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Authors: Michelle L. Levigne
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that defended them.
Angered cries turned to howls of pain. One dark shape inside the light slowed its
thrashing. The howls faded to a weak keening. Then both shapes lay still.
The silence startled Grego.
"Well done, my dear," Mrillis whispered.
With a flick of his wrist, the light vanished. The two drakags lay still, eyes wide open
and staring, mouths gaping in silent cries of agony. Grego shuddered and felt a momentary pity
for them. He shuddered harder when he got a better look at their multiple, razor-sharp claws and
knew what one good blow could do to his body.
"The light contained them," Mrillis said. "There was no danger. However, it would be
foolish to hope Edrout only has one enemy or pitfall waiting for us. For the next hundred meters
or so, it would be best if all were silent, to listen for danger." He gave them no chance to
respond, but turned his horse and headed into the darkness. His torch flared and wavered with the
sudden movement.
Emrillian gave Grego a tight smile and followed. Her mount and the packhorses shied
when they had to pass the drakags, but she kept control, and in a moment the trouble passed.
Grego took a deep breath and dug his heels into his mount's sides. He guided the animal, in as
wide an arch as he could manage, around the dead beasts. A faint odor of corruption already
hovered around the corpses. He looked once at them, little more than a quick glance. In their
struggles they had torn their hides, which legend reported as impervious as hammered and
tempered steel.
* * * *
"I've been thinking about Edrout." Grego kept his voice just above a whisper.
Emrillian wished he would either speak loudly enough that she didn't strain to hear, or
give in and speak through the Threads. She couldn't understand why he didn't like to use that
form of communication. He hadn't had headaches from doing it for years now.
"Does Edrout really believe he is Athrar's son," he continued, when she just nodded and
waited for him to continue, "and he was cast off and punished for the sins of his father?"
"He will likely use that tale to bolster his claim to the throne. Whether he believes it or
not, who knows?"
Emrillian was glad Grego accompanied them on this journey. Mrillis was too intent on
studying the tunnel ahead of them, too deeply immersed in the Threads as they crept closer to
Lygroes and the currents of time slowed around them. He wouldn't be good company, and she
needed someone to talk with, to pass the time and relieve the tension of wondering when the next
attack might come. Drakags were easy enough, after proving to herself she could do it the first
time. The stinging bats that had come at them an hour ago were only annoying, squeaking and
refusing to fly into the light globes she conjured to stun them.
She swallowed, testing the scratching in her throat. If this damp continued seeping
through her clothes, she supposed she would have a cold, or at least a dripping nose by the time
they emerged from the tunnel. She almost laughed aloud at the thought of a queen facing her
subjects for the first time, sniffing and sneezing.
She glanced at Mrillis, wondering if she could ask him to ward off any ill effects of their
journey. A second later, common sense told her he would refuse, on principle if nothing else. She
had magic in her blood, so she should use it on herself when necessary. She wiggled her fingers
inside her gloves, fighting the temptation to rub them against her thighs. They tingled with the
growing strength of magic in the very air, more solid with every league they rode down the
tunnel below the sea.
She had to behave sensibly, responsibly, now that magic permeated her flesh and filled
her lungs. Imbrose was a gift to help her people, not a toy for an immature, irresponsible
child. That kind of mind-set would turn her into a greater danger than Megassa and Edrout
combined. Still, Emrillian shivered in gleeful memory of the ease in shaping the light, changing
it from protection to
Angered cries turned to howls of pain. One dark shape inside the light slowed its
thrashing. The howls faded to a weak keening. Then both shapes lay still.
The silence startled Grego.
"Well done, my dear," Mrillis whispered.
With a flick of his wrist, the light vanished. The two drakags lay still, eyes wide open
and staring, mouths gaping in silent cries of agony. Grego shuddered and felt a momentary pity
for them. He shuddered harder when he got a better look at their multiple, razor-sharp claws and
knew what one good blow could do to his body.
"The light contained them," Mrillis said. "There was no danger. However, it would be
foolish to hope Edrout only has one enemy or pitfall waiting for us. For the next hundred meters
or so, it would be best if all were silent, to listen for danger." He gave them no chance to
respond, but turned his horse and headed into the darkness. His torch flared and wavered with the
sudden movement.
Emrillian gave Grego a tight smile and followed. Her mount and the packhorses shied
when they had to pass the drakags, but she kept control, and in a moment the trouble passed.
Grego took a deep breath and dug his heels into his mount's sides. He guided the animal, in as
wide an arch as he could manage, around the dead beasts. A faint odor of corruption already
hovered around the corpses. He looked once at them, little more than a quick glance. In their
struggles they had torn their hides, which legend reported as impervious as hammered and
tempered steel.
* * * *
"I've been thinking about Edrout." Grego kept his voice just above a whisper.
Emrillian wished he would either speak loudly enough that she didn't strain to hear, or
give in and speak through the Threads. She couldn't understand why he didn't like to use that
form of communication. He hadn't had headaches from doing it for years now.
"Does Edrout really believe he is Athrar's son," he continued, when she just nodded and
waited for him to continue, "and he was cast off and punished for the sins of his father?"
"He will likely use that tale to bolster his claim to the throne. Whether he believes it or
not, who knows?"
Emrillian was glad Grego accompanied them on this journey. Mrillis was too intent on
studying the tunnel ahead of them, too deeply immersed in the Threads as they crept closer to
Lygroes and the currents of time slowed around them. He wouldn't be good company, and she
needed someone to talk with, to pass the time and relieve the tension of wondering when the next
attack might come. Drakags were easy enough, after proving to herself she could do it the first
time. The stinging bats that had come at them an hour ago were only annoying, squeaking and
refusing to fly into the light globes she conjured to stun them.
She swallowed, testing the scratching in her throat. If this damp continued seeping
through her clothes, she supposed she would have a cold, or at least a dripping nose by the time
they emerged from the tunnel. She almost laughed aloud at the thought of a queen facing her
subjects for the first time, sniffing and sneezing.
She glanced at Mrillis, wondering if she could ask him to ward off any ill effects of their
journey. A second later, common sense told her he would refuse, on principle if nothing else. She
had magic in her blood, so she should use it on herself when necessary. She wiggled her fingers
inside her gloves, fighting the temptation to rub them against her thighs. They tingled with the
growing strength of magic in the very air, more solid with every league they rode down the
tunnel below the sea.
She had to behave sensibly, responsibly, now that magic permeated her flesh and filled
her lungs. Imbrose was a gift to help her people, not a toy for an immature, irresponsible
child. That kind of mind-set would turn her into a greater danger than Megassa and Edrout
combined. Still, Emrillian shivered in gleeful memory of the ease in shaping the light, changing
it from protection to
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