A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [26]
Raulin and the Four watched the conflagration and the forest on either side closely, but saw no foe beyond a lone, blazing Melted that lurched forward at least ten paces out of the flames, trying to reach them even as it crumbled to ash.
"Feast, anyone?" Craer asked, waving a hand at the dying flames.
"I fear the meat is a bit crisped," Hawkril replied, "but my thanks for your kind invitation." He squinted at the crumbling bones in the thick of the angry red flames, then pointed.
"That one, yonder, is less scorched than most. Is there any way to tell what mage sent it, love lass?"
Embra smiled and shrugged. "I doubt it, but it won't hurt to have a look."
Gingerly, she picked her way between the heaps of ash and guttering flames, heading for a Melted that had escaped the flames from its thighs upward-or rather outward, for thanks to Hawkril's warsword, it lay in a sprawl of severed limbs to one side of the road.
Embra cast wary glances all around, then bent to peer at it, frowning. After a long moment she sighed, shook her head, and rose again-only to tread on a hot ember and leap swiftly aside, to an ungraceful landing on her knees nearby.
In midleap, something whipped past her-flashing by her shoulder to bury itself in a tree.
"Sargh!" Craer snarled, and launched himself into the trees in a furious, crashing sprint, leaping deadfalls and racing through tangles at breakneck speed, not even taking the time to snatch out a dagger-wherefore it took him an instant to do so, and throw, when he came out into a little clearing and saw a robed man, running ahead of him, plunge into an inky, upright whorl in the air.
The man vanished into the rotating oval of darkness and it promptly spun faster, spiraling into nothingness at his heels. It swallowed Craer's flashing blade just before it grew too small to see-but if his steel struck something, it left no sign behind.
Snarling, Craer rushed forward to slash through where the whorl had been with another dagger, cutting the empty air repeatedly. He'd known it was futile when he started, but… 'twas always best to be sure.
Panting, Craer retraced his steps through the deep forest and found his companions staring grimly at the arrow that had sought Embra's life.
It was no arrow at all, but a snake stretched out straight and rigid, fangs agape and buried deep in the tree bark. Its slitted eyes swiveled to better see the procurer as he bent to scowl at it. The scaled body must be held rigid by a spell…
"It'll stay that way until its fangs touch flesh," Embra murmured. Craer quirked an eyebrow, and slowly reached out to take hold of the serpent.
"No," the Lady Overduke snapped. "It can be used as a focus for magic, against us. Leave it be."
Craer hesitated, moved his hand a little closer to the snake-which turned its eye still more, to look at him-and then, reluctantly, drew his hand back. He grimaced a little; it never sits well with a procurer, to be able to reach something interesting, but know he shouldn't.
"Well," Sarasper grunted from behind him, "at least we've achieved something this day. Craer Delnbone learned a touch of prudence. His first, I believe."
Craer turned his head very slowly to give the old healer an unloving look. In the process, his gaze swung across Raulin-who kept himself carefully expressionless-and both Embra and Hawkril, who both suppressed smiles rather poorly.
The face of the swordlord who sat on a splendid chestnut war steed at the head of the hastily assembled garrison was rather pale. As white as Wind-fangs snow, in fact.
The big man in the fluted armor smiled as he raised his open hand in greeting. "Hail, Swordlord of Sard Where's the Baron Brightpennant? I've business with him!"
The swordlord licked his lips. "N-not here," he said reluctantly. "Gone on a mission for the Crown, we know not where." He eyed the ready-armed host behind the big armored man, and asked, "Who are you, sir- and what business have you in Brightpennant that needs an army to accomplish it?"
"Your eyes behold the new Baron of Glarond," the