Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

He gulped down a restorative potion and slept, his pavilion tightly guarded by his personal retinue, while the rest of the small army watched for some sign of the enemy. He did not awaken until late in the afternoon. His concoction banished the debilitation caused by his long maintenance of the invisibility spell. The bags under his eyes shrank away, the shakiness left his limbs; he felt strong. The muscles of his back still ached from the challenge of carrying a grown woman many hundreds of paces, but that was the only lasting evidence of the strain of his feat.

He ate a hearty meal, groomed himself, and listened to the captain of his company render a status report. When perfectly ready he strolled over to visit his captive.

"Your companions have fled. It must be convenient, having thousands of small allies to keep watch for you. I used to have pigeons to help me with such tasks," he said pointedly.

Wynneth avoided eye contact. Her glance wandered toward the sacks of food and the deer carcasses strung up on nearby limbs. She paused as if calculating how far a bit of venison and a dwindling pile of flour would go among so many men. Omril was impressed. No common trull, this one. Another woman would be fretting at her bonds; she was judging how much the pursuit had cost him.

She stared at her feet. "Must I have all these men watching me all the time?" she asked.

"Indeed, yes. And tonight there will be lanterns on every side of you. One never knows when an invisible man may slink inside the camp and steal you away."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"If you prove to be insufficient bait, I will take you south with me. There is a great deal I can learn from your mind. If I take my time I'm sure I can pull it out of you, no matter how well your husband may have schooled you to resist. If I cannot, perhaps I'll send you to Gloroc."

She glared and tugged her hem further down over her knees. Omril chuckled.

"My lord," exclaimed his page an hour later. "The rebel prince is at the perimeter."

Omril put away the crystal into which he had been gazing. "And what is he doing there?" he demanded.

"He is… walking forward."

The wizard nodded, strode past the messenger, and emerged from his pavilion. A great knot of his soldiers had gathered on the eastern edge of the clearing. Omril summoned his captain.

"This may be a diversion. See to it that the other directions are carefully watched."

"Yes, my lord."

Omril watched the jumble of men gradually separate. Alemar walked down the corridor between them, pace slow and deliberate, gaze unfocussed. Three of his gauntlet's jewels scintillated, each with its own deep, pure color.

"Kill him!" Omril shouted.

The soldiers paused, as if to say they had just tried that, then set about their task. They thrust and swung their swords, axes, pikes, and knives at the rebel prince. Every point was turned. None came closer than an arm-length away. A deflected ax gashed one of the soldiers in his thigh. Alemar continued on, though he slowed to a turtlelike shuffle. The group paused.

Omril smiled. "Keep attacking until I tell you to stop," he ordered. His cohort hastily obeyed. Meanwhile, the wizard turned to his page. "Go to my tent. Find the small chest with the ruby clasp. Bring me the coil of twine you find within."

The page, eager to please, took a step, but Omril seized him sternly by the shoulder. The boy winced.

"Do not touch the clasp with your fingers. Flip it open with your boot, or the tip of your knife, but do not set living tissue against it."

The boy paled, swallowed a lump, and ran to the pavilion. Omril turned back toward the commotion. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. His men flailed, as ineffectual as ever, but on the other hand, Alemar now hesitated between each step, checking his balance before putting the next foot forward.

He was good, Omril had to admit, or he was able to use the gauntlet more fully than anticipated. The wizard himself would have been challenged to maintain a ward in the face of such an onslaught, though he was certain he would have been able to continue walking normally. But as a rescue attempt, it left much to be desired. More than ever, Omril took this to be the diversion. The princess would be making an appearance at some point.

Pace by pace, Alemar progressed through the ranks of men and steel. Omril's page returned with the twine, which the sorcerer tucked out of sight in his sleeve. When the prince had only twenty strides to go, Omril ordered a halt to the attack.

"Back away," he told his men. "Leave us room."

The soldiers virtually stumbled over themselves doing as he asked, though Omril's tone had been mild. Within moments, only he stood between Alemar and his wife.

"I am disappointed," the sorcerer said. "A good strategist knows when a person is expendable."

Alemar did not respond. Omril doubted that he could without losing the ward. If he dropped it for an instant, he would die. Omril glanced at Wynneth, who had risen to her feet and now waited, biting her lip, for the tableau to be played out. The wizard considered slaying her, now that Alemar was so close, but she was still valuable as a hindrance.

Alemar did not hesitate. He kept walking straight toward Wynneth.

Omril stepped aside.

As soon as the prince passed, the wizard anchored one end of his twine to a root and began running in a circle, unravelling the cord behind him. Alemar reached Wynneth. She embraced him-lightly so as not to disturb his concentration. Omril completed a circle around them and tied the ends together. He laughed as he dropped the knot.

"I have you now, son of Alemar. Forget any plans you have to walk out of here."

Alemar turned and faced him. "I'm in no hurry."

Omril was taken aback. The prince was surely enough of a mage to recognize that, ward or no ward, he was locked inside the circle. Perhaps he thought he could remain where he was, protecting himself and the woman, until his sister launched the second half of the rescue. But Omril would not allow that.

He spoke to the twine, muttering in a sibilant, repetitious language, one that had not sprouted from a human culture. The twine suddenly convulsed. The ring shrank a few inches in diameter. He kept talking.

Alemar regarded the shrinking without apparent alarm, though the flickers from the gauntlet increased in frequency and brilliance. Omril sauntered along the outer perimeter, confident and smiling.

The sixth contraction, however, was not as complete as the first five. Omril raised his voice. Once again, the twine twisted and danced over the ground.

This time the circle was the same size as before.

"Your talisman is useless," Alemar said. "I have made an Ultimate Ward."

Omril scoffed. "There is no such thing as an Ultimate Ward. It's a myth. Even if it were true, you couldn't move it from this site. And sooner or later, no matter how good you are, you'll have to sleep."

Omril decided the prince was stalling for time, and redoubled his efforts. His men watched intently. Several of them whispered among themselves. The twine danced to eye-level and down again, snapping like reins in a oeikani race.

Through it all Alemar stood unshaken. Sweat beaded on Omril's brow, but the prince's stayed dry. For the first time, the wizard noticed a strange, high-pitched hum, almost like a song. It seemed to come from the trees on every side of the clearing.

"You're mine now," Alemar said.

Omril gasped. Suddenly his twine sprang outward, over his head, enclosing him within the boundary. He fought a tremendous compulsion to walk forward. Alemar held out his hands.

"No!" the wizard cried.

"Come to me," Alemar demanded.

Omril took a step. He locked his muscles, refusing to take another. He stroked one of the rings on his fingers, trying to focus, trying to set up a ward of his own. The blood in his temples pounded, making him dizzy. How? He was a wizard of the Ril. He was more than a match for this healer prince. He screamed, but the sound from his throat seemed drowned by the chanting from the trees.