Peottre shook his head slowly. “I’ve only been here twice before, with my aunt, when I was a boy. She brought me here to teach me the way. But we never saw the dragon, only the writing that marks his place. It has been at least a generation since the dragon was visible through the ice.”
This seemed to spark something in the Owl clan member, for he suddenly stepped forward from the huddle of Hetgurd witnesses. He smiled slightly when he spoke, nodding to himself. “My grandmother saw him, when she was a girl. I shall tell you what she told me, and perhaps you will gain wisdom from it. She came here with her own mother’s mother, to leave a gift for Icefyre and ask for greater fertility amongst our sheep. When they got here, her mother’s mother showed her a dark shadow, just visible through the ice when the day’s sun was strongest. ‘There he is,’ she told my grandmother. ‘He used to be much easier to see, but every year the ice grows and he sinks farther away. Now he is only a shadow, and there will come a time when people will doubt he ever existed. So look well, and make sure that no descendant of ours shames us by doubting the wisdom of their own people.’” The bard ceased his telling as abruptly as he had begun it. He stood, his cheeks reddened by the wind that blew his long hair, and nodded to himself, pleased. “And would you know, then, where we would begin to look for the dragon?” The Owl laughed. “I do not know. And I would not tell you if I did.”
“I am curious,” the Prince said more gently. “What was the offering made to the dragon, and how did he accept it?”
“Blood,” Owl replied promptly. “They cut a sheep’s throat and let it bleed out on the ice. The mothers studied the shape of the puddle it made and where it sank in and where it pooled on the surface. They judged that they had pleased Icefyre with their gift. Then they left the sheep’s carcass here for the Black Man, and went home. The next spring, many of our sheep dropped two lambs instead of just one, and none of them were touched by the flux. We had a good year.” Owl glanced sourly around at us. “That is the sort of luck we used to receive for honoring Icefyre. Dishonor and doubt him, and I dread to think of the misfortune that will befall your houses.”
“And our houses too, like as not, for being present,” Seal observed sullenly.
Peottre did not look at them as he reminded them, “Our mothershouse has accepted all that may come from this. It will not fall upon you.”
“So you say!” Owl snorted disdainfully. “Yet I doubt you speak for Icefyre, you who would destroy him for a woman’s whim!”
“Where is the dragon?” Chade broke in, his exasperation complete. His answer came from an unexpected source.
“He’s here,” Swift said quietly. “Oh, yes, he is. His presence ebbs and surges like a wild tide, but there’s no denying he’s here.” The boy swayed as he spoke and his voice was far away. Cockle set his hand to the young man’s shoulder, and Web left me to hasten to Swift’s side.
“Look at me!” he commanded the boy, and when Swift was slow to comply, he gave the lad a shake. “Look at me!” he urgently ordered him again. “Swift! You are young and never-bonded. You may not understand what I’m telling you, but keep yourself to yourself. Do not go to him, and do not let him come into you. This is a powerful presence that we feel, splendid and awe-inspiring. But do not become absorbed in that. I feel in this creature the charm of a great cat, the beckoning wile that can bond a youngster whether he would or no.”
“You can feel the dragon? He is definitely here, and alive?” Chade was incredulous.
“Oh, yes,” Dutiful replied unwillingly. For the first time, I realized how pale he was. The rest of us were ruddy-cheeked with the cold. Dutiful stood very still and slightly apart from us. He looked at the Narcheska as he spoke. “The dragon Icefyre is indeed here. And he is alive, though I do not understand how that can be so.” He paused as if thinking deeply, his eyes going afar. “I can just brush my mind against his. I reach for him, but he ignores me. Nor do I grasp how I can be aware of him one moment, and then feel him fade beyond my reach the next.”
I tried not to gape as the Prince carelessly revealed that he was Witted. I was also surprised that he seemed to be sensing the dragon with his Wit when I could barely perceive him. Some time ago, I had realized that the Prince’s Wit ability was not as strong as my own. Had his lessons with Web sharpened it? Then an alternative shocked me. Did he speak of the Wit, or of the Skill? In my dreams, the dragon Tintaglia had touched me with the Skill. I suspected that she had used the Skill Magic to find Nettle, as well. I transferred my gaze to Chade. The old man looked deeply thoughtful, and frustrated. It was Thick who decided me. He seemed completely absorbed in his humming, nodding his head in time. I wished that I could hear his Skill-music, and wished even more that I could provoke him to raise his Skill-walls. I had never seen the little man so enraptured. “Do not go groping after him!” Web gave the command without regard for the Prince’s rank. “There are legends, very old Wit tales, of the fascination of dragons. It is said they can infatuate the unguarded mind, inspiring a nearly slavish devotion. The oldest songs warn of breathing of the exhaled breath of a dragon.” He turned suddenly, putting me in mind of a commander ordering his troops as he said to Cockle, “You know the song I speak of, do you not? Tonight, it would be a good song for all to hear. In my youth, I gave little thought to such old songs, but in my older years, I have learned that much truth can be hidden in the old poetry. I would hear it again.”
“As would I,” Chade unexpectedly agreed. “And any other songs you know that may have to do with dragons. But for now, if our prince’s Wit coterie can sense this dragon, perhaps they can guide us in where we should begin our digging.”
“Tell you where he is, so you can dig down to kill him? No! I, for one, won’t do it!” Swift uttered the words with sudden, wild passion. He looked more distressed than I had ever seen him. Chade rounded on him immediately.
“Do you so quickly forget your vow to your prince?”
“I—” The boy could find no words. His face flushed and then paled. I watched him struggle to find his loyalty, and wished I could help him. But I knew, possibly better than anyone there, how torn he might be. “Stop this,” Web said quietly as the old assassin fixed Swift with his stern stare.
“It is nothing to do with you,” Chade said quietly, and for the first time, I saw Web’s anger. It came as a physical bunching of his muscles and a swelling of his chest. He contained himself, but I saw how difficult it was for him. So did my prince.
“Stop this,” Dutiful echoed Web’s words, but he gave them the inflection of royal command. “Swift, be calm. I do not doubt your loyalty to me. I will not test it this way, setting one of my men to decide between what his heart says is right and what he has vowed to do. I do not judge that I can honorably lay that burden upon him. Nor is my own will certain in this.” He swung his gaze suddenly to the Narcheska. She did not meet his gaze but looked out over the snowy plain below us. He surprised me by going to her and standing before her. Peottre took a step as if to intervene, but Dutiful did not offer to touch her. Instead, he said quietly, “Will you look at me, please?”
She turned her head and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. Her face was still, save for one brief flash of defiance in her eyes. For a moment, Dutiful said nothing, as if hoping she would speak to him. All was silent save for the shushing of the wind as it stirred the old ice crystals on the glacier’s face and the crunching of snow underfoot as the men-at-arms shifted their weight in readiness. Even Thick’s humming had ceased. I spared him a glance.