The Schemes of Dragons

XXIV

THREE DAYS AFTER Keron's visit, Janna summoned Toren to her chamber. "Time to decide," she declared. "Struth and I have done what we could to train you. We'll teach you no more unless you agree to help us kill Gloroc. Will you do so, or will you leave for home?"

Toren paced back and forth, staring out at the crustaceans and kelp "outside" the dome. He took a deep breath. "Yes. I will wear the gauntlets, if I can."

The high priestess nodded, losing none of her solemnity. "Then it is time for one more test." She strolled back to the table between her divans, where a kettle of water heated above a small brazier. "Only one candidate before you reached this point. I must warn you that this test killed her."

"I know. Deena told me."

Janna folded her hands. "It was unintentional, of course. The spell is both powerful and delicate. When I sensed that she was failing, I tried to halt it, but I was too late. The same may happen with you. If Struth and I were convinced that you would fail, we would not have you attempt it. But we have reason to think you will overcome."

Toren continued pacing. "Then let's be done with it." His mind filled with thoughts of Rhi, and then with thoughts of Deena.

Janna blew out the brazier flame and sprinkled tea leaves into the steaming water. The liquid darkened. She let it steep for the count of five, then she hurriedly poured two cups, as if the timing were critical. She handed one to Toren. "Drink this when I tell you. It will be as hot as you can stand it, but you must get it down quickly."

A pungent fragrance smote his nostrils. "What is this called?"

"The Tea of Dreams. A bit like the potion you took when Obo taught you the High Speech, or when your shaman created your totem, but its effects are more short-lived. It will last just long enough for the test."

"You have to drink it as well?"

"Yes. That's one of the reasons I couldn't save the former candidate. To push you to your limit, I must tread a fine line of equilibrium myself. There is danger for me as well as you."

The porcelain warmed in his hands. Finally she gestured. He followed her example and drank the tea by sucking it in very quickly, letting the indrawn air cool it. His tongue and cheeks tingled from the heat, and from the spicy flavor.

Janna moved the table from between the divans and they sat across from each other in their customary arrangement: knees touching knees, left hands clasped. Their gazes locked. Gradually the background noises grew unusually loud. Toren's pulse murmured in his temples. A faint echo of ocean currents beat at the walls. A whale sang somewhere in the distance. Janna's pupils became black pools, drawing him within.

He heard a sudden buzz, followed by the by-now-familiar sensation of being elsewhere. The high priestess's dome vanished. He waited to be taken to whatever place she intended, but no visions came. Blackness surrounded him, neither warm nor cold. The only sound was a rhythmic beat, like that of his heart.

The place was old.

He couldn't say how he knew this when he didn't even know where he was, or how a dark, featureless location could have an age to begin with, but he felt the centuries weigh down upon him. Weariness took him. There was nothing interesting here. He wanted only to sleep, only to shut off his awareness.

No.

Alarm overwhelmed him. He tried to break through the dark walls, and they squeezed more tightly. He started to inhale, but a veil coated his face, smothering him. He tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. He had no limbs, he had no eyes. He was caught like a gnat in honey.

Sleep, said a voice. Be mine. I am your one and only true guide.

An inner conviction told him he had to break free now, or not at all. But his limbs refused to move, and the direction out of the blackness eluded him. He desperately stanched waves of panic and screamed, "Geim! Stop her!"

He had last seen Geim helping repair the mortar around one of the pools in the garden. Toren despaired. There was no time for his fellow Vanihr to run here from the site. Toren saw pinpoints of light flicker chaotically in front of his eyes. The veil of suffocation clenched more tightly. Oblivion reached up for him. Not enough time…

But time flowed strangely here. Suddenly his head rang. Janna's audience chamber splashed into view. All his senses returned.

Janna lay sprawled across her divan. Geim stood over her, his open hand upraised. He shook his head, slightly glassy-eyed. A red welt was rising on the priestess's cheek.

Toren stared, dumbfounded. Geim recovered his wits and grunted in astonishment. The woman on the divan, though nearly identical in height, complexion, and hair color with Janna, was not the same person. Her body was narrower, her breasts smaller, her chin more angular, her fingers slightly longer. As she groaned and lifted her head into full view, Toren noticed faint lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, the first traces of lost youth.

She blinked. "I'm sorry, my lady," Geim blurted, helping her to sit up. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't even know why I burst in here."

"You were compelled," she said evenly, gently pressing her cheek. She winced. "That was an excellent maneuver, Toren. Struth and I thought of a number of ways you might break out of the trap. Bringing help from outside didn't occur to us. But it was legitimate-and most important of all, it worked. You passed the test."

Toren heard her words, but their full impact did not sink in. He continued to stare at her in puzzlement. "But your appearance?"

Janna smoothed the delicate lines in her neck. "A gift from Struth-an illusion, like the ocean you see through these walls. I was so wrapped up in the spellcasting that I couldn't do my part to maintain it."

"But why hide your features?"

"Many things are hidden in the temple of Struth. Call this one a woman's vanity." She waved a hand over her face. As it passed, her familiar countenance returned. "You see? Isn't this more attractive?"

"You were lovely the other way, too," Toren said.

Janna smiled. "You are a flatterer. Think of my junior priestesses. They are all stunning. How would it seem if their teacher were less than exquisite?"

"The illusion is perfect," he said, still confused. "After all this training, why I can't detect the magic that maintains it? All this time, I've never suspected you were masked."

"That's because of Struth," Janna said, and rose. "Speaking of whom, if Geim will excuse us, it is time to visit her."

Geim, rubbing his pate, nodded and walked somewhat drunkenly toward the door. When he was gone, Janna opened the entrance to the frog god's sanctum. She and Toren descended into the strange blue depths.

Struth's chamber already blazed with the werelight, boldly displaying her gigantic amphibian contours. "Welcome," the goddess rumbled, broadcasting directly to his mind. "How does it feel to be alive?"

"It is much better than being dead," Toren said. He frowned. It did not seem natural to exchange jokes with a goddess. He blinked several times. Something was odd. The image of the giant frog was blurry, almost smoky. Struth winked. Instantly her outlines sharpened. Their clarity then matched the walls and columns surrounding her.

Toren's jaw dropped.

"Can you sense her spellcasting?" Janna asked.

"No." He described what he had noticed.

"She allowed you to see that," the high priestess explained.

"Magic has many levels," Struth declared. "Though you are an adept considerably beyond the talents of most wizards, there is a great deal you cannot do. Enough. I'll tease you no more. You've passed the test. You have earned the right to see me as I am, and learn my story. First, let me show you how I weave my illusions."

Struth winked again. Immediately an itch flared in Toren's head. No, that was not correct. The itch had been there previously, but he had ignored it. Thin tendrils of sorcery, almost undetectable even now, held a part of his perceptive apparatus bound. He growled and pushed at them. They clung like spiderweb. At first, for each one that he eliminated, three took its place, but he counselled himself to patience and methodically dealt with them. At last he checked the invasion, and after more effort, forced the last of them out. He shuddered, relieved. He looked at Struth.

There was no giant frog in the room. What replaced the illusion was just as big, but the new shape had a serpentlike torso, massive talons, and deep indigo eyes.

Struth was a dragon.

And a very old, crippled one. The flesh of one of her wings hung in scarred shreds, incapable of sustaining flight. Great bags ringed her eyes. The tips of her fingers, at the base of the talons, were dry and deeply fissured. Unlike the brilliant tones of the dragons of legend, her skin was uniformly grey, showing no scales. But even decrepit, Struth was an intimidating sight. Age had not dimmed the incredible depth of her eyes. And Obo had once told Toren that the older a dragon was, the greater its power.

"How?" Toren whispered. "Why?"

"You are ready for my story?" Struth asked.

"Yes."

"At one time I was like other dragons. I lived apart from humans and others of my kind. I ruled an island in the strait between the Dragon Sea and the Sea of Luck. More than three thousand years ago I fought a battle with another dragon, named Triss. As you can see, I lost. I was in estrus, a thing that happens to a female dragon only two, or perhaps three, times in her entire life. I needed a male, and unfortunately the closest available was Faroc, the mate of Triss. Dragons do not usually mate for life. When I seduced Faroc, I did not expect his jealous spouse to attack me. My condition made me weak, and Triss, though young, was powerful. She left me for dead."

"But you lived."

"Yes. Triss did not stay to kill me herself. She had ruined my wings, which eliminated the threat to her sexual territory-dragons mate only in the air-so she decided to nurse her wounds while I bled to death from mine." Struth lifted a great, taloned leg, and Toren could see massive scars across her underbelly. "She rather enjoyed the thought of me taking many days to expire.

"But luck was with me. As I lay, unable to move, growing weaker, a man appeared. This was unusual, since Faroc, Triss, and I did not tolerate humans in our region, and few ever came there. But come he did, and even in my desperate condition, I had the ability to capture his mind. I made him tend my injuries. He found me food and water. It took weeks, but I was eventually able to move, and in time I returned to health, save for my wings.

"Naturally, I could not live as I had. Originally, I tried to reestablish my domain. But this was impractical without flight. Furthermore, Triss discovered my survival. Now that I was recovered, I was able to protect myself from her by retreating within a ward, but eventually she succeeded in driving me away from my lands. It was only then I thought back to the circumstances of my rescue. I had eaten the man when I no longer needed his services, but I realized there were others like him, and through them, I had the means to create a new domain.

"I made one mistake. At first, I did not conceal the fact that I was a dragon. I soon found that humans avoided me. They would run away unless I kept them constantly under my mental control, which grew quite tedious. Thus, over the centuries I created the frog god. Now my temples attract men of influence from far and wide, willingly yielding useful information to my priestesses. In various indirect ways I am able to pull the strings in all the countries of the Calinin Empire, and several beyond. It is not a path I would have ever dreamed of in my youth, but all in all, it has been a comfortable and amusing existence these past millennia."

"And you've managed to hide even from Gloroc?"

"Yes, though as I told you when you first arrived at the temple, he knows there is a being of great power somewhere in or near Headwater, because of the spell I cast to find candidates such as you. Perhaps he suspects another dragon. And perhaps not. Dragons are creatures of the sea. We absorb most of the energy for our sorcery from water. Unless there is a large body of it nearby, our magical strength is greatly reduced. That is precisely why I chose to locate my main temple so far inland-no one would suspect a dragon to be here."

"But how do you maintain your power?"

"There is a vast underground reservoir beneath this city, fed by the Slip River. There is no rule that a dragon needs salt water. In fact, thick storm clouds will do, as Gloroc's enemies in Tamisan learned this winter. With luck, my ruses have defeated Gloroc and his spies. Only those who live at the temple know that Struth is more than a great statue with an oracular voice, and until this moment only Janna, Obo, and the royal family knew that a dragon hid beneath the guise of the goddess."

Struth stretched her body, and Toren took a step back. "I see now why you're allied with the dynasty of Alemar," he said.

Struth seemed to chuckle, if the light trumpeting could be called that. "Let us say that I was pleased when the wizard destroyed Faroc and Triss. In time Alemar sensed my existence, and I made myself known to him. We understood each other, kept our spheres of influence from encroaching on one another. And when the wizard's time grew short and he came to my temple to die, I gladly promised him that when the offspring of Faroc and Triss at last appeared, I would aid his descendants in their fight should they ask it."

"Your gratitude has lasted a thousand years?" Toren asked.

"It is more than that. Gloroc is an impulsive, feral child. He has never been educated in the proper limits of behavior. He wants to rule everything-the entire world. If there were a portal back to Serpent Moon, he would go through it and try to rule there, too. He threatens my realm. Even if I didn't hate him for his mother's actions, I don't need an upstart disrupting my handiwork. Kill him, Toren. The gauntlets will give you the power to negate his powers of illusion-all his powers if you can get near him. Touch him with them and even his physical strength will fail him."

"That powerful? It sounds as though they could stop you as well."

"Why do you think I've insisted they be kept in Cilendrodel? I would not take kindly to their presence within the borders of Serthe. Had it been otherwise, Alemar would not have had to hide them in the Eastern Deserts."

For a moment, Toren pictured himself as a giant, with his hands around the neck of a pitifully small dragon. Suddenly the tiny creature spat flame. The bolt struck Toren in the eye and killed him. Somehow Struth made the prospect of Gloroc's assassination seem overly simple. "You're sure I am properly attuned to use the talismans?"

"As certain as I can be. Only the actual use of them will prove it. The Dragonslayer wasn't absolutely sure they would work even for him."

Toren glanced at Janna, seeking the reassurance of a familiar face, but without the sorcery affecting his perceptions, he saw only her older aspect. He sighed. If one dragon could trick him so thoroughly, what might Gloroc do? "Let's not waste time, then," he told Struth. "How am I supposed to do this thing?"

"First, of course, you must journey to Cilendrodel, to obtain the gauntlets from Alemar and Elenya, the children of King Keron. From there you'll travel to Gloroc's capital, Dragonsdeep. It will be a hazardous mission, but I have high hopes. Thanks to a trap the Dragonslayer laid long ago, Gloroc has unwittingly left himself vulnerable."

Deena tightened her belt and checked her reflection in the burnished urn on her vanity table. "I'm ready," she told Toren.

The modhiv scanned her riding garments, a sentimental gleam in his eye. "Now you look like the woman I walked beside through the long leagues of the Wood." He gently brushed the underside of her chin, his habitual gesture of affection. "Though I was getting used to the accommodating temple girl."

She stroked his wrist. "I may be friendlier on this road than on the last." They grinned knowingly at each other.

"Come, then," he said, smile fading. "The rest of the party should be there by now."

Pinpricks of nervousness danced along the soles of Deena's feet as they walked toward Janna's dome. No safe haven at the end of this journey. But she could not have stayed, as Toren had suggested, not when she had a chance for revenge. The ghosts of her family clung to the hem of her cloak.

Three guards nodded gruffly at the entrance to the dome. An empty chamber greeted Toren and Deena as they stepped in. The opening to the stairs yawned. They descended without pause.

Deena heard the shuffle of feet and hooves and the murmur of voices even before they reached the bottom. The great frog, as motionless as the statue in the amphitheater above, waited at the far side of the audience chamber. To the left stood Janna. To the right Geim and a group of five temple guards clustered near the wall, holding a dozen oeikani-eight handsome saddle animals and four sturdy pack beasts with heavy loads.

Deena wondered how the oeikani had been brought underground, but was not surprised to see them. One became accustomed to the incredible at the temple of Struth.

The men seemed glad to see Toren and Deena. Their glances darted nervously in the direction of the frog god. Deena, who had only seen the goddess twice face to face, empathized with them.

"The party is assembled," Struth boomed. "Tarry no longer. I have waited more than a thousand years to see Gloroc fall. Remember what I have shown you, Toren."

Toren nodded. Of all those present, he alone faced Struth squarely.

The modhiv patted Deena on the shoulder and strode alone to the wall near the assembled travellers. "Cover your eyes," he said loudly.

Deena did as she was told. Daylight blazed into the chamber, banishing the werelight, shining red between the gaps of her fingers. The oeikani cried in confusion, dancing on their cloven hooves. Blinking, Deena faced the other way. She saw Struth towering toward the ceiling, ugly and horrific in the full illumination. She gulped and turned back to the wall.

Where dank stone had been, now the view showed a mountain valley, deep in shadow, thick with trees. A meadow spread out before them, lush green, dotted with wildflowers, waterlogged from the midsummer run-off from the glaciers much higher up.

Toren lowered his hand. Deena noticed that he lacked a lens or other talisman. It seemed to be no strain to him to keep the portal open without one. Perhaps it was as Obo had once hinted to her: A portal was a talisman, for those who could use it that way.

It was at times such as these that Toren was a stranger to her. The scope of his sorcery chilled her.

Toren smiled ironically at Geim. "Your turn to go first, my friend." To the whole party he said, "Remember to keep your mouths open as you pass through. There will be a slight change in the pressure of the air."

Geim gathered the reins of his animal and one of the pack beasts and stepped through. The other men followed in disciplined order. Toren gave Deena both of their mounts. "You showed me how to do this once," he said, and chuckled.

She smiled, knotted the reins tightly around her hand, and pulled her charges through. The usual slight tingle flitted across her skin as she crossed the line. Abruptly her ears felt as if they had been skewered with needles. She worked her jaw. Her eardrums popped five times in a row.

The oeikani did not appreciate the change in altitude, either. She pulled them forward across the spongy grass, momentarily awed by the magnificence of the snowcapped peaks. The ranges just north of Serthe were foothills by comparison.

"The Syril," Geim said. "I wandered through these mountains once, a year before I came to Headwater."

Deena began to fret. Toren had not come through, and she could see only a black rectangle behind her. Finally he appeared. He winced at the pressure shift and waved his hand, closing the portal.

"Problems?" she asked.

"A farewell kiss from Janna," he said, straight-faced. Her eyes flashed. He grinned. She slapped him good-naturedly. Perhaps she had misjudged his composure in the face of Struth; he seemed tremendously relieved to be out of her sight.

"The frog god seems to have a portal for every occasion," she commented. The annoying ring in her ears was fading.

"Far from it," Toren replied. "Portals are rare. Struth chose to build her temple there partly because of the presence of that one. For escape."

"Struth needing escape? That's a frightening thought."

"I don't think she's ever had cause to use it," he replied. "In any event, it's mostly luck that we had a short cut north. As it is, we still have a long journey out of these mountains and across the western half of Cilendrodel."

The sun blossomed into incandescent glory along the ridgeline to the east. Toren stepped forward, reconnoitering. To either side rose towering cordilleras. The terrain would force them to ride due north for many leagues, even though their destination lay eastward. The meadow loam sucked noisily at his heels. Thickets of aspen and birch shivered in a brisk alpine wind. A falcon skimmed above a barren, scree-ridden slope. A partridge suddenly bolted from concealment.

"No settlers, plenty of game," he said. "For once may we travel with no incident." Deena could tell he was pleased to be moving, gratified to be in command.

"Let's ride," Toren said, and helped Deena into her saddle.