A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [82]
And then the world around him changed, trees and armored men and horses all sliding into liquid distortion as a great hissing arose, like a hundred snakes all crying menace at once. The hissing echoed all around Bloodblade as everything swam and swirled before his eyes, leaving him to stare only at vivid, racing colors… that suddenly whirled back to normal.
Sendrith Duthjack blinked, but he neither swore nor shivered. The narrow road through the trees was gone; his host now stood, boots and hooves, on the south Silvertree shore, with shattered docks and splintered boats before them-and Flowfoam, crowned by its palace, standing oh-so-close across the water before them.
Bloodblade stood up in his saddle, and cried, "Behold the favor of the Three upon us, to bring us down upon our foes! Let us crush them and end this, now! Find us boats in yon wrack, or upriver yonder, at Treehal-low-to Flowfoam, and victory!
The cowled figure smiled again, and Bloodblade sat down hearing his words echo back from the walls of Treehallow itself; once again, a spell-trumpet had carried them to the ears of every man there.
There was a momentary silence as those echoes died-and then, with a roar, Bloodblade's warriors rushed down into the shallows, seizing drowned boats and oars, clawing aside ropes and shattered dock planks, and dragging vessels up out of the water to pour their small shares of the river out of them.
In the space of a few breams seven were found that would float-and eager armaragors were setting out across the swift-flowing Silverflow under the shouted commands of swordcaptains, to bring death to the River Throne.
"Jhavarr was our brightest," the gray-bearded man said curtly. "Of course all our younglings are afire for Aglirtan blood-and half of you who should know better; oh, yes, I heard your shouted boasts and vows of vengeance. As for our offspring, so close that they call each other brother and sister and not cousin-how could they not be afire? They are Bowdragons."
He turned from the gem-adorned circular garden window to face them, and added with no little asperity, "Yet answer me this, Muldias and Araunder and Ithim: how swiftly do you want to lose your striding sons and raven-eyed daughters? Pride and grand words and fury are poor weapons against wizards the like of whom we see walking Aglirta or hiring themselves out to Aglirtans in Sirlptar-and if they chance on even a hedge-wizard who has hold of a Dwaer-Stone, well…"
Multhas Bowdragon ran his ringers along his long, thin moustache and nodded slowly. "Your every word awakens rage in me, Dolmur- because, by the Three, as always-you are right."
"I do not think I can stop one of my sons, at least," Araunder Bow-dragon said slowly, rubbing at his balding head as he started to slowly shake it.
"Then bid him your last farewell and consider him dead," the eldest Bowdragon said bluntly, "for he soon will be. Go you back to your hotheads and tell them again the tale of the Sword of Vengeance."
Three brothers frowned at him in puzzlement. "The Sword of-?" Multhas said slowly. "I do not know that tale."
Dolmur gave him a mirthless smile, and said, "Of course not. You haven't made it up yet. Yet it's a grand yarn, of the five-summers-old daughter of a swordsmith slain by a cruel baron. She grew to be a woman taking no husband, knowing no lover but the forge, teaching herself to make and temper mattocks and scythes and then swords, until at last long years of work gave her the skills to craft a magnificent blade. This she presented to the baron as a gift-right up his vitals, telling him its name was Vengeance, ere he gurgled his last. I'm sure you