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  “Nonsense,” Ridley said. “Horses don’t eat dwarves or any other living thing.”

  “Oh, and you’d know, I’ll wager—a thief from the foul hovels of the city. Why, I’d guess there’s little you wouldn’t know about the ways of horses and dwarves.”

  “All right.”

  “Well, it’s so, or I wouldn’t have said it, boy.” Elwood was silent for a long moment. He squinted into the misty dawn, then turned to Ridley again. “Look, friend, we’ll find her. I swear.”

  “I thank you for your thoughts.”

  “Dwarves have feelings too, you know. We’ve got our loved ones, same as humans do—and elves as well, I suppose, though I don’t think I’d take a large wager on that. The only creatures that don’t have feelings are orcs. An orc’s a hellish beast without a soul. It’s out of all reason to imagine one of those lovin’ something they couldn’t eat.”

  “I’ve never spoken to an orc,” Ridley said, ducking his head beneath a low branch. “I can’t say I know what they think or what they do.”

  Elwood looked aghast. “Well, by the gods of the river, lad, why on earth would you ever want to?”

  Norda reined in her mount, waiting for Ridley and Elwood to catch up.

  “Damodar’s people have followed the valley trail. If we cut through the hills up ahead, we can likely cut them off.”

  “Fine,” Ridley said. “I’m game for whatever works.”

  Elwood nodded assent, and Norda rode on ahead. She looked at Snails again and smiled.

  “You’ve never ridden a mount before, have you? Have you even seen a horse?”

  “I’ve seen plenty. I even stole one once, but the beast ran away. I know horses all right.” Snails took a breath. “Don’t be angry with me, now, all I want to do is ask. As humans go, you know, you couldn’t find a kinder, more understanding fellow than me. And listen, I love the way you track. I—Look, you wouldn’t happen to be single, would you?”

  Norda pretended to stare at a tree. “How old are you, Snails?”

  “Twenty-three. Yeah, I know I’m a little young for you, but what if I got my hands on an aging potion, huh? I’d be glad to sacrifice a couple of years for you. A lot of people say I look older than that.”

  “I’m two-hundred and thirty four, Snails.”

  “Damn. I didn’t mean that much of a change. Well, I know there’s a difference in people and elves, but if we really care for each other…”

  “Snails, you’re very nice, but this really isn’t going to work.”

  “Give it a chance. You’re an elf, but you can’t know everything. I know the mages say a person’s life can take about a zillion paths, and we never know which it’ll be.”

  Norda turned suddenly, as if his words had startled her out of a dream. The color drained from her face, and she quickly looked away.

  “Now, what was that for?” Snails wanted to know. “I say something wrong or what?”

  “Nothing, Snails. Truly. Sometimes I simply see more paths than I want to see.”

  * * *

  His friends were phantom riders, still pale and indistinct in the gloom of pre-dawn light. Elwood, the shortest of the shadows, grumbled about some terrible beast, some horror that would snatch them up and turn them into lint. This, he noted, was not to be mistaken for the ratbat, which sank its fangs into the skulls of its victims and sucked their senses dry.

  Snails, who was ever certain a “no” was quite possibly a “yes,” spent his every charm on Norda the elf. Ridley, who could not help but hear, had never imagined such bold, heroic adventures, such breathtaking tales. Certainly, he could not recall taking part in these daring events himself.

  As the night wore on and exhaustion began to take its toll, even Snails’ eager advances began to come fewer and fewer, until the party rode in almost complete silence. The companions rode through the seemingly endless forest, accompanied by only the monotonous sound of their horses’ hooves.

  “So much for your expert tracking skills!” Ridley shouted to Norda, breaking the unnerving silence. His impatience had finally won out over his exhaustion. “This is worthless!”

  “The path is right,” Norda replied.

  “What could possibly make you think that? We’ve been riding all night, and we’ve seen no trace of Damodar or Marina!”

  “I sense Damodar’s presence.” Norda looked away and would say no more.

  “This is a waste of time!” Ridley reined his horse to an awkward halt. “We should split up. That’s the only way we’re ever going to find him in this cursed forest.”

  Ridley, ignoring Snails and Norda’s protests, spurred his horse away from the main group between a gap in the trees. Not even turning around to face them, he shouted, “I’m going this way! Snails, you go that way! Elwood, you stick with Norda! Don’t let her out of your sight!”

  He could feel the eyes of the elves watching him as he rode away, and he thought Snails and Elwood might have shouted something, but he ignored them all. Damodar had Marina, and he could waste no more time dallying through the woods.

  Weaving through the seemingly endless trees, which he thought might be beginning to thin, Ridley kept his horse at a brisk pace until dawn’s light began to shimmer through the whispering leaves.

  An eerie silence seemed to grip the valley into which he rode. His mount moved quietly through the depths of the forest, through sudden open meadows of grass so high, so lush and freshly green, that Ridley’s leggings and his boots were as wet as if he’d forded a stream.

  The day, indeed, seemed hushed and pallid gray, seemed to slow time itself to the pace of a dream. Leaving the meadow for the cover of the forest once again, Ridley felt as if the world might pause right there, hesitate forever in the magic moment between night and day. And if that should happen, he wondered, would those still abed simply live on in their dreams and never have to wake again?

  Caught in this waking vision, he scarcely noticed that the woods had given way to a barren, rocky land, a place of dark and ragged spires of naked stone. There was not a breath of wind here, no hint of any life, not a single blade of grass. Only the grim and lonely crags against a cold oppressive sky.

  Ridley drew his mount to a halt, sat in the saddle and looked about. Wherever this was, it was surely not the way. He had let his thoughts drift, let exhaustion and frustration rule his judgment, let himself get hopelessly lost. ..

  Ridley felt like a fool. There was no use going ahead. The only thing to do was turn around, go back, and hope the stony landscape ended somewhere and took him where he’d been. He kicked the horse lightly and brought its head about. The mount refused to move. Instead, it jerked its head up and twitched its ears.

  Ridley kicked again, not so gently this time.

  “Come on, whatever your name is, don’t start any foolishness with me. Just get us out of here.”

  The horse looked blankly at Ridley and turned away. Ridley cursed him and wondered what to do next. He had no knowledge of horses, had seldom ever thought about the beasts.

  With a sigh, he eased himself out of the saddle, stretched his legs, and remembered how fine it was to stand on solid ground. If, indeed, the gods had meant for men to ride these creatures, they surely would have made them softer to sit upon.

  As this and other thoughts drifted idly through his mind, he began to hear the sound….

  It was a rustling kind of sound, like the wind through autumn leaves, like birds taking flight through winter trees. It came from the jagged cluster of boulders to his right, or so it seemed. Ridley closed his eyes and listened, trying to link the sound to something he’d heard before. Nothing, nothing familiar came to mind at all.

  Quietly drawing his sword, he left his mount and walked cautiously toward the barrier of stone. Very likely there was nothing there at all, but they were too close to enemy country simply to let the matter go.

  Behind the field of boulders was the narrow entry to a high canyon wall. Ridley paused to study the way, but ther
e was nothing but shadow to see. Dropping his cloak, he hefted the blade in his hand and moved slowly ahead.

  The sound came again, the same soft rustle, only closer this time. Ridley took a breath, slid around a solid outcropping, and into the canyon itself.

  * * *

  She knew it was nearly time. She could feel the pulsing glow of the golden sphere that held her, bound her, keeping her safely warm.

  Now, though, it was time to leave the safety, time to leave the warmth, time to claim her place among her kind. Once again she slashed at her bright sanctuary that was fast becoming a prison now—slashed, ripped, and tore in sudden rage and desperation at the strong and viscous globe that held her there.

  She strained to break her great wings free, thrashed her scaly head about, screeched in fury as the poison in the shell, the acid in her veins, tried to kill her before she could rip herself free.

  Now she could feel a deep, throbbing vibration in her belly, a strange oscillation that spread in a wave of awesome pain through her spine, through her breast to explode within her head. With no conscious thought at all, her shriek of desperation eased into a hum, the hum into a chant, the chant into a song, a song that spoke of mighty thunderheads, lightning on her wings, a song that spoke of hunger, spoke of needs, spoke of fearsome dragon deeds…

  The deep, tremulous notes of the song began to throb in the creature’s corded throat, through muscle, heart and lungs. The golden shell itself began to shiver, tremble with the sound. Tiny cracks appeared, spidery fractures that raced across the bright surface like lightning come to ground.

  First, a taloned claw broke free, then the tip of a leathery wing. Great sections of the shell began to shatter and fall away, releasing beams of luminescent gold.

  The dragon stretched her scaly neck, rammed her snout against the shell, and broke her head free. As she had in a thousand lives before, she opened her jaws and roared at the world, lifted her mighty wings, and tore them free.

  Now, the light burst forth like the molten sun itself, like a great exploding star. As she shook her armored hide and flexed her lucid wings, the dragon became aware of the man. A vision of other times, of other human things, filled its head with killing rage. Men thought themselves masters, lords of the world.

  She held the pale creature with her amber eyes. The thing didn’t run, didn’t turn and take flight. Instead, it looked back at the dragon, looked and held its ground…

  The dragon, newly birthed again, had hazy memories of its past and knew this was not the ordinary thing a man would do. How did it dare not show its fear? How did it dare stand and look her in the eye?

  She knew, at once, what she must do. The answer was stamped in every cell of her being, as it was in every dragon that had trod this ancient world.

  Kill the thing. Rip it in two with one sweep of its claw. Shake it in her teeth and fling the ragged gouts aside, a feast for lesser beings, crawlers and flyers of the carrion kind.

  Still, she hesitated, watching the man watch her. What, she wondered, held her back? Did it matter that the creature had been there at her birthing, seen her rage and seen her pain, seen more than any being had ever seen before? There was something, something she couldn’t name, something so puzzling and alien that she thrust the thought aside, lest she pursue it anymore.

  The mist of morning burned away, and the dragon felt the sun upon her hide, felt the flood of power in her veins. The man was no longer in her thoughts, a small thing of no great matter now. Clutching the earth in her claws, she beat her leather wings against the air, raising an ocher cloud and sweeping the ground clear of dust and tiny stones.

  The sound of her wings was a drumming, a thrumming, a sound with such force that it rolled like thunder, like a hammer of air across this barren place. And then the great creature was gone, a creature of the earth no more. Now she was a great and soaring denizen of the air.

  The man, felled by the power of the new dragon’s wings, picked himself up, brushed off his clothes, and raised his eyes to the brilliant morning glare. The dragon was gone, a golden goddess lost in the glare of the greater golden sun.

  CHAPTER

  22

  Ridley knew that the thing he’d seen was real, real and yet a dream as well, for the birthing of a gold dragon could not be wholly a thing of this world.

  It was, he was certain, a miracle no man had likely seen before, a thing no man was meant to see. Still, it had happened. It had happened to him. Though he knew it couldn’t be—that his own imagination had played awesome tricks inside his head—he felt as if he had reached out, tried to understand, tried to comprehend this fearsome, alien thing, and that the dragon, somehow, had reached out and found him.

  Ridley walked back past the ragged columns of stone, past the barren plain. His mount, grazing at the edge of the woods, gave him a curious look and pulled up another patch of grass.

  “I’m glad you found breakfast,” Ridley said. “My belly’s empty as Elwood’s cask of ale.”

  He wondered how far ahead his companions might be, and how he’d lost the trail. He wondered what he’d tell them of the marvel he had seen, and he knew at once it was something that belonged just to him, that he couldn’t tell anyone at all.

  * * *

  “Where in the blazing underworld have you been? We thought you’d fallen in a hole somewhere.”

  Snails stood, munching a loaf of bread.

  “I’m a city lad at heart,” Ridley said. “I confess I’m better in a maze of alleyways than in a thicket of trees. They all look alike to me.”

  “They all look alike to me, too.” Snails tossed him half a loaf of bread. “But I’m catching onto this outdoor life, and I find it suits me well.”

  “Maybe Norda can teach you elven ways, or you could live among the dwarves?”

  Elwood choked on a slab of yellow cheese. “No offense, friend, but there isn’t any way we could possibly let you in. Dwarves have got rules, and one of ’em is we don’t like humans movin’ in.”

  “Don’t worry,” Snails said. “I have no great desire to live among dwarves. Your people are safe from me.”

  “Like I said, nothing personal. We just got rules, and that one’s at the top of the list.”

  “Fine. Put my name past the bottom somewhere, in case you change your mi—”

  Snails didn’t finish. He looked up as Norda appeared through the trees. It was clear from her features the time for resting was gone.

  “We’re moving out. Try not to make a sound from here on. My scouts have found Damodar’s camp.”

  * * *

  The castle was so ancient, the great black stones of its once high walls had wearied and begun to fall away a hundred generations before. The once proud keep with its arrow loops and fine crenellations had tumbled in upon itself, leaving only a hollow shell full of rocky debris.

  Now, the castle heard the voices of men again. In the ruined courtyard, Damodar’s troops, thirty-some uglies from his Crimson Brigade, had lit small fires and erected tents against the gathering cold.

  These lawless, red-clad brutes, normally drunk with ale at such a time, were now unusually quiet, and none wandered far from the fire. They feared no enemy from outside their camp. They had no reason to imagine one was there.

  The thing that had them edgy, fearful and out of sorts, was the great, ruined castle itself. Every soldier knew these dark and wasted towers harbored no life now, but those who had fought here, those who had died in dread and fearful ways, still lurked in every cleft and shadow and despised every creature still alive.

  * * *

  Ridley promised himself he’d never ride a horse again, or never sit, for that matter, even on the softest pillow he could steal. Not one pillow nor a hundred could salve the misery that plagued him now.

  He had learned, to his regret, that an elf only speaks in the broadest of terms, not in precise detail, as a proper human does. Norda had said shed found Damodar. No one mentioned they had found him several mountains awa
y, across three rivers and a dozen rocky plains. Even when she announced they were close, just beyond a stand of trees, he found her words hard to believe.

  “Fine,” he said, easing his tortured body to the ground, “then let’s get with it. If Damodar’s got Marina there—”

  “Oh, he does, Ridley. No question of that. But we cannot simply go in and get her, not until the time is right.”

  Norda walked away before he could answer, back to her elves across a narrow creek. As ever, she was as calm and fresh as if shed just risen from a nap, an attitude that irritated Ridley to no end.

  “I can’t take this, Snails. We’ve come all this way, and she says the time isn’t right. Tell me, just when is right? Marina’s in there, in Damodar’s hands.”

  “Trust her, Rid. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “And how do you know? Because she’s just as cute as she can be?”

  Snails looked hurt. “No, though you’re quite correct; she is. I know because I keep my eyes open. I saw her when she went off by herself. She peered into a crystal several times.”

  “A crystal?”

  “Yes. If she says it’s not time, believe her. Elves know these things, things we can never even guess.”

  “Uh-huh, fine. Maybe she’ll let us in on some of these things, if we act real nice.”

  “I expect the lad’s right,” Elwood said, suddenly by Ridley’s side. “I don’t care for elven ways, but dwarves have such powers themselves, though I can’t say more than that.”

  “Don’t, then. I didn’t ask.”

  Elwood closed a beady eye, and poked a stubby finger in Ridley’s chest. “I’ll give you room because you’re a human and don’t have respect for your betters, but don’t be pushing a dwarf too far. Even one you think you know.”

  “I don’t believe he meant anything,” Snails said. “He’s worried about the girl.”