The Castle Of Hape. Caves Of Fire And Ice. The Joining Of The Stone

Why? Surely it wanted the wolf bell. He stood facing it. It was utterly still, watching him, and the sense of the man Dracvadrig was there, alert and evil. It did not move. It had only to kill him and take the wolf bell, but it did not move. Did it want him alive? But why would it? It seemed to draw back to keep from killing him. Why? It wanted the wolf bell, though. It stared at it greedily. He reached out desperately to any power that could help him. The creature remained utterly still. He felt the wolves with him, felt more than these three wolves; knew suddenly that wolves in a great band pushed their power like a heavy tide to buoy him; and he felt the girl where she stood captive, fighting beside him. Then suddenly Feldyn and Shorren leaped and slashed at it, their chains dragging, Shorren on one side, Feldyn on the other, ducking flame; the dragon moved now, swept this way and that trying to see them, to get at them. Its eye seemed to pain it. Its coils lashed the walls, the golden pouch at its throat swung and gleamed. Lobon tried to turn the power of the stones it carried against it. Could such a thing be done? Did the dark hold that power utterly? He felt the wolves’ power strong, so strong. He brought his skills, his knowledge to bear as perhaps he never had before; the sense of those other wolves somewhere, somewhere, reaching out to give him strength twisted something in Lobon, brought the sense of Ramad around him sharply. He forced and drove down on the dragon with the power that rose in him married to those other powers. The dragon took a step back, slowed in its battling, and swung its head. Lobon exalted in his power and in the fellowship of wolves. He leaped suddenly with the wolf bell at the dragon’s head, slashed the bell across its cheek, then leaped and struck the damaged eye; the dragon bellowed out with pain, with fury. It writhed, blood gushed from the eye; and then, writhing, its body began to grow unclear.

Twisting and bellowing, it diminished in size as if the pain were too great to let it hold the dragon form. He felt it reaching to strengthen its power in the stones it carried, felt it falter as those powers that buoyed Lobon confused and rattled its mind. Powers stood beside Lobon now—Skeelie’s, the wolves’—that awed and humbled him. The dragon diminished further. It had begun to change into the form of a man. The two forms overlapped and wavered. The bones seemed to shrink, to draw in.

At last the man Dracvadrig stood before him, tall and bent and sallow, his lined face filled with hate. The gold casket dangled across his waist. One eye gushed blood. The other was a dragon’s eye, predatory and cold.

 

 

 

Part Three:The Joining

 

From the journal of Skeelie of Carriol. (Undated. Marked only, The Villa of Canoldir.)

 

I have not moved out of the realm of Canoldir’s house and out of this Timeless place to help Lobon. I am uncertain what to do. Perhaps Canoldir is right, perhaps I must wait. Must Lobon fight his battles unfettered? Would my interference unbalance the scales of what is, turn away the delicate balance of powers, and perhaps destroy that balance?

What am I to do? Do the Luff’Eresi watch Lobon and the warring upon Ere? Surely they care. From what Ram told me, they care more than we can know. But they put their feelings aside in deference to our free-choosing.

Must I continue to wait, then? Is this what they, all wise, would tell me? Yet I suffer for Lobon. And I fear for Ere.

In my fearing, should I not move to help? Must I not tip the balance? Am I not a part of that balance anymore, since I move outside of Time? Yet if I do not go to him, will I shatter all hope?

If I could have a vision of the Luff’Eresi as I had once long ago, if a word from their greater wisdom could guide me . . .

But they will not tamper with human affairs. It is up to me to decide.

And I do not know what to do.

 

 

 

EIGHT

 

Beyond Esh-nen, beyond Time, in the villa of Canoldir, Skeelie stood staring into the dying fire, but Seeing only Lobon facing the firemaster. The dragon had changed to the form of a man. The wolf bell was bloodied, and Lobon’s dark eyes were blazing with hatred. She remembered sharply how Ramad had faced the master of Urdd, twelve years gone, felt again Ram’s anger. Her hand clutched convulsively at her sword as she felt again the pain of Ram’s death. “I must go to Lobon now. I must.”

“You cannot help him, Skeelie. Not any more than he can help himself.” Canoldir stood tall in darkened leathers before the stone mantel, taut with the visions and with her fierce need. His dark eyes caressed her, were filled with forces and wonders no woman could turn away from.

She drew a breath, watching him. “I must go to him. I can help him. I must be beside him to try.”

“Part of the force that drives you, Skeelie, is guilt. Because you were not beside Ramad to help him.”