Brother of the Dragon tb-2 Read online

  She scrambled to her feet and whirled, panting with exertion, rage, and fear. Instead of Zannian, however, Beramun faced Roki. The older woman stood a step away, holding her spear reversed. She’d subdued the amorous chief with the butt-end of her weapon. Zannian was unconscious.

  “Why didn’t you stab him with the point?” Beramun demanded.

  Roki shook her head. “I’ve never killed a man.”

  “Nor have I, but if ever there was a time — ” She tried to wrench the spear from the woman’s grasp, but Roki resisted.

  “We must go!” the older woman whispered urgently. “The night wears on, and we must be far away before they discover we left.”

  Beramun poured sticky mead over the lifeless Zannian. If anyone came looking for him before daybreak, they’d think him drunk and not raise an alarm. She relieved him of his bronze Silvanesti dagger, a hawk feather cloak, the only full waterskin in sight, and a round of mushroom bread.

  Roki stood guard by the door, urging speed. Beramun took a last look around, and they dashed outside and plunged into the forest on the north side of the camp. The forest swallowed them, and in moments Almurk was lost from view.

  The rising sun was the only witness to their flight. The heavy weave of vines, trees, and hanging moss kept out all but a little light. What could be seen sparkled through minute gaps in the canopy, like daytime stars.

  The initial excitement of their escape passed quickly as Roki and Beramun found their pace slowed to an elder’s walk. They crept along, probing ahead with their spears, searching for carnivorous monsters and footing firm enough to support their weight. The necessity for the latter had been borne in on them the hard way. While it was still dark, Beramun stepped in a morass. She lost Zannian’s hawk feather cloak to the dragging embrace of the mire, and only Roki’s timely intervention saved her life. Thereafter they went single file through the dense undergrowth, poking and prodding the black soil carefully.

  Just after daybreak, they paused to rest under an elm so large the two of them could not circle its trunk with their arms. Covered in sweat and mud, they sat under the vast tree and quickly consumed the bread and water they’d stolen from Zannian.

  They had just begun to scrape the mud from their legs with elm twigs when they heard the howling. The twig fell from Roki’s hand.

  “What’s that? Wolves?”

  Beramun leapt to her feet. “No. Yevi! They’re hunting us!”

  They ran, pointing their noses at the brightest patch of sky, east. Beramun kept glancing back toward the sound of the hunting pack.

  Haste made them careless. Dodging around in thick underbrush, Beramun became separated from Roki. Before she could worry about that, the ground went treacherous again. Her foot sank into muck up to her ankle, and she went sprawling. Zannian’s bronze dagger flew from her hand.

  She had no time to search for it. Something low and gray flitted through the dense foliage off to her left. Leaves and twigs snapped continuously behind her. Her pursuers were very close!

  A woman’s scream rent the air. Roki! Beramun ran toward the sound, snatching at trees and saplings to keep her feet from sinking into the soft soil. A dozen paces along she came to a shallow, soggy ravine. To her horror, she saw Roki, pinned on her back by a large yevi. The beast was vaguely wolflike, with shaggy gray fur, pointed ears, and a long, fanged muzzle. There the resemblance ended. Twice as large as any wolf, the creature’s limbs were unnaturally long and bent forward at the knee, unlike the back-crook of a canine leg. Instead of padded paws, the monster had distinct fingers with which it gripped the fallen woman’s arms.

  Roki and the beast struggled. She could no longer scream with the creature at her throat. The monster seemed to be trying to throttle her into submission.

  Beramun took up Roki’s dropped spear and thrust it hard into the animal’s flank. It immediately released its prey and let out a weird, yelping cry: Ye-ye-ye!

  The bestial cry was answered from the surrounding trees. Terrified, Beramun leaned on the spear shaft and drove it home. The gray beast collapsed in a welter of purplish blood. Beramun wrenched out the spear and knelt by Roki.

  The older woman’s eyes were open but unseeing. Beramun shook her and called her name. Roki’s throat was horribly twisted, though the skin was unbroken. Pressing her ear to the older woman’s chest, Beramun heard no heartbeat. The beast had crushed Roki’s windpipe.

  Tears welled in Beramun’s eyes. She stood and plunged the spear again and again into the carcass of the dead creature, screaming out her anguish.

  Ye-ye-ye!

  The weird cries sounded again, louder, closer. They penetrated Beramun’s fury, and she froze, panting, spear raised for yet another thrust. Staring down at Roki’s body, she vowed not to let these evil beasts take her alive.

  Scrambling out of the gully and still weeping copiously, Beramun straggled on, slashing at a tangle of creepers with her spear. She heard the rush of moving water ahead.

  The hated yelping cry came again — so much closer now that Beramun put on a burst of speed. She dived through a wall of green vines and suddenly found herself in midair. With a breathless cry, she plunged into water.

  Holding her spear and kicking with her feet, she rose to the surface and looked back. A pair of the hideous gray creatures stood at the gap she’d made in the wall of vines at the river’s edge. Though they continued their howling and slavering, tearing at the vines with savagery, they couldn’t or wouldn’t jump in after her. With a surge of bitter triumph, Beramun let her spear go and began to swim in earnest.

  Alternately swimming and floating on her back to rest, Beramun outdistanced her pursuers. The current was steady but not swift, and she had no trouble staying afloat. After almost a league, the water grew shallower, and she found herself bumping over algae-slick rocks. The stream widened into a calm lake, whose shore was dotted with cypress and yew trees, heavy with hanging moss. A small green island rose up in the center of the lake. Beramun swam to it.

  The island, little more than a hump of tangled tree roots encrusted with mud, had no beach to speak of, but she dragged herself out of the water and hid among the cypress knees. There were no signs of pursuit. Gradually, her heart ceased to hammer, and her breathing slowed. Wrung out with fear and grief, Beramun eventually slept.

  When she woke it was dark and cold. Wind stirred the placid surface of the lake, drawing the warmth from her limbs and leaving her shivering. Her shift was in tatters and afforded her little more than protection for modesty. She tore off handfuls of moss and stuffed them inside her shirt for warmth. It didn’t help much. Hunger gnawed at her belly.

  A broad shadow passed over the island. Beramun cowered, glancing anxiously upward. She saw nothing but cypress trees and hanging moss. Working her way out of her hiding place, she stood in the small clearing at the heart of the island and surveyed the sky.

  Lutar was well up in the sky. A large cloud, driven by the south wind, hung close to the crimson moon. It must have caused the shadow, she decided.

  Shivering harder now, she wondered if she dared build a fire. There was certainly enough tinder on the island, and cypress wood for a firebow. While she hesitated, weighing comfort against safety, Beramun didn’t see the massive claw behind her slowly closing. When she finally felt the pressure around her waist, it was too late.

  She screamed once and tore at the hard, scaly claw, but her efforts were futile. Hoisted into the air, she found herself face to face with the green dragon once more.

  “Little rodent,” Sthenn said, voice dripping menace, “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

  Strength drained from her limbs like sand from a sieve. She could fight no more. She would follow Roki to the land of their ancestors where her parents waited.

  The dragon shook her. “Wake up,” he said crossly. “Wake up, or I’ll put you to sleep forever!”

  “What’s stopping you?” she murmured.

  “This has been great fun,” Sthenn repli
ed, showing his decayed, ragged fangs. “Hunting humans is quite stimulating. I must remember to do it more often.”

  “Some day,” Beramun said, “the rodents will strike back.”

  The dragon closed his claw just slightly, and Beramun felt her ribs creak. Breath gushed from her body, and her vision faded.

  “Where were you going?” the dragon hissed. “If you had escaped the forest, where would you have gone?”

  Though her body spasmed with the effort of drawing breath, she found her lack of sight a blessing.

  “Home,” she said, her voice little more than a sigh.

  “No,” said Sthenn, flicking his black tongue against her face. She jerked her head back violently at its touch. “Yala-tene, rodent. Yala-tene is where you want to go.”

  “Yala-tene?” She’d heard that name before.

  “A collection of humans in the mountains far to the northwest. You want to go to Yala-tene,” Sthenn said in a bizarrely soothing, sing-song tone.

  “Can’t.” Beramun’s voice was nearly soundless. Her head felt swollen and pounded with pent-up blood. She was only moments from blacking out. “Can’t escape.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Sthenn opened his claw. The sudden release of pressure let Beramun breathe again, but she immediately swooned, her head falling back over his talons. The green dragon parted her shift with a single nail, exposing her left shoulder. Holding the same nail to his mouth, he breathed on it until it began to glow a dull cyan. He then pressed the glowing nail tip hard against Beramun’s flesh. She moaned but did not wake. When Sthenn took his claw away, an iridescent green triangle, slightly larger than a human thumbprint, appeared above her heart.

  The dragon’s mouth stretched wide as he admired his handiwork. A wheezing giggle emanated from his chest, sounding like the working of an ancient, rotted bellows. Spreading his scar-etched wings, Sthenn took off and flapped lazily across the water. Alighting on the high shoreline on the northeast side of the lake, he laid the unconscious Beramun on the ground. He reared up on his hind legs to stare down at her, tiny and supine at his feet.

  His voice again taking on the strange sing-song quality, Sthenn said, “Remember, little rodent — Yala-tene. Go to Yala-tene. Go to Yala-tene.”

  As in a dream, Beramun frowned and rolled onto her side. “Yala-tene,” she sighed.

  Sthenn took off, circled once, then flew back to Almurk. He had no fear the girl would be harmed, even in her dazed and helpless condition. There was no creature in the forest at the Edge of the World who would dare harm one who bore the green dragon’s mark.

  Chapter 7

  Though Amero had hoped to question Miteera for more clues about Nianki, the old centaur proved true to his word. He departed with his entire herd before sunrise, long before the Arkuden awoke at Lyopi’s house.

  Amero sent children running through Yala-tene with orders to summon the village elders. Before the morning frost had melted off the cliffs, he told the elders about the elves’ attack on the centaurs and exhorted them to finish the village wall as soon as possible. There was some grumbling over his proposal to let the very old and very young tend to fields and stock while the rest labored on the wall, but most of the villagers saw the necessity. None wanted their best defense left unfinished if there was the slightest possibility the Silvanesti might attack.

  Amero left the elders debating around the council fire. Only Konza followed him. The elderly Sensarku caught up with Amero before the latter reached the basket of the hoist to Duranix’s cave.

  “Arkuden, a word,” said the old man, and Amero paused. “Did the centaurs by chance see any sign of my son?”

  Amero looked abashed. “The news of Balif made me forget. Yes. Miteera met Tiphan and the two acolytes in the mountains. The old chief lent them one of his warriors to guard them. Why did Tiphan go, Konza?”

  The elder Sensarku looked annoyed. “He doesn’t tell me where his mind is. He thinks I’m too old and foolish.”

  Amero placed a hand on Konza’s shoulder. “I’ll ask Duranix to keep an eye out for your son. There can’t be more than one band of three humans and a centaur roaming the mountains together.”

  The old man thanked him profusely then departed. Amero climbed into the hoist and set the counterweights in motion. It had been three days since he’d last been to the dragon’s cave. Amero found the cavern cold and dark. With no frail human to complain, Duranix hadn’t bothered to light a fire.

  “Duranix!” Amero called. “Duranix, are you awake?”

  There was no answer. He got out a flint and some tinder and knelt by the firepit. Hot sparks soon had the fire blazing. As he prepared to call again, the firelight showed him that the dragon was quite close by — just on the other side of the hearth, in fact. The unexpected nearness of the vast creature startled Amero. He let out a yell and fell backward.

  “Thunder and lightning!” he said, borrowing one of Duranix’s favorite phrases. “Why are you lurking in the dark?”

  The dragon’s burnished scales glowed red in the firelight. “I am listening,” he rumbled.

  “To what?”

  “I’m not certain. There is a sound in the air that is not a sound, a smell of something that has no smell.”

  Amero was instantly concerned. Duranix was not given to fancies or vague feelings. “Is it dangerous?” he asked.

  “Anything unknown can be dangerous.”

  Amero explained about the Silvanesti threat and the mission he hoped the dragon would perform. “Could it be Balif and the elves you sense?” he asked.

  Duranix shook his horned head decisively. “Not elves.” Amero looked at him inquiringly, and the dragon added, “It’s from the other direction, from the west.”

  Duranix went to the lower cave opening and sniffed the night air. His dorsal spikes stood up. “There’s a storm coming.” He looked at his human friend and said, “I shall go east as you wish.”

  “What more should we do? Are we in danger from the west?”

  “There is time yet,” the dragon said. With a spring of his hind legs, Duranix hopped up to the largest of the cave openings. “Watch the setting sun. The storm will come from there.” He shook himself, as if dispelling the unsettling sensations. “I shall return soon.”

  “Keep well,” Amero called. “Beware of Balif and his host.”

  “Ah, I fear no blades, even in their thousands.” Duranix’s forked tongue flicked out. “I will be like the hawk — watching, keeping out of reach, and striking only if it suits me.”

  He entered the plummeting wall of water quietly, almost wafting through. It was completely unlike his usual exuberant exit, and it troubled Amero as much as Duranix’s cryptic farewell.

  For seven days Tiphan and his little band tramped eastward, following the mysterious marks on the scrap of Silvanesti parchment. Elu maintained an impassive silence, but the acolytes lent ready ears to Tiphan’s vision of the future. He dreamed of many new villages, each with its own Offertory, spreading across the plains. At the center of this growing realm would be Yala-tene, and the heart of Yala-tene would be the grand new Offertory Tiphan planned to build one day.

  “Does the Arkuden agree with your plans?” Mara asked.

  “He will see the wisdom of our ideas,” Tiphan replied. “Just as the great Protector brought peace and comfort to one village, so shall we bring it to every part of the land.”

  Mara’s head swam with the magnificence of the Tosen’s vision. She tried to imagine many Yala-tenes dotting the plain, each with a whitewashed sanctuary and loyal Sensarku, sending their smoky offerings aloft to please the great dragon. The vastness of the concept left her dizzy — or perhaps the dizziness was the result of their pace. They’d been walking since sunup, and it was well past midday.

  She wobbled from side to side in the tall grass. Tiphan, walking ahead of her, continued to talk, spinning his dreams of the future. Before she fell, a strong, rough arm went round her waist, bracing her up. She shook off her dizz
iness and looked up. With a surprised cry, she pulled free of Elu’s gentle grasp.

  “Elu,” Tiphan said sharply. “You must not touch her. Understand? Mara is Sensarku and not to be handled, yes?”

  The centaur regarded him with good-natured indifference.

  Tiphan came back, took Mara’s hand, and drew her away. She felt a surge of happiness at his touch, but he simply led her a few steps away from the centaur before letting go.

  “Keep clear of him,” was all he said, and resumed the trek.

  “Yes, Tosen.” She was rather glad he turned away quickly. He missed seeing the color rush to her cheeks.

  Penzar came running over the low hill southeast of their path. Elu gripped his club and raised his head, alert for trouble. Penzar arrived, out of breath, and pointed back in the direction he’d come.

  “Silvanesti!” he panted.

  Alarmed, Tiphan demanded, “How many? How near?”

  “There are signs a large band of elves passed here not two days past. Some on foot, some on horseback. They were moving south to north.”

  “We must keep clear of them,” Tiphan said. By gestures, he indicated the centaur was to take the lead. Without complaint, Elu cantered away, his club resting on his sun-baked shoulder, his bright green eyes already scanning ahead.

  Penzar regarded him thoughtfully. “Brave fellow,” he said. “He’s tangled with Silvanesti before.”

  “He’s a savage,” Tiphan corrected. “He doesn’t know any better.”

  Despite the increased danger, Tiphan insisted they go on. Long after the sun set, they hurried toward their unknown destination. Late in the evening, under a splendid ceiling of stars, Tiphan finally called a halt.

  The three villagers dropped where they stood, worn out by the journey. Mara was starting to resent the way Tiphan was driving them, then she saw him take off his sandals and unwrap his leggings. The blond doeskin strips were stained with blood. Their leader had spared himself least of all.

  Elu returned with a brace of rabbits. Mara built a twig fire, and they ate in silence. Tiphan and Penzar fell asleep when they were done, without even spreading their bedrolls. Mara wanted to sleep, but she knew someone had to stand watch.