“I believe you,” said Balyndis, pale now. She indicated where the kordrion was thought to have its eyrie. “Vraccas was good to us and we have always been able to destroy the soft eggs before they hatch. Our scouts report, though, that it’s back in the nest and that the kordrion has learned to keep supplies. If we are out of luck it won’t have to leave the clutch of eggs to get food. That was always our opportunity to make a move.”
“We’ll think up a suitable diversion,” Ireheart said confidently. “Right, Scholar: We go to the nest, grab the eggs and run off through the Gray Range all the way to the entrance to Gauragar?”
“No. We must go over the summits, so that it can follow our tracks. I’ve worked out a route.”
Balyndar’s eyes widened. “In winter? Are you out of your mind?” After a pause he added, “High King.”
Without hesitating, Tungdil recited the names of the summits they would have to cross, specifying places they would rest. “Does that still sound like madness to you,” he asked cuttingly, “or more like a demanding but achievable journey?”
Balyndis nodded. “I’m amazed how much you still remember about my homeland, when there are so many other things you have forgotten.” It was a snide remark, but one she couldn’t resist making. “It seems your mind has concentrated on the scholarly side of your nature and eliminated all feeling. Is that how it is, High King?”
Tungdil turned his brown eye toward her. “That may indeed be so, Queen Balyndis. But it will help us and Girdlegard. I shan’t be complaining.”
“Nor me,” announced Ireheart, still digesting the details of his friend’s strategy. Throughout the whole of the journey so far he had not once seen Tungdil consult a map. His knowledge must be vast. “I suggest we set off as soon as possible before the wretched things hatch out.” “Tomorrow. As soon as the sun is up,” said Tungdil, getting to his feet. “I would like to rest. Queen Balyndis, be good enough to have me shown to my chambers. And tomorrow my ponies must be fresh and ready. And we’ll need provisions. Please arrange that.”
She signaled to one of the dwarves to accompany the ruler of all the dwarf-tribes, and Tungdil left the throne room without even bidding farewell.
Slin and the fourthlings withdrew, leaving Balyndis and her son alone with Boindil.
They carried on eating in silence and later avoided any mention of Tungdil while they discussed such topics as the Black Abyss and the dangers facing Girdlegard. Ireheart, however, was well aware they couldn’t skirt round the issue forever and, fed up with having constantly to defend the Scholar to others, he eventually took a quick draft of beer and broached the subject of his friend himself. “It may be that I’m mistaken, Balyndis, but there’s a strong resemblance between Tungdil and your son.”
He realized that the question was out of order, potentially problematic and possibly insulting. He was implying that she had deceived her husband, Glaimbar Sharpax of the clan of the Iron Beaters and king of the fifthlings, passing off another’s child as his son.
But Balyndis took his words with equanimity, relieved almost that it had been mentioned. “It is very obvious, isn’t it?” she said softly. “It was a mistake to send Balyndar to the meeting in the Brown Mountains. All the clan leaders have seen him and his real father together, and will have put two and two together.”
“Will this affect your regency, do you think?” She shook her head. “No one is after my throne, now that Geroin Leadenring is dead from the fever. He was the brother of Syndalis Leadenring, the king’s second wife; she was rejected in favor of me. Geroin and some of his clan never forgave me for that. I rule well though, and if the kordrion can be driven off, the tribe of the fifthlings will flourish.” Balyndis started to cough.
“I had forgotten you are unwell,” said Ireheart, in concern.
“It will get better. Now that we know what the cause of the fever and lung disease is.”
“We have found the guilty party but we haven’t found a cure.” Ireheart tried to shut out from his mind the explanation the Scholar had given, in particular those words concerning the inevitable death of the sufferer. “But we’re sure to find something to make it better,” he hastened to say. He felt gloomy. Pull yourself together. She’s not dead yet.
The queen sighed. “Glaimbar knew.”
“What? That Balyndar was not his son?”
“Yes. He never said so, but I could read his expression. He did not voice his suspicions or reject Balyndar; that was his greatness of heart. I loved him for that generosity.” She gave a pained smile. “Balyndar will succeed to the fifthling throne after me, Ireheart. That’s what Glaimbar wanted, too, because he saw what a splendid ruler he will be one day.”
“But he does not get on with his real father.” Ireheart dusted a few crumbs off his beard, which had somehow trailed in his plate of food. “And he has a fair idea of who it is he’s dealing with? I mean, he’s not blind; he must have noticed the similarity.”
“That could be the reason Balyndar doesn’t like him. He doesn’t want to be the son of Tungdil Goldhand, a complete stranger, rather than of Glaimbar, whom he admired. Glaimbar taught him to fight and I taught him the work of a smith. Tungdil didn’t always come off particularly well when I told stories of him, if you take my meaning. After he ended our relationship in a letter, I was angry and disappointed in him for a long time. Age has made me milder.” She closed her eyes. “But when I saw him standing in front of me again, Ireheart, all the old feelings came back.”
“So you are convinced he really is Tungdil?” He bit his tongue: Too late.
To his surprise Balyndis smiled. “Don’t be confused by the somber exterior. My heart”-here she placed her hand on her breast-“my heart recognized him at once. It has never misled me.”
“It was the same for me,” he replied. He lifted his tankard.
XI
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Island of Lakepride,
Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles
Lakepride was easy to defend against attack, because the island rose high above the lake, meaning its soldiers needed no special equipment for hurling rocks. Simply rolling boulders over the edge would sink a ship. Structural improvements had been made to the shaft around the magic source, with men and materials carried on cables whizzing to and fro above the lake.
Mallenia and Rodario were observing the works from a vantage point on the watchtower battlements. Queen Wey and her daughter Coira had ordered extensive preparations, anticipating an attack by the Dragon or his henchmen, the Lohasbranders.
“What you can see there is not the most powerful weapon against the Dragon,” said Rodario.
“You mean the queen and her daughter.” Mallenia looked down into the courtyard of the palace thirty paces below. The figures looked tiny. “You say they’ve both attained their full magic potency?”
“I’ve been told the queen has bathed in the magic source. The gods only know how she managed to preserve the remnants of her force for her escape, but as a result she’s thought to be stronger than Lot-Ionan. I’m sure Lohasbrand will think twice before he attacks her.” He stepped in front of Mallenia to look into her eyes. “And that’s not to say he actually will attack. I think he’ll swallow the bait about alfar spies in his realm. Dragons are paranoid and always suspicious someone is after their treasure.”