Storm of Wings by Chris Bunch

Author:Chris Bunch [Bunch, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General
ISBN: 9781841491929
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2003-03-31T23:00:00+00:00

"Beef of old

Covered with mold

We shun thee yet

Your odor set

We turn away

Our stomachs at bay

Protect us all

From your horrid pall."

He then chanted, in a monotone, words in an unknown language, nodded at his assistants, who capped the braziers, just as Hal was about to break into uncontrollable coughing.

Another assistant opened a vast port on to the seething ocean at the ship's stern, and the chill wind quickly cleared the smoke out.

"I never thought," Sir Loren said, "having a strong stomach is a perquisite for wizardry."

Limingo heard him, grinned.

"It is an absolute necessity. I recall the first five years of my apprenticeship as being mostly nausea. I suppose that kept my master's expenses for his larder down, though.

"Now, all of you, try your amulets out."

Hal touched his, thought of salt beef, and instantly did not want to go in three directions. He asked Limingo about it, who had him indicate those directions.

"Very good," he said. "One aversion, of course, is to that bit of beef on the deck there. The other would be to the hold where the provisions are kept. And the third would be to the galley, which suggests what we're having for the evening meal.

"All of you? Did you feel the same?"

All did, but two had only a single response.

"Good enough," Limingo said. "Each of you has his—or her, pardon milady—personal compass.

"So you can go flying now… and be content you'll be back aboard before the cooks finish boiling our meal into submission."

They started for the dragon deck.

Saslic noticed Farren Mariah had a long face.

"'Smatter, small one? You don't want to eat some fog?"

"'Tisn't that," Mariah said. "Just realizin' what small beer I'd be as a wizard. Not only havin' to pack-sack all that gear, and learn all kind of tongues, none of which anyone without a split tongue could ever speak aloud, but havin' such pretty, pretty assistants.

"Not my cut of beef at all. Pardonin' the expression."

* * * *

Hal and the others took their dragons high, circling in the sheer joy of flying after so long, swooping, making mock attacks on each other.

As the sun sank and it grew colder, the ship's warmth called, and, one by one, they circled back to the Adventurer and its salt beef.

* * * *

"That incantation Limingo was saying," Saslic said to Farren as they groomed their dragons. "It was damned poor poetry."

'"Twas," Mariah agreed.

"Since you're supposed to have some talents as a witch, Farren," she asked, "does it matter how good your poems are? Do demons—or whoever helps magic work out—like good poetry, or crappy stuff, like soldiers go for?"

"Don't seem't' matter," Farren said. "M' gran'sire said it just focused the mind an' will on the spell."

"So a magician could be going doobly, doobly, doobly, and it'd have the same effect?"

"Nope," Farren said. "Best if you've got to slave some, writin' the chant, and then, sayin' it, keeps you payin' attention."

"And if you don't pay attention," Hal asked from his cage, "the spell won't work, right?"

"Mayhap," Farren said. "Or a demon eats you.

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