Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

"It was two days before the soldiers came," Alemar interjected. "After I had cast the healing spell."

"The Dragon's magician…" both the women said simultaneously.

"Yes. That was strong magic. Omril must have detected it and sent troops to the site where I performed it. We needn't worry. This cottage is leagues away, and there isn't enough psychic residue to lead them here. The rythni will warn us of men heading in this direction."

"Speaking of rythni…" Elenya said.

"The one who fetched me was named Cyfee," Alemar said. "She is a protegee of Queen Hiephora."

Elenya described Cyfee's actions at the silk farm.

Alemar frowned. "That's extraordinary. Rythni have an aversion to human dwellings. You were lucky she was with you, and not another."

"Thank her for me."

"I already have, though I didn't know until now just how much I had to thank her for. For her sake we'd best not let any other rythni know that she committed an act of violence."

Elenya sat down on the bed, near the stool where the talismans lay. "Done. Now tell me the news from the south."

Alemar frowned. "Tamisan has capitulated. The Dragon broke the sultan at Tira."

"And Father?"

"He is in Simorilia. The shah has given his army refuge outside Tazh Tah. There are signs that Gloroc may wait a season to expand westward. The battle at Tira apparently cost him dearly, even though he won."

"Val?"

"Safe. As is Enret."

"How does Father feel about the defeat?"

That had been one of Alemar's first questions to the emissary. "He realizes that he had no real chance of holding Tamisan, not with winter over, and Gloroc so firmly rooted in Mirien. He had hoped Tira would hold out longer, though. That's the city that thwarted the Calinin's best general, back before the days of Alemar Dragonslayer. But Gloroc took to the field again, and the shah's men couldn't hold the walls."

"Was it like before? During a heavy storm?"

"No. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The Dragon was nearly struck down by Father's magicians."

"Strange," Elenya said. "Gloroc's always been more cautious than that. He could have stayed safe in Elandris and let his army do it the hard way. He has plenty of time."

"Tira was a major hurdle. He must have felt it worth the risk to take it quickly."

"Why?"

Alemar shrugged. "Perhaps he's in a hurry. Perhaps he's worried about us-about the talismans."

"The Dragon, afraid of us, what a pleasant fantasy," Elenya said dryly. "Have you heard the one about the demon who was afraid of the mouse?"

"There was that strange prophecy of Treynaf's last winter," Alemar said. "'A dragon dead in a palace beneath the sea.' I'm afraid Gloroc suspects the plans we've made with Struth. Don't you think it's significant that he replaced Puriel's former sorcerer with a wizard of the Ril? Omril is said to be an apprentice of the Dragon himself."

"Any word from Struth?"

"The party had not yet returned from the Wood at the time the message was sent."

Elenya picked up her amulet and dangled it from her fingers. "I find it ironic that Gloroc might be worried about our plans. To be frank, I'll believe Struth's man can succeed only after it's done."

All at once everyone in the room paused in shock. The amulet, now that it was touching Elenya's flesh, awakened. It blazed with the deep green tones that warned of magic being cast nearby.

Alemar spun toward the window. A pigeon sat on a nearby branch, observing them. Abruptly it took flight.

"Grandfather!" Alemar shouted.

Cosufier grabbed his bow and quiver, his speed belying his age. He rushed to the porch, the others at his heels. He dumped the arrows out for easy access and strung the bow. He drew back and aimed. The arrow flew long and straight, as his always did, but fell far short of the mark. The pigeon disappeared over the treetops toward the west.

Cosufier cursed.

"No matter," Alemar said ruefully. "Omril's already seen us. Even if we'd killed it, we could not have undone the damage. I'm sorry, Grandfather. We've ruined one of your sanctuaries."

The old man waved away the apology. "There are others. Let's get moving. The wizard's troops will soon be on their way."

Alemar had misjudged Omril. Given three days and the fact that Elenya, the subject of the magic, had not moved, the wizard did have the power to detect the lingering traces of the healing spell. The tension inside him reached a crescendo. They could not even have a momentary respite. The Dragon would hound them until they dropped. The time had come. If he could no longer be a healer, he would be a warrior.

Someone would pay.

OMRIL STOOD ON THE balcony of his tower, scanning the clouds to the east. A tiny speck appeared, grew, and resolved into the shape of a pigeon. Omril held up his hand. The bird landed on his glove.

"There, there, Swiftwing," the wizard murmured, stroking his servant's neck. He could feel her staccato pulse against his finger. She was barely able to keep her grip. Omril cupped her gently in his palms, comforted her as he stepped into his chambers, and returned her to her coop.

"Your eyes told me a great deal," he said, double checking to be sure the bird and her three siblings had adequate feed and water. He had worked Swiftwing close to her limit, both physically and in terms of the amount of magic she could channel. Still, even her death would have been worth the result.

The rebels had been gone by the time Swiftwing had guided Puriel's quarter cohort of guards to the cottage, but Omril was content. He had flushed them from cover. It was only a matter of time until he did it again. Sooner or later he would trap them. He regretted only that he could not have heard as well seen the rebels' conversation. However, sending one's eyesight to distant locales was one thing, sending one's ears at the same time was another. Swiftwing had done what she could. The Dragon would be pleased with the news.

Omril unrolled a tiny scroll and dipped his pen. In clear, precise glyphs, he wrote: I have seen the talismans of Setan. He closed the scroll, held it under a dripping candle, pressed his signet ring to the hardening wax, and attached the message to the leg of Swiftwing's brother Windborne. He released the bird and watched as it flew south toward Elandris.

ABOVE THE PASS, the snowy peaks sparkled with alpenglow. "Isn't it beautiful?" Deena asked.

Toren kept drawing breath, but the thin mountain air refused to fill his chest. The sun beat fiercely, drying and cracking his lips, but declined to warm the atmosphere. His thighs ached murderously. He vowed silently never to come near a saddle once the journey was over.

They lingered at the crest of the pass. To the right and left rose steep slopes, cloaked in white. Behind them lay the range that separated Irigion from Serthe. Hard leagues. The rough terrain had lamed their pack oeikani, forcing them to transfer its load to the animal once owned by the late Ril wizard. Geim kept saying that they were lucky. The thaw had begun ahead of time, opening the pass early in the season. Even now thick banks of snow were heaped beside the trail in shady spots, eroded and ugly. The oeikani trod on cold mud.

"It is not the place for a Vanihr," he replied. The Wood was a lowland. To him, snow was a light dust on the ground every second or third winter that melted in hours, or at most a few days. He glanced at the peaks; no trees grew that high. He gestured at Geim, who was in the lead, staring at the timbered slopes below them as if searching for something. "I don't know how he has stood it, years without a home, travelling through lands like these."

"Why don't you ask him?" Deena asked.

The elegance of the suggestion hit him by surprise. He took her advice.