Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [135]
I looked into that time and saw the end. I saw the young oaks wither and die in the laser fire of the Hch’nyv. I turned my gaze away and looked into that time no more.
The dragon began to spiral downward. We could see nothing of where we were headed, because another of those fierce, sudden storms closed in on us. Rain slashed my face, forced me to shut my eyes. Lightning flared much too close, thunder cracked and boomed. I saw the ground only when we were almost upon it, a flash of lightning illuminating wet grass and the burned-out stumps of dead trees. The dragon was descending much too fast it seemed to me, and I wondered if the beast might be going to kill itself, and us along with it, thereby relieving itself of the geis and a foe at the same time.
At the last possible moment, when I was certain that we were going to crash headlong, the dragon lifted its wings, gracefully swooped upward, and reached out for the ground with its powerful hind legs. The landing was rough for us, though not for the dragon. We were thrown forward by the force of the impact. I hit my head on the bony mane and scraped my hands on the scales.
“I have brought you to the tomb,” said the dragon. “Now leave and trouble me no more.”
We were only too happy to obey. I slid down the dragon’s rain-wet back and landed heavily on the ground. I helped Eliza, who was still clutching the sword. She was shivering with the cold, her skirt hung in sodden folds around her, her blouse clung to her breasts. Her hair was a mass of wet, tangled ringlets, straggling over her face. She was grim, composed, resolute, prepared to do whatever might be asked of her.
Saryon and Mosiah joined us. The dragon reared up, its wings spread, the starlike deadly darts shining through the lashing rain. The pale eyes flared.
“I have obeyed your command,” the dragon declared. “Release me of the spell.”
“I do not release you,” Saryon said, seeing the trick the dragon was attempting to play upon him. “Once you return to your lair, the spell will be lifted.”
The Dragon of the Night gave us a parting snarl and a frustrated snap in the air with its jaws, then it leapt into the storm, wings beating, and soared upward to disappear into the clouds.
Saryon slumped when the dragon was gone, relieved of a terrible burden.
“Perhaps we should have ordered the dragon to remain,” Mosiah said, “or at least return if we called. We might need to make a swift retreat.”
Saryon shook his head. “My strength was giving out. The dragon fought me every second. I could not have held the spell much longer. Besides”—he looked around at where we stood in the wind and the rain—”for good or for ill, our journey ends here.”
“Where is the tomb?” Eliza asked, the first words she had spoken since we left the dragon’s lair.
“I’m not sure,” said Saryon. “It’s all so different. . . .”
The storm was beginning to subside. Thunder still rumbled, but now from a distance. The clouds remained overhead, however, blotting out the starlight and the lights of the starships. Without the flaring lightning, we were all but blind.
“We could stumble around for hours searching for the tomb,” Saryon said, frustrated. “And we don’t have hours. It’s nearly midnight.”
Mosiah spoke a word, lifted his hand. A globe of soft yellow light appeared in his palm. I don’t know when the sight of something has been more comforting. It was as if he had reached back to Earth and snatched a bit of sunshine from a summer day, brought it here to cheer us and light our path. The light seemed even to ease the chill. I stopped shivering. Eliza managed a sad smile.
“There is the tomb,” said Saryon, pointing.
The light shone on the ruins of the oak trees that had once been the tomb’s guardians. It was a dismal sight until, moving forward, I saw where several thin, supple saplings, growing from the seeds of their parents, were preparing to take over