The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (18 page)

“Then cloaking is a shaping of perceptions,” he murmured to himself in fascination. All about him, men bellowed and warred, but Seagryn was lost in the marvel of his own magic and neither saw nor heard them.

He waited, relaxed now that the battle had begun, for the proper moment to drop his own cloak and reveal the firebridge to the Arlian flotilla. He waited, too, for Sheth to make a move, and had time to wonder aloud, “What’s wrong with the man? Can’t he see what’s happening to his people?”

As if in answer to Seagryn s challenge, the fleet of Arl appeared, and bowmen who had confidently arched arrow after arrow into the empty space before them now recoiled at the awesome number of ships and warriors they faced. Seconds later Seagryn unveiled the wall of fire to the Arlians, and those sailors not busily fighting fires or jumping into the river gasped with an astonishment at least as great as that of their opponents on the shore.

More than a dozen Arlian war boats had passed down the Sluice into the trap. Although their crews now fought to turn them, still others could not be prevented from following. One boat had managed to avoid the Sluice gate, only to founder on the rapids the trough had been built to bypass. Those aboard the boats already within the trap had few options available to them, and none of these were good. They could fight their shipboard fires and be shot down, they could answer with arrows of their own and be burned, or they could jump into the river and swim into the arms of their enemies. Most seemed to be choosing this last choice, but Seagryn’s next act made this far less appealing. With a coldness that horrified that part of himself which only stood and watched, Seagryn set the river itself on fire.

It didn’t really burn, of course. He’d just used his imagination. Nevertheless, to those on the banks and on shipboard as well, flames leaped up off the water, and those preparing to jump backed away in horror, only to be spitted on Haranian arrows.

And where was Sheth? What was he doing to protect his nation’s army? A few moments later Seagryn saw. The Arlians began leaping out again, this time into the apparent flames. Sheth had cloaked his illusion. Seagryn immediately removed it, and glanced around for new inspiration.

As he did, an Arlian warrior nearly severed his head. While he’d watched the battle in the river, the Haranian position on the southern bank had been overrun by Arlian cavalry. A sword slashed toward Seagryn’s neck, but bounced instead off his scaly forequarters, and his black-clad attacker quickly scrambled away in horror. Tempted to destroy these ground troops single-hornedly, Seagryn resisted and turned his attention back to the water and himself back into a man. Let General Chaom worry about defending their flank. Seagryn needed to cover the entire army.

Despite his inexperience, he now surveyed the action with the eye of a veteran. No one needed to tell him he had an aptitude for this — he’d recognized it quickly. And as he watched an Arlian sailor swim boldly for the shore, a new idea came to mind.

Seagryn willed — and shaped. And the Arlian, gasping in shock, stopped swimming and stared at a shoreline that suddenly appeared to be a mile away. Seagryn watched, and it appeared as if the man simply gave up. He rolled over, and disappeared under the current to be swept away toward the blazing boats. The thought came to Seagryn’s mind unbidden — who was this man’s family, and what were they doing this afternoon? Picnicking on Lake Arl, and wondering about their loved one?

As quickly as he’d set it in place, Seagryn withdrew the illusion. He stared now at the carnage before him and gasped at his own terrible power. Everywhere upon the illuminated river floated bodies of Arlian sailors — many of them bristling with arrows. He gazed to his right and watched the vain battle of one crew against the fire that engulfed them, trapped as they were against the line of burning boats by the swift-flowing current. He looked left and saw the rest of the Arlian fleet fighting that same current to move back upriver and away from the deadly Sluice trap, the rows of tiny oars churning the water like the legs of upended centipedes. Then he glanced behind him, and saw wounded and dying sprawled all around him. “War,” he muttered. He heard the hosts of Haran cheer their victory, and mumbled to himself, “I did this.” Dark had proved right once again. Seagryn was a hero. But the boy hadn’t warned him his heroism would make him sick to his stomach.

Chapter Fifteen

ROOFTALK

UDA found her father sitting on the low wall of the Hovel, overlooking the troubled land of Haranamous. He stared southward, but his mind, she knew, roamed the forests of the north in search of Ognadzu. He’d been like this ever since they’d returned from the mansion in the Marwilds, and she was worried about him. He’d not slept well these past few days, if at all. If he fell asleep here, he could easily pitch forward into empty space and dream his way down to death.

She approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him and cause a fall. Despite her best efforts, he suddenly jerked around, saying, “What?”

Uda grabbed hold of his gown to steady him. “Sorry, Father. Don’t you want to come in now? The sun will soon be setting ...” As she spoke she was reaching out to pull his feet back up over the wall to the safe side. He let her.

“Your mother home?” he asked distantly.

“Ah — no,” Uda answered. “We don’t expect her, remember? Battle between here and Pleclypsa, a bad time to travel?”

“Yes,” Paumer mumbled. “Wonder if it’s been fought yet. Wonder who won.”

“If it has been, we know who won,” the girl said as she stood her father up. “Didn’t Sheth tell you he was going?”

“Yes.” Paumer nodded with little apparent interest. “But you’d be surprised how frequently battles turn out differently from what you expect.” He turned his eyes to gaze down at his daughter, then reached out to stroke her glossy hair. “And how life does,” he added.

“You need to eat,” Uda said. Her father was sick — in his mind, if not his body — and the responsibility for nursing him back to health rested squarely upon her capable shoulders. “Come on inside.”

But Paumer lingered on the terrace, now looking westward. Uda followed his gaze. The sun had dropped out of sight behind one of the jagged spires of the volcano’s cone. In silhouette, its edges seemed sharper than ever. “Beautiful, isn’t it,” she gushed artificially.

Paumer grunted. “You see beauty. I see a splinter of rock.” He turned away from the sight. “Nothing is beautiful to me anymore,” he began, then his eyes caught Uda’s and he softened his statement with a quiet, “except you, Uda.” Paumer reached out to her again and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “What a fool that younger Paumer was to give you such a guttural name,” he murmured. “But you, by wearing it, have turned it into a thing of beauty.”

The girl didn’t know how to respond to all of this. She knew her father loved her — had always known it. But Paumer had never proclaimed it so fervently as in these days since her brother’s flight — nor had she ever heard him speak it in such defeated tones. It made Uda wish her mother would come home, and that was a rare feeling indeed. Paumer gazed at her. Was he waiting for some response? She didn’t know what to say! Fortunately, they were interrupted. Once again, a powershaper popped into their presence upon the terrace.

“Sheth!” Paumer gasped, for her father recovered from the shock first. “What is it?”

Uda could scarcely believe what she was seeing. While she’d only met this man a few days before, she’d known his reputation all her life. He was the invincible bear, the arrogant one, the most powerful being alive. Yet he stared at the two of them in terror, his hair matted down over his eyes, his once-grand garments dripping pools of water onto the mosaic tile. As startled as they were at the sight of him, Sheth seemed even more so. His teeth chattered together, and it took a moment for him to stammer out, “This new wizard! He ambushed me on the river! He —” Sheth swallowed before continuing “ — he has — skills!”

Uda looked to her father, awaiting his reaction. He couldn’t know the reassurance she found in the confident smile that curled his lips. Paumer casually ran a hand through his silver hair and muttered, “Well, now. Does this render our little plan unnecessary?” He was in complete control.

“Of course not!” Sheth shouted. “It’s now more important than ever! We’ve fixed an irrevocable compact between ourselves, have we not?”

“We have,” Paumer answered, nodding graciously.

“Then you must do as we’ve agreed!”

“I shall send the messengers tonight,” the merchant promised. “But tell me — do I also need to dispatch congratulations to King Haran and send a letter of condolence to your Lord Merritt? My watchers inform me he’s replaced your poor Jarnel.”

Sheth’s expression turned vengeful. “Send what you like to Haran. I suppose your courier will find him celebrating. But you needn’t send anything to Merritt. He drowned just a moment ago.”

Paumer hesitated in deference to the drowned man’s memory, but quickly moved on with business. “Then am I to suppose Jarnel has regained his lost command?”

“Someone back behind the Sluice gave the order to turn the war boats around,” Sheth muttered. “It may have been Jarnel.”

“That’s tidy.” Paumer nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. Then he glanced at Uda, seeming to remember her presence. “What shall we decide then, daughter? A meeting of the Grand Council here at the Hovel, in, say — four days’ time?”

“Will Dark be joining us?” Uda asked brightly.

Paumer frowned, then sighed and looked at Sheth. “I daresay he knows of it already.”

“I’ll kill him when I have the chance,” Sheth said solemnly. “His knowledge caused my humiliation! Here. In four days.” Then the powershaper departed with a sharp crack.

Uda grabbed her father’s arm immediately and jerked it hard enough to make him yelp. “Please, Father! You can’t let that happen! You just can’t!”

“Let what happen?” Paumer asked evasively, but she could tell by his eyes he knew.

“You can’t let Sheth murder Dark!”

Paumer stared at his daughter, then pretended to laugh. “You think I could stop Sheth from doing anything?”

“You’d better stop him from doing this or —”

Paumer gazed at her coolly. “Or what, little girl. What threat do you intend to make?”

“Or you’ll wake up one morning and I’ll be gone, too.” Uda spun around and dashed into the well-illuminated palace. She didn’t need to look around to know the expression she’d left on her father’s face. But he needed to know that she
would
have her way. Dark belonged to her.

*

The victory celebration of the Haranian court shocked poor Seagryn to his core. Never had he seen such behavior, never had he even imagined such! Distilled spirits flowed in such abundance he could scarcely breathe the redolent air without becoming intoxicated himself. Shamelessly exposed flesh bludgeoned his eyes, no matter which way he turned his head. The strident hymns of victory grated upon his ears, and the festive garments they’d wrapped about him reeked of a cloying perfume. Worst of all, this was being done in his honor — he was the hero of Haranamous. The motionless bodies of passed-out drunks reminded him of the dead, and the shrieks of lust called to mind the death screams of burning Arlian warriors. They’d been people, just like any people anywhere. Now they were people he had killed.

As Dark had promised, Seagryn had covered himself with glory — and it stank. He had to get out, to get this scent of musky excess out of his nostrils. He struggled through knots of tipsy celebrants, dodging their fawning hands and plowing his way toward the staircase that would lead him out of this fetid throne room and up to the clean air of the roof. “Excuse — no — please — pardon — not now —” he muttered, fighting onward. He heard the drunken king call out for him to come back and be kissed again, but he ignored the summons — he’d almost made it to the railing. Leaping a pair of lovers passionately entwined on the lowest step, he darted up the staircase to freedom.

— He’s on his way, the Imperial House of Haranamous said.

Seagryn stopped walking and looked around. Despite the din, he’d heard that!

— He’s stopped now. He is staring at these walls —

“Are you talking to Nebalath?” he asked the masonry.

— What’s this? Is the dull-witted shaper finally hearing?

“House!” Seagryn called as someone raced down the stairs past him to plunge headlong into the party. “Do you hear me talking to you?”

— This House has been addressed by many wizards in its time. In all honesty you seem exceptionally slow.

“Where is Nebalath!” Seagryn demanded.

— Continue to the roof. Your friends await you. And be it known, the House added, — this House shall not temper its observations merely because you are now aware of its comments. Many powershapers have trodden those stairs. Most were far superior to yourself.

Seagryn didn’t bother to respond. He raced on up the stairway and bolted out onto the roof.

“Here he is.” Nebalath gestured.

Dark shrugged and said, “I know.”

“So you do. Welcome, Seagryn the shaper! They’re shouting your praises in the streets —” Nebalath jerked his head back toward the battlements, and Seagryn walked to the low wall and looked over it. Against the backdrop of the nighttime sky, the city glowed a flickering gold. Bonfires blazed everywhere, and the sounds of laughter and music floated toward them across the murky waters of the river.

“They celebrate you, Seagryn,” Nebalath said kindly, but Seagryn’s gaze had dropped down to the river itself, watching for any flotsam of the battle to drift by. Then he looked suddenly at Dark.

“Was this in my best interests?” he asked quietly.

“What do you want, Seagryn?” the young prophet snapped savagely. “You’re a hero! Your actions have changed the destinies of Haranamous and Art! I thought you wanted to be important!”

“I was a lad once, too,” Seagryn responded. “I suppose then I did view such murderous activity as heroic —”

“Be reasonable!” the boy barked with obvious exasperation. “How can you become a hero to any group without at the same time becoming a villain to its enemies! I don’t understand you, you —”

“I do,” Nebalath broke in, and Dark never finished his sentence, for Seagryn had turned to face the older wizard. “I’ve felt as you do now. What right have we to wash a thousand futures down to the sea?” Seagryn nodded. “And what right have they to ask us to?” Nebalath added soberly, gesturing out at the joyous city around them. “Then again, they would say they have every right. To them, we wizards are merely a resource. We have this power to protect them, you see, and having it requires that we use it. But how do we have it, that’s what I’d like to know. Why should we be so — lucky? I’ve asked the boy, but he can only manage to babble religious platitudes —”

“Just because something is trite doesn’t make it untrue,” Dark muttered. He was in a foul mood tonight. His tone of voice made that quite clear.

“I want information I can use, boy. That isn’t. What do you think, Seagryn? Whence comes this gift of ours and why?”

— Why ask him? This shaper is obviously a mental plodder.

Seagryn ignored the House and considered Nebalath’s question. He didn’t choose to think of the Power — in fact, he tried hard not to. When the unwanted thought came anyway, he shoved that explanation aside. “Fate? Our destiny?” He shrugged.

“Meaningless words,” Nebalath grumbled. “As bad as the boy’s religious garbage.”

“Then where do you say it comes from, wizard?” Dark demanded. Seagryn wondered why the boy was so angry tonight ...

“I think we manufacture it,” Nebalath muttered, gazing at the paved rooftop. Then his eyes shot up to lock triumphantly with Seagryn’s. “I think we each dream it up for ourselves!”

Seagryn shook his head. “Not I. I knew nothing about shaping — apart from the fact it was evil.”

“There, you see?” Nebalath grinned. “You did know something after all!” Nebalath tapped the side of his head. “And your dreams freed you to become a monster — the monster you believe yourself to be!”

Dark looked at Seagryn, seeming worried at how the shaper might react. Seagryn saw the look, and it surprised and pleased him. The boy had evidently not yet remembered this moment of his future, for he apparently expected Seagryn to be shocked or angered. But the former priest had lived with his curse for many days now, long enough to examine his misfortune from every angle. This particular idea had come early on, and Seagryn had already come to grips with its truth.

For it was true. He did conceive of himself as a bumbling monster, crushing people beneath the weight of his talent and trampling over events that disturbed or threatened him. Yes, he was a monster. But his public humiliation had somehow made that bearable — punished it — balanced it out. At the moment he was very conscious of Nebalath’s cruel little smile, and — like a tugolith — he crushed it.

“And what is
your
altershape Nebalath? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you say?”

The older wizard’s mouth dropped open as the Imperial House suddenly snickered through its roof supports. Dark, surprised again and delighted to be so, turned to look at Nebalath and suddenly hooted aloud in understanding. “Don’t say it!” Nebalath trumpeted, and he pointed a warning finger at the prophet. “Don’t you dare reveal it!” Then the shaken powershaper fled the rooftop, leaving Seagryn to stare after him in amazement.

“What is his altershape?” Seagryn gasped, amazed by the impact of his remark.

“I think we’d better let you discover that for yourself. Certainly I don’t plan to tell you. And incidentally, Paumer has doubtless dispatched his courier by this time to invite us both to the next meeting of the Conspiracy. Shall we leave now and save the messenger the trip?” Dark looked toward the staircase. “I don’t sleep well under roofs that talk and I certainly don’t want to be anywhere near Nebalath tonight.”