The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus Page 5

  Leif closed his eyes and repeated the words aloud. He imagined reaching the other side of the bridge and continuing on his way.

  He opened his eyes and squinted into the bright sunlight. “I’m ready, master,” he said, although he wasn’t sure this was true.

  “Excellent!” said the wizard. “Just keep repeating these words as we cross, and thinking of that picture. Now, do you wish to walk or ride?”

  Leif looked across the long expanse, and his legs wobbled under him like jelly. “I think I must ride, master.”

  The wizard gave him a leg up onto Holly’s back, then muttered a few words into the pony’s ear. She nickered softly, as if to tell Leif he could trust her too. Leif wrapped his hands in her mane and closed his eyes as Master Morgan led her forward.

  And then he heard the pony’s hooves strike wood.

  They were on the bridge.

  Chapter 6

  Gritting his teeth against the whine of the wind, Leif doggedly repeated the words Master Morgan had given him. The bridge is safe. I have only to believe it. The bridge is safe. I have only to believe it. They seemed now to make no sense at all. The bridge… I believe.

  An image of frayed rope and dangling wreckage flickered in his mind. He realized he was sucking in great gulps of air, and forced himself to sneak a desperate peek ahead. His heart flipped like a fish in his chest when he saw how far they had to go, and it was all he could do to keep from sobbing. Closing his eyes, he saw himself spiraling downward, crying, I believe! I believe!

  “You’re doing splendidly, my boy,” Master Morgan called back. “I personally find the ‘in between’ to be a most conducive place for reflection.”

  To Leif, the wizard’s words sounded like so much babble, but he seized on them as a desperate distraction. “The in between?” he asked, opening his eyes a fraction.

  “Indeed! Here on neither land nor sky, poised between the elements—it’s a place where anything can happen!” The wizard spread his arms wide, and Leif made the mistake of looking down and straight through the slats of the bridge to the long drop beyond. With a garbled cry, he squeezed his eyes shut, his heart in his throat.

  Master Morgan began to whistle a tune from a children’s clapping game Leif remembered playing with his grandfather. Leif willed himself to think of Grandda, of the feel of his large rough palms against his own small ones, clapping until their hands smarted and they collapsed to the ground in a heap of breathless laughter.

  Collapsed!

  The wind gave a sudden, fierce gust, causing the bridge to lurch like a ship on rough waters. It sprang and dipped under the pony’s hooves.

  “What’s happening?” he cried.

  The wind shoved him hard against Holly’s neck. He clutched the pony frantically, and dug his heels deep into her flanks. As she surged forward past Master Morgan, Leif caught a glimpse of the unmistakable alarm on the wizard’s face.

  Holly’s hooves clattered like hail as they pelted across the swaying bridge, and Leif clenched his thighs against her flanks, struggling to get a firm purchase. To his horror, he felt his grip slipping through the pony’s coarse mane.

  And then Holly stumbled, and Leif found himself jounced into empty air. The distant valley spiraled below him and he heard his own terrified screams echoing off the mountain stone. He was falling down, down…

  And then his wail was cut short as he thumped painfully onto solid ground.

  For a few dazed seconds, he stared numbly at Holly’s hindquarters as she continued down the trail and out of sight. Then he looked in the other direction, and his heart threatened to leap from his chest. He was a mere arm’s length from the edge of the ridge. If he’d flown off the pony just one stride earlier, he would still be tumbling to his death.

  With a fresh rush of dread, he scrambled back from the ridge and looked to see what had become of Master Morgan. To his great relief, the wizard was still making his way across the gyrating bridge. The old man had lost his hat, but his expression was far from grim. In fact, he was singing, in a language Leif had never heard before.

  “Grum, thrum, ca’ofor lumm!

  Zinn u blinn a branitor drum.

  Zeel dreel, vonamor reel,

  Lough lough lough!”

  Catching sight of Leif, Master Morgan raised his hand in salute. As he stepped onto solid ground, the wizard gave a low whistle. Holly came trotting back and drew to a stop beside Leif.

  Leif reached up to stroke the pony’s muzzle. “I’m so sorry,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “I could have killed us all.”

  Holly gave a soft wicker and pressed her wet nose against his palm.

  “Oh, it wasn’t as bad as that,” declared Master Morgan. “We’re all here, aren’t we?”

  As they remounted, Leif couldn’t stop thinking that it had been bad—very bad. The image of them all in a broken pile of bones at the bottom of the chasm wouldn’t go away. He was careful to shudder inwardly at the thought, so as not to disturb Holly. He had learned his lesson on that score.

  “The next time we cross a bridge,” the wizard suggested, “I think you should try walking. It’s always best to be in control of one’s fate, don’t you agree?”

  Privately, Leif knew he would try to avoid ever traversing another bridge again, including the little one by Master Morgan’s croft, if he ever found himself back there. Realizing he might not made him feel even more miserable.

  The wizard seemed to sense his glum spirits. “I believe,” he said brightly, “a rest is in order.”

  A short distance down the trail, Master Morgan directed Holly onto a path diverging upward. It led to a sheltered cave. Leif was instructed to wait outside with Holly while the wizard entered.

  Leif noticed his fingers were still trembling as he stroked the pony’s velvety nose. At least she seemed to bear him no ill will. She gently plucked at his sleeve with her large teeth, and when he laughed, the shock of what had nearly happened receded a bit. “You want an apple, don’t you, girl?” he said, offering her one he had saved from breakfast. She nipped it greedily from his hand.

  When Master Morgan reappeared, he announced they’d travel no further for the day. “We can spend the night here,” he said. “It would have required a hard ride to get to our destination before dark in any event, and it appears that our fine lady is hungry. Lead her in, lad.”

  As Leif entered the cave, he tried not to think of the narrow crevice where the dragon had cornered him. He was comforted by Holly’s warm breath on the back of his neck—until a light sprang up from Master Morgan’s staff, causing a flurry of bats to swoop from the ceiling, squeaking their alarm. With a yelp, Leif dropped the pony’s reins and wrapped his arms around his head.

  “The bats won’t hurt you,” Master Morgan chided. “They’re gentle creatures. When I was a boy, I was charged with killing any bats that found their way into my father’s smithy. I couldn’t bear to, though, and it’s because of them I discovered my gifts. But that’s a story for another time. At the moment, I need to take a few precautions.”

  The wizard slowly circled the cave, pointing his rod and reciting runes softly under his breath. When he was done, he turned to Leif. “You needn’t worry. It’s not the dragon I fear. I’m just being cautious, in case someone should happen past. We’re quite safe from discovery now.”

  Leif felt a rush of wonder. His master’s rune-calling had been the first real magic he’d ever seen the wizard perform. He drew breath to exclaim about it, then pressed his lips together. To speak of what he had just witnessed would take away from the wonder of it.

  Master Morgan busied himself with extracting an armload of sticks from Holly’s saddlebag, and soon had a fire crackling. “Now,” he said brightly, “how about some of that lovely Bergamont cheese?”

  As they ate, Leif’s many questions swirled in his curious mind. He couldn’t get past the th
ought that, if he’d died back on the bridge, he’d never have had any of his questions answered. What if I had taken my curiosity across the Leap? It would be unbearable to wonder in vain for all eternity!

  This train of thought emboldened him to declare, “Master, I would like to know why the dragon came for me, and where you’re taking me.”

  Master Morgan looked up from his bread and cheese. “Now that,” he said, “is a fine start to taking control of your own fate.” He set the bread down—though not, Leif noted, without faint regret. “This seems as good a time as any to tell you all you wish to know. Ask away, lad.”

  For a heartbeat, Leif wondered where he should begin. Then he recalled his rhyme. “First of all, who is my father?”

  Master Morgan poked at the flaring fire. “Elvinor Celvarin of the Mithralyn elves. You’ll meet him tomorrow when we arrive in his forest domain.”

  Leif was certain he had misheard. He shook his head to clear his ears. “I thought you just said… Did you say my father is an elf?”

  “I did,” replied Master Morgan calmly. “And he is.” He reached into his deep pocket and pulled out his pipe.

  “But that’s not… There aren’t really… Are there? Because if there are, that would mean I’m—”

  “You are half-elven,” confirmed the wizard, “although in my opinion, you seem to have more elfish than human characteristics.”

  Leif sat up straighter. “I do?”

  “I believe so. To begin with, there’s your ears.”

  Leif’s fingers flew to his ears. They were rather pointed, which was why he had always worn his hair long. “What other ‘elfish characteristics’ do I have?”

  “Well,” said the wizard, ticking off his observations on his fingers, “there’s your love of the wild, and your curiosity, your impetuous nature… and of course, your high level of intelligence.”

  A small glow flared inside Leif. There was a reason why he was different from the other village boys. He wasn’t sure which pleased him more—that he had elven blood or that his master had described him as highly intelligent. He thought fleetingly of how pleased his gran would be to learn that such creatures as elves really existed in the world!

  “What about giants?” he asked eagerly. “Are there such things? I mean, really?”

  The wizard looked faintly surprised. “Why, yes, there are. The giants of Delnogoth still range the mountains east of Helgrinia.”

  “Dragons blue!” Leif blurted out. “Where did my dragon come from, and why does it need me? What happened to me when it pierced me with its talon? I remember it was horribly painful, but I didn’t feel anything afterward. And I don’t feel any different. Why is that?” This all came out in a rush, leaving him a bit breathless.

  The wizard frowned, and puffed out a series of small clouds in rapid succession. “That’s several questions,” he replied, a bit gruffly. “Your dragon has a name—Rhiandra—and she’s a female bluewing, most certainly one of the last of her kind. Unlike their cousins far to the east, who were hunted into extinction for their blood and teeth, or out of superstitious fear, here in Drinnglennin, dragons coexisted peaceably with men and dwarves and elves for centuries. Of course, it helped that they were highland dwellers, living in remote mountainous areas from which they could survey their foraging grounds and maintain their solitude.

  “But as time passed, fear of magical beings began to take root here in Drinnglennin, as it had on the continent. There were some grounds for this, but…” The wizard frowned. “If only the wisest among us had prevailed! Unfortunately, this was not to be, and the dragons were forced to seek sanctuary elsewhere.

  “Now it seems at least two of these magnificent creatures have decided to rejoin the Known World—although for the present, they remain concealed. The other dragons still dwell in hiding.”

  A stream of white smoke from Morgan’s pipe drifted into a wormlike shape before wafting away from the fire, and Leif felt a thrill of excitement. “Rhiandra, ” he murmured, testing the dragon’s name on his tongue.

  “She has chosen you to bind with her,” the wizard said, “by taking the first step: piercing your heart. This is yet another reason we’re going to Mithralyn. Rhiandra has sanctuary there.” He gave a small chuckle. “She has quite a feral nature, as she was born after the dragons fled this isle. I had the devil of a time convincing her not to take you immediately back with her, as I needed to explain all of this to you first. My house was collateral damage in our… conversation.”

  “Wait,” said Leif. “I’m bound to the dragon? But what does that mean?”

  Master Morgan lifted one shaggy brow. “You see how questions beget questions? Perhaps if I begin with a bit of history, it will help you understand why you’re Rhiandra’s choice.”

  Leif drew his knees to his chest and nodded. For a story, he could put all aside, even the anxiety of knowing he was going to meet the dragon again, and his questions about how this binding would affect him.

  The old man savored a sip of mulberry wine, then began.

  “Dragons were once quite common in the northern lands. In the Before, most people who lived north of Steinen could expect to see one in his or her lifetime, if you knew where to look. These magnificent creatures were universally respected, and while they were fearsome to encounter, it was known they didn’t prey on humans, or elves or dwarves for that matter, and thus they were left alone.

  “That is, until one of the Tribus took it into his head to possess a dragon of his own.”

  “Wait,” said Leif. “Dwarves? Are there really—?”

  “There were dwarves,” said Master Morgan, “but they sailed west over the Vast Sea at the close of the Before. I’m afraid they’ll not be seen again in the Known World.”

  Worried that the wizard would soon tire of his questions, Leif asked about the one thing he hadn’t fit into his verse. “Who are the Tribus, master?”

  A shadow flitted over the wizard’s face, but Master Morgan’s voice held no censure when he replied. “The Tribus is a council of three advisors to the High King, appointed for life to support him in the governance of Drinnglennin. Most Drinnglennians know little about them, for their identities are fiercely guarded. They are screened from view when their presence is needed at council, and heavily robed and veiled when elsewhere, so that they remain apart from the general public. This is supposed to ensure that they serve only the High King’s interests, and hence those of the realm, although I have my reservations about this; it’s a most isolated existence they lead, one that demands great sacrifice. They are subject only to one another and our king. When one of the Tribus dies, the other two put forward his or her choice of successor to the High King. Each member brings the wisdom of their kind to the council.”

  “Their kind?”

  “They are wizards or sorceresses, but one of them has always been of what you would refer to as a magical race. I share this with you only because you are to become dragonfast, but it can never be common knowledge. Do you understand?”

  “Wait!” Leif found himself on his feet. “I’m to become dragonfast? Is that what you meant when you said Rhiandra chose me?” He felt his heart swell. If only his grandda were still alive to share this wonder with him.

  “I thought I was clear.” The old man frowned. “How do you suppose dragonfastness is achieved?”

  Leif thought of all the stories his grandda had told him about the dragonfast. He had always assumed it was just destiny that had brought these legendary heroes together with their dragons. Knowing now that there was more to it than that, he felt a glow of excitement building inside him, and more than a little trepidation as well.

  “Let’s get back to the Tribus, shall we?” said the wizard. “Each member of the king’s council holds the High Power for a period of twelve years. In the case of disagreement between them, the decision of this leader—Elder or Eldress—will
hold sway. The current Eldress is Selka, a sorceress skilled in both the dark and light arts. Of course, she only practices white magic, but it’s essential to possess as well the weapons wielded by those with evil intentions. When her twelve years come to a close—which will be right after the Twyrn, a grand tournament to be held in Drinnkastel in the spring—the position will pass to Audric. He’s a wizard renowned for his wisdom and compassion. He was also my mentor many years ago.

  “The third member of the Tribus is Celaidra, a sorceress who represents your father’s people. Her influence with the High King is invaluable for Drinnglennin’s remaining elves.”

  Leif frowned.

  “What is it, lad?” asked the wizard.

  “You said that the identities of the Tribus members are kept secret. But you know who they are.”

  “An astute observation. I know who they are because I once served on the Tribus myself.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said!” growled the wizard. The old man ran a hand over his face. “Forgive me,” he said with a sigh. “We all have chapters in our past we would prefer to remain unread.” He took another sip of wine. “Now, shall we get back to the wizard who wanted a dragon?”

  Leif swallowed his next question and nodded. “Yes, master.”

  “Very well. His name was Rendyl, and he held the position of Elder on the Tribus at the close of the Age of Before. He was one of the Strigori, all of whom possessed powerful magic that made them nearly immortal; they did not age as normal men. The Strigori have been, through the ages, the greatest of wizards, and until Rendyl sullied the name, they were revered by all. There had been a Strigori on the Tribus since the first council was formed. But then Rendyl came along, vainglorious and hungry for power, a meddler on a grand scale. He wielded much influence over the High King of that time—Lindic the Younger. Lindic had assumed the Einhorn Throne while still a child, when his parents died in the Mortal Mirth.”

  Before Leif could ask, Master Morgan explained, “The Mortal Mirth was a mysterious affliction that swept through Drinnkastel in 93 AB. We know Rendyl was responsible because it was recorded in the Drinnglennin Chronicles. He cast a spell that caused the king and queen, and all the members of the court, to laugh so long and so hard that they died. Two other Tribus members also succumbed, but Prince Lindic was spared because he had been sent away by Rendyl on an outing. It was shortly after Lindic was invested that the Elder acquired his dragon.”