Taniel (The Taverner's Daughter I)

37: The Wizard

"What are you on about?" snapped the wizard, far from polite. Trying to sleep on a cold and stony mountain ground does that to a man, he thought. He tried to concentrate on the hideous speech from the gharl.

"Esssaape," repeated Fisnal, flapping his arms and jerking his head towards the dome-encased duo below them.

"Escaped?" The wizard rose to his feet and, shoving Fisnal aside, rushed to the gap in the rocks from where they were taking turns to keep watch. "They can't escape."

Fisnal shook his head and threw up his hands. He flapped them again and pointed to the dark waterhole by which their captives slept.

"Scope." He peered about for the looking-tube. "Where's the scope?" He snatched it from Fisnal and held it to his eye.

Behind him, the gharl sniggered.

He flipped the looking tube around, mumbling curses. After looking for a long moment, he lowered it.

He loosed a hand and cuffed the gharl across the head. "They're still there, you fool."

Fisnal snarled.

The deep throaty sound set the hairs on the back of the wizard's neck erect. He sidled away and raised the scope. "What makes you think they can escape?" he asked, in a friendlier tone.

The gharl snarled, his eyes glowing as he turned and went back to the camp.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Sighing, he wondered why he bothered.

The moon sailed above the Moordake Mountain peaks, leaking light through the gathered clouds and glimmered purple highlights on the domed shield. The edge of the water pool glinted.

"What the..." Something was happening by the water. The green dragon was limbering its wings, Langley barely discernible on its back.

Scowling and swearing, the wizard slipped the scope into his pocket. He rubbed his fingers through his hair and scratched his beard. The dragon could not penetrate the barrier but he was not so sure about Langley's abilities. Despite reports saying the lad had lost contact with his magic, he might have prevented himself being thrown clear as the prison formed. It might not have been an unfortunate accident. You couldn't trust anyone to give you the right information, these days.

He smacked his palms together. "I've got to get down there," he muttered. Now regretting the choice of the high ground for their lookout, he gathered up his scant belongings. He eyed the gharl who lay curled by the small campfire. He nudged him, careful to keep his foot far from the toothy end.

"Put out the fire. We must get down there."

The wizard summoned a flame, sending it five paces ahead to light the way, fearing he might already be too late.

The Pirate King would have Chadbyrne's hide, and should his spylord survive that, then the Captain would have him swabbing decks on his precious sky-ship for years.

"Hurry, Fishtail," he yelled over his shoulder. "The Keeper must not escape. If he bonds with that sword, we will never stop the prophecy. We must keep him away from the girl or, at the very least, grab that bloody sword."

That's what Chadbyrne would have said, the wizard thought, pleased.

He did not care so much.

***
20 March 2017 - replaced with revised version

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