The exhalation writhed and billowed, forming legs, batlike wings, and a serpentine head, neck, and tail. Becoming a vague, semitransparent parody of its creator. Then the smokelike image hurtled straight at Aoth and Cera. Startled, puzzled, other dragons and even the Great Bone Wyrm himself twisted to follow its flight.
Aoth had no doubt that the wyrm with the rust-colored scales realized the intruders were spirits, give or take, and had unleashed a magic capable of harming them. Kossuth grant that meant a living phantom could hurt it in return. “Run!” he rapped. He leveled his spear and spoke a word of power.
Wind howled out across the bowl. It didn’t disturb so much as a particle of dust existing solely in the material world, but it hurled the smoke-thing backward, frayed its limbs, and stretched them out of shape.
Still, the blast of air didn’t tear it apart as Aoth had hoped it would. The creature, if that was the right word for it, pulled itself more or less back into shape and kept coming.
As it set down on the ledge, he threw a pearly blast of frost at it. Seemingly unaffected, it sprang forward and lifted a forefoot to claw at him.
Then warm golden light shone from behind him. To him it felt pleasant, bracing, but the smoke-wyrm flinched.
“Its maker is undead,” Cera said, “so sunlight burns it as well.”
“I don’t care!” snapped Aoth. “I’ll hold it off. You concentrate on getting us back where we belong.”
The breath-entity plunged forward. Aoth sidestepped a silent snap of its hazy jaws, charged the point of his spear with destructive force, and thrust it into his adversary’s neck.
But had the attack actually hurt it? He couldn’t tell.
The smoke-thing clawed at him. He thought he jumped back far enough to avoid the raking stroke-although with the limits of the entity’s body so poorly defined, it was hard to be sure about that either. In any case, a chill stabbed through his body, weakening and numbing him. Tiny red droplets burst from his pores to drift up and merge with the swirl of sparks and vapor.
He drew strength from a tattoo to stave off feebleness, shouted words of evocation, and hurled a bright, twisting bolt of lightning into his foe. It faltered and shuddered, but only for an instant. Then it snapped at him again.
Aoth dodged. As, visible through the swirling vapor that was the breath-entity’s substance, Alasklerbanbastos crawled into the cave. Aoth looked into the seething blue light that was the dracolich’s gaze. Suddenly he couldn’t move, absolutely could not move, while the smoke-wyrm lunged-
Aoth shot upward through the solid rock above him and high into a sky flashing from dark to light and back again. He looked for Cera and found her to his right, just beyond arm’s reach. It occurred to him he ought to try to take his bearings, but it was too late. They were already hurtling through time and space.
He returned to his physical form with a sort of mental jolt, like he’d jumped out of a tree. For an instant, solid flesh and bone felt heavy as lead. He stumbled to the bench, shoved the box off onto the grass, and flopped down.
Looking as exhausted as he felt, Cera sank down beside him. “Are you all right?” she panted.
He realized he was winded too, even though his body hadn’t done anything. He pulled off his gauntlets and saw his hands looked the same as always. At least, unlike his spirit form, the physical Aoth hadn’t bled.
“The breath-thing hurt me a little,” he said, “but now that we’re back, I imagine I’ll shake it off. I’m just glad it didn’t take you any longer to end the spell.”
“So am I.” She closed her eyes, whispered something, and kissed the flaking yellow cover of her book.
“Do you have any idea where we were, or when?”
“No.”
“I didn’t recognize anything either. Well, nothing but the Great Bone Wyrm. I mean, I assumed it was him. Damn it! Why didn’t we stay where we wanted to be?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe the dragonborn’s defenses did interfere. Maybe I didn’t perform the magic properly. Or…”
“Go on.”
“Maybe I really had no business trying it at all. Perhaps the circumstances didn’t warrant it. One thing’s certain-I broke the rules of my order by doing it without asking Daelric’s permission.”
“Because you knew he wouldn’t give it.”
“Well… yes. And I believed my judgment in the matter was better than his. Perhaps what we just experienced was the Keeper rebuking my arrogance.”
“It seems like an odd sort of punishment. Why not just send an angel to give you a spanking?”
That tugged a slight smile out of her. “I don’t know.”
“Is it possible that Amaunator, or whichever of his exarchs took control of the magic, meant to help you? That he showed us what he thought we ought to see, as opposed to what we believed was important?”
Cera frowned. “I suppose it’s conceivable. But if so, why was that more important?”
“I don’t know. Finding the reptiles who want to murder me strikes me as extremely important. But come to think of it, there’s even another possibility.”
“What?”
“You were trying to cast what’s essentially an enchantment of seeing. My eyes already carry a magic of seeing that, even a century after the Spellplague, no one truly understands. Perhaps the two powers combined in a way we couldn’t anticipate.”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”
“There’s doubt in your voice. But either of my ideas is more plausible than the notion that your god is angry with you.”
“I hope you’re right. More than once I’ve heard it whispered that I’m nowhere near as solemn and dignified as a sunlady ought to be. But I do love Amaunator and try to walk in his light.”
“Of course you do. I feel the strength of the bond you share every time you invoke his power.”
She smiled. “As if a devil-worshiping Thayan would recognize holiness when he saw it.”
He grinned back. “Well, you’ve got me there. Do you think we dare try that particular magic a second time?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. We don’t have a second set of statues.”
“Next you’re going to tell me they were worth thousands and thousands of trade bars, and you expect me to pay for them too.”
“Maybe I can think of a way for you to work off the debt.” Using her fingertip, she traced the shape of the tattoo on the back of his hand.
EIGHT
7-8 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
The night darkened. Or at least it seemed to. Jhesrhi assumed that in reality, the enchantment she’d cast to enable Gaedynn and herself to see on the moonless night was wearing off. She’d have to renew it soon.
Fortunately, that shouldn’t pose a problem. Though she still regretted the loss of the staff the wyrmkeeper had taken from her in Mourktar, the new one was a worthy tool in its own right, and her bond with it grew ever stronger. The red alloy rings were even turning yellow, apparently just because she was used to carrying a staff trimmed with gold.
“Do you know,” Gaedynn murmured, “I have to give credit where it’s due. You said Jaxanaedegor wouldn’t bother sending a search party into the Sky Riders, and we haven’t seen any sign of one.”
“Don’t start,” Jhesrhi said.
“On the other hand, I have to give credit to the dragon too. He didn’t send anyone because he believed there was nothing to find. And again, evidently-”
“It’s the last night of the new moon,” Jhesrhi said, gritting her teeth. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll head back to Soolabax in the morning. Meanwhile, stop complaining and look.”
“I am looking. I can do that and complain at the same time.”
But he fell silent again as they prowled through the pines that grew along the ridge. The horses, lucky beasts that they were, were presumably sleeping back in camp. Even with his sight sharpened, Gaedynn didn’t want to ride through the dark for fear he’d miss signs he would have noticed on foot.