The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (11 page)

Seagryn woke the next morning refreshed and excited, Ranoth’s words of the day before very much in his mind. He again had hope, and his day had purpose. He bought a hunk of cheese and a loaf of bread for his breakfast and started westward into the Marwilds. He ate as he walked, knowing with some odd inner assurance that he headed directly for Sheth’s lair. Once he’d finished his meal, it occurred to him that, since he no longer needed his hands, he could take his tugolith-form and make much better time. “And draw the amazed stares of everyone I pass,” he reminded himself as he discarded the idea. He could, of course, cloak himself as he traveled, but could that possibly deplete his store of magical energy? He decided to rely upon his human legs to carry him and to hide behind his unremarkable appearance.

He made good time. By late afternoon he felt Sheth’s presence very near, and corrected his course slightly. Walking through a tiny meadow, he glanced up and saw a round-topped hill just ahead. “There,” he muttered to himself. A few minutes later he was climbing its blackened slopes. A recent fire had denuded it of brush, and Seagryn wondered at that. He did not ponder long, however, for his quarry waited at the summit, and Seagryn had spent the entire day rehearsing this confrontation.

The invisible Sheth sat on a clump of granite boulders a hundred feet above him. Seagryn stopped walking and looked up. “Show yourself, Sheth!” Seagryn commanded brightly.

“Why?” Sheth called back, his voice strangely subdued. “You can already see me.”

“True.” Seagryn chuckled. “So why maintain this pretense?”

“I prefer not to reveal myself just yet to the army that followed you here.”

“What?” Seagryn frowned, and Sheth laughed harshly.

“Fool!” the experienced wizard snarled. “Look at the base of the hill! Just look!”

Seagryn whirled around and stared downward in amazement as fifty, seventy-five, a hundred armed Marwandians stepped warily from the forest and slipped around the perimeter of the scorched knoll. “I never —”

“Never realized they followed you? Of course not! Because you’re a fool. And yet — I’m grateful,” Sheth said with a cackle. “I really am.” The wizard leaped to his feet atop the rock, and threw his arms wide. In that moment he revealed his presence, and the Marwandian raiders shouted with excitement and charged up the hill. It happened so quickly Seagryn panicked. Trapped between a grinning shaper and Marwandian spears, Seagryn could only drop to his face and cover his ears. He barely heard Sheth’s last comment: “I do hope you like percussion ...”

Thunderous music rained from the skies, so loud it penetrated his hands, so haunting it wrenched at his soul. At the first deafening blast, he squinted his eyes, but it didn’t fade as most loud noises do. Instead it grew louder, broadening, deepening, swelling in an unending crescendo that seemed to lift his vibrating body off the ground. He forced his eyes open and stared upward in horror. Sheth gazed down at him, his lips curled up on one side in a handsome sneer. “How?” Seagryn howled into the crashing waves of chords, but he couldn’t hear his own voice, nor would he have heard the shaper had Sheth deigned to answer. Writhing onto his back, Seagryn peered down the hill and saw rather than heard the screeches of the attacking raiders. Not a man among them was still on his feet. All wore the same twisted expression Seagryn knew contorted his own face — a mixture of pure pain and esthetic ecstasy.

He recognized it now — the music he’d heard in the forest the night he’d wrecked the Marwandian camp. But that had been at a distance; this time it surrounded him. This epic orchestral opus held a hook for every raw emotion, retelling every stirring story he’d ever heard. He wept as much from joy as from the pain. But it was killing him, he knew, and he struggled to rise. Survival demanded that he run.

It seemed he had no legs. The music had robbed him of them. He still saw a bit and watched as one Marwandian after another pitched forward onto the scorched grass, blood spurting from ravaged ears. He longed to uncover his own, to surrender to the sweet melody that spoke of heroic failure and the nobility of sacrifice. But he didn’t. His heart had been too recently brutalized for Seagryn to remain a romantic. A burst of resurgent cynicism found him his feet.

He churned up the hill, hands still crushing his ears, his elbows angled out before him like the runners of a sled. The angle of the slope grew sharper, and he found he was able to bounce all the way up to his feet. Still he churned through the dust and ash, up to the rock where Sheth had stood and past it, on to the crest of the hill and over. Then he was tumbling into a chasm, one more object in an avalanche of gravel and sand. He clenched his eyes and tucked his head against his chest as he bounced, first on his backside, then on his hip, then on his shoulder. He was tumbling still as his mind went blank, but there was that one victorious last thought — he heard the music no more.

Chapter Eight

OGNADZU GOES

UDA didn’t understand her brother. Long after the others in their party had grumbled their last, Ognadzu continued to rage at the injustice perpetrated upon them all by the self-important Garney. It had been an inconvenience, certainly, and Uda assumed there would be repercussions within the Conspiracy. Very important people had been driven out that hole and down the side of the mountain — influential people who could do Garney harm and doubtless would, once the opportunity arose. Uda would certainly remember Garney.

But why did Ognadzu keep going on about it? The incident had, after all, forced the greats of Lamath, Haranamous, and Arl to rely upon the hospitality of their father. With his limitless credit, Paumer had been able to purchase horses for all of them in some tiny town at the foot of the mountain. Guest lodgings for the night could easily be provided at a nearby family castle. Uda recognized in this little nuisance an excellent opportunity to build contacts for the future. Her brother was making a fool himself. Why couldn’t he see that?

Uda had lived all her life knowing that no matter where she was, some Paumer palace was within only a few hours’ ride. What her father called the Bush House sat at the edge of the Marwilds not far from where they’d been expelled. Uda had rarely been there, for she wasn’t the rustic type, and while the palace itself was opulent, the servants couldn’t control the insects. She rejoiced, however, when it came in sight. She needed a bath — but far more than that, she needed a respite from Ognadzu’s boorish yammering.

Naturally, Paumer’s arrival at the palace was totally unexpected, so — as usual — they had to wait at the gate until the house steward could be found to verify that this was, indeed, the master. Then they had to endure the stream of pitiful apologies for their not having been admitted immediately. It happened all the time. They had so many palaces the family couldn’t get around to all of them every year. With the turnover in servants, they could hardly expect to be recognized at a moment’s notice. Nevertheless, Ognadzu apparently looked upon this as the day’s prime insult and slammed through the front doors, slashing at the maids with his riding whip. Uda lingered beside her father as their guests dismounted and the horses were led away. “I don’t know what’s gotten into the boy,” Paumer muttered apologetically to Jarnel and the others. “He never acts like this.”

Uda rolled her eyes at that comment. She’d not intended to be seen, but Ranoth, the bearded priest that she thought looked like a wizard, happened to catch her. He smiled slightly, and Uda first covered her mouth in embarrassment, then smiled back. What did it matter, she decided? They all knew her father was lying.

Paumer led the group into the entryway and instructed the steward where each was to stay. Then he explained where dinner would be served and invited his guests to rest in their apartments until then. The group dispersed, but again Uda waited with her father and walked with him to the family apartments.

“Why did he do that?” she muttered.

“Oh,” Paumer said wearily, “you know your brother. He had no chance to speak in that ruin of a meeting. I suppose he felt the need to make his presence known.”

“He succeeded,” Uda huffed.

“Remember, young lady, it was just this morning that I caught you blistering the ears of the two most powerful generals in the world!”

“They were dressed like servants. How was I supposed to know?” she began, but Paumer was chuckling, so she relaxed and continued more quietly, “Besides, I think that I more than made up for that this afternoon.”

“You did, indeed.” Paumer smiled. “You were very much the proper hostess.” Uda was about to be very pleased by that, but then her father spoiled it all by patting her on the head. She hated that!

“At least one good thing came out of the day,” she announced as Paumer turned in at his doorway.

“And what was that?” he muttered as he unfastened his servant tunic. He wasn’t listening, of course, and that infuriated Uda far worse than the head pat. But he was
about
to listen.

“I met Dark the prophet,” she said theatrically, then she sashayed down the carpeted hall to her own room.

“What?” Paumer shouted as he bounded back out into the hallway behind her. “What was that?”

Uda arched both her shoulders and her eyebrows. “You heard me.” She danced through her door. Inside her room, she found a maid feverishly sorting through gowns, trying to find one Uda’s size. “Hello,” she said. The woman whirled around and stared at her in terror. “She probably expects the same treatment from me she got from Ognadzu,” Uda had time to think before her father burst into the room behind her and whirled her around to face him.

“I can guess what you meant by that, young lady, and I don’t like it! That boy has caused nothing but confusion since he first appeared, and I’ll not tolerate any romantic notions being directed toward him by my own daughter!”

“Romantic notions?” Uda frowned innocently. “Did I say anything about romantic notions?”

“Now listen, child, you may think your father notices nothing but business, but I can assure you I was well aware of your dewy-eyed staring this afternoon!”

Uda glanced over at the maid, who was so astonished by this heated exchange that she had quite forgotten herself and was staring. “He’s jealous,” Uda explained.

“Uda!” Paumer roared. Then he glared at the hapless servant. “Get out!” he bellowed, and the woman dashed between them and through the door. Uda giggled merrily. “Why are you laughing at me?” Paumer screeched, his composure totally fled.

“Because!” Uda kept giggling. “You’re funny!” She covered her face with her hand and doubled over, then straightened up and peeked through her fingers, expecting him to be laughing too.

Paumer wasn’t. Hurt spilled onto the merchant’s face, not in tears, but in an odd caricature of his normal smile. Uda had often seen this look, but she’d never before put it there herself. She’d thought only her mother capable of hurting her father so. The sudden discovery that she could froze Uda’s laughter in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately.

Paumer stiffened, then cleared his throat. “What for?” He shrugged. Then he quickly left her room.

All the spring seemed to drain from Uda’s legs as she wobbled to her bed and sat down on it. “Maid!” she called. “Draw a bath!” She had much to ponder.

Ognadzu did not appear at the dinner table. No one took public notice of that, but everyone seemed more at ease. Uda said nothing, preferring to look demure and listen while the principal figures of the Conspiracy spoke of the crisis they faced.

“Is there no way you can contain him?” Paumer pleaded with Jarnel.

“I’m no wizard,” the Pyralu General said. “It takes a shaper to counter a shaper; you know that.”

“Which means?” General Chaom asked, arching an eyebrow knowingly.

“You know what it means. We all know what it means,” Jarnel answered. “There will be an invasion of the capital city of Haranamous. I can no longer prevent it.”

“How convenient for you,” Chaom grunted as he took another bite.

“You think me insincere,” Jarnel said quietly.

“Gentlemen —” Paumer cautioned.

“I think it convenient for you, that’s all I said. You’re trapped between your mad king and your vain wizard, with no honorable recourse but to cut my warriors to pieces.”

“It will cut my warriors to pieces as well, Chaom! Or do you think I don’t care about my people in the same way you care about yours?”

“My friends —”

Jarnel ignored Paumer’s peacemaking as he continued, “Is it convenient for you that your aged powershaper has abandoned his friends in their time of need? Of course not, Chaom, and I do not accuse you of it. Nor will I allow you to accuse me of abandoning my friends. Yes, Paumer, my friends, for so I regard all of you.” Jarnel looked straight at Chaom. “Yes ... even you.” The general stood up, folded his napkin beside his plate, and bowed deeply to his host. “I thank you for the meal, Paumer, and the offer of a bed. I fear I must decline the latter, for I left my army under the command of an underling impatient to make his reputation.”

“But you’ve not rested in two days —”

“Ah, but I have napped,” Jarnel said, firing such a bright smile at Uda that the girl jumped in surprise. “Haven’t I?” he asked.

Uda said nothing, but she felt her face flush. She wanted to race from the table in embarrassment. Fortunately Chaom stood up too, which drew everyone’s attention from her face to his. Uda was able to breathe again.

“I travel with you,” Chaom muttered to Jarnel.

“That may inconvenience you,” the Pyralu General murmured. Uda cringed, expecting the argument to erupt anew.

It didn’t. Instead, the general of Haranamous laughed aloud, and walked around to clap his rival on the shoulder. Uda didn’t understand the exchange at all and would have dismissed it as simple masculine posturing. She couldn’t help but notice, however, that the two men obviously understood one another, while her father appeared not to understand them at all. Uda had always regarded men as very much alike. Was it possible there were different types? If so, how many different types were there? She overheard the two religious leaders whispering to one another, so she took another bite and listened carefully.

“May the One we do not name preserve us from the laughter of warriors,” Talarath muttered.

“Umm,” Ranoth grunted. “Or send Lamath one who can make us laugh.”

Uda studied the peas on her platter, but her mind was busy elsewhere. She had still more to ponder now and she worried that she wasn’t learning fast enough.

The leaders of Lamath did not hurry at their supper, nor seem to feel any compulsion to rush away. Was this because they had no war to fight? Or was it true what she’d heard rumored, that religious leaders would go to great lengths to avoid being uncomfortable? The thought made Uda momentarily scornful, until she realized that she, too, had the good sense to avoid needless sacrifices. Was it possible that these religious folk simply had better sense than the two warriors? Perhaps that was the reason they had no war to rush off to fight! Uda felt certain that these men would not be sitting at her father’s table if they did not possess great wisdom of some kind. The House of Paumer dealt only with the best. Since she knew so little about these oddly pompous Lamathians, she obviously had much to learn from them.

She had many questions she wanted to ask, but something in their tone of voice or the way they looked at her warned Uda against addressing them. She was either too young or too female to engage them in conversation.

Dinner ended, and the two guests disappeared down the corridor toward rooms Uda was certain she’d never been inside. She needed to tour this place in the morning, she thought to herself. For now, however, her main task was to comfort her father. She scurried down the family hallway after him; hooking her arm through his, she slowed to match his strolling pace.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Paumer looked weary. “I don’t know,” he muttered. She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She shifted strategies.

“Did you forbid Ognadzu to come to dinner?” she asked.

“I did not.” Her father frowned. “That was his own choice. I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy ...” Uda recognized that he said this more to himself than to her. She was losing him.

“He’ll be fine,” she comforted, just as she’d heard her mother comfort him many times before. “He just had a bad day. You’ll see tomorrow.”

Paumer faced his daughter, looking deeply into her eyes. “Will I?” he asked pointedly, and Uda blinked, startled by the intensity of his stare. Then he seemed to go limp, and his eyes flicked back to the tapestried wall behind her head. “Good night, child,” he murmured. He gave her forehead a perfunctory kiss, then drifted into his own apartments and closed his door.

Uda frowned. That hadn’t gone well. She reviewed her mistakes as she walked down the corridor and into her room. Then she cursed the maid. Her tapers had not been lit!

“She didn’t do it,” a voice said in the darkness, and Uda gasped and jumped back against her door. “It’s just me.”

“I know it’s just you, but you still scared me,” Uda snarled. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”

Ognadzu sighed. “You sound just like mother when you scold. If I remember rightly.”

Uda’s eyes were adjusting, and she saw her brother clearly now. He sat in the window seat and had opened the shutters to the night air. The moon wasn’t up, but there were many stars. They gave enough light for her to see the wetness glisten on his cheeks.

“She’s not gone that much —”

“Come now, Uda,” Ognadzu sneered. “You think you’re talking to one of those priests?”

“You missed some good conversation. Some important conversation!”

“I heard every word.”

“Oh?” Uda said with a quality of sarcasm possible only between siblings. “Were you under the table?”

“I had my ear to the talk-box.”

“The what?”

It was Ognadzu’s turn to be snide. “You don’t know anything about this house, do you?”

“Why? What should I know?”