Emily Rodda: Sister Of The South

‘I do,’ growled the dragon. ‘Why else have I haunted this place, braving the weapons of your guards? I do not care for cities, where the air is foul, and humans run about shrieking at the sight of me, like granous in a trap.’

And as it spoke, there were frenzied shouts from the top of the stairs. The next instant, an arrow had flown through the air and buried itself in the dragon’s soft underbelly.

The dragon bellowed and rose into the dawn sky. Its dark red blood splashed to the stairs, spattering Lief’s face and hands.

Lief cried out in horror, struggling to rise, to shout to the guards to stop, stop! But the pounding wind of mighty wingbeats pinned him down, and his croaking voice could not be heard above the dragon’s roars.

The dragon flew clumsily away, slowly gaining height. Spears sped after it, but could not reach it, falling uselessly to the ground. Blood dripped from its wound as it flew. Lief watched helplessly, racked with pain, filled with dismay.

He heard the sound of feet clattering down the stairs. Then someone was crouching beside him. Through the haze of smoke still drifting in the air Lief saw a square, sharp-eyed face surrounded by a frizz of brown hair. He saw the well-worn bow slung over one sturdy shoulder, and knew whose arrow had pierced the dragon’s hide.

‘Gla-Thon,’ he croaked, trying to sit up. ‘How—?’

‘Be still,’ the gnome said gruffly. ‘You have lost much blood. Jasmine and Barda too. That vicious yellow beast nearly made an end of you.’

‘No,’ Lief mumbled. His head was swimming. Shadows were flickering at the edges of his vision.

Desperately he tried to hold the shadows back. He needed to explain. He needed to tell Gla-Thon, tell them all, of the two-faced beast, of the dragon’s rescue. But there was something even more urgent.

‘Josef. Paff,’ he whispered. ‘The Toran Plague …’

He saw Gla-Thon’s small eyes widen. He saw her lips move, as though she was speaking.

But the shadows were closing in. Lief could not stop them. They moved faster, faster … And at last all was darkness.

When Lief woke, he was lying in his old palace bed chamber. A feather quilt covered him. There was a soft pillow beneath his head. The faint scents of soap, clean linen and healing herbs drifted in the air. Sunlight was streaming through the barred window, turning the swirling dust motes into flecks of gold.

For a moment he was still, his mind lost in a pleasant haze. Then memory came flooding back and instantly every nerve in his body was jangling.

He sat up abruptly, drawing a sharp breath as pain shot through him. He looked down and saw that the torn, blood-soaked Toran robe was gone, and he was wearing a crisp white nightshirt. At the same moment he realised that while he had been unconscious someone had bathed his wounds, bandaged the worst of them and smeared the rest with healing balm.

With a jolt of panic he felt for the Belt of Deltora. But it was there, around his waist, gleaming against the white of the nightshirt.

He looked around the familiar room. His sword lay in a corner near the bed. Beside the sword was the pack he had left in Tora.

Who had brought it from Tora? How long had he been lying here unconscious? Half a day? More?

Suddenly the silence in the room was no longer peaceful, but ominous.

Lief thought of his mother. He thought of Jasmine and Barda, bleeding on the palace steps. He thought of Josef, his face disfigured by scarlet weals, and Paff, her eyes rolled back in her head …

In terror he glanced down at his hands and in shamed relief saw that no red lumps marked the skin.

The Toran Plague had not touched him. Or—not yet.

Painfully he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The room seemed to spin around him, and he grasped the edge of the bedside cabinet for support. He fumbled his way to his pack, found his clothes and began to pull them on.

His heart lurched as he heard the click of a lock and saw the door handle turn. Without quite knowing why, he seized his sword and stood with his back to the wall, waiting.

5 - A Sad Reunion

The door opened and Doom came silently into the room. He froze when he saw that the bed was empty. Slowly he turned his head till he saw Lief standing in the corner, sword in hand. The corner of his mouth tightened.

‘So you have become cautious at last, Lief,’ he said. ‘Better late than never.’

Lief grinned shakily and threw down his sword.

‘Doom,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I am very glad to see you.’

Doom stood where he was. ‘I am sure you will understand if I say that I am not glad to see you,’ he answered coldly. ‘Did I not tell you to stay away from here?’

Lief fought down a flare of anger. ‘You also told me to continue my quest,’ he snapped, letting his rejected hand fall. ‘Whether you wished me to see my dying mother or not, I had to come to Del. The Sister of the South is here.’

With bitter satisfaction he watched Doom’s face change. Then he saw his old friend’s shoulders slump, and felt ashamed.

‘Forgive me,’ he said quickly, holding out his hand again. ‘You could not have known. And no doubt I would have come even if the Sister were not in Del.’

This time Doom moved forward, and took the outstretched hand in both of his.

‘No doubt you would, Lief,’ he said. ‘Your heart has often ruled your head. It is one of the many things that make you a better king than I could ever be, for all your youth.’

As if fearing he had shown his feelings too plainly, he cleared his throat and abruptly released Lief’s hand.

‘Barda and Jasmine are still sleeping,’ he said, in something far more like his normal tone. ‘According to Gla-Thon it is a miracle that you are all still alive. Dragons can be deadly allies, it seems.’

Without waiting for an answer, he held out a piece of red cloth like the one loosely knotted around his own neck.

‘I know there is no hope of persuading you to keep away from Sharn, however much I might wish to,’ he said. ‘Tie this mask around your face. It will give you some protection from the infection.’

‘Before I see Mother, I must go to Josef,’ Lief said hurriedly.

Doom stared at him in angry astonishment. ‘You must do as you please, Lief,’ he said curtly. ‘But if you wish to see Sharn alive, there is no time to waste.’

Fear swept through Lief like a cold wind, driving everything else from his mind, chilling him to the bone.

Minutes later, Lief was standing by his mother’s bed, his breath coming hard and fast beneath the stifling cloth mask that covered his mouth and nose.

‘Do not venture too close,’ warned Doom, who had remained by the door. ‘And do not touch her.’

Angry-looking scarlet lumps covered Sharn’s face and neck. Her brow was beaded with sweat. Her lips were dry and cracked. Dark grey shadows smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Her breathing was very faint.

Lief’s throat tightened. ‘How long has she been like this?’ he managed to say.

‘This is the third day,’ Doom answered. ‘She reached Del at sunset, three nights ago, bearing the glad tidings that you had been found safe and well, and were travelling on to find the Sister of the South. A troop of guards escorted her to the palace. She spoke to every one of them … as is her way.’

He paused, then continued in the same level tone.

‘Her belongings were brought here, but she remained below, though she was tired and windswept from her journey. She greeted the crowds of the hungry gathered in the entrance hall and with her own hands served the soup that had been prepared for them. Afterwards she went to visit the stables, then she and I ate in the kitchen with the cooks. At last she admitted to weariness, and went directly to bed.’