Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [132]
“It is,” Arzosah shouted back. “It's a fire mountain.”
“What? You mean a fire mountain made it?”
“No, I mean it is a fire mountain. The corpse of one that blew its head off. But the water's warm, so there must be life way down below somewhere.”
They swept down, circling around Citadel, and Rhodry found himself remembering the volcano where he'd trapped Arzosah, and all the lore about volcanoes and dragons both that Enj, his partner in that odd enterprise, had told him as well. He could see that Citadel rose sharply from the water on one side while on the other it sloped gently down—the remains of a cone, he supposed, when the mountain had exploded through a side vent. The land of blood and fire, he thought. That's where we are, the far north, just as old Othara explained to me.
Lower and lower they flew, and at last he could make out the boulders and the remains of some stone structure among trees high on Citadel's cliffs. Nearby, on the plaza, they could see townsfolk, many of whom were looking up and pointing at the sky. He leaned over and yelled to Arzosah.
“Right there! What looks like a roof!”
“I see it!”
She banked her wings, dropped, extended them, curled, and landed lightly on the flat stones among the boulders. Distantly they could hear screaming and shouting—from the crowd on the plaza, no doubt.
“Ah, what a welcome!” Arzosah said. “You'd best leave my harness on, Rori. Let them believe I'm tame.”
When the dragon began circling over the town, Dallandra and Zatcheka were walking along the lakeshore. Behind them followed a pair of Zatcheka's guards, each with a ceremonial staff in one hand and a ferocious scowl on his face, which they turned upon any children or dogs foolish enough to come too near. The two women talked around the edges of important matters, exchanging bits of information about the Horsekin while never touching directly on the situation in the Rhiddaer, but even so, Zatcheka was as wary as a cat walking along a kennel fence and eyeing the hounds below.
“You know,” Dallandra said at last, “your son thought I was a demigod at first, too, but he soon came to realize that I was flesh and blood like him.”
“It be very kind of you to try to set me at ease. I do believe you, mind,” Zatcheka said. “Never think that I would call your words untrue.”
“Oh, I wasn't worried about that. I know it must be a hard thing to get used to, after believing your whole life that—”
One of the guards shrieked. The two women spun around to find both men waving their staves in the general direction of the sky. Overhead Arzosah soared, seemingly the size of a big silver owl at her distance, but she spiralled ever closer.
“Ah, it's Rhodry,” Dallandra said. “The man I was telling you about.”
“He be a mazrak of great power, if he ken the taking of dragon form.”
“Nah, nah, nah, I'm sorry! He's not the dragon. He tamed her, and he's riding her. That's all.”
“All?” Zatcheka gave her a sickly look that was perhaps meant to be a smile.
“I'll introduce you, and you'll see what I mean,” Dallandra said. “We'd best go over to Citadel.”
When the dragon dropped out of sight to land, they hurried back to the camp, but there they found Jahdo, standing outside Dallandra's tent, his hands full of charms and talismans, dangling from a pair of leather thongs. Zatcheka considered him with a thoughtful frown.
“Be this the lad who did attend upon my Meer?”
“It is, truly,” Dallandra said. “I wonder what he's got.”
With a shout Jahdo trotted over to meet them. They all stood just outside the camp down near the lakeshore, while the two guards kept would-be eavesdroppers away.
“Dalla?” he said. “These things do belong to the lady Zatcheka. I mean, they did belong to her sons, and I did save them, and I wager she'll be a-wanting them.”
When Zatcheka saw the thongs and their many small burdens, she sobbed once, then held out her hands. Jahdo bowed to her and laid the thongs carefully on her palms.
“The one in your left hand, my lady? That I did take from Thavrae's body as he lay on the battlefield. The