Loved her enough to let her return to human form.
Loved her enough to return her to John.
But after the death-spells were wrought and bound into the harpoons, she sat on the rickety platform above the Hold, her arms clasped round her knees, listening to the far-off voices of her husband and her son and remembering the skeletal black shape in the darkness, the silver labyrinthine eyes.
Morkeleb.
Mother?
Starlight showed the trapdoor that opened among the slates of the turret roof, but it did not penetrate the shadow underneath. Mageborn, Jenny was able to see her elder son, Ian, a weedy twelve-year-old, her own night-black hair and blue eyes in Johns beaky face. He stepped onto the steeply slanting roof and made to come down the stairs, and she said, No, wait there. The weariness of working the death-songs dragged at her bones. Let me gather these up and send them on their way.
Ian, she knew, would understand what she said. Only this year his own powers had started to manifest: small, as any teenagers werethe ability to call fire and find lost objects, to sometimes see in fire things far away. Ian sat on the trapdoors sill and watched in fascination as she drew the glimmer from out of the circles, collecting it like cold spider-silk in her hands. All magic, Caerdinn had taught her, depended on Limitations. Before even beginning to lay down the circles of power, let alone summon the death-spells, she had cleansed the platform with rainwater and hyssop and laid on each separate rough-hewn plank such Words as would keep the vile magics from attaching to the place itself. Spells, too, were required to hold the wicked ferocity of what she had done within a small space, so it would not disperse over the countryside and cause ruin and death to everyone in the Hold, in the village, in the farms that nestled close to the walls. Like a miser picking up pinhead-sized crumbs of gold dust with his fingernails, so Jenny gathered into her palms each whisper and shudder of the death-spells residue, named them and neutralized them and released them into the turning starlight.
Can I help?
No, not this time. You see what Im doing, though? He nodded. As she worked, she felt, rising through heras it always rose, it seemed to her, at the most inopportune of timesthe miserable flush of heat, the reminder that the change of a womans life was coming upon her. Patiently, wearily, she called upon other spells, little silvery cantrips of blood and time, to put that heat aside. With spells of cursing you must be absolutely thorough, absolutely clean, particularly with spells worked in a high place, she said.
Ians eyes went to Johns telescope, mounted at the far side of the platform; she saw he read her thought. It would not take much, they both knew, for the rail to give way, or John to lose his balance. A fragment of curse, a stray shadow of ill will, would be enough to cause John or Ian or anyone else to forget to latch the trapdoor, or for the latch to stick, so that Adric or Mag, or one of Cousin Rowanberrys ever-multiplying brood, could come up here
And even so, the platform was the safest place in all the Hold to work such spells.
As she and Ian bore the harpoons down the twisting stair, Jenny remembered what it had been, to be a dragon. To be a creature of diamond heart and limitless power. A creature to whom magic was not something that one didwell or less wellbut the thing that one was: will and magic, flesh and bone, all one.
And not caring if a child fell from the platform.
With the moons rising John and Jenny and Ian rode out from Alyn Hold to the stone house on Frost Fell, where Jenny had for so many years lived alone. It had been Caerdinns house, and Jenny had lived as the old wizards pupil from the time she was thirteen and the buds of power shed had as a child began to blossom. A single big room and a loft, bookshelves, a table of pickled pine, a vast hearth, and a big bed. It was to this house that John had first come to her, twenty-two and needing help against one of the bandit hordes that had been the scourge of the Winterlands in the days before the King sent his protecting armies to them again. Hed been challenged, Jenny recalled, to single combat by some bandit chiefmaybe the one who had slain his fatherand had heard that no weapon could harm a man whod lain with a witch.
But shed remembered him from her own childhood and his. His mother had been Jennys first teacher in the arts of power, a captive woman, an Icerider witch: the scandal when Lord Aver married her had been a nine days wonder through the Winterlands. When her son was four and Jenny seven, Kahiera Nightraven had vanished, gone back to the Iceriders, leaving Jenny with no better instructor than Caerdinn, who had hated all Iceriders and Kahiera above the rest. From that time until his arrival at Frost Fell, she had seen Kahieras son barely a score of times.
Riding up the fell now, she saw him in her mind as she had seen him thencocky, quirky, aggressive, the scourge of maidens in five villages And angry. It was his anger she remembered most, and the shy fleeting sweetness of his smile.
Place needs thatching, he remarked now, standing in Battlehammers stirrups to pull a straw from the overhang of the roof. According to Dotys Catalogues, villagers on the Silver Isles used to braid straw into solid tiles and peg em to the rafterwork, which must have been gie heavy. Cowanthe head stableman at the Holdsays it cant be done, but Ive a mind to try this summer, if I can find how they did the braiding. If were all still alive by haying, that is. Chewing the straw, he dropped from the warhorses back, looped the rein around the gate, and trailed Jenny and Ian into the house. Garn, he added, sniffing. Why is it no matter what kind of Weirds you lay around the house, Jen, to keep wanderers from even seein the place, mice always seem to get in just fine?
Jenny flashed him a quick glance by the soft blue radiance of the witchlight she called and bent to pull from under the bed the box of herbs she kept there. Hellebore, yellow jessamine, and the bright red caps of panther-mushroom, carefully potted in wax-stoppered jars. Jars and box were written around with spells, as the house walls were written, to keep intruders away, but there were two mice dead under the bed nevertheless.
Jenny traced the box with her blunt brown fingertips, automatically undoing the wards she had woven. Calabash gourds from the south contained the heads of water-vipers and the dried bodies of certain jellyfish. Nameless leaves were tied in ensorcelled thread, and waxed-parchment packets held deadly earths and salts. On the other side of the room Ian hunted among the few books still on the shelf; John caught Jenny around the waist, tripped her and tossed her onto the old flattened mattress, grinning impishly as she flung a spell across the room to keep Ian unaware of his parents misbehavior
Behave yourself. She wriggled from his grasp, giggling like a village girl.
Its been too long since weve come here. He let her up, but held her with one arm on either side of her, hands grasping the rough bedpost behind her back. Though only a little over medium height himself, John was easily a foot taller than she; the witchlight flashed silvery in his spectacles and in the twinkle of his eyes.
And whose fault is that? She kept her voice lowIan was still preoccupied with his search. I wasnt the one who made stinks and messes and explosions in quest of self-igniting kindling all spring. I wasnt the one who had to try to make a flying machine from drawings hed found in some old book
And whose fault is that? She kept her voice lowIan was still preoccupied with his search. I wasnt the one who made stinks and messes and explosions in quest of self-igniting kindling all spring. I wasnt the one who had to try to make a flying machine from drawings hed found in some old book
That was Heronax of Ernine, protested John. He flew from Ernine to the Silver Isles in itwherever Ernine wasand Ive gie near got the thing working properly now. Youll see.
He gathered her hair up in his hands, an overflowing double handful of oceanic night, and bent to kiss her lips. His body pressed hers to the tall, smooth-hewn post, and her hand explored the leather of his doublet, the rough wool of the dull-colored plaid wrapped over his shoulder, the hard muscle beneath the linen sleeve. Ian apparently bethought himself of some ingredient hidden inexplicably in the garden, for he wandered unseeing outside; the scents of the old house wrapped them around, moldy thatch and mice and the wild whisper of summer night in the Winterlands.
The heat of her bodys changing whispered to her, and she whispered back, Go away. It was not just the little cantrips, the knots of warding and change, that turned aside those migraines, those flashes of moodiness, those alien angers. It was this knowledge, this man, the lips that sought hers and the warmth of his flesh against her. The joy of a girl who had been ugly, who had been scorned and stoned in the village streets, who had been told, Youre a witch and will grow old alone.
The knowledge that this was not true.
Later she breathed, And your dragon-slaying machine.
Aye, well. He straightened from hunting her fallen hairpins, and the hard line returned to crease the corner of his mouth. Thats near done, too. Mores the pity I spent this past winter tryin to learn to fly instead.
Early in the morning Jenny kindled fire under the cauldrons that Sergeant Muffle had set up in the Holds old barracks court. She fetched water from the well in the corner and spent the day brewing poisons to put on the ensorcelled harpoons. In this she accepted Ians help, and Johns, too, and it was all Johns various aunts could do to keep Adric and Mag from stealing into the court and poisoning themselves in the process of lending a hand. By the late-gathering summer twilight they were dipping the harpoons into the thickened black mess, and the messenger from Skep Dhû joined them in the court.
It isnt just the garrison that relies on that herd, the young man said, glancing, a little uncertainly, from the unprepossessing, bespectacled form of the Dragonsbane, stripped to a rather sooty singlet, doeskin britches, and boots, to that of the Witch of Frost Fell. His name was Borin, and he was a lieutenant of cavalry at the garrison, and like most southerners had to work very hard not to bite his thumb against evil in Jennys presence. The manors the Regent is trying to establish to feed all the new garrisons depend on those cattle as well, for breeding and restocking. And we lost six, maybe eight bulls and as many cows, as far as we can gatherthe carcasses stripped and gouged, the whole pasture swept with fire.
John glanced at Jenny, who could almost read his thoughts. Fifteen cattle was a lot.
And you got a good look at it?
Borin nodded. I saw it flying away toward the other side of the Skepping Hills. Green, as I said to you last night. The spines and horns down its back, and the barb on its tail, were crimson as blood.
There was a moments silence. Ian, on the other side of the court, carefully propped two of the harpoons against the long shed that served John as a workroom; Sergeant Muffle leaned against the side of the beehive-shaped clay furnace in the center of the yard and wiped the sweat from his face. John said softly, Green with crimson horns, and Jenny knew why that small upright line appeared between his brows. He was fishing through his memory for the name of a star-drake of those colors in the old dragon-lists. Teltrevir, heliotrope, the old list said, the list handed down rote from centuries ago, compiled by none knew whom. Centhwevir blue, knotted with gold.
Only a dozen or so are on the list, said Jenny quietly. There must be dozenshundredsthat are not.
Aye. He moved two of the harpoons, a restless gesture, not meeting her eyes. We dont even know how many dragons there are in the world, or where they liveor what they eat, for that matter, when theyre not makin free with our herds. His voice was deep, like scuffed brown velvet; Jenny could sense him drawing in on himself, gathering himself for the fight. In Gantering Pellus The Encyclopedia of Everything in the Material World it says they live in volcanoes that are crowned with ice, but then again Gantering Pellus also says bears are born shapeless like dough and licked into shape by their fathers. I near got meself killed when I was fifteen, findin out how much he didnt know about bears. The Liever Draiken has it that dragons come down from the north
Will you want a troop of men to help you? asked Borin. In the short time hed been at the Hold hed already learned that when the Thane of the Winterlands started on ancient writings it was better to simply interrupt if one wanted anything done. Commander Rocklys said she could dispatch one to meet you at Skep Dhû.
John hesitated, then said, Better not. Or at least, have em come, but no nearer than Wormwood Ford. Theres a reason them old heroes are always riding up on the dragons lair by themselves, son. Dragons listen, even in their sleep. Just three or four men, theyll hear em coming, miles off, and be in the air by the time company arrives. If a dragon gets in the air, the man going after it is dead. You have to take em on the ground.
Oh. Borin tried hard to look unconcerned about this piece of news. I see.
At a guess, John added thoughtfully, the things laired up in the ravines on the northwest side of the Skepping Hills, near where the herd was pastured. Theres only one or two ravines large enough to take a dragon. It shouldnt be hard to figure out which. And then, he said grimly, then well see who gets slain.
TWO
IT WAS A ride of almost two days, east to the Skepping Hills. John and Jenny took with them, in addition to Borin and the two southern soldiers whod ridden with hima not-unreasonable precaution in the WinterlandsSkaff Gradely, who acted as militia captain for the farms around Alyn Hold, and two of Jennys cousins from the Darrow Bottoms, all of whom were unwilling to leave their farms this close to haying-time but equally unwilling to have the dragon move west. Sergeant Muffle was left in command of the Hold.
Theres no reason for it, argued Borin, who appeared to have gotten the Hold servants to launder and press his red military tunic and polish his boots. Theres been no sign of bandits this spring. Commander Rocklys has put this entire land under law again, so theres really no call for a man to walk armed wherever he goes. He almost, but not quite, looked pointedly at Gradely and the Darrow boys, who, as usual for those born and bred in the Winterlands, bristled with knives, spiked clubs, axes, and the long slim savage northern bows. Jenny knew that in the Kings southern lands, farmers did not even carry swordsmost of the colonists who had come in the wake of the new garrisons were, in fact, serfs, transplanted by royal fiat to these manors and forbidden to carry weapons at all.