Moth and Spark (44 page)

She did not greet him. He filled the cups and handed one to her. The moon would not be over the mountains for a few hours yet, and the last of the sunlight was gone. They could not see each other’s faces. If he
tried he would be able to, dragons saw well at night. He did not want anything to do with their powers.

“Tell me,” he said, a command. He was afraid she would call him “my lord.” That would be the first breach.

She took his hand and kissed it. “Please don’t interrupt me, Corin,” she said. “I can only stand to do this once.”

“I promise,” he said, softening.

She released his hand. He heard her drink. She said, with that calmness he always marveled at, “The thing that came at me out of the chasm, it was a dragon. But it was wild and vicious and cruel. It was not like these dragons. It saw me and it hated me. It wants to inflict pain, to steal back what was taken.

“And they need it, Corin. It’s what they’re missing. They were defanged. It’s what’s left after the Myceneans stole the fire. It’s a shadow, a wraith. Without the fire, it can’t get into the dark place where it belongs. Once they have the fire back, they’ll be free. You have to call it to you and give it back the flame. And you’ll be the first thing it has a chance to kill.”

Every cell in his body told him she was right. Whenever he put on robes to sit in judgment he felt his mind sharpen, clarify, detach itself from the rest of him. He became a figure, the whole and real Corin covered by the anonymity of the formal costuming. His mind did the same thing now, abstracting what Tam said from the muscles and bones and nerves that screamed out for him to retreat.

“Yes,” he said. “I see.”

“I’m not going to able to explain it any better than that. My mind is too human. I can’t See into their world. They showed me this, but I don’t have words.”

“It’s enough,” he said. He leaned toward her and found her lips with his. She was alive, warm, present.

They broke off the kiss. He said, “Hadon roused it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I think the dragons drove him mad and followed him in. They couldn’t free it, but they made it stir. He has nothing to do with it. He was just the opening.”

“Bastards,” he said, without force. He saw it clearly now. There was no way out.

She said, “You still have a choice.”

“I don’t,” he said. “If I refuse either I’ll go mad too, or they’ll let
Caithen be torn apart. It’s not Hadon who holds the country hostage, it’s the dragons.” He could not even be bitter about it. He had accepted this when he turned to the dragons to try to bring his sister home, when he let them bear him from a burning palace, every time he went skyward and felt the rush of air over the dragonwing. They cared nothing for human love, for human loss; they were not human.

Tam said something he could not understand. It sounded as though she were crying again.

He put the mug down and pulled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her. He would not lie to her and tell her he would live, she would not persuade him not to go. It was what he had to do. He was going into battle like a soldier, just not the battle he had expected.

“Tam,” he said, “is there any chance you’re pregnant?”

A sniff. “We’ve done our job trying,” she said. “But I don’t know. It’s far too soon.”

“If you are, and I die, Kelvan has to take you to my father.”

“Don’t say things like that, not now.”

“All right.”

They sat quietly again for a long time. Corin was aware of how alive they both were, their breath moving in not quite the same rhythm, her body warm and solid against his, the fingers of her right hand locked over his knee.

Desire roused. He resisted for a while, then gave in. His hand went to the inside of her thigh and clasped the muscle. The trouser-cloth was thin and soft with wear against his palm.

Footsteps. Tam scrambled off his lap. They both rose. She bent down again. When she straightened he could see that she was holding a mug in each hand.

“My lord,” Kelvan said, with a bow.

For a moment it made him think his father was known dead. But no, if the rider were bringing that news he would have knelt. It was just a formality because Tam was present. Because Kelvan knew how tightly Corin was wound.

“Well?” he asked, hoping for a bit of news that would serve as a distraction. He adjusted his thinking.

“I’ve been speaking with a rider in Caithenor. You’ll like this. Tyrekh’s dead.”

He felt a savage, pleasant sense of triumph. “How?”

“One of his own men threw a knife into his throat. They have not caught the soldier yet. He completely disappeared.”

“I’ll bet he did,” said Tam, and Corin knew she had come to the same conclusion he had. He almost smiled. He realized that they were past the hardest part. They had decided to get on with it.

“I can try to find him if you’d like,” said Kelvan.

“That won’t be necessary. He’ll have gone to Aram. What else?”

“The dragons are restless. Some are abandoning Hadon and coming north. And someone, I don’t know who or how, has got the Myceneans to start to drive the Sarians out. It’s easier now that Tyrekh’s dead.” He paused. “There have been a lot of deaths, on both sides, it’s not pretty.”

Corin took that to mean they were slaughtering one another. There were probably Caithenians dying too. He doubted his father was behind it directly, but the king was no doubt privy to it and consenting. With any luck it would be over soon.

“Any word of my sister?” he asked.

“The rider who took her has reappeared, but he won’t say anything other than that she is safe.”

“He probably doesn’t know where she is,” Corin said. “If he got her to the right man in Dele, she’s someplace where even I couldn’t find her by now. How is Hadon taking all this?”

“I only have rumor for that. But the rumor is that he’s locked himself in his apartments with a fire weapon and won’t let anyone in.”

“So we’re winning.”

“It appears that way, aye.”

He could not let this chance slip by. He had to take control of things before the battles became leaderless chaos, before the riders decided to do as they pleased. The dragons were using him, he would demand this as his price. He would make the devil’s bargain after all.

“I need the dragons,” he said. “And the riders. Can I gather them through your dragon?”

“You can summon them,” Kelvan said. “I don’t know that you can convince them. They’re men, they’ll want to see you, to measure you against Hadon. Especially considering all they have to lose if the dragons go. They’ll have to see you’re worth it.”

Oh hell. He knew Kelvan was right, but the last thing he wanted to do now was make speeches or have debates. Politics was what it came down to, though. He looked at the mountains. All he could see was unmarked blackness rising into the starry sky.

“I can’t do that here,” he said. “And I’m certainly not going back to Caithenor or to Mycene.”

“No,” Kelvan said. “I think you should bring them as far north as you can, though.”

It would have to be east and farther south. He did not want them too close to the valley and he was already at the northward limit. He turned the pages of mental map books and decided on a place. “Tower Peak,” he said. It was remote, with a craggy ridge at the top that looked like battlements. He could not have a palace to speak from, but he could give a reminder of a fortress. Tomorrow was too soon, he would not have time to prepare, but the next morning, after sunrise.

“Good,” said Kelvan.

“I’ll be there shortly, then, thank you.”

“You’re going to do it now?” Tam asked as soon as Kelvan had retreated.

“Just the summons. Nothing else.”

A quiet pause of relief. “Corin, this is terrible wine, why are we drinking it?”

“Give me my cup,” he said. When she did, he gulped it down and put the mug on the ground. “Finish yours.”

She made a noise of disgust but drank. She let her mug drop. It made a soft thud on the grass but did not break. Corin faced her, took her left hand with his right and raised it, slipped his arm around her waist.

“We’re dancing,” she said, not quite a question.

“Yes, my love,” he said, moving his foot.

“I’m not very good without the music.”

“Neither am I. We’ll do it anyway. We never finished that one at the ball. Don’t count.”

She let him lead her, and they danced awkwardly along the riverside. The ground was uneven, their course blocked by bushes or thickets of grass. At times when she stepped her foot into the inside of his, they stumbled, or banged ankles or knees together. He watched her the best he could with only starlight to see by. They were both quiet. A chorus of frogs started, one side of the river to the other and back, strophe and
antistrophe. He tried to let nothing in but this time, this moment, her dark figure swirling.

They stopped, and held each other, and kissed hard.

Their arms dropped simultaneously. “Good luck,” she said.

“This may take a while. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll bring the cups in.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her quickly once and then strode to the dragon.

As Corin approached it he realized he had to ride. Kelvan was standing near. “Are the straps ready?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord.”

He got on without help and tightened the straps. He put the helmet on. There seemed to be nothing to say. He nodded once at Kelvan, then prodded the dragon’s mind. It leaped.

He had the dragon hover and let the wind take it. There was no sea scent, just wind. It stung his eyes. He feared that if he left the valley the wizard’s barrier might keep him from returning. Then he decided that if that happened he could land the dragon somewhere nearby and send it to Kelvan to get him. So he turned it north and east, over the mountains, and urged it forward with a driving desperate passion.

It was difficult. Wind tossed the dragon with sudden drops and turns, and there was something almost terrifying about the darkness below. He remembered looking out over the garden with Tam that first night. This was different. It was hard and immense and threw no light back. Even closer to the high mountains with their white tips visible in the starlight there was no softening.

His cheeks and fingers went numb with cold. There were little sparkles of frost on the outside of his breeches.

Higher, he thought, higher, and urged the beast upward until he was gasping for breath and thought frostbite was beginning in his fingertips. The ache in his lungs pleased him. Then he turned it down, hard, plummeting toward earth. The air whistled around him. The stars were streaks of light above. I might die, he thought as he looked down into the darkness. He could not tell how fast it was approaching. He watched himself bend like a horserider to hold the straps tighter and keep the wind off his face. He watched the dragon extend its wings and catch the air. It spun and rocked before it got its balance.

He let it take its own path, sliding through the cold air while he lay on
its back, empty and exhausted. Its heat seeped slowly into him. He listened to the beat of blood in his ears and closed his eyes. It rocked him from side to side. For a long time he thought of nothing.

Then he returned to himself and sat up. He directed the dragon back to the cottage. The air warmed, he could see the texture of the ocean, his eyes watered and his skin burned.

The dragon landed easily, almost lightly. He worked at the straps with numb fingers until the knots were free, then slid down. He took the helmet off and was surrounded by noise. He blew on his hands. When he tried to take a step forward he stumbled as the motion brought blood painfully back to his legs. He bent over, stretched, stomped his feet a little.

Now I’m ready, he thought. He felt as though he had been scoured inside and out. All that there was of him was his blood and his skin and his brain.

Kelvan was waiting in the same spot, as though he had not moved. Corin said with a dry mouth, “Have you any water?” He coughed with the effort. His chest still hurt.

“Here,” Kelvan said, offering him a full cup. There was a bucket beside him.

Corin drank three full glasses. It tasted like stone. It was very good.

“Has Tam gone in?” he asked.

“Aye. You were up about an hour.”

It had not felt that long, but he could never keep track of time when he was dragonback. He stretched again and went to the dragon’s head. He knelt beside it.

There was no point in delaying. He looked over his shoulder at Kelvan and said, “If something goes wrong, pull me out. If something goes really wrong, get Tam and then Rois. I’m starting.” He put both hands on the dragon’s head and let his mind brush against the dragon’s.

First there was just a jumble of images and colors. A mossy pool in a forest stream, a massive oak with a few tattered leaves still hanging on it, a spade leaning against a low sunlit wall. Then he saw only blackness. It was soft and velvety, without sheen or glitter. He heard the hums of dragonspeech. They ran through calls like a mockingbird, struck a slow deep minor chord, whistled like a carnival organ. He pulled for them everywhere, drew the hums to himself one by one. He sensed the dragons, a small silvery one and a bold young green one and a tired
ancient red one. They were there, scaled and clawed, and they were the darkness without bound.

He pulled, and where he could not reach the dragons pulled for him, and the hums made blue lines in the dark that pulsed in rhythm. They cut across one another, longer and faster, making a net of light and sound. His bones hummed. His body vibrated.

Words came. You danced, he said to them. You used to dance.

He saw it, the loops and curves of dragons circling, sun or moon hitting their wings, their breath meeting to make a rushing pillar of fire, sparks falling earthward.

I know how to free you. I don’t know if I can do it.

The hums deepened to a bell tone. Long and sonorous and echoing. It was the dark crimson of cooling lead, the rough darkness of charred wood.

Caithen was taken when the dragons were taken. I will go into the darkness for you and die, but Caithen must be freed too. If you will not help me, will you help my people?