Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [180]
Although the wound oozed, it no longer flowed, at least not outwardly. Deep within his chest it was no doubt drowning him in his own blood; she could only hope it was doing so slowly enough for him to calm the dragon's rage. She turned and gestured at Arzosah.
“Come see him! He wants to talk to you. See for yourself.”
Head down, her wings half-raised, Arzosah padded across the cobbles. The enormous black head swung round, the eyes glittering as they sought his face.
“It's such a little cut,” Arzosah said, her voice a hiss and roil. “Heal him, elf!”
“I can't. It may look little to you, but it's deep enough for him.”
For a moment Dallandra thought that she was about to die with Rhodry. The great head swung up, the jaws dropped, fangs gleamed in the setting sun as Arzosah propped herself up on her forelegs and arched her back. Zatcheka screamed and ran.
“Hush, my little one.” The voice came from behind Dallandra and sounded amused. “Mind your courtesies, or I won't even try to save your beloved's life.”
“You!” Arzosah's voice dripped hatred. “You! What could you do of any good to anyone?”
“Probably naught,” Evandar said. “But mayhap I can try.” He glanced at Dallandra. “He'll die here before the sun touches the horizon.”
“I know that. It won't staunch, and it's too deep for me to reach with a bandage or suchlike.”
Evandar knelt, slipped one arm round Rhodry's un-wounded side, and hauled him up with a surprising flourish of strength. With a yell Dallandra darted forward to stop him from killing her patient there and then. Dimly she was aware of the earth shaking as the dragon leapt up and roared. Dimly she felt cold mist wrapping them all round and grass, damp under her feet.
They stood in the last remnant of Evandar's country. Sluggish between deep banks the river flowed brown through dying water reeds. Black trees raised withered arms to the grey sky. Automatically Dallandra clutched at her throat and found the amethyst figurine hanging there. Rhodry himself stood nearby, holding a silver dagger between clasped hands, but he seemed barely conscious, as if he were a child suddenly awakened from deep sleep. He stared this way and that, fingering the dagger hilt for comfort. When she saw the chip on the blade Dallandra realized that it held his life the same way that the figurine held hers.
“Where's Arzosah?” she snapped.
“Over there.” Evandar pointed to the riverbank. “Not even I can bring a dragon through with a snap of my fingers, my love, so she used a dweomer of her own.”
Dallandra could just make out Arzosah's astral form as a shaft of silvery light, cool to look upon, towering up into the mist. When Rhodry walked toward it, the mist reached out tendrils as if to put an arm around his shoulders. Dallandra—they all—felt Arzosah's voice as a touch of mind upon their own, not as spoken words. Though her rage flowed out as pure as fire, in it swirled hope.
You, sorcerer! Will he live if he stays here?
“After a fashion,” Evandar said. “And for a while.”
Then I'll stay with him.
“And welcome you are, for that little while.” He glanced at Dallandra. “You have a bit of time, my love, to reconcile her to the inevitable. That's all I can do. May it be enough to save the innocents in your world from the venting of her grief.”
The dragon had understood. Her roar spread like a flame within the mist.
Heal him!
“I can't. No one can.”
Then I shall fly to the mountain and call up its fire. I will drown this city in fire.
“Hold your tongue!” Rhodry stepped forward, staggering a little, as if even here on the astral he felt his wound. “Ah ye gods, leave the town be!”
I will have vengeance! Hush, Rori! Don't argue with me! I shan't listen if you try.
“All things come to their dark, Wyrm,” Evandar said, “and he has come to his. Soon, too soon, I know, by the way that your kind measures Time, just as that cut would be but a scratch upon a dragon, but—” Evandar paused, staring into the darkening water of the river. All at once he laughed, a berserker howl much like Rhodry's own. “Such a little cut,