The Sorcerer (11 page)

their lunch in cold silence, Khelben urging Galaeron and Aris to gorge themselves and build up what stores of fat they could. They did as the archmage suggested, and though the giant’s s presence was a very open secret in the caravan, Storm renewed the invisibility spell on him. They spent the rest of the day feeling lethargic and uncomfortable, until the caravan master finally called a halt It was already late in the afternoon, with the sun sinking low over the Storm Horns and the road ahead vanishing into its golden glow.

No wonder, then, that no one sounded the alarm before the dragons were on them. The creatures came straight out of the sun, the big one in the center sweeping low over the center of the caravan, its mere presence panicking mounts and men alike, sending guards diving for roadsides and horses crashing headlong into the woods south of the road. The great beast did not breathe fire, gas, or anything else, nor did it devour any horses or snatch screaming men in its claws. It did little more than swing its long neck from one side of the road to the other, its great head passing slowly over each knot of cowering riders.

Blinded as he was by the brilliant ball of the setting sun, Galaeron did not realize for a moment that the dragon had no flesh or hide. It was all bone, with an empty cage of ribs large enough to hold Aris, and blue stars burning in the depths of its hollow eyes.

“Malygris!” Galaeron gasped. “They’re coming for us now!”

“Into the woods!” Khelben shouted as he reined his horse into Galaeron’s and forced him to turn toward the forest. “Aris, duck and run!”

The invisible giant went thumping toward the woods, his big feet flattening the brown grass as he ran. Ruha and the others led the way after him, and soon they were galloping away from the road in a loose circle.

They had traveled no more than thirty paces before the low whumpf of pulsing wings sounded over their heads,

then a wall of blue scales dropped out of the sky to block their way. The dragon was an old one, close to two hundred feet from nose to tail, with fangs as long as swords and claws that could grasp a war-horse around the withers. It swung its head in their direction and opened its jaws to display the ball of lightning crackling in its gullet, then did nothing at all.

That was the frightening part, at least to Galaeron. The thing knew who they were or they would have already been dead.

“Back!” Khelben ordered.

As one they wheeled their mounts around and started back toward the road—only to stop an instant later when the third dragon crashed down in front of them. As long as the one behind them, it was perhaps a ton or two lighter, with a long, sinuous body and a bristly fence of spines down its back.

Like the other one, it opened its mouth to reveal the bail of lightning crackling in its gullet.

Surrounded as they were by Mystra’s Chosen, some part of Galaeron realized they were in no trouble. Any single one of his companions could have slain both dragons with little more than a word and a flick of the wrist, but that was a hard thing to remember while staring into a mouthful of fangs as tall as an elf. Knowing there was a second dragon coming up from behind made it all but impossible to remain calm.

Drawing his sword, Galaeron turned to the closest Chosen—it happened to be Storm—and yelled, “Do something, you useless scold!”

“What would that be, milord?” asked Storm, who had already drawn her own sword. She pushed the weapon uselessly into the air. “I’m not here to fight dragons.”

She set her heels to her horse and raced off. No sooner had she gone than the rest of the Chosen scattered, behaving more or less like typical caravan guards. Galaeron started after Khelben, and the dragon bounded in front of him. He

wheeled around, his mount stumbling as it bounced off Aris’s invisible leg, and started after Alustriel.

The other dragon landed on its haunches a hundred feet ahead, one claw stretching in Galaeron’s direction. Black fear welled up inside Galaeron. He felt the Shadow Weave flowing into him and found his hand dropping the reins so he could cast a spell. In his terror, he almost didn’t stop himself.

But the beast was only trying to capture him, and the dread he felt was only its natural aura of panic. If he allowed himself to succumb, his plan would fall. Evereska would fall. Vala would die. Galaeron forced his hand down again and fumbled for the reins, but he was already turning the horse by pressing a knee against its shoulder.

Ruha streaked past beside him and called, “Keep going!”

The witch flung sand into the air and shouted in the Bedine tongue. A thick cloud of dust whirled up to engulf the dragon’s head, and its talons closed on air. Galaeron caught the reins and jerked the panicked horse back toward the mountain of blue scales ahead.

The dragon let out a crackling bellow and sweeping its long neck around in great serpentine arcs tried to shake free of the swirling dust. The cloud followed wherever its head went.

Ruha galloped under the undulating neck and streaked for the woods. The beast roared in frustration, sent a blue bolt of lightning cracking over her head, and swung back in Galaeron’s direction.

A tremendous bang echoed across the plain, and Aris appeared beside the dragon’s dust-swaddled head, his largest stone-shaping hammer grasped in both hands. He brought the tool down again, staggering the beast and sending a ripple rolling down its neck.

Galaeron dodged past a wildly lashing claw. He saw the giant raising his arms for another blow.

“Enough!” he called. “Run!”

Aris brought the hammer down anyway, this time drawing a dull thud as it cracked the dragon’s skull. Galaeron ducked under a madly undulating neck and was nearly unhorsed by the edge of a flailing wing. He glanced back to see Aris vaulting over the dazed beast’s back. The giant shouldered aside a wing-buffet and rushed after Galaeron.

The dragon’s dust-engulfed head bobbed uncertainly around, and Galaeron heard a telltale sizzle rising from the thing’s throat.

“Watch your—”

A blinding fork of energy danced out from the dust cloud, but Aris was already diving for cover beneath the dragon’s wing. The bolt struck half a dozen paces behind the giant, spraying dirt and burning grass fifty feet into the air. Aris emerged beneath the other side of the wing and rolled to his feet, then raced for the woods in great booming strides.

Galaeron looked forward again to find the forest looming ahead like a wall. Ruha and two of the Seven Sisters had already dismounted and were crouching down among the drought-stunted leaves. He angled toward them. The witch rose and pointed at the sky behind him. Not waiting to see whether she was casting a spell or shouting a warning, he broke hard in the opposite direction. He felt a deep throb in his stomach as a pair of huge wings beat the air behind him.

A pair of enormous rear claws tore into the ground beside him, then the second dragon crashed to its forefeet and spun after him. Galaeron heard the shriek of Ruha’s magic bolts and the twang of a couple of bowstrings, but knew the attacks would not even distract the beast. He pulled his feet free of the stirrups and hurled himself from the saddle, flinging his sword off to the side and tucking into a forward roll.

At that speed the impact felt like it would break bones clear down to his ankles, but Galaeron came up on his feet and somehow ran two steps before failing victim to his momentum. He tumbled headlong across the meadow. The

dragon’s scaly belly flashed over his head twice then there was only dusky sky and dusty ground.

Galaeron came to a rest sprawled on his back and gasping for breath, staring back overhead at a wall of blue scales. He heard his horse scream and saw its body spin through the air off to his right, then he felt his own body erupt in pain as he began to slide across the ground. He raised his chin and saw Dove and Storm dragging him by his ankles.

“Well acted, elf,” Storm said. “I thought that ‘do something, you useless scold’ was an especially brilliant touch.”

Galaeron was in too much pain to tell whether she was mocking him or actually believed he had been performing for the dragon. They reached the forest, where the undergrowth added to Galaeron’s humiliation by slapping him in the face with leaves and twigs. The sisters dragged him another fifty paces to where Ruha was waiting. Finally, they stopped and pulled him to his feet, drawing a series of wheezy groans as he struggled to return the wind to his lungs.

Khelben Arunsun burst through the trees on his horse, then dismounted and sent the beast on its way with a slap.

He took one look out into the field, and asked, “Can you run, elf?”

Galaeron glanced behind him. The second dragon, the one that had just missed snatching him from his horse, did not seem to realize where he had escaped to. It was spinning in a slow circle, ripping up huge tufts of grass and sending small boulders bouncing across the ground as it searched for his hiding place. Still engulfed in Ruha’s dust cloud, the other one had gone mad with rage. It was feeling its way down the road on all fours, smashing and shredding any living thing it touched. Already it was smeared to the elbows with blood, and it was closing fast on a screaming tangle of horses and handlers.

Seeing the situation, Galaeron nodded to Khelben and managed to croak, “Perhaps not fast… but I can run.”

“Sure you can,” Storm scoffed. “You can’t even talk.” Taking his far arm by the sleeve, she bent down and

hoisted him onto her shoulders. Khelben nodded his

approval, then led the way deeper into the forest “Wait!” Galaeron wheezed.

The archmage didn’t even slow down. “What is it?” Though the pain was starting to subside, being slung

across Storm’s shoulders was doing nothing to put the air

back in Galaeron’s chest

The … caravan!” he said. “If s … it’s being shredded.” “Yes, and it’s our fault,” Khelben said. “Very unfortunate.” “I think Galaeron is asking if you couldn’t do something,”

Ruha said.

Dove glanced over at Galaeron and asked, “You really

aren’t asking if we could slay those little lizards, are you?” “This is no time for ridiculous questions,” Storm added.

“Maybe you’ve noticed we were taken by surprise?”

“I noticed,” Galaeron replied. Either his breath was

returning, or his rising anger was giving him strength. “We

can’t just let them die.”

Khelben stopped and said, “I thought you wanted to

destroy Shade.” His voice was sharp with impatience, but

there was a softness in his expression that seemed to indicate

he understood what Galaeron was asking—and why. “I

thought you wanted to save Evereska.”

“I do,” Galaeron said, “but you can save those people, too.” Seeing that he had finally recovered his breath, Storm

dropped him to his feet Khelben stepped over, eyes burning

with anger, and glared down at him.

“The Chosen cannot save everyone on Toril.” His tone

was as anguished as it was resentful, as though it pained him

to state this obvious fact. He waved a hand in the direction of

the screaming caravanners and continued, “You chose, elf.

Those few, or the thousands in Evereska and the dozens of

thousands across the rest of Faerűn who will perish if we

reveal ourselves and your plan falls.”

“But it’s our fault,” Galaeron said. He was beginning to feel very small and naive. “There must be a way without you revealing yourselves.”

“If there was, don’t you think we would have done it?” Storm demanded. “You insult me, elf. I wouldn’t do it again.”

She turned and started through the woods, more or less toward the last place Galaeron had seen Aris.

Khelben lingered long enough to explain, “The deed itself would betray us. How many caravan guards do you know who could defeat Malygris and two old blues?”

“None.”

“That is the problem,” Khelben said. “I assume you are choosing Evereska?”

With the screams of the distant caravanners ringing through the trees, Galaeron could barely bring himself to nod, but he did.

“I thought as much.”

Khelben cast a last glance in the direction of the road, then turned and started after Storm. Dove motioned Ruha after him then took Galaeron by the hand and followed.

“It is a hard lesson,” Dove told him, “but one you must learn if you ever hope to live with the power you carry.” Though they were running at a near sprint and taking care to do it without rustling leaves or cracking twigs, Dove’s words came as easily as if they had been strolling in the gardens of her house on Evermeet. “Babes may be born into this world innocent as rain, but they have blood on their hands ‘ere the end of their first year. We all do.”

“A comforting … thought,” Galaeron said. Though he was as accustomed to running long distances as anyone, he had to concentrate to remain silent in both breath and step. “Are you trying to make me glad I have no children?”

“I am trying to help you. Even if you eat only fruit and never set foot on the ground, you cannot live without killing. Something dies that you may live, even if only the worm that will never hatch in the apple you ate.”

“I understand the laws of nature,” Galaeron said. “I am still that much of an ell”

“But not a wise one,” Dove replied. “And wise you must become, lest you smother Faerűn in evil through your good intentions.”

She could not have distracted Galaeron more had she sank a dagger into his chest. He caught his foot on a root and crashed to the ground, causing the entire group to stop and whirl around. Khelben cocked his brow, Storm scowled and shook her head, and Galaeron could not read Ruha’s expression behind her veil.

“I beg your leave,” Galaeron said as he scrambled to his feet The others resumed their run, and he grabbed Dove’s hand to hold her back. “I am listening.”

Dove’s expression turned to one almost of pity.

“And still you do not hear,” she said as she squeezed his hand until something popped inside. His whole arm erupted into pain. “You have a lot of blood on your hands, Galaeron. The powerful always do.”

Galaeron raised his throbbing hand. Though he had not seen Dove cast any spells or felt her use any magic, it had turned the color of an open wound. He was so shocked that he barely noticed the broken bone sticking up under the skin behind his index finger.