I saw the skyboat closing on us, arrowing after.
And then a shape descend out of the night.
It was a blackness against the stars, a swooping shadow across the face of the moon. I reined my mount to head-hung standstill and sat the heaving animal entirely oblivious of my comrades, of still-impending danger. I was Mnemonikos-and now I looked on what no other Rememberer had ever witnessed. I could not ignore it, even at cost of my life.
I looked on a dragon.
It came down so swift, I had only an impression of the angled leathery wings that spread impossibly wide as it broke its meteoric descent. A long tail lashed and plumed straight. Great limbs thrust out, much as do a cat’s when that lesser creature looks to break a fall. A massive head extended on a serpentine neck, the jaws opened to display fangs as long as Tezdal’s sword; I had no doubt they should be as sharp. I glimpsed enormous eyes, yellow and unblinking.
It made no more sound than a swooping owl. It was as deadly-and if it were the owl, then the skyboat was the mouse.
There was a gaseous explosion as the dragon struck. For an instant it was outlined clear in the fireball of the skyboat’s destruction. It fell through the wreckage, taloned hindfeet closing on the basket, large enough to encompass that float. The wings beat, lifting the massive body back up through the burning tatters of the ravaged supporting sack. I heard the screams of dying men. I saw the dragon rise, the forelimbs clutching now at the basket, the head descending to pluck at the Kho’rabi as if the awesome creature snatched tidbits from a platter. It shook its head as does a terrier worrying at a rat. Bits and pieces-basket and men all mingled-tumbled down. The dragon let fall its prey and beat its wings and hurtled toward me.
I was only dimly aware of Rwyan turning her horse to come back, to stand beside me as we both stared, awed, at this terrible spectacle.
Then our mounts screamed in naked terror and began to buck as the massive shape swooped low overhead.
I felt pain, and the night sky spun madly before my eyes. Then I felt myself lifted and saw three Rwyans kneeling close, all of them expressing a confusing mixture of concern and terror and amazement and hope. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, there was only one Rwyan, and she was asking if I were well.
I nodded and wished I’d not. I think I said yes, but my gaze was already moving past her to the battle in the sky above. I climbed to my feet, wincing as pain’s daggers stabbed my leg. She came close, easing a shoulder beneath my arm, and I held her and leaned against her as we both watched legend unfold.
Urt came trotting back afoot. He was dirtied by his own fall. His eyes were wide, and his jaw hung open in unalloyed wonder. He said nothing, only stared. He radiated fear: I reached out and set an arm around him. His support was welcome, but mostly I sought to reassure him: he shook like an autumn leaf in a savage wind, hung by the most tenuous connection to the sanity of the tree.
I said, “Urt, they come to save us. Only that! They offer us no harm.” I hoped I spoke true: what I saw in the sky was pure chaos.
He gave me back no answer but a moan. I drew him closer and felt his arm span my waist. He was very hot and trembled constantly.
Rwyan said, “Remember the dreams, Urt! Believe them! This is our salvation come.”
He made a sound like a puppy’s whimper. I thought that this must be how it had been for all those Changed we Truemen left behind in Ur-Dharbek as dragons’ prey, that we might live free. I thought him then the bravest of us all, for he did not run but stood with us and fought the terror inherent in his blood; inherent in what we’d made him.
I heard hoofbeats and saw Tezdal come back, fighting his terrified mount. I wondered at his horsemanship, that he could still control the panicked animal. He snatched it to a stop and sprang down. He was no less amazed than we. I could not tell if he was so frightened, but he let go the reins and stared skyward as the roan stallion ran wild. He drew his sword, and I believed that he would fight the dragons if they attacked us.
Rwyan said, “They come to save us, Tezdal,” and there was such confidence in her voice, he sheathed the blade.
Above us skyboats fell in blossoms of fire.
The night filled with those sparkling flowers as the balloons were burst by claws and fangs and lashing tails. My ears dinned with the howls of dying men and the savage calling of the dragons. Worst, somehow, was the shrieking of the elementals, for that sound lanced sharp into the deepest fibers of my being. It was the sound of creatures entrapped and resentful, now freed and glorying in the destruction of their jailers in a manner quite alien to the triumphant belling of the dragons. Theirs was the shouting of warriors come to honest battle. It was clean as the howling of wolves: they did not gloat, only announced their victory. The elementals made a different sound, and it grated on my nerves and set my teeth on edge. It told me it was wrong to bind such spirits to man’s cause, or any other, save their own. I saw them burst loose and I felt their gratitude, that they were freed from bondage to unwilling cause. I saw (I cannot be absolutely sure, but I tell you what I believe) numerous of them join with the dragons to slay the Kho’rabi, like prisoners turning on their captors. I believe I saw bodies rent without attention of the dragons. It was as if vague forms wound around the falling Sky Lords and slew them as they fell; as if the very air plucked them apart. I think they took their revenge.
Then, I saw only the falling skyboats and the terrible culling of the dragons. The Kho’rabi wizards flung ineffectual magic at the sourian predators; and it was useful as blunt-tipped practice arrows against battle armor.
The dragons seemed not to notice. They shrugged it off and fell and clawed and bit, oblivious of anything save the need to pluck the skyboats from the sky.
Which they did with the calm and bloody efficiency of a wolf pack cutting deer from the herd. Cold as mathematics; indifferent to aught save the task in hand.
And we four stood watching, huddled fearful and patient under that stained and fire-filled sky. Watching our pursuers slain; wondering what our fate should be.
I held Rwyan, and I felt Urt’s terror. I wondered how Tezdal could stand so calm to see his kin slain. I was not afraid. I had passed beyond fear: I felt only wonder then, and I stood awed in witness of what Truemen said could not be, but was.
And then the dragons came down to land before us.
As I had done in dreams, now we all knelt under the beat of those wings. No more oneiric but real; lifting great clouds of swirling grass and dust, heavy as thunder. Awesome as dream-or nightmare-come true, shaped out in flesh: real!
I looked into yellow eyes that took the moon’s place: there was nothing else. I saw bloodied fangs, hung with remnants of flesh. I felt hot breath on my face. I saw talons settled in the dirt before me, like roots sunk in betwixt ground and sky. I saw wings hung all leathery, spread in promise or condemnation. I could not tell or know; only marvel. I saw, beyond the massive body, a tail switch restlessly, lofting clouds of grass. I saw a paw rise: a pink tongue lap absently at crimsoned claws.
I heard a voice say, “So, you are saved. Do you come with me, then? Or shall you wait here like frightened sheep until your hunters come?”
I only stared, dumbstruck. It was Rwyan who said, “Who are you? I’d have a name ere I go with you.”
Laughter then, like any man’s; but more, as if he found amusement in her courage past my understanding.
“Your hope,” he said. “The answer to your … prayers? Surely to the calling of your dreams. Come now; or stay and die here. All of you.”
I could not quite believe that Rwyan rose so readily and went to him-toward those awful, bloodstained fangs. But she paused and reached out to take my hand, and said again, “Who are you?”
And past the dragon’s head I heard him answer, “I am Bellek. Now come with me.”
I followed Rwyan. Urt and Tezdal came behind us. I think not even the Sky Lord was unafraid then.
I halted, wary as the dragon’s head descended closer. But it was only that the rider might dismount, clambering from the long neck to one great shoulder, springing from that to the ground. He grunted, though the distance was not so great, and straightened his back with a heartfelt sigh. The dragon turned its massive head a fraction, an eye observing him with an expression I could only interpret as concern.
He said, “By all the gods, I grow too old for this.”
I stared at him. His hair was the white of snow lit by a cold moon, tied back in a tail that hung to his waist. His face was leathery as his mount’s wings, as dark and seamed with wrinkles, like deep cuts in the flesh. He was shorter than I, about Urt’s size, dressed like some wildman, some hermit come down off his mountain; which, of course, he was. He wore a shirt of patched hide, sewn crude and belted with woven hair, and breeks in no better condition, loose and patched and stained. A wolfskin jerkin was stretched taut by his broad shoulders. Hides bound in rough semblance of boots covered his feet. He smiled, exposing teeth that were startling for their pristine regularity.
“So, you are Rwyan.” His eyes-I could not be certain of the color in the moonlight, but I thought them pale blue or perhaps gray-scanned us all, as if confirming our identities. “And you, Daviot. Then this must be the one called Urt, and this the Sky Lord.”
Tezdal said, “I am Tezdal Kashijan,” offering a deep, formal bow.
Bellek chuckled. “Tezdal shall do, Sky Lord. What ceremony we follow is theirs.”
He gestured at the dragon crouched beside him like some watchful hound.
I leaned on Rwyan and Urt and marveled at all this. I asked, “How do you know our names?”
He laughed again. I wondered if I heard an edge of madness in the sound. He said, “Blood calls to blood, Daviot; and there’s truth in dreams.”
That sounded to me like oracular riddling, but Rwyan said, “I told you! It’s the pattern.”
Bellek shrugged. “What’s in a name?” he asked. “The blood’s in you and called us. Is that a pattern? Perhaps it is. But we can discuss that later-in some place your hunters shall not find us.”
He hesitated then, head cocking toward the dragon, and nodded. “Aye, sweetling, I hear them. Soon, eh? Do you call them, and we’ll be gone.”
I felt then-you know those moments when it seems a voice whispers over your shoulder? Or from the corner of your eye you catch some movement? But when you tune your ear or turn your head, there’s nothing there?-it was like that. I knew Bellek and the dragon spoke together, and almost I could hear what they said. I saw the dragon raise its head and loose an oddly soft hooting call that was answered from across the fields. Then the air grew loud with wingbeats, and more of the terrifying creatures landed about us.
They settled, monolithic and magnificent, bathed in pale moonlight like barbaric statuary. I choked on blown dust, blind a moment. I heard Urt moan softly and felt his shoulders hunch under my arm.