It’s Lavante who’s running at breakneck speed, his golden coat a match for all those pale stones, his snow-white mane flying like a flag behind his neck, his tail streaking out in his wake—and the dragon is on a collision course with him.
The two are going head-to-head, the dragon so low now, I could jump free if we weren’t going this fast. Lavante bobs to the side at the last moment, the dragon not altering his line as we pass my stallion—
Fire.
So much of it, my efforts at marshaling the stuff are put to shame: Great balls of flame curl forth, exploding out of the dragon’s mouth.
Aimed at the spiders.
There’s such shrieking as the immolation occurs that it’s as if Anathos itself is being torn apart, and there’s naught the attackers can do to defend or protect themselves. In fact, the fire spreads from one to another, carried on the gossamer bands of silk that have been released, a chain reaction.
And then there is a swoop upward, the dragon riding the air as if it were solid ground it was running over. Around we go, and I squeeze with my legs to hold on, ducking lower behind the great horned head, holding on to the ruby as if it’s the very beating heart within my chest.
The dragon sails ahead of Lavante as the stallion makes the turn in front of the entry to the ruins, and the horse is neither stupid about the danger nor lost in his surroundings in spite of the oppressive, milky misting.
He gallops straight for the slope he and I descended.
And thus the dragon carries me into a graceful landing, bringing the bracing journey to an end in the long grass with a running set of feet… until he stops.
I leap off and back away, being careful not to meet his eyes. And as the cold-blooded master of the skies turns to me, I hope I haven’t just fallen into another mess.
He doesn’t eat me.
And in the moments that follow, I wish I could communicate. He seems to know, though. For he waits as Lavante thunders to me.
I whistle, high and loud, even though the horse is already coming my way, and as he throws out stiffened legs and skids to a halt in front of me, I jump into the saddle while the mud is still kicked up in the air. One arm traps the ruby to my chest, the other grabs the reins, but not to steer.
My stallion is not the type of horse that has to be directed.
He takes off again, faster than ever. Leaving the dragon—my dragon—behind.
We’re nearly to the slope when I look back through the sea fog.
The green and purple beast is still on the ground and facing away from our escape, scrummed down to protect our racing departure. No spiders come, however. He’s not killed the colony of them, but he took so many out, and his presence is more than enough to keep us safe as we bolt back for the slope, and for the Kingdom of the South’s gate… beyond which there are many, many dangers, just of a different sort.
At least none of them have eight legs and spin a web. And right now? That’s the best endorsement for any royal court there could be.
As we hit the incline, the mist swallows us even more, and I take one last look behind. I expect the dragon to have taken to the sky once more. He still has not. He remains our guardian, his wings outstretched, puffs of flames coming out his snout as if anybody needs a reminder of what he’s able to do.
Then, like so much else, we’re swallowed whole into the land cloud, and the moisture on my face is salty as my tears.
Destiny has always struck me as cold and hard. But here, in the strange landscape and foggy weather of this foreign land, my act of kindness and mercy, that I made with no thought or expectation of ever being repaid…
… was returned to me at the very moment, and in the very circumstances, when I most needed a miracle.
Eighty-ThreeSo Close, Yet So Far Away.
When Lavante and I ride back through the city with our guards, I hold the ruby high over my head. I do this not in triumph, but so there’s a public record of my having returned the gem to the court. And they all know what it is. Regardless of class, the citizenry stares up in awe as the last of the daylight plays in the facets, and then they drop to their knees wherever they are, whatever they’re doing. Their bowed heads and tented palms suggest many prayers of thanks are being offered, and I’m glad so many people see the jewel.
Mural behind the throne notwithstanding, it’s crucial that I provide no out for the advisor to manipulate any of this.
And upon further reflection, I feel like there has been some thievery on the Queen’s part. That setting in the palm fit too well, and I wonder if maybe she stole it after the city down there collapsed. Someone took it back, however—and I’m not sure whether I’m delivering the thing to its rightful owner or not.
For Merc, though, I’m willing to become a robber—and much worse.
The guards take me right to what turns out to be an entry into the court’s great colonnade and audience hall, and I recognize the one who takes Lavante’s reins. He’s the kind man who escorted me into the ceremonial hall yesterday, the one who took pity on me as much as he could.
As I dismount, he’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. I suppose I must look like one with all the spiderwebs still clinging to my hair.
