Sianim 01 - Masques

few years ago. I was in the ae’Magi’s castle when he created the first of his, using his own spell. The Uriah that I knew then were barely able to function. They could not even understand speech as well as a dog can. Now, from what Aralorn says, he has some that even retain the memories of the person that they once were.”
    “The Uriah in the swamplands were created during the Wizard Wars; they are close to being immortal,” commented Aralorn.
    Wolf nodded. “They don’t die unless they are killed. If he could get them just a bit more pretty, he’d probably turn himself into one.”
    Soberly, Myr said, “I don’t think that he ever intended to turn himself into a Uriah. I’ve known him for a long time, too. There is no way he would turn himself into something that by its very nature is a slave to its need for food—pretty or not. If a Uriah retains most of its personality, then it is possible that it also retains its ability to work magic. What if he wants to kill you, Wolf, and turn you into one of his Uriah, obedient to his command, but just as powerful as you have always been?”
    “Oh, isn’t that a lovely thought,” said Aralorn.
    Blank-faced, Wolf considered Myr’s comment. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll have to make sure that it doesn’t happen, hmm?”
    There was a heavy silence, then Aralorn said in a bright tone, “Speaking of Uriah, do you realize what a mess we are going to have to clean up when the ae’Magi is dead and we have several hundred masterless Uriah roaming the countryside? Sianim is going to be making good money off this.

    Wolf worked at the spell for days, until he could direct it better, but the force of the spell varied widely. Wolf muttered and finally even went back to mixing the powders, but the spell still wouldn’t stabilize. He told Aralorn he needed to try a few different herbs that might refine the reaction. He didn’t have all that he needed, so he left to do some trading in the south.

    The sun was drifting toward evening, turning the peaks of the mountains red. Aralorn shifted contentedly on her rock near the cave entrance. Several days ago someone found a huge patch of berries, and the whole camp had spent the better part of two days harvesting the find. Haris had been adding them into everything and today had managed to cook several pies. Given that the only thing that he had to cook on was a grate over a fire, it was probable that he’d used magic to do it, but no one was complaining.
    Licking her fingers clean of the last of the sweet stuff, Aralorn ran an idle gaze up the cliff face and caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was a shadow in the evening sky that was gone almost as soon as she saw it. She got to her feet and backed away from the cliff, trying to figure out just what it was that she saw, calling out an alarm as she did so.
    The four or five people who were out milling about doing various chores started for the entrance at a run. Stanis and Tobin were coming up the trail to the valley with a donkey cart laden with firewood. Although they heard the alert, too, they weren’t able to increase their pace much because of the donkey, and they weren’t about to abandon the results of their labors.
    Aralorn distractedly glanced at them, then looked back at the cliff, just in time to see the dragon launch itself. If she hadn’t caught the moment of launch, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because it used magic to change the color of its scales until it blended into the evening sky. Aralorn headed for Stanis and Tobin as fast as she could. Seeing her, they abandoned the donkey and began running themselves. As she neared them, the shadow on the ground told her that the dragon was just overhead. She knocked both boys down in a wrestler’s tackle and felt the razor-sharp claws run almost gently across her back.
    The dragon gave a hiss that could have been either disappointment or amusement, and settled for the donkey, which it killed with a casual swipe of its tail. As it ate, it watched idly as Aralorn drove the two boys into the cave and stood guard at the entrance.
    Aralorn met its gaze and knew that her sword was pitifully inadequate for the task, even had she been a better swordswoman. She had some hope that the runes that had kept the Uriah at bay would do the same to the dragon, but dragons were supposed to be creatures of magic and fire.
    She heard the sounds of running footsteps behind her, then Myr’s