to have been sold for debts, who had been captured in raids, or who were born into bondage. On this day, like most market days, the small square was crowded and noisy, thick with the scent of unwashed bodies, tobacco, and horses. Sulk pushed his way past some old men playing at dice and took a seat on one of the raised benches facing the platform. The gallery was what the local men called it, though it was hardly worth the name. He grinned at a serving maid from the nearby tavern. She smiled brightly but deep dislike simmered in her eyes as she minced her way back to fetch another tray of ale. A good number of slaves were bought and sold as the day drew on. The men nodded to one another as a particularly promising one was brought out. A fine bargain at twelve gold marks, I tell you, the old auctioneer cried out. Only ten years old, this one, and look how big he is already! The boy, however, had seen his tenth birthday come and go some five years earlier. The bidding ended at fourteen gold, and the boy was taken home by a kindly old farmer whod never had a son. The next slave to be sold did not fare as well, being sold to the keeper of a small coal mine. He spat at his new master, and was swiftly put down with the sort of spiteful vigor for which the Men of the Borderlands were well-known. Now, theres some action at last, wouldnt you say, Keltsen? A skinny old man with more warts than teeth took a seat next to Sulk with a laugh.
2
KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE
I was hoping itd last longer, Jeppe. Hasnt been a good fight here in months. Sulk laughed and pointed to the cages, where some of the younger slaves jostled one another. Theres bound to be some more sport today, Ill warrant! I reckon youre right, there, sonny, Jeppe said. It aint much, but in a little town like this, a slave markets the best entertainment a man can have without spending money. By mid-afternoon Sulks good mood had eroded a bit. Theyve had a few good ones, but these slavers want too much money. But you still got it fixed in your head to get yourself a slave, I take it? Jeppe grinned, and took a swig from a small bottle. Yessir, Im determined. A mans got too much to do in life to be bothered with drudgery, I say. Sulk gulped down the last of a watery ale, and looked to see if the tavern maid was near. How much are ye looking to spend? Jeppe asked. Not a copper above six marks, Sulk replied. Youre not going to get a boy, not for that much, Ill take my oath on it, Jeppe said. But this one might suit you. He pointed as the auctioneer began again. Only five gold marks for this fine little specimen of a rechaizo! Young and ready for work, the auctioneer said. Taken in a raid, she was. Sweet as a summer apple. The little rat bit me six times before I got her in the wagon, he thought. Shouldn't have picked her up when old Norrich sold her down the river. In the Borderlands, the slave trade moved along the rivers. Traders would often sell difficult slaves to other merchants as they went along. This practice had become common in recent years, and to this day when someone puts you into an unfavorable situation, it is said that they sold you down the river. Aint gonna turn much of a profit, the auctioneer thought, but best to be rid of her before she
3
SAMUEL MEDINA
starts making trouble again. Im getting too old for this. There were no takers at five gold, and it seemed obvious to everyone why. She was a small, wiry girl with dark, unkempt hair, large violet eyes, and long, pointed ears. Shes rechaizo, all right, Jeppe quipped. Unwanted, the Elves call them. They got no place among whats left of the Elves, and for the most part a cruel place in the world at large. You should buy her, itd be good for you and the missus. Civilize her, and turn a nice profit, too. Five marks aint cheap, even for a girl, Sulk replied. Maybe, but the wiry ones are always the best suited to hard work. Think about it, Keltsen! Shes small enough that it wont cost you much to keep her. Cant be more than nine or ten years old, though with these half-breeds its kind of hard to know for sure. She could tend your worms and maybe even raise a decent garden. By the time shes a woman grown, shed have earned your money back, and you could sell her for three times as much. Sulk fingered his purse. Youre talking sense, now, old man! He waved to the auctioneer. You there! Dont put that one away just yet. Just a few years, and Ill get twenty gold for her, for sure, Sulk told himself as he counted out the coins to the auctioneer. Some of the townsfolk later said that he seemed almost fond of the child. This may have been true of Sulk in his better moods, but such a mood had little chance of lasting once he returned to the reek of worms and a wife who would rather he had bought a young mule. Youll work, you will, little one, and hard, too, if youre to earn your keep, Sulk said to the child. Im a kind man, but I dont take to lazybones and freeloaders, no sir. The child nodded, but scowled as soon as the man looked away. They walked on in silence, the man leading his purchase by a thin leather rope. *** Does this child even have a name? Mayrah Keltsen
4
frowned. Winters just two months away, and theres too much to do without having to tend to a child, and a girl at that! Call me Katarina. The girls eyes never left the stone foor of the farmhouse. Ill call you a sass-monkey and give you a good wallop, if you speak out of turn again! Sulk, it seemed, was himself again. A shadow passed over the girls face. You will be free of these people one day soon. Youll escape, or buy your freedom. They wont have you for long. Now, see here, Hendrik. She might be one of those rechaizo heathens, but theres no need to threaten her just for saying her name. Come here, and lets have a good look at you, girl. Mayrah took the girls chin in her plump hand and studied her face. Youre a pretty child, despite them long, pointy ears. Mayrah put her hands on her hips and stepped back. Now, listen to me, Kat thats what Ill be calling you. Well not be cruel to you, but youll have to know your place. Just you stand there and keep those pointy ears shut and your nose out of grown folks business. *** Now, Kat, dont you forget to water the garden, Mayrah said as she waddled by. Im heading to town, now. You know your master always comes back from hunting empty handed, so Ill expect my table set and supper on it when I get back. Mayrah had discovered the considerable pleasures of delegating much of her own work to the help, and now spent little time at the farm if the weather was good. The girl nodded but said nothing. If Im still here, she thought. Katarina sighed, and dragged another sack of dengo seed to the feeding trough. She looked toward the rain barrel just outside the barn door and thought of the little bag of coins shed tucked under it. Who am I kidding? I cant escape
5
SAMUEL MEDINA
just yet. Even if get my hands on a good map, Sulks hounds would find me quick as crickets unless I find a way to cover my scent. Id have to get a chance to make it to the southern road, but thats not likely. Ill be selling old scraps of metal from the forest to the blacksmith for years before I have enough to buy my freedom. Ow! One of the brood mothers had bitten the girl. They were docile most of the time, but they did not like to be moved. Thats going to hurt for a few days, she thought as she looked at the welts forming on her wrist. Id better get the rest of these worms moved. *** Theyre gone, Camby, Katarina said to the mule from her perch on the cottage roof. She scrambled down and picked up a hornbeam stick shed cut for herself. If old Sulk saw me, hed work me harder for sure, Kat thought as she skittered up onto the paddock fence. She ran along the top rail and then sprang into the small corn field with a fourish. Back in Moonshadow they called me Monkey for a reason, she said to herself with a grin. Katarina, however, did not know that the nickname had been intended as an insult. Shed been thought of as somewhat of an oddity among the halfelven, who were unaccustomed to seeing the agility of the Elves in those of mixed blood. Her mother had died of a fever when she was three, and the elders took her in because no one else had wanted her. They did, however, have the decency not to tell her this. You are a murderer, and a coward! she said as she crept up behind the scarecrow. Vengeance has come for you. How do you answer? The scarecrow was silent, clearly oblivious to matters pertaining to the formal Challenge made by the heroes of old. Katarina stalked closer, and then attacked, ramming the end of her stick into the scarecrows back. Straw few everywhere. Just like the Grey Ghost! Maybe one day when Im free Ill become a mighty hero like him. The elders in Moonshadow had told her many stories of the Elvish assassin whod become something of a legend in the last twenty years, and often she imagined herself to be very
6
much like him. She swung her stick through the air in a series of attacks, striking the defeated scarecrow on the legs and chest. Where the Grey Ghost walks, kings hide, Katarina said with a smile. There was a commotion at the barn, and Katarina gasped. I left the barn open again! She ran back to find feathers scattered in the yard, and footprints leading inside. A wolf! Panic took hold of her for a moment, and then she clenched her stomach against it. Fear cannot defeat me, she said to herself. Thats what the old legends say the Pelethite champions once shouted when going to battle. Death itself must stand aside if my cause is just! She inched closer to the doorway. I wish I had my slingshot. She peeked inside. A small, mangy wolf barely larger than a dog snarled at one of Sulks younger goats. Just had to be the day Sulk took the hounds out on a hunt. Maybe I can get to my slingshot and scare him off. She tiptoed into the barn, and a breeze blew in from the south. Katarina, you ninny, the barn is upwind! The wolf turned to face her and snarled. Kat climbed up the slats of a stall door. Get out of here, she said, clinging to a post and brandishing her stick. The wolf circled in, barking. It leaped for her and Katarina swung her stick, striking the wolf on the snout. It yelped and retreated, but then circled back with a growl. The wolf bared its teeth and snarled. Kat swung again when it snapped at her, and the predators jaws closed on her stick. The wolf tugged hard, and the girl went fying. She twisted in midair, and landed on the feed bin, surprised. I didnt know I could do that. Lupine eyes glared at her from a few feet away. Fear cannot defeat me, she thought as she scrambled to her feet and picked up a steel grain scoop. Its not much of a weapon, but what else can I do? Get out of here! she screamed again at the wolf. It leaped for her in a storm of fangs and fur. The wolf gagged as it knocked her off the bin, bearing her
7
SAMUEL MEDINA
down to the barn foor. The scoop was stuck deep in its mouth. The wolf staggered, coughing and shaking its head to dislodge it. Katarina rolled and jumped to her feet. She took a pitchfork and thrust it at the wolfs haunches. It yelped and ran out of the barn and into the woods beyond. Katarina stood panting. She was dirty and bruised, but a grin slowly spread on her small face. Lets see what else I can do. *** The rest of the summer was uneventful. Sulk had been spending too much time in the village, leaving Katarina with much more work to do. She took to it all without complaint. By summer's end, Sulks absence became a relief. Kat grew used to the work and learned to order her days so that there was time for daydreams of freedom and forays into the woods in search of herbs and adventure. Kat! Dont you dare go traipsing about the forest when theres work to be done, Mayrah scolded. Think youre a real smart monkey, dont you? Well, Ive got my eye on you! Now get out of my kitchen! You can eat when your works done. Katarina trudged out of the cottage carrying a bucket and a trowel. Mayrah sat at the table and began to eat the girls breakfast. No sense letting hot food get cold. Good thing I picked some mushrooms and berries earlier, Katarina thought as she looked over her shoulder. She spent the rest of the morning picking carrots and sweeping out the root cellar. She smiled brightly and waved when Mayrahs heavy form went by on the wagon. As the farmers wife faded into the distance, Katarina stuck out her tongue. *** What are you doing with my property, Alley Kat? Hes back early. Kat stacked the boards neatly, and picked up a hammer. These boards were half-buried behind the barn. Most of them were no good, anyway. Katarina said.
8
Theyre still mine, you pilfering little weasel, Sulk replied. Ought to tan your hide, teach you not to go thieving. Im building something for the farm. Katarina looked him in the eye, and Sulk looked away. Is that so? Out with it, then, he said. Whats the smart monkey wasting an afternoon on this time? Katarinas last idea had been to plant small plots of vegetables at the base of the fruit trees behind the cottage. The little gardens fourished, but Sulk had refused to let her use any chicken wire to fence them in. Going to feed the rabbits again? Katarina clenched her teeth and fought an urge to throw the hammer at Sulks forehead. Im using them as molds to build an earth stove, for the winter, to keep the animals warm. Mayrah said you lost half the worms last year. Now, we cant go wasting firewood. Sulk didnt know what else to say. Katarina shot a glance at the forest and sighed. It wont use much, and I can make the chimney fit the hole in the barn roof, Katarina offered. Sulk scratched his head. Well, I wouldnt have to fix the roof, at least. All right, then, get to it, but it better not cut into your chore time. And be thankful Im such a good and kindly master. Without another word, he stomped back toward the house. *** Itll be hours before the fire goes out, Katarina said to one of the goats. Youll be okay until I come back. Katarina sat in a small nest she had fashioned for herself on top of the earthen stove shed built. Small steps spiraled around it to a height of about ten feet, where a platform built of cast-off boards held a warm and tidy, if humble place for a young girl to sleep. From there, the column narrowed, rising up through the barn roof. Kat looked up. No more leaks. I dont
9
SAMUEL MEDINA
think even Sulk will mind if I step out for a bit, she said. The goat bleated softly. I know, I know, Katarina replied, as though the goat was speaking to her. He only let me build it because its keeping the worms alive but at least now he leaves me alone when I have an idea for the farm. Sulks good moods had come the oftener over the last few months, as his new help was a better keeper of worms than he, but he was still a difficult master to please. These days, however, he left the worms to Katarinas care. Now that winter had come, Kats chores kept her mostly confined to the barn. Shed finished early today, and sat on a reed mattress shed woven for herself. Katarina sang quietly, as her mother had taught her, in the old tongues of the Elves. She did not understand the song, but it gave her comfort with the memory of her mother, a slender half-elven woman with a voice like crystal chimes. Watch, children, watch. The Balance will come like doom creeping on the hills, like the dew upon the fields. Watch, children, watch, and let justice guide your ways, for your redeemer is coming, with his unshakable purpose to break the world. Her hands moved silently, swiftly, putting the final knots in the edge of a hempen vest. She slipped it on and smiled. Kat picked up the new walking stick she cut for herself earlier and ran down the earthen steps. She leaped into the air, brandishing the hornbeam stick as if it were a sword. The old mule in its stall eyed her with interest.
10
Its going to be a grand day in the Old Forest, Camby, youll see! She patted the grey muzzle and ran outside and down the stony path that led to the forest road. Hours passed without much adventure, though there was a particularly fat crow which seemed to follow Katarina at a distance. Its getting late, and the evening chores will need doing soon, she said to herself. She was just about to turn back when she noticed an overgrown trail heading east from the road. Unused trails hold ancient secrets, the elders used to say. With a skip, Kat set off to see where it led. Nowhere seemed to be the answer for a while, until after a turn around a stony ridge, the trail came to an end at the mouth of a cave. Stay away from caves, you hear me? Sulk had said to her on more than one occasion. Youll find naught there but bears or trolls or trouble of an ugly sort. Kat reached into her small satchel and drew out a reddish stone about the size of a robin's egg. She rubbed it briskly, shook it and then stepped toward the cave as the fire gem began to cast its dim light. If old Sulk knew I found one of these, she thought with a grin. The fat crow squawked and hopped onto a large rock at the caves mouth, craning its neck to peer inside. Fortune favors the bold, does it not, Mister Crow? Kat stared at the bird for a moment, half-expecting an answer, and then stepped in. The mouth of the cave was untidy and rank with the stench of rotten eggs and decay. Maybe I should leave, she thought. Curiosity, however, overcame discretion, and so Katarina stepped in further. About ten yards from the mouth of the cave there was a sort of nook. In it was a small mound of what at first appeared to be refuse. Katarina poked about in the mound. Its just garbage. Probably from drunks and vagabonds. She kicked a broken pot aside. Hey, thats metal! She dug in with her stick and smiled. Among the broken potsherds and scraps of leather were coins of silver and gold. Kat looked over her shoulder and
11
SAMUEL MEDINA
bit her lip. Surely this has to belong to someone, but then who would leave gold and silver in a pile of rubbish? She stuffed two handfuls of coins into the small square pouch on her belt. She patted the pouch and smiled. Sulk only gave me this pouch to carry tools, but now it holds my life-price. I'll buy my freedom and become a wandering adventurer, like Moab of Starwatch, who defeated the troll king Bokwa in single combat but spared his life and became his friend, she told the crow, who seemed to nod. Or maybe I could be a dreaded assassin like the Grey Ghost! The crow hopped and squawked. Kat stood on the heap and struck what she thought was a dramatic pose. She rammed her walking stick down on the pile, and it sank in, striking something that shifted, and then stuck. She strove to free her stick to no avail, then leaned back on it with what weight she had. Her staff came free in a shower of clay shards, leather scraps, and rocks, and she fell backward, getting a nasty scrape on her left arm for her trouble. A scowl crossed her face. She dusted herself off, and then her violet eyes brightened and the scowl became a grin. Much of the small mound had been scattered, and near what had been its center metal gleamed in the fickering light of the fire gem. A pair of thin shortswords with curving hilts lay on the cave foor in plain scabbards on a broad leather belt. She strapped the swords on with a smile. She drew one of the swords and held it aloft. A cool feeling like a breeze within her chest passed over her, and she sheathed the weapon, unsettled by it. Is this magic? As the sun began to approach the horizon, Kat emerged from the cave wearing a scaled shirt much too large for her. She rolled the sleeves back. Surely this must have been crafted from the hide of some terrible beast, she said. Katarina ran most of the way back, stopping at the small spring which fed the ponds on the farm. She took a long drink, and then noticed that the old fat crow was still with her. For a moment she imagined him to be a fine hunting falcon, but then the call of freedom once again took her
12
firmly in its grip, and she was off for the house. *** Where have you been, Alley Kat? Sulk rose from the chair beside the door of the cottage, almost dropping his pipe and burning a finger in the bargain. He spat a curse and stepped toward her as quickly as his bulk would allow, his cheeks forid with rage. You missed the worms evening mud stir! I had to do it myself. Got bit up something fierce, to boot. His glare gave way to confusion as he noticed her change of attire. Found yourself some outlandish clothes, and now you think youre fancy, dont you? Stole them is more like it! He reached for her, but Katarina was quicker. She circled around him toward the barn. Im leaving! Kat glared back at him, fists clenched. Pig slop, you are. Sulk belched loudly. Ive got my life-price. You know the law. Sulks anger ebbed as he considered her words. He doubted her, but greed shone in his eyes nonetheless. Whered an alley cat like you get twelve gold marks? Ill not have you thieving and bringing trouble upon us. He moved toward her, and she backed away lightly. Why would you care where I got it? I found a great treasure in the forest, and the lawful price is ten. She looked him square in the eye, and he spat on the ground at her feet. Im not taking less than twelve. Shes got to be lying, but maybe at least shes found some coppers that I can take for ale money. Without taking her eyes off Sulk, the girl reached into her pouch and threw the coins at his feet. That leaves me with just six marks and a few silvers and coppers , but Ill make for the coast and be free of the Borderlands. The farmer gasped, and dropped to a knee to gather the coins. Twelve gold Imperial marks! Thats almost half this years
13
SAMUEL MEDINA
silk harvest. By law I have to let her go, but with the slave market closed for the winter, I wont be able to get any new help right now. The shock on his face gave way to bitterness at the idea of working the farm himself again, but then his eyes brightened anew. Ill thank you kindly for the generous donation toward the welfare of our humble farm. I daresay it might even pay for all the care weve taken of you, ungrateful as you are. Ungrateful? Katarinas voice shook with anger. You and Mayrah barely feed me! If I didnt know how to fish and forage, Id starve. And you cut most of my hair off and sold it for a few coppers when you first bought me! His voice then took on the affected tone of those who feign concern with the barest veil of hypocrisy. I know your savage mind cannot understand that we know whats best for you. You were crawling with lice, you know. I got them from sleeping in your barn, Katarina said. Her hands drifted closer to her swords, but Sulk did not notice. So you say. Anyhow, freedom can be dangerous for a little thing like you. An ignorant half-breed needs a proper upbringing, and Id not have it on my conscience if something terrible befell you. Like my own child, you are. Unable to hide his true meaning, he chuckled as he put the coins into his purse. Without this little trinket, youll just be carted back to a slave market anyway. Sulk lifted a thin iron chain hanging on his neck. Secured to it was a small brass disk, the token of ownership. Stamped into it was a design matching a brand on Kat's right shoulder. Kats face darkened. You cant keep me here! Ill tell the magistrate! He cant do this! In the Border Kingdoms, without a token matching my brand Id be assumed to be a runaway slave. Id be in constant danger of enslavement or worse. Sulk laughed. And who will he believe, a respectable farmer or some rechaizo dog eager to slip the leash?
14
The girl clenched her fists and fought back tears. Sulk is lazy, ill-mannered, and selfish, but could he really be this bad? I will have my freedom, Mister Keltsen! I will have it, or she faltered. She could think of few threats she could make against such a man. If I escape, Ill be hunted down, but to murder him outright would surely be abomination. Ill have my freedom or the Balance will come for you! You ignorant little heathen, I ought to tan your hide for even mentioning your filthy gods. Sulk took a step toward her. The Balance is not a god. He is sent by the The words died in her throat, and her eyes grew wide. Sulk reached for his belt. Somewhere above, a crow cried out. A smirk crossed the farmers plump face. Dont have the nerve to talk your sass when theres a ready belt, hey? He took another step toward her, then noticed that she stood unmoving. Shes never been that afraid of my belt . What are you gawking at, girl? A loud huff came from behind him, and with it a warm breeze and the smell of brimstone. Sulk looked over his shoulder, and stood transfixed. He opened his mouth, unable to speak, and urinated. Behind him there stood a scaly, reddish-brown creature the size of a small bear. Its splayed feet bore sharp claws and its broad neck ended in a blunt, horned head full of teeth like daggers. A long, heavy tail swayed back and forth behind it, and a deep rumble came from its chest while yellow eyes glowered with murderous intent. Kat stifed a scream. Its a nergash, a land dragon! The elders in Moonshadow thought theyd been hunted to extinction. The dragon snarled then made a harsh, strangling noise. A mute? I thought all dragons could speak. The dragon leaped toward Sulk with open jaws, and a torrent of fame burst forth from its gullet. *** Traces of foam were starting to fy from the mules mouth,
15
SAMUEL MEDINA
and his ragged breath kept pace with the sobs coming from his rider. Kat kept her grip on Cambys mane while trying to wipe her eyes with a sleeve. Oh, Camby. I didnt mean for old Sulk to get killed, I didn't. She looked over her shoulder. He didnt follow us. Yet. They crossed the small bridge into the village, and Katarina hopped off the mules back. She gave the animal a sharp slap on the rump. Go on! Get out of here! Before that dragon gets a taste for mule. The animal sprinted a few paces, then slowed down and sauntered off into the forest. Kat ran to the large brick house at the north end of the square. She hammered on the door. A window above opened, and a balding old man thrust his head out to peer down at her. My word, Kat! What for are ye raising such a ruckus? Its near dark, it is. Run home and tell your master not to send you to trouble me after the days done! The magistrate liked the little girl well enough, but he was known to refuse to deal with even serious matters once the sun began to set. Master Cullywich, youve got to rouse the Watch! Theres a dragon! A big one! And its killed Sulk! Cullywich sighed, then scowled. Shes a fair child, to be sure, and a pleasant one, but her heads been filled to bursting with stories and adventures ever since that skinny old minstrel came through the village last summer. A dragon, you say? Theres been no wild dragon in these parts in near to fifty years. And them thats of the Covenant keep to the West, if they even still live. Im telling the truth! It came out of the forest! Its big as a bear and breathes fire and has teeth like knives! Kat looked around. Please, you must call the Watch! Cullywich frowned. The Watch were volunteers, mostly old soldiers and tradesmen, who were rarely called upon to do anything more than track down a lost child or stolen horse. Theres trouble enough to be had from the Council
16
without raising an alarm over wild stories, child. Though he was appointed by the Imperial government, that government was far over the mountains to the east, and the Council was just a short walk away. Repent of your lying ways, child, and get ye home! Its been a mild winter, but them wolves still come down from the hills and like to eat cute young things like yourself. Dont trouble me again! He slammed the window shut. Kat stood there for a moment, then hurried off to the blacksmith. Marcus always liked me, and he knows Im no liar. She found the huge man in his shop cleaning his tools. A broad smile broke through his thick, dark beard, but then vanished. The girl's cheeks were tear-stained and she was clearly shaken. Miss Kat, what is the matter? He set his tools down and knelt, taking her hands in his. Is it Sulk? Has he forgotten his manners again? Sulk had once struck Kat outside the smithy, and Marcus had called him over and had spoken quietly with him for some time. After that Sulk hadnt hit her again. No, no, Marcus! Sulk is dead! The girl looked up at him. You have to believe me, I never meant for it to happen. I found these things in the forest Marcus now noticed that she wore a leathery scale shirt and a pair of shortswords on her belt. I found them in a cave and when I got back to the farm, it came and killed him! What came? Who killed Sulk? Marcus poured a mug of hot cider and handed it to her. She sipped at it, and made an effort to calm down. It was a dragon! It breathed fire and it jumped on him. I think it ate him. Marcus motioned for her to sit, and pulled up a stool for himself. Id think this was a mighty tall tale, Kat, but Ive never known you to lie. Are you sure it wasnt a bog salamander? He did not doubt that Sulk was dead, but he
17
SAMUEL MEDINA
hoped that it had been fear and upset that had colored her story. Salamanders are dangerous, to be sure, and they can spit a little fire, but a wild dragon of even modest size would be a grave danger to the whole village. I know the difference! she said. It was a lot bigger, reddish brown, with a short, wide head and a thick body. Salamanders are small and skinny. Marcus nodded, and was about to speak when someone outside screamed. There was a crash, followed by more screams. Marcus crossed the shop, and put on a mail shirt and a set of heavy bracers. He took up a wide-bladed axe. Stay here. He stepped out of the smithy, latched the gate, and then ran toward the square. *** Kat peered over the gate. Smoke rose from nearly every building near the square. Several bodies lay in the street. One of them looks like Kendyll, the butchers boy . A dozen men of the Watch stood ten yards from the nergash, swords drawn and looking as though each one aimed to time his rush so as not to be the first to get close. The dragon sensed their fear and charged, scattering all but a small, portly man determined to stand his ground. He swung his sword wildly as the ner'gash leaped upon him. He never screamed. A hulking figure approached the dragon from behind and swung an axe at its spine. Marcus! The axe scored a gash on the first stroke, but on the second it stuck in bone as the dragon spun to face its attacker. The dragon reared up, and Marcus held onto the axe with both hands. He kicked at the reptiles fank as he struggled to free his axe. The dragon snarled and shook the man off. Marcus rolled to his feet. He picked up a large rock and hurled it as the dragon charged. The nergash stopped and shook its head. Dark blood seeped from one of its nostrils. Marcus eyed the dragon warily. It must have exhausted its fame for the moment. He drew a pair of long daggers from his belt and attacked.
18
One dagger few from his hand as it collided with a horn. The other nicked the side of the dragons jaw. The man and the dragon crashed to the ground, and soon the beast had him pinned. Marcus stabbed and slashed with his remaining dagger while struggling to keep the dragons jaws at bay. The nergash bit down on his forearm. Though he wore bracers of steel, bone snapped and blood ran down his arm. He stretched out his free hand and slammed the butt of his dagger into the hollow where he thought the reptiles ear might be. The dragon released him with a roar. It reared up, and Marcus kicked at its belly with both feet, knocking it back. His hand found the hilt of the sword which had belonged to the portly watchman. He rose to his feet and faced the dragon. The dragon snarled, its eyes alight with rage. It circled in slowly. This one is not soft like the others . The dragon opened its mouth, and made strangling noises again. Marcus readied himself for the attack, lifted the sword, and then the ground rose up swiftly to meet him and he knew no more. Marcus! Kat was out in the street before shed even thought to cry out. Most of the remaining men of the town had fed. The few who had not taken to their heels only watched from what they regarded as a safe distance. You cowards! Kat shouted. Will you not fight? Katarina drew both of the shortswords, and again that feeling of a cool breeze filled her chest. She ran into the square and stopped about twenty feet from the nergash. You murderous brute! You have no quarrel with these people. Vengeance stands before you. How do you answer? She knew little of the formal Challenge that the heroes of old once made, but the dragon appeared to consider her words. After a moment of thick silence, the reptile made a huffing noise that lasted several seconds. It might have been laughter.
19
SAMUEL MEDINA
Katarina charged, and the dragon surged forward to meet her attack. It snapped at her legs, but she hopped up onto its head and jumped over its back, turning in the air as she slashed downward. The nergash cried out in its strangled voice and turned to face her, but the girl was gone. Blood fowed from a large gash in the dragons shoulder. I am a servant of Kurumarrak, a keeper of the light, Kat whispered to herself as she circled around the dragon. Fear cannot stop me. Death must stand aside. She moved in and out with a speed this dragon had never seen in its short life, for he was a young dragon, and he had never seen one of these long-eared man-things. The dragon slashed and snapped, but could not reach his prey. This small one is too fast, and her claws are sharp . The nergash bled from several wounds now, and his rage was giving way to a feeling as unfamiliar as it was suffocating, for he had never been afraid before. The nergash feinted, and this time the girl attacked from the left, to bring her blade down on a scaly leg. She never saw the dragons tail. It struck her solidly in the ribs, driving the air from her lungs and knocking her into a tree. She kept her grip on her swords, and tried to rise but sank back down. It hurts to breathe. The dragon approached, its shambling walk unsteady from deep wounds on its right fank and legs. Kat forced her eyes open. Over in the square, Marcus lay motionless in a growing pool of blood. Death must stand aside. She stood up, using the tree at her back to steady herself. Defeat will not consume me. The dragon was closer now, his snuffing breath matched by a deep rumble coming from its chest. His fame is replenished! Kat fought the urge to drop the swords and run. Her knees shook as the dragon reached the tree, and her eyes burned with tears. The dragon opened its mouth, and as the glow of fame rose in its throat, Katarina screamed, Death must stand aside! A shaft of blue light erupted from the ground, enveloping
20
Katarina. The dragons fire broke on the surface of the shaft, parting to either side as the girl leaped forward. The swords rippled with blue fames as they sank into the dragons chest.
21
2 THE KING'S ROAD

Kat blinked. Its morning. I must have passed out when the dragon fell on top of me . The stench of brimstone filled her nostrils, and breathing came with sharp pain. She tried to free herself, but the dragon was too heavy. Voices. Not far off. The villagers are coming back. The beast is dead, to be sure, said a voice that sounded like Cullywich. More mens voices and heavy footsteps came near. Theres something under it. Move that thing, lads, and be quick about it. Cullywich, now that the crisis was over, had emerged to take charge. Well, bless my bootstraps! Its that little rechaizo, what belonged to Sulk. Katarina coughed, then sat up slowly. My ribs! It hurts so much to breathe. Marcus, wheres Marcus? Near dead, no thanks to the likes of you. A big man with a leathery face eyed her with hatred. You brought that monster here, no doubt for some dark sacrifice to your
heathen gods! Now, there, shut your trap, you ignorant brute. Cullywich stood between the man and the girl. Shes a heathen, Ill not argue that, but shes just a child. A good child! She couldnt have summoned such a thing! So keep your opinions in your pointy head and dont start making trouble. Weve had trouble enough. Some of the men nodded their assent, but the big man was undaunted. He looked around and pointed at the dragons corpse. Behold this work of heathen sorcery! She comes to town, and then comes this dragon! Then she, just a child, as some might say, slaughters it like a fatted goat while glowing bright as the harvest moon! By my word, I say shes a witch! Several others echoed his accusation, and before long, more than half the village was crying witch and Cullywich could no more quiet them than he could the thunder. Please, my good sirs, regain your reason and Cullywich was silenced by a meaty fist which knocked him to the ground. A cheer rose from the crowd, and in the shadow of a burned house, a slender, cloaked figure watched in silence. Shes a witch! Burn her! This cry was repeated several times, and then the big man stepped over the unconscious Cullywich and toward Kat. The ground before him erupted in fame. Men and women screamed, and the crowd fed toward what shelter they could find. A billowing cloud of steam rose from the ground, and Kat struggled to her feet. She pulled her swords out of the dead dragons chest and ran. It was not long before she made it to the old southern road. The Kings Road, the men call it, but it was laid down when there was still a High King among the Elves of Melloren. The men of the town rarely travel on it. Katarina leaned against a tree, and coughed. She wiped tears from her eyes and fought to ignore the searing pain in her ribs. Well, theres no going back
23
SAMUEL MEDINA
now, is there? Fortune favors the bold, she thought as she headed south. She tried to walk quickly, unsteady as she was. The old storyteller said that there used to be whole towns of Elves along the Kings Road. Theyre gone now. All laid to waste a long time ago by the foebreakers. No good thing lives on the road to the south, he said, but he would never tell me who the foebreakers were, just that the road is cursed because of them. Maybe he didnt know. After the first few miles, Kat turned west off the road and down the slope to the river. It had been a mild winter, and so its waters still fowed freely. She cleaned her weapons and washed herself hastily, then opened the pouch on her belt. She took a small bundle of dry leaves and crushed them, mixing them with river mud. She scanned the area around her and then smeared this mixture on her arms, legs, and boots, then made her way back to the road, careful to keep to the rocky gullies that led up from the river. My trail will lead to the water. If the men of the village do decide to try to track me , theyll assume I crossed the river. This mixture might conceal my scent long enough for me to pass out of the Border Kingdoms if Im careful. If the storyteller was right about these herbs. After that, I dont know. Marcus said that some of the rechaizo had taken to the islands in the Eastern Deeping. It was a long way off, and dangerous to be sure, but the alternative was at best a return to slavery and at worst death by torture. Katarina straightened herself, and tried to look grim and determined. If anyone had seen her, they might have thought she looked like she needed a meal and a bath. The day drew on, and grew darker. Kat found few of the winter hesk berries along the road, but had filled her belly with bark from a pine that looked to have fallen in the last few days. Her ribs ached, and the cold was starting to sink into her bones, but she walked on. She looked over her shoulder again. No one's been on the road all day. The wind slowed, and some distance off she could hear howling. Those arent normal wolves. Katarinas eyes widened.
24
Shukhalu! The giant wolves of the Southlands! She stopped walking, and looked all around her. Katarina, you ninny! Even without a scent they'll find you easy as sleep out here in the open. Im too tired to fight, and Ill never outrun them. The howls were closer now, not more than two or three miles, and the deepening dusk seemed to carry a threat of its own. What can I do? In the dark, in the night, when fear stalks near me, make me light, keep me high above the hand of the enemy. That was all she knew of that ancient song, but it was enough. Katarina's ribs burned as she tied another bundle of boughs to her belt and scaled the fat pine again. The sun was setting as she finished weaving the foor of a hasty nest high above the road, and it was dark when she had closed its walls about her. The wind became harsh again, and though her small shelter kept the wind out, the cold seeped in. The wolves are closer now, she thought. Their barks and howls seemed to come from just across the river, and images of shaggy forms surrounding the tree swam in the girl's tired mind. Fear will not defeat me. Kat reached into her pouch and drew out a shallow clay bowl. I'll have to risk a fire, just a small one. It's either that or freeze. With all the pine boughs woven so tight around me, a very small fire wont be seen, but a slight change in the wind could bring the shukhalu. She crumbled two pine cones into the bowl, stacked twigs against one another, and lit a match. I only have a few of these. Katarina added a few more twigs to the little fire. The shelter was small enough that it was not long before it was warm. She huddled close to the fire and listened. The west wind is steady, and the wolves have moved deeper into the forest beyond the river. I should sleep. Her eyelids drooped, but whenever the tree creaked in the breeze or an owl stirred on
25
SAMUEL MEDINA
some nearby branch, sleep fed from her. It was past midnight when exhaustion overtook her. Katarina awoke with a start. Something moved in the forest below. It was still dark, and a few embers glowed faintly in the ashes. I havent been asleep long. Her fingers pried a small gap in the boughs. She saw nothing but the trees in the gloom. Stop scaring yourself, you must have been dreaming. Then the sound came again, closer this time. It was a thick, wet snuffing that dulled the sound of slow, heavy feet in the darkness. She crouched in silence, straining to see, yet dreading to learn what new peril the night had conjured. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a massive, hunched form. Her hands went to the hilts of her swords, and her chest filled with that coolness which was now familiar, even welcome. The creature stopped suddenly, and ceased its sniffing. It stood upright, and though its features were covered in shadow, it was clear that it had sensed the power of the ancient weapons. Gorrok. Katarina bit her lip. It has to be. The men of the village say that the gorrok are demons who feast on the blood and living entrails of their victims. She forced her fear down and tried to remember anything her mother might have said about these creatures. There was nothing like this to the north in Moonshadow. The gorrok resumed its snuffing. It came to the base of her tree and looked up. Katarina could not see its face, but now she could see that it had a broad skull, and a long-limbed, shaggy body that was stooped yet still much taller than a man. It seized the trunk with both hands, and the bark creaked under its grip. The gorrok shook the tree, and Kat's nest swayed. It knows I'm here! She began to draw her swords, and then the creature below seemed to bob up and down several times. A low, deep hum rose from the gorrok. Kat sheathed the weapons. What is it doing? It's not trying to climb. The gorrok seemed to shrug, and then lay its head against the tree and began to hum again. The humming stopped,
26
and the apelike form straightened. The gorrok made the kind of long, low gurgling noise that one might expect of a woodland folk tale monster. Kat stiffened, and then the creature spoke, or at least seemed to. " Machpala," it said. The gorrok let out a deep sigh, and then sagged against the tree. Several eternal minutes had passed when a great howl pierced the night. The gorrok released the trunk and growled. It looked up into the tree, and sniffed. Several wolves could be heard now, and not far off. It lay one huge hand on the tree and snuffed. Thick claws dug into the bark, and the scent of pine sap rose up into the branches. " Machpala," the gorrok said. It dropped to all fours and shuffed off into the shadows. Kat leaned back against the trunk. She put another pine cone on the embers and rubbed her eyes while the fire came to life again. This doesn't make sense. It knew I was up here. The sound of the wolves seemed distant now. Her thoughts began to drift together, and her eyelids closed in a dreamless sleep. *** Katarina stifed a yawn. She peered up through the narrow smoke hole she'd left in her shelter. It's nearly dawn. She yawned again, and then she heard breathing. The gorrok? Kat pried the boughs apart and gasped. At least ten of them! Her pulse rose up into her eardrums, but she did not reach for her weapons. What are they doing? In the pre-dawn twilight, she could see them clearly. Covered in grey-brown fur, they had wide, stony faces with tusks that peeked out from under thick lips, and they wore a sort of breechclout with a rough belt of braided leather. The largest of them wore a harness of leather straps festooned with the teeth and claws of shukhalu. He stood at the base of the tree, tapping his chest with huge fat hands. He rose to his full height, and the matted hair along his spine bristled. "Machpala!" he said, and snuffed. That's the one who was here earlier. Is he their leader?
27
SAMUEL MEDINA
The rest of the gorrok crouched in the feeting shadows. As the dawn began to seep over the hills, the gorrok left, one by one, until only the first remained. As the sun was rising, the gorrok patted the trunk of the tree and sighed. "Machpala," he said, and disappeared into the woods with surprising speed. *** It was nearly two hours later when Kat exited the nest. After scanning the area once more, she climbed down, wincing as she dropped to the forest foor. What's this? At the base of the pine was a slab of bark, and on it was an assortment of berries, mushrooms, roots, and some pale herbs she had never seen before. They seemed to be guarding the tree for much of the night, and now this! Katarina sat with her back to the tree and took the rough tray on her lap. She reached for a clump of berries, and then hesitated. Why would they do this? Suspicion leaped into her thoughts. The Men of the Border Kingdoms were known to give orphans and wandering rechaizo children food and then lure them into enslavement. These are not Men, she thought. If they'd meant to harm you, they'd have done it in the night. She ate quickly. The berries were sweeter than she had expected for the season, and the roots tasted like summer squash. Satisfied, she put the last of the roots into her pouch and eyed the untouched pale herbs. What are these? She sniffed at them. They smell like rosemary, but I've never seen anything like them. Kat broke off a few of the leaves and chewed them. A chill passed through her body, and then a warmth grew in her belly and spread. The soreness in her ribs began to fade, and the weariness of the past day departed. Magic? She studied the area around her. The gorrok had left no tracks she could see. I wish I could thank them. Kat tucked the rest of the herbs into her pouch, set the tray against the tree, and headed for the road. *** Katarina kept a brisk pace for much of the morning. More than once she ran and hopped and skipped as little girls do,
28
but after several hours of cold and dust and quiet, she began to tire. Does this road ever end? The coast was at least twelve days' march from Heinmark, but she did not know that. Toward noon she spied a small clearing to the east and turned aside. She strode through the winter grass and soon came to what looked like a stone table. I never saw this from the road. The thrill of possible adventure rose within her, but melted away quickly before the memory of her recent troubles. Katarina circled the great slab. There's writing on it. Symbols, unknown yet strangely familiar, formed a circle at one end of the slab, and at its other end there was a shallow depression in the ground. Nothing's grown in the hole. It's not a table. This stone was standing, and not long ago. Kat climbed up onto the slab. There are other stones. Twelve, and all with the same kind of writing on them. She turned about to see what else might be in the clearing, and then dropped down to hide behind the fallen stone. There's someone on the road! A tall, gaunt figure drove an old cart drawn by a tiredlooking mule. He was hooded and cloaked, and little of his face showed besides a narrow chin and a large nose, but it was clear that he was very old. Katarina kept still. What sort of man would take this road? Maybe he didn't see me. I'll let him go past, and then wait a while. Better to have him in front of me than behind. The cart came closer. The old man leaned back in the seat, holding the reins loosely. The mule appeared to need little direction from its owner, who seemed to be in no great hurry. The stranger neared the clearing with his posture unchanged. Kat quietly sighed her relief. He didn't see me. As he passed by, the man lifted one hand. Hanging from his gnarled fingers was a slender iron chain, and from this chain hung a brass token, which he seemed to swing to and fro. Kat's eyes widened and she clenched her fists. My bond token! Without thinking of where or how the stranger might have acquired the proof of her newly purchased freedom,
29
SAMUEL MEDINA
she jumped out from behind the stone and ran to apprehend him. "Hey! That's mine!" Katarina trotted alongside the cart. The old man said nothing. She reached for the brass disk, but the man snatched it away and tucked it into the dark folds of his leather cloak. "What are you doing? I paid my life-price for that!" The cart stopped. Kat stood glaring at the man. "Imperial Law forbids you to keep a token that is rightfully mine!" A commanding baritone voice came from under the hood. "Perhaps you are telling the truth, and perhaps not. In either case, those who might impose Imperial Law on a poor traveler such as myself are far away." Kat's face grew fushed with outrage. "How dare you? Have you no honor at all?" "Honor I may have, or I may lack it entirely. However, I have not the slightest intention of denying you your freedom." He turned toward her, and from beneath bushy white brows bright green eyes brimmed with mirth. "Indeed, I have some hope of making you an offer which I believe you would find agreeable. All that I ask is that you hear my proposal, and then I will give you this trinket which you seem to regard so highly, and you can do as you please." Katarina fought to control the anger that rose within her. She tried to sound as commanding as the stranger. "I don't care to hear your proposal, agreeable or not! Give me the token, or I will take it!" She stood with her fists on her hips. "I'll have you know Im a dragonslayer!" The traveler did not move. "Now, little miss, there's no need to make threats, least of all ones you may not be able to make good on." Kat drew her swords and leaped onto the cart. With impossible quickness the stranger poked her in the belly, knocking her backward into the cart bed. She sputtered and scrambled to regain her footing, and then realized that he'd
30
taken one of her swords as she fell. "Give that back!" He remained seated and waved a hand at her. "You were careless enough with it before. I doubt it would be safe to return it before you came to your senses." Kat cried out in anger. "Who do you think you are?" I'll give him a knock with the pommel. She leaped to the attack again, and this time the cart lurched forward. She tumbled out of the cart, and was barely able to grasp the footboard before hitting the ground. The mule stopped, and Katarina climbed back in. "I see you are still with us. Good," he said without turning to face her. "I think I am someone you can learn from, especially since you seem rather determined to become some sort of adventurer. You've got spirit, child, that is certain. Even the Elf-Lord Moab and the Grey Ghost would not willingly try conclusions with me." Kat launched herself at him again. Something struck her wrist, and her other sword fell to the road. The stranger caught her by the shirt, stood, and held her at arm's length. He was rather tall, and so her kicks and punches struck only his arm and the air. The stranger sighed. He threw back his hood, revealing white hair tied back, and long, pointed ears. "I see that you need more time to think."
31
3 DISCIPLE
The cart made its way southward. Behind it, secured to an iron ring in the footboard by about five yards of rope, a skinny little girl simmered with loathing as she trudged along and plotted revenge. "When the sun goes down the gorrok will come out and kill you!" This was the fourth time she'd said this since the elf had unceremoniously bound her. A heavy bundle came fying at the girl. It was a black cloak of wolfskin. "No sense being cold." Katarina wriggled into it, somewhat grateful but still angry. "They'll still kill you!" "Maybe so. They certainly seem to have taken a liking to you, from what you say." He pulled his hood back over his head. "However, instead of making threats, perhaps you ought to be asking questions." He leaned back in the seat and looked up into the sky."For example," he continued, "why do the gorrok like you? Or who am I, and why am I so
interested in you? Or did you think I happened upon you by chance?" Katarina narrowed her eyes. One of the gorrok kept pointing at my hiding place and saying machpala. What does that mean? So they recognize the gift in her, as well. Very good . The desire for knowledge, while certainly commendable, does not always indicate a readiness for its disclosure. The elf looked upward again. A dark shape came down from the sky and lit upon the seat next to him. It's the fat crow. It was following me before. "That's your crow? You had him spying on me!" The elf laughed heartily. "Don't fatter yourself." The cart stopped. "I have been studying land dragons for some years now, and when Kalanhu here told me he'd found one in the Border Kingdoms, I made haste to come. However, it would seem you stumbled upon the creature just before I arrived. I used my last fire-seed to help you escape, and I'd like to think I made a good decision. "And this is no more my crow than I am his elf. Kalanhu comes and goes as he pleases, and he has been my friend for many years." He turned to face her. "Since you still have not asked, I will tell you my name. I am Oren Kellmire." Katarina stared at him. So he made that fireball. She'd never heard this name before, but there was something in his tone that seemed to suggest more than a sense of self-importance. "So youre a magician." Oren ficked the reins, and the mule resumed its halting gait. "Hardly. I know a few tricks, to be sure, but not enough to call myself a magician. Now, what do you know of magic, little miss?" Kat glared at the elf, but he was facing the road again. "I know that my weapons are magical, and some kind of magic protected me from the dragon's fire. And I know people say
33
SAMUEL MEDINA
that magic used to be much more powerful." Katarina could not see his face, but Oren's eyes grew wide. So that is how she did it. Machpala, indeed! "Yes, magic was once very powerful, but that was long ago. Now it is rare indeed for anyone to be gifted beyond a capacity for minor cantrips, and spells of any significant power can take quite some time to prepare. I suspect that you may just be one of those few gifted, although such gifts are almost unknown among the half-elven." The elf sat up quickly. "What do you make of that cloud on the ridge? Several miles to the south, the road climbed and disappeared beyond a steep moraine, where a faint grey cloud seemed to have settled upon it. "Maybe a storm is coming." I cant tell. "Use your eyes, child! It is moving against the wind. It is likely to be dust, from a rider, or riders, on horseback. In a moment, he'll be visible, and soon enough we will cross paths with him or them, for good or ill." Oren reached back into the wagon bed, and took out a large satchel. Kat had not noticed before. He set it down next to him, and the crow hopped onto the backrest. *** The rider approached, leaving a billowing plume of dust in his wake. Oren remained silent, but he kept one hand in his satchel. Katarina squinted. Hes alone. He rides as if pursued, but there's no one else on the road. The stranger slowed to a trot, and then halted two hundred yards away. The cart stopped. Kat peered out from behind it and smirked. That horse is better dressed than he is. The stallion was proud, lavishly tacked, well groomed, and wore a fine woven barding of supple leather. It snorted heavily and stomped as if it were in a hurry and not its master. Its rider, however, was of about average height, broad and muscular of build, and dressed in plain leather
34
armor which looked as though it had been covered in ash. He wore an old, worn cloak the color of drying blood, and strapped to his back was an enormous broadsword. How can he use that sword? Even Marcus couldn't wield such a weapon. It looks like it was made for a giant. Kat's eyes went to the stranger's face. War paint of black henna surrounded deep green eyes that sparkled under heavy grey eyebrows. His features, which might have been called handsome by some, were weathered and his nose appeared to have been broken numerous times. He had the broad chin and full lips of the Men of the South, and a mane of silvery hair fell to his shoulders, but it did not conceal his long, pointed ears. A half-elf! I've never seen any of our people look so fierce. His dark eyes smoldered, and it was then that Kat noticed that he was looking directly at her. She finched, and stepped back behind the cart. Oren had not moved. The half-elf came closer, easing his horse to the right, and stopped ten yards away. He dropped the reins onto the saddle horn and grinned. "Well, I see you've got yourself a new disciple." "Yes, and as you can see our friendship is off to a promising start." Oren threw back his hood, and they both laughed. Katarina scowled. They're friends! No use hoping for rescue. "I'm not his disciple! I'm his prisoner!" The cart started again, and the stranger turned about to ride alongside it. "Is there any news from the South these days?" Oren set the satchel in the cart bed. His fingers moved close to his chest, weaving words in the Secret Speech of the Elves. I hear there is trouble on the coast. "I did not come from the South." The half-elf moved his mount closer to the cart. "I've only just returned from the East and passed through Kellhollow six days ago." He made several gestures, tapped his elbow, and then made more gestures while looking all around him as he spoke. The
35
SAMUEL MEDINA
Kellhollow has been abandoned, but the Empire does not know it. I've sent word to our friends. "I have some business to the north in Starwatch, but I turned aside to this road two days ago." I felt I would be needed. Oren nodded. "You are well met, indeed, then. Would you ride with us a short while and camp with us tonight, or must you press on?" "Some business is perhaps best delayed." The half-elf leaned back in the saddle. "What brings you so far south in the winter, besides finding eager disciples?" "Dragons. I have taken to studying them more closely for some time now." Something terrible has happened. They are falling ill with a madness. We must be certain of the girl before we speak of it openly. The half-elf raised an eyebrow. "I take it your studies have been productive." Who is she? "Not as much as I would like. The latest specimen I was going to study died rather suddenly. The little one here could explain that part to you. Her name is Katarina." Oren's voice took on a formal tone. "She is a Dragonslayer." He tapped his fingers against his thumbs. She has the Pelethite gift. See what you make of it. He extended one of Katarina's short swords to his friend. "She had two of these. Do you recognize their workmanship?" The half-elf nodded. "I'd have thought them to be a remnant from the Last Dominion, but the rune-work on the hilt is older." He handed the weapon back. "I suspect that they may have been forged at Bawarra Ridge before the Covenant." He touched his thumb to his sternum, then touched the fingers of his right hand to the knuckles of his left and blinked twice. Very powerful. Theyve been wielded by Pelethites. Oren nodded. "Perhaps you should introduce yourself." The rider slowed the horse until he was beside Katarina.
36
He dismounted, and held the reins loosely as he walked. What does he want? Kat looked at him askance. His face looks young, but his hair is grey. His eyes are hard like the soldiers that came to Moonshadow. Katarina had edged away from him without realizing it, and then stopped herself. Don't show fear. "Good day to you. I am Gladden Darkfell." Kat blinked. The Dark Fells is where the ogres live. "What kind of name is that?" "One which suits me, though it was laid on me long before it did." The fat crow came and perched on the horse's saddle. "Isn't the Dark Fells where the ogres come from?" Gladden smiled, and for a moment his fierce countenance took on the appearance of youthful mirth. "They call themselves the Krog." His eyes returned to the road ahead. "I was adopted by the War Chief of the Darkfell Clan when I was barely older than you, and spent my youth among them as one of their own." Kat forgot her unease and stared at the half-elf. The storytellers in Moonshadow used to say that the ogres ate elves and rechaizo. She walked on in puzzled silence until Gladden spoke again. "So you're a Dragonslayer." His eyes brightened. "Yes, I am." Kat scowled. Is he making fun of me? "I do not mock you. However, in the future you may want to avoid calling yourself a Dragonslayer openly." The fat crow few in front of Gladden, then landed on the cart. Katarina looked up at him. "Why? Dragonslayers are always sung of as great heroes." "Sometimes they are, and sometimes they can attract trouble from thieves and murderers." Gladden's face
37
SAMUEL MEDINA
darkened. "And the dragons of the Covenant have been known to take offense even when an evil dragon is killed by an outsider without their consent." Kat swallowed hard. The dragons of the Covenant! I've heard stories of them, ancient and powerful. "Have you killed any of them?" Gladden laughed. "No, I have not, nor would I wish to, he replied. Those who are of the Covenant are bound to justice by a sacred oath of such ancient power that only a few dragons have ever dared to break it. The need to kill one of them is rare indeed, and it is better to let those of the Covenant tend to such matters. To try is suicide even for the greatest among warriors." He glanced at Oren but said nothing more. Katarina suppressed a gasp. Somehow, Gladden had come right next to her without her noticing. He opened a gloved hand, and in it was a small violet fower with a scent that seemed to engulf her in an instant. He handed it to her, and for a moment, she forgot that her hands were still bound. *** Oren pointed ahead. "As good a place as any to make camp." Gladden nodded at the old elf. He adjusted the strap which held his scabbard, and it moved down to his waist. He'd been silent since giving Kat the fower, but as if sensing her question, he said, "One of the best times to ambush someone is when he is making camp." He gave a faint nod toward a tall pine. Several branches had been cut. "Not all eyes that watch roads are friendly." A narrow path of broken stone led west from the road to a low hill. At its top slabs of grey stone stood in a circle more than ten yards across. Inside that circle was another ring of stones which held up a great slab. It has the same markings as the stones in the other clearing! Kat followed the cart into the
38
circle and said nothing. Oren led the animals down to the river while Gladden started a fire in a small hollow under the stone roof. "That's a pretty small fire," Katarina said. "The stones will keep the wind out, for the most part, and so this fire will be sufficient. It will also not be visible from the road." The half-elf strode over to where Kat stood and untied her hands. "Don't you think I'll try to escape?" Katarina bit her lip. "Well, I mean" "You're welcome." Gladden smirked. "You could leave now if you wanted, but in this part of the forest there are worse things than shukhalu that hunt in the night." He says it like it's a joke, but his eyes warn me. She grinned defiantly and said, "Maybe I will." The half-elf smiled. "As you like, but at least stay long enough for supper." When Oren returned they ate a quick meal of dried fruit and strips of salted meat. "I see you have not left us yet," the old elf said to Kat. "You still have my weapons." Katarina scowled at him. "We will speak no more of that matter tonight. This is a huacaniym, a holy place of the elder times, and it was meant for rest." The look in Oren's eyes was distant, but as he spoke the veil of age seemed to fall away, and to Kat he looked like one of the Elf-Lords of old. "Even the most wicked creatures still fear such places, though they were abandoned during the Desolation." What happened? Katarina asked. Far too much, Oren replied. You have heard of the Stone Prophets? Yes.
39
SAMUEL MEDINA
They built many wonders, some good, and some which were an abominations to all life. One of these abominations was a sort of living magical construct for war. The Stone Prophets called them foebreakers, for so great was their power that even the mighty keepers of the huacaniym fell before them almost in a day. The very dragons of the Covenant could barely withstand them. They are, in fact, the reason that the dragon lords have largely stayed out of affairs here in Melloren since the Desolation. The wounds left in the world by the foebreakers remain, though they are long since destroyed. Except the one we never found. So thats what they were, Katarina thought. They must have been terrible indeed for the great dragons of the Covenant to fear them. "There was a huacaniym far back this morning, but the stones had been knocked over," Katarina said. Oren and Gladden looked at each other. "I must set my mind upon this," Oren said, and walked to the southern end of the circle. Katarina watched him for a while, and then saw that Gladden had put his saddle by the fire and sat against it. In his hands were a sheet of parchment and a writing brush. An open bottle of ink was at his side. She came closer, and saw that her swords hung from the saddle horn. She tried to hide a smile and came closer. "What are you doing?" Katarina stopped a few feet away. I'll snatch them and jump away. "Writing a letter." He smiled. "Forging one, actually." He returned to his writing, and Katarina watched with interest that she had meant to feign. When she was sure that Gladden was well into his letter, she pounced. There was a sound like distant wind, and both the swords and Gladden were gone. Katarina stumbled, and landed on the saddle. Something warm trickled down her arm. It was ink. "You're faster than you look, Katarina." The half-elf stood
40
a few feet behind her, brush in one hand, the weapon belt in the other. Kat turned to face him. "How-how did" There was another blur of movement and Gladden was behind her. " you do that?" Now there was a stroke of ink on her other arm. The half-elf dangled the swords. "Give me my weapons!" "Oren will return them to you in due course." She leaped for the swords. Her hands caught air, and she struck the ground. Ink dripped from her nose, cheeks, and chin. Katarina sat up and clenched her fists. Gladden stood just out of reach, grinning. "I've got plenty of ink." Katarina laughed. The sound filled the hilltop, and Gladden threw back his head and laughed with her. For the first time in more than a year, she felt free. *** "How did you move like that?" Katarina sat down next to Gladden by the fire. He laid his sword on his lap and began to oil the blade. It's twice as wide as any broadsword I've ever seen, but he lifts it easily. It's so plain though. Even the leather on the handle is old and worn. "The elder Masters called it ayatembo, the ghost-walk." He stared into the fire. "It is but one skill in the fighting art of nmera khal, and can be deadly once mastered." "Could you teach me?" He could train me to be a great warrior, and we could go on adventures together. "Make Oren give me my token and weapons, and I could be your pupil!" "Nmera khal is an art which takes decades to learn, and it is best taught by a True Master." "Surely you must be a master."
41
SAMUEL MEDINA
"I will admit my skill is considerable, but to call myself a master would be an arrogant presumption on my part." Katarina raised an eyebrow. He can't be serious. He turned toward her. "You should stay with Oren. He can teach you a great deal." "I don't like him! He's old and mean and he stole my swords!" Gladden chuckled. "Oren Kellmire has been many things, but he has never been a thief." He sheathed his sword and leaned back. "He does nothing without purpose." "I'd still rather go with you. Who is he, anyway?" "Oren Kellmire is possibly the greatest True Master of nmera khal since the art has been taught. He was my master, and he does not lightly offer his instruction." Katarina's eyes went wide. She looked up, and saw that Oren was approaching. The fire fickered in his eyes and painted deep shadows on his face. "So, little miss, have you made a decision?" He stood by the fire and warmed his hands. "Yes." She looked at him in wonder. "I'll stay, for a while." *** When she awoke, Gladden was gone. Oren finished hitching the mule to the cart and reached into its bed. "He felt it best to be on his way before dawn. We should get on the road as well, but first we must settle some business." Katarina walked over to the old elf. He passed her weapon belt to her. She strapped it on, and bowed her thanks. She was about to draw the swords when Oren spoke. "Those weapons are both ancient and powerful, and should never be drawn lightly. His eyes scanned the area, and his voice dropped to a whisper. Gladden believes they
42
may have been forged by the Elder Magisters." Katarina gasped. The Elder Magisters! They were the most powerful magicians of the ancient world. Suddenly the swords at her waist seemed heavy. His expression lightened. "Soon you will learn that you do not need this." Oren held out the brass life-token. Katarina took it, put it on her neck, and tucked it under her shirt. The elf looked down at her and took something from out his cloak. He knelt as he pressed a hard object into her hand and looked into her eyes. "This is a gift from Gladden. Do not wear it openly." Katarina stared at the gift. It's beautiful. It was a wide, heavy bracelet of blood-red leather inlaid with silver and set with a fat red gem the size of a small hen's egg. She strapped it on under her sleeve. "Gladden felt you were meant to have it. Though he is young, I trust his judgment." His voice had been quiet, but now it dropped to a whisper. "It is a relic of the Crimson Shadow, an ancient order of warrior priests who once defended the Elven Dominion and were the keepers of the huacaniym." Katarina nodded. Ive never heard of the Crimson Shadow. Questions rose in her mind, but a look from Oren kept them at bay. The elf climbed onto the cart. "Come, we had best be going. We can eat on the road. That is, if you still mean to join me." Kat hopped up onto the wooden seat next to him. Oren ficked the reins, and they left the huacaniym in silence. It was nearly an hour later when Katarina spoke again. "You said Gladden was young, but his hair was grey like an old man." "Yes, he would be old indeed, if he were a Man. But he is
43
SAMUEL MEDINA
half-elven, and though most of the rechaizo do not live long, he is more than eighty years old. To one such as me, however, he is quite young, barely more than a child." Katarina looked askance at the elf. How old could Oren be? The storytellers always said the Elves were immortal, but "Yes, child, I am very old." He lowered his voice."I am old enough to remember the Desolation, but we will not speak of that on the road." Katarina looked at Oren in disbelief. The Desolation was more than thirteen thousand years ago. "Gladden said that you were his master." "Yes, I was. He was perhaps my best student, though he was somewhat wild when I found him." Oren smiled, and said, "You took quite a chance, attacking him the way you did, but he liked you a good deal, so I felt it was safe enough to let you try." "Who is he?" "He is somewhat of a wanderer. In these last few years he has worked as an assassin of the highest order. He rarely tells anyone his true name, and that speaks very well of you." The elf leaned back in his seat. "Indeed, few who see him so openly live beyond the experience. He is more widely known as the Grey Ghost."
44
4 WARPATH
For two days now, Oren had kept his hood on, and he had made sure that Katarina did the same. He offered no explanation, and little conversation. On the third day, the road descended out of the hills of southern Melloren and into a broad, rocky plain of low grass and few trees. "We have passed beyond the furthest human settlements of the Border Kingdoms," Oren said. Men do not often travel this road, but they do watch it, and that never means anything but trouble if you catch their eye. He leaned back, and looked at Katarina. The excitement of adventure had faded from her face. It had been replaced by the look of frustrated resignation which is often evoked by uneventful or tiresome travel.
SAMUEL MEDINA
"Where are we going, anyway?" And when are you going to start training me? "Amaru." The elf frowned. "For now, at least. It was, many years ago, the inland outpost of the Borinken. The last time I passed that way, it had become a pleasant little town. We will resupply there before we move on to our real destination." He looked around as though he were about to tell a secret. "We make for Kilara's Keep." Kilara's Keep! "That's where the Pelethites were once trained!" "Indeed it was, little miss." Oren sighed. "Tell me, what do you know of it?" Not much. "I know it was built by Kilara of Black Lake in the elder days, and that she created a Trial to test the hearts of those who would be Pelethites." She looked to Oren for a reply, but he remained silent. Oren passed her a handful of dried figs. "There is much more to the Trial than a test of courage, he said. The entire catacombs beneath the Keep is a great magical construct." His eyes looked into the distance, and he sighed. "It is certain that she had some help in its design from the Menelek, those ancient masters of the magical arts who are thought by most of the world to have passed into legend. They are, of course, still at large in the world, but have for a long time kept to themselves. However, no one knows whether the power of the Keep remains intact, and I myself have not come near it in almost three hundred years." Katarina ate the fruit and stared at the old elf. "Why are we going there?" Am I to face the Trial and become a Pelethite? "You are asking better questions already." Oren smiled. "Our reason for going there is twofold. I felt it would be the best place to begin your training in earnest. However, if any notion of attempting the Trial has entered your thoughts you had best forget it, for now. The Trial, if it still exists, is deadly to even the most seasoned warriors." His eyes narrowed.
46
"The other half of our purpose there is that there are rumors that the Keep has of late become the residence of a particularly troublesome dragon." "Are we going to kill it?" Katarina was once again filled with excitement, and not a small degree of apprehension. "It is my hope that we shall not have to." Oren directed the cart off the road and into a broad gully that led to the river. "The pools here should make for good fishing," he said brightly, and leaped from the cart. *** The mule was making short work of the winter grass on the riverbank while Katarina stacked a few more rocks around the fire. The elf was picking his way through whatever he kept in his satchel. At length he said, "Here it is!" Kat turned to see what the elf meant. In his hands he held what seemed to be a tangle of slender cords and sticks. "Come, child. Have you learned to catch fish?" "Yes." Katarina raised her eyebrows. "But you don't have a fishing pole." "Poles are the way of Men, and best suited for those with nothing better to do, or who fish for sport." He unfurled the bundle, and strode into the shallows. He secured the strange device among the rocks. "More important to the true warrior than strength or speed is wisdom, little miss. And the wise do not lightly spend their energy, even for the speckled trout of Melloren." He gestured toward his contraption, which, now in the water, resembled a cage of netting. "A pukawa is easy enough to make, and will save you a great deal of time and trouble." Kat nodded, and studied the pukawa closely. I could make one. Oren strode over to the fire and sat down. He set his boots to dry, and leaned toward Kat. He beckoned to her with a bony hand. "That trap will mind itself." As she came
47
SAMUEL MEDINA
closer, he said, "Sit, and I will tell you about your prey, Dragonslayer." Katarina sat down across from Oren, and wrapped her cloak around her. She looked up at the elf and saw in his emerald eyes a great melancholy that overtook the hardness of his features. There are so many questions I want to ask. She opened her mouth, but the elf motioned for silence with his hand. He looked toward the road, poked at the fire with a stick, and began to speak. "The gasharim, or dragons, as they are commonly known, are a race even more ancient than the Elves. They came, as we learned over the ages, from the great continent to the west. The Elder Magisters named it Ra'kash, and though the great dragon lords sometimes make a pilgrimage to that dark land, only once has anyone not of dragonkind ventured there and returned. Of that matter we need not yet speak, except to say that he who made the journey, Syrgestus of Yellow Knife, became the greatest magician of our kind, the first true thaumaturge, through the blessing of the Dragon Lord Moregar. "For dragons, you must understand, are not mere beasts. The dragon lords were once able to bless and to curse, and some believe that they are the agents of the Maker. Whatever the truth might be, they are powerful and wise, and are eminently dangerous when roused. Why they came here from their own lands it is not known, for they keep close their own counsels and do not often reveal their mind to others. Indeed, the elder dragons are known to regard even the most ancient elves as children. "It was Moregar, the first of the dragon lords, who formed the great Covenant long ago, and to this day, even in its waning power it binds the dragons of Pellorea to the ways of truth and righteousness, and to the defense of Pellorea from evil dragons who might come from Ra'kash. Rare indeed it is for a dragon to lie outright, though a wicked or mischievous dragon may still deceive through subtle speech. Only a few have gone so far as to wholly turn to evil, and more often
48
than not such dragons have met their end at the talons of the dragon lords." "Why is the power of the Covenant failing?" Katarina asked, and then bit her lip. The elf showed no sign of annoyance at the interruption, but nodded, and adding a small log to the fire, continued. "Have you never heard of the Fetters of Wizardry?" Oren looked at the girl, who nodded. "Even the dragons, whose very life is magical, were diminished somewhat by that accursed construct. Thus the Covenant itself was weakened also, and in these last few centuries more dragons have turned to wickedness. What purpose the Stone Prophets had in leaving it behind when they departed our lands, I know not. I suspect, however, that there is a connection between the dragons and the Fetters, and it is my hope that my studies of them may reveal it." His face darkened, and he was silent for several minutes. Kat stared at him. Did I offend him? Oren jumped to his feet. "Let us see what dinner we have caught." *** Kat turned the big trout on the makeshift spit. Nearly done, and the others are drying nicely. Where is Oren? The old elf had thrown her the pukawa full of fish, and left her to prepare them while he went up the gully with only a motion of his hands to tell her not to follow. Even the mule is still. As the minutes passed, quiet engulfed the gully, until Katarina could hear only the fire and her own breathing. What could it be? Oren seemed to think it was safe enough here. She stifed a cry when the elf emerged from the shadows without a sound. His face was grim, and his eyes seemed to glow with palpable fury. His cloak was thrust behind him, and in the fickering light of the campfire Kat could see that
49
SAMUEL MEDINA
his homespun shirt of brown linen had been badly torn. Beneath it scales of iridescent blackness gleamed. Dragon hide! He came closer, and Kat saw that in his hands were great broad daggers of marvelous workmanship. Of a single piece, the jeweled hilts rose into blades that spread into three points, dripping with blood. Kat rose to her feet, and made to draw her swords, but a look from Oren checked her. He secured the mule to the cart. "Gather the fish, but let the fire burn itself out. We leave at once." Kat did as he said, but shot him a questioning look. Oren strode over to her and tore a piece of hemp from her vest. He dipped it in a puddle, and then hurled it across the river. "Now cover your scent. I know that you know how." "What is it?" Kat mixed her herb-and-mud paste and swiftly applied it. I guess this does work. "Trolls!" Oren hissed. "I killed a pair of scouts about a quarter of a mile from here." Kat jumped into the cart, and took the reins as Oren stalked ahead. When they gained the road, the elf leaped into the bed of the cart and made a low clacking noise. The mule's ambling gait became a canter, and then a gallop. "I hid the bodies as best as one can hide such things in a hurry. We have perhaps two hours before they are missed, and if I know anything about trolls," he said, looking quickly about, "there's a war party of at least two hundred afoot. We ride till dawn!" *** He can't keep this pace much longer. The mule, however, showed no sign of slowing after nearly an hour. Kat stayed as low as she could on the seat, and Oren, who'd taken on a bearing of menacing watchfulness, crouched in the rear. Overhead, the moon threatened to tear through the clouds and reveal their position. "I thought Melloren was at peace with the trolls." Katarina glanced over her shoulder, and beyond the broad shoulders
50
of the old Elven war-master she could see pinpoints of amber light. They're at least twelve miles behind us. Maybe they can't see us. "Child, there are as many kinds of trolls as there are colors of elves." Oren's hands remained in the shadow of the cart, but they still gripped his weapons. "Melloren has long been at peace with the trolls who live under the forest, but we have only been uneasy friends with the trolls of the Glass Hills this past century, and the Rephaim of Norosh have never been at peace with anyone." Kat looked back again, and imagined that the trolls had found their camp by the river. "Are these Rephaim?" "No, they never come so far south," Oren said. He exhaled sharply, and stared at the distant lights. "These are from Anqash in the Glass Hills. Blue Hand clan, from what I saw." "I've never heard of them." "Be thankful that you haven't. They do not often raid on the plains, and it appears that they are looking for someone, or something." "Then why did you kill the scouts?" Katarina looked back again. The lights are getting closer. "Keep your eyes on the road ahead." Oren studied the plains behind them. They turn west toward the gully. "Even if they are on the warpath, their hatred for the Elven peoples is proverbial. Their scouts would have either reported our whereabouts and brought the whole party upon us, or else they might have thought to make a meal of us if they could." What about the treaty? Oren shrugged. Even the best of treaties rarely has effect in the wild places of the world. Katarina shuddered, and peered ahead. The mule was starting to tire. We'll have to stop soon. What will we do if they overtake us? Oren can't fight them all.
51
SAMUEL MEDINA
The old warrior looked over his shoulder, then tapped the backrest with his elbow. "Make for that hill just off the road to your right. It should provide some cover while the mule takes a rest." The cart came to a stop on the south side of the hill, and Oren hopped out. He sheathed one of his weapons and produced a bristled mitt from the cart bed. "A long rest would be better," he said, "but when matters call for haste, skilled grooming can work wonders." He brushed and stroked the trembling mule, whispering in the Elven tongue. Katarina climbed a small tree and tried to make out the war party to the north. She squinted hard, and her vision blurred, but for a moment she thought she could see the blue-skinned trolls with their weapons of iron and their huge war-chief waving a great axe. I'm seeing things, she thought. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, and closed her eyes. Oren roused the mule from its brief slumber and motioned for Kat to take the reins again. She hopped down from the stunted tree and looked up. The clouds had moved on. A bright half-moon cast its pale blue light on the hill, and the south wind was blowing. They'll see us now. A dark form dropped out of the sky and landed on Oren's shoulder. The elf whispered to the crow, who seemed to nod as it made low warbling sounds. "They have found the bodies, that is for certain, but they have not turned south yet." Oren climbed into the cart bed. "Let us be on our way." Kat ficked the reins. The road was bright beneath the moon, but to Kat it now seemed shadowed and full of nameless terrors. Twenty minutes later, Oren laid a hand on Katarina's shoulder. "Look back if you must, but do not give in to fear." Kat looked over her shoulder. "They have turned south! Do you think they see us?" They look to be only a few miles off. "I doubt it. The trolls of the hills are somewhat near52
sighted, as the Elves would regard it. Our scent we have disguised, though it is nearly certain they have smelled the mule." The elf shifted his weight. "The prudent thing to do would be to set the beast loose, or even tie him to a tree as bait so that we can make good our escape. However, this old brute has served me long and well, and I will not abandon him to their cruelty." Oren whispered something to Kalanhu, and the crow few off into the night." He took out a small pouch and sprinkled a white powder behind them as they went along. "This will cause our dust to settle, and may lead them to believe we have turned aside. Even so, we may have to fight, though the prospect of victory is grim indeed." Katarina said nothing. She looked ahead, and saw that the overgrown gravel was giving way to cracked and split paving stones. We'll leave less of a trail now. The road dropped sharply, and Katarina gripped the backrest to keep from falling. In moments they rode in the shadow of the valley's rim. "We have some cover now," she said. Oren chuckled darkly. "No, what we have here in the Valley of Achor is concealment, and that only until the moon sets." He pointed, and Kat saw that the western edge of the valley was broken and ragged, and much lower. "Cover provides protection, like a boulder, or a wall, or a very large tree trunk. Here in the shadows we are unseen, but an arrow could still find its mark. Never forget the difference." He stared at the northern rim. We will not see them until they are nearly upon us.
53
5 THE VALLEY OF ACHOR

"There has been no sign of pursuit, and dawn approaches." Oren climbed onto the seat and took the reins. With another look over his shoulder, he turned aside to the east and onto a worn forest path. "Now that it's day, won't the trolls seek shelter so they don't turn to stone?" Katarina asked. Oren laughed. "That only happens in children's fables." He let the reins go slack. "The trolls of the South are creatures of the night. The light of the sun is blinding to them, and painful to bear. If they remain in the light for long, it pierces them to the bone and causes a stiffness to take hold of their bodies. They call it 'dayfrost,' and it renders them rigid, unable to move until the dark of night thaws them out.
This makes a troll easy prey, and so they rarely go abroad during the daytime." Oren slowed the cart and pointed ahead. "We will stop there. It is time this poor beast had a proper rest." Not far off the path an old farmhouse stood amid tall weeds. "Do people still live in this valley?" Katarina looked around. The trees here are young, and the paths between them are not badly overgrown. "I would have thought so, for the Valley of Achor was for a long time a refuge for the half-elven. Behold the fields!" Beyond the stone walls of the yard spring wheat stood uncut and rotting. "This farm looks to have been abandoned during the summer." "Why would someone abandon it?" They would have had a good harvest. The cart came to a stop behind the house. "We'll have a better idea once we've taken a look," Oren whispered. He shouldered his satchel and drew one of his daggers. "Unhitch the mule, and bring him. Keep close." They circled the house warily. The sun was rising over the valley when Oren pushed open the broad door of the house and stepped in. From the entrance broad steps descended into a large main room with a massive fireplace and plain, heavy furniture. Kat secured the mule to a heavy post. The house was empty of inhabitants save for a few mice and a number of large spiders. A survey of the larder revealed a small supply of dried fruit and meat in heavy jars. Broken pottery littered the foor. "Those who lived here left in a hurry," Oren said as they entered the main sleeping chamber. Clothes still hung from hooks, and the bed was in disarray. There aren't any windows, except that tiny one at the entrance, Katarina thought. Light, however, streamed in through heavy translucent stones set into the wall. Oren ran up the steps to the entrance and barred the door. He stood at the small window for some time before he spoke again.
55
SAMUEL MEDINA
"See if there's a clean pot to be had and boil a handful of this." He tossed a small pouch onto the table, and then knelt to inspect the mule's legs. "There's no water." "Use your eyes, child! Next to the hearth." There's nothing there but a bent iron tube sticking out of the foor. Katarina looked more closely at it. It's got some kind of handle. Oren looked over his shoulder. "Have you never seen a hand-pump, girl?" He took a pot, set it under the bend in the pipe, and lifted the handle several times. To Kat's surprise, clear water poured from the pipe and into the pot. "It would seem that the knowledge of the Elves was not entirely lost here." Kat hung the pot over the fire and sat on the hearth to warm herself. There were no tubes like that in Moonshadow. Oren added wood to the small fire, and Katarina raised her eyebrows. "Won't the smoke be seen?" Oren sat down across from her and stretched until a series of cracks could be heard. "This fireplace is of an Elvish design, and the wood is very dry. Unless I miss my guess, the smoke is directed through fues which pass under the house before exiting some distance from here, and the vent is likely concealed by shrubs or rocks. A troll might easily pick up the scent at a distance, but it is likely that they are no longer in pursuit, or at least hiding from the sun at present." They could still be afoot if they made it to the heavier patches of forest here. Oren took the pot off the fire and poured some of its contents into a cup. "Drink that, and try to get some sleep." Katarina finished the sweet, creamy liquid as Oren took some of it from the pot and made poultices for the mule's legs. She set her cup down, leaned back against the warm stone of the fireplace and fell asleep.
56
*** Katarina opened her eyes. Oren sat facing the door, eyes shut. His breathing is so quiet, and he's so still he looks dead. Kat looked into the fireplace, and saw that just a few coals remained. I'll have to add some wood soon. She rose carefully and crossed the room. The mule is asleep, too. Kat stole her way to the steps, and looked back when she reached the top. He hasn't moved. She grasped the edge of the small window, and finding toe-holds in the rough stones of the wall, she pulled herself up to take a look outside. Behind her, Oren opened a single eye. Katarina frowned. It's past noon and there's nothing out there but weeds and a wasted harvest. A wide shadow fell across the window, and then a dark shape leaped into view before her. Kat fell back with a shriek, and then looked up to see a fat crow crowded onto the windowsill. Oren's laughter brought color to her cheeks but she did not turn around. "I hope old Kalanhu did not give you too much of a scare," Oren said. "When avoiding pursuit, windows do less to inform you than they do to expose you." Katarina spun around, fists clenched. "Then why didn't you say anything if I was endangering us?" "I knew Kalanhu was on the roof before you woke, and I thought the lesson in discretion would be better remembered this way." His tone was jovial, but the sternness of his gaze made Kat look away. He rose to his feet. "Kalanhu would have given warning if any mischief were afoot, and in any case trolls have never been had in reputation for stealth." He threw a few small logs onto the fire. "Let the bird in, but be quick about it." Kat grumbled as she slid the bar back into place. It feels like wood, but it's as heavy as iron. And yet Oren lifted it with ease. She started back down the stairs, and saw that the crow was perched on the mantel, and Oren leaned close, listening intently as the bird twittered urgently. I wish I could
57
SAMUEL MEDINA
understand what he's saying, Katarina thought. Oren sat by the fire. "I suppose it can't be helped. It could be worse." Katarina climbed up onto the mantel next to the crow. The bird looked at her, then tucked its head under a wing. "What is it, Oren?" "Kalanhu tells me that the war party is scattered. At least half of them are dead, quite burnt to a crisp and partly eaten." "A dragon?" Kat jumped down from the mantel. Who would want to eat a troll? "Not just a dragon, but one big enough to send a party of trolls feeing for their lives." Oren's face darkened, and to Kat he seemed worried. "Kalanhu did not see the dragon himself, but a young magpie told him that it was golden in color, with bronze talons. But we cannot be certain." "Why? And why is the color so important?" "Because there are many colors of dragons, and to a great degree much of their strength can be known by their hue. Green, gray, and brown are fairly common, and rarely possess much fire, unless they have reached a great size, which they seldom do. Bronze and blue are less common, while gold is quite rare. A gold dragon can be as much as a hundred feet in length, and when mature their fame can melt lesser steel." "And what about black?" Katarina leaned forward. "Only four black dragons have hatched in the last fifteen thousand years. As for your other question, we cannot be certain because magpies are, for the most part, liars." He untied the mule and moved toward the door. "Come, we have about an hour for grazing and a lesson in tactics." "We're leaving, then?"
58
"No. Kalanhu says that a few of the surviving trolls hid themselves in a ravine nearby, and he heard them talking about coming this way after dark." *** Katarina looped the thin wire around the tree stump. The fat crow took to a pine bough nearby and watched. "I'd rather come with you and fight," she whispered. Oren set the other end of the trap and then came to her side. "First, our main objective here is to find out what these trolls were doing so far south, and, if possible, which dragon attacked them and why. As for fighting, you will do as I say and spring the traps if the trolls do not, and then hide beyond that clearing." "But I can fight." She stood with her hands near the hilts of her swords. "You killed a young, wounded, and careless dragon, using gifts of which you have neither control nor understanding." He laid a gloved hand on her back. "That will change in time, but for now caution will serve you best. These are blooded warriors with the strength of twenty men. Even a single glancing blow from them can be deadly. Stay hidden, and watch carefully." He rose to his feet, and walked toward the ravine, leaving no footprints. Kat seized the ends of the traplines in her hand and took up her assigned position in the pine with the crow. She reached for her belt and drew the spyglass Oren had passed to her earlier. She followed the path the elf told her he would take, and found no trace of him. A moment later, she saw the shadowed hollow where four monstrous figures sat. Though bent in posture, they were much taller than Oren, with scarred dusky blue skin. Their low, broad foreheads sloped down to huge noses, and their tusked mouths leered, framed by shaggy hair and broad, pointed ears which drooped. Theyre huge, and well-armed. And they smell like an outhouse , she thought as the wind changed direction.
59
SAMUEL MEDINA
Ten yards to the west of the trolls, low shrubs swayed in the wind. One of the shrubs winked at her. Oren! As the wind stilled, she could see that Oren had not disguised himself, as some assassins do, but had instead somehow managed to let the shadows of the foliage cover him in patches in such a way that she would not have seen him had he not winked. He's got to be using magic. He faded into the greenery again, and the trolls stirred. A heavyset troll with broken tusks waved his club at the others. "Dayfrost near got us, Kremzyk, and for what? There's no meat here." "There's no dragon here, either," said the largest of the group, a heavily scarred individual with iron bands on his tusks and a headdress of red feathers. The leader? Katarina frowned. The one I saw on the plains! My eyes werent playing tricks on me, after all! But then, how did I see so far? "And I tell you, Gorm, there's elf meat." He stroked the handle of the huge axe at his feet. "Only two of them. Easy meat." "They don't nose like elf." "They nose like lunch to me, with horsefesh in the bargain." Kremzyk roared, and rose to his full height of over ten feet. "Men don't travel here." "But maybe dragons do." A lean, haggard fellow with great wooden rings in his ears leaned toward the leader. "That sun-lizard shouldn't track on the plains, either. Maybe it nosed us here. Maybe you might like us for dragon bait, track yourself away safe. Like you did with Czyxk." Kat's pulse quickened. They might kill each other. "Grush tracks it right, I say." A smaller troll with a crooked longsword stepped closer to Kremzyk. The leader leaped forward with a roar, and struck the smaller troll in the face with the blunt side of his axe, knocking him down. "Czyxk was a dead-foot, and that
60
dragon nosed it." He loomed over his fallen comrade. "You got more to say, or we track on like I nosed?" The fallen troll bowed in submission, and Kremzyk stepped back, satisfied. He leaned back against a boulder and spat a curse. "What's our track after we roast those elves?" Grush sat on a fallen tree and glared toward the top of the ravine. "Lay low, long-leg it to the hills. Back to Anqash and then " Kremzyk stopped and sniffed. "Rilluk, put some mud up your nose and quit leaking. You bleed too much." The smaller troll shook his head. "Ain't me." Kremzyk looked at Gorm. The fat troll shrugged, then strode over to Grush. "Grush, you old slug, you hiding wounds again?" He gave the old warrior a shove, and he fell over, dead. I never even saw him do it, Kat thought. Where is he? The trolls roared and brandished their weapons. Without a word, they formed a triangle around the corpse, facing outward. Just like Oren said they would. Know the character of your enemy, and make use of it, he'd said. "Come out, you backstabber!" yelled Kremzyk. The carcass shifted, and from beneath it a figure emerged without a sound. Oren hamstrung Gorm, and stabbed Rilluk in the armpit before slipping through them in a blur. The wounded trolls snarled and cursed, and Kremzyk charged toward the undergrowth that Oren had vanished into. His axe crashed down and struck a hidden boulder, sending up a shower of sparks. The troll roared and cursed and spat, but Oren gave no answer. Frustration is an excellent weapon when used discreetly, hed told her earlier. Gorm bound his leg, while Rilluk sagged against the fallen tree. "The cowards run off, but he'll be meat tonight," Rilluk said, coughing blood. Kremzyk's axe swung again, and Rilluk's coughing
61
SAMUEL MEDINA
ceased. Gorm gave his leader a puzzled look. "Maggotbrain! Kremzyk roared. That weasel of an elf was waiting for the pup to bleed out, maybe he noses you for a dead-foot, too." "I'm no dead-foot. You might like to track your eyes on that nasty elf. He's got the tricky-foot." Kremzyk nodded, and made some gestures with his left hand. He picked up a handful of rocks, and threw them into the brush. Gorm followed suit, and the two showered the undergrowth with rocks for a few minutes. Gorm snarled and said, "This elf don't fush. Maybe we cracked his head good." "Or maybe you have the aim of an old fishwife, No-tusk." Oren stood near the top of the ravine, grinning. Few trolls can stand to be called a fishwife, and no troll with broken tusks likes to be reminded of his limited prospects in the mating season. Gorm charged up the ravine, and Oren ran, keeping just out of reach. Their aim was not quite so bad, Oren thought as his left shoulder throbbed. Oren leaped over the wires, and Kat sprang the trap. The first wire rose up from the ground. Gorm tripped, and roared in pain and anger. Fresh blood seeped from his leg, and several iron barbs clung to his arms and chest. Kat pulled another wire, but instead of running for the clearing, she kept still to watch as the bent pines sprang back upright, and the troll was bathed in sunlight. Gorm screamed with such ferocity Kat nearly fell from her tree. Kremzyk hung back. He stood at the lip of the ravine, and let out a stentorian laugh. "Your tricky-foot games won't work on me, elf. Come out and fight!" This troll is smarter than the others. Katarina tightened her grip on the branch. And more skilled. Oren hasn't wounded him yet. Oren emerged from the shadows like a whirlwind. Gorm
62
was stiffening already, but still swung his axe wildly at the elf. Oren slipped under his guard and drove his daggers into the troll's massive belly, twisting them before leaping away. Kremzyk drew a throwing axe and hurled it at Oren's back. The elf twisted in mid-air and defected the spinning axe with the pommel of his dagger, sending it into Gorm's shoulder. The wounded troll bled heavily now, and struggled in vain to move. A look of horror seized his features as the dayfrost took hold. Oren skipped back out of reach and gave no sign that he'd seen Katarina. Foolish child, she had better hide. The sun may set before the one troll dies, and the other is too wary to be easily slaughtered. "What business do you have in the lands of the Elven Dominion?" Oren shouted. This smart one is a war-chief, perhaps even a clan-prince. "Troll business! You might like to mind your own, little elf. Dominion's been dead-foot a long time, anyway." "It was not dead-foot to Bokwa." Oren studied the warchief. His shambling gait is a ruse. He is agile and clever, and his harness bears the ornaments of many battles. Nekreth claws, scales from a brown dragon of a fair size, and other tokens of an okachak, a seasoned warrior. "Bokwa's gone soft-tusk." Kremzyk fingered his axe. "Old and ready for the stink-hooks." Oren raised an eyebrow. Bold words, spoken far away from the gigantic clan chief who'd killed a few dragons in his day, and who even stood his ground before the dragon lord Ceranyx. "If that were true, you would be hanging him up to rot and not running hot-foot from a little sun-lizard." Kremzyk snarled, but eyed the horizon from the shadows. "I am okachak! You think I run from lizards, come here and fight." Not until I have the answers I need. "I think you might be
63
SAMUEL MEDINA
rabbit-blood to hot-foot it so far from a puny lizard." Oren gave the troll a dismissive wave and a sneer. Katarina frowned. What is he waiting for? The sun will set soon, and then the troll will have his full strength. Kremzyk growled. "You got the frog-mouth, little elf. Croak all day, making noise but don't nose trouble till you're lunched. You nose me for a rabbit-blood?" He fexed his arm. Under the scarred, scabby blue skin, huge muscles rippled. "You'd hot-foot that dragon, too, if you had sense. Big, nasty gold-skin it was, bigger than a garrak!" The gentle buffalo of the plains were often twelve feet at the shoulder, and massive. Unless he exaggerates, it looks like that magpie told the truth. There are few gold dragons of that size. No dragon with any sense would be interested in the tough, foul fesh of a troll, either. This bodes ill. Oren relaxed and focused on his joints. The soreness in his shoulder eased as the power of the nmera khal combat discipline pulsed in his blood. With a well-developed focus, even very little magic can work wonders , he'd told the girl earlier. He pushed the stiffened body of Gorm aside and looked into the yellow eyes of the war-chief. "If you tell me why you intruded upon our lands, and agree to depart in peace, I will let you live." Kremzyk stood silent, and his eyes betrayed uncertainty. He tightened his grip on his axe and shook his tusks, as if mastering an unwanted impulse. Then the troll threw back his head and laughed heartily. "I'll stew your bones, and fry that little rabbit of yours in her tree." He knows I'm here! Katarina reached for her swords, but the crow pecked her arm and motioned toward Oren with a wing. There was a sound like a faint breeze, and then Oren was behind the troll. Kremzyk grinned, and threw an elbow back to crush Oren's skull. His elbow met instead with a dagger. Blood sprayed, the troll snarled, and Oren pivoted, using the
64
impact to spin away out of reach. Kremzyk wheeled about with alarming speed, and sprang toward Oren. He swung the axe in short, precise strokes which the elf parried. The old master ghost-walked again, and the troll turned, sweeping the axe behind him. Oren slipped under the axe and slashed at a tendon below the troll's kneecap. Katarina gasped, and jumped out of her tree. Oren moved with blinding speed, striking and seeming to vanish as he moved around his opponent. The great axe fell from nerveless fingers, and the war-chief stretched his length on the forest foor. "Come, along, little miss." Oren stepped away from the body, and began walking back toward the farmhouse. *** Katarina stirred the pot's contents and frowned. "Would you really have let him leave? Isn't it safer to kill an enemy?" "Safer, perhaps." Oren set his cloak on one of the pegs near the hearth. "But not always wiser." He looked into the pot and nodded. "Yes, that will do. Pour some of that into a bowl and put it aside." He sat by the fire and stretched. Kat looked at the old master. "What's wiser about letting someone live when they want to eat you?" He should have killed the lot of them without all that talking. "This war-chief was young, and full of pride, but in time, he might have made a strong leader. Bokwa grows old, and when he dies, the restraint he has shown toward Melloren may die with him. The trolls of the Hills are trouble enough as it is, but they will prove far worse if a clan king rises with eyes set on the great forest." Katarina eyed the old elf with disbelief. "But Melloren was conquered by the Harkad Empire." And these trolls were in our lands anyway.
65
SAMUEL MEDINA
"To a degree, yes. The empire holds the Borderlands, and wrought such destruction that few of our people remain, but Melloren is ours so long as an elf draws breath. Those of us who remain have little hope of seeing the ancient Dominion restored. However, little miss, you may yet learn that a small hope can live long in hearts that are true." Oren took off his boots. "As for the question you did not ask, I do not believe these trolls ventured so far into Elven lands without reason." He stood, and took a leathery roll out of his satchel. He motioned for Kat to come near, and spread the map on the table. Katarina swung the fireplace crane outward and set the pot to cool, then went to the table. What a beautiful map! Could the world really be so big? "The trolls of the Hills are a fallen people, and brutal though they be, they are in some ways to be pitied." Oren pointed at several small marks on the map. "There was a time when they were not as they are, and some of them even lived in the plains. These were once cities of their ancient kingdom, though little remains of it now. I suspect their war party sought one of these ruined strongholds for some dark purpose when they were waylaid by that dragon. The dragon is now our more immediate concern." "You believe what the troll said?" "I am inclined to believe it to a degree. That war-chief was much more skilled than most of the trolls I have fought, who mainly rely on their size and strength in combat, so it is doubtful that he would have fed unless it was a very powerful dragon." Oren took the bowl of herbs which had cooled to a paste, and strode across the room. "Eat, and wash up, then study that map closely. Afterward we will discuss what you learned today." He went into the main bedroom and shut the door. *** Kat crept up to the door. He's been in there for nearly an
66
hour. What is he doing? This keyhole is big, but I can't see a whole lot. Oren sat with his back to the door. He was still, but it was clear that his hands held something which he was studying. He set the object on the table next to him. It's some kind of tube, with writing on it. Katarina studied the cylinder. It was longer than her forearm, about as thick as her wrist, and much of its length was carved with intricate symbols and letters. It's like the writing on the huacaniym stones. One end of the cylinder was carved into a series of protruding ridges, each with a symbol of its own, and the tip held a polished orb that looked like glass. Whats it for? He treats it like it's important. Oren sat up, and reached for the bowl of boiled herbs. With a few deft movements, he unbuckled the harness of the light breastplate he wore, and set it aside. Beneath it was a dark, scaled shirt whose sleeves ended at the elbow, loose on the elf's gaunt frame. Hes so thin. He looks like even the smallest of those trolls could have snapped him in half, and yet, he's so strong. He removed the shirt gingerly, and Kat stifed a gasp. He's hurt! Oren's coppery skin darkened to a deep purple from his neck to his left triceps. He moved his arm in a broad circle and sighed, then reached for the bowl. He smeared the paste onto the bruised areas and then sat still. Katarina backed away from the door, and returned to the map. *** It doesn't make sense. Katarina curled up close to the fireplace. I studied that map for two hours, and memorized every city, but he was more interested in those strange little marks with no names. He won't even tell me why it's so important to know their positions. The combat lesson was so much easier to understand. Know your terrain, force your enemy to fight on your terms. Avoid direct engagement with multiple opponents unless you can create a critical advantage for yourself.
67
SAMUEL MEDINA
Katarina stood up, and walked over to the mule. The beast slept soundly, even with the wind whipping against the walls outside. She looked over at Oren. He's probably awake. Katarina went to the table and stared at the map. Her eyes fitted back and forth between the strange markings, and then settled on one that was close to the western end of the valley. In the fickering light of the fire, the spidery lines of the mark seemed almost to move. The lines blurred, and then an image of a crumbling stone archway appeared. Katarina gasped, and the image disappeared. Magic? What secrets is this old elf keeping? Whats happening to me? "So you can read a Pelethite map, after all." Oren's green eyes sparkled in the firelight. "So those marks on the map have some kind of powerful magic?" "They do not. They are, however, made with an ink of unique properties which constitute what you might call an affinity for those with certain types of magical gifting. Magic, you see, has been in short supply for a great span of years, and so it became necessary for our people to develop subtlety where power was lacking." He rose, and tucked the map back into his satchel. "Rather than portray the images themselves, the ink contains a sort of cypher in which the images are stored. Upon reading such a symbol, the mind which has the proper attunement will see the image in far greater detail than could be portrayed on a map of ordinary size. In time, ley-reading will become natural to you, and symbols like these may reveal far more to you than images." "Could I study it some more?" Oren shook his head. "We've accomplished enough for this evening." Her attunement is very strong. "Now, get some sleep. We have a lot of ground to cover." "We're leaving?" "Not directly. This valley seems empty, and it may prove useful for us to know why its people left so suddenly, while
68
we have been unmolested, trolls aside." He sat back against the hearth, and closed his eyes.
69
6 DALANDRA
Katarina struggled to keep up with Oren. He walks so quickly, and barely makes a sound. No footprints, either, even when the ground is soft. When there's mud, he shifts onto the balls of his feet and leaves tracks like a moose . Oren stopped by the stone wall of another farm, and signaled that they would take a rest. "What are we looking for?" Katarina took a sip from her canteen and wrinkled her nose. "It stinks here." Oren crouched by the wall and smirked. "Exactly. Even when moving in a hurry, you must always maintain an awareness of your surroundings." He pointed westward.
Just beyond the end of the wall was a mound, on which grew sparse winter grass and a sapling of a tree Kat did not recognize. "That's just manure." "Is it? What farmer would pile manure so far from his barns? Think, child." Oren rose and walked over to the mound, which was chest-high to him and broad. "That," he said, gesturing at the tree, "is an apama tree, which grows only near the spoor of dragons. Now, what do you know of tracking?" *** Katarina stared at the brown grass and scowled. How am I supposed to track something that fies by looking at the ground? Oren stood back a short distance and smiled. No footprints, and how am I supposed to examine the grass in all this wind? Wait! "The grass! It's bent in a different direction from the wind, and there are no animal tracks." She looked at it more closely, then looked around the field. "A dragon passed this way. But it would have had to fy very low to bend the grass." "Now you are thinking!" Oren joined her, and pointed in the direction of the trail. "But consider this. To leave such a broad swath of bent grass, she would have had to have been no more than fifteen feet off the ground, assuming a dragon of fair size, he said. Why would she fy so low?" Oren began to walk alongside the dragon's trail. "It's hiding? And why do you think it's a girl dragon? And why are you walking next to the trail?" Oren motioned for her to follow. "Yes, I believe our dragon is hiding from something, and I mean to find out why. I walk next to the trail because the grass on this side is sparse. Thus our passing will be less apparent, and the dragon's track will be more clear should we have to double back." He broke off a blade of the bent grass and sniffed it. "And I know the dragon is female because I have been
71
SAMUEL MEDINA
among dragons, little miss. Though the scent is faint, it is to me unmistakable. Females have a pleasant smell, like smoke and honey, while males smell more of brimstone." He passed the blade of grass to her. It's like cedar smoke and the wild honey of Asher. "The dragon I killed just smelled bad, like brimstone and rotting meat." Oren motioned for a halt at the base of a low hill. "A male for certain, but if he bore the scent of decay, that is distressing." "Why? I thought predators usually have foul breath because they sometimes eat meat which has begun to turn." Oren frowned. "Dragons are not mere beasts. They roast their prey before they eat them." He paused to survey the trail behind them. Nothing stirred on the valley foor, and even the sky was empty but for a few clouds. "That ner'gash was very sick, then?" Katarina asked. "Yes." Oren crouched close to her. "There is an illness which seems to have spread among the ner'gash, a disease which robs them of their wits and voice, and which in its later stages drives them into an uncontrollable rage. I have been seeking the cause of this illness for some time." Katarina's eyes widened. "Are any of the dragons of the Covenant infected?" "Possibly. The behavior of that gold dragon does not seem rational at all. Those of the Covenant rarely come east other than to nest in the Glass Hills for the mating season, and no self-respecting dragon would ever eat a troll. But, let us hope while we can that the illness has not come upon them, for it will be dark times for us all if dragons of that size went mad." Oren rose, and started up the hill. Katarina made sure that her swords were clear in their scabbards, and followed. The dragons of the Covenant are the largest and most powerful of their race. Oren says that the great
72
dragon lords can sometimes melt stone with their fame. Even the greatest strongholds would not be safe. They ascended another hill. At its top massive stones of granite stood in a wide circle, covered in moss and vines, untouched by winter. Beyond the stones a low, massive building rose out of the ground as though it had sunk into the earth with the passage of time. A great arch of interlocking stones rose over a doorway that led down into the earth. That's the place I saw on the Pelethite map! It has to be. But the doors are broken . Katarina looked to Oren, who motioned for silence. He whispered into her ear. "This is a palenqil, an ancient safe house of the Pelethite order. We are downwind, but we must be cautious. The ground here is not cold, so this is a very large dragon, or I am a troll. Remember, even those of the Covenant will attack if provoked, and it is never wise to disturb a sleeping dragon." He motioned for her to get behind him. "If she is mad and we are forced to fight, you are not to engage unless I call for you. You will take cover behind one of the larger stones if she takes wing." He laid a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Do not be afraid. It is very unlikely that I will have need of you." Katarina, get a hold of yourself , she thought, and forced down the tremor in her belly. Fear will not defeat me. They drew closer, and crept their way to a fallen piece of the door. It's much bigger than I thought. It's lying fat and it's up to my waist. Twenty yards to the north, the stone pathway descended more than two yards to the base of the archway. Oren signaled for her to wait behind the slab and stalked closer to the entrance. He crouched to the side of the archway, brushed his fingers along the ground, and held them to his nostrils. A shadow fell on him from above. Katarina leaped out from behind the slab, weapons drawn. She ran down the path toward the arch, and in a fash of movement Oren seized her by the collar, yanking her off the path.
73
SAMUEL MEDINA
Oren clamped his hand over her mouth and pointed. The fat crow landed on the capstone of the arch and then few away. The elf released her, and gave her a searing glare. The wind stilled, the ground shook, and a deafening roar shattered the silence. The wind whipped against Katarina's face. No, that's not wind. Oren's ghost-walking. Oren came to a stop behind one of the massive columns in front of the palenqil, and set her down. Katarina staggered. I can barely hold my swords, my fingers are so numb. "Flex your fingers. It will pass." He drew his daggers and looked to the archway. Nothing had come forth. There was another tremor, and a wisp of smoke rose from the entrance. "She moves cautiously, probably expecting attack from above the doorway." From the deep shadow of the archway, a pair of luminous violet eyes stared out. Katarina shook her head to clear her vision. My head ... what ... those eyes! They're the same color as mine! Katarina made an effort to study the archway. No, Oren says never stare at a dragon's eyes. But they don't look dangerous. Katarina looked to the eyes again, and could not tear her herself away from that ageless, reptilian stare. Her breath caught as the great horned head came into view, scales of iridescent purple fading into a deep emerald. Dark bony spikes wreathed the powerful jaws with fearful majesty, and two long, curving horns swept back from the dragon's head, marking her as one of the great kuvash. Katarina gasped as the dragon lowered her head. Before her great horns was a golden, seven-pointed crest resembling a crown. A female dragon lord? Oren sheathed his weapons. He dropped to one knee, and bowed his head toward the dragon. Katarina stared at him. Why is he bowing to this dragon? It could attack at any moment! A voice that was at once terrible and sweet filled the clearing with a whisper. If there is anyone who should never bow in my presence, it is you, Oren Kellmire. I am but
74
a hatchling. The dragon tipped her great head toward Oren. Oren rose and smiled. Dalandra, of all the dragons of the Covenant, you are the most gracious, and though you are well met, I did not expect to find you here. In truth, I would not have come here were it not for a pressing need. Dalandra came forward, fully emerging from the archway. Her scales shimmered and her crest gleamed as she lowered her head toward Katarina. She stopped less than a yard from the girl's face. Tendrils of smoke rose from the dragon's nostrils, and Katarina fought an urge to run. She gives off heat like a fireplace. And those eyes! It's like she's looking right through me. The dragon sniffed, and then drew back her head and snarled. Dragonslayer! she roared. Her talons scored deep gouges in the stone as she wheeled on Oren. How can this be? Oren Kellmire, what is the meaning of this? How is it that I smell the blood of my kindred on this little creature? Her village was attacked by a ner'gash who had gone mad. I did not witness it, but Kalanhu says that a formal Challenge was given and accepted. Oren stepped forward and laid a hand on the bony ridge above the dragon's eye. A moment passed, and then a deep rumble came from Dalandra's chest. Very well then, but I shall have the full account of it. The dragon's eyes went back to Kat. And this little one should learn not to stare, though I suppose it can be forgiven for the moment. After all, her eyes are such a lovely color. She is my protege, Oren said, gesturing at Kat. Her name is Katarina, and though she is small, she does possess the Pelethite gift in considerable measure. Oren stepped back and looked at the dragon appraisingly. You've grown a good deal since I last saw you, Dalandra. I can see that the blood of Moregar still runs true. She keeps her right fank turned from me, and this is the first time she has ever greeted me without spreading her wings. He met her gaze and frowned.
75
SAMUEL MEDINA
Dalandra blinked, and almost seemed to finch. Oren Kellmire, I can conceal nothing from you. Your disapproving look is hotter than a dragon lord's breath. She raised her head, and unfurled her wings. Katarina was pushed back half a step by the movement. She stared openmouthed at the great leathery expanse of translucent purple. Her right wing is badly torn! We have been on the trail of a golden dragon, but I suspect you have met him already, Oren said. Let us take shelter, and I will attend you. It would seem that we have a good deal to discuss. *** I was fying high over the plains, not forty miles from here when he attacked. I was searching the land so intently that I never saw or heard him until he struck me full between the shoulder blades, driving the wind from my lungs. I rolled hard and dislodged him but he struck me again, this time in the chest. He released his fire upon me, which puzzled me, since to the kuvash all but the hottest fire is little more than a warm bath. Oren wrapped the dragons foreleg with strips of cloth hed found in the palenqil. He massaged the limb briskly, then stepped back. You will need to stay off that leg as much as possible, for a week at least. Oren frowned. Now let me see that wing. The dragon stretched her right wing out, and continued her story. I answered with some fame of my own, of course. Dalandras voice took on a smooth tone. I would have thought the kaalash to be stronger of hide, but he screamed, and bit down on my foreleg. I tried to break free of him, but he fought me savagely and I could not break his grip. He kept striking me in the chest, keeping me from regaining my fame, and so I folded my wings, in the hope thatd hed release me when he saw that we were falling fast. He broke away, and it would have been wise to fee, but I admit that
76
by now my blood was too hot for discretion. He met my charge with irresistible strength, and drove me back in the sky. It was then that he spoke. Though his words made no sense to me, it was his voice that removed all doubt that it was the Sun Dragon El-Nasser. I had met him once as a fedgling, and no one who has heard the deep majesty of that voice could ever mistake it for anyone else. Oren raised his eyebrows. I do not doubt you, he said. yet I had hoped that it would not be El-Nasser. He has long been a friend to the Elves. But please, go on. The dragon nodded. You will not have my treasure! he roared. Too long have I guarded it for the likes of you to come with your heart full of theft and treachery! I will line my nest with your hide and lay your bones at the mouth of my lair! He said many such things as he pressed on his attack, accusing me of being in league with the trolls and with Men, and of sending birds and spiders to spy out his lair. He would listen to nothing I said, and after a good deal of grappling, I tore one of his horns from his face. I was careless, however, and in his next attack he rent my wing. I tried to stay aloft, but he dove at me, and I plummeted. By this time, we were barely two hundred feet in the air, or I might have fallen to my death. I landed on one of your Elvish huacaniym, and for that I am terribly sorry, though it did break my fall rather well. Oren nodded. That at least explains the fallen huacaniym. His behavior as you describe it is distressing. He continued to run his fingers along the tears in the dragons wing. I will have to clean these, and scrape away the clotted blood to stitch the fesh back together. It is going to hurt. I can cope with pain. Let us hope so, because you will need to remain very still. Oren took a bowl from a nearby shelf and emptied his canteen into it. He set it on the foor. Aim for the foor
77
SAMUEL MEDINA
around it, just a narrow blast. Dalandra blinked. Please. If there is one thing in which we dragons are expert, it is in the handling of fire. Stand aside. The dragon inhaled, and then let out a thin stream of fame which traced the stone foor around the bowl. The area glowed red, and the dragon ceased. A moment later, the water boiled. Even under the best of circumstances, it may take several months to heal. He frowned, then dipped a long strip of cloth into the bowl. I hope I have enough thread. Will this help? Katarina held out a large bunch of pale herbs. The gorrok left this for me that morning. It seemed to help my sore ribs after the battle with the nergash. Orens eyes widened. The dragon coughed, sending a sizeable ball of fame into the stone shelves Child, do you know what that is? Katarina shook her head. It is white kurupaya, the most powerful of all healing herbs, and very difficult to come by. Set aside about half those herbs. If we do this correctly, that wing should be fully healed in two or three weeks. The dragon brought her head close to the girl. You have the gratitude of a dragon of the Covenant, Dragonslayer. Katarina said nothing, but bowed in reply. Oren wrapped the wet cloth around his fist and set to work debriding the wing. He held the torn areas together as Dalandra cauterized them, and Katarina followed, applying the medicinal paste. Youll have to hold still for a short while until the fesh binds up. Meanwhile, you must eat this. He held out the remaining herbs to Dalandra, who turned her head away. A hint of annoyance rose in the dragons voice. You know we dragons are carnivores. It would besmirch the honor of my line to eat a plant. Suit yourself. Oren sat back down near Dalandra, who
78
took up nearly the whole chamber now that her wing was outstretched. Katarina settled down next to him. I cant believe hes going to just let her have her way. Shed heal so much faster if shed just swallow her pride and eat the herbs. Katarina was going to make her views known when Oren nudged her to silence. Then, as the dragon lay her head down and closed her eyes, Oren winked. *** Oren Kellmire, you wound me. You know that the dragons of the Covenant do not lie, and yet you seem to insist upon implying some manner of duplicity on my part. Dalandra raised her chin and looked away from the elf. On the contrary, I think you have been rather transparent. Oren looked around the chamber. This palenqil is one of the largest I've seen, but she could easily outgrow it . Yet her wing is too badly torn to fy without damaging it further, and the swelling on her right foreleg means walking any distance is out of the question. Just what do you mean by that? The dragon's eyes went to the far end of the chamber, where Katarina lay sprawled on a narrow bunk. The child's breathing was slow and steady. You said that you came to the Glass Hills for the mating season, and I believe you. However, I also believe that since your spine ridge has not turned red, you are not yet of an age to take a mate. You said that you were attacked by the Sun Dragon El-Nasser, and while I very much hope that such a lordly dragon was not the culprit, I cannot ignore that you omitted what you were doing at the time. Had it occurred in the Glass Hills, at least a few other dragons would have come to your aid. So, Oren said, sharply pointing a finger toward the dragon, I must insist that you cease being so secretive. It is unnecessary and unbecoming. Finally we're getting somewhere, Katarina thought. I knew she was hiding something. The nesting grounds must be more than
79
SAMUEL MEDINA
three hundred miles from here. And it's at least twice that distance to Moregar's Peak. Why would she come so far if she's too young to mate? Dalandra settled down and laid her head on the stone foor. She closed her eyes and released a great blast of steam from her nostrils. Even when I try to say very little, I say too much. We dragons are a secretive race by nature, but Ceranyx himself has said that he despairs of my ever developing the subtlety that so distinguishes the dragon from the lesser peoples. She opened one eye. Very well, she said with a wave of her talons. Since you will not permit me that ancient and customary secrecy to which I aspire, I will relate the matter in full. However I must ask that you not divulge how you came by this information. I do have my dignity to think of. There was a sound like muffed laughter at the far end of the chamber. The dragon raised her head with a huff. The girl's steady breathing resumed. Katarina, get a hold of yourself. Eavesdropping is one thing, but laughing at a dragon, even a funny one, is sure to be trouble. Agreed. Oren waved toward Katarina. And since we have agreed to dispense with subtleties, it is best that you stop pretending to sleep and join us. This is bound to be a story of much worth, child, if Dalandra has no objection to your hearing it. I do not object, so long as she is likewise bound to secrecy. Come ahead, Dragonslayer, but mind your manners. *** As I have said before, I came to the Glass Hills for the mating season, but not for the purpose of mating, as you surmised. Dalandra let out a long, slow sigh. I do admit, however, that I was very much interested in watching the males contend for the brood mothers. They make such a great show of it, though the whole affair seems to me
80
somewhat wasteful. Once the season was well underway, I found that I could slip away under the pretense of hunting without drawing the attention of prying eyes. Having been hatched at Bawarra Ridge, I suppose it was inevitable that I should learn some of the ways of the Elves. Being fostered as I was by the particularly adventurous daughter of the Clan Lord, I developed a great fondness for the making of maps and for tales and legends which are regarded by most to be myth. One such myth is that of the fabled city of Kremlakh. It is said to have been the great capital of a most ancient kingdom of the trolls who now reside in the Glass Hills. While it is generally believed that these trolls once dwelt in villages on the plain before they fell into barbarism and wickedness, this is only partly true. There is a legend barely more than the faintest of rumors, really. This legend tells of a vast city far below the plains east of Melloren, and of a great civilization filled with wonders. Oren leaned back against the wall. And so you believe this legend? Of course not. Dalandra reached into a shadowed alcove to her right and ficked an object toward Oren. That's the biggest coin I've ever seen, Katarina thought. Solid gold, and the size of a cantaloupe. She leaned forward for a closer look. Such strange markings on it, and that face does look like a troll with a crown. Oren turned the coin over. His eyes narrowed as he studied it, and he traced the coin's markings with a single finger. Centered on its surface was the image of a great city, and above it was an arch from which hung stalactites. This script it is the ancient writing used by the Menelek. There are few even among the Elves who can read it. How did you come by this coin? On that point it would be best for me to be silent. One large violet eye closed and opened suddenly. Katarina raised
81
SAMUEL MEDINA
her eyebrows. Did she just wink? Keep that secret if you must, though I suspect that I may know it already. If I am correct, I am certain that no small amount of mischief will come of it. The recklessness she had as a fedgling seems to have changed its object from adventure to ambition. You seek treasure then? The dragon huffed. More than just treasure. She looked at Katarina. I know not how much you have been taught about the ways of dragons, and your travels with this old master seem to have been far too eventful for a proper education on the matter. I shall attempt to amend this deficiency in my own small way in due course, but for now a few facts should suffice. I am a kuvash, of the line of Moregar. We are the largest and most powerful of all dragons, but like most dragons our size depends to a degree on the extent of our hoard. All dragons are creatures of magic, and we possess the ability to draw magic through gold, precious stones, magical artifacts, and such like. Thus, the larger the hoard the more magic is drawn. This magic in turn fuels the dragon's growth. It is because of the Fetters of Wizardry that dragons no longer attain to the size that they did in the elder days. Oren raised an eyebrow at Dalandra. So then your intention is to amass a hoard of such size as will permit you to grow like the dragons of old. And you expect to acquire this treasure from a city which may or may not exist, and to do so entirely unnoticed. I am hopeful of doing so, yes. Dalandra tapped a sword-like claw on the foor. My reasons for embarking upon such an enterprise must for the present remain undisclosed. However, I am certain that you have discerned at least some of them, and so it is that I must insist that you keep your ruminations to yourself. Unless, of course, you may be persuaded to be of some assistance in this matter. You are in no condition to travel, nor will you be for
82
some time. She plays a dangerous game. If she intends to challenge Ceranyx, it could be centuries before she is large enough to survive the attempt, even with such treasure as she hopes to acquire. Surely that cannot be her objective. If this intrigue of hers is discovered, the entire Covenant will assume her to be guilty of attempting an overthrow. In any case once we have related our own news, it will become apparent that events are now in motion that require haste on our part. We would not be able to be of any assistance, even if we were so inclined. The elf and the dragon exchanged a long look. Oren tapped his finger tips on his knuckles and blinked rapidly. Are you insane? It is suicide if you are caught. Understood. I am in no great hurry. After all, the cedars of Starwatch did not spring up overnight. Dalandra ficked the coin back to its hiding place. Now, you must tell me what has befallen you of late, why you are in such a hurry, and how you came across this little Dragonslayer. Dalandra tapped her talons on the foor. Oren leaned toward the dragon. As you know, the study of dragons and their ways has long been among my chief pursuits. In these last few years there has been a number of reports concerning land dragons which at first I found hardly credible. It was said in Black River that one of the ner'gash had taken to needlessly slaughtering livestock and outright murder. The reports were such as to seem somewhat exaggerated, perhaps in the interest of rallying a dragon hunt. However, upon my arrival I found the truth of it to be even more distressing. The attacks in Black River left a great deal of cattle dead and burned but not eaten. The dragon snorted her disapproval. That frog-brained ner'gash! What a waste of meat. Stolen meat, Katarina said. It wasn't his to waste. Codswallop, Dalandra said. No self-respecting dragon would stoop to petty theft. We will, however, rid a large herd of the sick and feeble. The wise among farmers are grateful for such assistance.
83
SAMUEL MEDINA
Katarina's reply was cut short when Oren cleared his throat. That may be true, Dalandra, but on occasion dragons have been known to define sick and feeble in much broader terms than farmers do. Dalandra seemed to shrug but said nothing. In this case the killing appeared to be indiscriminate, and in some attacks entire herds were destroyed. Now, in my studies I have found that the ner'gash possesses both the largest appetite for its size and the swiftest metabolism of any type of dragon. The very manner of the attacks were such that this dragon should have been quite hungry by the time he was done. As for the murders, most occurred in places where there was no livestock present. Several parties went in search of this dragon, myself among them. When at last we captured him, he appeared to be quite mad. He spoke very little, and what he did say made no sense. Those who were with me wanted to kill him outright. I insisted upon being allowed to observe him for another day or two, and before long even what speech he had was gone, replaced by a frenzied croaking and gurgling which I found pitiable. I took some samples of blood for further study and then eased his passing. The dragon narrowed her eyes. Since when do the Elves of Melloren collect the blood of dragons? It is too similar to the doings of Whitehawk for my liking. Since dragons started killing for no apparent reason. The elf's hands made a series of subtle movements. The elder dragons refused to come and examine him. I am not Whitehawk. Lacking a healthy sample for comparison, my study of the blood proved inconclusive save for what I noticed when I drew it. His blood was cold. So you believe the illness is carried in the blood, then? Dalandra scratched at the foor with a single claw. Carried perhaps, but I suspect that the real harm of it occurs in the brain, since both speech and reason are affected. By this time there had been such violence that
84
whatever ner'gash remained in Melloren had either been hunted down or run off. I came east into the Border Kingdoms in hopes that I would find one. Eight days ago, I received word from Kalanhu that there was a young ner'gash living just on the outskirts of Heinmark. Dalandra snorted. It's a wonder that bird can even fy. Where is he, anyway? I know not, but surely some distance from here. He has been rather skittish since you said that you would eat him if he got any fatter. Oren smirked. Anyway, I sent him back to keep track of it until I should come, but Katarina happened upon the lair the day before I arrived. He went on to recount the adventures of the last few days in full, and Katarina was beginning to fall asleep when the dragon spoke again. So then you suspect that this illness has now spread to the larger dragons, because of El-Nasser's attack on me. Dalandra curled her tail around her two guests. How can we be sure? We cannot, although your tale leaves little room to hope otherwise. We can send word north for a thorough search to be made, but there may be very little time before the disease progresses. If that happens, the whole south of Melloren will be at the mercy of a very powerful and insane dragon. Katarina's eyes widened, and she gasped as Dalandra jumped to her feet. The dragon snarled, and gnashed her teeth. If you send word north, I will surely be discovered here. Oren rose to his feet without a sound. What would you have me do? Lay the whole of the Southlands bare to unimaginable violence for the sake of one of your intrigues? Dalandra seemed to shrink back, and sat on her haunches.
85
SAMUEL MEDINA
You did say that the ner'gash has the swiftest metabolism of all dragons. There may be time yet for a different plan, time enough to allow me to return to the Glass Hills before I am missed. It will be at least two weeks until you are able to fy safely, but there is no way of knowing with certainty how rapidly the illness will progress. The Sun Dragon must be located at once. You already know where he is, Dalandra said. She lay back down with a sigh. There are few places in the Southlands for a dragon that size to roost, and I believe you are already going that way. He's at Kilara's Keep? Katarina jumped to her feet and turned to face Oren. Are we going to kill him? The dragon growled, and Oren shook a finger at the girl. You will do well never to speak of such a thing so lightly. I would as soon burn the whole of Melloren to the ground as I would take the life of the Sun Dragon, unless there were no other choice. If indeed he has gone mad it would be a terrible tragedy. El-Nasser has long been a friend to Melloren, and he is in fact one of the chief reasons we did not lose all of the great forest to the Empire. Oren sat down. The dragons of the Covenant took such heavy losses during the Desolation that they decided to avoid involvement in matters beyond the Plains of Ost. In the many centuries afterward, the Fetters weakened our magic and Men multiplied while the Elves diminished. The garrisons along the eastern border of Melloren became the Border Kingdoms, and the Empire pressed its advantage, killing, destroying and plundering wherever they could. Our people were but a remnant of their former numbers when a young gold dragon disobeyed the injunction, and came east. El-Nasser not only aided us in combat, but he also helped to fortify what cities we had left. Without his help,
86
the Elves of Melloren might not have survived. Katarina stood with her mouth open. Oren motioned for her to sit and she looked into his eyes. Now he looks so ancient, so tired, and full of sorrow. Perhaps better plans might be hatched on a full stomach. Dalandra said, and closed her eyes. Oren nodded, and he motioned for Katarina to stay as he went outside. When the elf had been gone for some time, the dragon's eyes opened. Now, little Dragonslayer, I think we ought to come to an understanding. The complete novel is available on Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008SSIKVW
87

Katarina The Dragonslayer and The Foebreaker's Curse

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Katarina The Dragonslayer and The Foebreaker's Curse

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Katarina the Dragonslayer and the Foebreaker's Curse

Book One of The Fetters of Wizardry

Published in The United States by Melloren Press via CreateSpace

Ayakush The Elvish Tongues Glossary About the Author

270 287 288 296

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

2 THE KING'S ROAD

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

5 THE VALLEY OF ACHOR

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

KATARINA THE DRAGONSLAYER AND THE FOEBREAKER'S CURSE

You might also like