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Flaeros Delcamper came awake shouting, striking out with his fists into the night. "Fire!" he cried, seeing again those erupting flames, springing up out of the darkness all around him, to singe and then sear…
"Fire! Everything was burning up!"
"Easy, lad," Hulgor growled, laying a hand on his kinsman-and then snatching it back with an oath. "Ye gods, the lad's hot! A fever, belike!"
Anxious faces crowded around, lit by a lantern held in a royal hand. King Castlecloaks stared down at the twisting, sweating bard and then around at guards and servants. The two Delcamper maids were blushing as they surveyed all the bared male flesh around them, for only the guards wore anything-full armor, complete with the swords they'd now drawn.
"Put those away," Hulgor said disgustedly, though the swordpoints moved not an inch until the king nodded to support the old noble's order. "The lad needs a healer, not a sword through his guts!" He peered at Raulin. "Ye do have a healer?"
The king swallowed and then smiled weakly. "Ah, yes. Somewhere. I'm not quite sure just where in the palace anyone has their chambers, right now, actuall-"
"Never mind," Hulgor growled. "Kings, kings-what good are they? Lad!" This last bark was directed not at Raulin but rather at Flaeros Delcamper, now fully awake and staring up at the circle of faces in awe, fear, and-as he recognized some faces as female-mounting embarrassment. The bard snatched at the sweat-soaked linens beneath him.
"Ah, ye're awake-just like all the rest of us, thanks!" Hulgor growled. "Lad, where does Orele sleep? Hey?"
"You were purposely not told that, my lord," a palace servant said severely, "upon her instructions, and-"
"Take us there now," King Raulin snapped. The servant paled, stammered assent, and hurried off, taking up and unhooding a night lantern.
Hulgor scooped up Flaeros and carried the naked bard to the door, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The younger Delcamper stammered protests, face flaming, and then thought the better of it and went along for the ride, watching his own sweat stream steadily down onto the floor below.
"Gods, lad, but you're hot," Hulgor growled. " 'Tis like carrying a slab of boar that's still cooking!"
The king and the guards strode along with Hulgor, close behind the lantern-bearing servant, but it seemed that some of the other Delcamper maids had taken a swifter route-for when they reached the small, plain door of Orele's chambers, it stood open. Lamplight was spilling out into the passage, and the Lady herself, in an ankle-length black nightrobe, sat in a chair facing them, her cane in her hand.
"Hulgor, set Flaeros on the bed," she said crisply, by way of greeting. "You'll find a nightshirt laid ready for him. Get the king a chair, send everyone else out, and then lock and bar the door. Everyone. I'm not in the habit of regicide, and all of these guards whose hygiene seems so poor would be best deployed well away from my keyhole-but making sure no one else tarries by it."
"Let all be done as the Lady Orele commands," the king said firmly, before anyone could raise protest-and, in a remarkably short time, it was.
"Wrinkles," Hulgor said gruffly, "the lad came awake shouting-"
Orele held up a hand. "I know. You were right to bring him here. Go to yonder board and get everyone a drink. Anything His Majesty fancies we will of course sip first, to show him 'tis safe. Go, Old Ram!"
Hulgor opened his mouth to protest, flushed, gri
"You had a dream," Orele told the bard, "that I know all about. Worry not about the heat and the sweat-that will pass. You're neither ill nor crazed."
Flaeros smiled in relief, sitting up. "L-lady Orele, forgive this abrupt asking, but… well, I've long suspected you of being one of the Wise…"
The old woman smiled. "Well, you're not completely stone-headed, I see. Your suspicions are correct."
The bard and the king both leaned forward, gri
Lady Natha Orele raised one bony hand and said severely, "Before you ask, I neither kiss nor mate with toads, rarely flog myself in the moonlight, and have never cast any magics to make anyone sicken or die. On the other hand, I often dance naked out of doors by night, harvest useful herbs whenever I can, and keep secrets well. No, I can't fly, with or without a broomstick. I don't drink blood save when I prick myself, and don't cast love-spells for anyone-even by royal command."
She lifted both eyebrows, together. "Does that take care of your first flood of foolish questions, and buy me time enough to speak of what exactly befell you this night, Flaeros?"
"Uh, ah," the king asked awkwardly, "just one asking: Are there many Wise? Have you seen any in Aglirta, since your arrival?"
Orele regarded him severely. "Are there many skilled singers in your kingdom, Majesty? Can you tell who they are at a glance?"
She let silence fall, and after it had stretched long enough for a tightly gri
The old woman sipped her wine, shook her head, and told the glass severely, "Men. Kings little better than the rest, I see. It'll be dawn before we're done, so find something to wet your royal throat, Raulin. Hulgor's tried a bit of everything already, so if he doesn't fall over in the next few breaths, 'tis all safe."
The old noble chuckled. "Ye can see out of the back of your head, Swee-hem, Natha."
"Trick of the Wise," the old lady said darkly, and then drained her glass in a swig like a man in a hurry to leave a tavern, handed it to the astonished king, and clapped her hands lightly together. "Enough empty tongue-wagging! You dreamt of fire, Flaeros, and came awake shouting. This is not unusual, and probably happened to scores of folk the world over this night-most of them in the Vale."
"Lady," King Castlecloaks said politely, "I believe you've now established that you are eloquent, learned, and can be very mysterious. Can you also speak plainly, and Reveal All?"
Lady Orele gri
Raulin Castlecloaks sighed. "Beyond the fact that it's a grand name for all the magic of Darsar, which is the gathered lore of our ways of harnessing the energies of all that lives, nothing at all."
The old woman sat back, regarding him with new respect. "Well said, Majesty-very well said. I'd say you have learning enough. The son of a bard, you-and a bard yourself, Lord Flaeros, so you know this too, hmm?"
"I do," Flaeros agreed. "Like Raul-the King, I know very little more than what the Arrada is-and that it flows in cycles."
"Ah!" Orele said, leaning forward again. "Hulgor," she said, "get this King a drink."
Hulgor and Raulin both blinked at her. Ignoring them, she said serenely, "Two creatures manifest at either end of the flows of the Arrada: the Serpent and the Dragon. Now tell me, which one is associated with fire?"
Flaeros stared at the old woman as if she'd suddenly grown three serpent-heads, with a golden crown gleaming on each one. "The Dragon," he whispered.
Orele nodded and raised her glass. King Raulin and the bard both stared at it. Though they'd both seen her drain it to the dregs but a few moments ago, and she'd sent Hulgor away to fill another glass for the king, the old woman's glass was brimful once more.
She smiled at them over it. "Whenever there's a Serpent-The Serpent, called by those who worship it the Great Serpent, and usually a human wizard twisted to evil-there must also be a Dragon. When one arises, there comes the other. In the words of the bard Tanathavur-you should know this, Lord Flaeros-'I burned in the night of fire, at the awakening of the Dragon.' You do know what became of Tanathavur, don't you?"