The Dragon's Tapestry

Camlach nodded. “Yes. No wizard would die without leaving his heir. But perhaps the wizard is not dead. Or if he is, the heir is unknown. This we know—that the heir does not dwell in the Verduman mountains. And this was my quest, to find the wizard or his heir. I have followed his trail to Kebblewok, speaking to old ones, believers, people to whom he revealed himself, but I can go no farther. I intend now to return to Verduma to seek the wizard’s house and find what help I can there. They say the dragon sleeps around a lonely house near the mountains and allows no one to enter. They even say it is a magical house that the dragon cannot destroy. Some have died trying to get into it. I believe it is the wizard’s house.”

“Then it is death to go there,” Politha said.

“To idly stand by while the dragon kills and destroys—that is a living death,” Camlach said staring into the fire. “No matter what my father says, I will go.”

“But not for a great while, Camlach,” Politha said. “Not until you are well again.”

Camlach looked at Marwen and smiled. “I look a lot better than she does right now.” His face sobered. “Are you all right?” Marwen nodded. She stood and walked to the window. She opened it and breathed deeply, desperately, the new-washed wind.

Camlach turned back to the old woman.

“No, I feel stronger every minute, thanks to you, Politha, and your healing spells. I have money.” He held up his jacket and, working open a small tear in the lining, showed a gold coin sewn inside, one of many. “If without dishonor I could ask one more favor of you, Crob, it would be to help me purchase a wingwand. I would begin my journey at waking winds.” Crob nod­ded and then knelt before Camlach.

“I have a favor to ask of you, also, my Prince,” Crob answered. The wind stopped utterly just as he spoke so that the words fell into the silence like the rain. Marwen turned to see Camlach’s back arch and his cheeks flame bright red. Politha held her apron to her face and bowed, and Maug slunk further back into the shadows. “How did you know, Crob?” Camlach asked.

“I’m sorry to reveal this your secret, Prince Camlach, but I think you can trust all here in my house. My father rose high in Verduman armies and served your father when king was a lad about your age. I was young then, but king, your father, was kind to me, and you are alike as two wingwand eggs. I hope the king is well.”

Camlach nodded. His eyes were deep-shadowed in the fire­light.

“As well as he can be,” he said, “with Perdoneg destroying the land.”

“And your brother?”

Camlach grinned wryly and absently rubbed his ankle.

“My brother is busy fighting the dragon at the head of my father’s army in the foothills near Rune-dar where the dragon often comes. When my father would not allow me to do battle, I insisted on seeking the wizard. My father is not a believer and thought it a fool’s chase, but he allowed it if I went in disguise. But now you know my secret, and you ask for a favor. What favor is it that I could grant you?”

Crob lowered his head. “I weary of exile from the only home­land I have known. I long once more to see snow mountains and drink with the brave men of Verduma. My hands would make leatherworks for kings, princes, queens. I would go with you, Prince Camlach, and be your servant, if you will have me.”

“To grant that favor would be to put me further in your debt, good Crob. I need a man of your wisdom and goodness at my side.” He smiled at Marwen uncertainly.

“Perhaps ...” he hesitated, as if thinking how he might phrase his question. “Perhaps Marwen, you, too, might consider join­ing me. When I am around you, I feel closer to my dream. It must be that I feel your belief.”

Marwen shut the windowboards carefully, slowly. She could no longer hear the wind and rain above the roaring in her ears. She stood for a moment, then turned and faced Camlach.

“Yes,” she said.

Maug threw some fuel onto the fire roughly and glowing ash sprayed into the room. “She cannot,” he said. His eyes were nar­rowed and his jaw clenched so tightly that the sinews in his neck protruded and the veins on his forehead swelled. Marwen sank back against the windowboards. The wind seeped in cold and wet on her back. Camlach was still. His eyes went back and forth between the two of them.

“But Maug, did you not hear what the dragon said?...” Mar­wen whispered.

“Silence!” he said. He looked at the fire. “She must go to the Oldest in Loobhan first.”

Maug had only to tell them that she had no tapestry, and that she was an exile from her village, to ruin everything—everything.

“I cannot,” she said.

Camlach turned his face toward her, away from the fire and into the shadows, ignoring Maug. Something in the way he held himself, as if keeping a great control over himself, something in the way he turned to her told her that he was truly a prince.

“What the dragon said was ‘Nimroth,’” he said carefully. “Is there meaning for you in that name, Marwen?”