The Rage (11 page)

The question was, which spell to cast first in the final moments before Gorstag’s hunters rushed into the plaza. Taegan decided to armor himself specifically against ranged attacks. He trusted his fencing to protect him from foes bold enough to advance within reach of his rapier, but even the greatest swordsman could fall prey to enemies who kept their distance and shot him full of arrows.

He rattled off the incantation, swept a scrap of turtle shell through the proper pass, and the first two of his foes darted

into plain view. He smiled, because he’d guessed right. They carried crossbows. They faltered for an instant, surprised to see him waiting there, then lifted the weapons. They knew how to use them, too. Despite their excitement, they took a moment to aim. Then the crossbows clacked, and the quarrels leaped forth.

One shaft missed. The other struck Taegan in the chest, only to snap in two without penetrating. It had, however, chipped away at the magic. A few more such impacts and the protection would be gone. It was a good reason not to give his attackers a chance to ready the crossbows for a second volley.

Taegan charged them, his wings beating, augmenting the strength of his legs to close the distance in several prodigious bounds. His opponents tossed away the crossbows and reached for their blades. He killed the curly-bearded one on the right before his falchion cleared the scabbard. The other, a thin man in a high-crowned hat, rushed in stabbing with a dirk in either hand. The avariel saw that he wouldn’t quite have time to yank the rapier free and swing it around to present the point. So he sidestepped, and as the knife-fighter blundered past, bashed him in the head with the heavy steel pommel. The human lurched off balance. Taegan thrust his sword into his back.

That was two foes down, but Taegan had glimpsed more. He turned to meet the next ones, and a nauseating stench assailed him as withered, gray-faced figures shuffled out of the dark. He cursed in surprise. He’d assumed Gorstag had simply run afoul of footpads or come out the loser in a brawl. Yet that wouldn’t explain someone setting zombies on his track. It was astonishing that a spellcaster would even dare to create undead in Lyrabar, crawling with paladins and priests of the gods of light as it was.

Taegan had never fought zombies, but he had some notion of their weaknesses and capabilities, They were slow and clumsy, but strong, fearless, and difficult to slay. The best way to deal with them would be to keep maneuvering so that

only one or at the most two could come at him at a time. And make his rapier a more potent weapon, to let the animating force out of the walking cadavers that much more quickly.

He circled, sidestepped, advanced, retreated, and dodged, thrust, counterattacked, parried, and riposted. Meanwhile, he recited a rhyme and swept his off hand through a pass, managing the swordplay and spellcasting simultaneously as only a bladesinger could. At the conclusion of the incantation, he tossed a pinch of powdered lime and coat dust onto his blade. Magic groaned through the air, and for an instant, the weapon flared as if white hot.

He made faster progress after that. Every hit plunged the rapier deep into a zombie’s body, and a single such attack generally sufficed to dispatch it. He disposed of a woman’s corpse with the nose and jaw all black and mushy, a broad-shouldered husk swinging a battle-axe, and a skinny old fellow’s cadaver with bits of bare bone peeking through its flaking skin. Then another living man intent on creeping in on his flank.

Taegan grinned. Only a fool risked his life except for profit—which made him a fool at that particular moment— but even so, no one could deny the satisfaction of mastering an adversary or better still a pack of them. For a few seconds, the fight seemed an amusing game, then the situation altered once again.

A human might not have noticed, but a flying warrior learned to keep track of what was happening above and below him, not just in front and behind, even when he himself was battling on the ground. Thus, Taegan’s ears caught the whisper of wings. Glancing upward, he saw a huge, dragonlike silhouette, the wings fifty feet from tip to tip, with a crooked stinger at the end of its long, skinny tail and a rider straddling its back. The beast was swooping at Gorstag, who held his rapier aloft in both trembling hands in a pathetic effort at self-defense.

A wyvern lacked the intelligence, sorcery, and breath weapon of a true dragon. Yet even so, the reptile was far

more formidable than any of Taegan’s other foes, and he was accordingly surprised it hadn’t revealed itself before. But perhaps the rider was the sort of leader who’d rather send dozens of underlings to their destruction than face danger unnecessarily himself. In any case, since the bastard assumed his minions had the bladesinger tied up, he was racing to finish off the man he actually wanted to kill

Taegan spun and wings beating, leaped into the air. A blade bit into his calf. He snarled against the shock, flew onward, and saw he couldn’t intercept the wyvern in time, not by flying anyway. He rattled off words of power.

Transported instantly through the intervening distance, he was directly in the plummeting reptile’s path. He drove his rapier into its scaly chest, then tried to dodge out of its way. He was an instant too slow, and the wyvern slammed into him.

The collision stunned him, and he dropped tumbling toward the snowy cobbles waiting to smash his bones. Somehow he shook off the daze and struggled to beat his wings. To his relief, they still worked. The impact must not have broken any critically important bones. As he leveled off, then climbed, he peered about to see how the wyvern was faring.

The unexpected injury had caused it to veer off short of rending Gorstag with its talons, but that was the only good news. Despite the flower of fresh gore blooming on its breast, it was still airborne, its master still perched atop its back. It wheeled toward Taegan, leathery wings snapping and rattling, gaining altitude all the while. The rider, clad in a dark robe, shoulder cape, and cowl, swept a staff through mystic passes. The shaft was made of jet-black wood, while the silver knob on top was shaped like a skull.

Essentially, it was the same situation Taegan had already faced with the crossbowmen. He had no intention of hanging back while the spellcaster hurled one curse after another. Rather, he meant to close with the immense two-legged reptile and send it and its rider plunging to earth as soon as

possible. Wings pounding and rapier extended like a lance, he streaked toward it.

Even as he flew his fastest, bladesong enabled him to weave another defensive enchantment. For an instant, the words of power sent rainbows rippling through the air around him. The subtle illusion he’d called into being would make him look as if he was a foot or two away from his actual position. It ought to hinder the wyvern’s efforts to rip him to shreds. Whether it would hamper the rider’s magic depended on which particular spell the whoreson chose to cast.

A clawed, shadowy, and disembodied hand erupted from the silver skull and streaked at Taegan. He veered, dodging. The hand raked at empty air, then withered out of existence.

So far, so good, but he might not be as lucky next time. He had to get into sword range but realized that, his shield of illusion notwithstanding, it would be suicide to approach the wyvern at any but the proper attitude. So he zigzagged back and forth, making the reptile struggle to match him shift for shift. The dragonlike brutes could fly faster than avariels but were less agile in the air.

Even so, he’d nearly closed with it before he maneuvered it into the proper posture. He put on a final burst of speed and fetched up under its belly, where he grabbed a loose handful of scaly hide to anchor himself in place. While he clung there, it would have difficulty twisting its neck far enough around to snap at him or its tail to sting. The man perched on its back wouldn’t be able to target him at all.

Still, his position could scarcely have been more perilous. The huge, three-taloned feet scrabbled at him. The great jaws with the slit-pupiled eyes glaring rage behind them bit repeatedly, and the crooked, venomous stinger thrust and thrust. The wyvern thrashed to shake him loose. Meanwhile he struggled to hang on, twist out of the way of each new attack, and drive the rapier home over and over again.

At last the reptile shuddered and rolled over. It was falling, and Taegan had to get clear or it would carry him to the

ground along with it. He leaped away from it, wings pounding, and either by dint of a final murderous effort or simply because the wyvern was convulsing in its death throes, the stinger leaped directly at him. He twisted away from it. The bony point came close enough to tear a feather or two from his left pinion but failed to pierce flesh or pump poison into his veins.

After that, the reptile was too far away to threaten him. The rider shrieked, and for a moment, Taegan took a cold satisfaction in the doomed man’s terror. Then he glanced down and saw the men and zombies closing in on Gorstag. Ilmater’s wounds, was this fight never going to end? He dived.

Luckily, when the wyvern crashed down with an earthshaking jolt, it startled the ordinary humans, freezing them in their tracks. The undead took no notice, but they were lurching along more slowly than their living counterparts. Thus Taegan reached the ground in time to interpose himself between Gorstag and his would-be assassins. He drove his rapier into a zombie’s face and out the back of its head, jerked the weapon free, deflected a short sword with a thrust in opposition, and pierced his attacker’s solar plexus. An instant later, a mace whipped at his head. He ducked and extended simultaneously, and another animate corpse went down.

The surviving humans bolted, leaving the last two zombies behind to cover their retreat. Taegan destroyed the creatures, took a wary look around to check for other dangers, then crouched over Gorstag.

“You’ll be all right now,” the maestro said.

Gorstag shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” the student murmured.

Actually, Taegan marked the precise location of his pupil’s wound, and he didn’t think so, either.

Nonetheless, he insisted, “We’ll find a priest to mend you.”

“No time. Just listen.”

Gorstag fumbled at his side. After a moment, Taegan realized the wounded man was trying to produce something from

inside his blood-soaked cloak but was too weak to bring it forth.

The elf folded back the cape to reveal a book with an odd sigil stamped on the spine and a folio stuffed with loose pages.

“What are these?”

“The tome,” said Gorstag, “and Speaker’s notes.” “What speaker?”

Gorstag made a little rhythmic wheezing sound. It took Taegan a second to realize it was laughter.

“You’re right,” said the dying student. “I kept calling him Speaker even after I found out. It scared me to use his real name, even in my private thoughts. But you need to know. It’s (Sammaster.”

Taegan wondered if his student was slipping into delirium. Sammaster was a villain in old stories. Perhaps such a human had really lived once upon a time, but even if so, he was surely dust.

“I don’t understand” the maestro said. “Has some knave taken to calling himself by the monster’s name?”

“No,” Gorstag replied. “He came back, He’s leading the cult again, and this time the prophecies are going to come true. He’s found the way to make them all do what he wants.”

Taegan felt lost. He dimly recalled that Sammaster had founded a secret society known as the Cult of the Dragon, which by some accounts still existed, but beyond that, he could make little of what Gorstag was straining to tell him.

“Make who do what he wants?”

“It’s why we had to steal all the gems,” Gorstag replied. “That was you?”

“With the others. I had to, to keep them from suspecting I was a spy.” He panted out his ghastly crippled laugh. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth, out he continued, “Not a good spy, though. They caught me in the end. I thought I could pull it off. Thought I’d finally found a way to make something of myself, out… Never mind. It’s not important anymore. Keep the notes safe until the Harpers come for them. They’ll

find you. Somehow. Don’t trust anybody else. Even a paladin. Even the queen.”

“If the folio’s supposed to pass to someone else, tell me how to find him.”

Gorstag didn’t answer, simply stared up at the heavens. Gazing after his ascending soul, perhaps.

At that moment, had it lain in his power, Taegan might have consigned the young idiot’s spirit to the infernal realms instead. It was true, the avariel encouraged his students to revere him as a mentor and prize him as a boon companion. It was good for business. But that didn’t mean he was keen to fulfill their perilous, inconvenient dying requests. He most emphatically was not.

“Curse you,” he said, “you didn’t understand. I only liked you in a casual sort of way, and I certainly don’t care about your wretched batch of papers. You should have sought the aid of a knight. I’m just an avariel.”

Gorstag had nothing to say to that either.

Taegan sighed, gathered up the book and folio, and his leg gave him a twinge. Thus reminded of the gash he’d received, he checked it and was relieved to find it shallow.

He decided to heed Gorstag’s instructions in one regard anyway. He wouldn’t trust paladins or any of the other royal officers likely to discover him if he lingered there. He’d rather not try to justify his slaughter of several humans. The carcasses of the wyvern and zombies might serve to vindicate him, but it was by no means a certainty, not when the authorities held his profession in such disdain. He spread his wings and soared upward.

As he fled toward the salle, he wondered if he could find a way to turn the burden Gorstag had foisted upon him into coin. The possibility blunted his resentment, but only a little.

11 Alturiak, the Year of Rogue Dragons

Will was no mariner, out he and his fellow hunters had spent enough time sailing around the Moonsea, traveling from one job to the next, for him to learn that many captains preferred to hug the coast during winter. It gave them a fighting chance of finding shelter in a harbor or cove if a gale blew up. Nonetheless, after sailing past the third ravaged village, the skipper of the merchant galley had ordered his crew to the benches to row out into the center of the Reach. Evidently he feared running up on a dragon flight more than getting caught in a blizzard.