The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [108]
"Companions in this crazed quest," he announced in a murmur, "I must ask you to keep your heads down as you hear this news: over that height, I could see four or five large stone buildings-crumbling, to be sure, but buildings nonetheless. There's also a very good chance that someone has seen us, so I want all of you to get back to the stream-hollow now, as quickly as you quietly can."
"While you?…" Embra asked.
"Climb this tree and tarry for a bit," the procurer told her, "to watch our back trail, and make sure no one follows you. Mages wouldn't even have to risk themselves to send death to our camp… all the snoring night long."
Embra shuddered at the thought and sank back down the slope. Hawkril quickly moved to take the lead, lifting a hand to salute Craer, who returned it and swarmed up his chosen tree.
"No, healer: no fire," the armaragor growled. "Ever heard of beacons? This forest is alive with wizards and priests and battle-hungry warriors, and even the most stupid of them can move toward a fire."
"It's not dark yet," Sarasper muttered. "I can get us some hot herb brew and have the fire out before full dark."
"Ever heard of smoke?" Hawkril snarled. "At least a few of them can smell, too." The armaragor looked over at the sorceress, found her gone, and lifted his head sharply. Turning, as if sniffing a scent only he could smell, he spun around to glare across the hollow.
"Lady Embra," he snapped, "what are you doing?"
The sorceress had her back turned to them both. They saw her stiffen at his question, but she did not reply or turn around.
Sarasper and Hawkril exchanged glances. Hawkril's face darkened, and he took two quick strides toward the Lady of Jewels, feeling for the hilt of his sword. Her arms, he now saw, were moving slowly, almost lazily-but they were shaping gestures in the air in front of her.
"Embra!" he barked. "What are you doing?"
The sorceress said nothing, but there was suddenly movement in the dusk-darkening air above her. Hawkril stared, openmouthed.
Dark shadows and semisolid wings and a tail swept and coiled above the Lady Silvertree, shimmering darkly… and growing ever more solid.
Abruptly, a black-scaled, sinuous thing faded into full being above the dark-haired sorceress. She held her hands up to it as if in supplication, as it flapped batlike wings and writhed in the air, tossing two cruel-jawed heads and raking the air with talons longer than a man's forearm. It hung over her like a canopy, facing the astonished and furious armaragor, and it did not look hesitant or friendly.
Then the Lady of Jewels turned her head. Her eyes stared straight out into the gathering night above Hawkril's head, seeing nothing-as blank as if she were a statue. "Nightwyrm," she commanded tonelessly, "fly!"
The miniature dragon-thing boiled across the hollow like a storm breeze-but the armaragor was already bounding to meet it, his drawn sword flashing out in a savage chop that sheared off one squalling head.
A black eellike body thrashed in eerie silence, twisting back and away in the air with dark blood spraying from the great wound Hawkril had dealt it.
Its barbed tail lashed out, smashing a great splintered gouge in the side of a tree-and giving Hawkril time to dive aside, and the healer time to throw himself facedown behind its groaning, sagging branches.
Writhing in agony, the conjured nightwyrm flung itself from side to side in the air, as if to shake itself free of the pain. Hawkril snatched out a dagger, in case its next strike should tear his sword free of his hand, and dodged and darted beneath it, seeing the right place to stand and meet it. He noticed Sarasper up and running again but could spare no time to see where he was going-or what the Lady of Jewels was doing now.
Spellcasting, yes-he could hear new mumblings from her, a sort of chant-but she was somewhere behind him, and before he dared look for her, he had to take care of this hunting wyrm.
When it came down at last, in a long, curving plunge preceded