I pulled my hand away from the wall and realized that the shadow I'd sat in was gone—as was the darkness the Asylum had laid upon me. For the first time since I left Hurog, I felt at peace.
"Oreg was by a while ago," Tisala said. She was reclining on one of the massive stones that had formed the arch of the dome. Close enough to keep watch, I thought, but not so close that she'd disturb me. "He said you were 'daydreaming, and to get him if you didn't wake up by noon." She glanced at the sun straight over our heads. "He also told me to ask you if you learned anything."
I nodded my head slowly. "I learned that sitting still all morning is not a good idea—give me a hand, would you?"
She grinned and came over to pull me to my feet. I let her work at it a while before I stood, groaning as my joints protested.
"Getting old," she pronounced with a shake of her head. "I could hear your back pop."
I laughed, and it felt good. Kissing her felt better. When I pulled back, her eyes were dark and her breathing quick.
I bent back down until my forehead rested against her hair, warm from the sun, and sweet-smelling. When I stepped back, she stared at me fiercely, as a falcon measures its prey.
"I am older than you," she said. "I am too tall, too strong, too used to having my own way. I am Oranstonian, born and bred to secretly despise Northlanders as much as we fear the Vorsag. I am scarred and plain. My nose is too big."
I waited, but that seemed to be all she had to say. "My father tried to kill me off and on until he died—that makes a person old before his time. I am taller than you, stronger, and used to getting my own way. But the trees are taller yet, and in strengths that surpass that of thew and bone, we are well-matched, I think. I'm Shavig born and bred, which makes me arrogant enough to laugh when Oranstonians try to make fun of my big horses and yellow hair. I'll match you scar for scar with some left over." I hesitated for effect, fighting to hide my exultant feelings because if I laughed I wouldn't get said the things I needed to. "So, let's see" — I ran a finger lightly over her lips—"that leaves only your last two complaints. Tisala, don't you know that there is such beauty in you that leaves men trembling? It is not the beauty of a flower in the king's gardens, but that of a tigress with sharp fangs and—"
She laughed suddenly. "Whiskers?"
I smiled. "If your nose were any smaller, it would be too small." Then I kissed her sharp, arrogant nose. "Will you marry me?"
I pulled away to look into her eyes, but she kept them closed.
She shook her head slowly. "No. You rescue people, Ward." She opened her eyes hoping, I think, to convince me of her earnestness. "You rescued me. It's natural for us to feel this connection—but it's not real. One day you'll look up and see me, and wonder where the woman who needed your protection went. Men don't marry women like me, Ward."
I started to open my mouth to argue with her, when several things occurred to me. The first was that words were not going to convince her that what I felt was real. Only time would do that. The second was that she felt something, too—both her words and her response to my kiss told me that much. Knowing she cared gave me the hope to be patient
So I smiled at her and started back for camp. Unless she told me to leave her alone, I would pursue her unto the ends of the earth.
Kellen's man Rosem had the look of a soldier about him. Something in the way that he stood spoke of long hours in ranks and parade rests. Stala wasn't big on fancy marching, but I knew what the results looked like. He was wary of me, and unhappy at having to trust someone else to rescue Kellen: very unhappy at how we were going about it.
"Why does he have to go off alone—why can't he work the magic here?"
I shrugged, not about to tell him that Oreg intended to fly to the Asylum under the cover of night and take a good look at what spells were put on Kellen's cell. "For," as he'd said to me, "Kellen is too rich a prize to leave out with the common discards. They'll have other safeguards about him even though he's not in the wizard's wing."
"Oreg knows what he's doing, Rosem," said Tisala patiently for the third or fourth time. "Trust him."
"Do I have a choice?" he said finally. The edge of desperation clung to his tones.
"No," said Duraugh. "But Hurogs pay their debts."
"The Hurogmeten got himself out," replied Rosem.
Duraugh shrugged. "Maybe so, but you risked a lot to help us—we can do no less."
The atmosphere of Menogue after dark didn't help, I thought. If we'd been back at camp with the men, the familiar noise and bustle would have drowned out Rosem's realization that he was standing on a place reputed to be haunted. No good Tallven would have been caught dead on Menogue after dark—unless he was awaiting the rescue of his liege lord by a pack of wild-eyed Northmen.
It affected everyone. Duraugh had been careful to lean up against a tree so that nothing could sneak up behind him. Tosten stared off into the darkness of the woods as if he expected to see something there. Tisala played with the hilt of her sword.
I closed my eyes and took up a more comfortable perch on the waist-high boulder I'd found to sit on. If something out there meant harm to us, the Tamerlain who was curled up, unseen, behind me would give warning.
A wind came suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to make the aspen saplings clatter together. Tosten half drew his sword and turned to face the wind, but when I put my hand on his elbow, he slid the blade back into its sheath.
"It's Oreg," I said. If Rosem thought the wind was magic—well, dragon wings are magic, too.
The wind died abruptly and Oreg walked out of the trees in human form. "Ward, you have to come with me."
He could have meant a dozen different places, a meadow where he'd brought Kellen or drawn up a spell he needed me to help power, but my gorge rose in my throat because I knew. He wanted me to come to the Asylum.
After so long in his cell, Kellen was unlikely to trust strangers. He needed to see someone he knew.
Rosem would have done—but that would have meant trusting him with Hurog's secret. And I wasn't ready for the world to realize that there were dragons still.
Tisala could do it, but I needed to face my fears.
"Very well," I said, hoping my voice didn't tremble.
"Where are you going?" asked Rosem, sharp distrust raising his voice half an octave.
"To help Oreg," I said, and strode after Oreg into the trees.
When we'd covered a sufficient distance to hide what we did, Oreg transformed himself into the dragon. The darkness hid him, but even in my fear I felt the familiar sense of awe that a creature so beautiful still walked the earth.
"Up," he whispered like the rustling of the yellow and red leaves of the autumn trees.
I had only ridden dragon-back twice before. It seemed a highly personal thing, so I never asked, only went when he offered. With the adrenaline of the knowledge of where we were going adding to the excitement of such a ride, I was afraid I was going to be sick.
I set my hand against Oreg's cool and surprisingly soft neck scales and swarmed up his shoulder, carefully avoiding the delicate skin of his wings. After I'd settled into the narrow grove between neck and wing, Oreg gathered himself and launched into the air.
I'd never flown at night, and the yawning darkness below worried me more than seeing tiny dots of buildings and patchworked fields had. There was something unsettling about darkness, and I was glad when we reached the city.
The first time Oreg'd taken me flying, I'd asked him about someone seeing us. He'd said that no one sees a dragon unless the dragon wants to be seen. The guards at the city gates didn't look up as we flew above them.