The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (6 page)

Nebalath, too, gazed up at the beast, but he obviously didn’t fear it. “So,” he mumbled. “You’ve got yourself a tugolith.”

Paumer seemed embarrassed. “It’s — it’s a gift. Today’s my daughter’s birthday ...”

“Hello,” Uda chirped at the wizard.

He evidently didn’t consider her worthy of a response, for he immediately turned back to Paumer. “You do what you will with your little council, since you seem to think you own it. I’ll no longer be a party to it.”

“But without you we’re lost!” Paumer pleaded. “You’re the only wizard worth —”

“
Pah
!” Nebalath exploded. “You merchants are such potent liars you begin to believe yourselves. You have Sheth, don’t you?”

“But the bear is — is uncontrollable!”

“Oh-ho! And I am controllable?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Paumer muttered, angry at himself for choosing words so poorly. “I only mean Sheth is a murderous recluse —”

“That’s true enough.”

“While you on the other hand are —”

“Leaving.”

“Wait! What will we do for another wizard!”

Nebalath shrugged, then frowned. “Didn’t young Dark say a new one was coming?”

“Oh,” Paumer groaned. “Dark.”

“He’s a seer. He’s always right. You should trust his word. I do.” Nebalath rested his chin on his chest and tilted his head to one side. Paumer reached out to grab the wizard’s arm, and Nebalath cursed in annoyance. “Why do you always do that when I’m trying to leave?” he demanded.

“If you resign, who’ll be the second voice from Haranamous?” Paumer pleaded.

The wizard turned his head to scowl at Uda. “Child, we are in Haranamous here, are we not?”

Uda shrugged. “I guess so.”

Nebalath looked back at Paumer. “Since you seem to want to keep it in the family, let her be it,” he grunted. “I’m leaving.” Then he vanished.

Paumer tottered a bit, as if dizzied by the wizard’s departure. Then he looked at Uda, a perplexed expression twisting his face. “We — we meet in a matter of days. Would ... would you like to —”

“Father don’t!” Ognadzu shouted, but Uda was already rejoicing.

“Yes! Oh, Father, yes, of course!” Then she did a merry pirouette and kissed her giant present upon his armor-plated cheek. Now that she’d had some time to get used to him, she’d decided Vilanlitha was indeed cute — but he was nothing compared to a seat on the Grand Council. That was a present she could use!

*

The hideous pyralu terrified all people everywhere. A nightmarish beast with venomous fangs, barbed talons, and a vicious stinger-tipped tail, it kept to itself in dark forest glades, and everyone did their best to leave it alone. Fortunately for humankind, the dog-sized insect did not seek out trouble.

The black-clad Army of Arl followed a life-sized model of this beast into battle — but Arl did not share the pyralu’s reclusive spirit. What the Arlian king did have in common with the beast was its paranoia ... to the great misfortune of the lands that bordered his own. Today his minions attacked Haranamous. As the Arlian horde swept across the field, their standard — the image of the striking pyralu — performed its function once again. As in so many previous battles, the warriors of Haranamous broke ranks and fled. The Arlian general, watching from a nearby hillside, shook his head in dismay.

It wasn’t that he had such an effective army, Jarnel reminded himself. He often worried how his force would fare against an enemy that dared to stand and fight. This was better, of course, far better — little loss of life on either side and a bit of unimportant territory gained. But he had advanced dangerously close to the heart of Haranamous this time. Within his ceremonial helmet, glossy black and barbed like a pyralu’s mandibles, Jarnel frowned as he watched yet another rout unfold. Would Chaom
never
stiffen his weak-kneed army’s resolve?

“Another victory!” Merritt shouted gleefully. Jarnel barely grunted. He felt his subordinate’s nervous gaze, but didn’t glance that way. Young Merritt was a venomous mudgecurdle who would work his treacheries no matter how Jarnel responded to him. The general had decided simply to ignore him. Merritt couldn’t abide being ignored, however, and needlessly blurted out, “They’re breaking!” Jarnel shot him a contemptuous glance, and the man seemed to fold in upon himself.

The Pyralu General looked back down at the field. A cluster of Chaom’s warriors had managed to rally, and the two forces finally closed. It took several moments for the sound of the clash to reach them, here across the river, but they could survey the whole valley from this vantage point, and it kept them safe from any nonmagical attack. A powershaper could be lurking anywhere nearby, of course, cloaking himself from view, but Arlian spies had reported that old Nebalath no longer protected the warriors of Haranamous. Without magical aid, the purple-clad defenders of that unfortunate land were badly outmanned and collapsed quickly.

Merritt chanced another grin at him and chuckled nervously. “So we didn’t need the bear after all!”

“A good thing,” Jarnel growled from within his mask, “since Sheth felt no need to appear.”

“Wizards know about wizards,” Merritt explained grandly. “Sheth knew he wouldn’t be needed.”

“And what do you know about wizards that has provided you with this insight?” Jarnel asked. Merritt flushed, and stepped back a pace. Jarnel reached up under his chin to trip the latches that anchored his headdress to his breastplate. Then he lifted the thing off his head and dangled it beside him as he mopped the sweat from his high forehead and his thin, angular face. He felt Merritt’s eyes upon him and glanced over at the younger man. “What?” he inquired, cocking a gray eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Merritt answered quickly. “I just — it’s amazing how much that helmet changes your appearance.”

Jarnel held up the mask and examined it. “Repulsive, isn’t it?”

“But so effective!” Merritt grinned broadly.

“And you’d like to wear it,” Jarnel muttered, his thin lips unsmiling. This straightforward remark caught Merritt off guard.

“Why — no! I mean, my Prince —”

“Don’t lie, Merritt. You’re no good at it. Few soldiers are.” Jarnel watched the rout below them. “Besides,” he added after a moment, “how could I trust a warrior without ambition? We live to strive — to attain — to win.” There was no accusation in Jarnel’s voice. He meant what he said.

“Very well,” the emboldened Merritt responded. “May I have permission to speak frankly?”

“So you can ask why I didn’t send a contingent to ford the river downstream and cut off their retreat?”

Merritt paused. “Well, it
would
have resulted in total victory,” he muttered.

“Total victory.” Jarnel smiled cynically. “Yes. And then what?”

“What, my Prince?”

“What would happen if we totally destroyed old Chaom’s army?” the commander asked.

Merritt shrugged. “I suppose we would sail our war boats on into Haranamous and claim that city for the king.”

Jarnel snorted. “Then what?”

“We would row home and be hailed as heroes.” Merritt spoke harshly, piqued by Jarnel’s mocking tone.

“Heroes!” the general said, hoisting a fist into the sky. Then he turned to gaze soberly at Merritt. “For how long? Think, man. When Haranamous falls, Pleclypsa falls too. Then it’s easy enough to tiptoe past the underground fragment of the Remnant and invade Lamath. How exciting! Another war, this one even further from our home!” Jarnel turned his weary eyes back to the field of battle. It was littered now with corpses, and undisciplined Arlian warriors were busy stripping these of their purple garments — souvenirs of the victory. Jarnel shook his head, then went on, “And when we conquer
that
distant land, what then? Battling crazed bands of raiders in the Marwilds? Not for me. No, I would then be remanded home — to be honored for my splendid victories, of course — and then be quietly eliminated by a king who would surely see me then as his foremost remaining threat.” Jarnel shot Merritt a friendly grin, and the man jerked, startled by it. “No, I’ll leave total victory for you to win, Merritt, when you wear this disgusting mask.” The Prince of the Army of Arl set the helmet on the ground behind him, then walked a few feet eastward and pointed into the distance. “Is that Chaom and his staff withdrawing?”

Although the afternoon sun was behind them, Merritt made a needless show of shielding his eyes and peering in that direction. “It appears so.”

“Good,” Jarnel grunted. “Then I think we can safely count this a true victory and not one of Nebalath’s magical traps.” Jarnel pulled off his black gauntlets and tossed them to the ground beside the mask. “I need to be elsewhere. You’re in command.” He started down the hill, then stopped and looked back. “Try on the helmet if you like, but I warn you — it’s hot in there.” He turned away again.

“Is she pretty?” Merritt called out suddenly, and Jarnel froze, astonished by his subordinate’s temerity. He looked back with an amused leer on his face.

“Haven’t you guessed the truth yet? I’m off to a meeting of the Conspiracy!” He cackled derisively and walked down the hill toward his pavilion. As he threw his tent flap aside he heard Merritt laughing appreciatively.

Dusk had come by the time he’d bathed, anointed himself with a heavy perfume, and donned his finest gown. A bonfire burned upon the parade grounds as the warriors of Arl loudly celebrated their victory. He chose the finest horse in his cavalry and did not spare the animal. He had important business to discuss with his enemies.

These were dangerous times. The quirkiness of Nebalath had pushed Haranamous to the brink of collapse. He’d told Merritt the truth today. Victory in this war would only insure marching off to another. But he knew such arguments would never dissuade a younger commander from seizing that important first conquest. Chaom needed magical protection soon, and they all needed to find some means of restoring the balance of power between the fragments. Otherwise the old One Land could look forward to nothing but marching armies for at least another century. Jarnel hated that thought. He hoped just once in his lifetime to experience the sweet savor of peace.

He rode northeast through the night, skirting the edge of Haranamous. A few hours after dawn, he reached the forest inn that served as his cover. Everyone knew it was a brothel. Few knew for certain that it was owned by Paumer, but the reach of the merchant was so long most just naturally assumed some red-and-blue connection. Jarnel entrusted his mount to a stable lad with a coin and a lewd wink, then swaggered into the main house with the look of a man prepared to enjoy himself.

Less than an hour later an aging courier in Paumer’s red-and-blue livery galloped out of an underground cavern several miles northeast of the inn. Jarnel despised these colors, but he had to admit that no one ever took note of him when he wore them.

The rendezvous point was a Paumer mansion at the foot of the South Gate — the narrow mouth that led up to the Central Pass from Haranamous. Jarnel left his borrowed steed at the front door and stalked inside unannounced. Chaom — similarly attired — waited for him in the entry way.

“You got here quickly,” Jarnel murmured.

“I had the unfortunate advantage of a headstart,” Chaom answered coolly. “You, after all, had to secure your victory. There was nothing left for me to secure.”

Chaom was a huge man — beefy and powerful. A gifted warrior in individual combat, he had moved up through the ranks of Haranamous less on the strength of his strategic abilities than on the basis of his personal heroism. His face was large and round, and the relative smallness of his eyes and mouth made it appear even more so. Jarnel rarely thought of his rival’s size until they were thrown together like this. He thought it ironic that if the fortunes of Arl and Haranamous were to be decided by a duel between their respective generals, the issue would be quickly resolved in Chaom’s favor. “It could have been much worse,” Jarnel mumbled. “Where was your wizard?”

“Where was yours?” Chaom snapped back. While co-conspirators, the two men were far from friends. Neither felt any need to pretend they were.

“Absent — to your good fortune!” Jarnel snarled. “Had he been present there’s no way the two of us could have spared you! My king does get his reports.”

“Oh, yes.” Chaom smiled grimly. “Your young Merritt.”

“Correct.” Jarnel nodded. “My ruler is too fearful of Sheth to criticize the shaper to his face. I, on the other hand, am constantly reminded that I can be replaced. And what happens then?”

“I assume Paumer would simply induct your successor into our circle.” Chaom shrugged, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Jarnel stiffened. “Paumer is only a member of this council, Chaom. He is not its lord.”

“Ah, but does he know that?” Chaom wondered, raising a meaningful eyebrow. “Look at your costume, Jarnel — and at mine.”

“Subterfuge, that’s all. An effective guise.”

Chaom nodded. “So I’d thought, too, until Paumer managed to make his boy one of our number at the last meeting. The man is adept at making himself sole proprietor of other people’s enterprises! You don’t doubt he intends to rule our respective lands as well?”

Weary from his all-night ride, Jarnel had no patience for such talk. “For all I know, Paumer may already own half of Arl. But he’s never dared to set his foot within our borders. And this is the most powerful man in the world? I think not.”