“Well, why then?” he asked. “Why are you here?”
“Waiting for you, naturally.”
“Of course. And you are waiting for me, because . . .”
“You would have died were there no soul here to succor your hurts and offer you food and drink. My purpose is to commune with the ineffable and to serve the Warrior should he appear.”
“Why does everybody keep calling me that? Warlord, Warrior—”
“You drank from the well and live to tell the tale.”
“But I didn’t drink. She tried to make me and I refused.”
The smile faded. “You refused the test?”
“Was I wrong? The others—there are six men in there, dead. It looked like they were poisoned and I thought it was the water.” Even speaking of the enchanted liquid set him thirsting for it again.
“It didn’t tempt you?”
“It tempted me plenty. I didn’t want to die.”
The old man stroked his beard. “You are very brave, then, Warrior or not. But I fear our time together may be shorter than I had anticipated. She will not be pleased.”
“She who? And you still didn’t answer about the Warrior bit.”
“Very well, I shall tell you. But I warn you that my answer will be in the form of a tale. This requires stronger drink than water. One moment.”
The old man heaved his bulk up out of the chair once more and disappeared into the trailer, returning a few moments later with large stoneware mugs, spilling over with foam.
Zee accepted the drink pressed into his hand but hesitated. He had lost blood and wasn’t sure how alcohol would affect him as a consequence. Also, no place in the Between was truly safe and he was already incapacitated. His eyes went to the dream door, still closed, and scanned the horizon for any sign of danger.
“Drink, drink,” the hermit said. “It’s good brown ale. Replenishes the blood. You are safe enough here for the moment.” He guzzled down a long draught, belched happily, and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Zee took an experimental swallow. The ale was smooth and full and rich, nothing like beer, or even the brew pub ales he’d tasted over the years. It soothed his throat, eased his distress, but left his mind surprisingly untouched.
The hermit took another long swallow and leaned back in his chair. “So then. The Tale of the Warrior and the Dragon, as it was told unto me by my father and his father before him.
“Long ago, in the far-off days before recorded history, a Dragon King ruled the Forever. He was the first of all dragons, and the most beautiful. It is said that in the full light of day his scales shone so bright that even the dragons could not look upon him with eyes unshielded.
“How he came to be, nobody knows. Some say he crawled from the river, fully formed. Others that the giants made him—shaped him of beaten gold and then breathed life into him. Only the giants could say, and they keep their lore unto themselves.
“One day, by fate or happenstance or genetic mutation, depending upon your theory of the world and how it works, a special child was born. It was a girl child, and her mother named her Allel. She never cried, they say, but watched the world through big gray eyes, taking in all things and understanding far beyond her years.
“One night, when Allel was maybe six months old, her mother checked the crib at midnight and found it empty. She shrieked her fear and dismay aloud, and her husband ran to rally the villagers and they hunted for the child, one and all, through the long hours of the night.
“In the morning, the baby was found in her cradle, fast asleep.
“The villagers were angry. ‘Foolishness of an overly fond mother,’ they said. ‘The child was never missing. Don’t bother us again.’
“And so the next night, father and mother watched by the cradle and saw the child vanish before their eyes. All night long they waited, and as dawn struck and the sky turned blue, Allel appeared out of nowhere, lying in her cradle fast asleep.
“Nobody would believe, so the next night a small group of elders were invited in. This time they watched carefully at the time of dusk and sleep, and saw the child vanish before their eyes, and later reappear.
“‘She is a witch,’ they said, afraid. ‘She must be destroyed now, before she gains power.’
“The mother wept and pleaded. ‘Not now, give me one last day. She is no harm to anyone.’
“Not being evil or having hearts of stone, the men agreed to leave a watch to make sure she didn’t flee with the child. All day long the mother rocked Allel in the rocking chair, her long hair screening her face from view. But she did not weep. And when she glanced up at her husband, he read the look in her eyes and nodded.
“Bit by bit throughout the day, when their unwelcome guest was looking in another direction—eating his meal of bread and cheese, stepping outside to make water, blinking back sleep—she scrambled together a few small things into one place. A water skin. A bundle of bread and cheese and three boiled eggs. A blanket and a change of clothes for the baby.
“As the sun moved toward the edge of the sky and began to drop, her husband took up his spear and confronted the watchman sitting on the threshold of his door. ‘We leave now,’ he said. ‘My wife, my child, and I. We shall never trouble the village again, if you let us go. But if you do not . . .’
“The watchman hesitated, looking at the family, and then shook his head. ‘She cannot be allowed to live.’ He opened his mouth again, to call for help, and fell before he could make a sound with the spear through his throat.
“The three fled before anybody else could come looking. Many long days they journeyed, and hardships they encountered, before they reached the tunnel through the mountain that led to the land of the dragons. Long, dark, and treacherous it was, and they emerged famished and weak on the other side.
“In those days the dragons were yet wise and noble creatures. They kept their distance from the three travelers, not allowing themselves to be seen, but made sure that game was sent in their direction, and that they stumbled upon pools of true water now and again, for although the dragons were able to drink from the golden river, this water would kill a human.
“Even so, father and mother ate little, depriving themselves in order to feed the child. They traveled by day. At night, as always, the child would vanish and they would wait for her return.
“At length a dragon was selected to speak with them—because he was smaller than the others, and white of scale and wing, it was deemed that he might appear less of a threat. But the father shook his spear and the mother hid the child behind her back to protect her.
“Allel pulled away from her mother’s hands, stepped forward, and said, ‘The White One was talking to us, Papa, and you must be polite and put away the sword.’
“‘Dear one, it was gibberish only. Take your mother and run away.’
“But Allel, utterly fearless, walked between her father and the huge creature of wings and scales and fiery breath and said, ‘I am Allel, and I have seen you in a dream.’
“The poor parents did not understand a word of this conversation and were terrified that some evil would befall the child, but they need not have feared. The dragon led them to a place where there was water, and wood to make a shelter, and let it be known that they were welcome to live here so long as they wished.
“Allel ran wild in the forest by day, and ran through the Dreamworlds at night. From that day forward the white dragon was her constant companion both waking and dreaming. He kept her safe in the Dreamworlds, showed her how to move between one world and another, and all the secrets of the Between.
“All of the time in Dreamworld saw to it that she aged slowly. Her parents grew old and faded away. One after another they died, and by this time Allel was a good half century in years of time, but looked no more than eighteen summers, with a cloud of night-black hair and eyes the color of fog when the sun shines through.