Free Dragonhunt by Garon Whited Page B

that—”
    “Got it,” Y’vin said. “A little insurance, coming right up. Hold him still.” Gorgar moved. His hands and arms did brisk, efficient things with Llewellyn's limbs. A moment later, Llewellyn was on his knees with a complicated interlocking of bones and joints that encouraged him to hold very, very still on pain of pain.
    Y’vin rolled up the sleeves of his robes and drew both wand and dagger. He chanted and waved the wand; sparks and drifting bubbles of polychromatic light issued from it and began to circle both Gorgar and Llewellyn.
    “Wh-what's he—” Llewellyn began.
    “Shut up,” Gorgar replied, and tightened his holds. Llewellyn repeated his eep! noise and fell silent. The rest of the people at the pre-wedding celebration gave back from the scene of the action. Wizards were best given large amounts of room—generally a good-sized courtyard, preferably a township.
    Y’vin pinked both Llewellyn and Gorgar with the dagger. He used the tip of his wand to get a smear of blood from each. The chanting increased in pace and volume while the lights and colors darkened to somber, purple-and-black shades. The blood at the tip of the wand burst into a small cloud of smoke and sank immediately to the floor. Once there, it seemed to sprout misty legs and scuttle away. The whirling lights and sparks dissipated.
    Llewellyn simply held still and stared in horror.
    Gorgar let go of him and caught Maedel as she fainted. He laid her gently on the floor and fanned her face with a kerchief.
    “What—” Llewellyn began, and his voice broke. He swallowed once, twice, and started again. “What did you…?”
    “Just a little necromancy,” Y’vin assured him. Llewellyn paled further. “See, if anything happens to Gorgar, his ghost is now bound to watch you. If you don't live up to your end of the bargain in this marriage, it will be able to summon the ketch . It'll crawl into your mouth and nose while you sleep and fill your lungs until you die.” Y’vin grinned horribly. “I'd be a faithful husband,” he added. “There's no way to lift the curse, and not many wizards can kill a ketch .”
    Gorgar was kneeling next to his sister and could have broken Llewellyn's fall.
    But he didn't.
    * * *
    The pavilion tent was up and the horses hobbled. It was easy to see that the region was less prosperous; even the grass seemed stunted. Abandoned farms to either side of the road grew wild—where anything would grow at all.
    The clouds of the afternoon had turned into the rain of the evening. Everyone gathered inside around the fire to dry out.
    “Who has first watch?” Tindal asked.
    “I'll take it,” Sir Aramon replied.
    Gorgar nodded. “Wake me for the next one. Fliss?”
    “Since the intellectually gifted require their beauty sleep, I shall once again bear witness to the dawn,” he agreed. “We have to hire someone for this, someday. Or get a dog.”
    “I vote for the dog,” Y’vin said. “It won't complain as much.”
    “Oh, look who's talking!”
    Tindal raised his hands. “That will be quite enough! It has been a long day and we are all unused to the trail after the soft living in Tourmaline. Let us sleep and recover our strength.”
    There was some grumbling, but four out of five prepared their pallets for the night. Sir Aramon put his helm on again and stepped outside, into the rain.
    Inside, Gorgar placed his armor in a carefully-arranged pile. If a fight started, there wouldn't be time to don it, but if there was enough warning to put on some of it, the breastplate would be the first choice…
    “Y’vin?” he asked. The wizard propped himself up on his elbows.
    “What?” he asked, testily.
    “That spell you did on Llewellyn…”
    “That? That was nothing.” Y’vin settled back down in his blankets.
    “Really? It sounded like a powerful spell.”
    Y’vin chuckled for a moment, then laughed aloud. “Oh, you dupe! You're no better than the minstrel!”
    Gorgar restrained his natural