The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (15 page)

The warriors looked hopefully at their leader, but he shook his head and they held their ground. “It’s — a bluff, I believe. I know all the shapers and you’re not one of them!”

Seagryn shrugged, and smiled wryly.

The boat had become visible again at the same moment as had Seagryn. The commander flicked his eyes that way. “The rest of you! Turn over the vessel and get it into the water! We’re taking this one with us!”

Seagryn’s smile widened as he watched the Arlians scramble to obey, for he knew now what he was going to do. And Dark hadn’t even told him! The boat was soon righted. After some grunting and shoving, they floated it into the river. The commander waved his sword and gestured for Seagryn to climb in.

“If you’re sure,” he said, walking to the vessel and following ten Arlians aboard. These all had their swords pointed at him uneasily. Seagryn took a place in the center of the boat and waited patiently until the rest of the black-clad warriors had jumped in. “Tie his hands,” the commander instructed, and someone stooped to do so. Seagryn smiled throughout the operation ... waiting.

The boat was launched. As they poled it away from the shore, Seagryn watched the riverbank recede, gauging where the current might be the strongest. “Stay out of the middle!” the commander shouted, evidently feeling they’d gotten too far out. As if that were his cue, Seagryn turned into a tugolith.

First the Arlians shouted in alarm at this beast’s sudden and terrible appearance among them. These quickly turned into screams of terror as the boat broke in half under the huge animal’s weight. The two pieces instantly filled with water and were embraced by the main current of the river, which hurtled them toward the falls. Half the Arlians had fallen into the water already, while the rest clung vainly to the pieces of the broken vessel and invoked the powers to save them. Seagryn, too, was in the water, discovering to his surprise the buoyancy of his great body and its inability to do anything but bob like a cork.

“What a time to discover that tugoliths can’t swim!” he thought to himself, just before going over the falls. He didn’t fear for his life as he plummeted down through the flood, but it did occur to him that Dark had never mentioned what injuries might befall him on the way to his destiny ...

Chapter Twelve

INTERVIEWS

“GRAB his hand! There ... right. Now pull!”

Seagryn felt himself being lifted out of the water, then dropped upon the shore. Someone landed heavily on his chest and started to pump his ribs. “Oww!” he managed to choke past the water that clogged his throat, and he found enough strength to roll onto his side and to pitch off his over-eager savior. “That hurt!” he gurgled, and several voices around him cheered.

“Don’t be angry,” Dark advised in his ear. “They’re just glad you survived.”

Seagryn coughed to clear his lungs and tried to sit up. “Who?” he gasped.

“The Haranians you rescued up above. They’re very appreciative, you understand.” Seagryn got his eyes open and saw Dark standing above him, hands propped on his hips. “Seems like I’m always pulling you out of the mud. There’s a weed hanging from your ear.”

Seagryn reached up with one hand, found no weed, and reached up with the other. As he pulled the soggy growth free and peered at it, he asked, “How did I survive? I thought my altershape couldn’t swim.”

“It can’t, but it does float marvelously. You went all the way under, then bobbed up, and then I suppose you passed out, for you took your human-form again. As I understand it, wizards lose their altershape when unconscious.”

“So then how did I —”

‘There were already a number of these fine Haranian warriors in the water, waiting for you. They were so grateful that you’d saved them, they were more than willing to rescue you when I explained what was about to take place.”

‘They believed you?”

“Of course.” Dark frowned, looking offended. “I’ll have you know Dark the prophet is honored in Haranamous!”

“That’s Nebalath’s doing,” one of the Haranians explained, and when Seagryn looked over at the man he extended his hand. “Captain Yost. I pulled you out.”

Seagryn shook the hand, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks.”

“They do have one request to make of you,” Dark went on. “In your appreciation of their help.”

“Yes?” Seagryn coughed, still trying to clear his lungs of the water he’d swallowed.

“We want you to accompany us to the capital to meet King Haran,” Yost explained. “You see, we’ve lost our shaper and are badly in need of your magical assistance.”

Seagryn looked around at Dark. “Did you plan this?”

Dark rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Surely you know me better by this time.”

Seagryn looked back at Yost and smiled weakly. “I’ll — I’ll be happy to travel with you ...”

To be wanted again for something made a tremendous difference in Seagryn’s disposition. He walked through the woods with a new confidence — or rather, with his old confidence restored. He was respected again, and his gifts were being recognized — albeit these were very different gifts from those he’d exercised in Lamath. And it was all so much more enjoyable! These people laughed! Not that his fellow believers hadn’t laughed also — it just seemed that this laughter flowed more freely, was more genuine, less bound by the chains of propriety. Of course Haranian jests occasionally ranged into subject matter that made Seagryn blush, but he did his best to hide his embarrassment and laugh along with the rest. He was a powershaper now, not a priest. What a relief it was to walk with a group and not have a dozen people pretending piety for his benefit.

He no longer pretended any piety himself. The One who is not named — the Power, Dark’s mother had called it — had abandoned him. Why should he continue to serve such an inconsistent being? Amyryth had called him a spiritual. Perhaps he had been, but he was determined to be one no longer. As Seagryn stalked through the forest east of Tunyial Falls, he discarded an old identity and donned an entirely new one. He’d become Seagryn the shaper — and he could be every bit as arrogant as Sheth!

Dark glanced up at him, read his expression, and cleared his throat. “You know,” he began, “you really haven’t done all that much yet ...”

“What?” Seagryn frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh — just that you may have a higher opinion of your shaper powers than may be accurate.”

Seagryn snorted. “What brought that on? Am I about to make a fool of myself in the court of Haran, and you’re trying to prepare me for it?”

“You — want to know what’s about to —”

“No.” Seagryn grunted and walked faster. Dark had to run to catch up. Once he did, Seagryn growled, “The things I’ve been through have prepared me for anything, Dark! I’m ready to be honored, and I’m ready to be laughed at. It’s all the same, because I realize, now, that I’m the only person who cares anything about me.”

“That’s not true, you know,” Dark said, but Seagryn chose to ignore him as he continued.

“I’ve learned through these past weeks that you can’t trust anyone and I intend to live that way from now on. I’ve committed myself to a dangerous task and I must be constantly on guard. Where are you going?” he added, craning his neck, for Dark had started dropping behind.

The boy shrugged and explained, “I have to live with myself already. I don’t need another pompous know-it-all in my life.”

Seagryn frowned. “You’ve just proved my point.” Then he turned back to trudge onward, looking neither to the left nor right. The soon-to-be powershaper of Haran could hardly wait to assume his duties.

They hiked for two days before the heavy forest thinned and they started seeing farms and herds of gentle moosers. Soon after, they reached a tributary that fed into the Great River far to the east of the battlefield where Yost and his small brigade had been captured. Realizing they could cut days off their journey by traveling on the water, they hired the services of a raft. But Yost sat pensively on its southwest corner, studying the western bank for signs of Arlians. “They might already be in the capital by this time,” he worried aloud.

“Not if Jarnel has his way,” Seagryn said offhandedly. When Dark whirled around to shoot him a horrified look, he realized what he’d given away. Yost, too, turned to look at him.

“What do you mean by that, shaper?” he asked evenly.

“Only — that — given his choice, Jarnel would probably already be camping at the sea!” Out of the corner of his eye Seagryn saw Dark breathe again, but Yost wasn’t so easily put off.

“I understand.” The captain nodded, turning his head to look back at the far shore. “Is it — true what they say about the Conspiracy?” he asked.

“What Conspiracy?” Seagryn and Dark said in unison, then they looked at one another in dismay.

Yost never turned around. “Well. If there should be such a group, I only hope it’s found a way to stem the tide of this evil Pyralu. It seems a certainty we can’t.”

Seagryn looked at Dark, and the boy shrugged and nodded. There was, indeed, a need ...

The subject didn’t come up again throughout the remainder of the raft journey, nor did they encounter Arlian warriors anywhere along the way. It seemed Jarnel had managed to find a way to hold his people in check — but for how long? As they floated toward the river gate and called for it to be opened to admit them, a host of guards scrambled out from behind it, their weapons ready. “I’m Yost!” the captain cried, and someone among the guards recognized him and called out, “It is, indeed!” The rusted iron gate cranked open, and they floated into the heart of the city of Haranamous.

Even before they docked on the palace island, Yost was shouting his report to his superiors on the shore. Within minutes, Dark and Seagryn were warmly welcomed into the most magnificent castle Seagryn had ever seen — and he’d been inside the greatest houses of Lamath.

“What is this place?” he whispered to Dark, and the boy made a point of whispering back.

“You’re entering the Imperial House of Haranamous.” Then the boy looked up at the battlements soaring high above them and shivered. “The place gives me gooseflesh.”

“Why? It’s magnificent!” Seagryn said enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Dark said. “It’s also alive — and mean. But don’t tell it I said so!”

“What?”

“You’ll see,” the prophet whispered uneasily as they stepped through the main entrance. Then they were being separated and led up different rampways.

“Where are you taking me?” Seagryn asked his guide.

The man nodded courteously and replied, “New clothing. This gown you have on seems ... overused?”

Seagryn glanced down and sniffed. He smelled considerably better than he had as a tugolith, but agreed it was time for a change. Once inside the room, he hesitated momentarily as the servant tried to take his old gown from him. He had been a rather prudish cleric, after all, and didn’t like anyone seeing him naked ... even a servant. As he thought about it, however, he realized how foolishly he was acting. He was a powershaper now and surely needed to dress the part. A few moments later, as he sank deep into a freshly drawn bath, his priestly past seemed less than a dream.

It was Yost, also freshly bathed and dashingly arrayed in a new purple uniform, who came to fetch him. “The king awaits us.” Yost smiled broadly as Seagryn stepped out into the hallway to join the captain. “You look much refreshed!”

Seagryn glanced down at the gaudy vestments they’d garbed him in, and shrugged self-consciously. “I suppose I’ll grow accustomed to it.” They started up the well-lit corridor. Seagryn had been provided with new sandals, and they clacked loudly on the marble floor. Soon they stepped out into a large garden and began to climb a vast circular staircase. It opened onto a throne room, and Seagryn got his first real glimpse of the power of Haran. The wealth that surrounded him dazzled his Lamathian eyes.

“Welcome, welcome,” the crowned man upon the throne called to him. This was obviously the king, but he seemed at first glance to be less than pleased by Seagryn’s presence. He fingered his chin nervously, and glanced around at those in attendance upon him. “This is he? This is the new shaper?”

“Your Majesty,” Yost began, bowing deeply. “This is the shaper who cloaked us from Arlian eyes, saving my brigade and myself from certain death. He also took the shape of a magnificent animal while in the Arlian boat, causing it to break apart and dump all aboard over the Tuniyial Falls. We’ve witnessed these things with our own eyes, and have the testimony of Dark the prophet that this is, indeed, a new shaper in the land. Your Majesty, I request that you welcome him warmly.”

“I did that, Yost.” The king frowned, and Yost glanced up at the man in alarm.

“He’s only being polite,” an advisor muttered in the king’s ear, and Haran nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know.” He looked at Seagryn. “So. You’re a shaper.”

Seagryn glanced around the room for Dark, but didn’t see him. Where had the boy been taken? “I am,” he announced. Was that too arrogant? Had he spoken the words too proudly?

“I see.” Haran nodded. “Well, I have need of a shaper, as I suppose you know. Nebalath is up there somewhere,” he gestured to the ceiling, “playing with himself as usual. Or maybe he’s not there. He bounces around these days, and it’s hard to keep a finger on exactly where the old mudgecurdle might be. What does it matter?” Haran shrugged broadly. He stood and stepped down off the raised dais, continuing, “He won’t help us, in any case. Says Dark’s promised this House won’t be taken —” he spun around sharply and stabbed an angry finger in Seagryn’s direction “ — but he’s got no promise from the boy that this land won’t be!” Haran dropped his finger and returned to pacing, strolling to Seagryn’s right. The new shaper followed him with his eyes. “And then there’s Chaom,” the king muttered. “My chief of staff, but is he ever here? Does he ever report to me? No! And why?” Haran squared around to face Seagryn, a savage sneer on his face. “Because he loses! Again and again, he loses! And then he runs off to — I don’t know, somewhere — to conspire against me!”

“Your Majesty, don’t you think you —” the advisor began, but Haran cut him off sharply.

“Close your mouth!” he bellowed, and his advisor seemed to be blown backward a few paces by the words. Haran turned back to Seagryn and gave a crooked little grin, his blue eyes never blinking. “They think I’m telling you too much,” he explained, “but if you’re a shaper, then you already know everything, right? Especially if you’ve been traveling with that brown-nosing prophet — right?”

Haran chuckled contemptuously, and Seagryn tried to recall if he’d met anyone more uncouth. Then he remembered Sheth.

“Well, don’t you?” Haran demanded. His unblinking gaze required some response.

“No, I don’t know everything —”

“Liar!” the king shouted, and he turned his back and walked back to the throne. He grabbed its arms and vaulted into it, then looked back at Seagryn and sighed. “I suppose you’re in it, too.”

Seagryn felt a knotting in his stomach. “In what, your Majesty?”

“Never mind. Have you seen Nebalath yet?”

“Wha — no ...” Seagryn responded, surprised by the sudden shift of subject.

“Take him up to see the wizard — if you can pry the coot away from his game. And, shaper?”

“Yes, your Majesty?” Seagryn frowned at the king.

“The Arlian army was right behind you on the river. I do hope for your sake you’re good, since you’ll be toe-to-toe with Sheth tomorrow. Well!” Haran snapped. “I said take him on!”