A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [16]
The smoke spun more swiftly, and out of its coils something came undulating, something long and dark and smooth-scaled: a Vale viper!
Yet no Vale viper had ever boasted small, fluttering wings behind its head, and more down its length, gently beating amid the smoke.
"Little flying serpent," the wizard muttered, "bound as I decree-fly forth now, and spy for me!"
He brought his hand forward as if hurling a stone into a pool-and the blue smoke roared around in a spiral, racing away in howling fury to an otherwhere lost in the shadows beyond his study door-and taking his flying snake with it.
, "A clumsy incantation," he told his reflection in the oval glass by the door, "but it's spellbound to me nonetheless."
He turned back to the last whirling wisp of blue smoke, as it spun, sinking and fading, above the clutter of his casting. "Lurk, and trail after the Band of Four," he murmured. "Spy on every last overducal deed, so that I may see, and know. For guilty or not, they are like prowling hunting cats in Aglirta. Trouble follows them, and they bring it to others in their blundering… and somewhere out there is the fourth of the Dwaerindim. Yes."
He went to a certain gem that lay on a tabletop, its lower side smooth and flat, its uppermost surface curved and glossy, oval, and as long as his hand. He polished it with his fingers, and blue smokes rose from where he touched it.
Staring into them, he beheld a road strewn with bodies. A familiar road. He shrugged and turned away, letting the smoke trail away again.
His lurker would spy tirelessly, and would remember for him whatever he saw not through its eyes. And if these four buffoons of overdukes should notice it and lash out with blade or spell, the snake would grow when struck. Blow by blow it would grow, to do battle as a turret-tall flying behemoth, if need be. Jhavarr Bowdragon smiled; that would be worth watching.
Idle entertainment, aye-but then, what were "heroes" for?
Chapter Three
Dropping Out Of the Trees
The wide-eyed, white face was one Craer knew.
He'd not expected to find it here in this Three-cursed forest of rustling leaves and deadly arrows, but here it was nonetheless, above a nervously swallowing throat his dagger was a whisker away from slitting open.
" the in are all but you "I-1-" A slender hand rose to push Craer's blade aside. Raulin looked a little surprised when the procurer let him move the steel instead of working swift surgery on fingers or throat with it. He cleared his throat, fixed Craer with very steady eyes, and said, "I've been watching and following you Four."
"Why? D'you want your clothes back?"
Raulin flushed. "Lord Delnbone, please. I-I've been watching you in hopes of another chance. I want to be like you, and ride with you to make Aglirta strong, and-and help you when you've need of-"
There was a thunderous snort from behind Craer.
Hawkril Anharu was on his feet, pale, bloodstained, and trembling-but clear-eyed and holding his warsword in firm hands.
"You've found your chance, lad, and welcome. Aglirta has few enough friends, and every hand that helps her has a place beside ours. Craer, put that fang away and come down here. Em looks bad."
With something akin to disgust, Overduke Delnbone whirled away from the boy who'd fought alongside them through an inn and-despite a certain procurer striking him senseless and borrowing most of his clothes-a great battle in the Silent House, and led the way down through the ferns to the corpse-strewn road.
Raulin gazed around at all the spilled blood and bodies sprawled amid the flies and dust, went pale, and swallowed several times. Craer gave him a glare and then a wave across the fallen bowmen to the far roadside bank, where Sarasper and Embra lay slumped side by side, mute, white, and motionless. Their garments were scorched, and a strong burnt smell hung in the air around them.
"So, lad," Craer asked bitterly, "know you any healing magic?"
Raulin opened his mouth to make a reply that was not going to be a "yes,"