Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

Feirl's eyes widened. "They live almost to the Firelands, so I'm told."

"That's true."

Feirl shook his head. "Leave it to you to lead a colorful life."

"It has been that," Geim admitted.

"Good luck."

They could use it, Geim mused. He bade farewell and they set off into the city.

Geim noticed that Toren glanced constantly left, right, up, and down as they ambled past the vendors. The first time the southerner saw a woman with red hair he was so distracted he nearly bumped into a wagon. As they continued, the Vanihr faces became fewer and farther between, until some of the people they passed began to openly stare at them. They had now entered the Ijitian section. Vanihr normally stayed in the south quarter. Few, in fact, actually lived in the city; even the dedicated merchants were glad to be able to retreat to the forest. Crowded environments left the race too vulnerable to plague.

"I'm hungry," Toren said. "When are we going to eat?"

"When we get to the northern continent," Geim replied.

"I can't wait that long."

"Don't worry," Geim said.

They turned a corner and stopped. Down the avenue loomed the largest building they had yet seen. Chipped blocks of ancient stone rose three stories high, fronted by marble columns. Along the rim of the facade, a row of broken, eroded statues arched over the square like carrion vultures. Toren gazed in fascination at the vaguely manlike figures, from their long reptilian snouts to their broad, leathery wings: Shagas.

"They built this temple," Geim explained, glancing uneasily at the images of his people's historical foes. The works of art made it easy to understand why the race was known as the lesser dragons. "It's the only one of their structures left in Talitha."

"Why was it not torn down?" Toren asked.

"There was a ward around it for a century after the Ogshiel sacked the city. By the time it faded, the new settlement had surrounded it, and the Ijitians left it as a relic of the victory."

Geim led them forward. One of several guards glared at them as they crossed in front of the broad stone steps and continued down the street. Geim strode up to a nondescript door on the far side of a nearby building and rapped.

The cover of a peephole opened, revealing a tiny square of darkness. No greeting.

"There is a shadow over the Dragon Sea," Geim murmured.

They heard the sound of a heavy bar being dragged aside. The door abruptly opened. A small, portly Ijitian waved them hurriedly within.

They found themselves in a wine cellar. Rows of oak casks stretched into the murk, the air heavy with the aroma of fermentation, dank stone, and spilled wine. The Ijitian swiftly replaced the bar.

"Taking a long trip?" he asked Geim meaningfully.

"Yes. News from the north?"

"Tamisan has capitulated."

Geim frowned. It was hardly unexpected, though he had hoped for another season or two.

Their host produced three tapers and handed one to each of them, lighting them from his lamp. He led the way down a treacherously slick walkway between the barrels. They came to a stairway and descended past five landings to a small room lined with racks of bottled red wines. He pressed a subtly hidden latch and rolled back one of the racks, revealing a cobweb-hung corridor.

"Safe journey," the man said.

Geim waved the others after him. He nearly bumped his head on the corridor's ceiling, and frequently had to pull spider makings out of his hair. Rats skittered out of their path, the rustle of their tiny feet reverberating down the passageway. The air smelled stale.

After three turns and several hundred paces, the tunnel opened out into a broad, low chamber. The walls and the floor were thickly covered in Shaga hieroglyphics. Toren glanced nervously at the symbols his candle flame revealed.

"I don't like this place," he said.

"We won't be lingering," Geim said, setting his taper in a holder on the floor. Toren and Deena, at his instruction, did likewise. The feeble glow scarcely reached the limits of the room.

"We're under the temple, aren't we?" Toren stated.

"Yes." Geim had pulled a small, round lens of crystal from a pouch. He exhaled on it, and held it forward. "Cover your eyes."

The room erupted in daylight.

Toren leaped back. Half the underground chamber was gone. In its place was a view of grassy, rolling hills. Immediately in the foreground was a cairn of earth and weathered rock that suggested the ruins of an ancient edifice. The land seemed uninhabited.

"No trees," Toren gasped.

"There are a few just on the other side of that knoll," Geim said, pointing. "Come. I'll show you."

Toren hesitated. "After you."

Geim shook his head. "No. The bearer of this goes last," he said, holding up the lens. He gestured to Deena.

She smiled at Toren and stepped across the line between the chamber and the pastoral landscape. As she crossed, a burst of static electricity darted over her body. Then she was on the other side, beckoning to him.

Toren swallowed and jumped across. Geim grinned at his startled expression, then followed.

The humid air of the delta was replaced by the pollen-rich atmosphere of open countryside in early spring. Geim turned back to the wide window behind them. Their sunlit vantage made it impossible to distinguish features of the room they had left. The only things he could make out were the flames of the candles.

He wiped the lens clean and put it away. The portal closed. The view in that direction now showed only green hills, blue sky, and grazing sheep.

"Now, let's get some of that food you were wanting," Geim said.

AS TOREN, GEIM, AND DEENA emerged from the portal, they were watched.

The watcher's name was Hadradril. He was a wizard of the Ril, one of the elite cadre of magicians that studied under the Dragon himself-currently the lowest ranked of them, but that was no insult. The youth glowing from his lean, almost gaunt features was natural, not the result of longevity spells. That he had come so far so soon proved his ambition, ruthlessness, and talent.

From his vantage behind a berry bramble two hills away, he made out only the simplest physical details of the new arrivals. The sun flashed off the blond heads of the two tall ones. They carried themselves like men despite lack of beards. The short one with the brown hair walked like a female.

On another level, he sensed a great many facts. The last man to emerge possessed minor magical abilities, enough to activate the talisman that opened the portal, and wield simple magical weapons, of which he carried at least one. The woman had essentially no gift, though like her companions she wore a talisman of pursuit, calibrated for her use-which meant that she had been in contact with a major sorcerer.

The other man interested him most of all. His aura blazed with green, snakelike filaments of energy, at least as potent as those Hadradril had seen emanating from his fellow Ril wizards. But the filaments coiled in wild, unchannelled patterns. Only a fraction of his power had been disciplined and brought under his control. He should have been put into training as a child; now, in adulthood, he might never be able to organize and tap his abilities.

This was the quarry Hadradril had waited weeks to snare, the prize that Gloroc had sent him to find. While most of the other high magicians stayed safe in Elandris, hoping to win the Dragon's favor by keeping close and constantly in view, Hadradril had ventured into the territory of the enemy, and now had the means of quick promotion at hand.

The newcomers closed the portal and set off down the hill. Hadradril let them go. The sun shone brightly. The grassy countryside, though vibrant with the green of springtime and beautiful to behold, provided few places to set up an ambush. He would be patient. He raised his talisman of pursuit. The necklace's gem pulsed with a steady, blue glow. He would not lose track of his prey.