Free DW01 Dragonspawn by Mark Acres Page A

circles over the crystal globe.
    He would show the king victories, Valdaimon decided. He would even show the king something good about Culdus. This conference would end with hopes for victory high and the king with no doubts that his expectations would be fulfilled.
    Slowly, Valdaimon spoke the words, handed from the earliest human mages who had mastered the arts of scrying and futuresight, that infused the crystal with their power. A tiny spark of green light appeared in the center of the clear ball. Gradually it grew, changing color to yellow, then red, then orange, then blue, then purple, then a blinding white. A great flash came from the ball, and then an image formed.
    “Behold, Majesty, the scenes of victories to come,” the old wizard intoned.
    Ruprecht stood and leaned forward eagerly, gazing into the depths of the ball. Culdus, too, stood and looked over the young king’s shoulder.
    In the crystal, they saw the legions of Heilesheim marching forward against a foe already fleeing in terror, while wyvern riders swooped from the sky, laughing, killing at will with thrusts of their spears. In the far distance, great stone towers crumbled, and the king saw himself, mounted on a great black steed with its hooves raised to the heavens, crying out “Victory! Victory! On to another victory!”
    “Valdaimon!” the young king exclaimed at length. “It is all as I had planned!”
    “Yes, Majesty, truly your wildest dreams shall be fulfilled,” the wizard answered humbly.
    “Yes, yes, I see...” The king’s voice broke off. A troubled frown passed over the face of Culdus. The crystal went suddenly dark.
    “What was that, Valdaimon?” the old warrior asked.
    “Yes, you saw that. What was that?” the pale youth demanded, grabbing the front of the old wizard’s robes. “What was that?”
    “Nothing, Majesty,” Valdaimon replied. But the mage could not keep uncertainty from his voice. For he, too, had seen the momentary image—a short man with graying hair and a chubby square face, slinking about a great bedroom with a dagger in his hand. By itself, that could mean anything. But, as though in a dream, a second image shimmered behind the little man: the gem-studded, gleaming Golden Eggs of Parona. “It is nothing at all,” Valdaimon continued. He laughed, a kind of obscene, cackling laugh, to make light of the momentary vision that had deeply troubled him. “Perhaps,” he said, cackling louder as if sharing a great joke with friends, “we have scried the secret dreams of some little thief!”
    Ruprecht joined Valdaimon’s laughter, clapping the decrepit wizard on the back. Culdus waited until his own eyes met the wizard’s across the table, then he smiled a small, dry smile.

First Blood

    BIGSBY sat down again on the edge of the bed and eyed the elf carefully.
    “This deal stinks,” he said at length. “I don’t know you. I don’t know that you can pay me. I expect that you won’t. And you want me to take on five hundred men in the pay of the Black Prince to steal a treasure that can’t be sold because everyone in the known world will recognize it and know that it’s stolen. Forget about Nebuchar’s assassins—they don’t scare me. Tell me again why I’m going to do this for you.”
    Shulana’s thoughts were already far from Bagsby. So much had been implanted in her mind by her brief contact with Elrond that she needed time to think, time to sort it out, time to modify her own plans, if need be.
    “What?” she responded, a little dazed.
    “What?” Bagsby replied, mocking her. “What? I’ll tell you what. I think this deal stinks and I want to know why you think I’ll even consider stealing the Golden Eggs of Parona, that’s what.”
    “Oh. That again.” Shulana’s fingers made nimble gestures in the air, and she muttered words that Bagsby could hear but not understand. In the next instant, he could see only her disembodied face.
    “What’d you do?” he demanded