A Prince Among Killers - By J. B. Redmond Page 0,16
and that, soaring upward, then imagining his arms stretched outward like he might be a Great Roc in flight. Dari’s laughter echoed inside their shell of light, along with his own.
I didn’t remember this part, the freedom, Aron admitted, carefully modulating the force of his thought so the words would remain quiet and private, within the energy Dari had extended around them both.
It is wonderful—but it can be dangerous to some. Dari always seemed to speak so effortlessly, her voice so calm and flowing. In such moments, Aron’s troubles and worries seemed so far away they didn’t even feel real to him, and he had no desire to join with them again. I have known some of my people to stay too long in this state, and never wish to return to their physical essence.
Aron felt himself drawn to a distant spot in the clouds, a spot his instincts told him lay north and east from Triune, near the midway point of the Scry. He headed toward it. What happens to them, the Stregans who fly too long on the other side of the Veil?
The energy they shared surged with a tingling warmth, moving Aron faster toward the clouds below him. Much like those who grow overly fond of mead, they gradually cease to live normal lives. They lose the people close to them and ultimately waste away until they die.
Aron contemplated this, easily understanding how such a thing could happen, as they once more plunged into the gray fields of moisture, then emerged into the gray and sullen weather below the clouds. A vast stretch of plains seemed to reach endlessly as far as Aron could see in any direction. Dyn Cobb, he said, to himself and aloud as well. The southern portion. There were scattered villages instead of clusters of towns like he would have found in Dyn Brailing, no natural stone formations to suggest they were above Dyn Altar, not enough rock to be Dyn Ross, and too much open, treeless space to be Dyn Vagrat or Dyn Mab.
Aron searched the rainy landscape below, looking for what had snagged his instincts so thoroughly. His mind—his legacy—told him to go closer, to take a more narrow view of the ground, so he moved their awareness lower, lower, until individual clumps of trees began to take shape.
Clumps of trees and… there. A small village, with a few people out and milling about the streets.
In fact, Aron counted four people, two in a slow-moving wagon and two on horseback. All four were slumped forward against the rain. They were moving toward what looked like an inn.
Dari remained silent as Aron focused on the people, trying to understand why they had drawn his attention. It took some time, but eventually he saw a flash of energy playing about the edges of the wagon. Red energy. A crystalline sort of ruby from the boy in the back—and in the front, from the woman guiding the two ice-crusted oxen, an occasional flash of silver that seemed like something he had seen before. The woman felt… familiar, somehow, yet utterly strange to him, too.
Who are those people? Dari asked, and Aron almost shouted from the surprise.
I—I don’t know, he answered when he had gathered himself enough to be certain only Dari would hear him. But I’ve seen the boy in the back of that wagon before. And the woman—there’s something about her I should recognize. At least I think I should.
He didn’t really want to remember, not anything from that terrible night he went after the Brailing Guard. This was important, though. Aron knew enough about legacies now to understand that his mind wouldn’t have led him here for no reason.
He tried to go lower, get closer.
At the instant he drew close enough to make out the details of the people below, the silvery energy from the front of the wagon lashed upward and exploded—into the form of a huge hood snake straight from the hot, gritty sands of Dyn Altar.
The essence of Aron’s heart went completely still.
The image of the impossible creature filled his awareness. He could see its black head, its huge fangs dripping terrible, stinking venom, even the emerald wickedness of its slitted eyes. Every child in Eyrie knew about hood snakes, at least enough to recognize one if they came across it—and run away as fast as they could.
The snake danced for one second, two seconds, its hood expanding like the wings of some vicious mocker.