Fronsac met us as I settled down in the same muddy square as I had used before, striding out from the nearest door, a great smile splitting his beard.
‘You did it! By all the stars, that was magnificent! I had read about such things but I never dreamed to see it for myself.’ He raced towards me, then stopped, lowering his arms. ‘If I had any idea of which part of you to hug I swear I would do it.’
‘It is the thought that matters,’ I said, dipping a shoulder so that Tatyana could slide off.
She was blackened by smoke but entirely unharmed, and to my surprise and Fronsac’s, she raced forward and embraced him heartily.
‘I want to scream and laugh,’ she said, still crushing him to her. ‘It was incredible!’
He eventually disentangled himself and they both stood there grinning at me like fools while I scraped charred meat from my arms.
‘Are you waiting for me to say something?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Fronsac, shaking his head. ‘I was just feeling this moment sinking into history. People will talk about today for centuries.’
I grunted. ‘Maybe for a few years. Men are quick to let truth slide into myth. The only ones who will remember will be bent-back wizards.’
‘I could live with my journals being read and studied for a thousand years.’ He took a step closer. ‘Speaking of wizards, did any escape?’
‘It’s hard to crush every insect.’
‘There was one amongst them. Ludvig, their leader. A purple robe, and the most dangerous of all.’ He gripped her arm. ‘Tell me they’re all dead.’
‘Was he blonde? Forked beard?’ asked Tatyana.
‘Yes,’ said Fronsac. ‘He killed my sons. I’ll not forget him.’
‘Oh, he’s dead,’ she said.
‘Did he die badly?’
She smiled. ‘The worst kind of consumption.’
He looked at her, then at me, his brows furrowed.
‘I can regurgitate him you if you don’t believe her,’ I offered.
He watched me for a moment, then covered his mouth with his hand. ‘You’re serious,’ he said.
‘It wasn’t pretty,’ said Tatyana, who laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Smile, mage. It’s a good day.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ he said, his smile reappearing amidst his beard. ‘Novstan is routed, my sons are avenged, and the princes are even now accepting the salute of the army. Lucien is their new hero, and it looks good on him.’ He approached me and laid a hand on my forearm, his skin as pale as marble against my obsidian hide. ‘And you are free.’
‘It is a good day, and I am pleased for you. Both of you,’ I said, sitting back on my haunches so that I didn’t have to look down on them. It seemed a strange perspective now, but perhaps I had simply been a man for too long. ‘But I have one more battle to fight.’
‘You mean to destroy the northern army too?’ asked Fronsac, moving to lean against the rim of an old barrel. Tatyana simply sat on my forearm, straddling it as she would a horse.
‘Tell him,’ she said, tapping her heels to my arm. ‘He might be able to help.’
It was unlikely, but I understood her intention. ‘I must seek out and destroy Navar’s master.’
‘You’re a crap storyteller,’ said Tatyana.
‘How so? This is what I must do.’
‘Where’s the drama?’ she said, waving her hands about. ‘The epic tale of you rescuing your long lost love and exacting bitter revenge?’
‘Stop, both of you. What are you talking about?’ asked Fronsac. ‘What master? What revenge?’
‘Stratus believes his mate is being kept as a prisoner by some ancient wizard who helped my ancestor defeat it.’
‘Defeat her,’ I said.
‘Sorry.’
‘Talgoth?’ asked Fronsac, standing up. ‘You’re talking about Tiberius Talgoth?’
I tilted my head. ‘You know his name, but not mine?’
He waved the question away. ‘I was inspired to read the rest of Henkman’s Chronicle last night. You do mean him then?’ He paused long enough for me to nod. ‘He had a brilliant but twisted mind. He has been dead for centuries though.’
‘Like me?’
‘Yes, but you’re a dragon, Stratus. A wizard, even a brilliant one, is just a man. I know of no spell that can heal time’s touch.’
I stared at Fronsac as his words echoed in my mind. I know of no spell that can heal time’s touch. No spell could, especially if the person casting it was as steeped in death as the archmage would be after so many centuries of exposure to its energies; all that dark magic would nullify the positive energies required to heal and grow. They would need help from someone who was their equal or greater in strength to pull enough energy in, and to keep pulling it in, for while time could be slowed or held back by a constant flow of rejuvenating energies, it would only ever stave off the inevitable.
Time was an impossibly intricate element to try to bend to your will. I had once tried to keep the last of the unicorns alive after a virulent plague had decimated their kind, and it had worked as long as I maintained my concentration, but after several decades I had become distracted and, like a bent sapling suddenly released, time had corrected itself. The poor creature died within a heartbeat, suffering a torment I didn’t dare to imagine. To keep a flow of energy going for a period like we were talking about was an unimaginably difficult task with a cost to match, both to the one who was maintaining it and to their target. Anakhara had always had a masterful control of the Songlines, and had ever been stronger and more skilled than I ever could hope of being.
‘He lives,’ I said, my voice dropping to a whisper while I struggled with the enormity of the thought. ‘As does she. I feel it, here.’ I laid my hand across my primary heart.
‘Stratus, what you’re talking about it is impossible. There has been no sign nor word of Talgoth or another dragon since you were captured. The Chronicle—’
‘I tell you this, he is the architect of your misery, and Navar was but his mouthpiece. Tell me, does your precious Chronicle speak of another dragon?’
He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Yes. When they, that is Henkman and his crusaders, first approached Nagath it describes an encounter where, and I quote, a great beast, as sleek as a lion and chased in gold, rose from the north and laid waste upon us with fire and claw. It was slain by Henkman.’
I bit back the growl that the image stirred within me. ‘Is that all it said?’
I felt his magic stir lazily, but it was directed inward. ‘The beast was commanded to the earth by the Archmage Talgoth, whereupon the courage of the paladin shone forth and he smote it with mighty strokes of his god-given blade. It fell with the coming of night, and by the morning sun, its gruesome body had fallen to ruin, leaving only a lake of blood as evidence of its sinful existence.’
I bared my teeth as any remaining doubts were removed. I knew the words weren’t his, but it was enough to fan my anger into a new flame.
‘Tell me, am I chased in gold, and does it feel as if I am likely to melt into a lake of blood overnight?’
He hesitantly touched my snout, running his hands along it and patting the bony ridge that ran along my cheekbone.
‘The archmage took her,’ said Tatyana from my arm.
Fronsac stepped back and sat against the barrel once more with a sigh. ‘Forgive me if this sounds cold, but are you sure? About her body?’
‘Yes. We are not blood drinkers, to be melted away by a ray of sunshine.’
‘You really believe she might be alive?’ he asked.
The words were on my tongue, but a sudden fear of saying it out loud and somehow dashing the fragile dream of it being true kept them there.
‘She’s alive,’ said Tatyana.
Fronsac looked at her, then at me. ‘How is that possible? And why?’
I closed my eyes and woke my sorcery, pulling the power I needed to replenish my energies from the Songlines with a thought, then turned all of that power to Fronsac, holding it back at the last but letting the weight of its potential fall upon him. He slid back across the cobbled yard as if pressed by a great wind, his wards burning brighter with every passing moment as the surfeit of power bled into them.
I pulled it back and he staggered forward, leaning heavily on his staff, his eyes glowing with a golden light that took some time to fade.
‘By the stars,’ he breathed, staring at his hands as if seeing them for the first time.
‘Power,’ I said. ‘That is the how and the why. It has ever driven men mad, either by the lust for it, or the fear of others having it.’ I sat back once more. ‘You count sorcerers as the most powerful and dangerous of all those with the gift, but what they can wield is limited by their mortal flesh and human mind. We are born of the elements and the Songlines themselves.’
Fronsac took a deep breath and let it whistle out between his teeth before replying. ‘But if he has such power, if he has somehow enslaved a dragon, why have we not seen it? Why would he need a cat’s paw like the Worm Lord?’ He stopped and slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh god. Not Worm. Wyrm.’
I let the additional power I had drawn drain off into the yard and surrounding buildings as I considered this, smiling as various pots of flowers and herbs bloomed anew around us, cutting the stink of the mud with fresh scents.
‘I have seen glimpses of his rule, both in visions and memories stolen from the dying, enough to know that he hoards his power for himself like a miser does coin. Everything he does is with the sole aim of increasing his power. He will not care for me having thwarted his plans and wasted the power he had invested in Navar.’
‘You think he’ll change tactics?’ asked Tatyana. ‘Maybe bring that power to bear?’
‘It’s possible. Perhaps he has another champion who he will empower.’ I rolled my shoulders. ‘Which is why I do not intend giving him the luxury of choosing. Come the morning, I will begin my journey to his lair.’
‘You mean we,’ said Tatyana. ‘I’m with you to the end.’
‘No, my friend, not this time. Good fortune and St Tomas’ jewel kept you from the worst of what Navar offered, but what lies ahead would be certain death for you.’
‘It’s my decision.’
‘No. I admire your bravery but again, it would be certain death for you.’
‘I think he’s right, Tatyana,’ said Fronsac as she stood up, anger clouding her scent. ‘If what I just felt is any indication of what Stratus must face, then there is no charm or spell that could protect you. It would be folly of the worst kind.’
She shrugged off the hand he moved to lay on her shoulder. ‘It’s my decision!’
‘So be it,’ I said, and didn’t miss the surprise that flashed across her face. ‘But equally, it’s my decision that I shall not carry you. Come with if you wish, but you will need a considerably faster horse.’
She gaped at me, the surprise melting into anger as she mouthed words that never left her lips before abruptly turning on her heel and marching from the square, slamming the door behind her hard enough that the handle fell off. I felt her presence receding deeper into the palace, and surprised myself by feeling slightly disappointed that she didn’t turn back, but then I had laced my words with a compulsion in an attempt to diffuse her emotions.
‘She may not forgive you for that,’ said Fronsac, surprising me again with his deft touch. I thought I’d been quite subtle about it using my power. ‘Even though I understand it was only for her own benefit.’
‘I’d rather have her angry than dead.’
‘You’re rather fond of her, aren’t you?’
‘She’s the closest thing I have to family.’
‘Of course.’ He moved along my flank, occasionally running his hands across my scales and muttering to himself. I watched him, but since he wasn’t using his power I left him to his examination and only spoke when he had completed his examination and stood before me once more.
‘Does Lucien know?’ I asked.
He stopped as suddenly as a man spying a viper at his feet. ‘Know what?’
‘That he’s a sorcerer.’
He leaned on his staff and gave a low laugh. ‘I didn’t even consider that you would know.’ He lifted his head and looked up at me. ‘No, he doesn’t. No one does. I suppress it.’
‘And siphon his power.’ He clearly hadn’t expected me to know that, and his surprise was such that I saw the glimmer of it ripple through his wards. ‘Which makes me wonder for whose benefit that is.’
‘It’s not like that,’ he said, straightening. ‘I feed the power that bleeds from him back into the same wards, keeping them sound even if we are apart. It’s not a strong gift, and he has never felt it.’
‘You are twice wrong there, my friend. He feels it, even if he only knows it as the blood of kings. Which is more accurate than he knows, since the Firstborn had the gift too. And think on this. He resisted the necromancers in the heart of their stronghold, faced Navar alone, and he survived the backlash of both the collapse of the Lance’s spellwork and the awakening of the nexus. His power is growing. No mere wizard or paladin could have survived any one of those things.’
‘But you—’
‘No, Fronsac. What powers I had available were solely bent on keeping me alive.’
He sat back on his barrel. ‘A sorcerer and a prince. It will change everything, if he survives.’
‘He’s a prince, not a charcoal burner’s son, locked in a cell and fearful for his life. His gift is already woken, and he has you to guide him.’
‘This isn’t going to sit well with the Church.’
‘I’m sure they will find a way to take credit for it.’
He gave a short laugh that carried little humour. ‘That’s so accurate that I’m not sure whether to laugh or weep.’
‘You’re rather fond of him, aren’t you?’
For a moment, he said nothing. ‘He’s a friend.’
‘Of course.’
He laughed at that, then stood. ‘Talking to you is a dangerous business, and I must go. Tell me, is there anything you need?’
‘Fire,’ I said, after a moment’s thought. ‘A normal fire, with wood preferably. It will help harden my scales for what lies ahead.’
‘I will arrange it. Will we see you again, if you succeed?’
‘I do not think so, not for some time. If Anakhara is there, she will need me.’
‘I hope she is, my friend.’ I felt his sincerity ring in his words.
‘Thank you, Fronsac.’
He bowed deeply and kissed my snout before hastening from the yard. He was true to his word too, for soon after a throng of nervous soldiers appeared, each carrying armfuls of firewood, and I bade them stack it in a pyramid. Once they were done and had retreated behind their doors once more I lit it with a small lick of bile and curled up around it, drawing the smell of pine and cedar deep into my lungs before I fell into a deep and restful sleep, the kind that I hadn’t experienced for decades.
A chorus of screams broke around me when I opened my eyes again, and for a several terrible moments I feared my adventures had all been a dream and I was still in my cage, rattling around the countryside for the stupid and ignorant to poke sticks at.
There were more screams as I sat up, shaking the fog of sleep from my mind as the place and time took shape around me again. I was still in the courtyard, still free, and the sun was shining down on me and the numerous men and women who were now pressed against the walls.
‘What do you want?’ I asked the closest of these, a woman reeking of overly sweet rosewater that failed to hide the sweat and fear that slicked her body. She shrieked again and stumbled back while the tall man next to her stepped forward hesitantly, as if expecting me to snap at him, a not entirely unrealistic fear to have.
‘I am Lord Trott of Dunhallow,’ he said in a piping voice more suited to a child.
‘So?’
‘Prince Jean gave us leave to come and see you.’
‘Then see me.’
I stood up, which made Lord Trott stumble backward thrusting his woman before him like some sort of offering, either by accident or by design. I ignored them and the other gawkers as I stretched my back and legs before fanning my wings out and tilting them towards the sun, letting its gentle heat warm the membranes while I considered what lay before me.
I was assuming that Talgoth still lurked in his hidden valley, and despite the unpleasantness waiting at the end, I was actually looking forward to the long flight needed to get there. Flying this way and that with a human perched on me was one thing, a novelty, but to properly soar in complete isolation with only the sun for company was a different prospect entirely.
‘Do you breathe fire?’ Trott’s thin voice crept in at the edge of my thoughts, and I would have continued to ignore him had he not decided to poke me with his stick.
‘I’m talking to you, beast.’
‘Arek, don’t.’ The woman’s voice.
‘Nonsense. This thing is chattel to the crown and I am of the blood.’
‘Listen to your woman, insect,’ I said, my words tapering off into a growl. The handful of other gawkers there echoed her statement, and for a moment, it seemed their entreaties had helped him recover his wits.
Then his cane cracked across my claws. ‘Rubbish. It’s a beast like any other and I won’t be spo—’
I had suffered countless torments in the centuries I had been caged. I’d had all manner of foulness thrown or spat upon me, but the worst had always been those who had wanted me to do something, to perform for them like some toothless and broken dancing bear. Sometimes they succeeded in goading me, and I would throw myself at the bars, teeth flashing, shattering their bravado.
It happened now, without me really thinking about it. A snarl and a lunge, and then the screams. But that part of my mind had forgotten that I was myself once more, and that there were no bars anymore. My mouth was suddenly full of meat and blood and the square rung with the screams of men reduced to a primitive, bestial need to flee.
The meat my fangs had pierced flailed weakly and I snatched my head sideways, the ridges on my teeth sawing through gristle and sinew, sending an arm and head flopping and bouncing across the cobbles before I swallowed the rest in a single, convulsive movement. He was dead anyway, and I was never given to wasteful ways. Trott’s wife was still standing before me, her side painted in crimson as I fed power into my wind construct. I braced my legs and leaped into the sky, leaving the courtyard and its tumbling, mewling occupants behind as I powered upwards.