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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Don’t fidget,” said the dragon.

“I can’t help it,” Ahearn complained, but managed to snatch his hand away from the rough, irritating collar before actually tugging at it. To the eyes of an alchemist, the parts from which it was fashioned would have been familiar but even more baffling: a pair of distended calipers, joined at their ends by a fine steel chain. Of course it was extremely unlikely that there were any such eyes abroad in a trackless wilderness.

However, the bandits were now close enough that they would surely notice any relaxed exchanges between the two individuals sitting by the smoldering campfire. And for the purposes of the dragon’s plan, it was crucial that they not perceive the pair as equals, but master and servant. It was just after dawn and, according to S’ythreni and Umkhira, the half-barbaric band had observed them carefully for most of the night, probably hoping to determine why two poorly equipped individuals would dare camp alone and in the open, particularly in such dangerous country as this.

The scrawniest of the bandits emerged from the tree line ten yards away. The dragon nodded at him. The bandit, probably not quite as old as Cerven, faded back into the underbrush. Less than a minute later, two men—one of whom was immense, thick, and mostly without fat—entered the clearing. They advanced on the campfire with easy confidence.

Ahearn shifted his shoulders inside the sheath armor S’ythreni had loaned him for the occasion, adjusted the bastard sword on his lap, and shifted one leg beneath him so that he could push quickly to his feet.

It seemed that the big fellow was unlikely to stop until he was standing on their toes, so the dragon had to call out, “That’s far enough, if you please. At least until we’ve been properly introduced.”

The big bandit responded with a subvocal grunt that sounded a bit like “Huh,” and stopping just out of arm’s reach, jutted his chin inquiringly at the two of them. “You lost?”

“No,” said the dragon, “we are travelers following our intended route.”

“To where?”

“A place of considerable interest to us, and quite probably us alone.”

“So,” the big one said glancing over his shoulder, and paused.

Ahearn managed not to smile. Just as they’d thought, based on S’ythreni’s last report; this one wasn’t the leader. After sending the most expendable of their number into the brightening clearing to see what the reaction would be, they had now followed up with the muscle. But the brains hadn’t shown up yet.

The big one turned back, looked at Ahearn directly. It was an unmistakable stare of challenge. “You have a sword out,” he drawled. “You scared of something?”

Ahearn drawled back. “I have yet to see anything out here that scares me in the least.” He returned the big bandit’s stare with a small smile.

The fellow bristled, muttered something that sounded like “we’ll see about that later,” and then nodded in the direction of the wood line.

Another man came out. This one was better dressed than the others. Most of his equipment had been created in a city shop or forge instead of tribal craftsmen and smiths. He was neither smiling nor frowning as he approached. If Ahearn had ever seen a face more devoid of expression, he could not remember it.

The man came to a stop between the other two. “We don’t see many travelers out here,” he observed. His voice carried easily even though his tone was surprisingly quiet.

“I am not surprised to hear so,” the dragon answered. “These lands are less than hospitable.”

The smaller of the man’s two companions suppressed a chortle. The big one simply frowned uncertainly at the word “hospitable.”

“And yet, here you are,” the man replied. “All alone.”

“Fewer bodies travel faster,” the dragon countered, stifling a yawn. “They also hide more easily when need be.”

“Maybe you should have hid last night, then,” the big one said. The man with the quiet voice turned dead eyes upon him. The big one’s jaw snapped closed and he looked away from the others.

“You do seem unusually certain of your safety, however,” the man said. “I find that puzzling, because there doesn’t seem to be any reason for you to be so confident.”

The dragon simply gestured to Ahearn without looking at him. “My bonded armsman is more than sufficient to ensure our safety.”

The smaller of the quiet man’s companions looked Ahearn up and down, not with disdain, but inspecting him more closely, as if he might have missed something. The big man just glowered.

The soft-voiced man only cocked one eyebrow. “It’s unusual to rely so heavily upon a single armsman, even one in Iavan sheath armor,” he commented. “He must be a demon in a fight.”

The dragon looked up. “He is, actually,” he sighed, “but he is not my friend. You see the collar, do you not?”

“So he’s your chattel?”

The dragon smiled. Never in his own life had the captain’s face appeared so cunning or composed. “Let us say he is bound to my service.”

“So you’re a wizard, then?”

The dragon couldn’t help scowling at the parochial term. “I do not dabble in mancery, but I know those who do. Indeed, one of them sent me on this errand.”

“Errand?” the quiet man asked with a bit more interest.

“The strange thing about mantics,” the dragon said with another sigh, “is that despite all their power, they are singularly averse to using it in a place where there is any risk to their person. They send others to do that work. And so, here we are.”

“In search of what?”

The dragon’s smile was broad and predatory. “Why, something of great interest to a powerful thaumancer.”

The quiet man folded his arms, but did so using slow, exaggerated movements, nodding at Ahearn to show that he was not reaching toward a weapon.

Ahearn nodded back.

When his arms were crossed, the man said, “It’s rare to find good conversation out here in the wilderness. But I confess that I would appreciate a more detailed answer than the one you just gave.”

“I appreciate good conversation as well,” said the dragon, “but I have yet to encounter any out here in the wilderness. Alas, this one is the best I’ve had so far.” Ahearn wasn’t sure how the calm man remained so in the face of such a slight.

But he merely shook his head and repeated his request. “I wish to know what are you searching for. In detail.”

“Well,” exclaimed the dragon sardonically, “at last: the conversation becomes frank. So I shall be just as frank by sharing the single most important ‘detail.’” He leaned toward the man. “It is this: that what I search for is my business, not your business.” He leaned back. “However, if you are interested, I would be amenable to hiring your company as additional protectors for our journey north.”

“You’re going north? There isn’t much there except ruins. Dangerous ones.”

“See?” answered the dragon. “You are already familiar with our destination.”

“We are,” the man answered, “but I don’t see how you mean to pay for our services, let alone a bowl of gruel at a seedy tavern.”

The dragon considered the state of its fingernails and cuticles. “It is helpful, actually, to appear impoverished in such unpatrolled lands as these. But to allay your doubt in my means… ” The captain/dragon produced a sizable emerald: the largest Ahearn and his companions had taken from the Sanslovan assassin they had defeated just days before meeting the dragon.

The three men leaned toward the gem. The quiet man studied it. The large man started to step forward, mesmerized—until he encountered the outthrust arm of his leader. Who nodded at the jewel. “You have satisfied my need for proof of your means. But I am afraid you must now satisfy my need for an advance against our services.” He nodded at the emerald. “That would do nicely.”

“Far too nicely, I’m afraid,” the dragon chuckled. “Besides, payment follows service.”

“Does it now?” the leader said. “Where I come from, it is the party on their feet, and with more ready hands on more ready weapons, that usually dictates the terms.”

“We shall see,” the dragon said airily, glancing at Ahearn.

Who affected a bored sigh before he cocked his head and looked at the calm man. “Must we do this dance?”

The leader frowned—but only for an instant. His expression changed from aggravation to cunning. “Maybe we don’t. But that’s up to you, armsman.”

“How so?”

“Well, what happens if you refuse to obey the one who holds you in thrall?”

Ahearn shrugged. “Not sure, but I assume something similar to the last man I saw wearing this collar.”

“Which was?”

“It strangled him… before it closed completely and took his head off.”

The calm man nodded, considering. “What if I was to tell you I have a charm that could prevent that from occurring?”

Ahearn shrugged. “I’d say I have no way to know if you’re telling the truth. Besides, no matter the outcome, it’s all the same to you, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, you might have the means to free me. But for your purposes, I’m better dead than alive, so why wouldn’t you let the collar do its work? Either way, you have both the gem and your way with him.” Ahearn jerked his head toward the dragon.

The leader shook his head, crouched down to look Ahearn in the eye. “You’re wrong. A good fighter—so good that this wealthy ‘pauper’ is willing to travel the wilds with naught but you at his side—is more valuable to my band than that emerald. To add a sword as lethal as yours is the promise of many more gems than just that one. What do you say? Will you rely upon the power of my ancient amulet?” He moved his hand slowly, lifted a rough crystal up from where it hung on a rawhide string about his neck. It was glowing faintly.

“You know,” the dragon sighed, “if you try to break the bonding, you’ll be the one he kills first. Strictly preemptive, mind you, but he can’t be stopped once he begins.” He shifted his gaze to the big one. “And you’ll be next of course. Tell me, how do you feel about that?”

The massive warrior’s eyes widened and he swallowed—before growing very, very calm.

“Enough of this,” the quiet man snapped, no longer so calm himself. He glanced at Ahearn and, holding his eyes, ordered, “Do not move.” Then, over his shoulder at the large warrior: “Belgur, kill the mouthy little bastard.”

Carefully motionless, Ahearn watched as Belgur drew his outsized broadsword. As if fainting from fright, the avatar’s eyes rolled back and he slumped over, limp before the threat of the rising blade.

Which slashed down at the calm leader’s neck.

As Ahearn had expected, the blow was awkward; the dragon had explained that none of an avatar’s skills became his own. The edge bit into the leader’s armor halfway along his shoulder.

The third man spun toward the suddenly traitorous Belgur, drawing his own blade to protect his leader and possibly save himself.

But that move fully exposed his left side, which was what Ahearn had been waiting for. Using the leg curled under him, he pushed up into a lunge, driving his bastard sword forward with both hands. The thrust punched through the third man’s light leather armor, shoving almost a foot of steel into his left lung, shattering ribs as it continued even deeper.

Ahearn felt the blade snag as the man crumpled; he rolled with the body, pulling hard on the hilt. As it came free, blood sprayed on him, blinding him in one eye as the other saw five more of the bandits emerge from the tree line. Four were charging but the fifth barely stepped beyond the foliage, drawing a bow to his ear.

The instant before he loosed the shaft at Ahearn—who, rolling, was a hard target—a sharp slap sounded from a thorn-covered hillock at the rear of the clearing. The archer’s readied arrow flew wild as he fell backward, a quarrel protruding from his chest. S’ythreni’s ironwood crossbow had once again proven both accurate and punishing.

Now, if she can load it as quickly as usual, Ahearn thought, gauging which of the four charging barbarians would be on him first.

Except, as planned, the two closest slowed dramatically, as if suddenly hip-deep in a swift river, trying to wade upstream.

The third and fourth bandits were a few steps back, converging from further points along the tree line, and quickly swerved to opposite sides of their struggling fellows. Along with his companions, Ahearn had hoped that the visual effect of Elweyr’s thaumantic construct would break the morale of the remaining attackers. But the battle was unfolding and changing so quickly that their foes’ comprehension of the disastrous reversals was lagging behind events.

The one that had broken from the trees on the far-left flank began to angle toward the center of the clearing, but suddenly broke stride, staring wildly about… just as Umkhira seemingly appeared out of thin air. She had come charging out from a spot just a few steps further along the tree line, the motion disrupting the chameleon unguent that had concealed her. The bandit, apparently hearing the rustle as she left the undergrowth, had spun so that she was no longer fully on his flank.

But whereas he had to spot his adversary before attacking, Umkhira was already leaping in, one of S’ythreni’s shortswords in her right hand, a stout club in the left. The first weapon cut a bloodred seam down the rear of the bandit’s shield arm, followed by a powerful sweep of the club which knocked his hasty axe blow wide. As the fellow stumbled back, Umkhira thrust the shortsword at his sternum; it skittered an inch before the mass and muscle of the Lightstrider forced its point through the leather armor and deep into the flesh behind.

As that bandit yowled and Ahearn rolled to his feet—none too gracefully, but in time—the fourth charging bandit stopped only two yards away from him. Suddenly realizing that the ambush had gone completely awry—underscored when one of his slowly struggling mates suddenly sprouted a quarrel from his head—he turned to flee. Those who had not yet entered the clearing had reached the same tactical conclusion; they were already smashing away through undergrowth, fleeing for the deeper shadows of the forest.

Well, thought Ahearn, that’s an end of it. Now we can just—

The body that had been Belgur’s sprinted past him, big feet thunderous in pursuit of the fourth attacker, broadsword held high and ready.

Ahearn gabbled out, “Hells, Dragon! What’re yeh… ? NO, gods damn it!

But the shout came too late. The big warrior was surprisingly swift, and although his mighty downcut didn’t strike the fourth attacker’s head or back, it sliced one of his unarmored buttocks in two and half-trimmed the muscle off the rear of that thigh. Shrieking, the bandit sprawled in the dust, blood gushing out of the gaping wound.

Apparently S’ythreni took that as a cue to continue the attack; another quarrel whistled to a stop in the other fellow who’d been snared in Elweyr’s mantic effect, catching him in the side as he laboriously turned to join the retreat. He went over with a grunt and a moan.

“Stop, yeh bloodthirsty idjits!” Ahearn roared above a growing cacophony of men dying in agony. “Are y’all daft?” The dragon looked stunned: whether at his own deeds or Ahearn’s rage was unclear. “Who are the ‘barbarians’ now, hey?” S’ythreni, the chameleon philter disrupted by her movement, flushed slightly where there were gaps in the oily coating.

Elweyr slowly rose from the brambles atop the rise at the back of the clearing; his careful motions didn’t fully disrupt the function of his own philter, which continued to partially obscure his outline. Cerven, who’d been detailed to personally guard him, rose to follow as the thaumancer rasped at Ahearn, “Couldn’t be sure what to do once the dragon ran after them.” He furtively glanced around at the moaning bandits. “So, better safe than sorry.”

Cerven, who having been fully concealed was also fully clothed, added: “It was impossible to determine if the battle was still proceeding as planned. There was a great deal of dust, and more movement than we’d counted on.”

Ahearn nodded roughly, biting back the reply he wanted to make: aye, mostly because the dragon wasn’t a great killer of men… just a great wounder of ’em. Resolving to compel the great wyrm to learn how to use a sword in the days to come, Ahearn glared at him, and then the others who had only wounded their opponents. “Show your mercies to the fallen, and quickly. Killing may be needful, but agony never is.”


Cerven called to the others from his position just within the tree line. “That’s Varcaxtan’s birdcall; he is returning.”

Ahearn affected an absentminded nod, hoping it would conceal how much that news relieved him. The Dunarran had proven to be a better addition to the group than Ahearn could have imagined. Although experience and skill gave him every right to be its leader, he’d adopted a role situated someplace between mentor and senior counselor. Probably a role he’s filled before, Ahearn realized. It explained why the “old man” had avoided direct leadership: to help them work better as a group and individually through casual suggestion and silent example.

In fact, that was just how today’s plan had begun to take shape. Shortly after the dragon had set forth his basic strategy, Varcaxtan had mused that “it might be helpful” to be selective about whatever unsuspecting raiders or bandits they lured into ambush. An hour later, the group was deep in discussion about creating a scenario in which they could observe the target’s numbers, equipment, and behavior before springing their trap. Everything else had flowed naturally from there.

Ironically, as Elweyr stood assessing the unsavory collection of newly harvested gear, he grumbled a complaint which suggested that Varcaxtan’s subtle lessons had not made as deep an impress upon him. “This was very expensive. Any one of the three unguents we spent would have paid for this rubbish fifty times over.”

“Maybe,” called Varcaxtan as he emerged from the tree line, passing Cerven with a pat on his shoulder, “but trade in the wilderness has little in common with trade in a city, Magister.”

Elweyr had been ready to scowl, but blinked at the lofty honorific the Dunarran had bestowed upon him. Then he frowned. “I have not earned that standing.”

Varcaxtan offered a lopsided smile. “Well, there’s no formal guild to assign it, and I’ve seen far prouder titles affixed to far less capable mantics.”

Elweyr didn’t like ceding to another point of view any better than Ahearn. So he changed the topic, muttering, “All that aside, this attack proved riskier than we thought.” He glanced at the seven bodies. “There were too many to control. The first group we saw, the tribal raiders, were fewer than half a dozen. They would have been a better choice.”

“They would have been more vulnerable,” Cerven agreed politely.

Ahearn shook his head, smiled at him. “It would seem so, wouldn’t it, lad? But here’s the thing of it: you can’t predict what a rabble of wildings like raiders will do. More than half their decisions are based on clan rank and personal honor. But these blaggards?” He nodded meaningfully at the leader’s body. “He had this lot in line and could make plans that he knew they’d follow—because even the sorriest bunch of bandits are dependable as long as there’s a promise of easy loot.

“And that’s what made them predictable—at least enough so that we had a good guess at how they’d react to the little show we put on for them, yeh? Once they settled in to watch the dragon and me overnight, we knew two things about their leader. He was careful, patient, and looking to get whatever he could without a fight. Or to get close enough so, if the two fools in the clearing were more than they seemed, they could be cut down in a trice.”

As if determined to sound a sour note in counterpoint, Elweyr held up the blood-spattered crystal the bandit leader had asserted to be a charm. “Even this is worthless. Glow glass.”

Umkhira frowned. “It is not a mantic artifact?”

“It is a trick. You keep it against something warm—like your body—and when you take it away, it glows for a few moments.” Elweyr sneered at the crystal. “It has one use; to dupe the stupid and the ignorant.” He tucked it into his box of alchemical substances, muttering, “Oh, yes, quite a prize. Only cost us three concealing unguents. I’m ecstatic.”

“Well, despite your droop-mouthed ‘ecstasy,’” Ahearn replied, “not only did we carry the day, but now we have more kit than we can carry!”

“Don’t remind me,” Elweyr groused, considering the condition and crudity of the “kit.”

Umkhira shrugged. “I have traveled and fought using far worse.” She inspected the clothes—especially the footwear—before turning to Ahearn. “And what of the three that fled?”

“No need to pursue ’em, my good green lass,” Ahearn assured her.

“I haven’t worn paint in many years,” she corrected irritably, “and the three who survived are oath breakers. They approached a camp with sheathed weapons and conversed peaceably. They all but promised h’adzok in so doing. Their violation should not go unanswered.”

“Best we let the wilderness have its way with them,” counseled Varcaxtan, who was inspecting the compound bow and the arrows; a second missile weapon promised better hunting results. “Who knows? Maybe the young one will be scared into better ways.”

Umkhira made a guttural sound resembling a growl. “More likely that he will simply prove more adept at betrayal, come his next opportunity.” She sheathed the shortsword, handed it back to S’ythreni. “But I will be guided by our need to move as quickly as possible, and by your charitable nature, Dunarran.” She smiled. “I can hardly believe I have now traveled with two Dunarrans who are good companions and honorable, rather than enemies to be avoided or slain.”

Ahearn was about to quip that the two of them were strange bedfellows, but before he could, his mind painted a literal picture of them in those circumstances—from which he recoiled. Instead, he set about the task of assessing the rucksacks, satchels, and bags for ruggedness. “Let’s be about passing out the kit and getting on the trail.”

As the others began discussing who should get what, the dragon remained still, studying its large, hirsute hands.

Ahearn leaned toward him. “You’re not above such mundane matters as seeing to a fair share of kit, are yeh?”

“In fact, I am,” the dragon murmured, looking up as if awaking from a trance, “but I shall do so, nonetheless.”

Ahearn had meant to roll his eyes in response, but the dragon’s attention had returned to the body of its avatar. “Takes some getting used to, eh?”

The dragon nodded. “This time, yes.” Its voice tapered off for a moment; it had discovered its biceps. They were even larger than Ahearn’s, albeit neither as hard nor as sharply defined. “As Varcaxtan can attest, it has been, oh, many centuries now since I entered a body that still has an active mind.”

“Hmm… sounds like another set of scruples you observe when dealing with us lowly humans, eh?”

The dragon stopped and stared at him. “I find banter—extraordinarily taxing at the moment.”

Ahearn frowned, as much at the dragon’s tone as its word. “Why so?”

It looked away. “You could not have missed my… inexperience with your weapons.”

Ahearn swallowed back half a dozen savage jibes and merely nodded. The dragon’s ineptitude had been so pronounced that, after putting a grim end to the one it had chased, it then had to return to the still-moaning leader. Despite striking the man a second time, it had still failed to dispatch him.

The dragon kept looking into the distance. “I have not fought in this way before. It is… very chaotic.” It turned back, and the eyes that met Ahearn’s were… imploring? “I must improve. With your help.”

Ahearn almost swallowed his tongue. That was almost, well… polite. After a fashion. “Then we’ll call a truce, yeh?” And maybe a change of topic won’t be amiss either. “So if you’re leery about bein’ in a body with a working mind, I confess a bit of curiosity: why this one, and why now?”

The dragon distractedly ran its hands over the cured leather that covered the broad torso it had inherited. “I suspect you and the others presumed I chose this avatar because of its—er, his—size and prowess.”

“Aye, so I thought… at first.” Ahearn assessed the eyes of the warrior known as Belgur, which were now as thoughtful and canny as they had been dull and simple. “But the closer we came to putting on our little skit, the more I began to wonder if you made your choice based on his mind more’n his body.”

The dragon began walking toward the weapons, all laid in an orderly row. “How so?”

“Well, it stands to reason that if there’s still a mind in the brainbox, it’s not going to be happy having an uninvited guest, yeh? So, with this big lummox being as dim as he was, I found myself wondering if you chose him because it means less effort in a constant war of wills?” S’ythreni and Cerven had overheard, glanced at the dragon, curious.

The dragon shrugged. “A war of wills? Not with a mind such as this one. Frankly, it cannot even focus on that challenge, and focus is the prerequisite for any act of will. I have constructed the mental equivalent of a maze for him to navigate before he can even touch, let alone understand, my presence in his mind.” The dragon paused. “And trust me; this one is not gifted at puzzles.”

The others smiled, but Umkhira frowned mightily. “This is all very well, but we have a practical matter to settle.” Their combined stares wrested it from her. “Well, it walks as one of us. Are we to continue calling it ‘dragon’? That cannot be wise.” She turned to the body of the large warrior. “So what shall we call you? Surely you must have a name.”

“Surely, I do. But do you really imagine you could pronounce it?”

Cerven rested his chin on his fist. “Is there an approximation?”

“No. Well, one employed by long-dead Uulamantre, but it is far too long. And your beastly truncation of beautiful names into the sobriquets you call ‘nicknames’ is revolting.”

“So what will serve the purpose?” Umkhira asked through a deepening frown.

“Well, we could just call it ‘Dragon,’” Elweyr suggested as he stood, “so long as we use a language that few understand. A dead language, maybe, or one that is used by a people who would keep the secret safe.” He glanced at S’ythreni. “Or maybe both.”

The dragon smiled slyly. “Mantic, I am loath to admit it, but I am beginning to find you not just tolerable, but agreeable. So,” he said, turning toward the aeosti, “do you feel R’aonsun would be appropriate?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure how many Iavarain will even understand that… unless they are Uulamantre or students of the ancient cants.”

“All the better,” the dragon said loudly. Standing very straight, Belgur’s voice declared, “Then R’aonsun I shall be, for a r’aonsun I am.”

Ahearn managed to hide a small smile; ah, you’re halfway back to yer old, insufferable self already! “Well, whatever you’re called, you’re still a nasty old wyrm. Aye, that’s right: our truce is over! Now get those great ham hocks you call hands around twice your share of the spare gear. You’ve the brawn and back for the job, and we’ve still a long way to go to the border of Rettarisha.”


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