they liked the soldier’s life. Certainly, his wizardry notwithstanding, Oraxes hadn’t seemed to be doing much with his days beyond slouching around and acting like a street tough.
Or maybe he and his fellows would hate war and prove utterly useless to boot. Only one thing was certain- Aoth would have traded them all to have Jhesrhi back. But she was stuck in Luthcheq for the moment. Tchazzar wanted her to help him draft new laws on magic, or some such nonsense.
Soolabax appeared on the plain ahead. “Curse it,” said Aoth.
“What?” Oraxes asked.
“You’ll see in a heartbeat or two if your eyes are good.”
During Aoth’s absence, the enemy had arrived to lay siege to the town. Since Soolabax controlled one of the primary routes south, it was only what he’d expected. But he wished the enemy had allowed him a little more time to prepare.
The Threskelans were still in the first stage of the seige, pitching tents, digging trenches and latrines, and throwing up earthworks. Looking for ways to disrupt their activities, Aoth studied the vista below. Then on the far side of the town, a blue dragon spread its wings, lashed them, and soared upward. Its scales glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.
Aoth was no authority on wyrms, but he judged that the specimen wasn’t as big, old, and accordingly powerful as some. So that much was good. What was bad was that none of his companions seemed aware of the foe soaring up into the air to attack them. Thanks to some spell or talisman, the creature was currently invisible. Not to Aoth’s spellscarred eyes-or to Jet, who could look through them at will-but to everybody else’s.
Aoth pointed his spear and rattled off a charm. A spark leaped from the point and streaked over Soolabax. When it came close to the blue, it exploded with a boom, engulfing the reptile in a burst of yellow flame. The dragon screeched.
It kept coming though, and as soon as it hurtled beyond the point of detonation, everyone but Aoth and Jet lost track of its exact location. But at least the other griffon riders understood they were facing some sort of threat. They veered off and unlimbered their bows.
Meanwhile, the blue opened its jaws wide and spat a dazzling bolt of lightning. Jet swooped lower, and the thunderbolt burned over Aoth’s head.
Aoth struck back by hurling darts of green light. Jet’s wings pounded as he sought to maneuver and climb. They were rapidly approaching the dragon, only at a lower altitude, and neither of those things boded well for their survival.
Talons outstretched, the blue plummeted at them. Jet raised one wing, lowered the other, and flung himself and his riders to the left. The gigantic reptile plunged by. It leveled off fifty feet above the ground and then, wings beating, began to rise again.
An arrow appeared in the dragon’s back. Aoth hadn’t seen who loosed it, but he was sure it was Gaedynn. Master bowman that he was, he’d hit a rapidly moving target he couldn’t even see. Unfortunately, the reptile didn’t even appear to notice.
Aoth abruptly became aware of a band of pressure around his torso. Even though he was securely strapped to Jet’s saddle, Oraxes was hanging on to him. The youth was panting too, a ragged, rasping sound.
Positioned as he was, Aoth couldn’t grab the lad and shake him, so he elbowed him in the stomach. “Calm down!” he snapped. “Make yourself useful! The thing we’re fighting is a dragon. Do you know a spell to turn it visible?”
“Yes.”
“Then cast it. My attacks will show you where to aim.”
He conjured localized rains of pounding hailstones and silvery flares of frost. The blue still wasn’t slowing down. Jet zigzagged and wheeled, swooped and climbed madly, fighting to stay out of reach of the dragon’s fangs and claws and dodge its bright, crackling breath. Oraxes chanted an incantation. After a pause he repeated it, once again to no avail.
“If he botches it a third time,” Jet growled, “cut him loose and shove him off. I could do without the extra weight.”
Oraxes drew a long breath, then started again.
Then somehow, despite the griffon’s cunning maneuvers, the blue was above them and the rooftops of Soolabax below. Lightning blazed down, and Jet just managed to dodge it. The thunderbolt blasted shingles tumbling loose from the roof of a house and set the structure on fire.
Even spellscarred eyes weren’t immune to glare. Squinting against the flash of the attack, it took Aoth a precious moment to perceive that the blue had spat its lightning, then immediately dived after it. “Dodge!” he screamed.
Jet threw himself to the right. One of the dragon’s claws grazed him anyway, tearing feathers from his wing in a shower of blood. Aoth felt the slash of pain through their psychic bond.
Raising his voice, Oraxes snarled the last line of his incantation. Neither Aoth’s frightened outcry, Jet’s last frantic evasion, nor the sudden appearance of the bloody wound had shaken his concentration.
A greenish shimmer danced across the dragon’s body. Afterward, the creature didn’t look any different to Aoth. But he could tell from the way the other griffon riders oriented on it that they could finally see it too.
Arrows flew at the wyrm from all directions. Some glanced off its scales, but others stabbed deep into its flesh. Two of the other mages riding behind sellswords threw magic. One conjured a flying sword made of golden light. The blade slashed rents in the dragon’s leathery wing. In his excitement, the other resorted to a thunderbolt of his own. It was likely his favorite attack, but essentially useless against a creature with a natural affinity for the powers of the storm.
Realizing it was in trouble, the dragon wheeled and climbed. Its head swiveled at it looked for the easiest way through the foes who surrounded it.
Aoth snarled words of power. A line of floating, whirling blades abruptly materialized in front of the wyrm. The reptile’s own momentum carried it into the magical weapons, and they sheared gory wounds into various portions of its body.
Oraxes crooned a rhyme in a demonic tongue. Some of the flesh on the dragon’s shoulder melted and flowed like wax.
An arrow, one of the poisonous black ones Gaedynn had brought back from the Shadowfell, punctured the reptile’s left eye.
And then at last it fell, crashing down on a house that partially collapsed beneath the impact. Aoth studied it until he was sure it wasn’t going to get up again.
Oraxes let out a whoop.
Aoth grinned. “I take it you enjoyed that.”
The adolescent hesitated, and when he spoke again, it was in his customary sullen tone. “It was all right.”
Today, Tchazzar seemed content for Jhesrhi to wear her usual functional, comfortable clothing, and thank the gods for that. She told herself that if she never had to wear ridiculous court attire again, she’d count herself blessed.
But if she didn’t relish fancy dress, Halonya plainly did. The prophetess still didn’t look especially clean, but she’d donned layer upon floppy, trailing layer of bejeweled and embroidered garments, all in various shades of red. Apparently the ensemble represented her notion of the regalia appropriate to a high priestess.
At the moment, a parade of architects was regaling her and the rest of those assembled in the audience chamber with concepts for the new temple. Halonya listened with rapt attention, although Jhesrhi suspected the girl didn’t understand more than half.
Tchazzar looked just as interested, but as time passed, his frown made it clear that he was dissatisfied as well. Finally he turned to Jhesrhi and said, “What do you think, my friend?”
Caught off guard, she fumbled for an answer. “Uh, the second one? With the fountain of flame?”
“The design has possibilities,” the transformed dragon said. “But it isn’t grand enough. None of them are.” He
