then I saw his eyes narrow, and then widen, as the seed Urt had planted took root and grew under the sun of my words. I watched as his expression shifted, swift as those patterns of light and shadow dancing over the snowfields and forests beyond the windows. I saw him come to belief, to trust, and his hope minded me of the sun in springtime, emerging from winter’s gloom.
“Think you it might be done, truly?” he asked, not of me, but of Rwyan.
She nodded and told him, “I believe it might. I believe that to fail its attempting is to betray all our peoples.”
Tezdal looked then at Urt, who lowered his head in solemn, silent agreement.
He turned to me, brows raised in question. I said, “Save we go on as we’ve done, in war unending, I see no other way.”
He asked, “Even at the price you Dhar shall pay?”
“Weighted by the lives lost-those likely saved-that price seems small to me.”
“It seems to me a very great price,” he responded.
I shrugged and said, “We’d change our world, Tezdal. I think that price must always be high. But still worth the paying.”
He hesitated. He filled his cup and drank again. It seemed he offered a toast. He set the goblet down and said, “I’m with you.” And then, much softer, “May the Three forgive me.”
“Hurrah!”
We all of us started as Bellek’s voice came from a doorway. How long he’d stood there, silent and listening, I could only guess. I thought perhaps since first our conversation had begun, for he came to join us with so purposeful an expression, I must assume he knew all we had decided.
He glanced at the jug and took it from the table. “Such weighty decisions demand a weightier wine,” he said, going to the kitchens. Calling back over his shoulder, “And you’ll require my aid in this.”
He came back with the jug replenished and filled all our cups. It was a rich, red vintage, smooth and heavy. I’d tasted nothing so fine.
“I’d wondered how long it should be,” he said, “before you came to this.”
I stared at him. “You knew?”
He chuckled. “I know your dreams,” he said. “The dragons tell me. I was not certain-I could not be-but I suspected that such as you must sooner or later come to some decision. And that decision must go the one way or the other. You choose the course I thought you’d take.”
Rwyan said, “And shall you aid us, Bellek?”
The Dragonmaster fixed her with his pale eyes. On his face I saw emotions chase like shadow and light over the mountains, one overlaying the other so swift, I could not read them clear. I thought I saw hope and confirmation balanced with some indefinable loss. He said, “It shall not be without a price.”
I said, “Name it. Likely we’ll pay.”
Bellek chuckled again, and in the sound I heard the echoes of those mixed emotions that had just decorated his seamed features; also, that hint of madness. I wondered what the price should be.
He said, “That you become, truly, Dragonmasters.”
I sensed behind his words some hidden meaning. I said, “Shall we achieve our aims if we are not?”
He shook his head. “No. Save you be utterly committed, you cannot take the dragons into battle.”
Rwyan said, “Then I accept.”
I found those pale eyes on mine. I glanced an instant at Rwyan, then ducked my head. “I accept.”
“Good.” He looked to Urt, to Tezdal, who both nodded and gave their word.
“Then,” Bellek declared, “let us plan this thing. It shall not be easy, but”-his eyes twinkled as he surveyed us-“I think the dragons shall greatly enjoy it.”
We fell then to talk of stratagems, of distances and objectives.
We each had in our possession information of great value, that should make the task easier; or so I hoped. Rwyan’s was of that magic commanded by the Dhar sorcerers-of the Sentinels and the Border Cities, and what was owned by the mages of Kherbryn and Durbrecht, the other great cities. I could offer knowledge of the keeps of Dharbek, of the war-engines and the warbands, the mood of the people and the aeldors. Urt spoke of Ur- Dharbek-of Trebizar and the magic Allanyn and her followers possessed, the strength of the Changed armies. Tezdal told us of the Kho’rabi and the Attul-ki, of the preparations for the Great Conquest.
It grew late as we talked. The winter darkness outside gave way to that brief twilight the mountains know, and that to night. The wind fell away, seemingly satisfied its task was done. Great banks of moonlit cloud obscured the sky, and from them fell snow that drifted soft and silent, building on the ledges and the parapets of the Dragoncastle. We repaired to the kitchen, still talking as we assembled a hasty meal, continuing as we brought the food to the table, talking still as we ate.
There were no clocks here, neither clepsydras nor sundials (for what good they’d have done in this season) nor any other kind. It was as if time ceased here, and what divisions of the days and hours existed were imposed only by our urgency. I had seen none in Bellek until now; that I now perceived him quickened worried me in a manner I did not properly understand.
You know from this accounting of my life that I’d that teaching of my College that allowed me usually to interpret a body’s language-the hints of eye and intonation, the movements of the hands and shoulders, those little oft-hidden signs that speak as loud as words. Bellek remained a mystery. I believed I sensed excitement in him, but also a multitude of other emotions I could not explain. I trusted him-I had no doubt he should aid us as he promised-but there was something else, something he concealed. It was that that prompted me to follow him when he left us.
I followed Bellek across yards tracked thick with snow and passages where the trickling water froze and rats skidded on the ice. We came out into a night whirlwinded white and slipped and slid our way-he confident, I furtive as a nightcome thief-along the trailing walkways that brought us to the caves where the dragons lived.
It was cold. I wished I’d brought a cloak. I shivered, thinking that my drumming teeth must reveal my presence, but Bellek showed no sign, only paused before the cave, and then went in.
I came after. I halted at the entrance. The bull Taziel was inside the gaping arch, alert. His wings were furled; his fangs were exposed. He looked at me, and I sent out that silent message Bellek had taught us all.
He granted me permission, and I went after Bellek into the cave.
I could no more ignore the sending I got from Deburah than I could my earlier curiosity. I should have thought of that before; should have known it. But I was then still newcome to that relationship, and like a lover slowly sensing out all those areas allowed and forbidden that lovers delicately find, I knew not how much this monstrous, majestic love of mine would tell.
She bade me welcome. I stroked her glossy cheek, her sinuous neck. I plucked a fragment-a hunk!-of troublesome meat from her teeth. She thanked me; I loved her as well, albeit differently, as I loved Rwyan. I asked her how her egg fared. (I’d know what Bellek did and why he came here so late, but there’s a decorum to dragons as patterned as any formal aeldor’s court. They live long, dragons, and to a slower beat of time: unhurried, save by hunger. There are always prices to be paid in dealing with dragons. It is, I think, a price worth the paying.)
She told me her egg fared well. I set my hand on it and felt the pride of the bull as I gloried in Deburah’s triumph. I could feel the pulsing of the heart within. It required an effort to remind myself why I’d come here. I asked Deburah.
I cringed then, under the sadness I felt. I’d not known what it is to lose a bond-mate.
I looked across the cave and saw that Bellek knelt on a ledge. The relics of a nest lay there, and the shattered fragments of an egg. He touched them reverentially as I touched Deburah’s; but his were in pieces, ours whole and pulsing vigorously with unborn life.
He looked on the past: I looked on the future.
I wondered why no dam sat there.
Deburah told me she’d died.
Of age, she said, ancient even more than Bellek, and even in her age produced an egg. I felt Deburah’s pleasure at my arrival in Tartarus, and understood-albeit only vaguely then-that the laying was somehow linked to
