Blade of Glass by Richard Parry

Author:Richard Parry [Parry, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Mondegreen
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Meriwether poked the fire with a dragon bone. The bone didn’t burn or char, which wasn’t surprising—if legends were true, the dragons breathed fire. He’d expect ‘em to be at least a little resistant on the inside.

Geneve dragged the dragon saddle to the center of what they called camp while Meriwether built up the fire. There was plenty of fallen wood, making the task trivial, but the quiet of the area around the dead Artifice was getting a little creepy. After he’d got the fire good and bright, and a stockpile of wood to keep it going all night, he’d spent a few minutes examining the saddle. It had a seat that looked like leather but wasn’t. The saddle’s padding was long gone. And while the ancient’s faux leather withstood many of the ravages of time, it was still fragile and brittle. He’d poked and prodded the contraption, marveling at how the metal wasn’t tarnished. But his fascination stopped there, because there weren’t any dragons, and even if there were, there was no way he would get on one.

Sight of Day returned an hour after Geneve’s discovery of the saddle. He brought two pheasants and two geese. The large birds were a surprise. “Geese?”

The Feybrind looked to the darkness, hands moving. Geneve ran a hand through red hair. “He says the Vhemin will arrive soon, and it’s better to have something on hand to feed it.”

“Good thinking.” Meriwether set to helping prepare the birds. Plucking them wasn’t fun but being eaten by Vhemin was going to be less fun, so he felt all his incentives were correctly aligned. That’s how they spent a couple hours: plucking and roasting birds, while Geneve fussed with the dragon saddle. She appeared enchanted by it, as if being next to it would conjure a dragon from the ground.

For his part, Meriwether cast a nervous glance up. The bottom of the Artifice reflected back a little firelight. It was massive, and aside from six legs it also had huge pincers like a crab. He didn’t know what this one was built for, but he suspected it wasn’t for fancy parties.

About the time the dinner was close to ready, a stomping, crashing sound came from the trees. Sight of Day glanced into the night, cat eyes able to see just fine. With a sigh, the cat shook his head. Moments later, the Vhemin crunched from the forest verge. He was cut in about thirty places but wore a grin like it was his birthday. He led a bear, an actual bear, by a rope. The bear was seal brown and had what was probably blood matted around its muzzle. The Vhemin appeared to have resupplied en route, and wore piecemeal leather armor, including one of the hot-stone backpacks of his kind. He carried a large spiked club in one hand like it weighed no more than a toothpick.

The Vhemin let the bear’s rope go. Meriwether scrabbled to his feet, aches and pains of the day forgotten.

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