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

And he was gone from the sky. Gone as if he had never been there.

She was alone with a truth she did not want, fighting Michennann to turn aside—fighting too late to alter her own dark course; and Michennann caught and held utterly now, to some stronger will. Michennann, left too long to battle alone, had lost that battle. Meatha’s fear turned to terror. She clung, stricken, to the silent, fast-flying mare. She saw now that the very stealing of the runestones had been willed by the dark she had meant to defeat. Now she saw, and now it was too late. Now she battled a mare caught herself in forces beyond her will. Meatha tried, but could not reach the mare’s spirit. She strained to bring power through the stones and seemed weak and inept. She tried to make the mare end their flight in a fast spiraling downward, but Michennann did not heed her, was led on like a bird snared in flight. Why had Anchorstar turned away? Why hadn’t he helped her? She was sick and trembling. She could smell the mare’s nervous sweat. Something urged them to greater speed still, and neither she nor Michennann could resist.

And Lobon woke shouting into empty blackness, “Fight him! Fight Dracvadrig! The power of the bell is with you!” He turned and saw the wolves sitting erect in their chains and felt their power steadily rising with his own to strengthen the girl and drive the firemaster back. He tried with all his power to give her the strength she sought. Dracvadrig must not have the runestones she carried. He did not think about why he cared, why this was important to him.

And his power was not enough, the mare was buffeted until she faltered in the sky; and then suddenly the dragon launched himself from the peak of Scar Mountain and swept toward them, black against the stars, driving winds aside. He came at them, slashed at the mare and pale rider forcing them on not only with mind-power but with teeth like steel, with claws that were knives, with a frenzy of beating wings. The mare fought to keep airborne. Meatha lashed out with her sword again and again, but the mare was forced down at last toward the abyss by the dragon’s leathery wings beating across her wings. Lobon Saw blood smeared across the dragon’s face, and he did not know he was shouting again, sending power like a tide from the wolf bell. He tore in rage at the bolt that held Feldyn, and the wolf leaped and leaped in frustration, then suddenly came free, the bolt clanging to the floor as the mare and girl were swept down the side of the abyss. The dragon dove, snatched the girl up in its claws, and beat skyward carrying her like a cloth doll. Lobon felt her quick decision to drop the stones and cried out to her. He made her pause and close her fist over them, perplexed.

Then he saw, not in vision but against the night sky beyond the cell, the dragon’s dark shape come out of the wind swooping down past the cell dangling the girl. He saw her face for an instant, pale with fear, her cheek torn and bloody. She lashed out again with the sword, then the dragon was gone with her. Lobon sensed it entering a red-washed cave, Saw fire ogres moving inside. One snatched a cloth bag from the girl and pushed her against the wall; she screamed with the pain of the burns it left on her wrist and shoulder; Lobon could feel that pain. The cloth sack where she had carried the two runestones was aflame. The fire ogre picked the two stones out and laid them on top a flat boulder. Lobon saw then that his own two shards, and the starfires, lay there gleaming red with reflected fire. He watched the dragon inspect the stones, then watched as a fire ogre swept them up in its thick, flaming hand and tumbled them into the golden casket that dangled at the dragon’s throat.

The dragon left the cave carrying six shards of the milestone of Eresu. Lobon could hear it scraping across loose stone, then heard boulders dislodged, and was engulfed in the sense of it close by. The night turned red as ogres approached. They fumbled with the lock, and the dragon’s heavy blackness covered the stars beyond the cell. The gate was pulled open.

The dragon pushed through the cell door. Its claws reached for him. He lashed out with the bell down the side of its head, and it hissed and pulled back, coughing flame at him.

Again it reached. Again. As it turned, he saw the left eye swollen closed and covered with dried blood. Each time he struck with Seer’s powers and the bell, it retreated, then attacked anew. He could feel the wolves’ powers with him, strong. Its jaws opened above him, flame belching to burn him. Its teeth grazed his shoulder. He pressed deeper into the cave; it pushed in after him, pressed so close—but then it drew back. He tried to find a way clear of its coils and was trapped by it.

But it did not attack. It was only toying with him.

Why? Surely it wanted the wolf bell. He stood facing it. It was utterly still, watching him, and the sense of the man Dracvadrig was there, alert and evil. It did not move. It had only to kill him and take the wolf bell, but it did not move. Did it want him alive? But why would it? It seemed to draw back to keep from killing him. Why? It wanted the wolf bell, though. It stared at it greedily. He reached out desperately to any power that could help him. The creature remained utterly still. He felt the wolves with him, felt more than these three wolves; knew suddenly that wolves in a great band pushed their power like a heavy tide to buoy him; and he felt the girl where she stood captive, fighting beside him. Then suddenly Feldyn and Shorren leaped and slashed at it, their chains dragging, Shorren on one side, Feldyn on the other, ducking flame; the dragon moved now, swept this way and that trying to see them, to get at them. Its eye seemed to pain it. Its coils lashed the walls, the golden pouch at its throat swung and gleamed. Lobon tried to turn the power of the stones it carried against it. Could such a thing be done? Did the dark hold that power utterly? He felt the wolves’ power strong, so strong. He brought his skills, his knowledge to bear as perhaps he never had before; the sense of those other wolves somewhere, somewhere, reaching out to give him strength twisted something in Lobon, brought the sense of Ramad around him sharply. He forced and drove down on the dragon with the power that rose in him married to those other powers. The dragon took a step back, slowed in its battling, and swung its head. Lobon exalted in his power and in the fellowship of wolves. He leaped suddenly with the wolf bell at the dragon’s head, slashed the bell across its cheek, then leaped and struck the damaged eye; the dragon bellowed out with pain, with fury. It writhed, blood gushed from the eye; and then, writhing, its body began to grow unclear.

Twisting and bellowing, it diminished in size as if the pain were too great to let it hold the dragon form. He felt it reaching to strengthen its power in the stones it carried, felt it falter as those powers that buoyed Lobon confused and rattled its mind. Powers stood beside Lobon now—Skeelie’s, the wolves’—that awed and humbled him. The dragon diminished further. It had begun to change into the form of a man. The two forms overlapped and wavered. The bones seemed to shrink, to draw in.

At last the man Dracvadrig stood before him, tall and bent and sallow, his lined face filled with hate. The gold casket dangled across his waist. One eye gushed blood. The other was a dragon’s eye, predatory and cold.

Part Three: The Joining

From the journal of Skeelie of Carriol. (Undated. Marked only, The Villa of Canoldir.)

I have not moved out of the realm of Canoldir’s house and out of this Timeless place to help Lobon. I am uncertain what to do. Perhaps Canoldir is right, perhaps I must wait. Must Lobon fight his battles unfettered? Would my interference unbalance the scales of what is, turn away the delicate balance of powers, and perhaps destroy that balance?