The Fire Dragon by Katharine Kerr
“It is, truly,” Admi said. “Ah ye gods, this be grievous news!”
Zatcheka rose, nodded all round, then snapped her fingers. Grallezar scrambled up and bowed to the council; the two guards fell in behind her. Without another word or even a wave, Zatcheka led her people out of the chamber.
Admi moaned aloud and tipped his head to rest upon his chair back. Hennis sat rubbing his mouth with the flat of his hand, while Burra and Frie sat like corpses.
“Never did I think such evil as this would come upon Cerr Cawnen,” Admi whispered. “Truly, it would be better to have the fire mountain vomiting than this, better to have the earth shake and heave at our feet.”
For a long tedious while the council sat, speaking little, staring at one another as if they thought themselves already doomed. Finally Verrarc stood up with a toss of his head.
“Fellow councilmen, I do suggest this. Let us each go back home to think on this thing in private. Look at us all, sitting here like stones on the hillside! There be a need on us to recover our wits. Then we can come back here and discuss the matter.”
“Well spoken, Verro.” Admi heaved his bulk out of the chair. “I do agree. And you, my friends?”
The others nodded and rose, shaking out their cloaks or pulling down their tunics, looking at the floor, the table, anywhere but each other.
“I shall send a servant with a message for Zatcheka,” Admi went on. “When it be time for her to rejoin us.”
Verrarc returned to his house to find everyone assembled in the great room. Harl was restocking the wood bin by the hearth, Korla was sweeping, Magpie sat on the floor in the corner. Raena, the only one who could wait for news without such excuses, sat in her chair with mending in her lap and her work basket beside her. If he told them the truth, Verrarc knew, it would be all over town before the council could make a formal announcement.
“Our meeting this morning did go well,” Verrarc said. “The Gel da'Thae woman be here as an ambassador to renegotiate our treaty with her town. It has stood for thirty years, and they hope it to stand for more years yet.”
The servants smiled, nodding. Harl stacked the last bit of wood, bowed, and left, with Korla and Magpie hurrying after him. Raena laid the mending back into her basket and watched him silently as he sat down opposite. With a long sigh he stretched out his legs and sank into the familiar comfort.
“There be more, bain't?” Raena said.
“Just so.” Verrarc kept his voice low. “The wild Horsekin be on the move, Rae. It bodes ill for all the towns out in the Rhiddaer.”
“And so she did come to forge some new alliance for war?”
“Just that.”
Raena swore under her breath and leapt up, then paced over to the window and stared out. Verrarc rose and walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders from behind. He could feel her trembling.
“Here, here, Rae, we're not doomed yet,” Verrarc said. “Zatcheka did tell of some mighty battle that the Kin did wage in the Slavers' country. They were badly defeated, said she, and lack horses and men both. No doubt by the time they be ready to fight again, we'll have set up our defenses here.”
“No doubt.” She sounded angry, he realized, not frightened. “The meddling bitch!”
“What?”
“Forgive me, my love. I know not what I did mean by that. But here, on this matter—will it come to a formal Deciding?”
“Of course.”
Raena spun round to face him. She was near tears.
“Verro, please, I beg you! Don't let a Deciding be called straightaway. Here, be it not a grave matter? How can the townsfolk make up their minds so quickly?”
“Well, truly, Zatcheka did say some such thing herself.”
“She has the right of it. Please, Verro? Just three nights will do.”
“Do for what?”
Raena turned pale and stepped back.
“That I cannot say,” she whispered. “Please, do it for the love of me?”
Verrarc considered, looking her over coldly, drawing the moment out. Two springs ago, Zatcheka had said—just at the time Raena had disappeared. A single tear ran down her cheek as she waited for his answer.
“A bargain, Rae,” Verrarc said. “A bargain for the sake of the love you say you bear me. If I should do this thing for you, will you share the magicks you've gained? For months now you've put me off, saying the time be not ripe or Lord Havoc be not ready. I do wish to ken the lore you ken.”
“You will, my love, you will! I swear it to you. Have I not been gathering it for you, to make you a fine gift of magicks understood rather than scraps and bits of knowledge?”
“I know it not. Have you?”
“I have! I swear it to you. Soon you will learn all that I ken, and no holding back of aught.”
“Done, then! I'll do my best to hold back the Deciding.”
Verrarc gave her a quick kiss, then hurried out. He wanted to be the first man back at the Council House, in order to work on the other members as they came in, one at time and willing, perhaps, to listen.
In the event, however, his task turned out to be easier than he'd thought. Hennis and Burra had grave doubts about rushing this decision through. Though Admi and Frie held out for speed, they were quite simply outnumbered. Still, the debate went on for much of the afternoon, while Zatcheka sat straight-backed in her chair and merely listened, her mouth frozen, it seemed, in her smooth little smile.
“Ah very well!” Admi snapped at last. “We wait, then, to hold a formal Deciding among the citizenry.”
“Three nights would be a good wait,” Verrarc said. “Truly, I do agree with you when you say that we dare not postpone it for long.”
Admi glanced round at the other council members, who all nodded. Everyone turned to the Gel da'Thae ambassador, who laid a hand on the talismans at her throat.
“Deliberation and patience, they be always good,” Zatcheka said. “I have no objections. There be a need on you and me to consider many fine points and details of the treaty, after all.”
“Done then!” Admi said. “Tonight we call council fire to tell the town this bitter news. Three days hence, counting the morrow as the first day, we hold the Deciding upon the finished treaty.”
Although the other council members escorted Zatcheka back to her caravan's camp, Verrarc begged off and returned home to report his victory to Raena. He was expecting that she'd be waiting for him at the door, but she wasn't there, nor was she in the great room or their bedchamber. What had she done, disappeared again? Cursing a steady stream he looked through the entire house. No sign of Raena, but in the kitchen he found old Korla, pounding herbs in a mortar. Nearby Magpie sat on the floor with her arms round her knees, watching.
“Where be my lady?” Verrarc said.
“I've not seen hide nor hair of her.” The satisfaction in Korla's voice was impossible to miss. “Not since you did leave the house for the second meeting.”
“Ye gods! What about Harl? Has he seen her?”
Korla shrugged in massive indifference. Magpie unwound her arms and stood up, giggling.
“Did you see her, child?” Verrarc said.
“She did climb to the top of the back wall, and then she turned into a big black raven and flew away.”
“Here!” Korla laid down her mortar and turned to face her granddaughter. “No daft fancies, lass!”
“It be no fancy.” Magpie stuck her lip out in a pout. “I did see her, I tell you. Not a stitch of clothes did she have on, neither. Then she grew feathers.”
When Korla raised her hand for a slap, Verrarc caught the old woman's wrist.
“Leave her be,” he said gently. “I shan't hold it against the poor half-wit.”
Korla snorted in disgust, but she let the matter drop. Verrarc knew that Magpie might well be telling the plain truth. What if Raena could shape-change? Mazrak. The Gel da'Thae called wizards who could turn themselves into animals by this name. He'd heard stories of such all his life. It w
“Be you ill, master?” Korla said. “You've gone all white.”
“It's naught but weariness.”
“You come sit down, then. I've made soup, and I'll ladle you out some. Good for what ails a man, it is.”
“So it be.” He managed a smile. “And my thanks.”
At sunset the enormous bronze gong that hung in front of the Council House began to clang, calling the citizens to Citadel. Ordinarily, when the Chief Speaker called council fire, most families sent only one trusted member to listen and report back. Tonight, however, it seemed that half the town came across the lake and trudged up the hill in a river of citizens that threatened to engulf the plaza. Niffa was glad that her family lived so close; they found a place to stand right in front, where they could hear well. The Council of Five had arrived early to light the ritual bonfire, and off to one side stood Zatcheka in her doeskin dress with her retinue behind her. When she saw Niffa, she waved. Niffa waved back, but she felt half-sick, thinking of Zatcheka's dead son.
“What's this?” Lael said. “Be it that you've made the acquaintance of the Gel da'Thae woman?”
“Not truly, Da,” Niffa said. “We did meet upon the path and smile back and forth, 'tis all.”
He nodded, satisfied, but Niffa suddenly wondered why such an important person as Zatcheka had acknowledged her. Mayhap she be wonderfully well mannered, she thought, and let the matter rest there.
Servants carried the big round table out of the Council House and stood it up in the pool of light from the blazing bonfire. With some help Admi climbed up on it and stood in the middle to help his voice carry farther. Niffa could see him fidgeting; his eyes darted this way and that, and every now and then he'd grab the hem of his ceremonial cloak to wipe sweat from his face. Finally the plaza held as many of the townsfolk as could possibly cram themselves onto it. Admi raised his arms high for silence, and at length, he got it.
“My fellow citizens!” Admi called out. “I do ask you this night to welcome Zatcheka, ambassador from Braemel, city of the Gel da'Thae. Long have we held alliance with her people.”
Most in the crowd clapped politely; a few voices sang out, “welcome!” Zatcheka nodded gravely in their direction.
“Most serious in import be the matters she has laid before your Council of Five,” Admi went on. “Meer the Bard did tell us, the summer past, that the wild Horsekin, they be on the move. Now do we know the bitter meaning of that. They do lay claim to all the cities and farms south and east of them, and all those who own and tend them, even unto the lands of the Slavers. A goddess, or so they say, has given them this dominion, to take us and ours and all else in the lands of the Gel da'Thae and the Rhiddaer for their spoils.”
No one moved, no one spoke. Niffa glanced around and saw the townsfolk staring at Admi with terrified concentration. The Chief Speaker caught the edge of his scarlet cloak and used it to mop his jowls.
“The Gel da'Thae wish to extend our alliance,” Admi went on, “to military aid and mutual succor in time of war.”
The noise began at that. A woman sobbed, a man swore, whispers rustled back and forth and swelled to a sound rushing like a winter wind. Admi stood and listened, his arms at his sides, his face glistening in the leaping firelight—whether with sweat or tears, Niffa could not tell— while out on the plaza the townsfolk cursed or wept or merely repeated what he'd said to those too far back to hear. Lael flung an arm around Dera's shoulders and pulled her close, as if to protect her. Niffa herself felt that the world had turned suddenly huge and terrible, as if she had looked up to find the familiar stars changed into the glowing eyes of hungry beasts, ready to spring. Reflexively she moved closer to her father, who laid his other hand on her shoulder and drew her into his embrace.
At length, when the talk threatened to turn into shouting, Admi flung his arms up and bellowed for silence. The crowd quieted as fast it could, from those closest to the back, as if a wave of silence washed over the crowd.
“It be no time for despair,” Admi's voice boomed and swelled, “but for vigilance and cunning! We have walls, we have weapons, we have the men to hold those walls. It does behoove us to join our strengths to those who would befriend us.” Admi paused, glancing around at the crowd, looking directly at this person or that. “And yet, this be a grave and serious matter. There be a need on us to refrain from haste and a decision made in fear. What the council would ask you be this: think hard and long on what I have said here tonight. Talk among yourselves, come to us, your councilmen, with your queries and doubts, your counsels and thoughts. The town shall not decide this matter till three more nights have passed.”
Admi stood for a moment more, looking out over the crowd; then he turned and gestured to his fellow councilman. Burra stepped forward and struck the gong hard thrice with the long brass hammer. Verrarc and burly Frie helped Admi down from the table. The meeting had ended.
It took a long time for the crowd to clear the plaza. At first the townsfolk stood silently, as if they knew not what to think or say, then they began to talk among themselves, forming little clots of neighbors and friends. Although many wished to leave, there were only two ways down, the winding path near the front, where three or four people could walk abreast, and a narrow goat track round the back of the Council House, which at night was too dangerous to be useful.
Those at the very back of the crowd finally began to move toward the wider path and start the long plod downhill. Since Lael was tall enough to see over the crowd, he spotted friends nearby and waved vigorously. Murmuring apologies, he and Dera began to squeeze through the crowd to meet them as they did the same from their side. Niffa lost them after they'd gone barely two yards and turned back toward the bonfire.
The councilmen were huddled, arguing over something, off to one side. With her retinue behind her, Zatcheka had moved out of earshot. In the firelight Niffa could see her looking around with the polite little smile of someone waiting. Now, she thought. I cannot let her go on hoping! She ran a hand through her hair to tidy it a bit and walked over to the Gel da'Thae. At her approach the two warriors stepped forward, staves at the ready, but Zatcheka laughed and spoke to them in her own language. They bowed and moved back to let Niffa approach.
“A good eve to you,” Zatcheka said.
“And to you, honored ambassador.” Niffa's mouth had turned dry, but she made herself go on. “My name be Niffa, a citizen of this town. I—” All of a sudden she realized that she could never tell her about Meer's death without explaining how she knew.
“Do go on. I bite not, though I have fangs.”
“My thanks. I did but wish to greet you and wish your stay here a pleasant one.”
“Truly?” Zatcheka was smiling. “I think me you do have more than that in mind. I did wonder if we'd meet, ever since I marked you at the first, when we rode in the gates.”
“You did? Why?”
“And why did you come down to the walls to wait for us? I did ask about you and found that you live here on Citadel, a goodly ways away from the gates.”
Niffa felt herself blush.
“I will tell you first,” Zatcheka said, “as is seemly for a guest. On the night before we reached your city, the gods did send me a dream. At the gates, they did say, you will see this lass. And they did show me your face.”
“And I did dream of a caravan! Go wait, my dream told me. I did think it did pertain to someone else, you see, because my brother, he be travelling home too.”
“So! The gods have had a hand in this, then. Grave things are on the move.”
“Just so, but I do wonder if it be the gods or …” Niffa let her voice trail away.
Zatcheka considered her for a moment, then smiled.
“Or the witchlore, child?”
“Just that,” Niffa said. “I take it then that you do ken these things yourself.”
“I have seen some of the sights along the witchroad. M
“I'd not claim more either. But then I may give you the news I carry, though truly, it be sad, and I do wish I had better.”
Zatcheka went tense, her lips a little parted, her eyes narrowing.
“Be it about my son?” Zatcheka whispered. “My Meer?”
“I fear so. He—well, he has gone to your gods.”
Zatcheka tossed her head back, her mouth open and rigid as if she would wail, but she made no sound. She raised her arms and clasped them across her chest as if to hold in her grief.
“A thousand apologies,” Niffa stammered. “I could not bear it, seeing you hope in vain when I knew he were gone.”
“You have my thanks.” Zatcheka lowered her head at last to look at her. “And you have done a right thing. It were better I know the truth, no matter that the truth be a burning spear plunged into my heart.”
Niffa groped for words, found none, and unthinkingly held out a hand. Zatcheka clasped it in both of hers with a grip almost painful.
“How did you learn of this?” Zatcheka whispered.
“My master in witchlore did tell me in a dream. She be on her way to Cerr Cawnen. I do hope and pray she'll be here soon. She can tell you more.”
Zatcheka gave her hand another squeeze, then let her go.
“You have my thanks,” she repeated, in a voice that throbbed with tears. “Forgive me. I would be alone now.”
Zatcheka glanced back and summoned her people with a wave. Together they strode off across the plaza to the Council House, to wait there, Niffa supposed, till the crowd cleared and they could return to their tents. She herself turned back toward the front of the plaza and found Harl, watching her from some distance away. She walked over to join him.
“By the gods themselves!” Harl said. “And be you not the brave one? Talking with our shaven monster?”
“No monster,” Niffa snarled. “But a woman like all others.”