Читать книгу The Unwelcome Warlock - Lawrence Watt-Evans - Страница 10

Chapter Seven

Hanner stared at the approaching dragon, trying to think what he should do. He had never seen a full-grown, flying dragon before, only the hatchlings kept as pets by the more ostentatious among Ethshar’s ruling elite, and the half-grown juveniles displayed in the Arena. Those dragons were always killed before they reached adulthood. The only adult dragons he had ever heard of were out in the wilderness, far from all human habitation.

But then, they were in eastern Aldagmor, which had been uninhabitable by humans for the past thirty-odd years — this was out in the wilderness. Why wouldn’t there be dragons here?

This one was still coming, and Hanner began to realize that this wasn’t just any dragon, it was a huge dragon, easily a hundred feet long. Its wings and flanks were a rich emerald green, and its throat and belly were golden yellow, and it was so big that its wings seemed to fill half the sky.

And as it drew closer, he could see that there was something on its back, at the base of its neck. Hanner blinked.

Meanwhile, all around him people were screaming and running. Some were bright enough to scatter into the surrounding forests and hills, but most were simply fleeing directly away from the dragon, running more or less due east.

Hanner was not going to do that. The dragon could overtake anyone it tried to, he was sure, so there was no point in running. If it intended to eat someone, it could pick whomever it wanted.

But if it wasn’t just looking for a snack and planning to grab the first person it could, then perhaps it could be reasoned with. Hanner had always heard that some of the larger dragons could talk; maybe he could talk to this one. If all it wanted was a meal — well, it wasn’t a pleasant idea, but Hanner knew there were dead bodies in the pit, people who had been crushed or smothered before they could climb out. He would have greatly preferred to give all those poor people a proper funeral and burn the bodies, but feeding them to a dragon was certainly better than letting it eat living people.

A dragon this size couldn’t be stupid, or it wouldn’t have lived long enough to get so large. It surely couldn’t make a habit of eating people, or it would have drawn the attention of dragon-hunters.

At least, that was what Hanner tried to tell himself.

And that thing at the base of its neck…Hanner realized that it was a person, a man seated in a sort of saddle. Hanner blinked again, and shouted, “Hai!” He waved his arms over his head.

The dragon wheeled and turned upward, craning its long neck to look down at Hanner; it looked around, and found clear ground nearby — all the other former warlocks in that area who were capable of it had fled, leaving a space large enough for the beast to land without stepping on anyone. It settled gracefully to the ground, and the wind of its arrival forced Hanner back two or three steps. It folded its wings, then swung its immense head around to look at Hanner with slit-pupiled golden eyes the size of cartwheels.

The man riding on its back leaned over to look at Hanner, as well, and Hanner looked back, seeing a handsome, black-haired young man dressed in fine leathers.

But it was the dragon, and not the rider, who spoke.

“Our compliments, sirrah, and are you, perchance, in a position to speak for all, and to explain your presence here?”

Its voice was deep and rumbling, as if a thunderstorm had spoken, and on top of that it spoke Ethsharitic with a curious accent, a little like one Hanner had occasionally heard from very old people when he was a boy in the overlord’s palace. It took a moment for Hanner to make sense of its words.

His comprehension was not aided by the constant awareness that he was standing a few feet away from a mouth that could swallow him in a single gulp. Hanner’s instinctive terror was tempered by the realization that the creature seemed more interested in talking to him than in eating him, but he was still terrified.

It did not help that he realized he could smell the dragon; he was that close to the great beast. Its odor was not quite like anything he had ever smelled before, but reminded him of dust, blood, and hot metal.

“As much as anyone is, yes,” he said at last.

“Pray you, then, speak, and expound to us how you come to be standing untroubled not a hundred yards from the Warlock Stone — if indeed, the Stone remains.”

The stone the dragon spoke of could only be the source of the Calling. “It doesn’t,” Hanner said. “It’s gone, back where it came from.”

“And was that then the great disturbance that we saw from afar a few hours gone, in the depths of night?”

Hanner had reached his limit in making sense of the creature’s questions. “I…what?”

“May I, Aldagon?” the man in the saddle called.

“And you would,” the dragon replied, turning to look at its passenger.

The black-haired young man smiled, and slid from his place on the monster’s back. He dropped a few yards to the ground, but managed to stay on his feet, and came walking up to Hanner, hand extended.

They shook, and the young man in leather said, “I’m Dumery of the Dragon, and this is Aldagon, She Who Is Great Among Dragons. Aldagmor is named for her.”

This seemed to Hanner to be an extravagant and unlikely claim, but he was hardly in a position to argue about it, and after all, these were unlikely circumstances. “I’m Hanner,” he said. “Formerly Hanner the Warlock, formerly Chairman of the Council of Warlocks.”

Dumery nodded thoughtfully, and looked around. “Formerly a warlock,” he said. “I didn’t know that was possible. Interesting. I saw hundreds of other people here before they all hid from Aldagon; were they all warlocks?”

“Yes,” Hanner said. “They used to be.”

“So the Warlock Stone is gone, and…what? It released you? You had all been Called?”

That was close enough to what had actually happened that Hanner just nodded. “Yes,” he said again.

“There were a lot of you.”

“Yes,” Hanner said, and this time he thought a little more explanation was called for. “It was everyone who was ever Called, ever since the Night of Madness. We were caught in the…the Warlock Stone’s protective spells.”

Dumery let out a low whistle. “All of you? But there must have been thousands!”

“Yes,” Hanner said again, hoping he didn’t sound stupid, saying the same thing over and over.

“What will you all eat?”

“That’s a very good question,” Hanner said. “We have some theurgists, and they were able to summon Piskor the Generous. She gave us those bundles — see?” He gestured toward the one at his feet, and then at the hundreds that had been dropped by people fleeing Aldagon’s approach.

“That doesn’t look like enough to last very long,” Dumery said.

Hanner turned up an empty palm. “Three days, the goddess said.”

“Then what?”

“We were hoping we could reach civilization by then.”

“’Twould be a vigorous walk, to reach a city so soon,” Aldagon rumbled.

Hanner started, and looked from Dumery to the dragon, then back. “How… You were riding it.”

“Her,” Dumery corrected him. “Yes, I was.”

Hanner gave the dragon a sidelong glance, not wanting to say anything that could possibly offend it — or rather, her. “Have you… Is she…”

“Is she tame?” Dumery grinned. “No. Far from it. But we’re business partners.”

“Partners?” He looked back and forth from the dragon to the man, but could read nothing from either’s expression. “Is that…is that sort of thing common? I was caught in that spell for seventeen years, so I don’t know what the World is like now, but — partners?”

Dumery smiled. “No, it’s not common. I think Aldagon and I are the only such partnership since the Great War. We’ve been working together for about ten years now.” He turned his smile toward Aldagon. “I think we’ve both been pleased with how it’s worked out,” he said.

“Aye, I am not displeased,” Aldagon said. “Though certes, I am kept from my repose more than e’er I was these four centuries past. Dumery would work me to skin and bone, did I allow.”

“Oh, you were bored silly until we met, and you know it,” Dumery said, reaching up to slap Aldagon’s jaw — the only part of the dragon he could reach from where he stood.

“Said I not, I am not displeased?”

Hanner closed his eyes for a moment to gather his wits.

As far as he was concerned, a day or two ago he had been trying to fight off the Calling while Arvagan finished up the Transporting Tapestry he had ordered. He had been home in Ethshar of the Spices, living with his wife and children in his late uncle’s mansion on High Street, and everything had been fairly normal.

Now he was standing in the mud of Aldagmor, a hundred yards from the pit where the Calling had originated, talking to a dragon. He had seen and heard a goddess. He had seen and heard the Response that had carried the Warlock Stone back into the sky. He was seventeen years in the future.

That was all a little difficult to absorb.

“But see you, friend Hanner,” Aldagon said, interrupting his thoughts, “while I would do you no harm, you and your compatriots are in lands that have known no human habitation in many a year, and lands that I and mine had thought our own. I had thought these lands to be forbidden to your kind, and like to remain so. My home lies not far hence, chosen that none should trouble me there, and likewise I should trouble none with my presence, yet here you are, in your thousands. Do you, then, intend to dwell in this place henceforth?”

“What?” Hanner looked up, startled. “Oh, no, we aren’t staying — at least, most of us aren’t. I told you, we want to get back to civilization.” He looked around, and saw several people watching, but they were all keeping their distance; no one wanted to approach the dragon. “Some of these people did live here, before the Night of Madness, but I don’t know whether any of them want to rebuild.”

“I suspect they could be persuaded not to,” Dumery said. “No offense, Aldagon, but most humans are unlikely to want dragons as neighbors.”

Aldagon looked as if she was about to reply, but then stopped, cocked her head to one side, and said nothing.

Dumery laughed. “She’s too polite to say the feeling is mutual,” he said. “But it is, and I really think you people do need to get out of the area as soon as possible.”

“We were planning to,” Hanner said. He pointed. “We were going to follow that stream south.”

“You’re heading for Ethshar, rather than Sardiron?” Dumery asked.

“I am. Many of us are. I can’t speak for everyone.”

“It’s probably wise,” Dumery said with a nod. “Heading northwest, toward Sardiron, would take you directly through Aldagon’s territory, and there are other dragons there who are…well, they’re much younger, too young to talk, but still big enough to eat people.”

“Oh,” Hanner said.

“It’s a long walk to Ethshar, though.”

“Then we should get started,” Hanner said. “We were getting ready when you, ah…interrupted —”

“You mean, when Aldagon scared everyone into running off in a hundred different directions?”

Hanner smiled wryly. “Yes.”

“Well, then,” Dumery suggested, “perhaps we can guide you, or carry a message somewhere, to make up for our little intrusion.”

Hanner blinked. “Could you?” he said. “That would be appreciated. That would be very appreciated.”

“We’ll also make sure the other dragons don’t bother you,” Dumery added.

“Aye,” Aldagon said. “I’ve no desire for bad blood betwixt our peoples.”

“That’s…that’s very kind of you,” Hanner said. He was still having some difficulty in accepting the fact that he was holding a civil conversation with a hundred-foot dragon.

“‘Tis naught but sense,” Aldagon replied. “Come, then, and call your folk together. Gather yourselves up, make ready, and be off with you, and Dumery and I shall do what we can to ease your path.”

Slightly stunned, Hanner said, “Thank you.” But then he remembered some details of the former warlocks’ situation. “We have injured people,” he said quickly. “I was expecting to arrange for them to be carried, but is there anything you could do to help? And some of us died — I don’t know how many.”

Dumery and the dragon looked at one another.

“Hmm,” Dumery said. “I don’t see how we can help with the injured, and you’d need a necromancer to help with the dead.”

“Oh, I know there’s nothing we —”

“A thought strikes me, but I know not if your folk might reckon it unseemly,” Aldagon said, interrupting him. “Is’t not your custom to burn the dead, that their souls may be freed of flesh and might travel unhindered to heaven?”

“Yes,” Hanner said, “but we don’t have time to gather the firewood for a proper pyre for so many. We need to go, get moving while we still have some food left.”

“You have no need of wood when you have a dragon to hand,” Aldagon said.

Hanner blinked again. “Oh,” he said. He considered that for a moment. Being eaten by a dragon would be undignified, to say the least, but to have dragonfire for one’s funeral pyre seemed almost ennobling.

But it wasn’t necessarily his decision to make. “I think that might be a good idea,” he said, “but I’ll want to discuss it with the others.”

“Certes,” Aldagon said.

“About the injured,” Dumery said. “I know several wizards in the three Ethshars — would you like me to talk to them, and see if they can send help?”

“But how…?”

“Aldagon will fly me to Ethshar of the Spices,” Dumery explained. “It won’t take more than a day or so.”

“That would be wonderful,” Hanner said, immensely relieved. If someone in Ethshar knew they were out here, someone might send aid.

“They’ll probably want to know what’s happening here anyway,” Dumery said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re being watched by a hundred scrying spells right now.”

Hanner started to ask why, then stopped. The answer was obvious. Warlockry had vanished a few hours ago, and that would have been noticed throughout the Hegemony by now — not all the warlocks were among the Called. “You’re right,” he said. “But I’d feel better if you carried that message anyway.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Dumery said. “We’ll leave at once. Those of you who feel up to it should ready the dead; Aldagon will burn the bodies as soon as we return, if that’s what you want. Even in this cold, you shouldn’t leave them for long.”

“Agreed,” Hanner said. He glanced at Aldagon.

“If I may,” she said. “I will carry Dumery to the gates of Azrad’s Ethshar, that he may speak to the wizards of the city, that they may send what aid they can. Then I shall return, and incinerate the bodies prepared for me in this place. In exchange for my services in these matters, you — all of you — will hie hence forthwith, and return no more. You will depart to the south and east, as you choose, but none will go to the north or west, for those lands are home to my kin. Is this our complete understanding, friend Hanner?”

“It is,” Hanner said.

“You accept these terms, and speak for all present?”

“I accept these terms, but I can’t speak for everyone. I’ll do everything I can to persuade everyone to accept them, but there may be some uncooperative idiots.”

“And such there be, you will bear no malice for any actions I take upon them, to secure my home?”

“I think you’ve been more than fair,” Hanner said.

“Then let us away, Dumery, to Azrad’s Ethshar.”

“Right,” Dumery said, with a look around. Hanner’s gaze followed the dragon-rider’s, and he saw that scores, or hundreds, of human eyes were watching — apparently when Hanner was not immediately roasted or devoured, some of the others found the nerve to stop running and observe.

Then Aldagon bent her head low, and Dumery clambered up her flank, pulling himself up the saddle-band and onto her neck. A moment later he was back in the saddle, and Aldagon crouched.

“Get back!” Dumery shouted, and Hanner stepped back — but not far enough; when Aldagon leapt upward, wings flapping, the wind of her rise knocked Hanner entirely off his feet and sent him sprawling on the cold ground.

Embarrassed, he got slowly back to his feet, and turned to watch the gigantic dragon flying south. She was already half a mile away, the morning sun gleaming from her scales as she dwindled into the distance.