Dragon Rigger Read Online Free PDF Page A

size on the outside—but in here, all sizes are made equal, dragon. Take a good look around."
    Windrush glanced warily out of the corner of his eye. Sizes made equal? Certainly the cavern dwarfed both of them. Several boulders stood nearby, and he realized that there was something unusual about them. They were streaked with large veins of malinor crystal—stunningly large veins. Unless those rocks weren't really the boulders they seemed. Windrush touched them with his undersense and felt something odd.
    "Note the lumenis branch to your right," Hodakai said.
    The dragon shifted his gaze. A large branch from a dead lumenis plant lay on the stone. An enormous branch . . . unless it was actually a twig, as the size of the desiccated blossom-nub at its tip seemed to indicate. Windrush recalled the entry spells that had brought him into this place—the crack on the outside, and the way that the inner passage had seemed much larger, but otherwise identical.
    Suppose the passageway had not been made larger. Suppose he had been made smaller.
    The shadow-spirit crowed and made little cackling sounds, delighting in the dragon's discomfiture.
    Windrush tugged with his undersense, hoping to unravel any remaining spells of illusion. Nothing changed that he could see: not his size, nor the size of the jar, nor the lumenis branch. How could this have happened, without his even noticing it? Had his wisdom fallen so far? The spell must have been left here by the departed guardians of this vault; and if so, its makers might return to discover whom they had ensnared. And if they were Tar-skel dragons, or drahls, or other beings sympathetic to the Enemy . . .
    Windrush slowly scanned the area, trying not to betray his alarm. Was someone else watching him? The cavern walls were full of shadows, shifting in the light of the spirit jar. For an instant he thought he spied a moving gleam in a far corner, and he swung his head, flame hot in his throat. But he saw nothing.
    "Feeling edgy, all of a sudden?" the spirit asked.
    The dragon checked an urge to flame the jar. "Spirit-named-Hodakai, you play a dangerous game, toying with matters that you little understand."
    "Oh. Tsk, tsk. Do you intend to stop me?"
    "I have no need to stop you. But your life could perhaps be pleasanter if you chose your enemies more wisely—and your friends."
    "Ah—you know so much of my life, then. Perhaps you would have me choose a dragon as a friend. You, perhaps?"
    "I have no need of your friendship," Windrush answered coldly. "I merely remind you of the difference between choosing well and choosing poorly."
    He shifted his gaze. There were clear signs of dragonwork here: faceted surfaces that spoke of artisan spells, and surfaces burnished by dragon fire or scarred by dragon claws. Everywhere was the rubble and dust of long neglect. Why had Hodakai's captors abandoned him here? Had they planned to return, and forgotten? Servants of the Enemy might well do such a thing.
    "Perhaps indeed you were wronged," Windrush said offhandedly. "Tell me, what do you know of the Keepers of the Words? Were you imprisoned by their enemies?"
    There was no answer.
    The spirit's shadow was no longer visible in the jar. Windrush cocked his head, puzzled. It seemed unlikely that the spirit had escaped; more likely, it was busy sending a message out through the underrealm.
    "Dragon!" he heard—a soft, whispery voice, not at all like Hodakai's. Where had that come from?
    "Dragon!"
    This time he glimpsed movement, in the gloom off to his left—just a shimmer in the air, like an iffling. But he did not feel any sense of the presence of an iffling. And yet something was nearby. Perhaps a simple cavern sprite.
    "It is a stubborn one that you speak to, dragon," whispered a different voice. He glimpsed another shimmer. Yes— sprites, he thought. "There are others who seek to win him over, as well." There was high, tinkling laughter, then a third voice. "Of course, they won't give him what