Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

"How?"

"Recall your battle with the wizard. It is proof of a great fear of mine. When I cast the spell to search for individuals who might be able to use the talismans, I invoked great magic. There was a residue created which other adepts can detect. Gloroc apparently has discovered these traces. He knows the nature of the spell. He is searching both for me and the persons that my spell located. He knows that an extremely high-level, non-human magician is somewhere in this city, and he was able to duplicate the talismans I created to track you and the others. Thanks to his efforts you nearly died. One of the other candidates, whom I had been hiding in a nearby province, was recently murdered. I am now exerting a considerable effort to screen you and them. Thus far, I have succeeded. If you should decide not to aid our effort, you are naturally free to go. But it is a long walk, and if you are not an ally I won't be able to justify the expenditure necessary to protect you from the Dragon's eyes. His wizards will be able to find you. Moreover, if he learns that you are a Vanihr, it will be unlikely for you to hide even from common bounty hunters. You are too noticeable here in the north."

"So you have found a different way to coerce me."

"I realize the choice is not fair, but I can hardly do anything about it now. You have seen a taste of the Dragon's resources. I must use any tool at my disposal to thwart him. However, I can also offer positive incentives."

"Such as?"

"Consider the talents you've discovered in yourself since you left the Wood. If you are anything like the Dragonslayer, you won't be willing to let that potential go to waste. I can teach you how to use your power. In fact, I must, if you are to use the gauntlets."

Toren stroked the shell of his totem pensively.

"As I said, you may leave at any time. If you stay, Janna and I will begin our training of you. By the end of that process, you will have to decide whether to take the gauntlets and kill Gloroc, or leave with our best wishes. Think about it after your totem is restored. That experience will be enough to deal with for the moment."

Struth's tone seemed sympathetic as she uttered the last sentence; that worried the modhiv. "Go with Janna now."

Toren had more questions, but none of them seemed as urgent as getting his ancestors back. The high priestess tapped him gently on the arm. He followed her up the stairs. His totem murmured anxiously.

TWO TAVERN BOYS, bare to the waist, sweating in the kitchen heat, lifted the roast pig away from the bed of coals and set it on the butcher table, where the head cook prepared to remove the stuffing. A girl hurried through with clean steins for the pub room. Owl the tavernmaster surveyed the activity with a critical eye. "Nearly sundown," he cautioned his workers. In fact, Achird had already dropped behind Cilendrodel's giant trees. The light had not yet dimmed because Motherworld, the Sister, and Urthey were all in the sky. A good night for business, Owl predicted. The lack of darkness would mean more traffic.

"Mind you don't run short like last Sisday," Owl warned the cook.

"Never fear," the man replied, his bald head nearly obscured behind the steam rising from the pig's belly.

"I'll have my dinner in my room," Owl announced, and went upstairs to wait for it.

He was enjoying a pipeful of his favorite tobacco when he heard the knock on his door. A bit early. For once his staff had displayed some efficiency. "Come in."

The man who entered was lithe, short, dark-haired, perhaps twenty-five years old. Though he seemed to bear no weapons, Owl's heart began to race as if a sword had been pointed at it.

"You know me," the newcomer said.

"You are Alemar," he said hoarsely. "It's tonight, then?"

"Yes. Are you ready?"

The insides of his cheeks went dry. "Yes. Yes. Though I wish it didn't have to happen here."

"If we could avoid it, we would."

"I know that."

"If you have doubts, I could bind and gag you now and leave you in this room."

Owl felt the weight of the prince's gaze. It was as if he could see right into the tavernmaster, measure every weakness, confirm every true word and every lie. Surely that could not be so. Owl himself did not know precisely which way he would go. All he had ever wanted was to run an honest establishment and keep out of politics. If tonight's scheme failed, he might well be branded a rebel. He would be at the mercy of the Dragon's governor.

Perhaps that was why Alemar had not sent an emissary. It would be the prince's decision, and no other's, whether or not to trust Owl. If the latter proved undeserving of that faith, no vassal could be blamed.

It was the point of no return. Like so many others in the province this night, Owl had to make up his mind whether he was content to continue living under the Dragon's rule or not. He sat up straight, and met the healer's eyes.

"I'll play my role."

"Good. We'll see each other again soon." Alemar left.

Owl exhaled. The prince of Elandris himself! Gods, if Puriel or the captain of his guards learned of the plot, half the Dragon's garrison would descend on the tavern within the hour. He suddenly noticed that he was digging his fingernails into his palms. He stopped before he drew blood.

Owl ate sparingly, an unusual practice for him, and descended to the main room early. The tavern had been open for only a few minutes, but it was already half full. The air was growing thick with the aroma of ale, human beings, lantern smoke, and incense. He noted the presence of townsfolk seldom seen at the Silver Eel, most of them young, strong men. Owl weaved his way through the customers to his table by the front door, where it was his habit to greet incoming patrons and thank departing ones. Old Jom was sitting in the opposite chair, as he did every Serday, with the peg board already on the table.

Owl eased into his seat, realizing that he was sweating, but determined not to show his nervousness. "Bound to be an especially good game tonight, eh?" said Jom.

Owl's eyes widened. He had not realized his friend was also a conspirator. Jom stared back guilelessly. "Your turn to move first, as I recall," he said.

Owl calmed himself and moved a pawn forward two holes. Jom immediately responded with a pawn of his own, forcing Owl to take it. The Duke's Opening. It would be a night of challenging strategy.

To his surprise, the game managed to absorb his attention. The tavern became noisier, the smell of roast pork and fried eel more prominent, and the air hotter. It was only when a half dozen of Puriel's guards arrived with their captain that Owl's concentration was broken.

Claric strode immediately to his usual table at the center of the room and pounded a chair against the floor. "Food, ale, music!" he roared. He had already been drinking; Owl could tell by the slurred syllables. Wood creaked as he sat down. Owl had lost a dozen chairs to the captain's abuse in the three years since the Dragon had annexed Cilendrodel, as well as a table or two and countless plates. Tonight he stifled his normal tick of annoyance, casually capturing one of Jom's pawns with a merchant. Only his partner perceived that he was no longer immersed in the game.

Owl's staff, well trained not to keep guardsmen waiting, bustled platters out of the kitchen. The girls managed to set down the food and guard their rear ends at the same time. In the corner a minstrel began to play.

The music was exceptionally fine, Owl realized, far better than anything his regular bard could manage. The guardsmen, however, did not notice. As soon as the initial tune was over, they called for a popular ballad, one that any musician could play. The stranger obliged, and soon blessed the room with his fine tenor voice. Never had such bawdy lyrics been sung so well, Owl declared to Jom.