Then it was night, and Fazel was telling a story. As Losara listened, it sent a spate of mixed reactions through him. Although he had once or twice wondered about the Stone of Evenings Mild, there hadn’t seemed much point looking for it; the thing had already done its damage. The fact that his other now searched for it – and wanted to use it to put them back together – was astounding. He knew that Bel did not think much of him, had been taught to believe that Losara was nothing …and he wasn’t sure himself whether that was untrue. So often he felt unnervingly detached from all around him, so often he thought about what he lacked. Bel loved to fight, to kill, whereas Losara did not. Bel was directed in his focus, while Losara meandered thoughtfully, considering many options. Bel was openly passionate about his woman, which Losara measured against his own quiet fondness for Lalenda. If they were put back together, would Losara fade into Bel as Bel seemed to think he would, his subtler attributes overpowered, filling in gaps but not becoming ? And yet perhaps subtlety was not the same thing as weakness …
The talk turned to dragons, and it seemed that Bel was going to journey to find the one who now possessed the Stone. Losara took in this news with concern. Dragons had a fearsome reputation, and even his mighty other might fail against one. If Bel died, so would Losara – so effectively Bel’s plan risked them both. What would happen then: a return to the old balance, the old stalemate? The people of Fenvarrow deserved better.
He pulled back from the dream into consciousness. Lalenda still slumbered on his chest, so he dissolved into shadow gradually, letting her slip down gently into the pillows. Then he sped through the corridors of Skygrip to the library where he spread wide, moving through books until he found the word he was looking for.
Dragon.
He condensed wholly into the book, becoming a fine film that bled across the pages, absorbing the words. The descriptions he found did nothing to quell his worries. Unyielding before both weapons and magic, with scales as hard as iron. Fiery breath, unlike any normal flame, which could melt metal to liquid. Added to which they were neither friendly nor reasonable, and they never willingly parted with treasure.
Could Bel defeat such a creature? he wondered. Twice, in dreams, he had experienced what Bel felt during a fight, and knew something odd happened to his counterpart in such circumstances. Bel would lose himself in the heat of battle, and see patterns to be negotiated through his opponents. But is this ability, if it can be called that, reliable? Does it create victory, or simply point the way? What if there are circumstances in which it is simply impossible to succeed? How can a mortal man hope to bring down such a creature as a dragon? Two even, if mother and son still share the same lair.
Perhaps Losara could face them himself? Then he could remove the risk to his other , and also secure the Stone.
North he sped, streaking so fast that the world blurred around him. In moments he was across the border, into the moonlit night of Kainordas. He travelled up the Dragon’s Sorrow river, then across Dennali, until he joined the Arkus Heights well east of where his other would be. Along foothills he raced, spreading wide so as not to miss his target. He quickly discovered the entry to a cave that matched Fazel’s description. Stopping only briefly to gather himself together, he streamed inside.
The cave sloped downwards, widening to a huge cavern about a hundred paces in. Around the walls were pits of glowing coals, rippling with bands of light that seemed almost alive. Heated by dragon flame, no doubt, which was slow to dwindle. Scattered about the earthen floor were coins and precious objects, many half-buried – not quite the glimmering, well-maintained hoard that Losara had expected. As for the dragon herself, she was far more impressive.
Shebazaruka lay in the middle of the cavern, on top of a mound of earth, asleep. Some fifty paces from snout to tail, she was a green as deep as forest night-time. Spikes ran along her limbs, down her back and out along the ridge of her folded bat-like wings. Her neck was long and muscular, ending in a heavy head like a cross between horse and lizard.
Losara knew a moment of awe. Did he really intend to kill such an ancient and impressive creature?
He had to try.
Stepping quietly from the shadows into realness, he held out his hands, collecting power at his fingertips, intending to create the most potent energy bolt of his life. The dragon’s eyes flicked open, glowing green, and her head swung off the ground.
‘Magic?’ she hissed.
Blazing fire burst from her throat, lighting up the cavern and making her treasure gleam and flash. Losara, who hadn’t even expected to be detected, released the energy bolt and disintegrated into shadow. The bolt hit the dragon’s neck, knocking her aim off centre for a moment, but leaving her otherwise unharmed. Losara circled the cavern, hoping that in shadowform she would not sense him …but the almighty roar of flames came after him. He felt the heat brush his being, felt part of himself instantly melt away, and remembered with a kind of dull horror what he’d read about the magic of dragon’s fire. It seemed he was not immune to it even in non-corporeal form.
From somewhere further off in the tunnels came a second roar, reverberating off walls and making dust fall – the son was here too, and coming! Between the two of them, they could corner him with fire and end him there and then.
In a flash he fled the cave, another and he was home. Materialising back into his room, and surprised to find himself shaking, Losara chastised himself for his rash moves. To read that a creature was difficult to kill, resistant to magic and with magical fire – and then to speed off and try to confront it anyway, almost casually, without proper planning or strategy? Had I been foggy, so fresh out of the dream , he wondered …like a form of sleep-walking?
He forced himself to inspect his body, wondering if he would find something gone, like the finger he had lost to Battu. He could not discover anything obvious, but his back felt tender and sore – perhaps skin was missing? It was difficult to tell just by looking in the mirror, for the damage was not like that done to a mortal body, with no marks of trauma around it – but yes, the top layer of skin from his back had gone. It seemed that injuries sustained in shadowform were somehow attributed to parts of his real body, though exactly how he wasn’t sure. What if, one day, he lost something of his heart or mind?
You must remember , he reproached himself, that powerful as you may be, invincible you are not!
‘What’s wrong?’ came Lalenda’s sleepy voice. She was sitting up in bed, her bedraggled hair falling over her face. The sight of her calmed him somewhat.
‘Nothing, my pixie. I’ll come back to bed soon.’
‘Fading away in the night …’ she grumbled, finishing face down in the pillow.
‘I have something to do.’
He did indeed …but what? He could not allow Bel to run off and get singed to a crisp by dragons, yet he could not fight them himself either. Then an idea came – who better to withstand the dragon’s magical fire than another magic-resistant creature?
Time to fight fire with …mud.
Again Losara dissolved, but this time he went in search of Tyrellan. He found the Black Goblin sitting in his quarters, sharpening a dagger and staring at the shadowmander.