Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

"I would have thought that you'd be named after one of your ancestors," Deena said.

"It would be confusing, with all those generations in one's head, some of them with the same names. It happens anyway. No need to worsen it."

Deena toyed pensively with the tip of one of the glass octopus's tentacles. "You think about your son a great deal, don't you?"

"How can I not? I am a Vanihr. My son is my immortality."

There was another knock. Geim stepped in, accompanied by a tall, buxom, high-cheeked priestess in a diaphanous gown. The cloth rustled as she walked, a faint, alluring whisper that drew attention to her supple outlines, and to the hint of nipples pressing against the gauze. Toren smelled magic accentuating her seductiveness, but declined to interfere with the spellweaving. She spoke to him in a mellifluous voice. He did not understand the words.

"This is Yari," Geim translated. "She will take you to the high priestess." When Toren did not respond immediately, Deena jabbed him in the ribs.

He jumped up and followed Yari out, only vaguely aware of Deena's jealous observation.

Yari led him through sumptuous rooms and across an exquisite patio to the rear of the temple complex, his eyes locked on the supple twisting of her waist. It was as if he were being pulled with a tether like a pack beast. It was now easy for him to understand the allure of the priestesses of Struth.

They came to a dome, a pale, marble hemisphere three times the height of a man at the apex, featureless and unadorned, save for a doorway. Yari indicated he should step inside.

The interior was a single chamber containing only two semicircular divans. The latter faced each other, about three paces apart, plush and soft, the off-white upholstery matching the hue of the polished marble floor. A woman sat in one.

It seemed as though he had been transported into the midst of an ocean. Outside, visible through transparent walls, swam a bewildering array of fish. Strands of kelp wafted in the current. Elsewhere a sea turtle peered in. Echoes of waves and high-pitched songs of sea creatures filtered through at an almost subliminal level. The perfection of the illusion was broken only by the rectangle of the entrance.

Yari stopped at the threshold. She smiled and withdrew, closing the door. Once shut, it showed no seams, as if none had ever existed.

Toren turned to the woman on the divan. She rose. The top of her head crested no higher than his upper chest; she must have weighed less than half of what he did. She wore her hair in a neat bun. She wore a jacket, close-fitting leggings, and sandals-a handsome outfit, but not in the least suggestive. Yet, as she reached out a hand to him, she struck him as far more seductive than Yari, though as far as he could tell, she dispensed no sorcery to enhance her charm. The brilliant blue of her jacket, her black hair, and her tan flesh presented a vivid spot of color against the austere background.

"Deena was right. You are handsome. Come. Let me look at you more closely." She used Mirienese, Deena's language.

He walked forward, still marvelling at the ocean outside. "Deena said that?"

"Not in those exact words. But she is… impressed." She gestured at the divan opposite her, and sat down. "I am Janna, High Priestess of Struth. I bid you welcome in the name of the goddess."

"It was an invitation I couldn't refuse," Toren said sarcastically.

"Indeed," she said kindly. "Geim and Deena inform me that you understand why we had to abduct you."

"They've told me about the Dragon. I believe them when they say he is a threat-perhaps even to my people. But I have yet to be told precisely why I have the means to help you."

"Really?" she asked. "You haven't discovered new things about yourself in the past weeks?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But nothing that would allow me to kill a dragon."

"What you can do with training may surprise you." She held out her palms. "Give me your hands."

After some hesitation he did as she asked. Her eyes bore into him. He felt her presence come… closer. "Be at peace," she said, and he relaxed. Soon she disengaged.

"Struth was right. You are an astounding candidate."

"I haven't agreed to help you," Toren reminded her.

"Yes. That is the question. But it needn't be answered now. It is your turn to make requests."

Instantly Toren held up his bracelet. "I want my totem back."

"Of course. For that, we must see Struth."

She stood and walked to the center of the chamber. She held her hand out over the floor, and uttered a single word. With his recently developed senses, he saw a glow of power extend from her palm into the marble.

A square hole opened in the floor, revealing a set of stairs. "Follow me," she said.

They descended a straight flight of over one hundred steps, guided by an eerie cerulean werelight of no apparent source. At the bottom they emerged into a chamber so large that the glow from the tunnel would not reach the far corners of the room. The blackness also hid the ceiling. Toren smelled an essence that he identified as frog. Water dripped loudly; the drops echoed, as if across a vast empty space.

"Mistress, we have come," Janna called.

"Welcome." The word reverberated in Toren's mind. Out of the dim recesses of the cavern there took shape an enormous amphibian. Shortly thereafter the werelight spread outward from the tunnel entrance, and he realized that the statue of the frog in the amphitheater was not, after all, larger than life. Here was its model.

"I am Struth."

Each of her bulging eyes was as wide as Toren was tall. She could have gobbled him up like an insect. She towered above him, awesome and intimidating, her smooth green skin rendered grayish and shadowy by the werelight. Toren found it hard to respond to a being whose very eyeblinks frightened him, but he kept the tremor out of his voice. At last he had before him the proper target of his anger. "I am here to collect something that is owed to me," he said.

"I apologize for my methods. I couldn't afford a refusal. You are the best candidate I have found."

"For what purpose? Why me?" Toren asked.

"Of all the people alive in the world today, your energy pattern most closely matches that of the great wizard, Alemar Dragonslayer. With proper training, you may be able to use his talismans to near their full potential. I speak in particular of the gauntlets that were retrieved from the Eastern Deserts by the great wizard's descendants, Alemar and Elenya of the House of Olendim, which were made specifically to fight the children of Faroc and Triss."

Toren tapped his foot against the stone, skeptical. "You're going to keep my ancestors, then, force me to do your bidding?"

"You have no confidence in us. It is understandable. But I will keep the bargain. Put the bracelet on the floor."

Toren hesitated, then did as he was ordered.

The only movement Struth made was a minute shifting of the pupils of her eyes, yet almost immediately one of the bracelet's gems began to glow. In reverse of the spell cast by Ivayer back in the Wood, Toren's tortoise appeared in a facet of the stone, growing larger and larger until it stood, full-sized, straddling the talisman. Toren, hands trembling, lifted it into his palms. Warm, vibrant, it nuzzled its chin against the base of his thumb.

"As soon as you return to the surface, Janna will restore it to your body."

"And then am I free to go?"

"If you wish."

Toren frowned. It was impossible to read sincerity or guile on the face of a giant frog. "I don't believe you. Without me, your plan is ruined."

"Nearly. We have other candidates, though we have found them lacking. However, if we lose you, we will resort to one of these others and hope for the best. Your role is too critical to fill with an unwilling participant. However, I think I can demonstrate that it would be in your best interests to aid us."