The Schemes of Dragons

XXVI

OMRIL COLLARED WYNNETH and chained her to a post in the middle of a clearing. He permitted a canopy to be erected in order to screen her from the sun, but he forbade walls, so that she would remain under open surveillance at all times. One of his cohorts surrounded her, filling the clearing and much of the adjacent forest, a ring of nearly five hundred armed men through which even the wind could not have infiltrated unannounced.

He sent the other cohort to attack the rebel camp. He did not expect they would find anyone there, but the trail would be fresh. At the very least, it would keep the rebels occupied, and give his men the blood scent.

He gulped down a restorative potion and slept, his pavilion tightly guarded by his personal retinue, while the rest of the small army watched for some sign of the enemy. He did not awaken until late in the afternoon. His concoction banished the debilitation caused by his long maintenance of the invisibility spell. The bags under his eyes shrank away, the shakiness left his limbs; he felt strong. The muscles of his back still ached from the challenge of carrying a grown woman many hundreds of paces, but that was the only lasting evidence of the strain of his feat.

He ate a hearty meal, groomed himself, and listened to the captain of his company render a status report. When perfectly ready he strolled over to visit his captive.

"Your companions have fled. It must be convenient, having thousands of small allies to keep watch for you. I used to have pigeons to help me with such tasks," he said pointedly.

Wynneth avoided eye contact. Her glance wandered toward the sacks of food and the deer carcasses strung up on nearby limbs. She paused as if calculating how far a bit of venison and a dwindling pile of flour would go among so many men. Omril was impressed. No common trull, this one. Another woman would be fretting at her bonds; she was judging how much the pursuit had cost him.

She stared at her feet. "Must I have all these men watching me all the time?" she asked.

"Indeed, yes. And tonight there will be lanterns on every side of you. One never knows when an invisible man may slink inside the camp and steal you away."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"If you prove to be insufficient bait, I will take you south with me. There is a great deal I can learn from your mind. If I take my time I'm sure I can pull it out of you, no matter how well your husband may have schooled you to resist. If I cannot, perhaps I'll send you to Gloroc."

She glared and tugged her hem further down over her knees. Omril chuckled.

"My lord," exclaimed his page an hour later. "The rebel prince is at the perimeter."

Omril put away the crystal into which he had been gazing. "And what is he doing there?" he demanded.

"He is… walking forward."

The wizard nodded, strode past the messenger, and emerged from his pavilion. A great knot of his soldiers had gathered on the eastern edge of the clearing. Omril summoned his captain.

"This may be a diversion. See to it that the other directions are carefully watched."

"Yes, my lord."

Omril watched the jumble of men gradually separate. Alemar walked down the corridor between them, pace slow and deliberate, gaze unfocussed. Three of his gauntlet's jewels scintillated, each with its own deep, pure color.

"Kill him!" Omril shouted.

The soldiers paused, as if to say they had just tried that, then set about their task. They thrust and swung their swords, axes, pikes, and knives at the rebel prince. Every point was turned. None came closer than an arm-length away. A deflected ax gashed one of the soldiers in his thigh. Alemar continued on, though he slowed to a turtlelike shuffle. The group paused.

Omril smiled. "Keep attacking until I tell you to stop," he ordered. His cohort hastily obeyed. Meanwhile, the wizard turned to his page. "Go to my tent. Find the small chest with the ruby clasp. Bring me the coil of twine you find within."

The page, eager to please, took a step, but Omril seized him sternly by the shoulder. The boy winced.

"Do not touch the clasp with your fingers. Flip it open with your boot, or the tip of your knife, but do not set living tissue against it."

The boy paled, swallowed a lump, and ran to the pavilion. Omril turned back toward the commotion. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. His men flailed, as ineffectual as ever, but on the other hand, Alemar now hesitated between each step, checking his balance before putting the next foot forward.

He was good, Omril had to admit, or he was able to use the gauntlet more fully than anticipated. The wizard himself would have been challenged to maintain a ward in the face of such an onslaught, though he was certain he would have been able to continue walking normally. But as a rescue attempt, it left much to be desired. More than ever, Omril took this to be the diversion. The princess would be making an appearance at some point.

Pace by pace, Alemar progressed through the ranks of men and steel. Omril's page returned with the twine, which the sorcerer tucked out of sight in his sleeve. When the prince had only twenty strides to go, Omril ordered a halt to the attack.

"Back away," he told his men. "Leave us room."

The soldiers virtually stumbled over themselves doing as he asked, though Omril's tone had been mild. Within moments, only he stood between Alemar and his wife.

"I am disappointed," the sorcerer said. "A good strategist knows when a person is expendable."

Alemar did not respond. Omril doubted that he could without losing the ward. If he dropped it for an instant, he would die. Omril glanced at Wynneth, who had risen to her feet and now waited, biting her lip, for the tableau to be played out. The wizard considered slaying her, now that Alemar was so close, but she was still valuable as a hindrance.

Alemar did not hesitate. He kept walking straight toward Wynneth.

Omril stepped aside.

As soon as the prince passed, the wizard anchored one end of his twine to a root and began running in a circle, unravelling the cord behind him. Alemar reached Wynneth. She embraced him-lightly so as not to disturb his concentration. Omril completed a circle around them and tied the ends together. He laughed as he dropped the knot.

"I have you now, son of Alemar. Forget any plans you have to walk out of here."

Alemar turned and faced him. "I'm in no hurry."

Omril was taken aback. The prince was surely enough of a mage to recognize that, ward or no ward, he was locked inside the circle. Perhaps he thought he could remain where he was, protecting himself and the woman, until his sister launched the second half of the rescue. But Omril would not allow that.

He spoke to the twine, muttering in a sibilant, repetitious language, one that had not sprouted from a human culture. The twine suddenly convulsed. The ring shrank a few inches in diameter. He kept talking.

Alemar regarded the shrinking without apparent alarm, though the flickers from the gauntlet increased in frequency and brilliance. Omril sauntered along the outer perimeter, confident and smiling.

The sixth contraction, however, was not as complete as the first five. Omril raised his voice. Once again, the twine twisted and danced over the ground.

This time the circle was the same size as before.

"Your talisman is useless," Alemar said. "I have made an Ultimate Ward."

Omril scoffed. "There is no such thing as an Ultimate Ward. It's a myth. Even if it were true, you couldn't move it from this site. And sooner or later, no matter how good you are, you'll have to sleep."

Omril decided the prince was stalling for time, and redoubled his efforts. His men watched intently. Several of them whispered among themselves. The twine danced to eye-level and down again, snapping like reins in a oeikani race.

Through it all Alemar stood unshaken. Sweat beaded on Omril's brow, but the prince's stayed dry. For the first time, the wizard noticed a strange, high-pitched hum, almost like a song. It seemed to come from the trees on every side of the clearing.

"You're mine now," Alemar said.

Omril gasped. Suddenly his twine sprang outward, over his head, enclosing him within the boundary. He fought a tremendous compulsion to walk forward. Alemar held out his hands.

"No!" the wizard cried.

"Come to me," Alemar demanded.

Omril took a step. He locked his muscles, refusing to take another. He stroked one of the rings on his fingers, trying to focus, trying to set up a ward of his own. The blood in his temples pounded, making him dizzy. How? He was a wizard of the Ril. He was more than a match for this healer prince. He screamed, but the sound from his throat seemed drowned by the chanting from the trees.

The rythni! Somehow the prince had collected the energies of the little people, and had channeled them through himself. He had the strength of the entire forest to draw from-enough for an Ultimate Ward, enough to spin a trap. Omril choked, and took another step forward. He heard his servitors beat uselessly against the ward. Their frantic yells tortured him. Worthless soldiers.

He should have killed the woman while he had the chance.

Alemar's hands loomed. The sorcerer tried to raise his own to brush them away, but he could only get them as high as his waist. With tender, uncompromising finality, the palms closed around his jaws.

Wynneth struggled not to be frightened, as Alemar stood next to her, frozen eye to eye with the wizard, hands holding the latter's face. The sun dropped under the horizon, leaving the clearing brightly lit by Motherworld. Still the two combatants did not move. The Dragon's soldiers pounded against the ward, the cacophonous din driving her to tears. Would they never stop?

They had slowed down, she told herself, trying to be objective. They thrust their swords and pikes steadily but half-heartedly. The cohort that had been chasing the rebel band returned empty-handed, and they joined the ranks of awed observers. She hated those eyes, never giving her a moment to herself. That was almost worse than the fear that Alemar, in spite of his performance thus far, would fail.

Suddenly the wizard groaned. His eyelids fluttered like a man in a seizure. His knees sagged, and he sank out of Alemar's grip, hands clawing ineffectually at the prince's clothing. He curled up in a fetal position on the ground and whimpered.

Alemar sucked in air. His pupils contracted, and he gazed out at the armed throng surrounding them. They put up their weapons and gaped in shock. Finally he met Wynneth's worried stare.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, scooting away from Omril.

"I… showed him himself. It was more than he cared to know." Suddenly the prince sighed, and two great teardrops welled at the corners of his eyes. "He was not an evil man. He was just… unfeeling."

Then Alemar seemed to draw a veil over his expression, and when he turned to face Omril's army, he bore himself like a monarch. "You've seen a sample of my power. I give you a choice: fight me, fight my sister who waits in the forest, or leave. If you return straight to Yent, we will leave you unmolested. Refuse now and not a single one of you will live to see the coast."

They did not even murmur among themselves. They turned their eyes toward their captain, who stood just outside the circle of twine, scowling down at what had become of the Dragon's sorcerer.

"What of him?" the captain asked.

"He is mine."

The captain gnawed his lower lip. To return to the garrison without such an important figure would mean heavy discipline. He was a grizzled, barrel-chested man of advancing years, a veteran with the scars to prove it. He tapped his foot in the dust.

"The woods are thick between here and the settled provinces," Alemar commented mildly.

"We keep our arms?" he asked.

"If you wish."

He turned to his men. "Break camp. We're leaving tonight."

Alemar accepted the surrender with outward nonchalance, standing within the battle circle as if it were the site of his throne. Wynneth, on the other hand, knew that this was a facade intended to intimidate his audience, and she leaned against him and cried. The soldiers acted on their decision with dispatch. Except for occasional wide-eyed stares, they pretended the rebel prince, his wife, and the defeated wizard no longer existed, as if nothing mattered, in fact, but beginning the march homeward.

A tiny figure buzzed over the clearing and settled on Alemar's shoulder. The latter echoed its song of greeting.

"Half my people fell unconscious from the effort," Hiephora announced.

"He was stronger than I realized," Alemar said, his composure not quite masking his relief. "I'm not sure any single man could have defeated him."

"But you were not alone, beloved," said the rythni queen. "Nor will you be as long as you stay within the forests of Cilendrodel. Rejoice. You have won."

He laughed. Wynneth smiled to see him so triumphant.

"Very well," he said. "The wizard is mine. Let's be off to the south, where the real battle lies."