Light Dragons 02 - The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons

beyond the confines of Dauva. You are protected here, but outside you are not.”
    “Protected from what?” I asked, picking my way over a fallen tree now consumed in moss and fungus.
    “Kostya. He will no doubt descend upon us once he learns we are here.”
    I didn’t think that was any too likely, but I kept my opinion to myself.
    The snowy ghostly scene faded in and out of my vision, leaving me to believe it was a memory of the land I was seeing, rather than a personal vision. Those were much more immersive, whereas this was just faint images of a time long past. As I walked over the drawbridge toward the road that led up from Riga, faint snow whirled around me at the same time that birds chattered high above in the treetops warmed by the sun.
    “This would be confusing as hell if it wasn’t so interesting,” I told a couple of snow-covered guards posted at the fringe of Constantine’s camp. Men and horses milled around in the darkness of night, small fires dotting the area, their flames flickering wildly in the wind and snow. Tents cast dark shadows against the present-day trees, giving the entire place an eerie appearance.
    “All right, Constantine. Let’s have this out, you and I,” I murmured as I started to search the ghost camp.
    He wasn’t in the big tent that I assumed belonged to him. As I prowled the shadowed camp, I passed a couple of men who spoke in French, pausing when one said he had two prisoners.
    “Black dragons? Put them to death,” one man said with a dismissive gesture.
    “They aren’t dragons,” the other replied, shivering and huddling into his fur-lined cape. “We caught them skulking around the north wall.”
    “Humans? We have no need of them.”
    “Human but not mortal—”
    I continued on my way. Fifteen minutes later I was ready to give up. I had turned back toward the castle when I saw a flash of color from a high ridge of trees to the south. Stumbling over a snowdrift that was really a sprawling red-berried elder bush, I fought my way through the forest to the spot where, three hundred years before, I had pleaded with Constantine to leave Baltic alone, and was slain by the man who claimed he loved me.
    “I really could go the rest of my life without seeing myself killed again,” I grumbled as I beat back a feathery tamarisk shrub that tangled in my hair. “At least I don’t have to see Baltic being—whoa!”
    A brilliant flash of white light lit up the hillside for a moment, casting the figure of a man into snow-flecked silhouette. Just as the light faded, the man dropped to the ground. I stared for a moment, wondering just how many people were killed on that fateful day.
    “And if it’s who I think it is,” I grumbled to myself as I slid down a small incline, smacking my ankle on a sharp finger of a dead tree branch, “I’d dearly love to know who was responsible for that. I have . . . Argh! Let go of me, you blasted plant!” I jerked myself free of a particularly grabby black ash tree and stumbled forward, the ground in the memory of Dauva rising, but falling in present day. I slipped down another moss-covered slope, half falling until I slammed up against a piece of man-made stone. Swearing, I got to my feet and scrambled around it, my eyes ignoring the greens and browns of the forest scene in order to focus on the past.
    Ahead of me on a rise, the First Dragon stood with a newly resurrected Ysolde. He spoke to her for a moment, then faded into nothing. She nodded numbly and turned toward the castle, slowly picking her way down the drifts toward the drawbridge.
    “Dammit!” I spun around and fought my way back in the direction I’d come, veering to the left in order to see if it was Constantine who had dropped in the blast of light.
    “Well, this answers absolutely nothing,” I said a few minutes later as I stopped, panting with the effort of fighting through the dense undergrowth. Before me, slowly being covered by snow, lay the body of the man who had killed me. A sword lay next to him, half buried, crimson staining the snow around the blade. “You killed me, and someone came along and killed you right afterward?” I asked the body of Constantine. “Why? Just because you killed me? And who had the power to do that?”
    The memory of snow and wind swirled around me as I sank onto my heels, watching as the snow drifted over Constantine’s body. Every now and again I heard faint voices carried by the wind, but they were worn thin by