The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

BEHIND THE MASK

“You may relax, Talarath,” Paumer said as he pulled on his leather gloves and laced his fingers together to fit them down tightly. “It can’t be a dangerous journey. We have the best of gear to preserve us warmly through the worst of blizzards. We have the finest of horses, and they’re well rested now. We have the boy to see our future and help us avoid trouble. What can happen?”

Talarath snorted contemptuously. “Marwandian raiders, first and foremost! Can you guarantee you’ll not be hacked to death by the first band of rogues that happens across your path?”

“The boy could.” Paumer shrugged.

“But will he? All I’ve ever gotten from this so-called prophet is shifty eyes and slurred speech!”

“Talarath, friend.” Paumer smiled warmly. “Surely you realize you terrify the child. He’s very forthcoming with information when asked and he’s assured me that our journey will be successful and the dragon will be made.”

“Will you all arrive safely? Will my Elaryl make the trip in comfort? These are the matters that concern me!”

“She’ll be traveling under the protection of her husband, Talarath, who is after all a wizard ...”

“You seek to set my mind at ease by reminding me of that?” Elaryl’s father snarled. “That’s precisely the cause of my concern!”

Seagryn overheard all this as he saddled the horse assigned to him, but he felt no need to involve himself in the confrontation. Talarath was Talarath and would ever be so. Elaryl had promised to go with him, and, during breakfast, he’d received Dark’s quiet verification that indeed she would. He had to smile at Paumer’s simplistic assessment of Dark’s ability to avoid danger. In fact, the prophet had intimated they would find trouble in the Marwilds, but he’d offered no details and Seagryn had not sought any. It was better not to know.

As he led his mount out of the stable, his eyes fell across something that made him stop and turn around. He thought he recognized the dull gray haunches sticking out of a stall in the back. “Kerl?” he said, stepping around to see if he was right. “Kerl!” he exclaimed when he found to his delight that he was.

The horse glanced at him disinterestedly, then turned back to face the bare wall of his stall. Kerl obviously wasn’t the type to get sentimental over shared experience. Seagryn regarded the horse he’d already saddled, a spirited roan stallion that looked as if it might gallop all the way to Pleclypsa, if given its head. Just looking at the horse made Seagryn feel weary, and he stepped out of the stable and called out to Paumer, “If you have no objection, I’d like to change horses.”

Paumer probably didn’t, but this interruption gave him an excuse to break away from the troublesome cleric, so he frowned and came down the hill toward Seagryn.

“You’re dissatisfied? That horse is one of the finest in all my stables —”

“But there’s another mount in here I’ve ridden before.” Seagryn chuckled, ducking back inside with Paumer behind him. He pointed at Kerl. This time the stolid gray didn’t even bother to look. “Your people at the base of the North Mouth gave me that animal to ride up here.”

“That’s one of my horses?” The merchant winced. Then he frowned thoughtfully. “Those who pursued young Dark at my daughter’s bequest did say they’d found a mount from our stables near where he disappeared — but I’d hardly call this a horse! No wonder it took you so long to get here!”

“Oh, Kerl’s a little slow, but he’s steady. And to someone as weary of travel as I, he’s the horse of my dreams. You don’t mind?”

“I — I’m a bit embarrassed he even belongs to me. But ... if you’re sure ...” He glanced sadly around at the other horse and patted its powerful flank.

“Why don’t you let
Uda
ride that roan? I’m certain she’d enjoy it —”

They departed soon thereafter, although Seagryn nearly had to pry Elaryl loose from her weeping father. As he lifted her onto her saddle, the sight of her tear-streaked cheeks caused a lump to come up in his own throat, but he managed to get it swallowed and climbed onto the passive Kerl. Then they were off — Paumer, Dark, and Elaryl riding abreast of one another, Seagryn behind — and Uda unhappily in the lead, swearing loudly at the red stallion as she fought it all the way down the hill.

Berillitha waited patiently until the line of horses passed by her, then turned to follow Kerl. Seagryn wondered if the tugolith’s presence might alarm the horse, but Kerl didn’t even seem to notice. Berillitha, however, had taken note of Kerl.

“Why do you ride?” she asked Seagryn.

“Where we go is a long walk for a man.”

“Don’t be a man.”

“I’m not a tugolith, Berillitha,” he said firmly. “You know that by now.”

“You were,” she said, and she conveyed such grief that the lump came back up in his throat. His guilt prompted it. He was the source of her grief. And that burden was so unbearable he thought he might do anything to absolve himself of it. But how? The deed was done. And if absolution wasn’t possible, he would do the next best thing — remove his guilt by removing its source. Now, he couldn’t wait to get her into Sheth’s den and get to work. The sooner she was part of a dragon, the sooner he would be free of Berillitha’s sorrowful stares.

The first day’s ride was easy — for Kerl, anyway. Uda’s horse had almost given out by noon, and they’d been delayed briefly, but Kerl just plowed through the snow as if it were meadow grass, keeping all his observations to himself. They made camp near a stream that had not yet completely frozen over — and a marvelous camp it was. The finest fish-satin tents of the most airtight construction were furled and staked down with the minimum of effort. Paumer knew how to travel.

Even so, he sniffed apologetically at the accommodations and promised, “We’ll be back under a roof tomorrow. I have a mansion less than a day’s journey to the south — if I can just remember how to get to it ...

They found it by nightfall the next day, but due to Dark’s memory of the future, not to Paumer’s of the past. “Well I’ve only been there once,” the merchant snapped when he thought he heard complaint in Elaryl’s voice. They all enjoyed their warm beds, and arose well-rested and in much better moods. They each received fresh mounts as well, although Seagryn hated parting from his stalwart friend. “If you’ll leave him here I’ll
give
you the horse!” Paumer pleaded finally. “You can pick him up whenever you return!” With that bargain struck, Seagryn bade the old gray good-bye. He hoped to be riding him back north to Lamath very soon, but Dark would neither confirm nor deny that possibility. Dark was very quiet these days — and very tense. That was cause for concern.

And yet, four days into their journey, they’d still not encountered even a minor crisis. Weary as he was of his seemingly endless travels in this fragmented land, Seagryn nevertheless had even begun to enjoy this trip. The longer they were all together, the better acquainted they became, and Seagryn found himself revising upward his opinions of Paumer and his daughter. The merchant could tell a story with extraordinary charm, and Uda had the quickest wit he’d ever seen in a girl her age. She also had an annoying habit of interrupting him as he explained things, to interpret what he was saying to Elaryl. But she did seem to have a gift for that, and occasionally it proved to be helpful. Then too, he had noticed that her attitudes toward Dark had matured. She still treated him as her chattel, but she now directed far more genuine affection toward the prophet than she had during that first week up at the Hovel.

But by far the most enjoyable aspect of the journey was the chance to ride quietly with his wife and catch up on all the days they’d spent apart. At times, he paid no attention at all to what she was saying, caring only to hear the lovely sound of her voice and to watch her lips move as she spoke. And when the wind blew colder and she complained that she was about to shiver right out of her saddle, he tied her horse behind his and set her before him; thus they could drape their cloaks about them to hide their hands from the others and talk in intimate whispers.

The more time Seagryn spent with Elaryl, the less Berillitha talked. She kept pace with the group easily, her eyes always on Seagryn, waiting and watching for any instruction he might condescend to give. Whether she became accustomed to his ignoring her or just had an infinite supply of patience, he couldn’t tell. Seagryn was grateful, however, that she left him alone, for then he could ignore his burden as well.

He became so used to her silence that he grunted in surprise when she suddenly came up behind him and said, “Wiser —”

“Hunh? What?” He turned in his saddle to look back at her.

“There are horses all around us,” she said flatly. “People too.”

“Riders? All around us?” He craned his neck about, trying to see, but they rode through an area of dense thickets. Even though the leaves were off the bushes, their many thin branches obscured the view. “How do you know?”

“I hear them.” She frowned. “Don’t you?”

“No,” Seagryn whispered, controlling his growing sense of alarm. He would keep this news from the others until he could plan a good response — though of course, Dark already knew. This was the danger the prophet had seen. Seagryn looked over at Dark and saw the boy staring back at him, expressionless. “Where did they come from?” he asked Berillitha quietly.

“They have been behind us.”

“What? How long!”

“Since you awoke.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he demanded.

“They have been behind us,” she repeated.

“But now they’re —”

He didn’t finish his sentence — there was no need. The whole party instantly became aware of their danger. A moment before they’d been riding peacefully through the snowy woods. Now they were surrounded by a hundred black-clad riders, all wearing the glossy heads of the hideous pyralu. These warriors were armed with short bows, all drawn, and with arrows in place. The sight stole Seagryn’s breath away.

Paumer gasped in horror. To be captured by the King of Arl had been his nightmare ever since that ruler had begun expanding his borders. The merchant had always taken precautions to avoid even chance encounters with armed Arlians, but he’d relied too heavily on his own interpretation of Dark’s prophecy. He stared at the lad now, aghast, his eyes and mouth wide with shock at this betrayal. Elaryl jerked around to clutch at Seagryn. After firing her own look of contempt at the passive Dark, Uda looked at the wizard too.

“Wiser? Shall I horn them?” Berillitha asked loudly, and Seagryn hastened to hush her.

“Quiet!” he whispered. “Don’t speak!”

But before he finished the phrase, a voice came from behind one of the black masks. “If you are a wizard consider carefully before you act. Remember that you are surrounded. Should you cloak yourself and these others, we will fire our arrows where we last saw you and kill some of you, at least. If you take yourself elsewhere by some act of will, good riddance, but we shall deal harshly with those you abandon, in vengeance for losing you. Indeed, we Arlians have much to avenge upon wizards, so, if you are one, please reveal it so that we may single you out for special attention.” The voice was cultured but hard-edged. They’d been captured by an intelligent man trained in the use of violence — and Seagryn found that frightening. Far more so was his mental image of Elaryl’s arrow-pierced body. Dark had warned of danger, yet seemed also to predict success. Seagryn chose the way of subterfuge — he had, after all, been a cleric much longer than he’d been a wizard, and he knew well what magic could be woven of words alone.

“The tugolith said ‘wiser,’ not ‘wizard,’” Seagryn announced loudly, looking at no particular warrior, but scanning the eye-slits of those directly in front of him. “It is the title she knows me by.” No one answered, and the silence following his statement became most uncomfortable. When Seagryn could stand it no longer, he filled it himself. “What is your business with us? May we proceed on our way?”

“What is your business here?” one of the masks demanded.

“We are — on our way south,” Seagryn offered — a bit lamely, he recognized.

“And your business there?”

“Is — business.” Seagryn shrugged. “We are — merchants. We’re looking for goods to carry to Lamath and — elsewhere.” He glanced sidelong at Paumer, wanting the man to exercise some of his fabled shrewdness. But Paumer stared down at his saddle, hopelessness shaping his face into an ugly caricature of itself.

“And what do you intend to trade for such goods —
should
you find anything of value in these Marwilds?”

“We — we —”

“You appear to have nothing with you for that purpose. Where are your pack animals? Where are the results of your success to this point? In whose name do you trade? These lands belong to the King of Arl, and only those traders who have licensed their name with our king have been permitted to work these regions.

I assume you have stamped papers with you, indicating you have sought and received such permissions?”

Now Seagryn actually turned his head to peer at Paumer, and found the man still staring downward. The merchant had clearly known the facts of trade in this area already, and realized this alibi had doomed them. A web of words could indeed weave magic — Seagryn had just chosen the wrong words.