The Schemes of Dragons wotd-2

by Dave Smeds

  "You have no confidence in us. It is understandable. But I will keep the bargain. Put the bracelet on the floor."

  Toren hesitated, then did as he was ordered.

  The only movement Struth made was a minute shifting of the pupils of her eyes, yet almost immediately one of the bracelet's gems began to glow. In reverse of the spell cast by Ivayer back in the Wood, Toren's tortoise appeared in a facet of the stone, growing larger and larger until it stood, full-sized, straddling the talisman. Toren, hands trembling, lifted it into his palms. Warm, vibrant, it nuzzled its chin against the base of his thumb.

  "As soon as you return to the surface, Janna will restore it to your body."

  "And then am I free to go?"

  "If you wish."

  Toren frowned. It was impossible to read sincerity or guile on the face of a giant frog. "I don't believe you. Without me, your plan is ruined."

  "Nearly. We have other candidates, though we have found them lacking. However, if we lose you, we will resort to one of these others and hope for the best. Your role is too critical to fill with an unwilling participant. However, I think I can demonstrate that it would be in your best interests to aid us."

  "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.

  XVI

  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 sinc
e 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.

  The soldiers applauded by stamping their feet. Two of them threw coins into the singer's hat. They soon forgot him, engrossed in their gossip, jokes, and drinking. Scraps of meat and spilled ale fell on Owl's well-scrubbed floor. One of the men carved his initials into the table top. The other patrons could hardly hear themselves talk over the noise. Three years ago Owl would not have tolerated this sort of behavior. He asked rude customers to leave. But since the Dragon's garrison had come, there had been two classes of citizens in Old Stump. Owl had learned that there were worse things than broken chairs, burned tapestries, and being the butt of soldiers' jokes. He had seen what had happened to the mayor when the latter complained too loudly to Lord Puriel of abuses and broken laws.

  Owl had lived in Old Stump all his life. He had a daughter approaching the age when she would soon help him in the pub room. He was not a courageous man. He had played amiable host to Puriel's guards night after night because that was the cost of keeping his livelihood viable. He had no wish to become a rebel, but if lending the Silver Eel for one night would lift the shadow of oppression, he would take the risk.

  He drummed his fingernails at the edge of the peg board. Jom had made a move some time ago, yet Owl had not even started to formulate his counterstroke. The air seemed to radiate heat, though the hearth was unlit. The tavernmaster licked dry lips and raised his stein. A lone figure in a cape appeared at the threshold. A white cape. Owl glanced inside the hood and nearly inhaled the brew.

  In the corner, the minstrel began a new song. Though he strummed his lute no louder than before, the notes cut like knives through the roar of voices, utensils, and pouring ale. Owl recognized the tune. It had been played a great deal over the past two months. It was called "The Hero with a Hundred Wings."

  Suddenly men stood up from tables on every side of Claric's men and drew knives. Owl saw the flash of a needle-thin stiletto, narrow enough to penetrate the interstices of chain mail. Only two of the soldiers saw the steel coming. One blocked the first knife, only to take the second in the heart. The other man spun nimbly out of the circle of attackers and bolted for the door. Elenya raised her rapier out of the folds of her cape and ran him through.

  The only survivor was Claric, who gawked, speechless, at the knife in front of his face. A man on either side held down his arms. There was another knife at Owl's throat. He knew it was a ruse, but it nearly stopped his heart just the same.

  "What is the meaning of this?" the tavernmaster croaked. "What are you doing?"

  Elenya gestured to one of the attackers, who shut the main door. "Our quarrel is not with you, innkeeper. Keep out of the way and you'll be safe."

  Elenya was so convincing that Owl had to clench his groin to keep control of his bladder. He hoped his performance measured up. The customers who were not part of the conspiracy had to believe that he had not helped arrange the ambush. He felt ashamed that he had taken the coward's way out-the attackers, most of them townsmen, were now branded as rebels-but it was the only way he could agree to let the Silver Eel be used.

  Elenya turned away from Owl, who, now out of the spotlight, sighed deeply. The princess stepped over the body of the man she had killed and faced Claric. The captain of the guard finally found his voice.

  "Let me go! The governor will have all your heads for this!"

  "I think not," Elenya said calmly.

  Alemar emerged from the kitchen. This time, Owl noted, he wore the famous gauntlet on his right hand, just as Elenya wore its mate on her left. His scabbard slapped against his leg. His presence silenced everyone. Owl had heard that the twin children of Keron Olendim were intimidating, but he had dismissed the story as rebel propaganda. Now he knew that only half the truth had been spoken. Though short, the twins seemed to be the tallest people in the room.

  "Are you uncomfortable, held down, surrounded by enemies?" Alemar murmured to Claric.

  "You don't dare touch me!" Claric shouted.

  "I won't," Alemar said. "I'm going to leave you to my sister."

  Claric shut up. Owl expected Elenya to smile. She had Milec's torturer in front of her, helpless. But not a muscle moved in her face. Her expression was a blank, everything hidden behind the skin. Yet Claric saw something. He began to squirm, trying to shake off the strong arms that pinned him to the chair.

  Elenya pulled out a scarf of white quarn silk and twisted it into a cord. The veins on the backs of her hands bulged. Claric cried out. While his mouth was open, she thrust the cloth between his teeth and gagged him, tying the knot so tightly behind his skull that his lips were pressed to bloodless white contours against his teeth. Other rebels swiftly bound his limbs.

  Elenya drew Claric's sword and placed the center of the blade across the palm of her gauntlet. She squeezed. The metal crumpled and, with a snap of her wrist, broke. She tossed the sections on the floor. Her expression still did not change.

  Three of the attackers hefted Claric up and carried him out the kitchen exit. Elenya followed.

  Alemar scanned every face in the room. He gave off none of the aura of a healer. Something brooded within his stone-cold countenance. But he was not like his sister. The customers faced him without flinching. More than that, Owl realized this was a man he wanted to follow. After the oppression of the Dragon, here was the balm to cover their wounds.

  And they had done it. They had surprised Puriel's men in the very shadow of the castle. Underneath his terror, Owl felt a gut-tightening swell of excitement. He was proud that he had finally found the courage, even at a distance, to stand up to the regime that had afflicted his and his neighbors' lives. Before them was the man responsible.

  "Tell Lord Puriel that he is next," Alemar said. He and Solint the Minstrel led the others out. For several seconds after they had gone no one moved or spoke.

  "Well, who wants to go up to take the news to the castle?" asked Old Jom.

  ****

  Omril was sitting in his sanctum when he felt the flash of magic. It was brief, almost instantaneous, then it was quelled. Had he not been meditating, deliberately searching for such signs, he would have missed it. Before the impressions could fade he lifted a vial and held it tight. He concentrated. It took a full ten minutes, but the liquid changed from clear to deep aqua. He grunted in satisfaction and strolled to the windows.

  With the serum to focus his sorcery, he relocated the approximate source of the flash. He was right. The spell was still active. The weaver, or a helper, was using a lesser spell to try to conceal the greater one. Had they not been trying to thwart a wizard of the Ril, the tactic would have worked.

  It might still work, to a degree. The serum, unlike a solid talisman, had been ductile enough to capture the spell's flavor on a moment's notice, but it would not hold the impression more than a few hours. Omril fetched Swiftwing from her coop. He needed to lead the bird to the exact spot where the magic was being performed before the casters finished their weaving and departed.

  Omril frowned. Perhaps his prey wanted him to use that strategy. It was time-consuming. Furthermore, his attention would be completely absorbed while he looked through Swiftwing's eyes; he would not be awake to the world. He could not, for example, renew the ser
um. He gazed out at Rock Lake. The spell was being cast somewhere on the far side of the water, only a few leagues away.

  He put Swiftwing back on her perch, dressed quickly in his riding garb, and descended into the body of the castle.

  The governor's audience hall buzzed with activity. Puriel stood next to his great hearth, in a foul mood, judging by the look on his face. He was yelling at his chamberlain. Omril caught a bit of the tirade and raised an eyebrow.

  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.