Something smelled so wonderful that much as she wanted to, she could no longer keep her eyes closed. She did try, but as soon as the first bit of sunlight struck her retinas, a second Bit began licking her face. Warm and cloying, it caused her eyes to snap open.
An absolutely enormous dog with wide dark eyes and bandersnatch teeth was energetically cleaning her cheeks, her chin, and her throat. Disgust overcame shock when he began cleaning her ears.
“Pfagh, fu—get away!” Without thinking she began flailing wildly at the unrequested attendant, still too asleep to realize that the monstrous animal might take her blows the wrong way. That he did not was a tribute as much to Bit’s inherent good nature as to any training supplied by his master.
“Yuck!” Sitting up, she rubbed furiously at her face in a frantic attempt to wipe away the last vestiges of canine saliva as the tongue-lolling perpetrator stepped back. Looking around, her eyes fell on a pair of precisely folded pale yellow cloths hanging from a wooden loop bolted to the nearby wall. Clutching at one, she gratefully scrubbed her face with the dry fabric.
There was that smell again. That thick, wonderful, sweetish smell. Breakfast today was something different. The cafeteria must …
The full foreignness of her surroundings finally registered with her. She was not in a hospital bed. She was not in a hospital room. Though she could not immediately prove it, she was not in a hospital of any kind.
Then—where was she?
The events of the night before came back to her in a rush. Swept from her meds and bed and monitors by a dream warrior who insisted he was anything but that. Thrown into a raging battle with sword-wielding soldiers and a flame-throwing warlock. Escaping into the night, the rocking motion of a heavy horse lulling her to sleep. Waking up to … to …
Could she dream she was waking up and wake up still in the dream?
The source of the delicious aromas entered, borne in the strong hands of the dream warrior. Or courier, or whatever he really was. Madrenga was carrying a tray crowded with small pots and bowls from which issued the wondrous fragrances she had been inhaling. Setting it down on the small wooden table beside her bed, he smiled encouragingly.
“How did you sleep, Maya Bhargava?”
“Sleep? Did I sleep?” In her mind all that was logical had tangled itself into a Gordian knot and she had no sword of reason with which to dice it. For now she could only stare at the tray and try not to drool. “My gods, what is all this?”
He took a step back and gestured. “A sound breakfast for one who looks like she could use a decent feed. Porridge with cinnamon sugar, eggs Matroush, ponno rolls with honey, lyster bacon, some fresh fruit, and colobead tea.”
“Colobead, lyster …” The names didn’t matter, she realized. Nothing that smelled so good could possibly be bad for you. Except … Her expression fell.
“What’s wrong?” He was suddenly concerned. “Would you like some milk for the tea? I can get it for you.”
“I—I’m not supposed to eat solids. Besides my drip I’m only allowed soft foods. Pudding, yogurt—that sort of thing.”
He frowned. “I know what puddings are, but of this yoghurt I am ignorant. Try the porridge first. It’s soft enough. The eggs are not hard. If you must, you can skip the rolls and fruit and bacon.”
She did not. When the first couple of bites of ponno and honey went down and stayed down, she attacked the rest with a fury that made Bit think twice about trying to swipe an overlooked roll. Of one thing she was absolutely certain: wherever she was, she was not eating hospital food. It was not until she had pigged her way through most of what was on the tray that she thought to inquire if he would like to share.
He smiled politely. “I have already eaten, thank you.”
She held up a last roll. “No dessert?”
“My dessert,” he told her softly, “lies in watching you enjoy yourself.”
She did not let the roll go to waste. Licking the honey from her fingers, she realized with a start that she had consumed the entire meal while sitting up in bed. It was the longest continuous period of time she could remember sitting up in bed in—in months.
“Why are you doing this, Madrenga? Why are you being so good to me?”
He shrugged. “You saved my life. I could not have read the counterspell that you found in the book of curses. I would not even have recognized it for what it was. When I took you from the strange room where I found you, I told you that I might need the help of someone who can read. That is why I brought you. My premonition proved to be true. Now mayhap I can help you.”
The pleasure she had taken in the phenomenal breakfast fell away. “That’s sweet of you, Madrenga, but no one can help me. My condition is terminal. All the doctors say so.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “Then, not being a doctor, I do not have to agree.”
She had to smile at that. “You’re a funny sort of warrior. You’re big, but I get the feeling you’re not that much older than me. Oh, wait, you said you’re not a warrior.” A broad grin creased her face. Had a mirror been handy she would have been startled to see that the reflection in it had begun to acquire a touch of color. “But you sure don’t fight like a courier.”
He looked self-conscious. “Strange things have been happening to me since I left Harup-taw-shet. To me and to my companions as well.”
“I think maybe,” she told him quietly, “the strangeness of my situation tops yours. At least, it does until I can figure out what’s going on. If I can figure out what’s going on.” She smiled anew. “The easiest explanation is that the leukemia has gotten to my brain and I’ve gone completely mad. If the doctors are right, that would make you the offspring of raging endorphins.”
“I did not know my parents,” he responded stiffly.
She sighed, leaned back, and rested a hand on a stomach that, for the first time in memory, felt full. “Where did you say we are?”
“I did not say, but we are in the town of Allgoeon, which lies athwart the mountain pass of Fannetten, which leads to the lands controlled by Daria. We rode most of the night. Though it is late morning I persuaded the inn’s cook to make you a breakfast. Are you tired?”
She pondered her condition and was amazed. “After what you put my body through last night I should be on the verge of death. But I’m only sore. From using muscles I haven’t had to use in months.” How could a dream strain her muscles, she wondered? Had she tossed that much in her sleep? Wait—wasn’t she still asleep? She licked her lips. They were redolent of flavors so real that she had no choice but to wish them to be real.
And still the mountain of food she had just consumed stayed down, and her insides continued to offer no objection to its presence.
“This is the best dream I could possibly imagine. Even if I’ve gone crazy. Even if it makes me sore.”
He rose so sharply from where he had been sitting that Bit had to scramble to get out of the way. “You saved my life. I would try my best to save yours. But a fool who wishes to remain forever a fool cannot be helped!” Approaching the bed he reached down, grabbed her shoulders, and squeezed hard enough so that they started to throb.
“You are not crazy, Maya Bhargava. You are not dreaming. The Chief Counselor to the Queen of Harup-taw-shet foretold that I would find help when I needed it. Did you ‘dream’ that as well? A now-dead warlock sent me to your realm. Now you are in my realm. Why can you not accept that? Why can you not believe what has happened to you?”
“Please,” she whimpered, “my arms …” He released her. One hand reached up to rub the red streaks where he had been gripping her right shoulder. “I—I don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore. I’m sorry, Madrenga. I suppose if I’ve gone insane I might as well stop trying to fight it.” Her hand fell to touch her stomach again. “Everything that’s happened: the place changing, the fighting, the food, even throwing up—it’s all so real. But that’s what madness is, I suppose. Making the insane real. Crazy is as crazy does.” She hazarded a tentative smile. “It’s not a bad way to die, thinking this is real. It sure as hell beats staring all day at a hospital room.”
“It is a strange sort of acceptance you propound, but I suppose it must do for now. I have only enough money left, I hope, to pay for guidance and assistance in getting through these mountains. I cannot pay for another night in this inn. Can you ride?”
Her laugh tripped over a cough. When she could speak again, she nodded. “I’m not supposed to be able to stand or walk, and I did those, so I suppose I can ride, too.”
“Good. Get dressed. We need to go before the last caravan leaves or I will have to wash dishes and chop wood to pay for this room; tasks I dislike in equal measure.” He continued to peer down at her.
She gestured at the door. “If you don’t mind, Madrenga? I may not have my mind, but I still have my modesty. And take that dog with you. He looks at me like I’m a piece of meat.”
He snorted. “To Bit you are a piece of meat. Everyone is.” Turning, he opened the heavy wooden door and exited.
Perhaps, she thought in a sly moment, she ought to have asked him to stay. Just to help her get dressed, of course. She had not dressed herself in quite a while. One step at a time, she told herself. Slide legs sideways out of the bed, bend knees, hands at your sides, now push down.
She stood. By herself.
The clothes taken from the man Madrenga had killed in the warlock’s study lay neatly draped over a nearby chair. Walking over, she wondered how she might make them fit still better. If she could get hold of a needle and some thread—her grandmother had embroidered wedding blouses in the old country and had taught her how to sew. A dying art for a dying girl. She remembered watching as sequins and gold and bits of mirror had slipped like lozenges through the old woman’s dexterous fingers.
She studied the man’s shirt and trousers. Where to start? She had no proper undergarments and had to begin with …
The hospital gown. The sight of it could not have hit home any harder had someone snuck up behind her and whacked her across the face with a cricket bat. The white garment was cool to the touch, and clean. Someone had seen to it that it was washed during the night. Madrenga. Courier.
And what else had he seen? It didn’t matter. Dream world, real world, another world. The cancer that was consuming her body would finish her in a month or two anyway.
She dressed, taking her time with and enjoying a process she had not engaged in for a long, long time. When finally she had finished there was only one item left on the chair. A small, tightly bound book. The book of curses and spells. Picking it up, she eyed it wonderingly before turning toward the door. He trusted her with something of such power. He trusted her that much.
She had no choice but to trust him.
So different from the sterile atmosphere of the hospital was the mountain air that hit her as soon as she stepped outside the inn, so cool and pure and refreshing, that she thought she was going to faint. She didn’t have time, because Madrenga once more swept her up in his arms and set her down on the saddle in front of him. The caravan stretched out ahead and behind them; horses, mules, camels, some thickset sway-backed lizards piled high with canvas-covered goods, a trio of tewks and their armed riders, a brace of giant ostrich-like birds saddled by heavily-armed mercenaries, and one extraordinary creature that looked like a land octopus. A horn brayed near the front of the line, setting the entire menagerie of commerce and crankiness in motion.
On both sides of the narrow, winding dirt trail snow-slapped peaks scraped the undersides of scudding white clouds. From her seat in front of Madrenga she was able to lean back against him and enjoy the spectacular scenery. Before the leukemia had weakened her the point where she could no longer travel, her parents had bundled her up and taken her on a trip to the Rockies. The mountains through which she was now traveling looked more like pictures she had seen of the Himalayas. Everything was on a larger scale; higher, more massive, with the white tongues of healthy glaciers licking the mountainsides.
Off to the left of the well-used trade route the slope fell away into a canyon so steep and narrow it was easy to believe no one had ever plumbed its depths. Deep down, a river roared in frustration at being so tightly confined. Things with feathers of wings and things with wings of membranes circled in silence above the rushing white water, competing to kill brown splotches that scurried among the bare rocks and then fighting over the kills.
One of the ostrich-bird riders pulled up alongside Orania and slowed. The woman rider batted her eyes (Maya had never actually seen someone bat their eyes before) at Madrenga and smiled. Then she caught sight of the slender girl riding against his chest and between his arms and her expression fell. Spurring her mount with a double kick to its feathery flanks, she took off toward the front of the column in a clashing of metal bracelets and bells.
Not long thereafter an elderly man edged up beside them riding an ox. To Maya it looked like a perfectly normal ox so long as one discounted its six legs and the fact that it was dark maroon splotched with orange. There was also the matter of the broad bony shield that started just above its eyes and widened as it extended backward to halt just above the shoulder blades. On this natural ossified platform, a gilt samovar steamed merrily away. Surrounding it like horses on a miniature carousel were several cups of similar highly decorated metal.
“Tea?” Madrenga murmured into her ear as he leaned slightly forward.
“What?” His breath was warm mist in her ear, tickling and confusing. “Oh, okay.” She caught herself. “You sure it’s safe?” She kept her voice down as she indicated the bearded old man. “I mean, he’s boiling it atop this cow-thing and there’s no telling where the water’s come from.”
“What a land you must live in,” he muttered, “where people can criticize tea.” Reaching down, he fumbled with the purse at his waist. Each time he embarked on an expedition to its interior there was less and less to be found. But tea was cheap and he was thirsty too.
Accepting the small payment, the old man carefully poured out two cupfuls, working the heavy samovar like a sailor on a ship, timing his movements to the rolling gait of his plodding mount. He did not ask if they wanted sugar: it was integral to the brew and already present. As they drank he rode alongside, his beast maintaining the same pace as Orania. The aged vendor said nothing, though his professional politeness did not prevent him from stealing the occasional sideways glance at the exceedingly odd couple, their extraordinary horse, and the hideous but happy dog asleep on the mount’s hindquarters.
When they finished they handed the exquisite cups back to their owner. While so very different from where she had come, Maya mused, this place she was maybe-dreaming also had its similarities. In the country of her grandparents the old man would have been called a chaiwallah. How different from that country this place actually was the oldster demonstrated by removing from his waistband a small silver hammer. With this he proceeded, to Maya’s small gasp of surprise, to rap the lumbering hexapod beneath him firmly on its head. Apparently, this was the best, or perhaps the only, way of getting the beast’s attention through all that bone. It promptly accelerated from a steady plod to a lugubrious trot as its master sought to inveigle the next potential customer in line.
That evening, in response to Madrenga’s polite inquiries, a couple of the caravan’s hired escorts offered to share their large tent with their fellow travelers. As the three men sat swapping stories, the escorts would take turns casting looks in Maya’s direction that were very different from that of the old tea vendor. By now she felt well enough for them to make her nervous. They did not inquire about her, however. While Madrenga was awake the two mercenaries could talk of nothing but combat and far places.
It was near the end of the first week on the trail that she awoke in the middle of the cold mountain night to feel a presence nearby. Blinking, she looked up to see one of the guards looming over her. As she tensed he put a finger to his lips.
“Sssh. There is no need to be afraid, pretty one. Never have I seen a beauty such as yours. Your hair, your eyes, the willow tree that is your body, have called to me since first we met.”
“We haven’t met,” she snapped back nervously. A quick glance to her left revealed the silhouette of Madrenga. He was sound asleep. Would she have time to wake him before a hand went over her mouth, before pressing weight held her down? The guard saw the direction of her gaze and smiled in the near darkness.
“Tonight your large young man’s dinner contained a condiment specially prepared. He will sleep exceedingly well.” He started to drop toward her. “As will you, when we have finished …”
A low snarl ricocheted through the tent. It came from the deeper registers of a throat that was not human. It drew the immediate attention of Maya and the guard, both equally startled. From near her right shoulder rose a shape like a block of chiseled volcanic rock. Dim light flashed off teeth longer than her middle finger. Bit, it appeared, had been sleeping beside her ever since she and Madrenga had joined the caravan. So soundly had she been sleeping that she had never noted the dog’s presence. She noticed it now.
So did the mercenary. Uttering a sharp exclamation, arms windmilling, he rose and fell backward in panic. This caused him to trip over his dozing colleague, who promptly woke up and struck his companion with both fist and slur. As the would-be paramour rushed to climb (and doubtless hide) within his own bedroll, a relieved Maya turned toward the massive black shape now standing fully alert beside her. From partially parted jaws a long wet tongue emerged to begin cleaning her face. Reaching up to scratch the dog and ruffle his ears, she let him finish.
He had earned it.
It was at the top of the highest pass that chaos descended upon the caravan.
To that point all had gone as smoothly as an insurer’s wet dream. There had been no sign of the mountain bandits who infested these peaks and canyons. It was because the presence of roving parties of such mounted brigands that savvy travelers hired armed fighters to protect their lives and their goods. For such hazardous country the capricious weather had been more than amenable, with only one brief wall of sleet that had slammed into the front of the caravan and blown quickly on through. With everything in the universe being in balance, the powerful but short-lived storm had resulted in excellent sales for the elderly tea-vendor.
The peace of the perfectly ordinary morning was shattered by the sounds of commotion up near the front of the column. Soon figures both mounted and on foot came racing back toward its tail end. Instead of halting there they continued running down the trail—a bad sign. Frightened traders spurred their steeds to dangerous speeds as they crowded perilously close to the edge of the road and the drop beyond. Bird riders, including the one who days earlier had made eyes at Madrenga, passed the fearful retreating merchants at even greater speeds.
Most unsettling of all was the presence in the panic of members of the caravan’s hired escort. Holding fast to their weapons they fled along with everyone else, leaving only expressions of fear in their wake. From the front of the line of heavily laden beasts of burden came a flurry of screams; most from animal throats, but some that belonged to people.
Thus aroused, Madrenga hastened to appraise this new state of affairs as best he could. Having been forced to deal with one threatening situation after another since leaving Harup-taw-shet, such analysis was something he had grown progressively better at with each succeeding confrontation. What could it be this time? The much feared but hitherto unseen mountain bandits? A violent dispute between rival merchants? Would either be enough to induce such panic among the caravan that it would extend even to its armed mercenaries? He spoke to the young woman seated in front of him.
“I need to find out what’s going on. For all I know it may be Hinga Cathore come back from the dead to challenge us here.”
Her face paled. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“Not really,” he told her firmly. “But so many things have happened to me since I left my home that I no longer believe anything is impossible. You, for example, should be impossible.”
Twisting around to look back up at him, she offered a wan smile. “That’s what my cousins say to me. That I am impossible.”
Not understanding what she meant, he added, “Then I have corroboration. We must find out what is happening before it finds us. Bit!”
At his command the dog jumped down from behind him and started forward. Spurring Orania to a gallop, Madrenga followed.
It was difficult going against the tide of people and animals that was pushing and shoving the other way, but Orania’s broad, armored chest punched a path through the mob. As they neared the head of the column they began to encounter bodies. Dead pack animals, the contents of their baggage strewn about, were the first indication that whatever the nature of the force threatening the caravan it was not interested in plunder. Among the twisted and torn carcasses that bloodied the narrow road Madrenga and Maya saw enough body parts to make up two or perhaps three intact mercenaries. The remnants of their weapons lay scattered among them, as shattered as the bodies of their owners. Amid so much blood it was difficult to tell ropes from intestines. Equal parts ominous and mysterious, the dead men and their broken blades alike were coated in a fine layer of ice crystals.
A fresh scream caused both of them to look up. Firming his stance, Bit let out a horrific growl. Orania whinnied and reared despite Madrenga’s attempts to calm her.
Bereft of its head, the body of a fourth mercenary came flying around the sharp bend in the road. It landed like a sack of soil, rolled over a couple of times, and came to rest with its limbs akimbo like an unwanted child’s toy. Save for the ongoing panic among the people and animals of the caravan lined up behind Madrenga, there was silence for a moment.
Then, a hiss. A hiss that crackled. A long low cloud came around the rocky cliff that formed a corner on the trail. Almost immediately the white pall condensed, froze, and fell to the ground, shattering into long gleaming icicles.
The cloud was followed by a blunt snout from which smaller clouds emerged in regular, steady puffs. These likewise froze and fell to the ground as soon as they contacted the warmer air. Behind the snout came a pair of snaggle-toothed jaws encased in blue scales so pale they were almost white. It was a mouth that looked capable of crushing rock. Or ice. Like pellucid pearls, bulging and reflective eyes attended the jaws. Slowly the massive head turned to peer around the corner and down the road. The first thing it saw were the unfortunate men already stilled. Then the cold, pumpkin-size eyes rose to fasten on dog, horse, and riders.
Bit made a noise like nothing Maya had ever heard before. An increasingly agitated Orania took a couple of steps backward until Madrenga was able to halt her. Maya simply stared. This was all wrong. This was not the animal she had imagined in her dream games, with its flowing whiskers and bright red eyes and splendid wide wings of iridescent carmine and gold. The creature before her was heavy-set and brutish, with a bestial expression and broken gray claws like splintered steel for climbing the glaciers where it lived. As she stared, unable to look away, a long dark blue tongue like a snake’s licked out, wrapped itself around the most recently deposited headless corpse, and whipped it back into that yawning maw. When the jaws closed there was a conspicuous crunching sound as bits of shredded flesh and ripped organs oozed out between the ranked teeth. Her stomach turned right over.
“Frost dragon.” Madrenga’s tone was as cold as their surroundings. “Stay here. Bit, you too—stay!”
Then he was dismounting, leaving her alone in the saddle as he landed boots first on the ground. Drawing his sword and aiming the point toward the monster, he uttered a loud command and charged. Ordered to stay, a frantic Bit ran back and forth beside Orania, barking like a mad thing.
Wrong, she thought hysterically, her heart pounding. This was all wrong. He should have fought the dragon earlier, and it should have looked so different, and so many things were all wrong, and happening way too fast. It was almost as if she was in his dream and … and …
No one’s dreams, she decided as she swayed slightly and fought to stay conscious and upright in the saddle, should have this much blood in them.
The great blunt reptilian head drew back. Pearlescent eyes focused on the small figure running towards it. Opening wide its crushing jaws, the frost dragon spat. No fire emerged from its mouth, no sharp stink of brimstone polluted the mountain air. Instead, a great gout of vapor issued from the depths of the dark maw. Utilizing more energy than she believed she possessed, Maya screamed.
The cloud slammed into Madrenga head on. It ought to have froze him solid on the spot, turned him into a bipedal ice sculpture, stopped his blood from flowing. It only made him mad. So mad that a faint glow enveloped him from head to foot, a refulgent pulsation like a translucent garment of yellow silk. A second blast from the dragon’s mouth engulfed him—and fell away as it turned harmlessly to water.
Enraged, the dragon reared, seeking to smash the puny onrushing shape beneath its great weight. Madrenga did not wait for the massive body to fall on him. Drawing back both arms, he flung the sword with all his strength. Once, long ago in Harup-taw-shet, it had been little more than a knife. He had been quite good at knife-throwing. This was not so very different, he told himself. All that had changed was the size of the blade—and the body behind it.
The sword flew true, straight into the frost dragon’s heart. The pearl eyes bulged as taloned forefeet clawed at the long blade that now pierced it halfway through. Knocked backward by the gush of dark blood, Madrenga hit the ground hard. So did the dragon. One madly scratching hind foot finally kicked out the sword, but too late. The wound was mortal. Hissing and howling the monster rolled to its right, as if by so doing it could somehow excise the damage the man had inflicted. It kept rolling until it disappeared right over the side of the cliff. So long was the drop that Madrenga was able to rise to his feet and make it to the edge in time to see the creature, already dead, hit bottom. It lay there, a mountain of flesh half in and half out of the river, as the white water flowed indifferently around it.
Limping slightly, he walked over to where his sword had fallen. Picking it up he sought to wipe the blade clean against the clothes of one of the dead mercenaries. He could not. A thin layer of the dragon’s blood was frozen solid to the metal, fused to it by a cold beyond imagining. Red now instead of steel gray, he slipped it back into its scabbard.
“That was—that was incredible! I never dreamed …!” Having dismounted and run toward him, Maya now drew herself up short. Her tone turned reflective. “I never dreamed.” A new thought struck her. She looked back to where Orania and Bit stood waiting, then turned again to Madrenga. One hand reached up to wipe blood from his face, then hesitated. “I—I just ran. Just now. To you. I ran. I’d forgotten what it was like to be able to run.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks and drip off her chin.
He grinned down at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning my face?”
She sniffled, laughed softly, smiled, and began to do so. Wiping his right hand against his side as best he could, he very gently proceeded to brush the already drying tears from her cheeks. Having come up beside them Bit sat down and watched, tongue lolling, his head cocked to one side as he struggled futilely to understand why the two humans were brushing each other’s faces with their front paws.