Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

Puriel turned and glared at the sorcerer. "The captain of my guard has been captured under my very nose," he snapped. "Witnesses say both the rebel leaders were there. Where were your watchful eyes?"

"When did this happen?" Omril asked the chamberlain.

"Two hours after sunset," the man replied.

"I was at supper with you, my lord," Omril told Puriel. "I can't eat and converse and search for spells at the same time. Besides, did they use magic?"

"No," the chamberlain said. "Swords and knives. They ambushed Claric at the Silver Eel. Killed all his men."

"Then I would not have known to look there," Omril said. "But I think I know where they are now." He told them what he had detected. "Give me a cohort of troops. If I go myself, I can lead them to the site in an hour or two."

"Done!" Puriel growled. "I'll not stand for this sort of humiliation. I want those king's bastards on my racks by morning. Claric, too, for making me look like a fool. Mind you don't let them slip away from you again, wizard."

Omril bowed. "As my lord commands." He suppressed a smile. Puriel had little to fear from enemies-if he continued in this fashion he would soon perish of an apoplectic fit.

The soldiers roused in short order, came out of the barracks complaining. Most had just retired for the night. Omril let a pair of lieutenants prod and bellow, while he waited sedately on his oeikani. The men glanced his way, dropped their grievances, and made themselves battle ready. They knew where the real authority lay in this castle.

While he waited, Omril stroked the vial. Eventually one end of the serum darkened nearly to blackness, while the other faded to a sky blue. As long as the wizard pointed in the direction from which the spell was coming, this stayed the case. If he pointed it another way, the liquid returned to a pure aqua. By the time they were ready to leave, he had calibrated the talisman so that he would not have to expend undue attention and energy upon it for the duration of the search.

He led the cohort around the shores of the lake. As expected, the hues of the serum became more intense. For the first time Omril's dispassionate attitude failed him; his body tingled. He felt an acid bite in his stomach, savage and appealing. This might be the night when he finally fulfilled his mission for his dread lord.

On the side of Rock Lake directly opposite Puriel's castle, the road branched. One fork continued along the shore, the other penetrated the forest. Omril halted the troops. The vial was hot in his hand. He beckoned both his lieutenants.

"The magicians are little more than a league from this spot, between the roads," he told them. "You'll each take a third of the men and follow the roads. One league along, cut into the wood. I'll go through the trees from here. We'll catch them in our pincers."

He let the flanking groups ride out of sight, then ordered his own contingent to spread into a wide column. They filtered into the trees, moving as silently as was possible for such a large group of men and oeikani. Omril cast a minor spell that would reflect the loudest noises toward the rear. The forest here was relatively open. Woodsmen often visited this land to harvest dead trees or plant new ones to accommodate the needs of Old Stump. They made good time, and seldom had to dismount to squeeze through tight places. Omril felt a tickle in his palm, where he held the vial. Soon it spread. After half a league he put away the talisman altogether. He could now directly sense the camouflage spell.

They were very near. He ordered the soldiers into a half circle.

"Charge!" he commanded.

Swords drawn, arrows nocked, they plunged between the trees. Omril followed close behind, with a small rear guard. They had gone only a few hundred yards before the wizard felt the camouflage spell snap out of existence.

There was no magic being cast ahead at all. The major spell was gone, too-and had been for who knew how long.

In the vanguard, men were shouting. Omril emerged from a thicket and found most of the troops gathered around a tree. They were silhouetted against an odd lavender glow. The sorcerer scowled and rode to the front.

He found Claric tied to the tree. The captain's naked body was covered by thin, luminescent tendrils, making it seem as if he had grown a coat of fine hair. The strands waved like miniature snakes, as if wafted by the breeze, but there was no wind that night. He was giving off enough purplish light to read a scroll by.

"Omril! Get this off of me! It itches like the five demons of Emin."

The wizard scanned the surrounding trees. "Where are the rebels?"

"Long gone," Claric spat. "They left after the bitch did this to me."

The statement confirmed what Omril had suspected. Still, there had to be one magician nearby. The camouflage spell, unlike the one on Claric's body, had to be actively maintained, and that could not be done from a great distance.

"Six men stay here," he ordered. "The rest fan out and search the woods." He was doubtful that they would find anything. He had not, as he had fancied, caught the rebels by surprise. They had deliberately enticed him. They had expected him to detect their magic.

"Ebrett!" Claric shouted to the sergeant standing next to Omril. "Cut me loose."

"No!" Omril snapped. The sergeant jumped. Claric opened his mouth to protest. "The spell on him is a trap. Touch him or the ropes and the demonhair will consume his skin, and yours as well."

"What?!" Claric burst out.

"What did you expect?" Omril asked. "That the princess would simply decorate you and leave you here to brighten the forest? She wanted revenge, no?"

"You're the wizard, undo the spell!"

"I can't. I'd have to unravel each thread one at a time. It would take me a week. You'll be dead before then of thirst. We can't even pass water to you." In actual fact, Omril could probably do the job in two days or less, if he went without sleep. But he had never liked Claric.

Claric looked like he was going to vomit.

"If you'd like, I can have the men shoot you with arrows," Omril offered. "It would be swifter. In another few hours the demonhair will start working its way into your, ahem, openings. If you think it itches now…"

"No, no."

"The alternative is leaving you to rot."

Claric moaned and gave no indication as to which he would prefer. Omril turned his attention to the sounds that had been coming from the trees to the north. Soon one of the lieutenants rode up. The first of the pincer groups had met the main party.

"Did you see anything?" Omril demanded.

"Nothing," the officer replied, so fascinated by Claric's outlandish appearance that he almost forgot to salute.

The wizard turned his back to Claric and the spectators and paced. The rebels had more in mind than revenge on Claric; if that had been the extent of it, Omril would have stood back and admired their handiwork. It was a handsome bit of thaumaturgy, requiring considerable patience, concentration, and discipline. He had not thought the female twin, with her hot-headedness, had the temperament necessary to spin demonhair. It was another facet of his enemies to remember. But they had surely not lured him to the site merely to provide an audience for their victory.

The night was growing distinctly darker. First Urthey had set, then the Sister, then Motherworld. Now only the recently risen Serpent Moon was left to shed light over the countryside. It was still several hours until sunrise. A good time, Omril realized, for a military assault.

And here was he, the single strongest weapon Lord Puriel had, out in the woods, leaving the fortress defenses short by a full cohort of men.

"Mount your steeds!" he shouted. "We're going back to the castle! Now!"

The soldiers had never seen Omril so agitated. They obeyed him even faster than if he had threatened them. They left their former captain to his fate, ignoring his outraged cries and whimpers, and raced back the way they had come. When they reached Rock Lake, they heard the din of battle echoing off the water. The noise came from the governor's keep.