The Schemes of Dragons

XXIX

ALEMAR LEANED BACK against the broadleaf tree, Wynneth nestled in the crook of his arm. His right hand, bereft of the gauntlet, slid back and forth over his wife's rotund belly. The baby kicked. Alemar and Wynneth exchanged a smile.

The couple were part of a ring of people that surrounded Toren and received an account of his travels. Alemar listened with mute detachment, saving his questions. He felt warm and relaxed, able for once to be himself and enjoy his wife's company and his comrades' excitement. One of the burdens of his life had shifted to other shoulders.

Toren spoke clearly and well. The rebels insisted on lengthy descriptions of the Wood, which amazed them both by its resemblance to and difference from Cilendrodel's great forest. They listened raptly to the account of life at the temple of Struth, eager to know more of their strange ally. Fond memories welled up inside Alemar when the modhiv mentioned that Obo was the source of his skill with the High Speech. The prince approved of the candidate's open, guileless demeanor and the patience with which he answered questions. He had not known what to expect from a man sent by a dragon. He also liked the tender glances the Vanihr shared with his woman companion. Could it be true that, after all these years, their designs to reconquer Elandris were coming to fruition?

All too soon, the preliminaries ended. Toren related the plan that Struth had given him.

"As long as the Dragon lives, Elandris will not be taken by force of arms. The emperor of the Calinin has committed his forces, and King Keron will soon be leading an offensive through Tamisan and Thiagra, but the effort will be doomed unless we succeed in assassinating Gloroc. I will lead a group of five or six men in secret to Dragonsdeep. Gloroc resides in the palace there. If we can surprise him in his chambers, we can kill him."

The audience listened in total silence. Alemar's pulse quickened. There. It was said. And even though Toren had faltered before pushing out the last four words, the hope had been made solid and immediate.

"Catching him there is crucial," Toren continued. "But there is good reason to think we can do it. Alemar the Great prepared the trap when he built Dragonsdeep-called Wizardsdeep then-over a millennium ago. As the last of his undersea cities, he made it more grandiose than any of the others, made it the capital of the empire. Its reception hall is one of the few indoor locations in the nation vast enough for a dragon's comfort. For those reasons alone it was natural that Gloroc choose the room as his lair, but that is only part of the story.

"The reception hall contains a portal. Alemar knew that dragons have a penchant for portals. They and the Shagas came to this world through a portal from Serpent Moon. They can sense these passageways from great distances and make use of them whenever they can. Just after Alemar slew Faroc, Triss arrived on the scene by means of one."

Alemar raised his eyebrows. He had heard the account of the slaying many times, and had always wondered how the female dragon could have responded so quickly to her dying mate's summons.

"Most portals that men know of are useless," Toren continued, "because they lead into solid rock, or ocean bottom, or the mouths of volcanoes, or to places… elsewhere. But dragons, as flying creatures, can make use of the relatively large number that exist between points in midair. They prefer to live near one. The reception chamber at Dragonsdeep contains a portal that leads to a corresponding hall in the palace of the nearby city of Seacliff. Alemar deliberately built around both those sites, partly for his own convenience, and partly because the lure would prove irresistible to Gloroc."

"But that's not a trap," Elenya interjected. "That's an escape."

"True. That is one of the reasons Struth hopes Gloroc does not suspect his vulnerability. The portal is an escape route. When we surprise him, we must do it so suddenly and completely that he cannot slip out through it. Or if he does, we must be prepared to follow."

"And how are you going to manage that?" Elenya asked skeptically. "How can you even get into the city without being discovered, much less get inside the palace?"

"There is a tunnel under Dragonsdeep, again built by the Dragonslayer. His own escape route, you might say, though he never had cause to use it. It runs from the art gallery adjoining the reception hall to a spot two leagues outside the great dome. We'll come up inside his guards, inside his gates. We've only a few dozen yards of gallery and a long foyer to traverse to get to him."

"It seems too easy," Elenya countered.

"With luck, getting there will be easy. The assassination itself will be the hard part." Toren splayed his fingers, holding the gauntlets up to the sunshine filtering through the forest canopy. "That's when these play their part. If I am indeed able to use them to full potential-and if the Dragonslayer designed them correctly in the first place-then Gloroc will be powerless. There is a deposit of thrijish coral under Dragonsdeep, though not as much as under other Elandri cities. As you know, thrijish disrupts dragonmagic. Gloroc thinks he has insulated himself from it, but with the gauntlets, I can heighten the effect of the coral many times over. I can immobilize him while my companions stab him with knives coated with dragonsbane. The uncertainty is that we really don't know just how powerful Gloroc is, or whether I have the needed resources. If he breaks free, if I lose my concentration, if human guards appear at the wrong moment… I think you see the challenge. In particular, if he slips through the portal, my capture spell will be shattered. I can follow, but I would have to cast it anew on the other side. Without the element of surprise, Gloroc would surely roast me to a cinder before I could succeed."

Elenya pursed her lips and said nothing.

"Those who accompany me may die," Toren said solemnly. "Even if we succeed, Gloroc's guards or sorcerers could find us before we make it back to the tunnel. I have no choice but to go, but I will demand it of no one else. Geim has volunteered, but I will need others who know the ocean."

"I will go," Tregay announced. "I was born in Elandris." Several others echoed his cry.

"I'll make no choices today," Toren said. "I want all of you to think about it. Tomorrow is soon enough, or the day after. Come to me one by one, when the presence of your comrades is not there to goad you to impulsive decisions."

Alemar felt Wynneth's gaze boring into him. He turned and met it. Her expression intensified.

"Oh, no," she murmured. "I know that look."

"I have to go," he said as they lay in their tent that night, naked bodies pressed against each other for warmth.

"Why?" she hissed. "Alemar. The baby."

"I'll be back before the birth."

"Let Elenya go. She wants to see Gloroc dead. She won't believe it unless she's there when it happens."

"Elenya hasn't looked into Omril's mind as I have. I know the layout of the palace, of the city. If something goes wrong, we may need that information."

"But you're needed here," Wynneth insisted. "The Dragon's ships could arrive any day with the reinforcements. The people need their prince."

"They'll accept Elenya. In pitched battle, she's a better leader than I."

She tugged at an errant lock of hair. "I'm sorry. I know you have your duty. I know we have to use every resource. But I just can't be stoic about this."

He stroked her cheek. "You've survived before, when I was gone to the Eastern Deserts."

She sat up abruptly. "Don't try to console me with that! You were supposed to be gone a few months. It turned out to be two and a half years. Besides, we had scarcely become lovers when you left. We had no obligations to each other."

"This obligation can't be transferred."

He hated having to argue his side. Wynneth's every word stung, because he could not deny her right to feel as she did. It irked him to have to put Elandris first. Though he could name every island in the Dragon Sea, and every city beneath it, he had never been to his father's kingdom. Cilendrodel was his home, a frontier province free of the whimsies and affectations of the ancient kingdoms, a place where he could disappear into the groves and sing with the rythni. Except for a few brief months during his apprenticeship with Gast in the Eastern Deserts, he had never been happy anywhere else.

"I don't want to go," he said hoarsely.

She opened her mouth to say something more, but her shoulders drooped in defeat. "Of course not, you wood maggot," she cursed, but the spite was gone from her tone. Suddenly she leaned down and pressed her lips against his. They lingered that way, and when she at last pulled away, a different kind of fire smoldered in her eyes. She cupped her hand around his groin, and squeezed gently until she obtained the response she wanted.

"You're here now," she sighed. She shifted her round belly out of the way with an experienced air and pulled him toward her.

Toren and Deena snuggled together, savoring the afterglow. She wiped a light beading of sweat from her cleavage and wiped it impishly over his nose. He jumped in surprise.

"Thoughts elsewhere already?" she asked.

He ran his fingertips along the side of her body and down her leg from the knob of her pelvis to her knee. "I'm afraid so," he admitted.

Her light-hearted gleam dimmed. She turned his head away from the gauntlets, which lay quiescent beside them. "Are you sure you won't let me come with you?"

He shook his head. "It's as I said before. I would worry about your safety. I need as few distractions as possible."

"And the revolt here could use an archer of my caliber," she said, finishing his speech for him.

"Yes."

She rolled over and shook a twig from her short brown locks. "To be truthful, in some ways it is easy to part ways now. I will lose sleep over your safety, of course, but if fortune favors us, we'll be reunited. Much better for me than to see you depart for the Wood, never to return." Even in the dim illumination, Toren could read her posture. She was not reconciled to either course.

"I haven't decided what I will do once this task is over," he said. He stroked her spine. "If I went back to the land of the Fhali, would you come with me?"

"I've been there," she said in Vanihr.

"Your accent is terrible," he said, realizing as he spoke that she had deliberately exaggerated it.

"That's my point. I don't belong there. But if you asked me to go, I would."

She lifted her head to peer at him. He stared back, lips poised to respond, but he thought of nothing to say. She nestled up against him and they began a long and largely unsuccessful attempt to sleep.

The surface of the sea loomed just above Elenya's head, thick with foam. The breakers boomed, loud despite being muffled by the water. She adjusted her airmaker and glanced back at her team. They rose in perfect formation. The dive had wasted away most of the morning, but it was time well spent. Her students had shown how well they had absorbed their lessons.

Behind her swam Toren, Geim, and the three men chosen to fill out the raiding party. The latter included Tregay and a pair of Elandri refugees named Match and Ebben. All were longtime rebels of unquestioned loyalty. They scarcely needed to hone their underwater skills. The trio knew the sea better than Elenya, and had proved it during the week of training with their suggestions and demonstrations. But they participated in every dive, to adjust to working as a team.

Dalih accompanied them, though he was not going to Elandris. Elenya had simply felt it efficient to teach him to use airmakers and vests as well.

Her head broke the surface. Hot, invigorating sunshine pummeled her back as she waded into the shallows, doffing her airmaker. She sighed gratefully at the warm rays; Achird had finally burned back the persistent layer of fog rolling in from the Dragon Sea.

Alemar stood on the bluff, high above the crashing surf, shading his eyes against the glare. She waved a signal of all's well.

The others joined her on the beach, clambering onto a pitted outcropping of rock to rescue their feet from the scorching white sand. Dalih helped her remove her vest and weights.

"Well? Do you like it better yet?" she asked the Surudainese.

"The sands I know are dry," he declared, "and water is meant for drinking."

She chuckled. "Perhaps I should show you how to fence underwater."

"Then it might be worth it," he stated.

She stepped over to a nearby tidepool to stow her gear in the net that waited there, so that the dry air would not hurt the devices. Toren and Geim passed theirs to her as well. She nodded approvingly to them.

"You're quick learners. One can never know too much, of course, but you've grasped the basics. You've a hundred leagues during which to become proficient. There's no need to delay the mission any longer."

Toren glanced down at the gauntlets. Wet and cleansed by the swim, the mail cast scintillations of gold toward the sky. "Good," he said simply.

The two Vanihr rejoined the others in order to hear Ebben and Match's critique. Elenya, body dried by the ocean winds, slid into the tunic she had left on the beach and started up the switchbacks and ledges to Alemar's vantage point. As she left she heard Dalih ask Ebben a question in High Speech. She smiled at his butchery of Calinin syntax.

Her face was solemn by the time she reached her brother. "That's it," she said. "You can leave in the morning."

Alemar stared into the fog bank hovering offshore. She knew it was not the fog he saw, but Elandris far beyond. How ironic that she, who relished new sights and sea travel, should be the one to stay. At the same time, she was not complaining.

"I imagined I saw the Dragon's fleet out there," he said. "But it was only the mists."

She bowed her head, thinking of the work ahead of her while he was gone. "It won't be long until they really do appear," she said. And when they did, she would struggle to keep the resistance alive. For the moment the populace dreamed they could shake off the Dragon's yoke, but an invasion in force could dampen their enthusiasm very quickly. "Gods, I wish you weren't leaving."

"Nor I," Alemar muttered. He raised his right hand and stretched his fingers. The hand was still not as tan as the left, but its color had deepened in the week since Toren had arrived. He glanced down at the beach.

"What do you think of him?" he asked, indicating Toren.

"Sometimes he speaks of his abilities as if they were facts. Other times he doubts himself. Let's hope you reach Dragonsdeep on one of his good days."

"The rythni like him."

She tapped him meaningfully on the top of his head. "You're wasting energy. It's not as if we have a choice about who to send."

Alemar sighed. "I wish I had Treynaf's globe here now. Toren could probably use it, you know, if he's that closely matched with the Dragonslayer."

"The globe works when it wants to. Ask what will happen on this quest and it will show you your great-grandson climbing a tree."

"At least that would be something," he said. "I would know that either I will survive, or my unborn child will, and that my descendant will live where there are trees."

A cold gust curled up off the ocean. Alemar took her hand and led her away from the bluff, into the edge of the great forest. "If I don't come back, try to get Wynneth and my son out of Cilendrodel," he said pensively. "Send them to Lord Dran in Aleoth."

"You'll come back," she said firmly. They both knew she had no reason to sound so confident.

They embraced, arms wrapped tight, chins draped over each other's shoulders. He shook in her grip. Their mindlink opened, but all Elenya received was a gush of fear, no words.

She held him until the salt of his tears dried on her collar. Finally she drifted out of his grip. She readjusted her tunic. A sore, bruised spot ached inside her chest, just behind the heart.

"I'll let you deal with the final preparations," he said. "I'll be with Wynneth tonight."