A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [83]
"Dolmur," Ithim snarled, "your humor has always… grated."
"Better that you glower at me," his older brother said gently, "than weep over more fresh-carved tombstones. You doted on Jhavarr rightly, as your bright heir-but I loved him for the greatness in him, and had already decided to give unto him my staff of magics when he learned a shade more prudence."
All three brothers looked at him sharply again. There were sudden tears in Ithim's eyes, but Araunder looked troubled, and Muhhas looked angry.
"Dolmur," Muldias said carefully, "what of Eridi? He is your son."
The eldest Bowdragon waved his hand dismissively. "And only surviving offspring, yes. A dreamer, not a mage yet, if ever. When I lost my Cathaleira, I knew where my staff should go, one day."
He turned back to the window. "Now, my Lords Bowdragon, I know not where to bestow it. And if we fail to rein in our heirs, I doubt me that anyone, no matter how dunderheaded or craven, shall still walk Darsar bearing the name Bowdragon when the staff falls from my failing hand."
"I could take me a new wife, and make more Bowdragons," Multhas growled.
"And school them to prudence and cool temper as well as you did your first brood?" Dolmur asked calmly. "Multhas, how? How does fire craft ice?"
Multhas clenched and unclenched his hands, face dark in anger, and said nothing.
"My Lords," Dolmur added, "for all our sakes, and a few seasons, at least: keep our heirs out of Aglirta-and so keep them alive."
Meanwhile.;?:
Sobbing for breath, utterly winded, Flaeros Delcamper staggered another few paces through the graveyard and turned to see if the next crypt along looked climbable.
Exhausted, he overbalanced in turning, lurched back on his bootheels with arms waving wildly-and slammed down, to bounce on his back amid the long grass.
The world spun crazily, he groaned out a curse on all unhelpful gods and buried Silvertrees, and struggled over onto his side and thence to a sitting position, feeling weak and sick.
The door of the crypt he'd wanted to look at was ajar-and it took Flaeros a stunned moment or two to realize that it had suddenly swung completely open, swinging inward to show him darkness-and then, stepping out of the tomb with a strange, shuffling motion, a man in long robes, his face hidden beneath a lowered cowl.
A hand rose to throw back that cowl, and show him the smiling face of a man he'd never seen before. It was not a nice smile.
Flaeros struggled to rise, panting, slipped and fell, bruising and winding himself on the dragon scepter. The man undid a clasp at the throat of the rope, and then another, lower down.
The bard got himself up on one elbow again, tried to use the scepter as a prop to push himself up by-and slipped again, reeling in his weariness.
The robe fell away-revealing not a torso and legs, but the undulating coils of a snake. Flaeros stared down at it, and then back up at that terrible smile.
The man's eyes were fixed on him-and they were now vertical slits of gold in black, staring pupils. Scales sprouted along the man's arms, racing up towards his shoulders, as he threw back his head and hissed.
As Flaeros stared at what could only be a Serpent-priest, that hiss went on and on. The man's mouth was widening, his face flattening and growing broader along with it, and that maw gaped wide to display rows of fangs.
The bard whimpered, or tried to, and backed away-clumsily, scrambling on one hip. Almost lazily the snake-man slithered forward to loom over him, upright and swaying, now all snake except its human arms-arms that spread wide to grab hold of Flaeros no matter what dodge he might try.
Weakly the bard tried to rise again, but the snake was already above him, forked tongue flicking in that hideously wide smile. Its coils curled, its tail nicked-and like a cracking whip, lashed around to strike the bard's limbs out from under him, tumbling Flaeros once more onto his back.
Delicately the snake laid another coil over his chest, pinning him, and in breathless, helpless