The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) Read Free Page A

process. They then worked in concert to lace their calves together and to help one another to stand. Elaryl slipped her arm around his waist and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Are you ready to be laced to me for life?” she asked sweetly.
    “I’m ready,” he answered. But was she ? If it should ever be learned that — but this was Elaryl. She’d said she would forgive him anything. Perhaps one day he could even tell her —
    The chief of the household staff had been searching for them frantically. Now he raced up to them and bent over to gasp for breath as he pleaded, “It’s time!” Seagryn and Elaryl obediently hobbled out into the patio.
    Those guests who stood between the pair and the altar stepped aside. A choir began chanting as they limped forward. The event of the year had begun.
    Seagryn was only vaguely aware of the enraptured sighs and stifled sobs of those nearby who watched them struggle forward. He focused all his attention on staying in step with his grunting bride. It was considered bad form for a pair to fall flat on their faces on their wedding day. It revealed that they were not in rhythm with one another, and necessitated postmarital counseling. Halfway to the altar, Seagryn realized that their laces were far too tight. Before they reached Ranoth he’d had time to wonder if all brides and grooms laced themselves too tightly, since they’d never experienced this before? That could certainly account for the terrible expressions of pain he’d seen on the faces of certain wedding parties in the past. Then they arrived before Ranoth, each gasping with relief and hugging the other for support as the small elder began the ceremony:
    “You have chosen to link your paths together in the bonds of wedlock, to knot your destinies from this day forward. Hobbling one another, walking on three legs instead of four, you are nevertheless also supporting one another, dependent upon one another. You are linked before the land and before the One we do not name. This is a holy moment, for lives so linked cannot be —”
    He went on, but Seagryn suddenly couldn’t listen. He’d heard a clashing begin outside, the noise of swords hammering upon shields. “Attack!” he told himself with great disbelief. “Marwandians — attacking here? Now ?” He looked at Elaryl, but she appeared unaware of the commotion. The radiance in her eyes rivaled the glistening highlights of the afternoon sun on her hair, and suddenly black despair clutched again at his heart. “Hurry, Ranoth,” he urged his mentor silently. “Hurry, before they spoil it!” The noises outside the mansion grew louder. The crowd began to buzz with anxiety.
    “A momentary disturbance! We’re safe within this house,” Talarath announced with crisp authority. “Relax and enjoy the proceedings.”
    But Seagryn could not relax. He heard the clash of spears on armor, heard men screaming, and his memories of that incident in Bourne, so long ago yet made so fresh by a week of dreaming, could be restrained no longer. He dropped to his left knee and struggled urgently to untie the laces that bound him to his beloved.
    “Seagryn.” Elaryl smiled down anxiously. “Seagryn!” she said again, her tone scolding but still hushed. “What are you doing ?”
    “You said you’d forgive me anything —”
    “But — but this is terrible luck! It’s just not done! You’re embarrassing me in front of —”
    Seagryn spotted a dirk in Ranoth’s belt. Without bothering to ask for it, he jerked it out and cut the laces. “No time —” he murmured. Then the doors at the back of the patio shattered inward, and the crowd surged screaming toward the altar.
    Seagryn felt the blood rushing to his brain as he scooped Elaryl into his arms then hoisted her above his head. “Give me room !” he roared — and he tossed his dumbstruck lady over the altar. “You’ll be crushed —” he warned again, but it was already too late for those nearest him. In that