They dragged themselves back far under the overhanging branches, heedless of the mud or the tiny crawling things in the litter of dead leaves. As soon as they were settled, Moira pulled her cloak off her pack and threw it over them, turning two people into one lumpy brown mass and leaving just a narrow crack to see out.
Even as frightened as he was, Wiz was exhilarated by Moira’s closeness. Her warmth and the sweet, clean odor of her was wonderful and the danger added spice.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Shhh.”
Then a shadow passed over them and Wiz saw what they were hiding from.
The dragon glided noiselessly above the trail they had just left. Its hundred-foot batwings were stiff and unmoving as it let the warm air rising from the meadow bear it up. Its long flat tail twitched slightly as it steered its chosen course. The four legs with their great ripping talons were pressed close to its body and its sinuous neck was fully extended. It came so low and so close that Wiz could see the row of white fangs in its slightly open mouth.
Wiz’s breath caught and he tried to sink into the dirt. Instinctively he grabbed Moira’s hand and they clung together like frightened children while the nightmare beast swooped above trees and turned to cross the meadow from another direction.
Clearly the monster had seen something on the water meadow. Again it glided across and again it flew directly over the bush where Wiz and Moira cowered. Wiz felt as if the dragon’s gaze had stripped him naked.
Four times the dragon flew over the meadow and four times Wiz trembled and shrank under Moira’s cloak. Finally it pulled up and disappeared over the trees.
For long minutes after Wiz and Moira lay huddled and shaking. At last Moira threw the cloak back and sat up. Reluctantly, Wiz followed suit.
“Was that thing looking for us?” he breathed at last.
“Very likely,” Moira said, scanning the skies warily.
“Are there more of them?”
“Dragons are usually solitary creatures and one so big would need a large hunting territory.”
She frowned. “Still, I do not know of any like that who live nearby. Wild dragons make ill neighbors. It may be the one from the southern lake or it might be one of the ones who lair in the hills to the east. If it is coursing this far afield there may be others.”
“Wonderful,” Wiz muttered.
Moira sighed shakily. “I dislike playing hideabout with dragons, but we should be safe enough if we stay under the trees and are careful about crossing open spaces.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“There is risk, of course,” Moira continued, half to herself. “The forested ways are not always the most free of magic. Besides, with the forest close around us we will not have as much warning of the approach of others.”
“Others?”
“Trolls, wolves, evil men and others who do the League’s work.”
“Great,” Wiz said.
Moira missed the irony entirely. “Not great, but our best chance, I think.” She folded the cloak. “Now come. Quickly.”
“Well?” Atros demanded.
“The searchers are out as you commanded, Master,” said the new Master of the Sea of Scrying. “But so far nothing.”
“With all the magic of the League you cannot find two insignificant mortals?” Atros rumbled.
The Master, only hours in his post, licked his lips and tried not to look past Atros’s shoulder at the place where a newly flayed skin hung, still oozing blood, on the stone wall of the chamber. The skin of a very fat man.
“It is not easy Master. Bal-Simba—cursed be his name!—has been casting confusion spells, muddying the trail at the beginning. The Council’s Watchers are on the alert and we cannot penetrate too deeply nor see too clearly.” He paused. “We do know he has not taken the Wizard’s Way.”
Atros rubbed his chin. Walking the Wizard’s Way was the preferred method of travel for those who had the magical skill to use it. But it was also easy to detect anyone upon it. Perhaps this strange wizard preferred stealth to speed.
“And those already in the North,” he asked, “behind the Watchers’ shield of spells?”