Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

"Be sure of yourself," Elenya said. "My brother and I each tried to put on the whole pair soon after we left the desert. We were both knocked unconscious. They might have killed us had we been slightly less attuned." Toren heard a hint of challenge in her tone, along with a note of concern.

Toren felt the compelling force in his right hand and said with confidence, "Struth knew what she was doing when she sent me."

The Vanihr took the second talisman and cradled it, examining the inset stones and the delicate, yet virtually indestructible gold filigree. He licked his lips, nodded, and inserted his left hand.

A ward automatically swelled around him, but other than that he felt little change. The most distinct difference was that he could sense what the rythni were doing with the forest energies he had detected earlier. They were weaving spells of concealment. Toren had only to adjust his inner vision a slight degree and the little people stood revealed, as visible to him now as if they had stepped from shadows into full sunlight. He was reminded of the moment when Struth had dropped the illusion on her countenance, except that in this case, the rythni were still actively trying to cloak themselves. The talismans utterly nullified their attempts. He hoped they were equally effective against Gloroc's illusions.

The relatively minor improvement in his senses worried Toren. Surely this was not all. Then he remembered how Keron's belt had acted when he had first put it on. The way to test the gauntlets was to do something with them.

One of the spells that Janna had taught him came to mind. He had been unable to master it at the temple. He recalled the technique and concentrated.

Jaws dropped and eyes widened on every side of him. Deena cried out.

"Where did he go?" Tregay blurted.

Toren had not moved. Smiling, he slipped to the side just as Elenya, less disoriented than the others, reached into the spot where he had been standing. She waved her hands over the area.

A voice carried over the hubbub of the rebels. "He's invisible." It was the pregnant woman who spoke. Toren noted a certain wryness in her tone.

The modhiv continued to wend his way through the assemblage, testing his spellweaving. No one heard his footfalls, no one felt the wind of his passage. As he ducked under a frond of bracken, careful not to brush against it, he noticed a queer pattern of magic, quite powerful but chaotic, emanating from a small tent just ahead. Leaving his confused audience behind, he ventured forward and lifted the flap.

A man in dirty silk robes came into view. He drooled and spun away from the light as if stung. Toren identified the strange energy pattern, and grunted in surprise. He dropped his invisibility just as a rebel noticed the open flap. The man called out, and moments later Alemar and Elenya led the observers to the tent.

"A wizard of the Ril," Toren said. "The one you defeated in the north?"

"I see you've heard about that," Alemar said. "Yes, this is Omril, a short time ago one of Gloroc's most favored pupils."

"What is wrong with him?"

"He has been dragon-touched," Alemar said.

Toren frowned. "Something you picked up from Struth?"

"No. I've only seen Struth once. It was actually a variation of a healing technique. Dragon-touching, a battle of minds-it's all the same sort of magic in the end." He dismissed the topic with a peremptory wave of his hand. "I take it that the talismans work for you?"

The query sank in. For a moment, Toren recalled the simple scout he had been less than a year before. On impulse, he freed the voices of his ancestors, and they simply waited, silent, absorbing the difference in their descendant, finding comfort that they were once again in a forest. It was his turn to shape the day. He clenched his fists, joyful at the power in them. Struth had stolen him from his home, but she had repaid the debt. He had come full circle-he was a warrior again, with a battle ahead as big as any modhiv of the Fhali had ever dreamed of. He could dream of better circumstances, perhaps, but with these talismans he had what he needed: a fighting chance.

"Yes, I am able to use them," he said. "It remains to be seen whether they are strong enough for Gloroc, but Struth has made a good plan. I'll accept that hospitality now, and I'll tell you about it."

ALEMAR LEANED BACK against the broadleaf tree, Wynneth nestled in the crook of his arm. His right hand, bereft of the gauntlet, slid back and forth over his wife's rotund belly. The baby kicked. Alemar and Wynneth exchanged a smile.

The couple were part of a ring of people that surrounded Toren and received an account of his travels. Alemar listened with mute detachment, saving his questions. He felt warm and relaxed, able for once to be himself and enjoy his wife's company and his comrades' excitement. One of the burdens of his life had shifted to other shoulders.

Toren spoke clearly and well. The rebels insisted on lengthy descriptions of the Wood, which amazed them both by its resemblance to and difference from Cilendrodel's great forest. They listened raptly to the account of life at the temple of Struth, eager to know more of their strange ally. Fond memories welled up inside Alemar when the modhiv mentioned that Obo was the source of his skill with the High Speech. The prince approved of the candidate's open, guileless demeanor and the patience with which he answered questions. He had not known what to expect from a man sent by a dragon. He also liked the tender glances the Vanihr shared with his woman companion. Could it be true that, after all these years, their designs to reconquer Elandris were coming to fruition?

All too soon, the preliminaries ended. Toren related the plan that Struth had given him.

"As long as the Dragon lives, Elandris will not be taken by force of arms. The emperor of the Calinin has committed his forces, and King Keron will soon be leading an offensive through Tamisan and Thiagra, but the effort will be doomed unless we succeed in assassinating Gloroc. I will lead a group of five or six men in secret to Dragonsdeep. Gloroc resides in the palace there. If we can surprise him in his chambers, we can kill him."

The audience listened in total silence. Alemar's pulse quickened. There. It was said. And even though Toren had faltered before pushing out the last four words, the hope had been made solid and immediate.

"Catching him there is crucial," Toren continued. "But there is good reason to think we can do it. Alemar the Great prepared the trap when he built Dragonsdeep-called Wizardsdeep then-over a millennium ago. As the last of his undersea cities, he made it more grandiose than any of the others, made it the capital of the empire. Its reception hall is one of the few indoor locations in the nation vast enough for a dragon's comfort. For those reasons alone it was natural that Gloroc choose the room as his lair, but that is only part of the story.

"The reception hall contains a portal. Alemar knew that dragons have a penchant for portals. They and the Shagas came to this world through a portal from Serpent Moon. They can sense these passageways from great distances and make use of them whenever they can. Just after Alemar slew Faroc, Triss arrived on the scene by means of one."

Alemar raised his eyebrows. He had heard the account of the slaying many times, and had always wondered how the female dragon could have responded so quickly to her dying mate's summons.

"Most portals that men know of are useless," Toren continued, "because they lead into solid rock, or ocean bottom, or the mouths of volcanoes, or to places… elsewhere. But dragons, as flying creatures, can make use of the relatively large number that exist between points in midair. They prefer to live near one. The reception chamber at Dragonsdeep contains a portal that leads to a corresponding hall in the palace of the nearby city of Seacliff. Alemar deliberately built around both those sites, partly for his own convenience, and partly because the lure would prove irresistible to Gloroc."