The Door Into Fire

'It'll take a while to hatch,' Segnbora said to the ouzel. 'Do what you can, though.' The bird picked up the jewel and flew down to the nest with it.

'But it's a stone!' Herewiss objected.

'Strange things won't happen,' Segnbora said, 'unless you give them a chance.'

'I'm trying,' Herewiss said.

'Yes, I see that. You're past the Door. The drug?' 'Yes.'

'Oh well,' Segnbora said, 'a short life, but a merry one.'

The Dragon bent its great head down toward Herewiss, regarding him. He bowed low, feeling that this creature was worthy of his respect. It was apparently one of the Oldest Line of Dragons, the children of Dahiric World-finder, to judge by its star-emerald scales and topaz spines.

It spoke to him in deep-voiced song, but the words were strange and he could not understand them. There was warning in its voice.

'What?' Herewiss said.

'You don't speak Dracon?' asked Segnbora. 'I could never find anyone to teach me.'

'Well, she greets you by me, and says that something is trying to happen, and you should beware of it.'

'That's what I thought,' Herewiss said. 'But to beware of it? . . . I don't understand.'

'Neither does she. She says to look to your sword.' 'But I don't have a ... well, I suppose I do ... '

'I don't think much more will fit in there,' Segnbora said to the first ouzel, which had come back with a piece of kelp nearly twice its size. It was trying valiantly to stuff it in the crevice, and failing. Herewiss felt suddenly that there was no more to be found or shared in this dream. He bowed again to the Dragon, and waved to Segnbora, and came forth.

Herewiss stood up, wondering a little, and went over to where Freelorn lay, curled up in a ball as usual. He spent a moment or two just looking at his loved. Sleep was the only time when Lorn lost his eternal look of calculation, and Herewiss loved to watch him sleeping, even when he snored.

Herewiss sat down beside him, the sweet sorrow of the moment passing through him like the pain of imminent tears. This could very well be the last time in this life — and if the hralcin got him, as seemed likely, in any life at all. Mother, he said softly, I give You this night, as you gave me one of Yours. Whatever else happened or didn't happen in this life, Lorn loved me — loves me; and that's as great a blessing as the Fire would be, and possibly more than I deserve. Take this night, Mother, and remember me. You understood me-a little better than most ...

He reached out to touch Freelorn's cheek, brushed it gently. I'm going to try to give you all the parts of me I never dared to, he said. I hope I can give you all the joy you deserve.

Herewiss entered in.

There were clouds of haze, lit by a light as indefinite as dawn on a cloudy day, and vague soft sounds wove through them. He found Freelorn moving quietly through the mists, looking for something. Herewiss fell in beside him, and they paced together through the haze.

'Where are we, Lorn?'

'A long time ago,' Freelorn said softly, 'I used to come here alone. I was really young, and I would come talk to the Lion and ask Him for help with my lessons. I mean, I didn't know that you're not supposed to ask God for help with things like that. So I just asked. And it always seemed that I got help. Maybe I can get some here.'

The mist was clearing a little. All around them was a stately hall with walls of plain white marble. Tall deep windows were cut into those walls, and lamps burned golden in the fists of iron arms that struck outward from the walls at intervals. There was no furniture in the hall of any kind.

At the end of the room was a flight of steps, three of them, and atop the steps a huge pedestal, and on the pedestal a statue of a mighty white Lion couchant, regal and beautiful. Herewiss knew where they were. This was Lionhall in the royal palace in Prydon; the holiest place in Arlen, where none but the kings and their children might walk without mishap befalling them. Though Herewiss had never seen it before, in Freelorn's dream the place was part of his longed-for home, one which he had never thought to see again. And the Lion was not merely another aspect of the Goddess's Lover, but the founder of Freelorn's ancient line, and so family. Herewiss and Freelorn walked to the steps together, and stopped there, and felt welcomed.

'Lord,' Freelorn said, 'I promised I would come back, and here I am. Where is my father?'

It was a little strange to see them facing each other; Freelorn, small and uncertain, but with a great dignity about him, and the Lion, terrible and venerable, but with a serene joy in His eyes. 'He's gone on,' the Lion said gravely. 'He's one of Mine now.'

'But where is he? I can't find his sword, and it's supposed to be mine, and I must have it. I can't be king without his sword.'

'He's gone on,' the Lion said, and He smiled on them out of His golden eyes. 'You must go after him if you want Hergotha.'

'I'll do that,' Freelorn said. 'Uh, Lord—'

'Ask on.'

'You are my Father, and the head of our Line?'

'You are My child,' the Lion said, bending His head in assent. 'Make no doubt of it.'

'Lord, I need a miracle."

The Lion stretched, a long comfortable cat-gesture, and the terrible steel-silver talons winked on His paws for a second's space. 'I don't do miracles much any more, son. You're as much the Lion as I am. You do it.'

'It's not for me, Healhra my Father; it's for Herewiss here.'

Herewiss looked up, meeting the gaze of the golden eyes and feeling a tremor of recognition, remembering how his illusion had looked at him even after it was gone from the field at Madeil. 'Son of Mine,' the Lion said then, shifting his eyes back to Freelorn, 'his Father the Eagle and I managed Our own miracles for the most part. I have faith in you, and in him.'

Freelorn nodded.

'Go down to the Arlid, then,' the Lion said, 'and follow it till it comes to the Sea. Your father is in the place to which his desire has taken him, but to get there you'll have to go down to the Shore first. Your friend will go with you.'

They bowed down, together, and were suddenly out by the river Arlid, which flowed through the palace grounds. It was night, and the water flowed silverly by under a westering Moon.

'The Sea is a long way off,' Herewiss said. Even as he said it, he perceived something wrong with him. He was being swept away with this dream, losing control. Too much drug! something in him cried, thrilling with horror. But the fearful voice was faint, and though it cried again, Down by the Sea is the land of the dead! still he walked with Freelorn by the riverbank, through the green reeds, toward the seashore.

'It's not that far,' Freelorn said. 'Only a hundred miles or so.' 'It's a long way to walk,' Herewiss insisted. 'So we'll let the water take us. Come on.'

Together they stepped down through the sedges on the bank and on to the surface of the water. The Arlid was a placid river, smooth- flowing, and bore their weight without complaint. Its current hurried them past little clusters of houses, and moss-grown docks, and flocks of grazing sheep, at a speed which would normally have surprised them but which they both now accepted unquestioningly. Once or twice they walked a little, to help things along, but mostly they stood in silence and let the river flow.

'You really think your father has the sword?' Herewiss said.

'He has to.' Freelorn's voice was fierce. 'They never found it after he died. He must have taken Hergotha with him.'

Herewiss looked at Freelorn and was sad for him, driven as he was even while dreaming. 'It takes more than a sword to make a king,' he said, and then was shocked at the words that had fallen out of his mouth.