The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(6)

“When we arrive.” The dragon sounded amused. “You mortals, always so fastened on time and distance.”

“I thought dragons were mortal too. I mean you die don’t you?”

“Even the ever-living can die, Wizard, as you know. Mortal implies a finite life-span.”

“Well, don’t dragons grow old and die?”

“Grow old, yes. But I have never heard of a dragon dying naturally.”

That had several implications and Wiz wasn’t sure he liked any of them.

“How old are you?”

“I do not know. Even if I had remembered to count the seasons, we do not become self-aware until we are nearly full grown. Ask the little one in the courtyard how old he is and see what you get for an answer.”

“The little one . . . oh, you mean the young dragon.”

Again the amusement in Wurm’s “voice.” “There was no one else in the courtyard as I recall.”

“That’s the pet, uh, playmate of a friend’s kid. He calls him Fluffy for some reason.”

“That is because he is,” Wurm said in Wiz’s head.

“Fluffy?”

“Of course. Can you not sense it?”

Wiz wasn’t sure whether the dragon was joking or not and considering the circumstances he didn’t want to find out.

“In any event,” Wurm went on, “the experience will probably help him. Your kind is spreading everywhere and knowing humans well will serve him even better than it has served me.”

“You were a cavalry mount, weren’t you?” Wiz asked with a sudden burst of insight.

“I was.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember before you became intelligent.”

“I said we could not count. Just because we are not intelligent does not mean we do not remember.”

Wiz wondered if dragons bore grudges.

“In probability it helped me,” Wurm said, so quickly Wiz’s next wonder was if dragons could read minds. “Most of my kind die before they attain reason. A few score years fed and cared for undoubtedly bettered my odds.”

“But don’t your parents take care of you?”

“We are able to care for ourselves from the moment we hatch,” the dragon said. “Our mother is long gone before our birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It is the way of dragonkind since time began. We avoid the entanglements of those who are born in groups of their kind and it ensures we will be strong and clever-those who survive.”

Wurm didn’t say it but the subtext was clear: This was one strong, clever dragon.

They flew a while more in silence.

“Wurm? When you were in the cavalry whose side were you on? I mean who . .

.”



“Does it matter, Wizard?” There was a trace of irritation in the dragon’s thought. “It was long ago, it happened and it is done. That is enough.”

Wiz didn’t try to make any more small talk.

Northward they flew, and eastward, for what seemed like hours. The sun rose to noon and sank toward the western horizon as they traveled. Below them the neatly tended fields and villages of the World of humans gave way to the rolling green of the Wild Wood and that in turn to a land of jumbled mountain ranges and steep, narrow valleys. Then gradually the mountains flattened and the valleys widened into gently sloping grasslands. The forest did not come back, save in scattered patches, but the land was green and pleasant. Squinting ahead Wiz could see more mountains rising off in the distance.

“Yonder lie the Dragon Lands,” Wurm informed him. “Do you wish to turn back now, Wizard?”

Wiz hesitated. Part of him wanted more than anything to turn around and go home. But there was another part of him that drove him grimly onward. There was a problem here and he had to solve it. Had to.

Besides, if they turned around now it meant more agonizing hours riding dragonback.

“No,” Wiz told Wurm. “Let’s go on.”

Wurm’s expression didn’t change but Wiz felt the dragon “nod” mentally. There was a small, distant part of him that told him he ought to be worried about that.

Wiz glanced at the sinking sun and estimated the distance to the mountains. “Is that where we’re heading?”

“Our destination is somewhat closer,” the dragon said and, without word or warning, winged over and dropped steeply. Wiz whooped in terrified surprise and wrapped both arms around the spine in front of him. He had a confused, whirling view of a broad grassy valley cut by a meandering river with a substantial village or small city nestled along its banks. Then everything was hidden by Wurm’s enormous wings as they locked to brake for a landing.

“Dismount. We are here.”

“Fine,” said Wiz, trying to throw his leg over the dragon’s neck. He found it was numb from hours of sitting and he had to use both hands to hoist the leg over so he could slide off.

He tried to step away from Wurm’s side and his knees nearly buckled.

“Where is here?” he asked to cover his embarrassment.

“The Dragon Marches,” Wurm told him. “Here the lands of mortals run to the borders of the Dragon Lands.”

They were on a grassy knoll beside a dirt road that wound through the valley toward the village in the distance. Dotted here and there he could see clusters of buildings that looked like farmsteads. The fields were laid out in strips, most emerald green with growing grain. The air was cool but not unpleasant and the breeze whispered gently through the grass.