“Go back, Iridal,” he said to her, grimly earnest. “Leave, right now. The dragon’s tired, but the beast’ll make it, take you at least as far as Providence.”
The dragon, hearing itself mentioned, shifted irritably from foot to foot and rustled its wings. It wanted to be rid of its riders, wanted to skulk off into the trees, go to sleep.
“First you were eager to join me. Now you’re trying to drive me away.” Iridal regarded him coldly. “What happened? Why the change?”
“I said no questions,” Hugh growled, staring moodily out over the rim of the island, into the fathomless blue depths of deepsky. He flicked a glance at her. “Unless you’d care to answer a few I could ask.” Iridal flushed, drew back her hand. She dismounted from the dragon without assistance, used the opportunity to keep her head lowered, her face concealed in the recesses of the hood of her cloak. When she was standing on the ground, and certain of maintaining her composure, she turned to Hugh.
“You need me. You need me to help find Alfred. I know something of him, quite a lot, in fact. I know who he is and what he is and, believe me, you won’t discover him without my assistance. Will you give that up? Will you send me away?”
Hugh refused to look at her. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “Yes, damn it. Go!” His hands clenched on the dragon’s saddle, he laid his aching head on them.
“Damn Trian!” he swore softly to himself. “Damn Stephen! Damn this woman and damn her child. I should have set my head on the block when I had the chance. I knew it then. Something warned me. I would have wrapped death around me like a blanket and slipped into slumber...”
“What are you saying?”
He felt Iridal’s hand, her touch, soft and warm, on his shoulder. He shuddered, cringed away.
“What terrible grief you bear!” she said gently. “Let me share it.” Hugh rounded on her, savage, sudden. “Leave me. Buy someone else to help you. I can give you names—ten men—better than me. As for you, I don’t need you. I can find Alfred. I can find any man—”
“—so long as he’s hiding in the bottom of a wine bottle,” Iridal retorted. Hugh caught hold of her, his grip tight and painful. He shook her, forced her head back, forced her to look at him.
“Know me for what I am—a hired killer. My hands are stained with blood, blood bought and paid for. I took money to kill a child!”
“And gave your life for the child...”
“A fluke!” Hugh shoved her away, flung her back from him. “That damned charm he cast over me. Or maybe a spell you put on me.”
Turning his back on her, he began to untie the bundle, using swift, violent tugs.
“Go,” he said again, not looking at her. “Go now.”
“I will not. We made a bargain,” said Iridal. “The one good thing I’ve heard said about you is that you never broke a contract.”
He stopped what he was doing, turned to stare at her, his deep-set eyes dark beneath frowning, overhanging brows. He was suddenly cold, calm.
“You’re right, my lady. I never broke a contract. Remember that, when the time comes.” Freeing the bundle, he tucked it under his arm, nodded his head at the dragon. “Take off the enchantment.”
“But... that will mean it will fly loose. We might never catch it.”
“Precisely. And neither will anyone else. Nor is it likely to return to the king’s stables any time in the near future. That will be long enough for us to disappear.”
“But it could attack us!”
“It wants sleep more than food.” Hugh glared at her, his eyes red from sleeplessness and hangover. “Free it or fly it, Lady Iridal. I’m not going to argue.”
Iridal looked at the dragon, her last link with her home, her people. The journey had all been a dream, up until now. A dream such as she had dreamed asleep in Hugh’s arms. A glorious rescue, of magic and flashing steel, of snatching her child up in her arms and defying his enemies to seize him, of watching the elves fall back, daunted by a mother’s love and Hugh’s prowess. Skurvash had not been a part of that dream. Nor had Hugh’s blunt and shadowed words.
I’m not very practical, Iridal told herself bleakly. Or very realistic. None of us are, who lived in the High Realms. We didn’t need to be. Only Sinistrad. And that was why we let him proceed with his evil plans, that was why we made no move to stop him. We are weak, helpless. I swore I would change. I swore I would be strong, for my child’s sake.
She pressed her hand over the feather amulet, tucked beneath the bodice of her gown. When she felt stronger, she lifted the spell from the dragon, broke the last link in the chain.
The creature, once freed, shook its spiky mane, glared at them ferociously, seemed to consider whether or not it should make a meal of them, decided against it. The dragon snarled at them, took to the air. It would seek a safe place to rest, somewhere high and hidden. Eventually it would tire of being alone and go back to its stables, for dragons are social creatures, and it would soon feel the longing for its mate and companions left behind. Hugh watched it well away, then turned and began to walk up a small path that led to the main road they had seen from the air. Iridal hastened to keep up with him.
As he walked, he was rummaging through the bundle, extracted an object from it—a pouch. Its contents gave off a harsh, metallic jingle. He looped its ties over the belt he wore at his waist.
“Give me your money,” he ordered. “All of it.” Silently, Iridal handed over her purse.
Hugh opened it, gave it a swift eye-count, then thrust the purse inside his shirt, to rest snugly and firmly against his skin. “The lightfingers[53] of Skurvash live up to their reputation,” he said dryly. “We’ll need to keep what money we have safe, to buy our passage.”
“Buy our passage! To Aristagon?” repeated Iridal, dazed. “But we’re at war! Is flying to elven lands... is it that simple?”
“No,” said Hugh, “but anything can be had for a price.” Iridal waited for him to continue, but he was obviously not going to tell her more. Solaris was bright and the coralite glistened. The air was warming rapidly after night’s chill. In the distance, perched high on the side of a mountain, the fortress loomed strong and imposing, as large as Stephen’s palace. Iridal could not see any houses or buildings, but she guessed they were heading for the small village she’d seen from the air. Spirals of smoke from morning cooking fires and forges rose above the brush.
“You have friends here,” she said, recalling his words, the “they” that had been altered to “we.”
“In a manner of speaking. Keep your face covered.”
“Why? No one here will know me. And they can’t tell I’m a mysteriarch just by looking at me.”
He stopped walking, eyed her grimly.
“I’m sorry,” Iridal said, sighing. “I know I promised not to question anything you did and that’s all I’ve done. I don’t mean to, but I don’t understand and and I’m frightened.”
“I guess you’ve a right to be,” he said, after a moment spent tugging thoughtfully on the long thin strands of braided beard. “And I suppose the more you know, the better off we’ll both be. Look at you. With those eyes, those clothes, that voice—a child can see you’re noble born. That makes you fair game, a prize. I want them to know you’re my prize.”
“I will not be anyone’s prize!” Iridal bristled. “Why don’t you tell them the truth—that I’m your employer.”
He stared at her, then he grinned, then threw back his head and laughed. His laughter was deep, hearty; it released something inside him. He actually smiled at her, and the smile was reflected in his eyes.
“A good answer, Lady Iridal. Perhaps I will. But, in the meanwhile, keep close to me, don’t wander off. You’re a stranger here. And they have rather a special welcome for strangers in Skurvash.”
The port town of Klervashna was located close to the shoreline. It was built out in the open, no walls surrounded it, no gates barred entry, no guards asked them their business. One road led from the shore into town, one road—the same road—led out of town and up into the mountains.