the encroachment of elves and their human slaves that caused them to leave the place to the desert hawks, ruby-lizards, and their ilk.
And that was the concern of greatest moment to Alara. If she didn’t want to be detected, there was only one form she could take. She was going to be here a while, and she wanted to be comfortable. After a moment of inspecting the ruins, Alara found the perfect place to take up her station; a hollow in the shelter of the wall that could have been created to cradle her body, swollen with pregnancy. It lay full in the sun and she curled herself into it, tucking tail and wingtips in neatly.
No use in making her shift any harder than it had to be, she thought with wry good humor. Father Dragon didn’t call her “lazy” for nothing—though she preferred to think of herself as “efficient.”
The sand was soft and yielding, and silken against the scales of her sides. She contemplated the pool for a moment, letting its deep, silent water give her the pattern for her meditations. Gradually she let her mind sink into it, down through the blue-tinged waters, into the indigo depths, to the sand-strewn bottom, where the cold water welled up from a hidden crack beneath the sands. There was the magic, welling up as serenely as the water, from the joining of the six shining ley-lines. She saw them with her overeyes, glowing moon-on-dragon-scale silver, that peculiar sheen of pure metal with the overlay of draconic iridescence, a furtive rainbow that was all colors and none at all. And where the lines met, a silent fountain of power sang upward, rising toward the sunbeams lancing down to meet it.
If only the elves knew
… Alara chuckled to herself. The elvenkind were so jealous of power, hoarders of any and all sources, and as greedy of its possession as a child with a sweet. But the elvenkind could not see the ley-lines, and could not avail themselves of the strength inherent in them. Only the dragons could—and the humans…
Alara was not certain why the dragons were able to tap the alien energies of this world. Perhaps, though they were not native to this place, it was because
their
power came from shifting themselves to live in harmony with whatever world they found themselves on. The elves, equally foreign here, could
not
sense nor use these energies—so Father Dragon said—not only because they were no more native to this world than the dragons, but because they made no attempt to fit themselves to it. Instead, they chose ever to fit the world to themselves.
As for the poor humans—those that were left with the ability to see the power had little notion of how to use it, and if ever their masters learned they
did
have that gift, they speedily met their end in the arena or at the hands of an overseer. The elves did not tolerate such talents among their servants.
. And yet the gifts persisted, as if the land itself needed them.
An interesting thought. Not now, though
… Alara tucked that notion away for later contemplation, and proceeded with her own magic-weavings, tapping into the upwelling magic of the pool to lend her the strength and power for such a complicated shifting. She was here for a purpose, and idle thoughts of elves and humans could wait until that purpose was accomplished.
She drew yet more of the power away from the spring, spinning it into a gossamer thread that sparkled to her innersight and caressed her with a rich and heady taste like the sparkling vintages she had enjoyed in her elven form. She took the power to herself and spun it through her body until she shimmered like a mirage from nose to tail-tip. Tension built in her, as she drank in more and more of the power, drank it in and held it until she could hold no more, until she strained with it as a water-skin filled nigh to bursting.
Now
—she thought, and felt the ripple of change start at her tail and course through her in a wave, leaving in its wake—
Stone.
Not just any stone. Fire-born stone, the
And that was the concern of greatest moment to Alara. If she didn’t want to be detected, there was only one form she could take. She was going to be here a while, and she wanted to be comfortable. After a moment of inspecting the ruins, Alara found the perfect place to take up her station; a hollow in the shelter of the wall that could have been created to cradle her body, swollen with pregnancy. It lay full in the sun and she curled herself into it, tucking tail and wingtips in neatly.
No use in making her shift any harder than it had to be, she thought with wry good humor. Father Dragon didn’t call her “lazy” for nothing—though she preferred to think of herself as “efficient.”
The sand was soft and yielding, and silken against the scales of her sides. She contemplated the pool for a moment, letting its deep, silent water give her the pattern for her meditations. Gradually she let her mind sink into it, down through the blue-tinged waters, into the indigo depths, to the sand-strewn bottom, where the cold water welled up from a hidden crack beneath the sands. There was the magic, welling up as serenely as the water, from the joining of the six shining ley-lines. She saw them with her overeyes, glowing moon-on-dragon-scale silver, that peculiar sheen of pure metal with the overlay of draconic iridescence, a furtive rainbow that was all colors and none at all. And where the lines met, a silent fountain of power sang upward, rising toward the sunbeams lancing down to meet it.
If only the elves knew
… Alara chuckled to herself. The elvenkind were so jealous of power, hoarders of any and all sources, and as greedy of its possession as a child with a sweet. But the elvenkind could not see the ley-lines, and could not avail themselves of the strength inherent in them. Only the dragons could—and the humans…
Alara was not certain why the dragons were able to tap the alien energies of this world. Perhaps, though they were not native to this place, it was because
their
power came from shifting themselves to live in harmony with whatever world they found themselves on. The elves, equally foreign here, could
not
sense nor use these energies—so Father Dragon said—not only because they were no more native to this world than the dragons, but because they made no attempt to fit themselves to it. Instead, they chose ever to fit the world to themselves.
As for the poor humans—those that were left with the ability to see the power had little notion of how to use it, and if ever their masters learned they
did
have that gift, they speedily met their end in the arena or at the hands of an overseer. The elves did not tolerate such talents among their servants.
. And yet the gifts persisted, as if the land itself needed them.
An interesting thought. Not now, though
… Alara tucked that notion away for later contemplation, and proceeded with her own magic-weavings, tapping into the upwelling magic of the pool to lend her the strength and power for such a complicated shifting. She was here for a purpose, and idle thoughts of elves and humans could wait until that purpose was accomplished.
She drew yet more of the power away from the spring, spinning it into a gossamer thread that sparkled to her innersight and caressed her with a rich and heady taste like the sparkling vintages she had enjoyed in her elven form. She took the power to herself and spun it through her body until she shimmered like a mirage from nose to tail-tip. Tension built in her, as she drank in more and more of the power, drank it in and held it until she could hold no more, until she strained with it as a water-skin filled nigh to bursting.
Now
—she thought, and felt the ripple of change start at her tail and course through her in a wave, leaving in its wake—
Stone.
Not just any stone. Fire-born stone, the
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