Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

They hugged a small tributary of the Thank River, using its trees, thick stands of marsh grass, and brambles as cover. As twilight neared, with a pair of moons promising a bright night, they reached the edge of the great forest. They had not gone far when they heard a subtle, pleasant song. It seemed to glance off every leaf.

The column halted. "Do you recognize it?" Alemar asked Elenya.

"The rythni canticle of well-being."

Alemar nodded, a small tear hovering at the tip of an eyelash. "Wait here," he told the company. He rode just out of speaking range.

Hiephora stood on a limb at his eye-level. When he drew near she stopped singing, but other, unseen voices carried on, spreading tidings of welcome through the foliage.

"Greetings, Prince Alemar," the queen said.

"Well met, Your Highness," he murmured. "I am very glad to find you here."

"And how could I stay away? You have the aura of a man who believes in himself." She laughed merrily. "I brought someone to see you."

"Who?"

Another rythni crawled out from behind a leaf. It was Cyfee.

"Greetings, my lord."

Alemar stroked the young rythni's body. She was real.

"It is truly me," she said cheerfully, and spun a slow pirouette. Her flesh was white and vibrant. The only trace of damage was where her wings had been anchored, where there were two long scars. "My queen returned in time to save the four of us who were injured."

"My prophecy was true after all," Hiephora stated. "Not a single rythni was lost in the battle."

"But your wings," Alemar said solemnly, leaning over Cyfee. "They won't grow back, will they?"

"No, they won't," Cyfee replied. "But that is not so great a thing compared to my life and health. Our menfolk have no wings. I had none when I was a child, and I would have lost them when my childbearing years were over. It is not so bad. Now I look old and wise a millennium early."

"Alas that she could not be wise as quickly," Hiephora added impishly.

Alemar chuckled.

"We came to warn you," Cyfee said, turning serious. "Omril's troops are only three leagues to the west. He has lost your physical trail, but he seems able to track you without it, given time."

Alemar made a sour face. "It's the gauntlets. It's hard to dampen their energies, and the wizard knows their pattern. We'll ride east, then, and camp only briefly tonight."

"That is best, my prince."

"And will you watch over us?" he asked.

"Yes. Sleep safely and well."

The rebels slept in a thicket without benefit of a campfire, their bedrolls scattered over a wide area where they could not easily be surrounded, sheltered by loosely hung tarps and shawls that could be taken down and packed within moments, should the alarm be sounded. Four of the company hid within the brush, keeping sentry duty. And, of course, from their vantage points on limbs or in their cleverly constructed bowers, the rythni held vigil.

The moons' light filtered only weakly through the canopy of leaves, leaving deep shadows, turning the clumps of trunk fungus into ghost-white specters. Crickets and nocturnal rodents made their discordant music. A male rythni, dozing in the grass near the camp, awoke suddenly, feeling a vibration in the ground on which he lay, as from the tread of a man or large animal. But he could see nothing on the path, nor did he hear any suspicious sounds. He closed his eyes and nodded off.

Had he been lying three paces to one side, he might have seen a bootprint form in the soft forest loam, then another and another, leading into the rebel camp. Perhaps he would have noticed a fern bend out of the way or a strand of spider web snap. But he still would not have seen the owner of the boots, nor heard any sound as twigs broke under foot.

The intruder stopped near one of the sentries, who glanced up at a moonbeam, oblivious to the surveillance. The stalker continued into the center of the area, weaving through unsuspecting sleepers. He did not harm them, because even if they died silently, their auras would change and the rythni would be disturbed.

Slowly but with few detours, the bootprints created a path to the fallen broadleaf tree where the twins had fashioned their shelters. The stalker approached Elenya first, but as he did, the amulet on her throat gave off a bright green flicker. She stirred. The intruder backed away, so quickly that for the first time, his tread was audible.

The flicker was not repeated. None of the sentries or rythni seemed to have noticed it. The stalker stood still for many moments, then inched toward the den where Alemar and Wynneth huddled.

On the prince's throat, another amulet glowed in warning. This time the trespasser backed up immediately, cancelling the effect before anyone had a reasonable chance to see it. Alemar slept on.

The intruder stayed where he was for a long time, all the way through the changing of the guard. The last watch of the night began. A daylark roused briefly and serenaded the grove.

Finally Wynneth opened her eyes, crossed and recrossed her legs, and sat up, grumbling softly about the curses of pregnancy. She crawled out of the shelter without waking her husband, and found a convenient spot several paces down the length of the fallen tree, where she raised her skirt and, using a spur of the trunk to brace her awkward body, relieved herself.

She emitted a small sigh of refreshment, stood, and took one step toward her bedroll. Abruptly her eyes glazed, and she slumped. Something caught her under the arms, and then she vanished.

A few moments later one of the guards, who had noticed her rise, turned and, finding her gone, assumed she had already crawled back into the shelter. The rythni, who had glanced away to give her privacy, whispered among themselves, but seeing no sign of violence, reached the same conclusion. However, more than one increased the vigilance with which they watched the area around the fallen log.

Meanwhile, the bootprints, concealed by the dimness of the night, formed one by one along the trail where they had first appeared, except that now they pointed the other direction and sank deeper into the soil. They continued out of the camp, beyond the many watchful eyes. A hundred paces from the perimeter, the sound of strained breathing and the scuffing of soled feet arrived out of nowhere, frightening the shrews in the underbrush and launching an owl into sudden flight. A pair of rythni scouts heard, and worked their way through the plant life toward the source, but, finding nothing there, were mystified.

Crossing a small creek, the stalker and his prize came upon a sturdy battle oeikani well-concealed within a thicket. The beast, with the aplomb of a fine breed meticulously trained, was unperturbed at the sudden appearance of its master beside it, remaining just as silent as it had been all night.

Omril groaned and lowered Wynneth to the ground. He straightened up, grimaced, and rubbed his back. He swayed, as if fighting off an attack of dizziness, and held onto the saddle while he regained his breath. As soon as he had, he gathered his strength one more time, picked up his prisoner, and draped her over the oeikani's withers. He climbed up behind her, settled her into a position from which she would not fall, and rode off toward the west.

OMRIL COLLARED WYNNETH and chained her to a post in the middle of a clearing. He permitted a canopy to be erected in order to screen her from the sun, but he forbade walls, so that she would remain under open surveillance at all times. One of his cohorts surrounded her, filling the clearing and much of the adjacent forest, a ring of nearly five hundred armed men through which even the wind could not have infiltrated unannounced.

He sent the other cohort to attack the rebel camp. He did not expect they would find anyone there, but the trail would be fresh. At the very least, it would keep the rebels occupied, and give his men the blood scent.