It had not happened quickly. For many seasons on the outside, he had raged uselessly against himself for falling prey to the Enemy—for his own foolishness in toying with the Enemy's sorceries, so long ago. In those days, the Enemy had not yet revealed his true identity, but surely there had been enough warnings—from his father, from the ifflings, from his own inner heart. Still, he had succumbed to his own pride in his underrealm skills. Naive in his innocence, he had challenged the master of deceits—and the Enemy had trapped him neatly in his web. His ensnarement in the underrealm had quickly led to his physical imprisonment as well. It had taken him a long time even to begin to forgive himself.
It had taken him longer still to realize that he was not altogether crippled, or blind. From his spell-prison, he had been permitted to watch the imprisonment of his father Highwing in the Black Peak, and the sentence of exile. But he had also glimpsed Jael's triumph and the humiliating defeat of Tar-skel at the Black Peak, and the subsequent release from bondage of many hapless dragons who served unwittingly under the dark one's shadow. Jael had bought freedom for many, including two of FullSky's brothers—but not, unfortunately, for FullSky or any of the other
physical
prisoners of the Enemy.
Nevertheless, FullSky had rejoiced in the outcome of that battle. His rejoicing earned him a lifetime of the drahls' brutality—but the Enemy, having more urgent treacheries to weave, displayed no further personal interest in him. FullSky was tortured by servant-jailers, yes—but his mind remained free, and he retained some ability to peer out of this dungeon of power, through the underrealm. As the realm was torn by open warfare, and the number of prisoners grew, the watcher-spirits who guarded the dungeon's underrealm seemed almost to encourage his awareness of the suffering of others—indeed, it fed his despair.
Over time, though, the watch over him grew lax, and he discovered that he could peer out through numerous small openings in the spell-weave of the prison, and even observe the comings and goings of the Enemy's servants, and on occasion overhear fragments of their conversation. With care and stealth, he was able to explore nearby areas of the underrealm, beyond the limits of the prison, without drawing his jailers' notice.
Eventually he decided that perhaps his role in this world was not yet ended, though he could not clearly foresee what he might do. He was learning much about the Enemy's plans. He caught glimpses of the sorcery that blocked the way to the Dream Mountain—not a clear view, but far more so than was likely possible from the outside world, or for any of the free dragons. Though he did not fully understand the sorcery, or know how to defeat it, a tiny flame of hope grew in his heart that he might learn useful secrets and somehow pass them out to the faithful dragons of the realm.
He grew more bold in his explorations of the underrealm. It seemed that as long as he made no effort to create spells of escape or power, he could move relatively undisturbed. He discovered that it was possible, with care, to stretch his thought outward for a considerable distance. He found himself in a game of testing and trying, feinting and retreating—risking discovery to gain more knowledge of the Enemy's actions and plans, or to whisper to ifflings that he thought he sensed passing just beyond reach. At times, he imagined that he felt the touch of his father Highwing's spirit, reaching out to encourage him from the heartfires of the Final Dream Mountain. In the dungeon where he lay broken and crippled, his drahl-jailers subjected him to continuing abuse; but in the underrealm, his skills seemed to grow in proportion to the cruelty inflicted upon his body.
It was only a matter of time before he sensed the distant movements in the underrealm of his brother Windrush—and sensed, as well, Windrush's terrible need and the need of all the realm. It was out of that desperate need that FullSky finally risked crafting the terrifying vision that he cast across the underrealm into his brother's lumenis-heightened awareness. It was out of that need that he risked exposure in the underrealm, opening passages that could help Windrush find him, speak to him, and hear
his
need.
His final reach outward, touching Windrush's thoughts in that place of wilderness and desolation, had unfortunately drawn the attention of the Watcher—and ended in a blinding pain that made the warning clear. He was fairly sure that neither the Watcher nor its Master knew precisely what he had done, but now the Watcher seemed to appear much faster when he stretched out beyond his body. If only it would leave him untended, just a little longer!
* * *
As if in mocking answer to his thoughts, the Watcher swept back into the cavern and floated one way and then another, scanning prisoners. Finally it hovered directly over the point where FullSky's kuutekka huddled within his broken body. The Watcher was silent as always, watching him with whatever terrible undersenses it commanded. FullSky did not move, or make any acknowledgment of the Watcher's threatening presence. But he felt it pulsing hatred like waves of heat, and he could not help feeling that the Watcher meant to taunt him, perhaps daring him to challenge it to a duel of power that he could not hope to win.
Once, he might have been tempted to take up such a duel. But he knew that his hope lay not in foolish challenges. For all of his hard-learned skills, he had little real strength left, and it was well within the Watcher's powers to destroy him, if it chose to do so.
The standoff lasted for what seemed a very long time, but was probably only a few heartbeats in the outer world. The Watcher spat a contemptuous gob of fire in his direction and moved off to the other side of the cavern, where it hovered, flickering with light and shadow.
FullSky was not even certain exactly what the Watcher was. It was like, and yet unlike, a drahl. It had the power to punish and to terrify, and it spent its power lavishly upon both the bodied and disembodied spirits trapped in this place. It was probably itself a trapped spirit, transformed and made terrible by the Enemy. What its original form had been, FullSky could not even guess. He had watched it take various forms, using whatever power was most frightening to those it opposed. It used fire, it used darkness, most of all it used fear. It
became
these things—even the power of fear itself, and he had seen no one resist it, especially not these defeated spirits, kept alive here for the dark purposes of the Enemy's sorceries.
Even from where he huddled now, FullSky could sense distantly the crepuscular web of sorcery that Tar-skel was drawing about the realm. He did not know how, but he knew that all of these trapped spirits—including, he feared, his own—were lending power to that sorcery through their pain, through their fear and their despair. The web was growing stronger, growing with the despair of the dragons and the ifflings and all those who lived in the realm—and perhaps even those beyond the realm, where the Nail of Strength sought to cast his influence. The completion of Tar-skel's web of power would be the final undoing of all who stood against him.
So long as it remained uncompleted, the sorcery could still be broken. But it would take more than the strength of dragons to break it. This, he was certain, was the time which the prophecies of the draconae had foretold. The rigger Jael was the One spoken of, the One for whom the realm would tremble. It would take Jael's help to break the sorcery, and the help of the ifflings, and of all those who knew the Enemy and were willing to risk everything to defeat him.
And if he, FullSky, were to have any hope of playing his part, he would have to act soon. It meant risking his silent life in the underrealm, in a brazen try for freedom. He could not do it alone. The Watcher was too powerful. But if he could just reach out once more to his brother Windrush. . . .
* * *
As if in answer to his prayer, the Watcher flickered suddenly and floated out of sight on some other errand. FullSky waited a little longer, to be sure. Then he slipped his kuutekka through an almost invisible opening near the end of the underrealm cavern, where the floor fell away and where, not far beyond, the abyss of spirits yawned. He moved quickly, but with desperate care, hoping that he could pick up a trace of his brother's presence near one of the concealed windows that he had left in the underweb of Windrush's cavern.
FullSky's hope was that the Watcher's own powers could be turned to its disadvantage, and bring him his freedom. His
fear
was that the failure of his plan could make his brother a captive here alongside him—or worse, in the chasm of spirits.
Without hope, FullSky could not live. This was a terrible risk, but it was one he had to take. He hoped Windrush would be willing to take it, as well. Not for his sake alone, but for the sake of the realm.
The company of dragons entered their final, exhausted glide from the crest of the Scarred Mount Ridge, swooping down into the small lumenis grove that lay between the ridge and the main dragon camp. Windrush had not allowed any respite in the flight back over the mountains from the Enemy's land. Even so, he saw at once that they had arrived too late.
The lumenis groves were a smoking ruin, and a brief probe of the protective spells showed them shattered by a far greater sorcery. The dragons who had remained to guard the groves were nowhere to be seen. They had either fled or died. Windrush raged helplessly at the Enemy, and at himself for spending so much of their strength on a mission driven by anger and frustration, rather than by wisdom.
The dragons would miss these groves sorely. Windrush wondered if other groves had been attacked, as well. It seemed likely. But how many others?
"Scouts!" he called, banking back toward the other dragons wheeling in the air. "Fly ahead to the Valley of Fallen Light! Return at once if they need help there!" Four scout dragons, already bone-weary, soared away at once to the east, toward the most precious lumenis grove in the held land.
Windrush's thoughts were interrupted by a call from the guard warrens, below.
"Survivors!"
Windrush landed immediately. Emerging from the stone shelters, moving with great difficulty, were two badly injured dragons. One was dragging a broken wing; the other bore terrible open wounds from the talons of enemy warriors. They squinted into the sun, croaking helplessly to their too-late rescuers. Windrush approached, venting black smoke at such atrocities perpetrated upon his land.
One of the injured was groaning, "We tried . . . tried to defend . . ."
"Of course," Windrush rumbled reassuringly, moved by the anguish in the dragons' eyes. "The others—were they all killed?"
The guard dragon nodded. "All that we saw. Except us. Help came . . . from the camp . . . too late. We sent them . . . where they might still do some good . . . hid ourselves to report . . ." The dragon wheezed for breath.
Windrush sighed. "Rightly done. What happened?"
The story was exactly as he had feared. Hordes of drahls had appeared just before dawn, hurling themselves into a frenzied attack up on the grove. At the same moment that the dragons were attacking an empty valley, the drahls were inflicting terrible damage here. The defenders held as long as they could, struggling to keep the guarding spells knit against the invasion. But the drahls, working the Enemy's sorceries, overwhelmed them. Once the guarding spells were broken, the defenders, vastly outnumbered, had no chance at all.
Windrush listened, trembling with anger. At last, he turned away, leaving others to get the final details. He feared for the Valley of Fallen Light. If the scouts he'd sent out had found the enemy still there, they would need help, and quickly. Calling together the leaders, he gave new instructions. Half of Stronghold's dragons would remain here. All the rest would fly on with him to see if drahls were still abroad in the realm.
With growing despair, he left the ruins of the grove behind.
* * *
The flight took them over the main camp, where a few dragons on sentry duty rose to give their report. Moments later, the scouts he had sent ahead earlier returned to meet them in the air. And on this day filled with such crushing humiliation, Windrush at last heard good news. The Valley of Fallen Light was safe—the approach spells intact, the guard dragons unharmed, the valley undisturbed. The enemy warriors had attacked two other smaller groves along the flanks of the Scarred Mount Ridge, but had not struck this far to the east.
Apparently the Enemy's purpose was to harass the dragons, to wear away at their reserves, to weaken them without confronting their greatest strength directly. Though the Enemy's attack today had been less than the final deathblow Windrush had feared, Tar-skel must surely have reveled in his chance to turn the dragons' angry offensive into a costly humiliation.
Now, Windrush knew,
he
had to find a way to turn despair back into hope. If he could not, who would? This morning, the dragons' unity of purpose had been overwhelming. Now it was shattered. Already he had overheard some grumbling about Windrush's decisions, Windrush's mistakes, Windrush's failure to find the murderous traitor. And perhaps the complaints were not wholly without justification. But recriminations could only turn this defeat into an even greater catastrophe. Bad enough that they'd lost lumenis. If he lost the dragons' support, the struggle was as good as over.
That meant he must regain the confidence of his followers—and he knew what had to be done.
The traitor must be found, and there must be no mistake.
He summoned Farsight to speak privately at the edge of the main camp. "We must eliminate the treachery from within—and I see only one way."
Farsight stared at him dazedly. "How, Windrush? I've already heard more rumors than you could imagine—dragons accused of dropping out of formation to consort with drahls, dragons accused of speaking to the Enemy through the underrealm, dragons accused of
being
drahls. I think there are more suspects than dragons."