Anthology - The Realms of the Dragons II

Silence followed the pronouncement. Bahrn's eyes darted to Diadree's house. It had ceased shaking.

He positioned himself to block the front door just as it burst outward, Diadree following in a rush. Bahrn snagged her round the waist as she flew by and lifted her gently off her feet.

Gods, she has a bird's bones, he thought. How long had she gone without a proper meal?

The rest of her, if possible, looked worse, like a garden grown wild from seasons of neglect. Her long gray hair hung in the same thick braid he remembered, but it had not seen soap or brush in all that time. Greasy mouse-tails of it escaped all over, hanging down in her eyes and trailing over loose cords of flesh in her neck. She wore a patched apron on top of filthy skirts, all of which gave off a jaw-clenchingly unpleasant smell.

Diadree flailed arms and legs, but Bahrn simply gathered her in against his armored chest.

"Well met again, Diadree. It's been a long time," he said.

Bones cracked as the old woman swiveled her head around and up until they were practically chin-to-chin. To his surprise, recognition flashed in her milky blue eyes.

"Bahrn? Norint's son, Bahrn?"

"You remember me?"

She grunted. "Bahrn the bully-the fat one with crooked teeth who used to slobber and stare in my windows with his bully friends." Her eyes narrowed. "I broke a broomstick over your head for it."

"Did she? Practically harmless, Bahrn, I agree."

At the sound of Arlon's voice, Diadree resumed her violent midair kicking. Bahrn allowed her to slip down to the ground, but as soon as her feet were planted, he dug in, and forced her to stand in place.

"We're not going to hurt you, Diadree," the wizard soothed in a voice that prickled the skin at Bahrn's neck.

"In that case, you can turn around and follow the cracks back the way you came," Diadree snapped. "Watch you don't trip and fall into one."

She tried to back away as he approached, and she stumbled.

Bahrn steadied her and noticed a dark brown stain soaked into the hem of her torn skirts.

"You're hurt," he said.

"It's nothing-old." Diadree shrank back as Arlon bent and gingerly probed the bone. "Healed now, as best it can be. I don't feel it on level grass, but walking up and down the mountain puts me in the Nine Hells of hurt."

"It's a miracle you've survived on your own for so long," Bahrn said.

"Why? Because of the ores and other uglies scattering through here to pick the houses clean?" She laughed scornfully. "They don't come up here. No one does. No one needs to."

"We've come to take you out of here. You're not well, Diadree," Arlon said, straightening.

Diadree smiled unpleasantly. "You mean I'm crazy. Yes, I heard you. It's true I am many things." She paused, her hand straying to her cheek to scratch at the grime darkening her face. "Crazy might be one of them," she conceded, as if she'd never given fair consideration to the possibility. Her eyes snapped to Arlon's face. "You are many things as well, some of which may even be true." She wrinkled her nose. "You smell of magic even if you don't flaunt the power." She jerked her head at the wizard's pale, bare forehead. "And I'm sure you're highly intelligent, for someone who reeks so thoroughly of magic, but you're looking for the wrong woman-"

"But the right mountain," Arlon interrupted. "I'm looking for Amrennathed's home."

Diadree went rigid under Bahrn's hands and said, "Amrennathed is even less your affair than I am."

"Who is Amrennathed?" Bahrn wanted to know.

"A dragon. In local legend you know her as the Queen of the Mountain," Arlon explained. "I came here searching for her."

"For a children's story?" scoffed Bahrn. "You've wasted your steps. The mountain has no queen but Diadree, and she's not a dragon, except in speech." The old woman's shoulders quivered with what might have been laughter. Bahrn couldn't be sure. "Your queen was used to scare children into good behavior."

"Never worked," Diadree muttered.

"Amrennathed is a dragon of amethyst, older and stronger than this mountain," Arlon persisted. "By all accounts, she came here a great wyrm and rarely left the lair she made for herself." His voice rose with excitement. "Don't you see? When you were a boy, she was practically beneath your feet, and you never knew."

Bahrn was unconvinced. "What does that have to do with Diadree?"

"Nothing," Diadree interjected, but the wizard was smiling at her.

Arlon turned, murmured something Bahrn didn't hear, and stepped close to the cliff wall. The grass and dirt shifted, as if a swift, momentary breeze had passed over them, and Arlon lifted his arm into the air. He clutched a dirty scrap of cloth between two fingers.

Diadree made a small, constricted noise of fury in her throat. Bahrn recognized the piece of the old woman's bloodstained skirt. The breeze plucked the fabric out of his grasp and bore it on the air for several seconds before allowing it to float gently to the ground. The rush of air streaked away from the cliff and blew toward the back of Diadree's home, ruffling flowers and bushy plants from her garden in its wake.

"This way," Arlon said, following the breath of magic.

A rocky outcropping rose up behind the small dwelling. The trail they had been following ended there, cut off by a steep climb up the rocks.

"A blood scent spell," the wizard explained when Bahrn came up behind him. He pointed to the rock wall.

Puzzled, Bahrn walked farther around the outcropping.

Roots of small trees and brush sticking out from the cliff formed an ascending carpet of rough stepping places and handholds. Halfway up the roots were torn, and there was a dark stain dribbling down the rocks.

"You tried to climb this?" Bahrn asked, turning to Diadree. "This is where you broke your ankle."

"She must have been looking for something terribly important," Arlon remarked. "I wonder what it could be, Diadree." His tone was conversational, but his eyes were fixed on the mountain, as if with enough force of will he could draw in and open the rock.

Murmuring under his breath again, he levitated up vertically along the cliff wall, steadying himself against the wind by grasping at outthrust rock.

"Follow him!" Diadree shrieked. She grabbed Bahrn's arm as the wizard disappeared from sight over the outcropping. "She won't like it if he finds where she slept!"

"Who won't?" Bahrn asked, his patience rapidly thinning. "Arlon's dragon? She's dead, Diadree, if ever she existed at all. Either way, she's not going to care who visits her grave."

"He's looking to pick through whatever she might have left behind. That's what they do, don't you see?"

"If that's all he intends, he's welcome to…" He trailed off as Diadree's face went livid.

"Stupid, insolent child," she spat. "Why did you come back here-bringing a sniveling, arrogant, cult mage in tow!" She shoved at him. He half-expected her to reach for the nearest broomstick as she had almost two decades before.

Bahrn raised his hands. "He hired me to bring him-for you. I didn't know what he was. Why does it matter what he takes?"

"Doesn't it matter to you? Of course, seeing your own home picked to bones by the vultures didn't seem to slow you, so why should I be surprised?" Diadree snorted with disgust and swiped at him again.

Deftly, he plucked both her fists out of the air and forced them away from his face. "A pile of sticks, to my memory. I only came back to see if you were well."

And if Arlon was a cultist, as Diadree claimed, he'd brought her much more trouble than he could have saved her by staying away.

Diadree's grip slackened, but her eyes remained raw. "I don't understand you."

Bahrn sighed and stooped, offering his broad back to the old woman. "Neither do I, at the close of most days. I'll carry you, but only as far as the roots go up."