less interesting. Until now. Dragons enjoy a challenge. They’re like-what?-horses bred only to race or fight; like hunting dogs. But far more intelligent: prey that’s too easy to take offers them no challenge.”
Rwyan said, “The crystals drive Truemen mad, are we with them too long. In Trebizar, Allanyn and her followers were made mad by them, I think. What of the dragons then?”
Bellek said, “They’re different. An older race that lives a different life. They do not go mad. Rather, it seems the crystals make them fonder of those special few who share communion with them.”
He turned his seamed face slowly around, encompassing us all with his gaze; and said, “Like you.”
I said, because none of my companions spoke, “Do you explain?”
Bellek said, “I’m not sure I can. But … you’ve the Storyman’s talent, no? And Rwyan the mage’s. I, that of the Dragonmaster-”
I interrupted him: “And Urt? Tezdal? What of them?”
He shrugged and said, “I cannot say. Only that my dragons told me I was no longer alone. That there were others like me, abroad. They’ve powers I cannot explain, Daviot. They dream; and I think their dreams span the whole world. I know only that they dreamed of you and knew you were come to Trebizar, and in danger.”
I said, “That fails to explain it. I dreamed of dragons long before Trebizar.”
He gave me back, “Perhaps that’s how, or why. Perhaps it was because you
Rwyan said, “The pattern! Did I not tell you, Daviot?”
I nodded. There was much to digest here. I knew that I had been snatched from an untimely (in my opinion) arrival into the Pale Friend’s embrace by creatures I had dared hope were not legendary. I had dreamed of dragons-but should that flesh them? I had told Rwyan of my dreams, and Urt-but should that make them part of the dream? How should Tezdal become a part of this fleshed fantasy?
I reached for the gilded jug and found it empty. Bellek chuckled and rose, shedding dust in a cloud behind him as he took the jug and carried it away.
Tezdal said, “I understand none of this.”
Urt said, “Changed live here? Under the dragons’ wings?”
Bellek returned with the filled jug in time to hear that question and said, “As I told you: in the valleys. The brave few, who came back when they saw the direction your Raethe took.”
Urt lost a measure of his fear. He shaped a frown, and took the goblet Bellek offered him, and demanded, like me: “Do you explain?”
The Dragonmaster chuckled. “Are there not always a few who’ll dare what others will not? Those who choose to take their chances and refuse the common belief?”
He looked us, all four, in the eyes, and said, chuckling, “Like you.” But his words were directed largely at Urt.
I said nothing. I felt this was Urt’s moment: that he stood at the edge of a precipice. The past was the solid ground behind, the future the leap over the rim. He could step back or take flight, as if on dragon’s back. Or plummet ground-ward. I waited on his answer.
He said, “Tell me.”
Bellek said, “They came north. I cannot tell you why, only that they did; and that they were brave. They came out of Ur-Dharbek to live in these mountains. And more came when they understood what Allanyn plans.”
Rwyan said, “How could they know?”
Bellek said, “I cannot tell you. Am I honest, it did not much interest me; not at first. But more came-and settled; and built up the holdings that used to be here. And I’d no quarrel with that; nor my dragons.” He laughed. “I think my dragons grew somewhat lonely by then. However-they settled in the valleys and made this land into some semblance of what it used to be. And I welcomed them: they’re good folk.”
Urt asked, “May I meet them?”
The Dragonmaster chuckled. “Why not? Certainly in time, but bide yours a while, eh?”
I saw that Urt was greatly enthused by this: he smiled with genuine relief and said, “Soon, I hope. It should make me feel more easy.”
Rwyan said, “But how do you know all this, Bellek? You tell us that you live lonely, yet you speak of Allanyn- the Raethe, and events south-that suggests intimate knowledge. Do you tell us how you know?”
Bellek’s smile stretched his lips like skeins of skin across his teeth. I saw that he took enjoyment from his awareness of such mysteries. Like Rwyan, I wondered how he knew.
He said, “My dragons dream and see the world. And sometimes I fly them south to … observe. Mostly, they … feel … what transpires there, or have the knowledge of the elementals.” He must have seen my jaw drop, for he smiled and said, “Men are newcomers to this world, set beside the dragons. They’re an ancient race and closer to natural things. I know not the how of it, but that they commune with the elementals is certain.”
He glanced at Tezdal then, as if the Sky Lord should understand this better, but Tezdal only shrugged and said, “The Attul-ki command the spirits, not we Kho’rabi.”
I asked, “How do you control the dragons?”
And Bellek laughed and told me, “Dragons are not controlled, my friend. Best learn that early! They allow themselves to be ridden-the dams, at least-because they take pleasure in that union.” His leathery face grew serious as he scanned us all. “You
“When shall that be?” I asked. The excitement of that flight filled me yet.
“Soon enough,” Bellek said, and hid his face behind his goblet.
As wine and food took their toll, I began to feel greatly tired. I think there is a limit to the excitement a body can experience, and that when that limit is reached, it cravesrest, for all the mind would have it otherwise. I yawned; I could not help myself.
Bellek laughed and said, “Aye, doubtless you are all weary. It was a long night, no? So-do I show you to your chambers, and we’ll speak again when you’ve rested.”
There were more questions: too many. I ducked my head. The notion of bed was immediately as tempting as the odor of the meal had been. I looked to Rwyan and saw the lids of her eyes drooped heavy over the blind orbs. She smiled and nodded her agreement. Urt looked as if he’d find some bolt hole to lie in secure until the world resumed a safer course. Only Tezdal seemed untired, but still he shrugged and grunted his agreement.
“Then do you follow me?”
Bellek rose and led us out through a door I’d not noticed, into a corridor that ran through the mountain’s rock. There were no windows, but it was lit. I could not understand how.
Rwyan gestured at the glow. “You’ve the understanding of the crystals then, Bellek. Are you a sorcerer?”
He chuckled and returned her, “I’m a Dragonmaster, lady. Does that make me a sorcerer-then, aye. But not like you.”
She said, “Magic shaped this place, no?”
And he chuckled again and said, “It did. In olden days, when magic was different. When the firstcome Dhar were different. Think you that talent remains always the same? Or that the crystals do not change? I tell you, no. The crystals shift in accord with those who use them; and those who use them shift in accord with the crystals’ shaping.”
He shrugged: a gesture of resignation. Rwyan said, “Whoever built this place commanded a mighty talent.”
Bellek said, “Once, aye. Once the Dragonmasters were supreme. They built this place and all the other castles, where only dragons had nested before. Once, we were the Lords of the Sky. But we outlived our time and folk forgot us. That bleeds out power, forgetting.”
I said, “What happened to the others?”
And he returned me simply, “They died.”
