Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [144]
“And in the north?”
“One city still lives. Bravelmelim, I think it was called in the old days. That's where Meer came from.”
“It must have escaped the plague somehow, then. Huh. Interesting. What about beyond the far mountains? Does anything lie beyond them?”
“Some flat plains with trees and suchlike. They looked boring, and so I never flew over them. I've been told that there's an ocean beyond that.”
“Told by whom?”
“My poor dear departed mate. He was a great one for exploring.” Arzosah sighed with a heave of her sides that nearly toppled Rhodry right over. “When we've finished whatever we're doing here, would you like to fly west?”
“I'd like to, indeed, but I can't. I've got to go back to Dwarveholt. I suppose I'm daft, but I want to find Enj and settle down to wait for Haen Marn. I keep praying Angmar will come back somehow.”
“Ah yes, your dear departed mate.” there was an odd edge to her voice—mockery, perhaps. He ignored it. The sun lay just on the horizon, all swollen and gold with clouds. When he looked to the east, he could see a single star, shining against the velvet blue of the sky. Angmar! he thought. Can you see it too, my lady, wherever you are?
“Ah well,” Rhodry said at last. “If naught else, I promised Enj that I'd return.”
“That's true, isn't it?” Arzosah sounded positively gloomy. “I'll carry you there, then.”
“My thanks. If you'd rather not fly to the cold north, I can get myself a horse and ride.”
“No need, no need. But I shan't be staying there when the nasty snows come.”
“Of course.” He scrambled up, then turned to look at her massive head. Her eyes were half-closed and unreadable. “Is somewhat wrong?”
“Naught. Thinking about my dead mate makes me sad, is all.”
“Well, that I can understand, truly.”
He sat down again, leaning back against her flank. Together they watched the stars come out until the Snowy Road hung above them, a vast river of diamonds in the dark sky, flowing to some unknown sea of light.
Long past the zenith of night, when the entire town slept in a wrap of darkness, Verrarc and Raena crept out of the compound. Overheard the wheel of the stars and the waning moon gave them just enough light to make their way uphill. They were headed for the broken temple, but long before they reached it, the wind shifted and brought them the vinegar smell of dragon. Raena clutched Verrarc's arm with both hands, and whispered “I dare not.”
“Just so,” he murmured. “Let's go back down.”
Through the steep little alleys of Citadel he led her to the plaza by a roundabout way. The Council House stood unlocked. They slipped in by a back door. Away from the starlight the room gaped as dark as a cave. He could feel Raena move close to him and shudder. Verrarc opened the door again, and in the faint greying of the dark he could just make out the stairway at the far end of the room.
“Upstairs there be a back room with shutters,” he whispered. “None will see if you make your witchlight up there.”
“And if we do break our necks upon those stairs, we shan't care if they see or no, bain't? Shut that door, Verro. I'd best risk making a little light.”
He could hear the fabric of her dress rustle. She murmured a chant, so softly at first that he could barely hear her, but a spark of silver light appeared in the palm of her hand. He could see, then, that she was holding one cupped hand level with her waist but close to her body. As the chant rose and fell the point swelled to a little pool of silver, casting a faint light around her for a few feet—enough for them to climb the stairs in safety.
Three doors opened off the corridor at the top, meeting rooms for private matters among the Council of Five. Verrarc went into the first one and felt his way over to the window, where heavy wooden shutters hung. He pulled them closed and latched them on the inside.
“It be safe for you to come in now, Rae.”
She walked in and stood for a moment looking around. A square table and four chairs stood in the middle of the plain stone room.
“I dare not brighten this light more,” she said at last. “But it will