The Fire Dragon by Katharine Kerr
Following him on pure white horses came two women of his kind. Niffa caught her breath at a cold stab of magical certainty: here was the reason that her dream had driven her down to the gates. While the Gel da'Thae men wore their hair in braided manes, the women shaved every bit of theirs. This pair wore close-fitting leather caps, covered with little rounds of metal and glass, then a scant wrap of pale linen cloth about their upper bodies that left their arms bare, and leather trousers like the men. Where their eyebrows should have been they wore tattoos of flowering vines. Green tattoos covered the rest of their milk-white skin with pictures of animals, flowers, and landscapes in marked contrast to the abstract blue patterns decorating the men.
The gear their horses carried dripped with metal talismans, strands of beads, and leather ribands stamped with the same patterns as their tattoos. Niffa could hear the people in the crowd murmuring in surprise at their presence. When she turned to glance around, she saw Raena, resplendent in a fine green dress and a gold necklace, working her way through the townsfolk, while a disgusted-looking Harl walked behind her with a staff. Her position as a rich man's wife demanded a guard whenever she walked abroad.
The caravan turned to follow the inside wall. The grassy commons formed the only caravanserai Cerr Cawnen could offer. The merchant, however, swung his horse out of line, then dismounted to bow to the Council of Five, who clustered round him to bow in return. Niffa ignored them and watched the two women. Often her bent toward the witchroad gave her warnings of danger, but at the sight of the pair something in her mind seemed to say “good! they got here safely.” Who “they” were lay hidden, but not for long.
“Niffa!” It was Verrarc, striding up to her. “A good thing it is that you be here. The older woman there, do you see? She be the mother of that Gel da'Thae bard who did take your brother off to the Slavers' country. Her protector”—he gestured vaguely at the Gel da'Thae merchant— “did tell us that she did come here to find news of her son, if there be any such.”
“It be a long way she's come, then, for disappointment.” Niffa kept her voice as bland as she could.
“Ah. No news, then, of Jahdo?”
“Had there been, Councilman, you would have heard it long ere I did.”
For a moment Verrarc lingered, seemingly on the edge of prying. With a little shrug he turned away and walked off to join Raena, who was watching the Gel da'Thae women. Never had Niffa seen such hatred in another's eyes. Raena's skin had gone pale and her mouth twisted as she stared at the two women, her lips working as if to mutter an evil spell. Niffa stepped back into the crowd to lose herself among them before Raena could notice her. She nearly bumped into Harl.
“My apologies!” Niffa said. “But here, be there not a need upon you to tend your master's woman?”
“Let the bitch sniff the grass and squat on her own.” Harl spat on the ground. “If she gets herself kicked by a horse, so much the better.”
“Indeed.” Niffa smiled briefly. “Well, fare thee well, I be on my way home.”
“If it please you, I'll row you across.”
“My thanks. And that will give you some excuse for your master, too, if the bitch should complain about your leaving her.”
It was late in the day before Niffa heard more about the caravan and the two women. Kiel, her elder brother, was serving with the town militia, which Councilman Verrarc commanded. Kiel had stuck close to his commander all day, gathering gossip, and he brought a full basket of it home to share as they sat round the table at dinner.
“Her name's Zatcheka, Meer's mother that be,” Kiel said. “The lass with her, and the councilman did say that she be young, not that I could tell just from the looking at her, but anyway, the lass be her adopted daughter and her heir. Grallezar be her name.”
“Her heir?” Lael said. “Does this mean her son be dead?”
“Not at all. Among them the lasses do inherit their mother's holdings, have she any.”
“Sensible of them.” Dera was laying a big round loaf of bread on the table. “Is there a want on you all for ale with this?”
“Me, for one,” Kiel said. “I did ask about the inheritance, for fear that if Meer were dead, so would our Jahdo be.”
“Our lad be safe,” Niffa put in. “Have no fear. He'll be home soon.”
“One of your dreams, lass?” Lael raised a bushy eyebrow.
“It was, Da.”
Lael smiled, then picked up the loaf and began tearing it into chunks.
“So then,” Kiel went on, “I did hear Verrarc talking with Chief Speaker Admi. There be more to this visit than a mother's worried heart, he did say. Zatcheka be a prominent citizen among her kind, and she did hint of some portentous matter for her town and ours. And Admi did answer Verro, we'll hold council on the morrow to hear her out.”
“Ah,” Lael said. “No doubt they'll put out the call for a town meeting at the end of the morrow, like.”
“So Admi did mention.” Kiel took the tankard from Dera. “My thanks, Mam. But here be the strangest thing of all. Verrarc did tell us, the militia, I mean, and he waited till Admi did get himself gone, but then he did tell us that we'd be guarding the Gel da'Thae camp, taking turns in pairs, all through the night. And why is this, says Sergeant Gart? Think you they be up to trouble?” Kiel paused for a sip of ale. “Not them, Verro did say. I fear that someone in the town may bear them ill, and I'd not have them harmed.”
“Raena!” Niffa blurted before she could stop herself. “It be Raena that makes him fear so.”
“Raena?” Dera interrupted with a little laugh. “And what harm could one sickly woman do to a campful of Gel da'Thae?”
“I know not, Mam,” Kiel said. “But truly, Verrarc did warn us. If you see my lady near the camp, said he, escort her home.”
For a brief moment Niffa felt her breath catch ragged in her throat. She recovered with a little gasp and found Dera and Lael both staring at her.
“There be dark times,” Niffa said. “And that be all I know.”
Lael muttered a brief prayer to the gods, then handed her a chunk of bread. While she ate, Niffa found herself thinking about Zatcheka, come so far to look for her son. Was Meer still alive? She'd never thought to ask Dallandra, not once in all their conversations in the Gatelands of Sleep. It seemed a selfish omission, all of a sudden. I'll ask tonight, she thought. Surely Dalla will know if he walks on the earth or under it.
When Verrarc arrived home, he found Raena there before him, pacing back and forth in front of the empty hearth. The last of the sunlight poured through the window and caught the gold necklace. Its dangling teardrops gleamed like flames.
“That necklace does look splendid upon you, my love,” he said. “It gladdens my heart that you do like it. It did belong to my mother.”
“It be a lovely piece.” Raena put her hands on his shoulders. “You have my thanks.”
When he kissed her, she smiled but moved a step away.
“Those Gel da'Thae,” she said. “Do you know what might bring them here?”
“I don't. The woman Zatcheka? When we did escort her to the campsite, she kept her mouth as tight shut as a miser keeps his purse. And the lass and the merchant both say naught unless she does give them leave.”
Raena muttered a foul oath and flung herself into a chair. Verrarc sat down more slowly across from her.
“What troubles you so badly?” he said.
“I know not yet. Some dweomer-cold lies round my heart, that they mean harm for me and mine.”
“Harm for the town?”
“Nah nah nah, for you and me. The town—” Raena caught herself and forced a smile. “The town lies dear to your heart, I know. But somehow I ken not its omens. If I could but go to the ruins and summon Lord Havoc, I—”
“I'll not have you risking that! Ye gods, if Werda found out, she'd rouse the town against you.”
“True.” Raena sat thinking for a long moment. “It behooves me to be as cunning as a weasel, then, and find so
“That might be a useful thing indeed.”
Niffa woke heartsick at first light. In her dreams she had met Dallandra, and indeed, Meer lay buried back in the country of the Slavers. Even though Dallandra had offered to do the telling once she arrived in Cerr Cawnen, it seemed only kind to inform Zatcheka now instead of letting her hope in vain for days more. Niffa had to admit that she was frightened. How could she, the ratters' lass, approach such an important guest?
As soon as the sun had risen, Niffa took her yoke and buckets and went to fetch the day's clean water. Maneuvering them through the narrow passage outside the ratters' door took all her concentration, but once she reached the path proper, she became aware of a flurry of noise and bustle just downhill. She stepped to one side and saw the Council of Five coming up, moving slowly so that
Admi, who was quite stout, could keep up without undignified puffing and panting. Striding along in their midst was Zatcheka, wearing the same leather cap but a full-length straight-cut dress of doeskin, decorated with beads and metal disks, that left her hairless arms bare. This close, Niffa could see that each disk bore a symbol stamped on it, and that some of the beads seemed to be little rolled-up scraps of parchment or cloth. At her waist she wore a loose-fitting belt of copper chain, from which hung either a very long knife or a very short sword in a leather sheath. The climb apparently bothered her not at all, because she was singing some long wail of a Gel da'Thae song under her breath. Bringing up the rear came Grallezar, carrying a small leather sack and dressed much like her adopted mother, and two Gel da'Thae warriors carrying slender staves—ceremonial weapons, Niffa could guess, because they were so deeply carved into vaguely floral forms that they would have snapped on any impact.
As this procession went past, Niffa flattened herself against the retaining wall on the uphill side. None of the men deigned to acknowledge her, but Zatcheka looked her way, nodded pleasantly, and smiled, revealing a mouthful of long needle teeth, most likely filed into that shape, since none of the Gel da'Thae men had teeth like them. Niffa curtsied, which brought another smile. The procession went on past, leaving Niffa to follow after. There be a need on me to tell her about her son, Niffa was thinking. Zatcheka seemed much less frightening than she'd thought.
Niffa followed the Council of Five all the way to the top of Citadel and the public plaza, but they crossed it and went into the Council House at the far side while Niffa, of course, stopped at the public well. She watched as the council and their guests entered the colonnade and disappeared into an open door. Already the usual crowd had gathered at the well to wait their turns to draw, though Niffa noticed that there was more gawking than dipping going on. Harl hurried over to join her.
“The master's sore troubled,” Harl said. “There be some great thing afoot, I think me.”
“The Gel da'Thae always mean trouble,” Niffa said. “Bain't?”
“True spoken, but better they are than the Horsekin. That be what the master did say to me, when I was a-bringing him his cloak. Ah well, better them than Horsekin, though I fear me that this visit does concern them somehow.”
Niffa felt as if someone had grabbed her lungs with cold hands and made her gasp, just from the witchcertainty of it.
“I do agree with you,” she said. “But ai! There's a hope on me that I be wrong.”
“The wild Horsekin, they be on the move,” Zatcheka said. “I come with warnings.”
“A great fear did lie on me that such was true,” Admi said. “I thank you for the town's sake.”
She inclined her head in his direction, a move that made the talismans on her cap dance and glint in the sunlight streaming through the window. The council was meeting in its usual chamber, a great high-ceilinged stone room with a low dais at one end. On the dais, in front of a long window, stood a round wood table and plain wood chairs; the rest of the room stood empty. With the table round there could be no question of precedent, an arrangement that had pleased Zatcheka. She lounged at ease in one of the chairs, while her adopted daughter sat on the floor beside her and her two guards stood behind. The five council-men sat in their usual places, but none of them looked in the least bit calm. Verrarc felt as tight-wound as new rope.
“Honored Zatcheka,” Admi went on. “Is it that you do know why the savages are ready for war?”
“I do, and a sinful thing it be.” Zatcheka laid a pale hand over the clutch of talismans at her throat. “An impiety of the worst sort, a blasphemy to all the true gods and their servants. They claim they serve a new goddess. Some call her The Hidden One; others, Alshandra, Mistress of Storm. I call her fraud.”
The entire council gawked like children. Zatcheka smiled, but she kept her lips tightly drawn over her pointed teeth. Old Hennis, a skinny stick of a man with no teeth at all and precious little respect for gods of any kind, gave Verrarc a sideways glance that came too close to a dismissive smile. Verrarc scowled at him. He knew the Gel da'Thae way of telling stories; they always began with gods and ended with them, too. What counted was the middle.
“Honored council, I had two sons once,” she went on. “One of them was a great warrior, but he brought naught but shame to his people. He too did serve this foul demoness, this Alshandra. I foreswore him, I cast him out of my heart. My second son be, as you do know, Meer the Bard, and him I did send after his brother to bring back news of him.”
“Just so,” Admi said. “A sad thing, truly.”
“It was. And I hope and pray to the true gods that I have not a second sadness waiting me. I do fear in the depth of my heart that Meer no longer walks the earth, and if so, that be an evil omen for all of us.”
“Er, my apologies,” Admi said. “I see not why—”
“You see not because I've yet to finish.” Her voice, still low, snapped with command. “Hear me out, and you will know what I know.”
“Just so, just so,” Verrarc broke in. “Forgive us, Honored One. We beg you to enlighten us in our ignorance.”
“Very well then.” Zatcheka leaned back in her chair again. Her dark green eyes flicked from one to the other of the councilmen. “Because my son had brought this shame upon our city, the task of travelling here was given to me. Because such great journeys deserve a reward, I was allowed to take this orphan child into my house. Otherwise my clan would have died with me.”
She paused to lay a hand on Grallezar's head. The councilmen all nodded solemnly, even Hennis. He knew the value of heirs no matter what he thought of gods.
“So.” Zatcheka folded her hands at her waist. “This false goddess, this putrefying demoness, this walking blasphemy— she did appear to her worshippers some two springs before this spring. A priestess did come into Horsekin lands, and here be a marvel. This priestess, she who claimed to be the goddess's oracle? She were a human woman.”
“Ye gods,” Admi muttered. “Strange and twice strange, indeed.”
Verrarc felt his stomach clench. It couldn't be, he told himself. Not Raena! Yet the warm room seemed to have turned ice-cold around him.
“At first she did but speak for her goddess,” Zatcheka went on. “Then the goddess herself did appear to the tribes, and she did make them promises. They be her chosen ones, or so she does tell them, and they shall be kings over the world, all its cities, all its peoples, even unto the lands of Slavers.”
“And we,” Verrarc blurted, “we do stand right in their path.”
“Clever lad.” Zatcheka favored him with a nod. “So you do, and so do we.”
Admi had turned white. He grabbed a corner of his scarlet cloak and mopped sweat from his massive jowls. The other councilmen, Burra, Hennis, and Frie, all began to talk at once while Zatcheka considered them with narrow eyes. Admi raised his hands and yelled for silence. The babble stopped. Frie had the decency to murmur an apology to their guest, who nodded in return.
“This be a time for cold thought,” Verrarc said. “There be no need to panic like ducks at the smell of fox.”
“Just so,” Zatcheka said. “Though far be it from me to blame any man for feeling fear of the Horsekin. There be a coward's fear, and then there be prudence, and I think me the latter has the truth of it now.”
“If they march this summer,” Admi began.
“The gods do love us still, Chief Speaker,” Zatcheka broke in. “The year past, our spies do tell us, the Horsekin did march into the Land of the Slavers, and there did they suffer defeat. Many men fell before the walls of some town or other. An even greater boon is this: they did lose many horses. For some little while must they lick their wounds and let their herds replenish.”
“Which does give us a bit of time,” Verrarc said. “I thank all the gods for this.”
“Well spoken, though mayhap it's the Slavers we should be thanking.” Zatcheka paused for a long moment. “This be the time to discern who be our friends and who our foes.”
So! Verrarc thought. There it be, the thing which brought her to us. The council members looked at each other, glanced away. Hennis seemed to be about to speak, then settled back into his chair. Admi mopped his face again.
“I think me you do guess my meaning,” Zatcheka said. “For thirty years and more my town and my people have upheld an alliance with you, but that pact does touch upon matters of trade, not of war. It be time, Honored Councilmen, to put steel behind fine words.”
When the babble of talk started up again, she held up one hand flat for silence. Verrarc was struck by how oddly long and delicate her pale fingers were. The talk died down.
“I expect no answer right here and now,” she said, smiling. “Such would be most unmannerly and impious. I do ken the ways of your town. You must speak of this among yourselves, and then hold council with all your fellow citizens. Bain't?”