The Dragon Swordmaster - 10

The Plot Foiled

The creature that had posed as Nerina laughed. "You can't stop me or my minions," it boasted. Cynara lifted her sword touching the tip of it under the beast's chin.

"I can stop you," Cynara replied. "Your minions are already facing an army of dragons and a forest of angry trees. We have foreseen your intentions. If you do not leave this realm, you shall most assuredly die here."

"Then you would condemn the Elven princess to die?" the creature sneered. A spark slowly inched its way up the shaft of Cynara's sword, snapping loudly when it contacted the creature's chin.

"You underestimate the power in this room. While I hold you here, Nerina will be free from your prison. And when she returns, you will die along with any of your breed that are foolish enough to challenge us." Another spark struck the beast's chin, cracking louder than the first. All eyes were on the two at the center of the table. No one noticed that two of the players had left the room. "Do you have a name? Or shall I choose one for you?" Cynara grinned as broadly as a dragon could. Cynara stabbed her sword into the cooked boar's head at her feet and raised it to her maw. After swallowing the whole head, she turned the tip of her sword back to Arnold. A small spark travelled down the edge of the sword, but before it could strike him, Arnold leapt backward away from the table.

The guests left the table and took cover behind the dragon as she sneered at the monster across from her. Cynara left over the table scattering plates and silverware to the floor. Tapping the beast on its shoulder, she announced, "I dub thee Arnold, Lord of the Boars. And I intend to claim your head." The creature started to snicker, then broke into loud laughter. He pressed his hands together to form a small fireball, but before he could throw it, the tip of Cynara's sword emitted a bolt of lightning causing the fireball to fizzle out.

Arnold clapped his hands together and drew forth a larger fireball. Cynara raised her sword and willed it to glow. A bolt of lightning flew out the tip of the sword cutting through the fireball. The fireball crackled and sparked while the bolt poured energy into it. Arnold struggled to maintain control over the growing object in his hands. He focused his thoughts on pushing the fireball away. Off to the side of the room, a young elf ran into the arms of her father. The creature fell for the distraction; his concentration broke. Cynara gave one last push against his fireball, cutting through the other side and reducing the creature to ashes.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 9

The Damning Revelation

Betrys Gwillam, having heard more than enough of the adults' sniping, suddenly announced, "If Sir Linden wishes, he could marry me." It had the desired effect of bringing the table conversation to a halt.

"Betrys," Annwyn chided, "you are much too young to be married. And look what you have done."

Sir Linden had developed a noticeably green tint to his cheeks from the sudden attention. He was however perplexed that the Mage knew the details of his idle chatter with his horse. "Well," he thought, "not exactly my horse, but the one I rode in on." And then it dawned on him. He let out a hearty laugh. Turning to Lord Black, he winked. "I trust your lordship did not find the conversation along the way to be a burden."

"If anything, my good Sir, it spurred me onward." Lord Black offered his empty goblet to a passing servant carrying a pitcher of ale. He leaned in toward the knight. "Please forgive me for my earlier comment. I'm well aware that trees rarely marry outside their species."

Cynara watched Nerina slip some powder into Cedric's goblet. She placed her hand beneath the table and gripped the hilt of her sword.

"I wouldn't drink that, brother," Gilian warned. "The elf may have poisoned it." Cedric lifted the goblet to his lips and pretended to sip. Smiling, he winked at his younger brother before pouring the contents down the front of Nerina's dress.

Nerina and Greydawn rose out of their chairs. Greydawn snarled, "I have never in my life been so abused. May I remind you that we are your guests?"

"Guests do not plot against their hosts. Guests do not send assassins after other guests." Cynara glared at Greydawn.

"Calm, my child," Lord Black advised. "This is not a battlefield. Besides, it is my understanding that the elves do not want to offend the Dark. Is this not so, Master Greydawn?"

"Of course not, Lord Black. We would not be so foolish," Greydawn sputtered.

"Too bad the same cannot be said for the Eastern Empire. I was set upon by elves on my way here this morning. It left me in such a blind rage that I ended up challenged by the palace guard when I arrived." Cynara rose to her feet. "One of you is not who you pretend to be." Drawing her sword, Cynara assumed her dragon form. She pointed her sword across the table resting the tip against Nerina's throat.

"Have you gone mad?" Greydawn stammered, visibly shaking while Cynara lowered her sword slowly toward Nerina's heart. With a swift flick of her wrist, Cynara severed the necklace around the young elf's neck. Greydawn knocked over his chair as he withdrew from the stranger beside him.