The afternoon sun glinted sporadically over the mountainside as Rhapsody climbed through the rock ledges that faced the Teeth to the heath at the top of the world.
Each morning she ran the steppes and the foothills with her sword across her back, training her body in stamina and speed, growing stronger and faster as she raced in the clear air of the Bolglands. She could feel herself improving; it was a heady feeling, though the regimen was tiring. Now she was seeking a place to run again, but this time, rather than running to new endurance and ability, she felt an overwhelming need to run away.
Achmed's new kingdom was a nightmarish place, and the dreams that haunted her sleep were growing stronger. Rhapsody could no longer bear the thought of going to bed at night. She had considered bunking in with Jo, but decided against it for fear her night terrors would frighten the girl.
Achmed and Grunthor were away from the Cauldron much of the time now, leaving her with little recourse but sleeping alone, either in the cold halls of the stony seat of power, or in Elysian. So, after dinner the thought had occurred to her that perhaps she could outrun the nightmares, force herself into a state of utter exhaustion and be too tired even to dream.
Standing on the heath now, though, it was difficult to remember that she was there because of any looming unpleasantness. The grassy meadow was awakening from the long sleep of winter, and the setting sun drenched the highgrass with a golden glow that made it seem touched by a divine hand.
The first flowers of spring were beginning to emerge, and their colors dotted the hillside like a shy rainbow waiting for an invitation to become glorious. Rhapsody bent and sang to them, giving them the beckoning they were awaiting. As the blossoms opened in response to her song, one that Llauron had taught her, she marveled at the beauty of these lands, wondering whether the Bolg ever stopped to appreciate it.
She stood up straight and spun around, her arms in the clear air above her, drinking in the sight of night coming to the Teeth and the surrounding fields. The world lay below at her feet, stretching out in a vast expanse for as far as she could see, butting up against the jagged peaks of the mountains that guarded the old Cymrian domain.
Rhapsody tried to imagine what this place had been like then, when the Firbolg still lived far away in the cavelands, and the people of her homeland tended this realm. How unlike Serendair this was, with its rocky steppes and mountainous fields of heather and scrub. Had the Cymrians felt at home here? she wondered, wishing she knew the secret if they had. Were they able to forget the home they had left, and console themselves in this new place, because they had brought their families with them?
A stabbing pain shot through Rhapsody's heart, and once more the reason for her climb came to mind. She needed to find a way to silence her nightmares.
She had taken to leaving Daystar Clarion out of its sheath, burning brightly in the corner of her chamber within the Cauldron, or her bedroom in Elysian. It provided a source of warmth and some minimal comfort when she woke in the night. That solace was offset by the guilt she felt over using an ancient weapon as nothing more than a night-light, like the candle her mother had left burning when in childhood she had suffered a bad dream. Then it had only been a rare occasion; now it occurred every night, without exception.
The dreams were now only rarely of Michael or his like. Instead, what tormented her sleep were images of home, and people now dead a thousand years or more. Sometimes she would hear them calling her, her parents or her brothers, waiting in endless sorrow for her to return.
Other nights she would dream of the Seren War, the destruction that came to her homeland just after she left, and wondered what had befallen her family. Had they lived to see its end, or had they fallen victim to it? What did her mother mean when she said the family was destroyed in fire? From these nightmares she would wake screaming, particularly when her imagination filled in the answers.
But worst of all were the nostalgic dreams, the ones so real she was sure she was home, that it was this place that was the phantasm, and she was safe within the bosom of her family and the life she had known.
Often in these dreams she spent a good deal of time convincing herself and those around her that her escape had really happened, that her new horrific life was real, begging them to hold her fast from having to come back to it, only to find herself alone and awake in the darkness of the Cauldron again. And then, against Achmed's direct command, she would dissolve into secret, forbidden tears of utter agony and despair.
Not tonight, she told herself grimly. I will not go through this again tonight. She surveyed the heath, watching the warm spring wind whip across it, billowing the new petals on the flowers, and she plotted a running path. She wished she had changed into her training clothes before she left the Great Hall; she was still attired in the soft gray gown that clung to her torso but flared at the sleeves and skirt. It was not really suitable for running, but it would do.
Rhapsody began to run. In blind, desperate abandon she fled into the wind, racing to nowhere in particular. She spread her arms wide and felt the wind catch her sleeves, snapping them out like the wings of a bird, rushing across her chest and through her hair.
The sensation was immensely freeing. She turned away from the wind and reached back, pulling out the ribbon that bound her tresses into her normal staid ponytail. The wind took her hair down gently, like a lover, and blew the strands all around her, catching the sunlight and reflecting it back to the sky.
She ran with the wind behind her, billowing her dress and hair, until she reached the southern end of the heath. Then she turned and ran back into it again, her hair streaming behind her like the flag on a high mast. She followed the sinking sun across the field, running west, dancing over clumps of grass and large stones. The wind danced with her, blowing her dress in patterns of gray waves on a storm-tossed sea.
Rhapsody twirled and leapt, feeling an inner grace guide her steps, hearing the innate music of the wind. It called to a place in her soul that felt tight, pinched in the effort to keep her heart from breaking. She loosed the bonds and that part of her soul broke free and joined the headlong plunge as she ran toward the night.
She ran around the perimeter of the wide heath, no longer dancing, but intent now on attaining speed. Her nearness to the edge of the chasm didn't bother her in the least; there were moments when she almost wished the wind would blow her off the plateau and into the crevice. She stood still, letting the disappearing sunlight bathe her face. She imagined herself falling through the Teeth, watching the sky grow farther and farther away from her as she soared to the ground. She ran the sun down, not letting up, as sweat poured from her and cooled when the wind hit her body, the breeze turning chilly with the coming of night.
After three score and twelve laps around the meadow Rhapsody felt she could run it with her eyes closed, and for several moments she did. She could see the shadows moving across the heath, growing longer as they touched the pointed outcroppings of the peaks that made up the Teeth.
Just as she felt the exhaustion that was her goal begin to come over her, she ran through a shadow and almost into an obelisk shape that had appeared in the field from nowhere; in the darkness she had to come to a stumbling halt to avoid colliding with it. Her arms spun wildly as she struggled to regain her balance. The shape reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Rhapsody wrenched herself free and, with a fluid motion born of years in the street, flicked her dagger forward into her palm. She faced the gray figure with wide eyes, panting wildly, working to retain her composure.
"I'm very sorry," came a vaguely familiar voice. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Who the—who are you?" she gasped between breaths.
"It's me, miss; Ashe," came the sheepish reply. "You know, from Bethe Corbair. We had lunch together, you may recall."
"Gods," she choked, trembling with exhaustion and the aftermath of panic. "Don't ever do that to me again. I might have cut your throat."
From within the hooded cloak she heard a chuckle. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise," Ashe said. Rhapsody could hear a smile in his voice, and it irritated her.
"What are you doing here? I'm amazed you got past the Bolg guards. Grunthor will be furious."
"Whoever he is, I hope he won't be too harsh with them," came the voice from the shadow, and it sounded sympathetic. "It's really not their fault. And besides, I'm here by invitation."
The shuddering chill of fear that had blasted through her, followed by a roaring heat of panic, left her weak and trembling. "Really? Whose?"
"Well, yours, I thought; at least that's what I assumed when Jo said I was welcome here. I'm sorry if I overstepped or misunderstood."
Rhapsody felt the trembling heat that had coursed through her a moment before begin to subside. "No, no, of course not," she said, her breath coming easier now. "It's I who must apologize; you are certainly welcome. I'm afraid you caught me when I was a little winded, and my brain was a bit addled."
"What are you running from?"
Rhapsody thought about how to answer, then decided it would be impossible, as well as unwise, to explain to this virtual stranger. "Nothing tangible," she said, mustering a slight smile.
"Really?"
"Yes," she said. "What are you hiding from?"
The hooded figure chuckled, then bowed in acquiescence to her point. "Also nothing tangible."
As the initial panic that had clutched her stomach unclenched, Rhapsody felt herself filling with other, darker emotions. The unexpected appearance of this stranger had set her pulse on fire. She had come to the meadow at the top of the world to run away from her nightmares, and instead she had run into something that was the stuff of one of them.
She struggled to remember the dream, the image she had seen twice. It was the vision of a body on a table in darkness, glowing, then disappearing.
I can't see him anymore, Mama. Why can't I see him?
It's not what he is, it's what he wears.
Rhapsody looked up into the wide hood, where not even a glimpse of his face could be seen. The fear she felt was tempered a little with sorrow; she, too, often needed to walk the world unseen. What was it that made Ashe feel the need to do so? Was his appearance, too, freakish in the eyes of the people of this land? Had he been scarred, or maimed? With all the violence in the countryside, perhaps he had fallen victim to something that had mutilated his face, had left him in pain.
Another image rose in her mind, leaving her trembling. It was the image of a man drowning in darkness, in unspeakable agony.
"Rhapsody? Are you all right?"
She felt her face, its muscles tight across her brow and cheeks. It was a face that conveyed her fear.
"Yes," she said shortly. "I'm fine. Why don't you come with me?" She smiled wanly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I'll take you to the Cauldron; Achmed will be glad to see you. He's king now, you know."
"The Cauldron?"
"Yes, that's what he calls his seat of power, the Great Hall and its surrounding area."
"Gods." She thought she felt a shudder from inside the cloak.
"Yes, well, these are Firbolg lands, after all. Come; allow me to show you some of our hospitality." She pulled her hair self-consciously back into its restraints, turned, and started back to the rock ledge.
The gray shape followed her easily across the heath, the wind whipping at the fringes of his cloak. "M'lady, believe me, I would follow you anywhere. I'm just not sure I would be able to keep up if you decided to run."
Ashe had never been to Canrif before; it was a somber, astonishing sight. The passes in the Teeth were heavily guarded by Firbolg troops who were consistently, if sparingly, armed and armored. They held a watch as well as many of the soldiers of Sorbold, and better than those in Roland, whose armor some of them wore. Only the Lirin were better trained at this point; the concept was flabbergasting.
The last time he had come near the Bolglands was on his Spring Cleaning detail as a trainee in the army of Bethany, back in his other life, when he still had cause, and the ability, to walk openly in the world of men.
He had participated in the exercise with distaste but not malice, efficiently cleaning out the border towns and dispatching with alacrity and pragmatism the semi-human monsters who lived there.
It had bothered him a little at the time. It ate at him more now, seeing them as they really were: primitive and warlike, but people, not animals. And these two, Rhapsody and the man she called Achmed, had been able to harness the power the Bolg held, molding them into a formidable fighting force in almost no time. It was a significant piece of information, an indication of their power.
He had stood in the darkness of the heath and watched Rhapsody for a long time before he made himself known to her. At first he had no idea what she was doing, running into the wind, letting it billow her hair and dress about her like a sail on the high seas. After observing the intensity of her flight, the wildness of her dance, his throat tightened; she was trying to run away, but had nowhere to go. It made him want her even more.
Ashe tried to drive the thought from his mind as he followed her now, through the mountain passes and into the rocky halls, torch-lit tunnels that led to the ancient Cymrian seat of power.
Canrif; it was legendary, the birthplace of the Cymrian Age, the best and brightest time in the history of the land, when systems of justice were formed and codified, great advances made in science, architecture, medicine, and art, the great basilicas and roadways built, and marvelous discoveries made. And all of it shattered by one blind moment of marital rage; a pity, really. Ashe looked around. It was like reliving history, walking these halls.
The ruins of the fortress were much as they undoubtedly had been left when the Cymrians fled: crumbling, dank with the odor of ancient pitch and smoke; the smell of grim defeat, still present four centuries later.
Gwylliam had been an engineer, a man who was responsible for some of the greatest structures in the known world, and Canrif was no exception. He had carved an almost unassailable stronghold out of an unwilling mountain, made sources for heat and light and ventilation, had found a realm in which the diverse population of races that had followed him on the last fleet out could live in familiar surroundings, and had held it together for three hundred years. It was a marvel to behold.
Rhapsody led him at last down a long corridor to what had once been the throne room, the Great Hall of Canrif, or Ylorc, as the Bolg called it. The two he had met in the market, the teenager, Jo, and the obnoxious man known as Achmed, were both there.
With them was an immense Bolg, obviously of mixed blood, whom Rhapsody introduced as Granthor; this must be the captain of the guard she had referred to when he first arrived. The giant had clicked his heels and nodded, but said nothing. Jo was bustling with excitement, but had obviously received some sort of corrective lecture and therefore smiled brightly at him, but said nothing as well.
"What brings you here?" Achmed asked bluntly.
Ashe sighed inwardly; perhaps he shouldn't have come. Before he could answer, Rhapsody did it for him.
"We invited him, Achmed; you were there." She turned to Ashe and looked up into his hood, her glance not exactly in line with his eyes, but close. "We're very glad you came, aren't we, Jo?" She smiled, and Ashe felt his knees tremble a little.
"Yes," said Jo.
"When are you leaving?" Achmed asked.
"Achmed! Please forgive him, Ashe. What he meant to ask is how long can you stay? We'll need to ready accommodations for you." Rhapsody glared at Achmed and then smiled at Ashe again; he was finding it hard to break his gaze away from her, but it was necessary to keep alert about his surroundings.
"I'll stay as long as I'm welcome," said Ashe.
"Thanks for coming; it's been nice seeing you," said Achmed.
"Ignore him; he's trying to be funny, but he's not good at it," said Rhapsody, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger.
"I was about to say that I'll need to be on my way fairly soon anyway," said Ashe, amused by the kaleidoscope of Rhapsody's face; it kept turning from an expression of warm welcome to white fury and back again. It was a face he could spend a very long time watching without growing bored.
"We've been readying the ambassadorial quarters in expectation of the emissaries of the various lands and factions, now that we have signed a pact with Roland and Sorbold. You should be fairly comfortable there."
"Excuse me?" Ashe had heard about the rout of the army of Roland; it was impossible to escape the news. He had not heard that they had reached any kind of treaty; the three of them had only been in Ylorc for a few months. It seemed impossible that they could have even begun discussions, let alone signed a pact, when the peace treaty between Roland and Sorbold themselves had taken close to two hundred years to resolve. It was another cog in the wheel, another piece of the puzzle to the influence that these three had.
There were three; a significant number, though Ashe had no real belief in or fear of ancient prophecies. It was as obvious that they were not of this land as it was that Jo had been born here. Still, in the presence of such overwhelming and unique power one could be forgiven for giving in to the desire to believe again in hopes long abandoned.
Rhapsody laughed. "You needn't sound so surprised. A few weeks ago we signed a non-aggression pact and trade agreements with Roland, and a week later with Sorbold as well. The Bolg will be a force to be reckoned with again, but this time as an economic entity, not a marauding one."
As if to mock her words, in the distance a clamor went up, echoing through the rock walls. Grunthor dashed from the room and into the hallway, followed by the others a moment later. They didn't need to go far; the messenger met them in the corridor outside the Great Hall. The Bolg guard was covered with blood.
Rhapsody pulled up short, listening to the exchange between Achmed, Grunthor, and the herald. She felt Ashe stop behind her.
"What's happening?"
"The Hill-Eye, the last of the renegade tribes, are attacking; idiots. Achmed has been working to bring them into the alliance, but they have resisted, and now they are burning some of the villages of the other tribes that have sworn allegiance to him."
"Hooray!" came Jo's voice from behind Ashe. "I've been in the mood for a good bloodletting since Spring Cleaning; it's been so boring around here. I'll get your bow for you, Rhaps." She took off at a sprint in the opposite direction toward their quarters.
Ashe touched Rhapsody's shoulder; she seemed distressed, but not afraid. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Well, you're welcome to pitch in if you'd like; at these times we can use all the help we can get. The Bolg are only recently organized and tend to panic and disperse when battle comes, especially with the Hill-Eye; they are the fiercest of the clans and bloodthirsty. It's in the master plan to spare the noncombatants, but it's not easy to get Grunthor to stick to that sometimes, especially if he's angry enough."
Ashe nodded. "I'll be glad to help you. Just point me in the right direction."
Rhapsody smiled. "Thanks. Follow me."
The fires that burned, lighting the exterior causeways of the Teeth, had been fed with rancid fat, contributing to the burning nausea Rhapsody felt encroaching on her lungs. She coughed, trying to clear the smoke from her sore eyes.
She had just delivered a swift, stinging blow to the thigh of the last Hill-Eye guard, knocking him to the ground, when a bony hand encircled her upper arm.
"Look," the sandy voice directed; even from just one word she sensed irritation.
She turned amid the diminishing mayhem to watch their guest in action. Even within the swirl of his cloak, the training and speed was undeniable.
He was standing alone, as he had been for most of the battle, knee-deep in casualties of his own making, sidestepping the awkward passes of the Hill-Eye with no apparent difficulty. It was almost as if he were trying to avoid killing them in the hope that refraining would be proper etiquette for a guest.
In a flurry of moves much too fast to follow with the eye, Ashe spun, his sword flashing blue in the dark. The remainder of the Bolg on him fell, one by one, like cards.
"He's good," Rhapsody murmured, watching him step artlessly in front of Jo, deflecting the blow that had been aimed at her. "I think he's almost as fast as you, Achmed. Hhmmm. I didn't think I'd ever see your match. What do you think, Grunthor?"
"Nice form," the Sergeant agreed. "What about you, sir? Whaddaya think?"
Achmed's brows drew together as they blackened with anger.
"I think he's a lot more dangerous than I originally gave him credit for."
The deepest part of the night had passed. Achmed sat alone in the dark, thinking.
The events of the day had been irritating and disturbing to him. It was not the failed assault on Canrif that bothered him; he had been anticipating the last-gasp attempt to drive him out. He was more troubled by the increasing revelations of the power of this stranger who was haunting their halls, following Rhapsody like a shadow.
He wondered if Ashe's arrival and the Hill-Eyes' poorly planned raid were coincidental, especially given what he had seen in the lands around the White Tree and all the way from Navarne to Ylorc. Seemingly peaceful places erupted in strife and bloodshed out of nowhere, to return to foggy bewilderment as they tried to fathom the cause of the violence. The prospect that this danger had entered Ylorc angered him greatly. Far more upsetting, it worried him.
He and Grunthor had met after the assault was quelled. The Sergeant Major only had a short time to talk before he departed with the army to round up the Hill-Eye stragglers and subjugate the last renegade territory once and for all, but he and Achmed had been of one mind in their assessment of Ashe. Prior to seeing him in action, Achmed had written him off as a wastrel, a gadabout with delusions of gentlemanship. Generally his judgments did not prove so wrong.
Whatever else Ashe was, both Achmed and Grunthor agreed there was no doubt that this stranger was formidable. What Achmed couldn't understand was how he had missed this fact in the first place.
Certainly he had the capability to size up an opponent, to determine by the way one stood or moved what his abilities in combat were, at least. But there was something about Ashe that defied his capacity to do so. There was a haziness to him, a lack of definition or even visibility that made Achmed more uncomfortable than he had ever remembered being. That discomfort was heightened by Rhapsody's utter obliviousness of the stranger's odd vibrational cloaking.
Ashe had taken up arms willingly in defense of Canrif, slicing through the frontal assault on the halls of the Cauldron without help. Within a few moments after the fighting had begun, he had cleared the main hallway of half a dozen Hill-Eye infiltrators, then followed Grunthor out to the mountain passes in the Teeth.
He had served as Grunthor's cleanup man initially, dispatching the overflow the Sergeant allowed to pass, swinging with admirable sword technique in lightning-fast execution. His sword itself was hard to see, the blade appearing like a slash of blue in the darkness, sheathed quickly when not in use before it could be seen or examined carefully. He was well trained and obviously experienced. Achmed was more annoyed than ever, but at a loss to explain to himself why.
Ashe was also unassuming; he was easily directed and willing to fight on any front, including good-naturedly providing cover for Jo without being obvious about it to spare her feelings. And though it was apparent he enjoyed fighting beside Rhapsody he did not seem to seek to do so, but rather followed Grunthor's commands without question. He was personally responsible for taking out more than a captain's share of the rebellion. Even Grunthor was impressed.
Now Achmed sat alone, in the dim light of the Great Hall of the Cauldron, pondering what to do. He did not like the feelings he was experiencing; he was unable to recognize jealousy, as he had never encountered it before.
The rancid smell of the place was apparent to him for the first time since he had become Warlord; it caused a bitter taste in the back of his throat that made him choke. It was better to endure the presence of this man for the moment, he finally decided. Better to learn of him first than to drive him away, knowing all the while that he would be back. It was important to find out what it was Ashe really wanted there. Whatever it was, Achmed knew he wouldn't like it.
Rhapsody unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open, then moved back to allow Ashe to enter the guest chamber.
While he and Jo were at supper she had taken the opportunity to bathe and change clothes, cleansing and dressing a minor wound she had sustained at the hands of a Hill-Eye chieftain. Ashe had taken grim pleasure in beheading him for her as she fell back; it had impressed him that she recovered fast enough to counter her attacker's blow before the Bolg dropped.
His senses told him the wound was painful but minor as long as she tended to it properly to avoid infection, which she had, cleansing it with witch hazel and by applying plantain and thyme to it. As he passed her he inhaled her scent, fresh and unperfumed, with a hint of vanilla and soap to it, and it made him shiver.
He looked around the room in surprise. The chamber was scrubbed and whitewashed, with a cozy fireplace and a plaited rug to warm the room and floor. There was a bed with a packed-wool mattress and a blue quilted counterpane, a washstand with a basin and pitcher, and a chamber pot under the bed, as well as a coat tree in the corner. It was not what he expected in a guest chamber in the realm of the Firbolg, but then, neither was Rhapsody.
The fire was burning on the hearth with a merry crackling sound, almost as if it had been laced with green pine nuts. Ashe stretched out on the bed and settled back, waiting to see what she would do. He closed his eyes beneath his hood, enjoying the onset of the darkness while still feeling the heat from the fireplace on his eyelids. He opened them a crack. Rhapsody was still facing the door.
When she turned she was wearing the dazzling smile that had left him weak-kneed on more than one occasion, but there was something new in her eyes, something strange and wonderful and warm; they sparkled in the light of the fire as she looked across the room at him.
Without speaking, she gently placed her hands on her waist, then slid them slowly up her torso, over the prim blouse, caressing her breasts as they passed. They ended up at her neck, where the first of the laces that held the blouse together was carefully tied, and began to unthread it with delicate grace.
Ashe felt his breathing become shallow as she freed the lace from its closure and opened the top of her blouse, the light gleaming off the luminous skin at the hollow of her throat. His lips burned, as they always did when he thought of the lovely indentation of her neck.
One by one the other laces opened. As the closure of her blouse fell away her smile grew brighter until she stood, her breasts barely hidden by the fabric of her shirt. Then her hand moved around behind her head, causing the blouse to open and Ashe's heart to race faster as the arousal that was constantly there in her presence became even more intense. The fire on the hearth was cold by comparison to the heat in his blood.
With a gentle tug she loosed her hair from the black velvet ribbon that customarily held it in place and shook her head. The waterfall of golden tresses spilled down over her shoulders and caught the light; Ashe felt his resolve, his requirement to remain hidden and alone, give way to a painful burning need that spread caustically through him. He began to breathe lightly through his mouth as the blouse slid from her arms over her waist to the floor, where it lay in a crumpled heap.
Now she stood at the door, the firelight flickering off her rosy-golden skin, looking for all the world like the legends of the goddess of morning. But it was night, and she was here, unclothed before him in the firelight.
Her smile broadened as she unlaced her skirt and slid it down over her hips, past the graceful legs that had made him tremble when he first had sensed her, even without actually seeing them. Then she came to him, and sat down beside him on the bed. He was afraid to sit up for fear of losing control.
That was apparently what she wanted. She reached out and took his hand with the grace of a woman who had been able to choose and capture the heart of any lover she had ever desired. His palm grew moist with the knowledge that her choice now was him.
With infinite patience she placed his trembling hand on her long, smooth thigh and gently drew it over her skin, moving upward toward her waist. She closed her eyes as his hand came to rest on one of her exquisite breasts; it fit perfectly within his palm.
Gently he traced the elegant nipple, feeling it harden beneath the callus of his fingertip. As he caressed her there she began to breathe lightly herself and took hold of his other hand, bringing it to rest on her leg again.
This time, however, rather than moving it up over her slim waist toward her heart, she parted her legs slightly and drew his hand over the silk of her inner thigh, breathing in a deep, musical pattern as he summoned his courage and moved to touch her intimately. The nervous moisture of his fingers met that of her desire; his hand turned to explore her more ardently, and as he did she looked deeply into his eyes, longing in her incredible green ones.
"I want to thank you for what you did for us today."
Ashe blinked. Rhapsody was still standing by the door, as she had been the moment before, fully clothed, her hair properly bound. His fantasy shattered and Ashe sat up, arousal still pounding through him. He gave silent thanks for the mist cloak; because of it alone she would be unable to discern the intensity of his stimulation.
"My pleasure," he said, smiling at the play on words; it could have served as his nickname for her. "You're quite a warrior, if you don't mind my saying so."
Rhapsody made a face. "Hardly."
"No, you really are," Ashe said, swinging his legs down to the floor and sitting up straighter. "You wreak a lot of havoc with that sword of yours."
"Well, there certainly was a lot of havoc wreaked today," she said, walking to the washstand and bending down before it. She drew forth a rough drying cloth from the lower shelf and draped it over the basin. "What an unholy mess that was. I have a serious dislike for untidiness."
Ashe chuckled. "You are an interesting woman, Rhapsody."
"Thank you. That's a little ironic coming from a man I've never seen because he never takes down his hood. Well, unless there is something else you need, I believe I will leave you to get some rest; you've certainly earned it."
Ashe thought back to his fantasy of the moment before. There was indeed something more he needed, but he was unwilling in the extreme to ask for it, at least at this point. "A song would be nice. Jo said you were a musician."
Rhapsody smiled. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I'm a little winded tonight, I'm afraid."
Beneath his hood Ashe winced; he had forgotten about her injury. "Of course. Does that mean I'm welcome here for another night?"
"You're welcome here for as long as you'd like to stay. We're grateful for everything you did to help in quelling the raid. And even if that hadn't occurred, you would have been welcome all the same."
"You're most kind. Then I suppose there is nothing more I need tonight."
Rhapsody nodded. "Well, good night, then," she said, walking to the door and opening it. "Sleep well."
"I have no doubt I will." He watched as she closed the door behind her.
The agony he carried roared back, causing him to gasp deeply and clutch the bed. He breathed shallowly until it came slightly under control, then lay back and fell into an exhausted, troubled sleep.
"If you're really that lonely here among the Bolg, Rhapsody, I will get you a cat."
Rhapsody glared at him, and the light of the fire burning behind her intensified.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Achmed sat forward quickly, the look in his eyes direct.
"It means that he has been here for a week now, and has shown no signs of leaving any time soon. He is wandering the halls of Ylorc with Jo, with no apparent restriction, despite what I thought was a rather clear directive to keep him away from any area that we might not want broached."
The hay target at the end of the meeting room exploded with a savage thud.
"Excuse me," Jo said icily, "who died and made you Supreme Ruler?"
Grunthor looked up from the field map he was studying.
"Oi think that would be Janthir Bonesplit'er, lit'le miss," he said, then returned to his reading.
"Maybe for the Bolg. I don't remember taking a loyalty oath." Jo pulled the dirk out of the remains of the target. "Look, I don't know what you're worried about. Ashe is a good sort. It's not his fault that you don't trust anybody, any more than it's mine."
"This is not a point you want to argue," Achmed said acidly. He turned to Rhapsody, who had put down the physician's lyre she had been attempting to study. "I want him out of here by morning."
Shock rippled across her exquisite face. "Why?"
"I don't want him here."
The shock waves were replaced with white anger.
"Really? I agree with Jo; I hadn't realized that yours was the only opinion that mattered. I thought we all lived here."
"All right, he can stay. Grunthor, kill him, please. Before supper."
"Wait," Rhapsody said, watching the Bolg put down his map. "That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking. Rhapsody, he's dangerous and secretive. I've told you this before. I don't want him here, but if you're loath to ask him to leave, bad manners and all, Grunthor and I can handle the social arrangements for you."
Rhapsody glanced between the two angriest sets of eyes in the room. Achmed was growing visibly more upset, but he would have a long way to go to catch up with Jo. Her sister's rage was only nominally contained. She stood, trembling with anger, fingering her dirk.
"All right, everyone calm down," she said, a Namer's tone in her voice. "First you, Achmed. I don't think secretive is necessarily a bad thing; you are the most secretive man I've ever met, including Ashe. Just because he doesn't show his face doesn't mean he's evil. Maybe he's scarred."
"I can't pick up any vibrations from him, Rhapsody. Whenever he's around it's like standing beside the ocean. You know how much I love the ocean."
It's not what he is, it's what he wears.
Rhapsody sat straight up at the sound of the voice in her memory. She listened intently, but no more words came.
"That may be nothing more than the function of something he's wearing," she said pragmatically. "What do you think, Grunthor? You've been fairly quiet."
The giant Bolg intertwined his fingers over his stomach.
"Oi agree with 'Is Majesty. Oi don' think we should let 'im out of our sight."
"Fine," said Jo quickly. "I won't leave him alone in any of the main rooms. I'll be with him whenever he's not asleep; how's that?"
"Fine with me," said Rhapsody. "He's leaving soon anyway. I just ask you to indulge me in one more thing, you two," she said to the men. "May I remind you that he helped quell the Hill-Eye rebellion, and did a credible job at it? He helped us when it was no business of his, without asking or expecting anything in return."
Achmed stood to leave. "Maybe he didn't need anything else in return," he said as he stalked to the door. "Maybe all the reward he needed was in causing the rebellion, himself, in the first place."
The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a sound like a thunderclap.
The cool mist of Ashe's cloak settled on his face, diminishing the heat of his dream.
He turned over in the bed, shrugging away the garment that he wore at all times, night and day, with no exceptions. As he shifted beneath the blankets a pocket of steam rose from the cloak. There was comfort in the mist; it took a little of the edge off his pain. And it kept him safe, hidden from those who hunted him.
He had not been able to dream these twenty years, not since the night when his life had been torn asunder.
In younger days he had come to regard the time he spent dreaming as a blessing, the one chance he still had to be with the woman he loved, would always love, to the exclusion of any other. Her death had been the end of hope for him, or belief in the Future, but he still had his one and only memory of her in the Past. He had come to long for those rare nights when she graced his dreams, smiling in the darkness as she had so long ago.
When he's in port, it's actually very tiny —about as big us my hand. And he keeps it on his mantel, in a bottle.
His one and only memory. It had been enough.
And then, one night, even that solitary comfort was gone. Now his life was no longer his own; he was a shell, a pawn in an evil game. The pain he carried, day after day, moment by moment, was ever-present in his mind and body. It was an agony of the soul as well as the physical realm, a torture so complete that it required almost constant force of will to keep from giving in to it. The dream had vanished then, too holy and pure to be able to exist in the same mind that saw what he was forced to see, night after night, moment by moment.
But now something had changed. Ever since he had met her in the marketplace in Bethe Corbair, he had dreamt of Rhapsody. The guilt of the betrayal of Emily's memory had faded quickly, shoved aside by the ease that her voice brought to his pain, to the throbbing in his head and chest that he had been unable to escape before he met her.
Ashe sat up, untangling himself again from the blankets and the mist cloak. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, willing her to go away, to spare him the one thing he held holy. In body and soul, even in his memory, he had been unfalteringly loyal to the woman he had crossed Time to meet, if only for a moment.
There could be no other, he knew. Emily's place in his heart was a shrine.
So why was this woman there? Why couldn't he drive her out of it?
I'll be thinking about you every moment until I see you again.
As the days passed, Ashe became a fixture of sorts in Ylorc. Achmed had barred him, as he had Jo, from Gwylliam's vaults and the ancient library; only Rhapsody, Grunthor, and the king himself were allowed within those chambers. Ashe, of course, knew where they were anyway, owing to his dragon sense. But for some reason their contents were unclear to him; he was unable to make out the details from the restricted area, which was a rare occurrence.
It didn't matter. Rhapsody was generally more than willing to discuss the various artifacts they had discovered with him, and Achmed routinely read the manuscripts he found within the library in the evenings after supper, giving Ashe the opportunity to discern what they were then.
Once, as he was allowing his dragon sense to scan the documents in the Firbolg king's hands, the scroll was abruptly re-rolled. He opened his eyes to see Achmed staring at him from across the room. It was almost as if the Warlord could tell what he was doing, even beneath the misty hood. Perhaps it was a sign of his dominion over the land; Achmed held the law and lore of kingship and knew, innately, the minutiae of his kingdom, just as if he were a dragon himself. These were his lands; Ashe had no power here.
All the insults and restrictions were worth it, as it allowed him access to Rhapsody. She was a joy, there was no doubt about it. Her personality held myriad facets and contradictions; she was at once gentle and ferocious, depending on the circumstance, though she possessed a rare ability to laugh at herself and to graciously endure the sometimes brutal teasing of her friends. She was devoted to Jo, and kept after her like a mother hen, defending her chick in all confrontational situations with talons more akin to a raptor. And her intelligence and sense of humor were without peer.
Ashe knew he should be moving on; the one who was waiting for him would doubtless be growing annoyed by now, but he seemed powerless to leave her. He had established a casual, disinterested demeanor that had set well toward making Rhapsody comfortable around him; her guard was down, and she was growing to like him, or at least she seemed to be. Just a few more days, he told himself each night as he lay in bed, alone, wondering what she was dreaming about. Achmed's will had extended even into the stone walls, making it impossible to sense her when she was not in the same room. It was a disconcerting feeling.
Everything changed a few days later. Achmed and Grunthor had been gone for most of the day, exploring the caverns. Ashe had spent the morning teaching Jo to play mumblety-peg, a dexterity game he knew she would excel in, owing to her nimble fingers. She had mastered the technique quickly and was demonstrating it to Rhapsody when the two Bolg returned from the vaults, wrapped in an air of excitement.
"Wanna see what we found, Duchess?" said Grunthor, handing her a slim jeweled case. It was pristine, the outer box made from the dark, blue-toned wood of the hespera trees that grew deep within the Hidden Realm and from which much of the ancient furniture they had found had been crafted. The top was hinged with tiny golden braces, and the clasp had no lock.
"It was within many other layers of boxes and caskets, buried deep in the vault," said Achmed, pouring himself a glass from the decanter.
Rhapsody opened it carefully. Within it lay a flawed, curved dagger, the length of a short sword, made from bone or another inconsistent material. It was the color of rose-gold, the metal alloy formed when copper was mixed into a golden base.
"How very strange." She removed the dagger carefully from the box, turning it over in her hands. "Who would gild a weapon with red-gold? It's too soft for any battle use. And the craftsmanship isn't good; look how many defects there are in the surface."
"Perhaps it's ceremonial."
Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened, there was an intense hum in the air around the dagger. Then her eyes opened wide in alarm. "Gods; I think I know what this is," she said. Her face turned white and her voice dropped to a whisper.
"What?"
"It's a dragon's claw; look at it." She held it up at a curved angle; she was right. There was no mistaking it, or the extrapolation that the dragon it had come from had been immense.
"It'll make a great sword for the lit'le miss," said Grunthor.
"You're insane," Rhapsody snapped. Then regret flooded her face as Grunthor looked hurt. "I'm sorry, Grunthor," she said. "I just remember a little dragon lore from the old land. Dragons are particularly selfish creatures, and very jealous of their possessions. If the owner of this claw is still alive, it will know who has it, and may scour the countryside looking to get it back. I don't want Jo anywhere near this thing; in fact, I'm not so sure we want it anywhere within the mountain. We may have to take it back to her."
"Her?"
"Elynsynos, Anwyn's mother, remember? Llauron's grandmother. She's the only dragon I've ever heard of in this land."
"It's been fine here for centuries," said Achmed, annoyed. "Why do you think she will suddenly want it back?"
"Perhaps when it was in the sealed vault she didn't know where it was, but now that the air has reached it, its smell will be on the wind. I'm not kidding, Achmed; one of the first types of lore they teach you as a Singer is tales of dragons and others of the five firstborn races. Most of those stories have to do with the rampages the wyrms go on when a thief steals something from their hoard, or when it is taken inadvertently. We have to decide carefully what to do with this; it would be awful to wake up one night with fire raining from the sky."
Grunthor sighed. "Oi'm not showin' you nothin' from now on," he said.
"Perhaps she's right," Achmed said; the others looked up at him in surprise. He knew the tales as well, and darker ones. "But I'm not sure returning it is the answer. Perhaps we should just take it to the tallest of the Teeth and hurl it onto the plateau. If the dragon is still alive, she'll find it."
"Or someone else will," said Rhapsody indignantly. "Anyone could come across that box and open it; you'd be sentencing an innocent stranger to a horrible death. Besides, I don't think a dragon that would journey to Ylorc to retrieve something she thought was valuable would appreciate it being tossed from a mountain like so much garbage."
Jo had organized the Bolg children into crews that had cleaned up the centuries of filth and litter from the steppes. "Nobody better be throwing trash from the mountain," she said, then went back to her game.
"And how do you propose to return this to her?" Achmed asked.
"I'll go," Rhapsody said. "It will be interesting; perhaps I can learn some dragon lore firsthand."
"No."
"Excuse me?" Rhapsody's eyes narrowed; it was the first sign of anger brewing.
"I said no," Achmed repeated. "If I recall correctly, wasn't Elynsynos the dragon that rampaged when she found out that Merithyn didn't come back, and deserted her children as infants?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"And you want to seek her out and say, 'Here, we found this; I'll be on my way now?' I don't think so. Besides, you have no idea where to find her, do you?"
"I do," said Ashe quietly. He had been sitting by silently, observing the proceedings with interest and a touch of amusement. The women jumped when he spoke, having been lulled into forgetting he was there. "I could guide you there."
"No," Achmed repeated again, a snarl in his voice.
"Do you have a better idea?" Rhapsody asked, her annoyance growing.
Achmed sighed irritably and glanced in Ashe's direction. "Perhaps instead of no I should had said not yet. There may be some value in seeing what she might offer in return for it."
"You're going to ransom something to a dragon?" Ashe's voice contained a note of either disdain or amusement; Achmed couldn't decide which, but either one infuriated him.
"Don't be a jackass. I just want her to remember to whom she owes its return."
Rhapsody was becoming impatient. "I'm not willing to risk it," she said. "Ashe knows how to find her lair."
"Good; then he can draw us a map, assuming he's literate."
Ashe laughed. "I don't think so. If you're still interested in the morning, we can make plans for the journey. I think I will wish you all good night now."
Jo stood as well. "Me too. I'll walk you there." She kissed Rhapsody on the cheek, then followed the cloaked figure out of the room.
Rhapsody waited until she was sure the two could no longer hear their voices, then turned to Achmed again.
"Why are you doing this? What's the matter?"
"Nothing. It's not a case of something being 'the matter.'"
"Then what is it?"
"It's a case of being careful in unfamiliar territory."
Rhapsody's brows knit together. "It's not unfamiliar to Ashe, obviously."
"Ashe is unfamiliar territory. What's the matter with you, Rhapsody? You trip over this imbecile in the market; he calls you a whore and then buys you lunch to make up for it, and you forgive him, proving that, in a way, he was right. Then he shows up here, in my lands, unannounced and unwelcome, and worms his way into your good graces again. Are you so intolerant, is the company of Firbolg so repugnant to you that you crave the attentions of this useless idiot just to be around humans again?"
Rhapsody's eyes stung; Achmed had never been especially careful with her feelings, but even for him this was caustic. "What a horrible thing to say."
"Far less horrible than the things that could happen to you, alone and unprotected, with this man you barely know, outside the range of help. You know I can't leave Ylorc right now. This is not the time for me to go overland when the Bolg are finally united and the plans we put into place are beginning to bear fruit."
Rhapsody's eyes narrowed again. Grunthor caught a glimpse of them from across the room, burning like green fire; he knew that look. It was the warning of great wrath.
"And therefore I am required to stay in Ylorc as well, even though my part in your great unification plan is over," she said, her voice low with the effort to remain in control of her temper. "I have done my share in your effort, Achmed, at times even crossing the line of what I was willing to, all for you, because you said it was the right thing to do. What am I supposed to do here now?"
Achmed gripped the arm of his chair. "What about helping with the agricultural program? The hospital? The hospice? The education strategy?"
"Those things are done and in place."
"What about overseeing the production of the goods? The vineyards? Spring is coming; it will be time to plant soon. That's an important contribution to this land and these people you purport to care about."
"What about keeping them from frying in a wave of dragon's breath?" Rhapsody retorted. "Have you forgotten what this is really about? I think you are more bothered by who my guide would be than the prospect of what might happen if I don't go; not very good decision-making for a king, I would say."
"Oi could go with you," Grunthor offered.
Rhapsody smiled at the giant Sergeant. "No, you can't; in a way, your presence here is even more important than his is." Achmed nodded in agreement. She saw the light change in his eyes, but he said nothing. She went over and sat on the table in front of him, taking his hand.
"Aren't we old and good enough friends by now to say what we really mean? Why don't you just admit you're worried about me? That you're afraid the dragon will kill me, or hold me captive? That you don't trust Ashe alone with me, and that you're afraid if I leave here without one of you, I will not be able to protect myself?"
Achmed met her gaze. "Isn't that what I said?" She shook her head, smiling. "If you know that, why are you still considering going?"
Rhapsody sighed. "Because someone has to, and I am the obvious choice. My work here is at a stage where I can leave for a while without it coming to a halt. And I can take care of myself. You forget, I survived on the street for a long time before I met you two. I can handle it; really. And Ashe, too, should he try to take advantage of me. I have Daystar Clarion and the best training in the sword possible." She felt Grunthor smile, and turned to look at him. "Tell him, Grunthor; tell him I'll be all right."
"Oi can't, miss; you know Oi never lie to 'Is Majesty."
She sighed again. "Your faith in me is overwhelming. Look, do you remember what I told you that day on Elysian's lake? That I needed a goal, a chance to do something for the people I care about? This is my chance, Achmed. I'm needed in a way that I haven't been since I came to this place. This is my home now, too. Surely I should risk whatever I must to keep it safe. I can help the Bolg in a way you can't. It's important, to me, and, more critically, to them."
"Go then," said Achmed. "Take Jo with you. How long will you be gone?"
Rhapsody blinked. "Now you want me to go?"
He snorted in disgust. "Don't be an idiot. Obviously I don't want you to go. Just as obviously, you intend to. I've known you long enough to realize who is going to win here. So, since you've already made up your mind, what is left is to make sure you're provisioned well and the plans are sensible. Then we'll establish a date by which, if you have not returned, we'll divide up your belongings, give away your room, and forget about you."
Rhapsody ran a hand over her hair, trying to absorb the sudden shift. "All right," she said awkwardly. "But I can't take Jo; that would be a bad idea."
"She can watch your back. And she'll be out from under foot here."
"She'll be in danger, Achmed," Rhapsody said, annoyance in her voice. "I've finally got that girl to a place she might actually be safe, and you want me to drag her out across the continent again to a dragon's lair? I don't think so. Besides, you're the one who's always worried about her flapping tongue. She might tell Ashe or someone else more about what is going on here in the mountain than you want on the wind."
"Speakin' o' Ashe," said Grunthor seriously, "you might want to warn 'im that if anythin' bad befalls you, or you don't come back, Oi'm gonna track 'im down and kill 'im by several methods that'll get me enshrined in the Torture 'All o' Fame."
Rhapsody laughed. "I'll tell him." She leaned forward and kissed Achmed's cheek.
Five days later she and Ashe set out, heading west again the way the four had come. She had spent much of the intervening time with Jo, who had desperately wanted to come as well, but had been finally convinced to stay by Grunthor.
"Oi'm gonna lose the Duchess and the lit'le miss, too? Naw. 'Ave an 'eart, Jo. Oi'll be so lonely Oi'll just curl up and die." The women had broken into laughter at the image.
"How could you possibly resist that plea?" said Rhapsody, hugging her sister. She pulled her closer, so only Jo could hear her whisper. "And look after the other one as well; he needs it even more." Jo had just nodded.
Jo's reluctant agreement had brought to light something odd, Rhapsody had noticed. It had been necessary for her to use many of the same arguments to dissuade Jo that the other two had tried, without success, on her. As a result, by the time Jo had finally acquiesced, Rhapsody was feeling far less certain of the wisdom of the undertaking than she had been, and more than a touch hypocritical.
The last day before their departure she spent with Achmed alone, going over plans and sitting in comfortable silence.
"Is there anything you especially want me not to tell him?" Rhapsody asked over the quiet dinner they shared in his chambers.
Achmed leveled a glance at her. "Everything." A smile crept over his face. "Tell him whatever you want."
Rhapsody was surprised. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I expect you will be judicious and keep our shared information to yourself unless you need to do otherwise."
"Yes, I will. I'll also keep an eye out for those strange incursions and record what I find."
Achmed agreed. "Just be sure you stay out of harm's way. And you might want to watch for any link between those raids and Ashe; I have long suspected that they might be in some way connected."
Rhapsody looked startled. "What do you mean?"
"The Hill-Eye attacked just as he showed up. The last two incursions we've heard of from Roland were outside Bethe Corbair, just prior to us meeting him in the city, and shortly thereafter. Perhaps there's a tie."
She shuddered. "I hope you're wrong."
"So do I. It isn't too late to change your mind."
Rhapsody thought for a moment. "Better to take the risk now and influence the outcome than to hide and have it visited upon us," she said simply. Achmed nodded; he understood.
The three that remained behind had come to bid her farewell as she and Ashe left before dawn on the fifth day. She embraced and kissed each of them, her eyes dry, reassuring them as best she could that she would be back, well and safe. And then they were gone.
"She's never coming back, is she?" Jo asked tearfully as the two shadows disappeared over the far edge of the Teeth, too upset to maintain her normal disinterested demeanor.
"Now, there, lit'le miss, don't think that way," Grunthor said, draping an enormous arm around her thin shoulders. "The Duchess is much tougher than she looks. You ought to know that by now."
Jo wiped her eyes fiercely. "She's gonna die, and then I'll be stuck here alone with you two. Wonderful."
Achmed smiled slightly. "Well, it will certainly improve your social position among the Bolg; you'll move up to First Woman, you can be the new Duchess of Elysian and take over the court role of Extraneous Blond Female, unless you have a better offer somewhere else. Then I suppose we can hold auditions."
"Bugger yourself," Jo scowled, and strode off.
Grunthor shielded his eyes from the rising morning sun, his expression dancing between thoughtful and worried. "Supposin' she does die, sir? 'Ow'll we know?"
Achmed shrugged, his hunter's eyes scanning the western horizon for a vestige of her shadow and not finding one. "We won't, though I suspect we might hear her last song on the wind; Lirin Namers have strange connections to music and death." He sighed silently. Or he might hear her heartbeat, a rhythmic, reassuring sound that soothed his sensitive skin, wink out like a candle-flame in the distance. He shook off the thought. "Her work here is started and well in place. We'll live without her as best we can. Did you notice when she said she'd be fine her voice didn't have that Namer's ring to it?"
Grunthor nodded. "That's because she can only do it when she's sure she's tellin' the truth."
As she and Ashe reached the summit of the last of the crags before the foothills, Rhapsody turned and stared east into the rising sun, which had just begun to crest the horizon. She shaded her eyes, wondering if the long shadows were really the silhouettes of the three people she loved most dearly in the world, or only the hollow reflections of rock and chasm, reaching ominously skyward. She decided after a moment she had seen one of them wave. Whether or not she was right didn't matter, anyway.
There was something deeply poignant about looking back on the mountains as they receded into the distance, fissured crags pointing, fanglike, to the brightening sky. Rhapsody struggled to quell the sense of loss welling within her, her throat and chest tightening as it had one night long ago. My family, she thought miserably. I'm leaving my family again.
Somewhere within the multicolored mountains greatness was being born, a history was beginning. The people she had once thought of as monsters were rising out of the darkness as they had once crawled forth from the caves in ages past, coming together to forge a new era. Only this time the mountain would serve them; they would become sharp, honed by the grindstone, under the hand of a master swordsmith who was one of their own.
She no longer feared the Firbolg. She feared for them. It was not just the bloodthirsty dragon lurking somewhere in the mists on the edge of the world that posed a threat to the primitive people under Achmed's hand. As different as the humans of this new land were from the ones she had lived among in Serendair, in one frightening way they were the same: they thought of the Bolg as monsters, just as she had. And they sought to destroy monsters.
The wind whipped through the Teeth and whirled up to the summit of the last crag, cold and sweet, clearing the morning mist from her eyes and the doubt from her mind. A fondness beyond all reason surged through her, looking back at this place where her friends remained, where the Bolg were just beginning to awake.
Once she had hidden in the highgrass, not knowing with which of two sides to ally herself—the men who had pulled her out of harm's way, or the people of her mother's blood. There was no longer a dilemma.
Her father's voice whispered in her ear, carried by the morning wind.
When you find the one thing in your life you believe in above anything else, you owe it to yourself to stand by it —it will never come again, child. And if you believe in it unwaveringly, the world has no other choice but to see it as you do, eventually. For who knows it better than you? Don't be afraid to take a difficult stand, darling. Find the one thing that matters —everything else will resolve itself.
Wherever she might eventually come to live one day, the Bolg, and those that ruled them, would always have her allegiance. Any risk, any loss was worth the undertaking to keep them safe.
"Look," said Ashe, his pleasant baritone shattering her reverie. Rhapsody turned and let her gaze follow his outstretched finger in the direction of another line of shadows, miles off, at the edge of the steppes where the lowlands and the rockier plains met.
"What are they?"
"Looks like a convocation of some sort, humans, undoubtedly," he said after a moment.
Rhapsody nodded. "Ambassadors," she said softly. "They're coming to pay court to Achmed."
Ashe shuddered; the tremor was visible, even beneath his cloak of mist. "I don't envy them," he said humorously. "That ought to shake up their notions of protocol."
Rhapsody looked up into the darkness of his hood, seeing nothing but a thin trace of vapor. The edges of her scalp hummed for a moment as she sought in vain for eyes in which to gauge an expression. Ashe had seemed at ease among the Bolg, a polite, nonjudgmental visitor, but that was only the most ephemeral of indicators. The hood could be hiding something far more sinister. And even if she could see his face, she would not be able to look into his heart.
He was her guide, the one who might be able to lead her to the dragon's lair, a necessary undertaking if she was to ensure the safety of the Bolglands. Whether or not she would make it there remained to be seen. But in any case, she would have to be wary of Ashe, for the sake of the ones she was leaving behind.
Ashe took up his walking stick again.
"Shall we?"
He looked off to the west, over the thawing valley and the wide plain past the foothills below them.
Rhapsody looked back at the panorama of the Teeth for a moment longer, then turned her eyes toward the west as well. A slice of the sun had risen behind them, casting a shaft of golden light into the gray mist of the world that stretched out below them. By contrast, the distant line of black figures moved through a jagged shadow.
"Yes," she said, shifting her pack. "I'm ready." Without looking back she followed him down the western side of the last crag, beginning the long journey to the dragon's lair.
In the distance, a figure of a man touched by a darker, unseen shadow stopped for a moment, gazed up into the hills, then continued on its way to the realm of the Firbolg.
With a smoldering screech, the Time-strand broke and ignited, snapping off the spool. The projection on the viewing screen went blank as smoke began to rise from the lamp. A burning length of fragile film fell to the floor.
Meridion bolted forward and seized the spinning reel, patting out the gleaming sparks that clung to its broken edge. Quickly he passed a hand over the instrument panel of the Time Editor, and exhaled as it went dark, idle for the moment. Then he scooped up the strand of film from the floor and turned it over in his hands in dismay. Without even looking he knew the thread was irretrievably broken.
He sat back in the chair again, disconsolate, staring at the film fragment. Then he lifted it to the light.
He could almost make them out, tiny images of the small, slender woman with the gleaming hair tied back in a black ribbon, the hooded man in the gray mantle. Facing each other on the summit of the last of the crags before the foothills, illuminated by the rays of the rising sun.
Meridion sighed. How painfully ironic it was to leave them, frozen at the crest of a breathtaking valley, much as he had seen them that night in the Patchworks. At least he had brought them together again, on the same side of Time. Their souls were so scarred by its ravages that they didn't recognize each other. But they would. They had to.
Meridion waved his hand over the instrument panel again, and the Editor roared with light once more. Gently he slid the burnt edge under the lens. He patiently adjusted the eyepiece, moving it up and down, trying to bring the crisp cinder where the film had snapped into focus.
Finally he gave up, exhausted and distressed. The image was now permanently shrouded in darkness, burnt beyond recognition. He hoped fervently there wasn't something on those frames he had needed to see, an image that would have provided a clue to the F'dor's identity. Without it, he wouldn't be able to intervene again. They would be as much in the dark as the charred film of their lore-strand. Their story had been tragic enough. Without the clue he had been seeking, it was bound to only get worse.
He turned off the Editor again and sat back in the darkness to think.
The image within the burnt edge of the film, crisp with carbon ash, was shrouded in darkness as well.
Night was falling, but it didn't matter. Darkness was a friend to him, his eyes accustomed to the absence of light, having come long ago from the realm of black fire.
The rims of the whites of those eyes, indistinguishable from any other man's by day, now began to gleam with the tinge of blood. Had anyone been there to observe, they would have seen them darken at the edges to a scarlet hue. But, of course, no one was there. He was careful to hide his other side; it would not do to be unmasked now that he was so close to his goal.
In the distance he could see the ambassador coming, and he settled back in his chair and sighed. Finally, after all this time, the Three had come, he was certain of it.
The strange rumblings in Canrif, the whispered tales of the new Firbolg king and the advances of the monstrous population there, could only be evidence that his assessment was correct. Even the mighty Gwylliam had not been able to tame the Bolg. The question that now remained was what to do about it.
Things were going well, too well to be allowed to go awry now. Enough of the seeds of discord had been sewn to ensure the uprising at hand. The loss of the House of Remembrance had been a serious blow, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with.
More critical to his plan was the upcoming interruption of the Patriarchal rite. Whether this new power in the land posed a threat to that or not was uncertain. If that power was ensconced in Canrif now, concerning itself with greedy conquest and the militarization of monsters, it would be too far away to intervene. This was important; too much depended on the assassination in Sepulvarta to allow it to fail.
He closed his eyes and tasted the death that hung, heavy with ripe anticipation, on the wind. The time was coming, and with it the sickening, thudding excitement that built, like a marching cadence, into the frenzy of war. It was the rhythm of growing hatred, determined and unstoppable, sounding in the distance as it came. It would be here soon, all in good time.
The knock on the door shattered his pleasant musings. He rose slowly and went to admit the ambassador, one of only two in the world he could entrust with the most critical tasks. This first task was assessing Canrif and its new sovereign. The second was assuring that the Three remained in the Hidden Realm of the Bolg and out of his way while he tended to more important matters.
After his emissary had left for the court of the Firbolg king, he settled back into his chair again.
"We shall soon see who really deserves to be called the Child of Blood," he said, smiling to himself.
Only the darkness heard him.