“Maybe I really had no business trying it at all. Perhaps the circumstances didn’t warrant it. One thing’s certain-I broke the rules of my order by doing it without asking Daelric’s permission.”
“Because you knew he wouldn’t give it.”
“Well… yes. And I believed my judgment in the matter was better than his. Perhaps what we just experienced was the Keeper rebuking my arrogance.”
“It seems like an odd sort of punishment. Why not just send an angel to give you a spanking?”
That tugged a slight smile out of her. “I don’t know.”
“Is it possible that Amaunator, or whichever of his exarchs took control of the magic, meant to help you? That he showed us what he thought we ought to see, as opposed to what we believed was important?”
Cera frowned. “I suppose it’s conceivable. But if so, why was that more important?”
“I don’t know. Finding the reptiles who want to murder me strikes me as extremely important. But come to think of it, there’s even another possibility.”
“What?”
“You were trying to cast what’s essentially an enchantment of seeing. My eyes already carry a magic of seeing that, even a century after the Spellplague, no one truly understands. Perhaps the two powers combined in a way we couldn’t anticipate.”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”
“There’s doubt in your voice. But either of my ideas is more plausible than the notion that your god is angry with you.”
“I hope you’re right. More than once I’ve heard it whispered that I’m nowhere near as solemn and dignified as a sunlady ought to be. But I do love Amaunator and try to walk in his light.”
“Of course you do. I feel the strength of the bond you share every time you invoke his power.”
She smiled. “As if a devil-worshiping Thayan would recognize holiness when he saw it.”
He grinned back. “Well, you’ve got me there. Do you think we dare try that particular magic a second time?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. We don’t have a second set of statues.”
“Next you’re going to tell me they were worth thousands and thousands of trade bars, and you expect me to pay for them too.”
“Maybe I can think of a way for you to work off the debt.” Using her fingertip, she traced the shape of the tattoo on the back of his hand.
EIGHT
7-8 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
The night darkened. Or at least it seemed to. Jhesrhi assumed that in reality, the enchantment she’d cast to enable Gaedynn and herself to see on the moonless night was wearing off. She’d have to renew it soon.
Fortunately, that shouldn’t pose a problem. Though she still regretted the loss of the staff the wyrmkeeper had taken from her in Mourktar, the new one was a worthy tool in its own right, and her bond with it grew ever stronger. The red alloy rings were even turning yellow, apparently just because she was used to carrying a staff trimmed with gold.
“Do you know,” Gaedynn murmured, “I have to give credit where it’s due. You said Jaxanaedegor wouldn’t bother sending a search party into the Sky Riders, and we haven’t seen any sign of one.”
“Don’t start,” Jhesrhi said.
“On the other hand, I have to give credit to the dragon too. He didn’t send anyone because he believed there was nothing to find. And again, evidently-”
“It’s the last night of the new moon,” Jhesrhi said, gritting her teeth. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll head back to Soolabax in the morning. Meanwhile, stop complaining and look.”
“I am looking. I can do that and complain at the same time.”
But he fell silent again as they prowled through the pines that grew along the ridge. The horses, lucky beasts that they were, were presumably sleeping back in camp. Even with his sight sharpened, Gaedynn didn’t want to ride through the dark for fear he’d miss signs he would have noticed on foot.
A long, echoing, inhuman cry sounded from somewhere to the west. As one, Jhesrhi and Gaedynn pivoted in that direction.
“On the other hand…,” the archer said.
Her heart thumping faster, Jhesrhi took a breath. “I can’t tell if the creature making that noise is a dragon. I certainly can’t tell if it’s Tchazzar. But we’ve found the reason for the stories.”
“Come close to finding it, anyway. Let’s hope it keeps wailing to draw us in.”
It did, and its call reminded her of wounded men crying out in agony on the battlefield. As, stalking up one hillside and down the next, she and her companion approached the source, her staff warmed in her grip. The sensation made her even more eager.
Because the arcanist who’d fashioned the implement had been particularly interested in fire magic. And now it was reacting to the presence of a mighty blaze-or, given the absence of any telltale glow, something capable of producing one. Like a red dragon.
A hand grabbed her forearm, arresting her progress, startling her, and bringing the usual reflexive spasm of loathing.
“Sorry,” said Gaedynn, releasing her again, “but you have to watch where you’re stepping.”
She looked down at the patches of pale, whorled fungus in front of her. He was right. If she’d stepped on them, the spores would have stuck to her legs, producing painful pustules or worse.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but this is about the most unpleasant bit of the Sky Riders we’ve wandered into so far.” He waved a hand, inviting her to inspect the gnarled, blighted-looking trees and thickets.
“I noticed,” she lied.
“Was it poisoned by the same power that’s making our friend caterwaul?”
“I can’t tell. Maybe.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
They stalked on. Over hills and through hollows where noisome fungus flourished and other vegetation didn’t. The leaves on the trees were sparse and spotted, and bark had flaked away to reveal pockets of slimy rot in the sapwood.
Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, settling when she turned her head to look at them directly. She’d seen the same phenomenon in Thay, on battlefields where necromancers had conjured. The darkness was struggling to give shape to something vile. It just wasn’t strong enough.
Her staff went from warm to hot until its touch would have blistered anyone else. Another cry sounded, and she could tell the source was close. Maybe just over the next rise. She and Gaedynn climbed to the crest of the hill and, lying on their stomachs, peeked over.
A dragon sprawled on the barren slope below. It was huger even than Jaxanaedegor, but also profoundly emaciated, although lack of food didn’t seem to be the problem. A scatter of bones suggested that it ate from time to time.
Or, more precisely, that someone fed it. For staples of some black substance clasped its legs and tail to the ground.
“It looks sick,” Gaedynn whispered, “but even so, I’m surprised those restraints can hold it.”
“They’re enchanted.” She could feel the magic inside them like an itch on her face. “Still, it surprises me too.”
“Have we seen enough to be sure that against all probability, you and Lord Nicos were right, and that’s Tchazzar?”
“We’ve seen all that we safely can, that’s for certain. Let’s get out of here.”
They started to crawl backward. Then something snapped and rustled overhead. They froze.
A wyrm almost as big as the prisoner plunged down to land beside it. Short horns encrusted the newcomer’s
