Read Online The Dream Spheres by Elaine Cunningham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elaine Cunningham
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quick, wicked smile to Danilo’s face. He quickly squelched it, not wishing to insult the mage.
However, Oth’s attention had settled elsewhere. He was regarding Isabeau with speculation.
“Lovely woman,” Danilo said, hoping that this was the only inspiration for Oth’s interest. It was entirely possible that Oth could have tracked the path taken by his lost ring and that his stated interest in spellsong was a story to cover his true intent. There was no trace
of anger on Oth’s face, though, as he regarded the beautiful thief.
“Very lovely,” the mage agreed. “If you will excuse me, I shall attempt to claim a last dance.” He slanted a glance back at Danilo. “You might do well, young man, to do likewise. There are many ladies of good family at this affair.”
His meaning was unmistakable and offensive. Danilo had parried one insult too many on Arilyn’s behalf, and he reacted as any man of his rank did when his lady’s name and honor was maligned. He stepped forward, one hand instinctively dropping to his sword belt in anticipation of formal challenge.
This amused the mage. “I think not, young Lord Thann. You are unarmed. In more ways than one, I might add. If that fascinating horticultural display was typical of your magical talents, you would do well to leave the Art strictly alone, much less challenge an accomplished mage.”
The irony of Oth’s statement was nearly as powerful a challenge as the insult to Arilyn had been. Power thrummed through Danilo’s mind, sang in his blood, and set his fingertips tingling. He could squash this supercilious toad of a man beneath one foot without leaving a smudge on his boots. The knowledge both tempted and repelled him.
Danilo inclined his head, the gesture of one gentleman conceding to another. “I think we agree, Lord Eltorchul, that an uneven challenge does no honor to either man.”
For a long moment the mage stared at him, as if trying to decide whether Danilo’s words held self-deprecating agreement or subtle insult. Color rose high on his cheeks, making his narrow face nearly as red as his hair. He answered Danilo’s bow with a curt one of his own, then spun on his heel and stalked off into the swirling throng.
Arilyn crept along the tunnels, following the faint and rapidly fading trail. All her senses hummed with awareness as she rounded a corner, even though her moonblade’s magical danger-warnings were oddly silent. She might not have perceived the ambush at all but for the flick of an anticipatory tongue, like that of a giant hunting snake.
She froze, understanding that the tren’s vision required movement. When the creatures paid her no heed, she slowly melted back into the shadows for a better look.
Despite her sharp elven vision, several heartbeats passed before she could discern the creatures from the shadows in which they hid. Chameleonlike, they blended with the color and texture and even the heat patterns of the stone walls. There were five of themtall, scaly, thick-bodied creatures that walked about on two legs. A stub of vestigial tail spoke of their lizard-man ancestry, as did the wide, cruelly curving mouths filled with sharp, reptilian teeth. All the creatures held long daggers, though the claws on their massive hands made such weapons seem redundant. One of them, the largest of the group and probably the leader, held a small, sickle-shaped knife.
Bile rose in Arilyn’s throat as she understood the nature of the tool. The hooked blade was not designed to kill but to disembowel a living victim. The prey would still be alive when the creatures began to feed. Tren were highly effective assassins, voracious killers and feeders who left little trace of their crime. Dimly she saw a line of drool spilling from the corner of the tren chieftain’s fanged maw as it anticipated the kill. All the creatures were poised for a sudden spring, yet they did not attack.
It was clear to Arilyn that the tren did not sense her
presence.
However, Oth’s attention had settled elsewhere. He was regarding Isabeau with speculation.
“Lovely woman,” Danilo said, hoping that this was the only inspiration for Oth’s interest. It was entirely possible that Oth could have tracked the path taken by his lost ring and that his stated interest in spellsong was a story to cover his true intent. There was no trace
of anger on Oth’s face, though, as he regarded the beautiful thief.
“Very lovely,” the mage agreed. “If you will excuse me, I shall attempt to claim a last dance.” He slanted a glance back at Danilo. “You might do well, young man, to do likewise. There are many ladies of good family at this affair.”
His meaning was unmistakable and offensive. Danilo had parried one insult too many on Arilyn’s behalf, and he reacted as any man of his rank did when his lady’s name and honor was maligned. He stepped forward, one hand instinctively dropping to his sword belt in anticipation of formal challenge.
This amused the mage. “I think not, young Lord Thann. You are unarmed. In more ways than one, I might add. If that fascinating horticultural display was typical of your magical talents, you would do well to leave the Art strictly alone, much less challenge an accomplished mage.”
The irony of Oth’s statement was nearly as powerful a challenge as the insult to Arilyn had been. Power thrummed through Danilo’s mind, sang in his blood, and set his fingertips tingling. He could squash this supercilious toad of a man beneath one foot without leaving a smudge on his boots. The knowledge both tempted and repelled him.
Danilo inclined his head, the gesture of one gentleman conceding to another. “I think we agree, Lord Eltorchul, that an uneven challenge does no honor to either man.”
For a long moment the mage stared at him, as if trying to decide whether Danilo’s words held self-deprecating agreement or subtle insult. Color rose high on his cheeks, making his narrow face nearly as red as his hair. He answered Danilo’s bow with a curt one of his own, then spun on his heel and stalked off into the swirling throng.
Arilyn crept along the tunnels, following the faint and rapidly fading trail. All her senses hummed with awareness as she rounded a corner, even though her moonblade’s magical danger-warnings were oddly silent. She might not have perceived the ambush at all but for the flick of an anticipatory tongue, like that of a giant hunting snake.
She froze, understanding that the tren’s vision required movement. When the creatures paid her no heed, she slowly melted back into the shadows for a better look.
Despite her sharp elven vision, several heartbeats passed before she could discern the creatures from the shadows in which they hid. Chameleonlike, they blended with the color and texture and even the heat patterns of the stone walls. There were five of themtall, scaly, thick-bodied creatures that walked about on two legs. A stub of vestigial tail spoke of their lizard-man ancestry, as did the wide, cruelly curving mouths filled with sharp, reptilian teeth. All the creatures held long daggers, though the claws on their massive hands made such weapons seem redundant. One of them, the largest of the group and probably the leader, held a small, sickle-shaped knife.
Bile rose in Arilyn’s throat as she understood the nature of the tool. The hooked blade was not designed to kill but to disembowel a living victim. The prey would still be alive when the creatures began to feed. Tren were highly effective assassins, voracious killers and feeders who left little trace of their crime. Dimly she saw a line of drool spilling from the corner of the tren chieftain’s fanged maw as it anticipated the kill. All the creatures were poised for a sudden spring, yet they did not attack.
It was clear to Arilyn that the tren did not sense her
presence.
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