Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [134]
The ride was not a pleasant one. We flew through a rain squall and were thoroughly soaked. The chill air rushing over the dragon’s wings set our teeth to chattering. We huddled together for warmth, clung together to keep from falling off. The dragon’s back was broad and we sat between the wings, but the bones of the spine were sharp and dug painfully into my backside, while my thighs soon ached from the uncomfortable position. And though the dragon was under a geis to fly us to Merilon and the tomb of Merlyn, the beast’s enmity toward us was strong.
The dragon loathed our touch, our smell, and, if the charm had failed, would have immediately rolled over and dumped us to our deaths. As it was, the dragon would occasionally veer to one side, forcing us to cling to its mane and scales to avoid sliding off before it would reluctantly and slowly level off. I suppose it considered that if one of us was clumsy enough to fall, that was our own concern and it could not be held responsible.
Eliza grasped the Darksword. Mosiah kept hold of her, as did Father Saryon. I hung on to a bony protuberance right above the main tendon for the wings. I could see nothing below us, except when the frequent flashes of lightning illuminated the ground and then it was only for an instant. All I saw at first were thick stands of forest or the smooth grass of the plains. Then I located a winding river.
“The Famirish,” shouted Saryon over the rush of air swirling past us. “We are getting close!”
We flew along the course of the Famirish, the dragon sinking lower until it seemed to me that we must crash among the tree-tops. The dragon knew its business, however, and though it came perilously close, so close that I should think the treetops must have tickled its belly, it never collided with any of them.
A flash of lightning more brilliant than the rest spread across the sky in a blanket of flame. By its light, I obtained my first glimpse of the city of Merilon .
According to lore, when the ancient wizard Merlyn had removed his followers from the persecutions of Earth and led them to Thimhallan, the first place they came to was a grove of oak trees on a plain between two ranges of mountains. Merlyn was so taken with the beauty that he founded his city here and proclaimed that this grove would be his final resting place.
He and the other conjurers and shapers created a floating platform of delicately carved, translucent marble and quartz, which they had called the Pedestal. Upon this Pedestal, which drifted among the clouds, they built the city of Merilon . But what had once been considered a wonder in a world of magic where wonders abounded now lay in ruin, its broken body slowly being covered over by a shroud of encroaching wilderness.
It was a sad sight, an oppressive sight, reminding us all too clearly that man’s works, no matter how glorious, are but temporary, that there must come a time when the workman’s hand falls, forever stilled, and then Nature will do her best to erase all trace of him.
“Did Merlyn’s tornb even survive, Father?” Mosiah asked.
“Why, yes, don’t you remember? No, of course, you wouldn’t.” Saryon answered his own question. “I forgot how grievously you were injured in the attack on the city. The grove burned to the ground, but the tomb remained untouched. The firestorms swept right over it. Some have later claimed that the grass around the tomb was not even scorched, but that is not true.” Saryon shook his head and sighed, his memories sad ones.
Another flash revealed Eliza’s face. She was very pale, her expression one of awe, mingled with profound sorrow. She was seeing, as I myself saw it, Merilon rebuilt, in that other lifetime, and contrasting that image with the bleak, bitter reality.
I closed my eyes and I saw, in that other time, Merilon. The floating platform was gone; no one was able to summon up the powerful magicks needed to perform such a feat. The buildings— made of ordinary stone, not crystal—stood on the ground. The palace was a fortress, solid and