Nineteen days before the Black Mausoleum
Letting the Adamantine Man go felt strange. A part of her was sad to be rid of him. That was the part that had learned alchemy, that knew which ingredients in what proportions would have how much of an effect and had been taught to think not of the now and the tomorrow, but of what would happen a year away, a decade, a century even. The part that knew there were more perils ahead of her than behind and had learned the value of a strong and loyal sword.
Another part, the part that had always been her, the part that thrilled to the raw immediacy of blood-magic, was sad too, but only that she wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing him torn to pieces by whatever dragon was hunting him. She had her blood, her magic. Let that be enough.
She had no idea what to do with the sword she’d taken. The belt didn’t fit her. However she tried to wear it, it ended up slipping down around her ankles and tripping her up. Even when it didn’t fall down, the sword somehow slipped between her legs and tried to catch her that way. Then there was Siff, the outsider the Adamantine Man had carried so easily but who turned out to weigh more than she did, even as wasted as he was. She had no idea how to move him. She tried dragging him. She tried lifting him. She managed to get him over her shoulder once, but then the sword tripped her and tipped them both in the mud. Through it all he didn’t stir.
She looked for a place to hide, but the best she could find in the darkness beneath the castle was a ditch filled with long grass with a few inches of slime at the bottom. It would have to do. There wasn’t much else for it but to wait until Siff came back from wherever he was.
She knew the Adamantine Man was near again before she heard him. The blood-bond told her, which meant she’d been looking for him without even knowing it, and that was troubling all on its own. She peered up out of the ditch and there he was, haloed in purple lightning, staring at the ground and walking right towards her.
‘Why are you here?’ she yelled at him. ‘Why are you here if there’s a dragon hunting you?’
He looked up, caught in a moment of surprise. Then he grinned at her and waved something. A large rag. A shirt maybe. Dark and wet. ‘Dragon blood,’ he said.
It took a moment for what that meant to sink in.
‘Dragon blood,’ he said again. ‘You can make the potion. To hide us all from the dragons. You said you needed dragon blood.’
Dragon blood and her own. She touched the cloth and reached into the blood and yes, it was true, it really was what he said, however impossible it seemed. Dragon blood. Fresh. ‘Yes.’ For a moment she caught herself looking at him in a way she’d never looked before. Mixed in with the loathing was a touch of awe. There had to be, didn’t there, for a man who could bring you blood from a dragon?
‘Water,’ she said, and glanced up at the underbelly of the castle, still moving slowly overhead. ‘I need clean water.’
‘Will it take long?’
‘And somewhere to keep it.’
‘Will it take long?’
She stared at the castle. Yes, it would take long to do properly, but there was a quicker way. She climbed out of the ditch and gave Skjorl back his sword. ‘Hold out the blade.’ When he did as she asked, she ran a finger along the edge. A drop or two of blood was all she needed. She dripped it onto a corner of Skjorl’s cloth. A shirt. It was a shirt. ‘My blood. Dragon blood. Now give me a moment.’
Blood was a path, nothing more. A way in. A way to touch the dragon, or what tiny essence was left of it, although even that was huge, an immense thing she could barely encompass.
‘Are you done yet?’ The castle had almost passed from overhead.
She sucked on the corner of the shirt and passed it to the Adamantine Man. ‘As soon as the sun sets, we find some shelter where I can make more and do it properly. Enough to take us to the Raksheh.’
Skjorl sucked on the shirt too. His lip curled. ‘Oh, I remember that taste.’ He waved the shirt at her. ‘That enough?’
‘To get the three of us to the Raksheh? More than enough.’ She took the shirt to Siff. Forced the corner into his mouth.
‘It’ll be dry by night.’
‘Then you’d better find me some water.’
Skjorl climbed down into the ditch with her, carefully not too close. ‘Back where we came from then. The tunnel to the Pinnacles. All the water you want and safe for as long as you need. We could tip the raft down the falls and ride the Ghostwater to the Yamuna. It’s only a few hours away.’ He pulled Siff up out of the ditch and slung him over a shoulder. ‘Best we stay under this… thing. Until dark. Castle will keep us hidden from dragons. Dragons will keep the castle soldiers safe in their beds. Works out nicely for us both ways.’ He offered her his hand. This time she very nearly took it, almost without thinking. It didn’t seem to bother him that she didn’t.
He turned and started to walk. ‘If your potions fail, alchemist, we’ll be dead out here in days. If they do what they should, I’ll get you to the Raksheh. No promises after, but I’ll get you that far. Night Watchman’s oath.’
Which, she knew, meant he’d do it or he’d die in the trying.