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The dragon lifted one forelimb, talons opening.
L’oric frowned. ‘I would rather ride your shoulders, Father-’
But the reptilian hand reached out and closed about him.
He resolved to suffer the indignity in silence.
Osric flew westward, following the coastline. Before too long forest appeared, and the land reached around northward. The air whipping between the dragon’s scaled fingers grew cold, then icy. The ground far below began climbing, the forests flanking mountain sides shifting into conifers. Then L’oric saw snow, reaching like frozen rivers in crevasses and chasms.
He could recall no mountains from the future to match this ancient scene. Perhaps this memory, like so many others, is flawed .
Osric began to descend-and L’oric suddenly saw a vast white emptiness, as if the mountain rearing before them had been cut neatly in half. They were approaching that edge.
A vaguely level, snow-crusted stretch was the dragon’s destination.
Its southern side was marked by a sheer cliff. To the north… opaque oblivion.
Wings pounding, raising clouds of powdery white, Osric hovered for a moment, then released L’oric.
The High Mage landed in waist-deep snow. Cursing, he kicked his way onto firmer footing, as the enormous dragon settled with a shuddering crunch off to one side.
Osric quickly sembled into Liosan form, the wind whipping at his hair, and strode over.
There were… things near the faded edge of the memory. Some of them moving about feebly. Osric stomped through the deep snow towards them, speaking as he went. ‘Creatures stumble out. You will find such all along the verge. Most of them quickly die, but some linger.’
‘What are they?’
‘Demons, mostly.’
Osric changed direction slightly, closing on one such creature, from which steam was rising. Its four limbs were moving, claws scraping through the slush surrounding it.
Father and son halted before it.
Dog-sized and reptilian, with four hands, similar to an ape’s. A wide, flat head with a broad mouth, two slits for nostrils, and four liquid, slightly protruding eyes in a diamond pattern, the pupils vertical and, in the harsh glare of the snow and sky, surprisingly open.
‘This one might suit Kurald Thyrllan,’ Osric said.
‘What kind of demon is it?’ L’oric asked, staring down at the creature.
‘I have no idea,’ Osric replied. ‘Reach out to it. See if it is amenable.’
he dragon lifted one forelimb, talons opening.
L’oric frowned. ‘I would rather ride your shoulders, Father-’
But the reptilian hand reached out and closed about him.
He resolved to suffer the indignity in silence.
Osric flew westward, following the coastline. Before too long forest appeared, and the land reached around northward. The air whipping between the dragon’s scaled fingers grew cold, then icy. The ground far below began climbing, the forests flanking mountain sides shifting into conifers. Then L’oric saw snow, reaching like frozen rivers in crevasses and chasms.
He could recall no mountains from the future to match this ancient scene. Perhaps this memory, like so many others, is flawed .
Osric began to descend-and L’oric suddenly saw a vast white emptiness, as if the mountain rearing before them had been cut neatly in half. They were approaching that edge.
A vaguely level, snow-crusted stretch was the dragon’s destination.
Its southern side was marked by a sheer cliff. To the north… opaque oblivion.
Wings pounding, raising clouds of powdery white, Osric hovered for a moment, then released L’oric.
The High Mage landed in waist-deep snow. Cursing, he kicked his way onto firmer footing, as the enormous dragon settled with a shuddering crunch off to one side.
Osric quickly sembled into Liosan form, the wind whipping at his hair, and strode over.
There were… things near the faded edge of the memory. Some of them moving about feebly. Osric stomped through the deep snow towards them, speaking as he went. ‘Creatures stumble out. You will find such all along the verge. Most of them quickly die, but some linger.’
‘What are they?’
‘Demons, mostly.’
Osric changed direction slightly, closing on one such creature, from which steam was rising. Its four limbs were moving, claws scraping through the slush surrounding it.
Father and son halted before it.
Dog-sized and reptilian, with four hands, similar to an ape’s. A wide, flat head with a broad mouth, two slits for nostrils, and four liquid, slightly protruding eyes in a diamond pattern, the pupils vertical and, in the harsh glare of the snow and sky, surprisingly open.
‘This one might suit Kurald Thyrllan,’ Osric said.
‘What kind of demon is it?’ L’oric asked, staring down at the creature.
‘I have no idea,’ Osric replied. ‘Reach out to it. See if it is amenable.’
‘Assuming it has any mind at all,’ L’oric muttered, crouching down.
Can you hear me? Can you comprehend?
The four eyes blinked up at him. And it replied. ‘ Sorcerer. Declaration. Recognition. We were told you’d come, but so soon? Rhetorical .’
I am not from this place , L’oric explained. You are dying, I think .
‘ Is that what this is? Bemused. ’
I would offer you an alternative. Have you a name?
‘ A name? You require that. Observation. Of course. Comprehension. A partnership, a binding of spirits. Power from you, power from me. In exchange for my life. Uneven bargain. Position devoid of clout. ’
No, I will save you none the less. We will return to my world … to a warmer place .
‘ Warmth? Thinking. Ah, air that does not steal my strength. Considering. Save me, Sorcerer, and then we will talk more of this alliance. ’
L’oric nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘It’s done?’ Osric asked.
His son straightened. ‘No, but it comes with us.’
‘Without the binding, you will have no control over the demon, L’oric. It could well turn on you as soon as you return to Raraku. Best we resume our search, find a creature more tractable.’
‘No. I will risk this one.’
Osric shrugged. ‘As you like, then. We must proceed now to the lake, where you first appeared.’
L’oric watched his father walk away, then halt and veer once more into his dragon form.
‘ Eleint !’ the demon cried in the High Mage’s mind. ‘ Wonder. You have an Eleint for a companion !’
My father.
‘ Your father! Excited delight! Eager. I am named Greyfrog, born of Mirepool’s Clutch in the Twentieth Season of Darkness. Proudly. I have fathered thirty-one clutches of my own -’
And how, Greyfrog, did you come here?
‘ Sudden moroseness. One hop too far. ’
The dragon approached.
Greyfrog dragged itself onto the warm sand. L’oric turned about, but the gate was already closing. So, he had found his father, and the parting had been as blunt as the meeting. Not precisely indifference. More like… distraction. Osric’s interest was with Osric. His own pursuits.
