Read Online 6.0 - Raptor by Lindsay Buroker - Free Book Online
Authors: Lindsay Buroker
Tags: General Fiction
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it’s kept in that box, a dragon or sorceress shouldn’t be able to sense it.” Another nod from Sardelle. “If Zirkander flies up to meet the dragon and takes a wielder with him, someone who would keep the sword boxed until the last moment, perhaps that person could get close enough to strike a mortal blow.”
“Oh, so that’s my part in this,” Zirkander said. “You don’t want a mission co-commander, you want a sacrifice to the dragon gods. And the dragon.”
Cas ignored him—as did Angulus. Zirkander might grouse, but he would also complain if someone else was given the suicidal task. Cas was more concerned about this talk of an unnamed wielder, especially since Angulus was looking steadily at her. Seven gods, he couldn’t be thinking of asking her to do this, could he? Out of some notion that she had experience with the blade and was thus the logical choice? Her experience had been tragic . She should be the last choice for anything that dealt with it.
“I need to choose someone to wield the sword,” Angulus said. “It would help if you could give me any information that might be pertinent. Are your thoughts your own when you hold it? At least most of the time? Could someone who had been trained as a sorceress wield it, or would it reject that?”
“I can answer that, Sire,” Sardelle said. “Kasandral zapped me when I touched the scabbard. I’m not sure what would happen if I tried to grab the hilt, but I’d like to keep both hands, so I would decline the opportunity. Kasandral hates magic, and he hates those who wield it.”
“That’s unfortunate, because I thought someone who’d had the mental training that sorceresses get might be better at deflecting its manipulation attempts.”
“The manipulation is a danger,” Sardelle said, “but it wasn’t until the queen uttered a certain phrase that Cas lost control. I think Kasandral was designed to have the ability to take over, so that even someone without sword skills could be effective at wielding him.”
“When it’s in control,” Cas said, refusing to give the sword a gender, “you’re aware of what it’s doing. You just can’t stop it. You’re locked up, a prisoner in your own body. The rest of the time, it affects you more subtly. Such as, you start feeling irritated at your friends, and you don’t know why. Your friends who have dragon blood in their veins, that is.”
Tolemek rested a hand on her shoulder. A part of her wanted to reject the support—the sympathy that it included—but a part of her was glad for it. She hadn’t ever wanted to talk about this again. As much as she wanted to do nothing more than clinically state the facts, the facts were tangled up with memories and emotions.
“Does anyone recall the words that Nia—the queen—spoke?” Angulus asked.
Cas closed her eyes, trying to remember. She’d been caught so unaware, and everything had happened so quickly. She knew they hadn’t been in the modern tongue, but all she could do was shake her head.
“Unfortunately, I don’t remember the words, either,” Sardelle said. “With the pre-Occupation versions of our language, I’ve only seen the words written, not heard them spoken. I’m also not positive Kasandral originated in Iskandia, so the words could have been in another language altogether.”
“Nia must have learned them somewhere here. I wonder if Therrik has them. Maybe they were handed down through the family.”
“We can ask him if we go up there.” Sardelle tapped her fingers on Jaxi’s hilt. “It’s also possible some of the books that were excavated from Galmok Mountain would have the information we need. My people had a library full of history texts related to dragons and magic. All of the modern books I’ve seen that deal even peripherally with such topics seem to have been edited or destroyed.”
Angulus grunted, not denying that the city’s libraries—probably the entire continent’s libraries—had been so
“Oh, so that’s my part in this,” Zirkander said. “You don’t want a mission co-commander, you want a sacrifice to the dragon gods. And the dragon.”
Cas ignored him—as did Angulus. Zirkander might grouse, but he would also complain if someone else was given the suicidal task. Cas was more concerned about this talk of an unnamed wielder, especially since Angulus was looking steadily at her. Seven gods, he couldn’t be thinking of asking her to do this, could he? Out of some notion that she had experience with the blade and was thus the logical choice? Her experience had been tragic . She should be the last choice for anything that dealt with it.
“I need to choose someone to wield the sword,” Angulus said. “It would help if you could give me any information that might be pertinent. Are your thoughts your own when you hold it? At least most of the time? Could someone who had been trained as a sorceress wield it, or would it reject that?”
“I can answer that, Sire,” Sardelle said. “Kasandral zapped me when I touched the scabbard. I’m not sure what would happen if I tried to grab the hilt, but I’d like to keep both hands, so I would decline the opportunity. Kasandral hates magic, and he hates those who wield it.”
“That’s unfortunate, because I thought someone who’d had the mental training that sorceresses get might be better at deflecting its manipulation attempts.”
“The manipulation is a danger,” Sardelle said, “but it wasn’t until the queen uttered a certain phrase that Cas lost control. I think Kasandral was designed to have the ability to take over, so that even someone without sword skills could be effective at wielding him.”
“When it’s in control,” Cas said, refusing to give the sword a gender, “you’re aware of what it’s doing. You just can’t stop it. You’re locked up, a prisoner in your own body. The rest of the time, it affects you more subtly. Such as, you start feeling irritated at your friends, and you don’t know why. Your friends who have dragon blood in their veins, that is.”
Tolemek rested a hand on her shoulder. A part of her wanted to reject the support—the sympathy that it included—but a part of her was glad for it. She hadn’t ever wanted to talk about this again. As much as she wanted to do nothing more than clinically state the facts, the facts were tangled up with memories and emotions.
“Does anyone recall the words that Nia—the queen—spoke?” Angulus asked.
Cas closed her eyes, trying to remember. She’d been caught so unaware, and everything had happened so quickly. She knew they hadn’t been in the modern tongue, but all she could do was shake her head.
“Unfortunately, I don’t remember the words, either,” Sardelle said. “With the pre-Occupation versions of our language, I’ve only seen the words written, not heard them spoken. I’m also not positive Kasandral originated in Iskandia, so the words could have been in another language altogether.”
“Nia must have learned them somewhere here. I wonder if Therrik has them. Maybe they were handed down through the family.”
“We can ask him if we go up there.” Sardelle tapped her fingers on Jaxi’s hilt. “It’s also possible some of the books that were excavated from Galmok Mountain would have the information we need. My people had a library full of history texts related to dragons and magic. All of the modern books I’ve seen that deal even peripherally with such topics seem to have been edited or destroyed.”
Angulus grunted, not denying that the city’s libraries—probably the entire continent’s libraries—had been so
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