Page 8 of The Sundered Blade

The question was, which side of the border were they on? And why would they be lurking here on the shores of the gulf, miles from anywhere that should have required their presence?

“Good morning,” Vaniell said, allowing a lazy smile to cross his lips as he peered up into the hard, narrowed eyes of the man currently holding a sword to his chest. “I don’t suppose you have any tea? Cream and sugar? Bread with butter and preserves?”

“How did someone as stupid as you manage to get here without weapons or baggage?” the man demanded. “You must have friends. Where are they?”

The words stabbed a little.He must have friends… But that was one thing he’d never quite managed. The one thing he could not afford. Not until recently, and now that friend was gone. Perhaps she would even forget that she’d been foolish enough to consider him as such in the first place.

“They’ve left me.” Vaniell offered the sword-wielder a bewildered look and a shrug. “Took all the food, too. Almost as if they didn’t like me. But I really am a likable sort of fellow, so long as you don’t mind my bad habits.”

“You mean like talking too much?” The words were accompanied by a sneer and an eye roll.

“Oh, and much worse,” Vaniell assured him, wishing that Kyrion would hurry up and come back. He was capable of obfuscating at some length, but these gentlemen seemed rather short on patience and he did not want to actually have todoanything about it. For one thing, he had no idea whether he had enough magic left. For another, he really did not care for a repeat of what had happened on the ferry.

“I snore quite loudly, I tend to eat more than my share of sweets, I whine if I’m forced to walk very far, and my socks smell rather terrible by the end of the day.”

One of the men laughed. “Don’t everyone’s?”

“Oh, not like this,” Vaniell replied cheerfully, and reached for his bootlaces.

“Stop!”

The sword point jabbed him once again, and when Vaniell looked up innocently, the wielder’s eyes widened.

“I know you,” he blurted out.

“You do?” Vaniell silently cursed his luck. Most of the Garimoran army was unlikely to recognize him, as he had little to do with military matters. Where might he have encountered this man before?

“There’s a reward for your capture!”

Oh, that.

Perhaps he’d best figure out whether he had enough magic left to weasel his way out of this.

Nonchalantly sliding a hand into the still damp pocket of his coat, Vaniell slumped back against the tree and tried to appear as relaxed as possible. He was reluctant to use another one of the steel marbles, but perhaps the chalk or the shell…

An ear-shattering roar sent the soldiers staggering backwards, just before the dark, angry form of Kyrion’s wyvern exploded into the clearing.

“Dragon!” one of the men shrieked, turning and scampering into the trees without stopping to see whether his commander preferred to fight.

Thankfully for all concerned, the commander did not. But he did retreat with considerably more dignity than his men, sword held ready as he backed up, careful never to cross his feet and keeping his eyes on the creature that stalked him.

Kyrion’s fangs were bared, and he snarled deep in his chest as he crept forward, wings tucked tightly against his body as he prepared to attack.

But the moment the Garimoran reached the edge of the clearing, he turned and ran for his life, not once looking back over his shoulder to check for pursuit.

Perhaps he was assuming the creature would satisfy its hunger by eating Vaniell.

“While I appreciate the artistry of your timing, I confess I was wondering there for a moment whether you intended to allow them to drag me off and thereby save yourself considerable aggravation.”

The wyvern shot him a look that was somehow sarcastic, even on a large, toothy reptile. “And miss out on your whining and putrid socks? Perish the thought.”

Vaniell very nearly grinned in response. “I swear those particular flaws weremostlyfabricated.” He pushed to his feet with a wince as his ribs informed him they were still rather annoyed with his carelessness. “Any idea why there are Garimoran soldiers lurking in these inhospitable parts?”

“I would ask you the same question.” Kyrion’s tone held less bite than it might have, but Vaniell still flinched.

“Guesses are all I can offer you.” When Kyrion did not respond, Vaniell continued reluctantly. “But I suspect there is likely a company or two hovering near the border, awaiting a pigeon from Ambassador Grendish.”

Fortunately, Irian First Councilor Faraden had ordered a halt to all aerial messages, so no hint of the Garimoran ambassador’s current plight would be forthcoming. Even had the pompous wretch somehow been capable of sending any pigeons from the inside of an Irian dungeon. If these soldierswereawaiting word from Grendish… they would wait a very long time.

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