A Legacy of Dragons(11)

"I command you," Vilmos shouted. "Step back, step back! Do my mother no harm."

Behind him, Vilmos heard Ærühn shouting, "Trolls, trolls!"

Vilmos leapt from the bear's back, flying through the air and landing with a flourish in front of his mother where upon he wrapped her in wind and lightning. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked the giants in Ice.

A giant, taller than others but lacking Windstorm's girth stepped forward. "Praefect Aamun Myrsk, at your service. This one was in no danger from us."

Delinna's watchful expression and wary eyes seemed to say otherwise but she said nothing aloud.

Ærühn turned Lilbær in a tight circle. "Kill us, don't kill us," he told the giants. "But first we should contend with our mutual adversaries."

The Praefect scoffed at this, then seemed to come to a decision. He raised a hand, pointed. "Be quick about it."

Suddenly, all but three of the giants were on the move toward the trolls. They did not run, but there was purpose behind their steps. Vilmos noticed then that not a one brandished a weapon, nor did any weapon materialize as they stalked away.

As Vilmos let his magic fall away, the swirling air slowed and then all was still. He lunged at his mother, wrapping both arms around her before helping her to her feet. "Mother, are you unharmed?"

Delinna stood tall, pulled her furs around her, a familiar regal look returning to her countenance. She cupped a hand to his cheek. "They've done me no harm as of yet, though they were about to."

The Praefect turned away from her, addressed Vilmos. "Merely making necessary inquiries."

Not far away, the ice giants engaged the snow trolls. Vilmos felt the pull of their magic as they unleashed ice and storm, heard the trolls retaliate with stone cudgels and claws.

"My father?" Vilmos asked.

Delinna said nothing. Her eyes were full of doubt and anger when she turned to face the Praefect. "Ask your questions, and then be done with it. If you must have a price in blood as you've said, let my son and his rider go. They've no part in this."

The Praefect brought his hands together. When he pulled them apart, a circle of ice appeared between them, expanding rapidly into a dome of ice that he cast skyward.

"Run!" Delinna shouted, pushing Vilmos at Warbær.

Vilmos refused to leave her side. He wanted to tell her about Noman and how he was now Watcher of the Ice. "Mother, no. You don't understand--"

"Go," she said, cutting him off. "Run and don't look back."

Before Vilmos could cross the distance between her and him, the dome surrounded everyone and everything, save for those off fighting. Three giants remained in the dome, as did three humans and two bears.

"Too late," Ærühn said. "I told you not to trust a giant. Never trust a giant, that's something you can count on every time."

Aamun Myrsk dismissed this. "Merely so we're not disturbed by the sounds of death and dying."

The giant spread his arms and opened his hands as if to say he was unarmed and wanted nothing more than to talk.

Vilmos hid his terror, stepped between his mother and the giant. "Master Xith will learn about whatever transpires here today."

The Praefect took a menacing step forward, his expression almost a snarl. "I'm counting on that."

Still brandishing his twin blades, Ærühn jumped from the saddle, turned in the air and landed in a hunched over position. His head was down and his blades were angled back as if two long teeth of an enormous tundra cat.

"Enough talking," Ærühn said. "Get on with it. If you're going to try to kill us, have at it."





Chapter 9





Emel walked Ebony. The marketplace was crowded, overflowing with the usual assortment of fire breathers, sword swallowers, haughty jugglers, painted tricksters, and wily merchants. He bought a dragon fruit for a half-drudger, tearing into the tender white flesh with his teeth and delighting in the exotic flavor as juice dripped down his chin. Farther into the market, he came upon a smokehouse that favored hickory and apple wood, and paid a silver loke for two hands of dried beef, which he wrapped in a thin cloth and put into his pack.

Accosted by a juggler and trickster simultaneously, Emel showed them the steel of his blade, but without breaking city law by fully removing the sword from its sheath. The trickster though refused to beg off, mimicking Emel's walk, turning summersaults and leering with his dreadful painted on grin.

By the time the trickster drew a line under his chin from ear to ear, Emel had had enough. He took two quick steps toward the trickster and punched him squarely in the face. As the trickster went down, Emel kept walking, as if nothing had happened.