The monster shrieked, a baneful cry that carried leagues on the wind and seemed to set off a gale that bent large pines and snapped their heavy branches. A moan issued from the earth, echoed by the rocks of the stone circle, and then the huge beast’s shoulders slumped and began to flow back into the ground.
Patting her hand gently, Dragonbait took his sword from her numbed grip. He slashed at the rock hand that held her, and the stone flowed away from her legs like sand. They were free, but there was a forty foot drop from the monster’s head to the ground, and Alias was reluctant to make the leap.
She spotted Olive Ruskettle below, throwing daggers at the behemoth. The halfling’s weapons buried themselves in the monster’s chest. The tiny blades couldn’t possibly hurt the monster more than a bee sting would harm a human warrior, yet the monster cried out again like a feral child.
More goo oozed from the shattered crystal on the monster’s head. The wound was undoubtedly mortal, but Alias worried now that she and Dragonbait might be crushed by the monster’s death throes. Dragonbait tugged on Alias’s arm and forced her to half-leap, half-slide to the rock monster’s shoulders.
Akabar’s voice rose in a chant, and a lance of rainbow light struck the creature in the chest above the dimming rune of interlocking circles. The rainbow broke into a thousand small motes, spreading across the creature in a dancing, swirling pattern.
With one arm about Alias’s waist, Dragonbait began climbing down the monster’s back, using his hand and foot claws to keep his grip. Dragonbait jumped the last ten feet just as Akabar’s magic consumed the creature’s torso and slid up its head and arms. The moon shone through the stone wherever the rainbow light covered it.
The creature gave one last plaintive groan and faded into the night. Even the torn earth where it had risen fell neatly back into place. Akabar and Olive ran toward Alias, shouting victory cries. Behind her, she smelled the woodsmoke scent that seemed to cling to the lizard. A clawed hand squeezed her numbed shoulder gently, and Alias felt warmth flow into the limb. Dragonbait looked up at her, and she felt sure there was concern in his eyes, though they looked as dead yellow as ever. The lizard drew back as the halfling and the mage reached Alias’s side.
“Did you see?” Olive asked. “While this one was struggling to remember his spell,” she jerked her head in Akabar’s direction, “I wounded it to the quick with two daggers to its heart. My aim was never better. What was it, anyway?”
Akabar looked down at the bard in disbelief. “Perhaps later you would care to hone your abilities by throwing at the side of a barn,” he suggested dryly. “That was some type of earth elemental, though not one of the standard breed normally called up by magic-users. Perhaps it was from the Plane of Minerals, which abuts the Earthen Plane. At any rate, it was a conjured creature, or my dispel magic chant would not have worked on it.”
He turned to address Alias. “I’m sorry I cast my spell before you could finish climbing down, but I judged you were safer falling than being crushed beneath the monster.”
“Quite right,” Alias answered, nodding her head, though she was obviously preoccupied with some other thought.
“Someone summoned something that big just to capture you?” Olive gasped. “You must be someone important.”
Akabar turned to study Dragonbait, who sat on a rock, studying his blade in the moonlight. The lizard-creature ran a clawed thumb along the edge and growled like a cat. “It seems you’ve nicked his blade,” Akabar said to Alias, pointing to the lizard. Dragonbait pulled something from his belt pouch. Alias watched as Dragonbait began sliding a whetstone along the steel edge.
“He seems more worried about his weapon’s condition than yours,” the halfling sniffed.
“Quite right,” Alias repeated. She shivered. Pulling her cloak about her, she headed back down the hill to the campfire. Her head still echoed with the stone creature’s hoarse laughter. Familiar, she thought, familiar as an old friend. Familiar as death.
7
The Wedding Reception
In the backyard of Dimswart Manor, two days journey from the mountains, in the countryside near Suzail, laughter and the clink of fine crystal filled the wedding tent. Now and then the multi-colored cloth walls shivered as some high-spirited child ran into the slender, black vloon wood rods supporting the sides. The white roof wafted alarmingly each time some tired or drunken soul leaned against the huge center pole that supported the tent roof.
Alias and Akabar had arrived late the previous night, mud-spattered and exhausted, but with a famous bard on the pony between them. Dragonbait loped along behind them since he refused to ride. Fortunately, he’d had no trouble keeping up with the group.
The lady of the house welcomed them with as much hospitality as she could, considering her home was already full of visitors, all certain of their supreme importance in the scheme of things. Small but comfortable rooms were found for the adventurers in the servant’s wing.
Their hostess insisted they attend the wedding, though it was obvious to Alias that she did so only because it would be awkward to ask them to leave. Gratitude for the service they’d just rendered was the last thing on Lady Leona’s mind. She had given Alias the distinct impression that, in her opinion, fighting a dragon was a snap compared to planning a wedding for three hundred people.
More suitable attire was found for the female guest—a sky-blue strapless gown with leggings and a capelet. One accessory had been added, a pair of arm-length, fingerless gloves, no doubt supplied to cover up her “affliction.”
Alias was uncomfortable in the gown, despite the good fit and excellent cloth. She felt naked without her armor, and she kept tripping over the skirt. You’d think I’d never worn a dress in my life, she chided herself the third time she’d neglected to lift the hem and stepped on it. After all, I wasn’t born in armor.
As far as her unreliable memory could recollect, she had worn dresses before becoming an adventurer. Even after she took up the sword, she’d risked teasing from the male members of her party and allowed herself the luxury of a more feminine wardrobe while she stayed in town.
That thought reminded her of her purpose in remaining here. Dimswart had uncovered information on the sigils, but wouldn’t have time to review it with her until after the wedding. She scanned the crowd anxiously for the father of the bride, hoping that he might have a moment to give her some clue, something that would make the wait, in this warm tent full of frivolous people, bearable.
Dimswart was mingling through the crowd, looking as jolly as a trader who has deceived the tax collector. When Alias spotted him, he was lending a friendly ear to a gathering of his daughter’s friends, no doubt hearing a saintly version of the bride’s last night of freedom. Shrieks and giggles emanating from the bride’s quarters had kept Alias awake into the small hours of the morning. Yet, the bride looked fresh as morning, and though she was important enough to warrant a seat, she would not stay in it. Instead, she roamed the tent and the lawn in her white gown, with the crest of her upswept hair bobbing like peacock feathers.
Nothing holding that girl up but the stays in her bodice, and nothing keeping her moving but nervous energy, Alias thought. The bride, Gaylyn, had greeted everyone, even taken a moment to thank Alias for all her help. It was doubtful she knew exactly what Alias had done, since she’d greeted many people with the same platitude, but she seemed in earnest. She’d go far in court, Alias decided, even without help from her new in-laws.