A long, echoing, inhuman cry sounded from somewhere to the west. As one, Jhesrhi and Gaedynn pivoted in that direction.
“On the other hand…,” the archer said.
Her heart thumping faster, Jhesrhi took a breath. “I can’t tell if the creature making that noise is a dragon. I certainly can’t tell if it’s Tchazzar. But we’ve found the reason for the stories.”
“Come close to finding it, anyway. Let’s hope it keeps wailing to draw us in.”
It did, and its call reminded her of wounded men crying out in agony on the battlefield. As, stalking up one hillside and down the next, she and her companion approached the source, her staff warmed in her grip. The sensation made her even more eager.
Because the arcanist who’d fashioned the implement had been particularly interested in fire magic. And now it was reacting to the presence of a mighty blaze-or, given the absence of any telltale glow, something capable of producing one. Like a red dragon.
A hand grabbed her forearm, arresting her progress, startling her, and bringing the usual reflexive spasm of loathing.
“Sorry,” said Gaedynn, releasing her again, “but you have to watch where you’re stepping.”
She looked down at the patches of pale, whorled fungus in front of her. He was right. If she’d stepped on them, the spores would have stuck to her legs, producing painful pustules or worse.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but this is about the most unpleasant bit of the Sky Riders we’ve wandered into so far.” He waved a hand, inviting her to inspect the gnarled, blighted-looking trees and thickets.
“I noticed,” she lied.
“Was it poisoned by the same power that’s making our friend caterwaul?”
“I can’t tell. Maybe.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
They stalked on. Over hills and through hollows where noisome fungus flourished and other vegetation didn’t. The leaves on the trees were sparse and spotted, and bark had flaked away to reveal pockets of slimy rot in the sapwood.
Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, settling when she turned her head to look at them directly. She’d seen the same phenomenon in Thay, on battlefields where necromancers had conjured. The darkness was struggling to give shape to something vile. It just wasn’t strong enough.
Her staff went from warm to hot until its touch would have blistered anyone else. Another cry sounded, and she could tell the source was close. Maybe just over the next rise. She and Gaedynn climbed to the crest of the hill and, lying on their stomachs, peeked over.
A dragon sprawled on the barren slope below. It was huger even than Jaxanaedegor, but also profoundly emaciated, although lack of food didn’t seem to be the problem. A scatter of bones suggested that it ate from time to time.
Or, more precisely, that someone fed it. For staples of some black substance clasped its legs and tail to the ground.
“It looks sick,” Gaedynn whispered, “but even so, I’m surprised those restraints can hold it.”
“They’re enchanted.” She could feel the magic inside them like an itch on her face. “Still, it surprises me too.”
“Have we seen enough to be sure that against all probability, you and Lord Nicos were right, and that’s Tchazzar?”
“We’ve seen all that we safely can, that’s for certain. Let’s get out of here.”
They started to crawl backward. Then something snapped and rustled overhead. They froze.
A wyrm almost as big as the prisoner plunged down to land beside it. Short horns encrusted the newcomer’s head, and rows of spines ran down the length of its body. The membranes connecting them looked puny and awkward compared to the wings of any dragon Jhesrhi had seen before, but she assumed that somehow they must suffice to carry it through the air.
It moved in what appeared to be a haze of grit, and as soon as it landed, several dust devils swirled up from the ground around its feet. Its eyes were pits of shadow with a sort of oily shimmer in the depths.
The prisoner raised its head and tried to spit fire at the newcomer, but the attack was too feeble even to reach its target. The brief, wavering glow revealed that the scales of both dragons were dull red.
The newcomer snarled. Jhesrhi thought she heard a kind of laughter in the noise. Then the wyrm snatched with a forefoot, caught the prisoner’s serpentine neck just behind the skull, slammed its head to the ground, and held it there.
The master wyrm stared down at the other. The prisoner withered a little more. Meanwhile, branches on the trees adjacent to the bare earth dropped their sickly leaves like it was autumn instead of spring. Blades of grass turned brown and dry.
And Jhesrhi felt a sudden weakness and gut-twisting sickness. She gripped the staff and recited a charm of protection to shield Gaedynn and herself, and the sensation passed.
“Thanks,” he gasped. “When we got out of Thay, I hoped we were done with vampires. Now I can’t empty my bladder without hitting some kind of vampire dragon.”
She wished he’d shut up. The terrible thing below them might hear even a whisper. Although it didn’t appear to; maybe it was too intent on its meal.
It seemed to go on feeding for a long time, while its victim shuddered and shriveled, and newly dead branches cracked under their own weight. At last it turned away. That would have been a good time for the prisoner to attempt another attack, but it was evidently too drained.
The life-drinker trotted a few steps, lashed its peculiar wings, and sprang into the air. In flight, it wobbled in a way that made it look unsteady, like it might plummet at any moment. But it gained altitude almost as quickly as a griffon.
Jhesrhi waited for it to disappear, and for one hundred heartbeats afterward. Then she turned to Gaedynn. “Now?”
“Now,” he said. “Let me lead, and stay under the trees as much as you can.”
Where it’s darkest, she thought, but he was right. The shadows’ impotent yearning for mayhem was a paltry threat compared to what was soaring on the night wind.
She and Gaedynn started down the hill. And ran straight into what was climbing up the other way.
The people, if that was what they were, had scarred, tattooed gray skin, dark braided hair, and eyes a featureless black like the dragon that had just flown away. Their garments were black as a crow as well, and the gloom seemed thicker in their vicinity than elsewhere, even though there was nothing hanging over them to cast a shadow. They weren’t walking like they were trying to be especially quiet, but they were anyway, and Jhesrhi sensed that silence came as naturally to them as to a cat.
“Easy, friends,” Gaedynn said. “We’re just peaceful travelers.”
The gray people appeared to laugh, although Jhesrhi couldn’t actually hear it. The darkness around them thickened, and the two men in front pulled off the chains wrapped around their waists. The links didn’t rattle. The warriors vanished and instantly reappeared almost within striking distance of Jhesrhi and Gaedynn. Preparing to attack, they spun their weapons.
Then arrows pierced their chests and they stumbled backward. As Gaedynn spoke his placatory words, he’d also gotten ready to shoot, and neither the chainfighters’ sudden shift through space nor their shroud of gloom had thrown off his aim.
The rest of the gray people-Jhesrhi still couldn’t make out exactly how many that was, but she thought at least half a dozen-howled in fury. She heard them at last, although the sound was faint and thin, like it was coming from miles away. They glided and flickered forward, while also spreading out to flank their foes.
Gaedynn and Jhesrhi gave ground. His hands were a blur as he loosed arrow after arrow. She shifted her staff into a central guard, and a rhyme to conjure fire leaped into her mind.
That was the influence of the staff. Though it was neither alive nor sentient, in its own way it yearned for the element to which it was most attuned.