03 The Ruin by Forgotten Realms

Author:Forgotten Realms [Realms, Forgotten]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T16:09:44.471000+00:00

CHAPTER NINE 17 Uktar, the Year of Rogue Dragons

Kneeling, gripping Rilitar's sword partway down the blade, Taegan scratched away with it as if it were a stylus, and the point inscribed lines and curves in the slope. He disliked treating the superb weapon in such a churlish way, but it cut the frozen earth far, more easily than a chunk of rock would have done, and it was an aspect of its excellence that even such rough usage wouldn't. dull it. When he finished, he worked the incipient soreness out of his fingersit had been awkward to grip the blade in a way that ensured he wouldn't cut himselfand inspected his handiwork, a crude but recognizable copy of the flame, eyes, and claws emblem of the Cult of the Dragon. Presumably the Tarterians, being Sammaster's allies or servants, knew what that particular device signified. Even if not, it would still give them something to puzzle over. It was time for the difficult part. Taegan contemplated what was to come, and despite all that he'd already experienced and survived, felt a pang of dread. He currently possessed every advantage his magic, and that of his comrades, could provide, layered enchantments to make him as elusive as possible. Bladesong rendered him stronger, more nimble, and could provide other benefits when he found himself hard-pressed. Kara had shrouded him in invisibility. Raryn had heightened his endurance, granted him the ability to see in utter darkness, deadened his scent, and insured his feet would leave no tracks. Brimstone claimed to have sharpened his witsthough Taegan preferred to believe that was scarcely possibleand to have supplied a protection that might enable him to go where even Tarterians wouldn't follow. Yet against half a dozen wyrms, creatures Sammaster had conjured from the foulest reaches of the netherworld, could such tricks possibly prevail? Well, Taegan told himself, pushing trepidation aside, they'd have to, wouldn't they? Because, while he and his friends could dieindeed, expected to, in one way or another, for all that they forbore to say it outrightthey couldn't fail. The stakes were too high. He breathed a prayer to sweet Lady Firehair, then, on impulse, petitioned Aerdrie Faenya, principal goddess of the avariels, as well. Since he hadn't acknowledged the Winged Mother since forsaking his tribe, it seemed unlikely she'd listen with any particular sympathy, but perhaps she'd help him in order to preserve the legacy of his ancestors. He drew a deep breath, then shouted across the valley: "Sammaster is here! Attend me!" Then he fled, flying fast along the inner slopes, skimming low over scree, snowdrifts, and the gouged places where the Tarterians, who could apparently subsist on most anything, had made a meal of earth and rock. He kept on for as long as he dared, while, hissing and screeching to one another, the Tarterians winged their way closer. Finally he lit in the shadow of a boulder. He was trying his best to be stealthy, but still worried that, once the drakes drew near enough, their keen ears would catch the snap and rustle of his pinions.

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