“You must forgive me.” I looked up and saw that Bellek addressed himself to Rwyan. “I’m not much of a cook.”
She licked a droplet of blood from her lips and asked him, “Are you alone here, then?”
For an instant his eyes grew bleak. Then he smiled and shrugged and ducked his head. “Save for the dragons, aye. And have been for a while-hence this disorder.”
I said, “What of the other Dragoncastles?”
He answered me, “Empty of Dragonmasters.”
I said, “You’re truly the last?”
He only nodded in reply; there was a terrible sadness in the simple gesture.
I looked around and saw time’s hand all about me. I felt the weight of ages in the stone. I saw it in his eyes. I asked, “How long?”
He looked at me and smiled, and once again I wondered if I saw the glint of madness there. He said, “I’m no Mnemonikos, Daviot. I lose track of the days, the years; but … a long time.”
I said, “In Dharbek they believe the dragons dead and the Dragonmasters with them.”
He said, “As you’ve seen, they are wrong,” and laughed and filled our tarnished cups.
I asked him where the wine came from, the food.
He said, “Meat’s easy-the dragons do my hunting. The rest?” He paused, grinning mischievously. “I’ve some few friends. Such as may reassure Urt.”
I frowned, chastened by that reminder. I looked to Urt, who ate disconsolately, his head lowered toward his plate. He looked up at that, and I had seldom known his expression so easily read: it was one of hope and disbelief; and fear his hope should prove unfounded.
Bellek said, “There are Changed here, Urt. They’ve no fear of the dragons; no need to fear them.”
Urt said, “Where?” His voice was strident with hope.
Bellek said, “In the valleys. They’ve farms there; they gift me a tithe of their produce.”
Urt looked at him with wondering eyes. My own, I suspect, were wide with curiosity. I said, “How?”
The Dragonmaster laughed. I believe he enjoyed himself, spinning out all these tidbits of knowledge held so long to himself; now to be shared-but slowly-like long-hoarded treasures. He was more than a little crazed. Or saw the turnings of the world from a different vantage point from ours.
He said, “When the Truemen sorcerers created the Changed and left them behind in Ur-Dharbek, there were always some few who lived north of Trebizar. They learned early what I suspect that Raethe of yours knows now-that the dragons hunt men not as food, but for sport. Think on it! You’ve ridden dragons, you’ve seen them hunt.” He gestured at the meat cooling on our platters. “Deer are nothing to them. By the Three, they take a deer easy as a terrier a rat. They take the aurochs-and few men would face such a beast! No, they hunted the men who came here because they enjoyed the sport, and because men challenged their supremacy. And for a while they hunted the Changed of Ur-Dharbek for the same reason. But the Changed-forgive me, Urt-proved poorer sport than Truemen. I think it was likely that Truemen commanded magic earlier, and there’s a … taste … to that; one the dragons enjoy.”
He paused to drain his cup; refill it. I felt a horrid dread. I glanced at Rwyan. Bellek saw my look and the direction of my thoughts and said, “No fear there, Daviot. Anryale’s bonded with her now, and so she’s safe.”
I felt relieved; but no wiser.
I suppose my emotions showed, because Bellek continued: “In many ways the dragons are not so different to most animals. They guard their hunting grounds against intruders and oppose any threat to their welfare. Truemen were a threat, when they discovered the powers of the crystals and turned them against the dragons-”
He was interrupted by Rwyan, who said, “You know of the crystals’ powers?”
He grinned again. “Am I not a Dragonmaster? My power came from the crystals. These hills are rich with them, and the dragons eat them.”
“Eat them?” I gasped.
“As do birds swallow stones to assist their digestion,” he said, “so do the dragons eat the crystals. And over the ages, that’s changed them. They’ve a kind of magic now, and it rendered the easy pickings of Ur-Dharbek … less interesting. Until now. Dragons enjoy a challenge. They’re like-what?-horses bred only to race or fight; like hunting dogs. But far more intelligent: prey that’s too easy to take offers them no challenge.”
Rwyan said, “The crystals drive Truemen mad, are we with them too long. In Trebizar, Allanyn and her followers were made mad by them, I think. What of the dragons then?”
Bellek said, “They’re different. An older race that lives a different life. They do not go mad. Rather, it seems the crystals make them fonder of those special few who share communion with them.”
He turned his seamed face slowly around, encompassing us all with his gaze; and said, “Like you.”
I said, because none of my companions spoke, “Do you explain?”
Bellek said, “I’m not sure I can. But … you’ve the Storyman’s talent, no? And Rwyan the mage’s. I, that of the Dragonmaster-”
I interrupted him: “And Urt? Tezdal? What of them?”
He shrugged and said, “I cannot say. Only that my dragons told me I was no longer alone. That there were others like me, abroad. They’ve powers I cannot explain, Daviot. They dream; and I think their dreams span the whole world. I know only that they dreamed of you and knew you were come to Trebizar, and in danger.”
I said, “That fails to explain it. I dreamed of dragons long before Trebizar.”
He gave me back, “Perhaps that’s how, or why. Perhaps it was because you believed in them. Perhaps because you gave your belief to Rwyan; and somehow, too, to Urt and Tezdal. Perhaps they found their talent in company with you-I don’t know. Only that Kathanria and Anryale and Peliane and Deburah found-do you not understand? By the Three, you’ve ridden them!-souls linked to theirs. And sought you out. And saved you!”
Rwyan said, “The pattern! Did I not tell you, Daviot?”
I nodded. There was much to digest here. I knew that I had been snatched from an untimely (in my opinion) arrival into the Pale Friend’s embrace by creatures I had dared hope were not legendary. I had dreamed of dragons-but should that flesh them? I had told Rwyan of my dreams, and Urt-but should that make them part of the dream? How should Tezdal become a part of this fleshed fantasy?
I reached for the gilded jug and found it empty. Bellek chuckled and rose, shedding dust in a cloud behind him as he took the jug and carried it away.
Tezdal said, “I understand none of this.”
Urt said, “Changed live here? Under the dragons’ wings?”
Bellek returned with the filled jug in time to hear that question and said, “As I told you: in the valleys. The brave few, who came back when they saw the direction your Raethe took.”
Urt lost a measure of his fear. He shaped a frown, and took the goblet Bellek offered him, and demanded, like me: “Do you explain?”
The Dragonmaster chuckled. “Are there not always a few who’ll dare what others will not? Those who choose to take their chances and refuse the common belief?”
He looked us, all four, in the eyes, and said, chuckling, “Like you.” But his words were directed largely at Urt.
I said nothing. I felt this was Urt’s moment: that he stood at the edge of a precipice. The past was the solid ground behind, the future the leap over the rim. He could step back or take flight, as if on dragon’s back. Or plummet ground-ward. I waited on his answer.
He said, “Tell me.”
Bellek said, “They came north. I cannot tell you why, only that they did; and that they were brave. They came out of Ur-Dharbek to live in these mountains. And more came when they understood what Allanyn plans.”
Rwyan said, “How could they know?”