Free Dragonsight by Paul Collins Page B

said. ‘No, you are a very long way from there. But I will aid you, if I am able.’

    A vast dark shape circled beneath a ragged moon. S’cressling was questing the sky for a scent.
    ‘I don’t like it,’ said Osric. ‘If they were nearby she would have picked up their scent by now.’
    ‘Can she actually smell the Sacred One’s blood?’ asked Zimak. He gingerly touched the daubed spot on his forehead.
    ‘Ordinarily yes. But this is a magical scent. She is questing through layers of space and time, seeking them …’
    The dragon banked hard and soared off to the southeast, climbing as she went.
    Zimak clutched the sides of his seat. ‘Well, she seems to have found something.’
    ‘You had better prepare yourself for a long journey, my friend. I do not know where we are going but it will not be a short flight.’
    ‘We should have roasted that fat pig Fa’red,’ Zimak spat.
    Osric frowned. ‘I am sorry if we have misled you, but I don’t think you understand, Zimak. Jelindel was only bluffing. There was little chance of S’cressling killing Fa’red. Not without having possession of the dragonsight beforehand. We need Fa’red to fall back on if we cannot find that which binds us to King Amida.’
    Zimak’s face paled. ‘Don’t tell me you need Fa’red alive.’
    Osric leaned into the whistling wind. ‘For the time being, until our quest is completed,’ he said. ‘Let us pray we find our companions.’
    Prayers were the last thing on Zimak’s mind. The dragon flew on, her great wings beating the night air like vast blankets being shaken out.

    Jelindel did not know where she was. Worse, she did not know how she had arrived there. She had materialised inside a closet, accompanied by a great clatter of falling brooms and clanging buckets. Then the door had been thrown open and several shocked faces stared at her.
    ‘You young scallywag, get outta there!’ cried an outraged woman in scullery garb. She grabbed Jelindel by the ear and hauled her out of the closet. Before Jelindel could gather her wits, the maid had rummaged through her garments and confiscated everything she found.
    That had been five minutes ago. She was now sitting at a table. Opposite her was an anxious man in his mid fifties. He wore a neatly cropped white beard. His dark eyes regarded her furtively. He had quickly cleared the kitchen of its staff on his arrival. Had Jelindel been herself, she would have known that the man was actually fearful for her safety, although unable to show it.
    ‘You will tell me how you came to be in my closet and you will tell me now,’ he demanded, thumping the table. Jelindel flinched.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, nervous.
    ‘What is your name? Or are you too addled to tell that much?’
    Jelindel frowned. Her frown deepened into puzzlement, then alarm. She looked up from the table. She found her inquisitor difficult to understand, but that didn’t seem too unusual, for there were huge gaps in her memory. ‘I don’t think I know my name,’ she said. ‘What is my name?’
    She was so obviously confused that the man’s anger subsided. Judging by her clothes and accent, she was no urchin. ‘Have you taken a bump on the head of late?’ he asked, a little more gently.
    Jelindel slowly felt her head. There was a tender spot at the back, and when she pressed on it she winced. Her fingers were smeared with blood.
    The man nodded, satisfied. ‘It is as I thought. I am a physician. You are very lucky. I have encountered a case like this before, though not for some years. In my experience, your memory will return given time. However, the Provost will have to be informed. It is most likely you came here by magic, since it is impossible for you to have entered my house by any other means.’
    Jelindel stared at him. ‘Do I know magic?’
    The man shrugged, then clapped his hands loudly. ‘That is not for me to say. I will speak to the Provost about your amnesia. It is he who will be the final