A log popped on the fire with a shower of sparks. ‘Whose mind?’
‘The Dragon’s. Don’t confuse It with those lesser ones you may hear of, the dragon-youth, imprisoned in the sky. I refer to that which made this world, or at least decided its natural laws. Perhaps the Dragon meant for people to travel between worlds, and wanted knowledge to be exchanged, or stolen. More little numbers gathered for the solving of that enormous puzzle. That may be why It laid such a condition at the boundary. You may be an ordained Pilgrim, long ago predicted. Who knows? The easiest way to put it is a phrase you may have heard by now: as the Dragon wills.’
Eric looked both impressed and sceptical. ‘This Dragon. Is it real? I mean, are you giving me a religious explanation? An actual history? Do you worship it?’
What strange questions, Anfen thought, especially that last one. He frowned. ‘It’s real, though none have seen It in the flesh. We have only seen signs of its passing, from times It roamed the land, huge and awake. Footprints hammered into the world’s crust, shed scales buried deep. We suspect It sleeps underground, near the castle, for there’s heavy magic in those parts, and the gods do not go near it. No one swears to It, that I know of. Why would they? If you found a great sea or mountain, would you worship it, just because it is greater than you? We do not, unless it may have bearing on us, hear our prayers and answer them. Sometimes the Great Spirits do. The Dragon does not, unless in ways we can’t see or measure. And if It does have a hand in our fate, It must mean us ill, for things have gone badly. I hope I answered you well enough.’
Anfen glanced at the sky again, and for a moment his heart raced — a shape moved up there. A bird, probably. He’d soon know if it wasn’t, that much was sure.
Eric said, ‘You’ve answered well, but I have to tell you, this is all totally weird to me. Why was I brought here? Why me? If you could understand how insignificant I was back there-’ he cut himself short.
‘Insignificant amongst the other nobility, you mean?’
‘Well, yes. You know, there are court jesters more important than me. I wasn’t all that high on the ladder, really.’
The Otherworlder’s limbs had all been hacked off. Blood pooled about him, stumps of white bone glistened. Anfen shut his eyes. ‘You may or may not have been summoned. I can only say what I know. For some reason the entry point opened up. Loup, our folk magician, foresaw it. He was adamant we seek it out, adamant in a way I’ve never seen him, though he wouldn’t say why it mattered. And still won’t. As we were already nearby on other business, I relented. And here you are.’
‘Where is this castle? I only saw a glimpse of it before.’
‘Behind us. Stand atop that rock there.’
Eric did, peering over the top of the plateau’s shelf to see what had been obscured before. A huge white shape in the far distance gleamed like a piece of fallen sky. It looked like a long, fat dragon lying asleep, its head resting chin first on the ground, front paws to either side, a tail curling behind the bulging round mass of its middle.
Anfen tried to imagine how the sight would affect him, with eyes new to it, but could only think of the orders that came from its upper halls, and the beings who gave them, and he felt only hate, dark and bitter, so strong it almost numbed itself from being felt.
Eric however looked almost dizzy at the sight. ‘Wow,’ he said, and laughed.
‘You were underneath that, some hours ago. The entry point through which you came is above and behind it. An impenetrable cliff runs around like a fence behind: no doubt you saw it. It is said Otherworld is differently built, that you may walk in one direction forever, eventually passing the point you started. Is that so?’
It seemed a cool breeze blew from the castle’s direction, ruffling their hair like a friendly hand. ‘Technically, yes. Who built it?’
‘It was here before we were. Only the dragon-youth or the Great Spirits could properly answer you. And they keep their secrets. Mages of the old schools hollowed it out with chambers, halls and stairways. Then they gave it to the cities, which were all Free Cities, back then. To make a long story very short, Vous and his cohorts stole the castle, then began stealing the cities. They are still busy with that task today, among others. And they will succeed. It is a question of when. Are you good with a sword, Eric?’
‘Not yet. But I’m going to learn.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
Anfen sat by the fire. There was much to think about. ‘Any magical talent, Eric?’
‘Not yet. But again, I’ll learn.’
‘I’m afraid if you can’t already see magic in the air, you’ll never be able to wield it. Magic is a perilous trade. Why would you want to learn it?’
‘I’m here for a reason,’ Eric said. ‘Since no one’s told me what it is, I’ll decide. I’m going to be the greatest hero you’ve ever heard of.’
Sharfy already is, Anfen thought with amusement. The young man could have been joking or not, it was hard to tell. Perhaps he’d been driven insane by his trip into a new world. It was certainly a stupid thing to say, if he meant it. Anfen saw blood gushing out Eric’s slashed windpipe and looked away. ‘Welcome, then,’ he said.
20
No smoke came from the campfires spread out on the lower platform, which was a quiet bustle of activity as people ate or tended to clothes hung on makeshift lines. Most wore leather, furs and skins, and there was no shortage of swords and knives lying about. The camp had clearly been here for some time.
Eric counted four women, six men, all of them giving the impression beds and hot baths would be quite welcome. One of the men was easily double a normal man’s size. His face tugged somehow at Eric’s memory: those big, dumb, startled eyes, the bald head … the door! This was the huge being he’d seen struggling to fit through, before Kiown’s boot was planted on his face to push him back.
The woman who’d fired an arrow at the train held a small razor and tended to the giant’s moustache, trimming off a little at the sides with a very careful hand. Eric’s eye lingered on her. Her skin was darker than that of anyone else he’d seen in this world. She had big almond eyes and jet black hair in two thick braids that hung down to her hips. She’d stepped from the set of a film about Native Americans, he was sure; even the tanned skins and tunic she wore would have seemed at home. She softly sang as she brushed little wisps of hair from the giant’s naked chest, and said, ‘All done!’
The giant peered at her, puffing air with his cheeks. When she saw Eric making his way down, she watched him intently and a change came to her face, no longer carefree and smiling; there was an intensity there now he could not interpret. If he had to guess, he’d say her look meant she wanted to kill him.
Eric spotted Sharfy and Kiown seated close to the path, embroiled in a heated argument with voices they strained to keep low. The others seemed to be listening with amusement they politely kept as hidden as possible. Kiown had a piece of dressing on his cheek and an impressive black eye. His face was totally rearranged by anger, leaving no trace at all of the practical joker he’d seemed at first, his voice an angry hiss: ‘And what of your part in it all? Was that disclosed? You scuttled over that dirt cart like lice on my balls. You stuffed your pockets.’