Dragon Weather (62 page)

“What?”

“He cannot follow you,” Thirif said, suddenly businesslike, “but we are passing through places he has been, at a time of year when few travel. He can easily set sorcerous wardings behind him, wards that ordinary people do not disturb but that respond to the presence of our magic.”

“He wouldn't know I was bringing you two,” Arlian said.

“He wouldn't need to,” Rime said. “Remember how we're tracking
him.
”

“The heart of the dragon,” Black said. “I still don't know what it is, but it's plain you and the Lady have it. That's what he's using.”

“Yes,” Thirif said. “I have felt the wards breaking, like an unseen spiderweb, but I did not recognize them for what they were.”

“Then he knows we're following him,” Arlian said.

“And how far behind we are,” Black agreed.

“There's no reason to take Belly or Drisheen up onto the Desolation with him,” Rime said. “He could leave them in ambush anywhere he wanted.”

“But I say they'll be just north of Cork Tree,” Black said, “because they'll want to be based out of a town, where they can sleep in comfort and buy the food they need. Stonebreak is too obvious, and would leave no second chance if we somehow slipped past. They aren't here in Sadar, and the villages in between are too small to hide them well. That leaves Cork Tree.” He grimaced. “Sadar would have been better, but maybe he didn't think it through far enough in advance.”

“Why didn't you say something sooner?”

Black looked exasperated. “Because,” he said, “I thought you'd be bright enough to figure it out for yourself. After all, everyone's said all along that you knew this was a trap. And up until we reached Sadar, I hadn't thought out
where
the ambush would be.”

“But I hadn't thought they'd split up, and Enziet's still far ahead of us! We might have walked right into it!”

“Ridden,” Black said. “We haven't been walking. And I've been doing the driving, and I've been watching.”

“But … but what would you have done if you
had
seen it?”

“Stopped.”

“And
then
what?”

“I hadn't gotten that far.”

“Oh,
that's
clever.”

“I told you, I thought
you
were ready for it.”

“Well, I'm not.” Arlian frowned. “But I should be.” He looked at Thirif and Shibiel. “They don't know we have magicians with us, do they?”

“How would I know?” Black asked, shrugging.

“Enziet knows you have magicians working for you,” Rime said. “He'd assume you might have brought them, but whether he'd tell the others I can't say.”

“He wouldn't,” Arlian said. “Not if he's leaving them in ambush.”

“You probably know him better than I do, but wouldn't he want them to be ready?” Black asked.

Arlian shook his head. “He'd want them confident. He might have told Toribor and Drisheen, but no one else; he wouldn't want them scared.”

Rime nodded. “I'd say you're right.”

“Then we have surprise on our side.” He turned to Thirif. “What can you do to aid us?”

Thirif looked troubled. “You know the nature of magic, my lord.”

“I know something of it,” Arlian agreed. “Not that much.”

Thirif sighed. “Our power is weak here. The dreams are thin and pale, like mist, while the dreams of Arithei are deep water. We cannot create new spells here, but only expend those we brought with us. We have certain magicks I thought might be useful, some of which can be modified; we can work deceptions, or expand the senses, but not much more than that. At home we could shake the earth, draw fire from the sky, summon beasts from the night—but not here. Here we have only the subtle magicks and preparations.”

“Sorcery,” Rime said. “They've become sorcerers.”

Thirif nodded in her direction. “In a way,” he agreed. “We still use our own methods—but those are not suited to this place. Lady Rime may be of more help to you than we are.”

“But you worked magic in Manfort!”

“We could use the magical things we brought with us,” Thirif said, “and we could work minor deceptions and small magics. No more.”

“You set up wards.”

“We had brought many wards with us; I told you as much.”

Arlian knew that was true. “You cast a glamour on me,” he said, still hoping for more.

“Also a small magic we had brought with us, and one in those categories I described. Wards are an expansion of the senses, glamour a simple deception. These take no great power. To quickly stroke down a foe—
that
takes great power.”

“But who asked you to?” Arlian asked. “I asked what you
can
do, not what you
cannot.
”

“Ah.” Thirif spread his hands. “We can do here what we could do in Manfort, no more or no less—save that we brought only a few potions and talismans with us, as we did not wish to deplete your stock-in-trade any more than necessary. I have the makings of a dozen wards and a score of glamours, a handful of illusions—nothing more.”

“But you have glamours?”

“Of course.”

Arlian nodded. “Then disguise us,” he said.

Thirif frowned. “We cannot fool the wards Lord Dragon has set.”

“We don't need to fool
them,
” Arlian said. “We need to fool
Toribor.
And Drisheen. And the guards they brought with them.”

“Ah,” Thirif said again. A rare smile appeared on his grim brown face. “I see,” he said.

“You think they won't know who we are?” Black asked.

“They're not caravan lords,” Arlian said. “They haven't traveled this road often, if at all; how would they know what to expect? If they see five strangers riding in a wagon, will they think it's the people they're waiting for, or will they assume we're just the local traders we'll appear to be? They're probably expecting us to be on horseback, just as they are.”

“Are you planning to ride right past them, then?” Rime asked.

“Yes,” Arlian said. “And then I mean to find Toribor and Drisheen, and kill them.”

Black sighed. “I thought you wanted Enziet.”

“I do,” Arlian said, “but I want Drisheen, too.” The image of Ferret and Sparkle hanging in Drisheen's library loomed large in his memory, and his hand tightened on his mug until his knuckles turned white. “And Toribor—but I want Drisheen more. I believe I might even be willing to let Toribor live if it meant I could kill Drisheen, but I don't think Toribor will agree to that, do you?”

“I doubt the guards will, either,” Black remarked dryly.

“And that's
your
job,” Arlian said. “Keep them away long enough to give me a chance.”

“To kill
both
of them? Skilled swordsmen far older than yourself?” Black threw up his hands. “Why don't the rest of us just turn back now, if you're so determined to die? This whole thing is pointless—I don't know why I came!”

“I'm not determined to die,” Arlian said quietly.

“But you're going to give them a chance, aren't you?” Rime said disgustedly. “You won't just cut their throats while they sleep, will you?”

“No, I won't,” Arlian admitted. “But I'm not planning on duels, either. They had their chance to meet me honorably. They had their chance to make peace with me, as Nail did. And you're all sure they're planning to ambush me. I intend to kill them both.” He bared his teeth in an ugly expression. “I intend to give them a chance—more than they gave Rose, or Sparkle, or Ferret, or the rest—but not an
even
chance.”

Black and Rime stared at him, then exchanged glances with one another.

Then Rime smiled.

“That's
better
,” she said.

52

Ambush

“We have just passed a ward,” Thirif announced. Arlian looked at him, startled, and was startled anew by the unfamiliar face he found—he had momentarily forgotten the glamour Shibiel had cast on her companion the night before.

They were roughly a day's journey north of Cork Tree, and had made preparations the night before for the ambush they expected to encounter later. That was for later, though, perhaps even the next day if they did not reach Cork Tree by nightfall; right now it was early morning, and they had just broken camp half an hour before.

Up until now, Thirif had only sensed wards in towns or at easily remembered landmarks; no such feature was anywhere in sight.

“Out
here?
” Arlian asked.

Thirif nodded.

Black, on the driver's seat, had overheard; he leaned back through the wagon's door. “It's to let them know to ready the ambush,” he said.

It was odd for Arlian to hear Black's words coming from the scruffy, long-haired, gray-clad figure that drove the wagon. “But
Enziet
set the wards, didn't he?” Arlian asked. “And he's in the Desolation by now…”

“Drisheen is as practiced a sorcerer as Enziet,” Rime pointed out. The glamour had subtracted a dozen years from her already-deceptive appearance and transformed her wooden leg to a clubfoot—the limp could not be hidden, only disguised.

“Oh,” Arlian said. “Thirif, how do I look? Is the glamour holding?”

“Of course,” Thirif said.

“Good,” Arlian said. He looked around at the others.

He would certainly not have recognized them. The Aritheians' exotic southern features had been replaced by utterly ordinary faces; Rime's intensity was hidden beneath a moon-shaped visage and mousy brown hair; Black's distinctive leather clothing and close-cropped black hair had been replaced by homespun wool and shaggy brown locks.

A sorcerer of any talent would be able to see through the disguises, if he were close and made an effort—but why would Drisheen, or even the less-skilled Toribor, bother to look closely?

“Good enough,” Arlian said. “Black—I mean, Gall—when do you expect we'll reach them?”

“Midafternoon would be my guess,” Black replied, “but I can't be sure.”

“Good enough,” Arlian repeated. “Drive on.”

They stopped to eat lunch and water the oxen at midday, but otherwise pressed on as quickly as they could. “If we arrive sooner than they expect us, they'll be that much more likely to believe our disguises,” Arlian explained to Shibiel, who was nervous and unsure just what to expect.

“But they're expecting us on horses,” Rime said. “On horseback we'd get there even earlier.”

Arlian frowned at that. “But they won't expect us to arrive by
wagon
as soon as we will,” he said.

As the day wore on and no ambushers appeared Arlian grew ever more nervous; he began talking compulsively to Rime in an attempt to calm himself. His chatter became sufficiently annoying that the Aritheians got out of the wagon to walk; Rime, with her wooden leg, could not practically avail herself of that option.

She did not seem to mind, however, and when he began to run short of things to say was willing to oblige him with a few stories of her own centuries of life; she had roamed extensively, for more than a century, before finally reaching Manfort and discovering the Dragon Society. She had dozens of anecdotes to tell about those years of wandering.

She told him about being pursued through the streets of Clearpool by a pack of hounds after she cut the throat of Lord Water's son, who had raped her. She described how she came to be snowbound in the Sawtooth, where she smashed her leg in an avalanche and became so desperate for food that she amputated, cooked, and ate the ruined portion, saving the bone as a reminder. Despite his nervousness, she rendered Arlian helpless with laughter with her account of how it had once taken her three days to catch a cat that had stolen her favorite gloves.

During a lull in the conversation, though, Arlian realized that she had not mentioned one incident he was curious about.

“You once said you had your own reasons for wishing Enziet ill,” he said. “What are they?”

She glanced sideways at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Mere curiosity,” he said, realizing a trifle belatedly that he was being a shade more inquisitive than was entirely polite. “If you would prefer not to say…”

“I generally would,” she said, “but today, when we may all die in an ambush at any moment, I find myself willing to speak. You will recall, I trust, that I said I had a husband and four children when a dragon destroyed our village. I told you that my husband died, and let you think that my children died, as well—but in fact, my eldest daughter was not at home. She had married and moved away the year before, and when I had climbed from the well I made my way to her home and threw myself on her mercy. She took me in and cared for me, and I lived there for quite some time—but when her neighbors began to notice that
she
looked older than
I
did, I departed, before accusations of black sorcery arose. Still, I returned anonymously now and then to visit my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren, and on through the generations.” She sighed.

“The family survived, but did not particularly thrive; I have perhaps thirty living descendants today, hardly a large number after four hundred years. I would probably have several more, however, had not one branch of the family fallen into the hands of Lord Enziet's hired slavers.”

“But didn't you…” Arlian began.

“Protest?” She shook her head. “By the time I found out what had become of them it was too late—all but one were dead, and the last was mutilated, no longer fit for anything but the life to which Enziet had consigned her. I had told everyone that like the other dragonhearts I had no family, so that no one could use them against me, or gain a hold over me by threatening them, and yet they had died nonetheless; once that had happened, and was over and done, what was the point in admitting my lies? No one would care that Enziet had destroyed half a dozen innocent lives—they were only mortals, whatever their ancestry, and Enziet is the senior member of the Dragon Society.”