Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

And since we are all used to detecting and defending against that spell, we recognized it and cast counterspells to deflect it . Kerrigan’s eyes shot open. “Help me up, Bok.”

The urZrethi lifted him, then crouched at his right shin, smiling up insanely.

Kerrigan nodded to him, then set his face and cast a spell. It swept through the area seeking the sort of reports that Conservatory spells sent back. The air was alive with them. Each one reported the presence of a sorcerer who had defended himself against that attack.

The Vilwanese Adept shook his head. “We were like children. He casts and we react, pinpointing how many mages there are in Nawal and giving him a good idea of just how powerful we are. I’d have done exactly that except for you, Bok. Thank you.”

“Bok bok.” The urZrethi bounced at Kerrigan’s side, then loped off to his corner and curled up in a pile of hides.

Kerrigan finished wiping up as much of the ink as he could, then washed his face and hands. All the while he mulled over the sensations from the spell. He probed its dimensions and got a sense of the sorcerer who had cast it. Because it was a simple spell, there was not that much creativity involved. Even so, there were distinctive dimensions to it; it had definitely been cast with a Conservatory taint.

There was something more, though. Beneath the veneer of Conservatory magick he found a solid Vilwan base. And, between them, almost so slight he missed it, there was something else. Had it not been so powerful he would have missed it. It formed a boundary between Vilwan and the Conservatory, marking a sharp and radical transformation. He’d not felt its like before.

On a hunch he rooted around in his things and came up with a wand—not the gift of the Bokas, but something far more ordinary. The Conservatory magician Wheele had said his master had given it to him specifically so it could be used to kill Orla, Kerrigan’s last tutor. Kerrigan carefully trickled a spell over it and almost effortlessly he discovered the same taint on the wand as had been on the annoyance spell.

He sat on the edge of his bed and felt his blood go cold. A sullanciri cast that spell. Neskartu, the one who had been Heslin. He’s out there, and he knows how many and how powerful are the sorcerers here in Nawal. He knows about everyone but me.

Kerrigan’s grip tightened on the wand as anger flared through him. Neskartu had enabled a half-trained magician to kill Orla, a fully trained Vilwanese warmage. The desire for revenge flashed through Kerrigan. His failure to save Orla, and the virulent nature of the spells that killed her, fueled that desire. What he wanted more than anything else was to tear Neskartu apart.

He smothered that thought shortly after it was born. He was no more suited to going to war with a sullanciri than he was to lifting a mountain. He was powerful, and the fact that Neskartu didn’t know he was present in Navval gave him a certain element of surprise, but even that didn’t come close to guaranteeing a victory. Nothing would—but not even to try would mean that those mages who did would be killed.

What to do was a problem Kerrigan wrestled with until he fell asleep. Neither awake, nor while dreaming, did he find a solution. And his sleep, which was fitful at best, ended abruptly. As he came awake and his blanket slid down the mound of his stomach, he sought that which had awakened him, hoping it was a solution to his problem.

It was not. Instead, it was another problem, and one that took his breath away. He threw off his blanket, pulled on his trousers and shirt, and went running through the tower. When he reached the door he realized he had no boots, but didn’t go back for them. He streaked through the streets, reaching the ducal palace, and was granted admission, despite the fact that it was midnight.

Huffing and puffing, he climbed tower stairs and pounded on the door to Alexia’s room. He got no response and pounded again. “Open up… it’s me, Kerrigan.” He leaned heavily against the door. “It’s important.”

The door jerked open and he stumbled inside. Peri steadied him. Alexia finished gathering a robe about herself and knotted the sash. Though she had clearly been sleeping, her violet eyes looked alert.

“What is it, Kerrigan?”

“I cast a spell before, trying to find pieces of the DragonCrown. I was testing it and cast it toward the Aurolani camp. It came up empty.”

“That’s good.” She frowned. “You should have told me this before.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.” He straightened up, drew a deep breath, and pointed east. “The spell actually worked. I found a fragment out there. It’s traveling in the open, no masking spells or anything. It’s in Sarengul. If Chytrine doesn’t already have her hands on it, she will very soon.”

Will ducked beneath the cut of a gibberer’s longknife, then rolled his hip into the creature and pitched it forward onto its face. He landed on the gibberer’s back with both knees, then used both hands to punch the jagged remains of a broken longknife through its leather armor. Snow muffled the snarl that went from savage to mewling, and as Will ripped the hilt side to side, the gibberer’s struggles likewise faded.

An arrow hissed past Will’s left shoulder, so close he could feel the rush of air against his cheek. A solid thwock resounded behind him, followed by a gurgle. Will spun and saw another gibberer thrashing its life out with one of Crow’s arrows pinning its heart to its spine.

Freeing the longknife from a nerveless hand, Will stood and parried a cut low. Before he could reverse his grip and slash back up, Lombo’s left paw swept out in a grand arc. It caught the snarling gibberer on the right side of its face and cranked its head around. Bones snapped like a thundercrack. Will didn’t know if it was the neck or skull and didn’t care.

“Thanks, Lombo.”

More arrows hissed through the air as the ambushers paused in their retreat and feathered gibberers. Some went down, but others kept coming, stuck through with shafts. They were intent on their prey and dogged in pursuit up the wooded hillside.

From the left came a series of flashes accompanied by the rattling crack of draconettes. The fusillade ripped through the gibberers, spinning some around, dropping others as if hammerstruck. A few turned to face this new avenue of attack, which would require them to traverse the hillside, but another wave of arrows swept over them. The shafts slew some and wounded more. Along with the draconette assault, it killed the gibberers’ momentum and those who could began to withdraw down the hillside.

Will and the other raiders continued their ascent—though Lombo appeared very reluctant to let the enemy go. “C’mon, Lombo. There will be more to kill later.”

The Panqui grumbled. “These break good.”

“Yeah, Resolute would take scalps from these ones.”

The particular ambush that had resulted in the hillside fight had really been the result of luck on both sides—and the raiders had just been a bit more lucky. They’d buried a cask of firedirt in the snow at the base of a hillside right up tight against the road. They set up signs to misdirect a caravan and got a small one—one that appeared to be separated from a larger one. When the most heavily laden sleighs drew parallel to the cask, the raiders detonated it. While they would have hoped for more, the sleighs they targeted were clearly carrying a lot of food.

Or so they thought.

But it appeared that the Aurolani had decided to set a trap of their own for the raiders, and had created the little decoy force. The sleighs, all high-sided and covered with canvas, had not contained food but concealed combat troops. Had the raiders attacked in their normal fashion, the combat troops would have hurt them badly.