Island of Dragons - DRAFT - Chapter 6– Mole Town 6248

Chapter 6– Mole Town 6248

The next morning, as the sun rose across the inlet, Roztov turned into a fox and had a sniff about the area around Moletown, out to about a mile or so in whatever direction interested him. Foxes were not native to the island, but it was a form he felt comfortable in and there was no one around that was likely to see him anyway.

He went down along the inlet for a couple of miles, following the north shore. The south shore was about a mile away, its steep sides just visible in the low hanging mist of the morning. It looked natural, to his expert eye, unlike the magical mists that surrounded the island’s exterior.

He found no sign of boats, he hadn’t expected to and turned back. He came across two women from the town, working their way through the forest gathering pinecones. He knew that they ate the nuts from them, and used the cones for fuel. They were young and slender, seemingly at home in the forest. They did not notice him.

From there he skirted around the town to the north and watched some men catching and killing a rotrok. He noted that they left the vegetains alone.

When he arrived back at the settlement, he changed from a fox to the form of a sparrowhawk and swooped up into some high branches and watched from above for an hour or so. He had no suspicions, he was merely watching. The truth was, he thought to himself, he was internally writing a paper for the Royal Society back in Timu. Even though he seriously wondered if he would ever get back, he couldn’t help himself, it felt comforting. He was irritated at the loss of the notebooks that he had already compiled on the journey, but very thankful he had had the good sense to send copies of them home from Grenos before they left. Such writings would be of interest, but a paper about Tanud would be a sensation. He’d tried to write a book once, about his experiences in Fiarka tracing Ojumf River, but he had not the patience for it. He preferred to write papers for the Society and let others (older more settled men) digest his work and write the books.

The town had woken up at first light, and after the hunters and gatherers had gone out for the day the place was quiet. He admitted that you could hardly see the place, it was so artfully hidden amongst the roots and fallen branches. Not as well as Vine Street, which was completely hidden from all sides, but well enough apparently, to have never attracted attention from dragons or the manhunters.

He saw Yewer, the old woman Floran had been talking to, stick her head out of a door then seemingly sniff the air. She then wrapped herself in a shawl and sat on a log next to her house. After a while she pulled a pipe from her pocked and begun to pack it with something that Roztov could only imagine was tobacco.

Almost without thinking he fluttered down to sit beside her on the log and turned back into a man. Once she had got over her amazement and sat back down again she smiled and clasped her hands in greeting, moving them up and down they way that they all did here.

Roztov returned her greeting and pointed at the tobacco. She understood and even offered him her pipe, but he waved his hands and instead picked up a stick. Holding it in his hands, he shaped it with druid magic, twisting it gently until he had a smooth wooden pipe of his own.

Yewer once more was amazed and even watched with wonder as he packed the pipe and lit it with a snap of his fingers. She then held out her pipe and watched as he lit hers too, fire appearing at his finger tips just long enough to ignite the tobacco.

Together they sat and smoked.

‘I needed this!’ declared Roztov with a sigh.

After a while, both puffing away contently, they struck up a conversation, in mime mainly as they could not understand each other’s language. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands, then clasped them to her heart. She smiled and nodded. Roztov understood that she was thankful that they had arrived. They talked for a while, but the tobacco was relaxing them and it was too much effort to be constantly waving their arms around.

Moletown was different from Vine Street in many ways, Roztov reflected, not just in scale. Vine Street was dark and gloomy, very well hidden and protected from attack. Even so, the people there still seemed to be living in constant daily terror, only venturing out when the food ran out. Moletown on the other hand, despite being mostly underground seemed to take its security a lot less seriously, almost for granted. Women mushroom picking in the forest? Doors left open during the day to let out smoke from cooking fires? The people of Vine Street had been gaunt and half starved, these people seemed well fed. Was it purely down to the location or did they really have something watching over them?

This old woman obviously thought it was safe enough to have a quick pipe after breakfast.

Roztov knew he over-thought everything, his wife and friends told him so, but he had been in so many dangerous situations over the years, and had had so many narrow escapes he tended to assess every situation he got into for dangers, however prosaic it seemed. Once he’d finished smoking, he thanked her again and went to his rooms, to see what the others were having for breakfast.

In their own small underground bunker the sailors were eating their own breakfast. It was fried rotrok bacon, rotrok eggs, wild mushrooms and bread rolls made from acorn flour. A jug of water had been fetched from the stream and used to brew tea.

‘This bacon is really good, almost like pig,’ said Arrin holding up a piece before putting it in his mouth.

‘This is the best we’ve eaten since the ship wreck,’ agreed Salveri.

Tankle nodded and smiled happily between mouthfuls of hot mushrooms.

‘We should stay here,’ said Salveri. ‘I’ve been thinking. Those druids should just fly off and find their boat, then bring it back here.’

‘How? Sail it?’

‘Why not?’

Arrin shrugged. ‘Well, we are sailors after all. I’d feel we were letting the side down.’

Salveri pointed his wooden fork at him.

‘Listen. Ophess is better off here right? She’s a danger to all of us out in the forest. And Meggelaine can’t stay, so that means Tankle stays.’

‘Hey, why me?’ cried Tankle.

‘You’re a wench. I can’t go, because I’m still recovering from that spear. Besides, those druids can fly. They could leave Floran and Broddor here too. Once they’ve secured the boat they can come get us.’

‘But Sal’, argued Arrin. ‘They’ll need sailors to bring it back. Those druids have wondrous powers, but they don’t know anything about ships.’ 

‘Well you go with them then,’ snarled Salveri. ‘Fly up there on Roztov’s back. Just be careful not to fall off!’

Arrin looked down at his plate, his anger was rising but he respected Salveri’s age too much to argue back. It was not like Salveri to show cowardice, he’d went out to fight the manhunters after all, but maybe being brought back from the edge of death by Ghene had made him more cautious.

Tankle sat back from the table and picked at her teeth.

‘Would a boat make it down the coast anyway, even with a good crew? A dragon could just come along and set fire to it.’

‘The people that live here came here by boat. Sailed right up the inlet as bold as you please.’

‘Fair enough. Sounds like a good idea then, you should suggested it.’

‘I will.’

‘When?’

Salveri stood up from the table. ‘In my own good time, woman. Anyway, are we to be locked up in here all day? I can’t just sit here and turn tea into piss all day.’

Arrin and Tankle exchanged a glance and decided to let the older man rant on for a while uninterrupted. When they were needed they would be summoned.

In the end, the decision had not needed Salveri’s input. The survivors of the Red Maiden met for lunch and it was quickly decided that the three druids would go north and scout the chasm, to see if it was passable. They would be gone a few days and the others were to simply wait at Moletown until the druids returned.

‘What will we do, lad?’ Broddor asked of Roztov.

‘Well, I don’t know. Help out if you can. Just stay out of trouble. Floran, any last advice from the people you’ve talked to here, before we go?’

Floran who had been biting his thumb nail, took it from his mouth and looked up.

‘Ah. This is an old camp. Most of them are second generation and have never been more than a few miles from the place. Only the older ones remember Stovologard, but they are very much not experts on the north. They know nothing of the chasm, only to avoid it.’

‘Right,’ sighed Roztov. ‘Well, keep talking to them anyway. They still seem really happy we are here.’

‘Oh yes,’ agreed Floran. ‘They hunger for stories of the world beyond Tanud.’

With no further ceremony the three druids turned into their favourite birds, Roztov a Stykian sparrowhawk, Ghene a Great Forest goshawk and Meggelaine a Tormwood kestrel. They then fluttered up through the branches of the trees and then up above the canopy. There had been a recent snowfall, the tall dark pines were dusted in white. The druids already knew the area from their previous scouting missions and divinations so they swooped down from the hill that Moletown sat on, into a broad valley. It was thick with tall trees down to the flood plain of the frozen river. The three birds swooped down to the river and glided along it, following it north. The snow lay thick along the riverbanks of the meandering river as it flowed through the hills and the forest covered mountains beyond. The sky was overcast and dark, what light penetrated the clouds was frigid and blue light, giving the landscape a ghostly pallor.

Late in the afternoon they arrived at the fringes of the gorge, a huge chasm that bit through the unnamed mountains like a huge scar. The trees were a little thinner up here and the snow thicker, the druids felt exposed and when the shadow of a dragon crossed over them they instinctively flew down into the shelter of the forest.

They landed, then hopped along the forest floor for a few paces before turning into their natural forms.

‘Did you see the size of that thing?’ said Roztov smoothing back his windswept hair. ‘I near soiled myself when it went over head.’He spoke Peret, a language only known to druids.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ agreed Ghene in the same tongue.

‘I don’t think this is safe,’ said Meggelaine gathering her little cloak around her body. ‘The big ones have all sorts of magic. They could already know we are here.’

‘They may do, but do they care?’ replied Roztov. ‘Shall we at least try and get some sort of vantage point? I want to get a look over the edge at least.’

They turned into foxes and scurried north, upwards, keeping to the deepest parts of the forest until they reached a windswept hilltop which was home to a few trees and a lot of snow. From here they could see a ridge of mountains ahead of them and off to the west the black pit of the gorge. They could only see the sides of it, not into it, but from this hill, in order to get there on foot, they would have to travel back down into a valley. The valley had more trees in it, but from there they would see nothing and the other slope, the one that leadup to the lip of the gorge, was barren, it would offer them no shelter at all.

The foxes padded quietly into a stand of a dozen or so pines and turned back into their natural forms.

‘Probably as close as we should get today then,’ said Roztov as he knelt down by a tree and look out across the mountains.

‘Agreed,’ said Ghene. ‘Let’s watch from here until nightfall and then make camp down in that valley.’

They could see dragons flying up and down the top of the gorge, some flying high before swooping back down and out of sight. They were of all sizes, large and small, and of many colours.

‘It’s difficult to get a sense of scale isn’t it?’ said Meggelaine as she snuggled in beside Roztov. ‘It looks like they use it like people use a road.’

‘You’re right. Up and down they go.’

From where they sat they could see about two miles of gorge. Together their eyes followed a massive red creature, clearly visible against the snow, as it slowly made its way from west to east.

‘What business do they have do you think?’ said Ghene with a smile. ‘What takes that huge beast from where it was, to where it goes?’

‘Popping down the shops to get some bread and milk?’

Meggelaine sniggered at Roztov’s jest, such as it was. ‘Maybe he has a job at one end of the gorge but lives at the other end and this is commute.’

‘Yes. He’s knocked off for the day and is away home for his tea.’

Ghene cleared his throat. ‘You know, I understand that you apply humour to the situation. To this day though I cannot work out whether you humans and torms consider yourselves funny or not.’

‘Oh Ghene, just leave it,’ said Meggelaine patting his arm with her tiny hand.

‘There is an element of human humour that considers very bad jests to be good?’

‘It’s not worth it mate, honestly,’ said Roztov as he continued to watch the dragon’s progress. ‘What do your divinations tell you of the way ahead?’

Ghene closed his eyes. ‘We are looking at one of two spurs of the canyon that lead to the main gorge itself. It turns more to the north as you follow it to the right and eventually the spurs merge. The main gorge travels north east for about forty miles then splits into two spurs again. The right-hand spur ends at the spire.’

‘To the west?’

‘This spur we see ends in a series of shattered valleys. A landscape impossible to traverse on foot.’

‘I see. I suppose it would make more sense to go east. Better to cross one gorge than two.’

That night they camped in the forest valley as they had discussed, keeping warm in a druidic hide. First thing in the morning, as the winter sun crept up over the mountains and slowly illuminated the land with its weak light that gave no warmth, they flew east, as close to the gorge as they dared.

After ten miles of fast flying the gorge did indeed meet another spur and at this meeting, on the north west wall of the chasm they could see that a city had been carved into the rock.

Steep terraces, near vertical, climbed up from the depths of the chasm, each terrace lined with dozens of ornately carved arches. Some of the arches were big enough to sail a ship through, some no larger than a doorway for a man. Much of the stonework looked crumbled away, or clawed away by the passage of dragons. The three falcons wheeled for a few moments, taking it all in. It was still early morning, the city seemed quiet. One of the falcons swooped down into the chasm towards the northern side, the chasm was two hundred yards wide, one of the others hesitated then followed while the smallest one screeched in alarm and turned back to the forest to the south.

When she landed and found a place to hide Meggelaine said to herself, ‘Oh what a pair of fools! They are going to get themselves both killed!’

Being so small she could curl up in-between the wide roots of a birch tree. Here she pulled her cloak around her and her hood over her head. Small and inconspicuous she would have been well hidden but for the fact she was talking to herself.

‘They’ll be breakfast when all those dragons wake up. I’m not going down there. Who do they think I am? I’ll jolly well not rescue them if they get into trouble, they can think again in that regard...’

She kept this up for a while, then about an hour later, just as she was weighing the idea of going to look for them, the two other hawks landed next to her. They did not immediately change into their normal forms so she had to scald them as birds.

‘Where the hell have you been eh? I’ve been worried sick! Sick with worry! What was I supposed to tell everyone if you didn’t come back?’

The sparrowhawk shuffled its feet and looked down at its talons.

‘Too ashamed to turn back eh? No wonder, and you!’ she looked at the goshawk. ‘You should have known better than follow him. You’re a Councillor. Councillors think before they act. Him I can understand, but... hey! Where are you going? Come back, and turn into your normal forms, for Etruna’s sake or I’ll pluck your feathers!’

Roztov took the little torm up in his arms and gave her a hug. ‘Sorry Meg.’

‘I’m really scared Roz.’

‘Yes. I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I’d take a quick look before they woke up. This is a really good camp site you’ve found. This is a well hidden glade.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Meggelaine with a sniff as she dried her eyes on her sleeve. ‘What did you see? Did they wake up?’

Ghene, who was gathering up some sticks for a small fire put in, ‘They certainly did. We left pretty quickly after that. There are no other birds around here, we stick out a lot. The dragons are mostly huge, which usually means they are old. This place is ok to light a fire, yes?’

Roztov nodded, ‘Should be ok. It’s a nice little spot this. I wouldn’t have expected trees so high up, but this valley must be warmer than the surrounding mountains.’

‘It is like this all the way along the south-eastern edge. It’s like a green road that runs for a hundred miles.’

‘Lucky for us. The architecture of those arches was interesting, did you notice it? That was the work of hands, not of claws. No dragon I ever heard of built anything.’

‘The columns, they looked of the dorian order.’

Roztov shook his head. ‘I knew you’d say that when you saw them. Every bit of ancient architecture you see, you attribute to elves. They could have just have easily been late inna order. Human.’

‘You are very wrong. Dorian capitals curl downwards as did these. Inna capitals curl upwards.’

Roztov threw down a stick he was about to break over his knee in genuine irritation.

‘I know the difference between dorian and inna capitals thank you very much Ghene!’

Meggelaine rolled her eyes and let the dull conversation on classical columns carry on both figuratively and literally over her head. She busied herself preparing the fire, then preparing the food and dishing it out. The meal and the conversation, which was more friendly now, continued.

‘So, we agree that whoever carved out that city, it was done over eight hundred years ago and that... Meg will you please stop fussing!’

Meggelaine was considered rather a pest by her friends when they were eating together. She rarely concentrated on her own food, but constantly policed the eating area, topping up cups, dolling out seconds and clearing away dirty plates, sometimes at the same time as the last mouthful was eaten. She picked up waste as it was made and cleared away the broad leaves that their rolls were wrapped in. Once she had a small pile of detritus from the meal she would take it over to a spot she had designated as a bin, then return to the meal and continue patrolling it, all the time her own meal remaining half eaten.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You know it’s a fressle thing. I do it when I’m nervous.’

Roztov pulled his boots off to warm his feet by the fire. In doing so he came close to knocking over a kettle Meggelaine was boiling for tea.

The little torm yelped loudly and lunged for it although it had been in no danger of falling. She then sat back fluttering her hand at her heart with a deep sigh, ‘Oh mercy!’

‘Meggelaine! Will you please stop soiling yourself!’ said Roztov trying to tussle her hair.

‘I can’t help it,’ she replied as she darted out of the way of his hand. ‘How can they not know we are here? We are camped less than a mile away from their city.’

‘Someone approaches,’ said Ghene.

‘Oh don’t even!’ said Meggelaine sharply as she tilted her head at the elf.

‘I do not jest,’ continued Ghene as he stood up and looked around.

‘If I might warm myself at your fire for a while?’ said a voice from the darkness. It spoke in their language of Peret.

An old man approached and bowing slightly gestured towards the flames. He walked with a stick, but was tall and looked strong enough. He wore travelling clothes and a long black cloak with the hood down. His hair and beard were white.

Their camp was tucked in between the side of a large rock and the wide roots of a tree so there was not much space. Roztov shuffled along the side of the rock on his backside to make room.

The old man laid down his staff and sat by the fire. He held out his hands and warmed them.

‘I don’t usually meet people up here,’ said the old man. ‘My name is Mordran.’

Ghene introduced himself and his friends then said, ‘How do you come to speak Peret?’

‘I know many languages and I learned it in my travels. When I heard you talking I decided to address you in your own language.’

‘But how can this be?’ asked Ghene. ‘Where can you...’

‘Just leave it,’ hissed Roztov. ‘Leave it for now Ghene.’

‘Oh very well,’ said Ghene giving his friend an odd look, ‘Well, do you come this way regularly?’

‘From time to time I travel the Greenway yes. It is the quickest route east to west.’

‘You do not find it dangerous?’

Mordran sighed and rubbed his hands, ‘It can be. I have my ways though.’

They sat in silence for a while.

‘Do you know anything of the city nearby?’

‘A little.’

‘Perhaps,’ continued Ghene. ‘Ah, perhaps you could settle an argument. Do you know who built it?’

Mordran considered for a moment, then said, ‘Well, there are some that say men ruled this island many years ago, before the dragons came. When the dragons came they took the men’s cities and made them their slaves.’

‘So, ah, men then. Like Roztov?’ said the elf gesturing at his friend.

‘Much like him yes, I should imagine.’

‘Huh, looks like you win, Roz.’

‘Yes. Great,’ replied Roztov through clenched teeth.

‘If you don’t mind me asking then, how do you avoid the dragons?’ said Ghene.

‘Oh, the Chasm Dragons have no magic. They are immensely powerful but if they cannot see you then they do not know you are there. They do not keep humans as slaves either, as the dragons of the north do. If they have ever seen me at all, I doubt they cared.’

‘Oh I see. Well we had a lot of bother with dragons south of here.’

‘Manhunters from the north, yes I can well imagine. But they avoid the Chasm. King Primus and Blavius are at war, so the Stovologard dragons avoid this area, naturally. It may seem strange to travel so close to them, but while the war is on the Greenway is one of the safest places to be.’

‘Who are Primus and Blavius?’

‘King Primus is the ruler of Stovologard to the north. Blavius styles himself as the King of all Dragons, but in reality he rules over the Chasm only and even then only because the others find it convenient that he thinks that.’

‘So we are safe here?’ squeaked Meggelaine.

‘Sometimes the safest place for a mouse is under the cat’s belly.’

‘And they don’t care about people anyway because they don’t keep slaves?’

‘Correct little one. The dragons of the Chasm sleep, argue and hunt only. They have little use of slaves.’

While they talked Meggelaine was preparing a plate of food for their guest. He noticed this and held up his hand. ‘There is no need, I am not hungry.’

‘Oh, but we have plenty. More than we can manage, honestly. You would be doing us a favour...’

‘Just leave it,’ whispered Roztov through his teeth.

‘No but, I mean, we will have to throw some of this... hey!’

Roztov had taken hold of her arm and was trying to communicate something to her with his eyebrows.

‘Hey, Roz!’ she whispered loudly.

‘Well,’ said Ghene, in attempt to ignore the domestic argument that seemed to be brewing between his friends. ‘You have come from the east?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘What can you tell us of that direction? I have seen a huge spire over there.’

Mordran nodded, as he continued to rub his hands in front of the fire.

‘I would not get too close to it, if I were you. The dragons of the spire are powerful wizards.’

‘Oh really? How close do you suppose would be dangerous?’

‘Hum,’ Mordran grunted. ‘Well, that rather depends. Are you as you appear, or do you have magic? Can you fight dragons?’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. We three are druids, we can change into...’

Roztov suddenly had a loud coughing fit. Meggelaine looked at him with consternation and thumped him on the back.

‘Sorry, must be a bone,’ he said as he recovered his voice.

‘There were no bones in the food I gave you!’ glared Meggelaine.

Ghene looked back to Mordran, ‘As I was saying...’

Once more Roztov gave three loud coughs. He held up his hand then said, ‘Sorry, sorry. Please, can you tell us more about the spire?’

Mordran smiled knowingly at Roztov, then said, ‘I know little, only what I have picked up on my travels. You will never see a spire dragon abroad, they stick to their tower and their studies. They play no part in the politics of Tanud. It is them that shroud the island in mist and keep it hidden, or so they say.’

They talked for a while longer, but the old man seemed to have little more information to offer and even though Ghene gently pressed he would not reveal where he had come from or where he was going. Eventually he stood, stretched his legs and said, ‘Well, thank you for the warmth of your fire, I will continue on now.’

‘But surely,’ exclaimed Meggelaine. ‘Surely you will stay? It’s pitch black now.’

‘Oh don’t worry about me, little one. I have my ways, I have travelled this route many times.’

‘At least take some food. No?’

‘Thank you, but no.’

They all said their farewells and when the old man was well on his way Meggelaine turned to Roztov and thumped him on the arm.

‘Why were you acting so odd all the time, Roz?’

Roztov was rubbing his face with his hands. ‘Oh Etruna,’ he sighed in quiet prayer. ‘Save us.’

‘What’s got into you?’

‘He smelled funny.’

‘So what?’

‘All three of us are shape shifters. We shift our shape, but never our smell. If you and Ghene change into the same bird I could still tell you apart by smell.’

‘Oh really?’ asked Meggelaine. ‘What do I smell of?’

‘Pie crust.’

‘Very funny. What about Ghene?’

‘Right now he smells like pine needles.’

‘Never mind that,’ put in Ghene. ‘What did Mordran smell of?’

‘Dragon.’

They all sat in silence for a moment while that new information sunk in.

‘You couldn’t smell it?’ asked Roztov.

‘When I’m around you all I smell is sweaty human,’ said Ghene.

‘Same,’ said Meggelaine.

‘Charming. Well, take it from me, that bloke – was a dragon.'

The next morning they edged closer to the city. They thought of it as such now, a city of dragons, something so incredible that they wondered if anyone would believe them if they made it back to Nillamandor.

Everything was new to them, they had nothing to gauge what was normal for a city of dragons. From where they perched, three tiny birds in a crack in the rocks on the other side of the chasm, they watched the comings and goings of the dragons. At lunch time they returned to their campsite and as they ate, discussed what they had seen.

‘They all seem pretty big anyway,’ said Meggelaine.

‘And in all sorts of colours, with all sorts of variations of horns and manes. I think I saw some of them wearing jewellery as well,’ said Roztov.

Ghene was breaking up twigs and feeding them to the fire as Meggelaine cooked. ‘That big red one, did you see him? He looked ancient. Was that the one we saw flying along the canyon yesterday? He seemed to spend some time talking to other dragons at the main entrance.’

‘Hey spoke to that long green thin one and the big fat brown one. So many different colours, shapes and sizes. I don’t know where to begin... Oh Etruna, I wish I had a notebook with me.’

‘I saw one covered in what looked like fur,’ put in Meggelaine as she stirred the pot. ‘Do you think it was real?’

Roztov shrugged and Ghene smiled. ‘You know, as I looked at the architecture, all those arches and columns, I wondered at what manner of people built such a place. You can see the occasional remains of staircases that would be of no obvious use to dragons. Despite what Mordran said, I can’t help but think I’m looking at the work of elves.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. Whoever they are, they’ve gone.’

‘It would be good to take a look inside.’

Meggelaine, who was trying some of the stew spluttered and coughed, ‘Now wait a minute...’

‘Just a thought. There must be evidence in there as to who were the builders. I mean, could it have been Dynar?’

‘You think that this could, in fact, be Hannah?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not, but...’ Ghene mused, scratching his head. ‘It’s Han-nah by the way, not the way you say it.’

Roztov laughed. ‘How can you possibly know that? Its name is derived from a scroll that is four hundred years old, written in a dead language. Not even you lot know it.’

‘My “lot”?’ said Ghene, bristling somewhat, ‘We elves have a feeling for such things. You pronounce the second “en”.’

‘Well we humans don’t. I say “Hanna”. See?’

Meggelaine rolled her eyes and started to dish out the food.

‘You know not of what you speak, Roztov,’ said Ghene. ‘We elves, we sons of Dynar, finding Hannah means everything to us. It would make a fractured people whole.’

‘Maybe, but with respect,’ replied Roztov. ‘Your people are not Dynarians any longer. In Styke we have villages like Glonk and Rogin that are an intermix of men and elves. There are no Dynarians left.’

‘There are pure blooded settlements in your country, I know of them.’

‘Reservation areas, yes. Deep in the Tanglewood and such horrible places. The self-styled “wood elf”villages. You see men there too as well though, they don’t have a lick of elf in them. It’s more of a life-style choice than a race.’

‘Well, yes, but that’s elves living in human lands. If you want to see people like me, it’s in the Great Forest.’

‘I know,’ continued Roztov as he ate.‘I don’t mean to be rude, but how many of you are there? Ten thousand, twenty?’

‘Censuses are admittedly difficult,’ conceded Ghene.

Meggelaine was barely listening to them now. Her usual instinct was to butt into any conversation that was happening, particularly when eating was going on, but this was such a familiar old subject from her two friends that she contented herself busying around the campsite.

Roztov pulled the meat off a rotrok bone and ate it bit by bit with his fingers as he went on.

‘Not enough to build an empire on is what I’m saying. And even the council has admitted you are a long way from what the Dynar were, even in terms of what you look like. You lot have the pointy ears alright, but according to the history books the Dynars all stood over six feet tall.

‘I acknowledge that I am short.’

‘I told you back on the Red Maiden I’d met sea elves right? Not just on the eastern seas, but on the west coast of Styke.’

‘Those are sailor’s stories, we in the Council know nothing of this.’

‘Sailor’s stories?’ laughed Roztov, ‘You’re living through one of them right now!’

‘Yes, well go on then.’

‘A ship came up the river to Timu. It was a few years ago now. They were explorers, adventurers from an island called Lalor. Sea elves. As thin lipped and as pointy eared as you could wish for. They were pretty rough and ready though, by elf standards.’

‘It is not possible that these were Nillamandorian elves just pulling your leg?’

‘Well, if they were, it was a very elaborate jest,’ shrugged Roztov.‘The cut of their clothes was different, they talked some ancient tongue between themselves. I went down to the docks to look over their ship. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.’

‘Very well, but where? Nobody knows nothing about east of Norob.’

‘They had come round the southern tip of Fiarka, imagine that. East of there is another sea of islands. We know this from other traveller’s tales. A whole other sea, it’s where Ferron get’s its spice. Tuppence’s people know of it. It exists, I’m sure of it, although I admit I have not seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Marawan history has none of this.’

‘If you ask me, that’s where the Dynar went. East, not west, and they became the sea elves.’

‘No.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Roztov shrugging again. ‘One day I’ll go east and take a look.’

‘Oh, you know who went east?’ Meggelaine put in, deciding to join in the conversation, ‘Festos.’

‘Did he?’

‘Lilly sent him east to go spy on Old Bones if you can believe it. He’s probably...dead.’

Meggelaine looked down at her plate, realising she sounded silly.

‘Aye, well. If anyone could do it, it would be Festos. Just the right amount of savvy mixed in with his crazy. Half-elf right? It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Some wedding or something.’

‘Oh that would have been Coren’s wedding, oh did you know...’

The conversation moved on to Meggelaine’s favourite subject, gossiping about her friends.

After a long lunch they spent the afternoon dragon watching again then returned to the camp and spent the night.  In the morning, after breakfast, Ghene got up and said, ‘I’m going to see a man about a dog. See you later.’

As Ghene walked off into the trees Meggelaine turned to Roztov and asked, ‘He’s going to pee?’

‘He doesn’t usually announce that. I think he’s going to check on Dreggen.’

They were in no hurry to go watch the dragons without him so they toasted some rolls by the fire and heated another pot of tea for a second breakfast. About an hour later the elf returned.

‘Dreggen has gone! His trail has vanished.’

‘Eaten by a dragon?’ asked Roztov.

‘Perhaps. Thanks Meg,’ said Ghene as he accepted a cup of tea. ‘There was no blood or bones though. He walked up to an open hill top and then the trail ends.’

‘Picked up by a dragon then?’

‘I think perhaps. Could he have been in league with the dragons then, somehow?’

‘I never liked him,’ said Meggelaine with a mock shudder. ‘He was shifty, right from the beginning.’

Roztov gave her a look, but decided not to correct her. ‘Well, he’s well away from Vine Street anyway, but perhaps one of us should go back down there and take a quick look.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Ghene.

‘We’ll just do a bit more dragon watching, eh Meg?’

‘Just as long as it’s from this side of the canyone. No more diving about or thinking about going in.’

‘Very well. I’ll see you both later then,’ said Ghene as he packed up his back. ‘Expect me this time tomorrow.’