Ширли Мерфи - The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

“Parchment, Fithern? And where is it now?” Tra. Hoppa’s voice rose, could hardly contain her excitement. “And what does the parchment tell?”

“It lies in her dwelling just as she left it, lady, ten years gone. But I don’t know what it tells. None of us can read writing.”

He had fled the city of cones when a wandering band of Kubalese had come upon it and murdered many. He had been taken captive by another such band somewhere in the Urobb hills. “They held me for a while in the camp of the leader, Kearb-Mattus,” he said. “I know who he is. And I know the Seer RilkenDal. I learned much from the other captives. I saw Kearb-Mattus and RilkenDal myself once, walking among the captive horses. The Seer RilkenDal was tall and dark and twisted in his walk, and he was choosing horses and causing a strangeness to come over them so they followed him unfettered like dogs.”

Meatha shuddered and huddled into herself. The darkness was moving in around them, moving on Carriol ever more powerfully, dark forces closing them in, forces that must be destroyed.

Only the runestone, the whole runestone, could ever defeat such darkness.

She looked up at the jade at last, so rich a green, suspended alone. It turned in the breeze, catching the sea light. The stone would mark her way. The stone would save Ere, and she would be its servant, to carry it.

It was then she Saw Lobon in sharp vision, Saw that he slept; Saw the dragon slipping close to him and felt his peril sharply. Hardly aware of the Seers around her, blocking without thinking, she brought power in the stone, fierce and sudden—so tense, so lost in vision was she that she was unaware of anything around her as she drove her forces against the advancing dragon. Her blocking was a mindless power born of her lifelong need. The creature she challenged was stalking Lobon like a cat stalking a shrew. It must not kill this Seer. It must not have the stones, she knew no other emotion but this.

SIX

Even in his sleep Lobon was pursued. His dreams never let him free. In dreams he stalked the dragon and turned to find it ready to spring; and then in his dreams the earth trembled, and he thought that, too, was Dracvadrig’s spell.

But the earth did stir. The wakeful wolves felt it, five quick shocks. They leaped to the mouth of the cave and stood watching the abyss. Pebbles rolled down from above. A lizard slithered to gain purchase on the shelf where it had fallen, and Crieba snatched it up. The ground shook under their feet. Behind them, Lobon rolled over in his sleep, but he did not wake. Shorren began to move out along the cliff, then she drew back snarling as another, harsher shock caught them. A wind hit them suddenly, and Dracvadrig was above them sweeping down out of nowhere. How long had the dragon been watching and waiting there? He twisted in midair before the cave and began to coil around boulders, towering over the opening, dwarfing the abyss. Lobon came awake then, as the dragon struck at the wolves; they leaped at its scaly throat; Lobon snatched up his sword and lunged, slashed across its neck. It lurched away screaming with anger, left blood at their feet. Its roar joined with the roar of the earth as the abyss rocked and shuddered. The dragon twisted on the wind and dove again, its great head seeking Lobon, flame gushing between yellowed teeth; he dodged, and it caught him by the shoulder, lifted him—and he felt another power with him fiercely driving at the dragon as h shook him. Dizzy, hurting, he found his knife. The dragon reared on the narrow shelf, he felt the earth beneath it heave, heard the shelf crack beneath the dragon’s weight, felt the creature falling, as it still gripped him between its jaws. He slashed, was grazed by a rock, fell with the dragon in the shower of stones. He felt the other power with him swelling, battling. Skeelie? No, not Skeelie. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s face, of the swinging runestone. He felt the force of power she poured into that stone for him.

He landed across the dragon’s coils beside its gaping jaw, lay facing one huge, watchful eye. He was sick with pain and knew that in a moment Dracvadrig would reach, open that great jaw, and destroy him. Driven by urgency, he leaped and plunged the sword deep into the eye. A cry of rage shattered around him. Blood spurted from the eye. The dragon twisted away, flailing and whipping across the chasm. Then suddenly it rose upward, screaming, its wings dragging its body up toward the rim.

It disappeared, half flying, half flailing, over the lip of the abyss.

The earth stilled. Lobon let out his breath, felt his reprieve, was sharply aware of the one instant, the one lucky blow. Was Dracvadrig dying? Elated, he began to climb up toward the mouth of the cave. Pain tore through his shoulder and arm. The wolves pushed around him. He leaned on Feldyn, forgetting elation then, in pain, and let the wolf pull him upward.

*

Above the abyss in the black cliff, a pale figure moved to the portal. She watched Dracvadrig approaching in slow, awkward flight as if at any minute he would fall back to the rocks below. She saw without emotion the dragon’s face covered with blood and the ruined eye.

At last she heard him come into the cave entrance behind her. He was losing control, beginning to change into the form of a man. She watched the change intently, until at last he lay sprawled across the stone bench, his lined face gray with pain, the gouged eye running blood.

She tended him coldly, mopping away the blood. She gave him a small portion of eppenroot for the pain.

“Haven’t you got MadogWerg! This is putrid stuff!”

“No, Drac. None.” Then, with disgust, “Your eye will not mend. You must use your Seeing senses to replace it.”

He stared at her in fury. His thin, lined face was distorted with pain—and then as the drug took effect, distorted with its hold on him. “You needn’t be so pleased.”

“ You let it happen! You play with your quarry too much. Why didn’t you—”

“Why didn’t I what? Kill him and take the stones? Where would our plan be then?”

“You could have taken them without killing him. You didn’t have to get yourself made half useless!”

He did not answer her. Whatever hatred flared between them at the moment, both knew they needed Lobon. Presently he said, “The Seer will be in the cells soon. He is already nearly on top of the gates.”

“How can you be sure he will keep on toward the cells?”

“I laid a false sense of my presence. Do you think me an imbecile?”

“All right, Drac. All right.”

“Where is RilkenDal?”

“Gone. To fight beside Kearb-Mattus. Gone to deliver mounts from the cells.” She spat against the wall. “His pets! Hateful animals. All that screaming. The disgusting whimpers of brute creatures.”

“They are useful, my dear. RilkenDal’s troops cannot move across Ere on dragon wings as you are fortunate enough to do.”

“Nasty beasts all the same. Talking like men, pretending to the wisdom of Seers—such as it is. He would be better off with flying lizards. They are more natural.”

“And stubborn and stupid and bad-tempered.” He eased back on the stone bench. “The countries are beginning to panic, Kish. RilkenDal must move ahead now. Now is the time to attack.”

Kish smiled coldly. “Soon all of Ere will be ours.”

“It is not ours yet,” he said testily. “We must watch the girl. Make sure she is successful. I cannot lose my hold on her. Ah, Kish, once we possess the two runestones she will bring us, and the four the boy carries . . .” He shook the stone in the golden casket that dangled at his waist. “Seven stones, Kish. Seven shards of the runestone.”

“You don’t have his four yet.”