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 You cannot fight Draken Saphier, he said flatly.  Your power comes and goes apparently, and from
what I ve seen, when it goes you can t even fight a dragon made of thread.
 If I must go there, I will be there.
 How 
 I will be there. She linked her hands tightly, dropped her face against them, avoiding his curious,
questioning eyes.  You must go back to Ro Holding and get that key.
 She won t give it to me without you.
 And the Holder will never let me return if I go back now. The danger showed its face to me here, not
there. If I leave Saphier, how will I recognize danger when it reaches Ro Holding? She paused, trying to
think-  I ll give you a message for Nyx.
 You ll trust me with a message?
She shook her head a little, wearily.  I trust you to get that key you want. Little more. Tell Nyx 
 She ll never believe you chose to stay. She ll think I coerced you. I did once before.
She frowned at the dust on the table, brushing at it, as if to find some message hidden in the wood. She
felt drained, hollow, as if she had left her heart somewhere in Saphier and could not return home until she
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found it. Her finger shaped a swan s wing in the dust; she saw the black swan flying through the tower
window, just before she vanished into Saphier. She said abruptly,  Tell her to tell the Gatekeeper of Ro
House that he is about to find a dragon at his gate and only the key she has will lock the gate.
He looked dubious.  You want me to give her a message for the Gatekeeper?
 He is no ordinary Gatekeeper.
 Is that so. He leaned forward a little, caught her eyes, curious again.  A Gatekeeper, he mused, and
she felt her face warm.  And this will persuade Nyx not to fight me.
 I don t know. I do know you ll get the key any way you can. Tell her I had a vision of what the dragon
is hunting.
 Come with me, he said insistently.  Home to Ro Holding. It s Saphier s dragon. I ll fight it.
 If that were true, she said sharply,  I would not be seeing visions in your doorway. You love Saphier s
dragons too much to fight them.
He swallowed, said heavily,  Then promise me you will wait here for me. You will not cross the Luxour
without me.
 I will go where I must, she said.  I cannot promise anything,
He opened his mouth, closed it. He stood up, holding her eyes, as if me path to Ro Holding lay there,
not within his memories. He closed his eyes at last, his face white as tallow, his shoulders straining against
some enormous burden. She saw him vanish finally. And then he was back, no longer standing but fallen
among the glittering fragments of the dragon s heart.
She made a sound, staring at him, for he seemed, amid the light and stone and scattered crystals, another
vision, a foretelling. But, touching him, she felt his weight, and heard his ragged breathing. He lifted one
hand weakly, dropped it over his eyes.
 I m sorry, Meguet- It was too far... He fell asleep there within the broken heart. She closed her eyes,
felt the long, dark tide of dread and warning well through her. Its ancient voices finally ebbed and she
could move again. She picked shards of crystal from beneath the mage, and saw the Cygnet s eye in
every shattered piece.
Nine
In Chrysom s tower, Nyx stood spellbound, exploring the gold key she held. The sunlight had faded
some time ago; the long summer dusk had filled the tower room and darkened. She scarcely noticed light
or lack of it; her mind had become the size and shape of the key. The key was the book; the book, she
suspected, was the key to the paths of time in the little black-and-silver box. It would teach her how to
pick one path, control its speed, follow its turns, focus its end. She could find a path to match the twists
of time on Brand s wrists, if she could find the spell, if she could open the book ... The book remained
stubbornly a key.
Her thoughts turned around themselves, like the graceful lines of gold. The key is the book, the book is
the key. The key is the key to itself, it unlocks itself.
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It might unlock a path to Saphier, she knew, for Chrysom had seen dragons. Had they been the elusive
dreams of Saphier, becoming real as he looked at them?
The key is the key. The key opens itself. Her mind roamed within its gold and ivory. Chrysom, it said at
every touch. Power was implicit in it, like the power in a tuned, silent siring. There was a way to touch it,
make it sound....
Chrysom. she said within it, but the name did not change it. She tried other words from his ancient spells;
none revealed the book. She tried her own name, and then Moro Ro s name; the key ignored both of
them. Time, she guessed. Book. Open. Mage. Unlock. Finally, she told it what it was. and what it must
become- Key, she said within it, and the key blossomed like a flower in her mind.
It remained a key in her hand; she was aware, in some distant place, of its shape and weight. But the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]