TWO

Maddileh swayed slightly and glanced over her shoulder. Just a few steps away was the outside world filled with early-summer sunshine, the air stirred by playful zephyrs, the birds singing their joy at the world reborn. Inside the gloomy tunnel, it felt as if she’d crossed from one glorious world into a dank and dangerous one. For a terrible moment, she thought about throwing down her weapons and walking back out into the world behind her. For innumerable nights, her dreams had been filled with fire. Dragon hunting was a fool’s game, and she should never have come, the king’s command be damned.

But what choice did she have? Leering, mocking faces rose up in her mind. The snide whispers, the sly glances as she walked the tourney fields, trying to be equal among men who saw her as nothing but a cast-off woman, all because she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with a cruel man.

Who could love a thing like you? What kind of thing are you anyway? Neither knight nor lady. She winced as Sir Allerbon’s words echoed in her head. She’d given him a lock of her hair, her trust, and her heart, and he had taken them and crushed them. Now she knew she should have just walked away, should have resisted the urge to punch his smug, grinning face, but retrospection was pointless now that she’d been banished. Besides, broken hearts did not listen to reason, and if she lived that moment again, she’d probably still punch him.

No. There was no place on the tourney field for her now; the king had confiscated her armour. She needed the Fireborne Blade if she was to regain her standing. She had to go on. Reflexively, her fingers went to curl around the spear, only to find that her hand was empty. She spun round, her eyes scanning the floor. Where was it? How could she have dropped it? When had she dropped it? She’d only just entered the tunnel a few minutes before.

“Looking for this, mistress?” The voice startled her, as she’d thought herself alone in the tunnel. Emerging from a little way down was a tall, lanky young man who looked younger than Maddileh in all respects except his gaze, which was flinty, cold, and assessing. He was holding out a spear—it must be hers, but the markings on it looked different. No. Wait. It was the spear she’d taken from the Weldrake Repository. She remembered now. Staring at the enchanted engravings made her head ache.

The young man stretched his arm out a little farther. “This is your spear, mistress,” he said, but there was the slightest tinge of anxiety in his voice.

Maddileh’s squires were with her for so little time that she barely remembered their names. This one had escaped her completely. “Master,” she said curtly. “Not mistress. Mistresses run houses or warm beds. A squire calls his knight master, and that’s what you will call me.”

A slight curl of his lip indicated his distaste.

So, he’s going to be one of those squires.

“Sorry, Master, I meant no offence.” The young man’s manner, tone, and posture were that of a perfect servant now, his distaste completely hidden. It was never good to have a squire who could lie so convincingly.

“If you were a half-decent squire, you should know that a knight never carries her own weapons unless there is immediate danger.”

His answering smile was obsequious. “But surely when one is walking through the demesne of a dragon, danger is always imminent, so—”

Maddileh stepped forward and was gratified to see the squire step back, his eyes wide with alarm. A tall woman, she could easily meet his gaze on a level.

“What is your name, boy?” she demanded. She saw the flash of anger in his eyes; very few squires liked to be referred to as boy by a woman, especially not one who almost looked of an age with her. She’d had squires before who’d resented seeking employment with her, driven by desperation rather than choice; they could be so sullen and disobedient that not only could she not teach them anything, sometimes she couldn’t even save them. It was important, with such squires, to establish the hierarchy early.

“Petros,” he said finally, courteously.

“Well, Petros, would you care to explain to me why you are here?”

He suddenly looked hunted. “You hired me, Master. To be your squire.”

Maddileh had a vague recollection of meeting this man, thinking him too old and opinionated to be her squire; there must have been something about him that had convinced her to take him on. But her head was hurting, and everything seemed muddled. That had to be the dragon magic taking effect; sometimes it crept up on you; sometimes it hit you all at once.

“I know what I’m getting out of this arrangement,” Maddileh persisted, although she suspected that what she’d be getting was a whole lot of trouble, “but what are you getting? What do you hope to learn or achieve while you’re in my service?”

She watched his expression as various answers evidently went through his mind. “I want to be there when you get the Fireborne Blade, Master. I want to share in your glory and be a part of the tales.” There was honesty to his answer, but a sullenness too. She sensed he was hiding something; she wondered what it was and whether it would be the death of him.

Or her.

Suddenly, the world lurched to the side, and she leaned against the wall, trying not to be sick.

“That’ll be the magic, Master,” Petros said. “Pockets of it drift out like little bubbles of confusion or fear. You walk through one and then you forget why you’re there and turn around to go home, or you become so afraid you run away. It muddles you or makes you sick. It does anything it can to make you leave.”

With her stomach a bit easier, Maddileh straightened and studied him thoughtfully. “You know your stuff about dragons, then?”

“Oh yes, Master. I have read all four volumes of Demise and Demesne.”

“Really? All four?”

“It took quite a while.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be useful to me after all.”

He bowed. “I do hope so, Master. Shall we start if you’re recovered?”

“Have you a light?”

“Yes, indeed.” He reached inside one of the satchels over his shoulder. With great care, he pulled out what looked like a crystal ball. Bringing it close to his lips, he whispered some unheard words; a speck of light came to life in the orb’s centre, growing in size and intensity until the tunnel was brightly illuminated.

“Magic,” said Maddileh with distaste.

Petros looked at her with surprise. “You don’t like magic? But the spear, your armour—”

“I use it when I must, but I don’t have to like it.”

“I see.” He gave her a look that was bordering on contempt, and then he was all solicitude again. “I am pleased to tell you that this orb will not only provide us with light, it should also guide us down the right path.”

It’s an orb of direction as well as of light, then, Maddileh thought. Where did a squire get money to buy that? Because it’s certainly not mine. Or is it?

Although Maddileh couldn’t deny the usefulness of a single object that provided both light and direction, she’d much rather use burning torches than light orbs. Less chance of the magic escaping and doing something terrible to you. But even she had to admit that the mage orbs not only provided better light but also avoided the need to carry fuel rags and matches in their supplies.

Not willing to be fully won over, she said, “I have a map for directions.”

“Perhaps we could examine them both when choosing our path, Master?” It was a reasonable suggestion, and in the maze of a dragon’s demesne, every advantage should be utilised. If she refused the assistance of magic, it would be through stubbornness and irritation rather than logic.

“Both of them, then,” she conceded. “Let’s start down this tunnel. The sooner we reach the White Lady’s lair, the sooner we can return to light and the outside world.” It had to be her imagination, but Maddileh felt sure she detected a rumble in the earth as if a great beast somewhere had growled, its ears pricking at the sound of its name.

If Petros noticed, he didn’t say anything but merely started down the passageway. Before she followed him, Maddileh glanced over her shoulder at the sunlit world where blossoms danced like snowflakes on the breeze. She’d descended into dragon lairs before—twice, in fact—and neither time had she felt with such certainty that she would never see the outside world again. She stared at the spiraling blooms; something felt wrong about them, but she couldn’t say what.

Curse this blasted dragon magic!

“Master?” Petros called out from ahead.

“Coming.” Maddileh turned from the sunlight and walked into whatever the darkness held for her.