conspirators had the temerity to laugh. "Only the dragon one," said the centaur. "They are symbols. The harp of the alvar is silver, the staff of the sprites is, naturally, wooden. The diadem of the merrows is a thing of pearls and dried sea-wrack."
"Of course," said Haborym, "the leather bag we had from the centaurs may be full of gold."
The centaur snorted. "You know full well that it is not! Any more than the copper cauldron of humans is full of gold."
"But I believe that the last holder did make jam in the pot," said the fire-being. "Humans are not fit custodians."
"The iron hammer of the dvergar should hardly be kept in the salt sea either then," said the centaur. "The flame of the people of smokeless flame you have seen often, Vorlian. It burns in your conclave. A globe of the eternal fire."
He'd seen it. Every dragon had. Never thought twice about what it was doing there, or what it might be. It was just a globe of flame on a plinth at the entry, that had always been there. It should be easy to go and take . . . "So, should we not be gathering these items?"
The fire-being's flames shrugged. "Why? The dvergar and merrows can be compelled to give what they hold up to us. You know how it works, dragon. The weaker species cannot resist."
The centaur twitched. It really didn't like Haborym. The centaur disliked having its expertise challenged too. "Not really. There is a balance of compulsion between the species. But it is in our favor in this instance. In fact the only issue is the merrow treasure."
"Surely we have one of the leading nobles of alvar in our midst?" said Lyr.
Rennalinn looked excessively uncomfortable. "I am not on the best of terms with Lord Gywndar of Yenfar."
"Yenfar?" said the dragon. That was the dragon Zuamar's demesne . . . where those two had just raided in their search for a human mage.
Chapter 4
Fionn the dragon looked down across the bay. Across the burning crofts. It was a lucky thing for most of the villagers that there'd been a thunderous rockfall on the cliff that had drawn their attention to the sea. If that hadn't happened he might just have had to bestir himself, with all the consequences that that might have had. It was none of his business, after all, but he did come from an earlier time, when life had been more precious.
The bulk of the fishermen, and their women and children, had fled, scattering into the gorse. There were always one or two who were damned if they'd leave, and they'd paid the price. But what had been oddest was the dance of energies around the village. Someone had been using magic. Using it liberally too, in a place that should barely have boasted a midwife, let alone a spell-worker of great power, if vast ineptitude. Magic had its price, and the village could certainly not have afforded it. Odd. It was also a place that was truly not worth a tenth of the cost of that raid. Even if they'd taken alive every man, woman and child to sell, outfitting and equipping at least a hundred and twenty men would cost far more than the profits could be. Human slaves were cheap, after all. There was a strong magical compulsion on those raiders. There'd have to be. Raiding this deep into Zuamar's territories was a risky pastime, as Fionn had reason to know. The old dragon was lazy, but this was still his territory.
Magic and money had been spent on wiping out this fishing hamlet. Why? And why had someone else expended magic on making it a good place to live? To a planomancer such as he, the energies of the place were as twisted as any he'd seen. Fionn puzzled on it, briefly. It was not his business, although he had made a habit of interfering in things that weren't his affairs . . . It would be fascinating to find out, but he had a lot to do in a fairly short time, if he was going to finally destroy Tasmarin. He'd done the little adjustments necessary for the energy flow in this area. A matter of
"Of course," said Haborym, "the leather bag we had from the centaurs may be full of gold."
The centaur snorted. "You know full well that it is not! Any more than the copper cauldron of humans is full of gold."
"But I believe that the last holder did make jam in the pot," said the fire-being. "Humans are not fit custodians."
"The iron hammer of the dvergar should hardly be kept in the salt sea either then," said the centaur. "The flame of the people of smokeless flame you have seen often, Vorlian. It burns in your conclave. A globe of the eternal fire."
He'd seen it. Every dragon had. Never thought twice about what it was doing there, or what it might be. It was just a globe of flame on a plinth at the entry, that had always been there. It should be easy to go and take . . . "So, should we not be gathering these items?"
The fire-being's flames shrugged. "Why? The dvergar and merrows can be compelled to give what they hold up to us. You know how it works, dragon. The weaker species cannot resist."
The centaur twitched. It really didn't like Haborym. The centaur disliked having its expertise challenged too. "Not really. There is a balance of compulsion between the species. But it is in our favor in this instance. In fact the only issue is the merrow treasure."
"Surely we have one of the leading nobles of alvar in our midst?" said Lyr.
Rennalinn looked excessively uncomfortable. "I am not on the best of terms with Lord Gywndar of Yenfar."
"Yenfar?" said the dragon. That was the dragon Zuamar's demesne . . . where those two had just raided in their search for a human mage.
Chapter 4
Fionn the dragon looked down across the bay. Across the burning crofts. It was a lucky thing for most of the villagers that there'd been a thunderous rockfall on the cliff that had drawn their attention to the sea. If that hadn't happened he might just have had to bestir himself, with all the consequences that that might have had. It was none of his business, after all, but he did come from an earlier time, when life had been more precious.
The bulk of the fishermen, and their women and children, had fled, scattering into the gorse. There were always one or two who were damned if they'd leave, and they'd paid the price. But what had been oddest was the dance of energies around the village. Someone had been using magic. Using it liberally too, in a place that should barely have boasted a midwife, let alone a spell-worker of great power, if vast ineptitude. Magic had its price, and the village could certainly not have afforded it. Odd. It was also a place that was truly not worth a tenth of the cost of that raid. Even if they'd taken alive every man, woman and child to sell, outfitting and equipping at least a hundred and twenty men would cost far more than the profits could be. Human slaves were cheap, after all. There was a strong magical compulsion on those raiders. There'd have to be. Raiding this deep into Zuamar's territories was a risky pastime, as Fionn had reason to know. The old dragon was lazy, but this was still his territory.
Magic and money had been spent on wiping out this fishing hamlet. Why? And why had someone else expended magic on making it a good place to live? To a planomancer such as he, the energies of the place were as twisted as any he'd seen. Fionn puzzled on it, briefly. It was not his business, although he had made a habit of interfering in things that weren't his affairs . . . It would be fascinating to find out, but he had a lot to do in a fairly short time, if he was going to finally destroy Tasmarin. He'd done the little adjustments necessary for the energy flow in this area. A matter of
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