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The trip down the rock chimney seemed over almost before it started. At the bottom she found herself on the beach. Here she climbed out of the sling, pulled off her boots, and rolled up her breeches. At a brisk walk, she followed a strip of beach north, along the cliff face. She needed a place where she could anchor herself among the rocks. It wasn’t her intention to be washed out to sea.
Finally she reached a spot that looked good. The cliffs were at her back. To the north lay more rock. The castle bluff shielded her from all sight of the enemy fleet, riding at anchor in the mouth of the Swoop’s cove.
Gripping her badger’s claw for luck, she wedged herself between two boulders and lowered herself into the ocean. She had to bite a lip to keep from shrieking at the cold wetness. Within seconds she was numb to the waist. For good measure she immersed her hands and sent her magic out.
The salt water made her feel as if the dragon had never drained her magic. Her mind raced past tumbles of rocks and kelp, past quite a few sunken ships. So that’s why this is Pirate’s Swoop, she thought. They swooped out from the cove.
She found the seals first and called a greeting. They wanted to play, but she explained she hadn’t the time just now. On she went, beyond her normal range and into deep water.
Whale songs rose all around her to fill the sea with their magic. She had found a pod of nearly forty blue whales. Three quarters of them were adults, each at least eighty feet long and weighing over one hundred and forty tons. Daine faltered, awed by their magnificence, then called, —Hello!—
In a cave high over Daine’s head, the dragon stopped nuzzling her little one. It was the mage-child, the one who had restored her baby to life when she had thought it dead in her body. The dragon couldn’t mistake that atrocious accent.
Whales came into Daine’s mind, huge shadows staring at a girl-shadow. One—a hundred feet if he’s an inch, Daine thought, a bit frightened—moved ahead of the others with grace and majesty. —Who calls!—
This was nothing like talking with land animals, seals, or fish. Whales seemed wise, in their own fashion, and words only partly conveyed the things they said. To their question she gave them what she was, or how she saw herself, and image embroidered with feeling and ideas.
They were amused. —Why do you seek us out, tiny human calf?—
With images and ideas she explained the siege, the Carthakis, the release of the Stormwings and the dragon. —They want to take our freedom and they’re hurting my friends. I came to ask your help. If four or five of you came up under the barges and overset them, and maybe one or two of the large boats, we’d have a chance. I know it’s a big favor to ask. I can’t say they won’t hurt you—maybe they can. But you’re my best hope, you see.—
The chief whale heard her out politely. His answer, when it came, blasted into her mind and ears. —No.—
She barely remembered that she was out in the open in time to choke back a scream. She bit deep into her own wrist to smother it.
—You don’t understand!— How could she explain so they would care? She gave them Onua’s wry humor, Thayet’s leadership, Miri’s love of the sea, George’s intelligence, Numair’s curiosity. —The enemy kills humans and animals who never hurt anyone. They brought monsters here. (She gave them spidrens as well as Stormwings—it never occurred to her to add the griffins or the dragon.) We have calves there—little ones who depend on us to keep them safe. (Roald, Kally, and Thom were as fresh in her mind as if they stood with her. She offered them to these distant, cold judges.) You wouldn’t let your calves die. Grown humans may hunt you, but not these. Help me save them!—
The dragon looked at her newborn. Knowing the kit was dead in her belly had sent her in a rage to attack the humans. She had blamed them for stealing her from home at the start of her labor, had blamed them for the magic voyage that had killed the life in her. Her kit, her first, had been dead—until this girl-child had put her hands on her breast. The pangs had begun again—her kit had been born. Dragons do not give birth lightly, do not face the loss of young lightly.
—You do not understand, mortal calf,— said the whale leader.
—Explain it to me, please?— She struggled to be polite. There had to be a way she could talk them around.
—We will not fight or kill. Not for your cause—not for any cause. Violence against higher life-forms is disgusting. For centuries the People have vowed that the taking of a higher life is an abomination.—
—But Miri told me, you’ve attacked ships that kill your kind. . . .—
—No.— Once again the force of the reply hurt. —There have been accidents. There are times when one will go insane. Always, when the one who has fought understands what took place, that one starves himself, herself to death, to pay for the sin. We will not fight. We will not kill.—
She had never heard such absolute refusal. It sounded in the marrow of her bones and through her nerve endings. Under its pressure her head began to pound again. —We’ll die, then. Their machines will break our walls—they’ll have us out as an octopus has a hermit crab out of its shell. My friends, in the air, on the land—they’ll have died for nothing.—
—You should not have asked them to fight.—
—I didn’t ask them! They wanted to—because they’re my friends!—
—There is no good reason to fight. There is no good reason to kill— The whales’ voices were growing faint.
—Where are you going?— Tears rolled down her cheeks. They were her last chance, and they wouldn’t even listen.
—If ships are here, there is a chance of an accident. We cannot accept that risk. We go, far from this place where you make a killing-ground.—
—I didn’t make it!— she yelled, furious. —They came to me!—
The whales were gone. The only sound in her mind and ears was the lapping of waves. It would happen again, just like at home. The queen would die before she’d let Carthakis take her or her children. Numair would burn out. The raiders would win. If she’d learned her lessons better, if she’d explained things at the palace instead of waiting till the badger came to her at the beach . . . She put her face in her hands and sobbed.
If you listen hard and long, you can hear any of us, call any of us, that you want. It sounded now, so clearly that she looked up, trying to find the badger. He was nowhere to be seen.
If you listen hard and long, you can hear any of us, call any of us, that you want. That’s what he had told her. Maybe she could catch up to the whales, convince them. Maybe she could bring them under her will. Surely that was like calling anyone she wanted to, wasn’t it?
It’s wrong to force the whales to fight, a small voice in her mind argued. Not when they hate it so.
I won’t let my people die, she told the voice. I can’t.
She took a deep breath, and another. She let go of herself, opening her mind entirely to wild magic. Grabbing her up, the copper fire took her west.
She rolled along the ocean’s bottom like a wave, hearing each click and gurgle the sea creatures made. Her awareness spread in a half circle, hearing the fleet, finding the departing whales. She would have talked to them, but the copper fire wrapped tighter around her mind and kept moving. Deeper and deeper the ocean floor sank. With dreamy surprise she slid around a patch of islands—where had they come from?
She dropped into ice water that was black as ink in her mind. In the west, past the islands, he lay—ship killer, man-eater, old as time. The mages had missed him when they sealed the Divine Realms, centuries ago. He had lain on the bottom, the ultimate predator, dining on whales and human ships. His immense tentacles, each a mile long, stirred with interest.
The kraken had never seen a little fish like her.
Daine stared at him, aghast. His was the body of an octopus with far too many arms, his mantle a mile and a half across.
—I will kill any fleet you like, little fish.— His voice was filled with soft, deadly good humor. —You were talking to the whales. Pacifists, al
l of them—enough to make me vomit. Just show me where those nasty raiders are. I can guarantee they won’t trouble you for long.—
—You’d never make it on time,—she said, to cover her real thought: I could never get rid of him!
—Leave that to me. Come, my dear—this is no time to be squeamish.—
Deals with demons, she thought nervously. It’s a deal with a demon. . . . Wait—what about Numair? Once he returns to full strength, he’ll be a match for this monster. I hope he will, anyway, because this kraken is the only hope I have left.
Please Goddess and Horse Lords, let this be a good choice!
Daine thrust what she knew of the fleet at the giant thing, and fled as his laugh echoed all around her. She flashed through the water faster than she would have believed possible. It was hard to say what she was doing: running from the kraken or racing to get to the Swoop before sunrise.
It was too late. When she opened her eyes, the incoming tide was up to her chin, and the sky overhead was pink.
She struggled, fighting to get her tightly wedged body out from between the rocks. Everything was numb; her hands couldn’t get a purchase anywhere. How can I reach the castle, let alone the deck? she wondered, panting as she tried to free herself. And what can I tell them, anyway? If those islands are what I think they are, they’re the Copper Isles, four days’ sail out. If I didn’t dream that whatsits, that kraken, there won’t be anything here in four days for him to eat—
Curved silver bars closed around her middle, gently. She looked up into the dragon’s catlike eyes.
—I will take you to your friends, little mage.—
The dragon wrapped her other forepaw around the one that gripped Daine. The girl held on to those silver claws, running her hands over them in awe. There was a tremendous jolt, and they were airborne. She screamed in delight to see the earth fall away below them, forgetting briefly all she had been through, and all that was coming, in the joy of flight. Behind her she could feel the surge of the dragon’s wings as they soared higher and higher. To their left she saw the enemy, and the Stormwing that dropped to Mahil Eddace’s ship. The red robes in the galleys and transports sat or lay at the prows of theirs ships, many clutching their heads in their hands. Slaves, bare but for a loincloth and a collar, ministered to the red robes.
Her appearance—the dragon’s appearance—had dramatic results. Men pointed and screamed; archers scrambled for their weapons. One red robe got up and did something that involved waving hands. It resulted in a yellowish cloud that boiled their way.
