Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 3 - The Amber Enchantress (36 page)

“Let's look anyway,” Sadira replied.

Without waiting for Magnus to dismount, the sorceress crept over to the body heap. As she approached, she heard the sound of gnawing and slurping coming from the far side. Trying to imagine what kind of carrion eater would make such noises, she paused long enough to point a hand toward the sun and draw the energy for a spell.

Before she could step around the pile, the gnawing stopped. “Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch?” demanded a grouchy voice. “I smell something!”

“You're the one who's supposed to be watching,” snarled a second speaker. “What if she comes by?”

Sadira stepped around the corpse pile to peek at the speakers. At first, she could not find them in the tangle of limbs and torsos. After a moment of searching, however, she saw a pair of disembodied heads resting on the withered flesh of a mul's leg. Both had coarse hair tied in long topknots, and the bottoms of their necks had been sewn shut with black thread. From the condition of the nearby bodies, it appeared they had been treating themselves to a gruesome feast. Although Sadira did not know the pair well, she had seen them often enough to know they were the advisors King Tithian had inherited from the sorcerer-king Kalak.

“Who are you waiting for?” she asked.

The heads spun around. “You, my dear,” said one, whom Sadira recognized as Sacha. He had bloated cheeks and narrow, dark eyes. “We came out here to see you.”

“Why?” Sadira demanded. Suspicious of their motives, she raised her hand to show that she was ready to defend herself.

“There's no need for threats,” said Wyan, the second head. He twisted his cracked lips into the mockery of a smile and fixed his sunken eyes on the sorceress's crimson-glowing hand. “We're on your side in this.”

“Why does that fail to reassure me?” asked Magnus, coming up behind Sadira.

Sacha looked at the windsinger. “Is this is a friend of yours, Sadira?” he asked, running a long, ash-colored tongue over his lips.

“He is,” the sorceress replied, scowling.

“How unfortunate ” sighed Wyan, glancing in distaste at the desiccated corpse upon which he had been gnawing. “I could use something fresh to drink.”

“Don't even think about it,” Sadira warned. “Now, tell me what you want. I'm in a hurry.”

“Then you should thank us for saving you an unnecessary trip,” said Wyan. “We've come to tell you that Borys is not going to Tyr
—
at least not right away.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Sadira demanded. The sorceress turned away and motioned to Magnus. “Come on
—
we've wasted too much time already.”

As they started back toward the kanks, Sacha and Wyan rose into the air and floated after them. “Wait!” said Wyan. “Won't you hear us out?”

“I don't need to,” snapped Sadira, not stopping. “This is just another of Tithian's tricks. But thanks for coming
—
at least I know I'm not too late.”

“You will be, if you insist on going to Tyr,” Sacha said, drifting into Sadira's path and hovering in front of her face. “Tithian doesn't even know we're here.”

The sorceress slapped the head aside, sending him soaring through the air. He did not stop moving until he had ricocheted off the shell of a dead mekillot and crashed into a nearby sand dune.

Wyan chuckled at his companion's fate. “For once, we're telling the truth,” he said, being careful to maintain a safe distance. “How do you think we knew you'd be returning from the
Pristine
Tower
?”

“The same way Tithian knew I'd be going,” the sorceress replied.

“Come now
—
that makes no sense,” said Wyan. "The kank he was using to spy on you was killed in Nibenay by Gallard himself?'

Sadira stopped at the sound of the sorcerer-king's ancient name, signaling Magnus to do the same. “Where did you hear that name?”

Wyan sneered at her. “I thought that would get your attention.”

“But it won't hold it for long,” she warned, noting that Sacha had extricated himself from the sand dune and was cautiously drifting back toward her. “Say what you came to say
—
but be certain that it's worth my time. Even when I'm in a good mood, I have no patience for you two.”

“We're not wasting your time,” said Wyan. “The shadow people sent word to expect you.”

“How?”
Sadira asked. “What do you know of the shadow people?”

“That's not important now,” said Sacha, returning to the group. “But our reason for coming is. Tithian told the Dragon about the help you received from Kled Borys was furious, and now he's gone to destroy the Book of Kings and punish the dwarves.”

The sorceress pondered Sacha's words for several moments, then stepped past the heads and motioned for Magnus to mount his kank.

“Where are we going?” the windsinger asked.

“Tyr,” Sadira answered. “I'd have to be a fool to trust these two. They're the king's closest advisors,” she said, waving her hand at Sacha and Wyan. “I don't know how, but Tithian's been eavesdropping on me even after I left Nibenay. He sent these two out here to divert us.”

“I don't follow your logic,” said Magnus.

“That's because she isn't using any!” snapped Wyan.

Sadira pointed her palm at the head. A stream of brilliant crimson light shot from her hand, and Wyan screamed in anger. “Trollop! You blinded me!”

“Quiet, or I'll make it permanent,” she said. To Magnus, she explained, “Tithian is too much of a coward to defy the Dragon, so he doesn't want me to return before he pays the levy. He sent these two out here with the story about Kled, hoping the names they've so carefully mentioned would convince me to go to the village instead of Tyr.”

“That is the kind of plan Tithian would think of,” admitted Sacha. “But can you afford the chance that it's really what he's doing?”

Magnus turned his head so that he was looking at Sadira with just one of his black eyes. “This trick seems too complicated,” he said. “Wouldn't it be easier just to make a deal with the Dragon? In return for bypassing Tyr this year, tell him about Kled and the Book of Kings?”

“That would make sense,” said Wyan, blinking his eyes as his temporary blindness passed. “But it's not what Tithian did. He still intends to pay the levy. By telling the Dragon about Kled, he's only trying to curry favor.”

Sadira considered Magnus's point for several moments, then looked at the two heads. “I might find your story easier to believe if I knew why you had suddenly decided to betray Tithian,” she said. “Surely, you don't expect me to believe you've developed a concern for the people of Tyr.”

“Of course not,” spat Sacha. “Let's just say that we have certain interests in common with the shadow people.”

“Let's not,” Sadira said. “I want to know more.”

“If you must,” said Wyan, rolling his sallow eyes. “You know of the rebellion against Rajaat?” he asked. When Sadira nodded, he continued, “Not all of us revolted. For our dissension, Sacha and I were beheaded.”

“You were champions?” Sadira gasped.

“We still are,” answered Sacha, smiling proudly. “My full title is Sacha of Arala, Curse of the Kobolds.”

“And I am Lord Wyan Bodach, Pixie Blight,” added the second head. “We are the last two loyal champions, and, as you can imagine, we would like nothing belter than vengeance against the traitor Borys.”

“If that's true, then tell me why the others rebelled,” Sadira demanded.

“If you insist,” Sacha growled. “The shadow people call the time of Rajaat's rule the Green Age, and with good reason. All of Athas was as lush and fertile as the halfling forests you've visited.”

“But the wars took a terrible toll on the land, for we champions were not the only great sorcerers in the fight,” Wyan broke in. “Every time there was a battle, hundreds of acres of land turned barren. By the time we were nearing victory
—
”

“You mean, by the time you had annihilated most of the nonhuman races?” Sadira interrupted.

The bitterness of her voice seemed lost on Wyan. “Precisely,” he said. “By the time we were preparing to wipe the last plague of impurity from the world, much of Athas had been reduced to a desert.”

“So Rajaat declared that after our victory, he would be the only sorcerer,” Sacha continued. “The rest of us would have to forego the powers he had bestowed upon us. Wyan and I were more than happy to obey our master's will, but the others renounced their vows and attacked.”

“And that is how Athas came to be as it is,” said Wyan. “Now, will you go to Kled
—
or are you going to let Agis and Rikus meet the Dragon alone?”

*****

“Get it out of me!” Neeva's pained voice rang out from a hut near the heart of Kled. It echoed up the orange sandstone slopes to the top of the bluff, where, with the aid of a magical spell, Sadira and her companions were eavesdropping on everything that happened in the village. “Hurry, Caelum! This hurts!”

“What's wrong with her?” demanded Wyan, hovering next to Sadira.

On the other side, Sacha asked, “Is someone torturing her?” His corpulent lips were twisted into a heinous grin.

“Have you two never heard the sound of a woman bearing a child?” Magnus asked, shaking his head at the scene below. “She couldn't have chosen a worse time.”

Before Kled's gate stood Borys, his slithering tail swished languidly about, stirring up as much dust as a whirlwind. Despite the distance and the haze, Sadira could see that the Dragon was as tall as a Full giant, with a body so gaunt that he would have made an elf seem stout. He had skin the color of iron, with a chitinous hide equal parts flesh and shell, and each of his willowy legs had two knees that bent in opposite directions. His arms were almost skeletal, ending in long-clawed fingers with swollen, knobby joints. Borys's face was the most frightening aspect of his appearance, for it was no longer even remotely human. Located at the end of a serpentine neck, his head resembled that of a sharp-beaked bird, with a spiked crest of leathery skin and a pair of beady eyes so small they were hardly visible.

Before the Dragon, atop the village's modest gatehouse, were the tiny forms of two men that Sadira believed to be Rikus and Lyanius. The rest of Kled's warriors stood along the walls, arrayed in their glistening armor. From what the companions could see, they were armed with steel axes or swords, spiked bucklers, and crossbows.

On the sandstone slopes overlooking the approach to the gate, a hundred more figures stood near Borys's flank. They were all dressed in the fashion of Tyr, with long dark robes easily discernible at a distance. The fact that none of them seemed to be carrying weapons suggested they were either mindbenders or sorcerers. By the silver streak that ran down the center of his long black hair, Sadira could identify Agis standing at the head of the company.

Borys hardly seemed to notice any of this. In a sizzling voice as loud as thunder, he said, “Bring me the one known as Er'Stali, with his Book of Kemalok Kings, and choose half your number to die.”

“It looks like we didn't get here a minute too soon,” Sadira said. “Let's go.”

“If you say so,” Magnus said, his voice still quivering from the exhaustion of the two-day run Sadira had just pushed them through. “But it would be better if we could take a few minutes to rest
—
”

“I doubt we have even a few seconds,” Sadira countered. As they started down the slope, she was surprised to notice Sacha and Wyan floating along behind Magnus. “I hadn't thought you would be so brave,” she commented.

“When the cause serves us, we can be courageous enough,” answered Sacha.

Down at the gate tower, Lyanius's ancient voice said something defiant. Unfortunately, even with the aid of her magic, the sorceress could not quite make out the words of the trembling voice. In a motion so fast she barely saw it, Borys plucked the old man from the wall and held him aloft. Lyanius screamed in anger and struggled to free himself, his fists beating against the huge finger wrapped around his chest.

The dwarven sergeant raised his arm, but he did not dare signal his warriors to loose their bolts. Even if they killed the Dragon with their first volley, the long drop to the ground would kill the uhrnomus. Sadira stopped. She was still too far away to use any of her combat spells, but she might be able to utter an incantation that would cushion Lyanius's fall.

“The book!” bellowed the Dragon.

Lyanius stopped struggling and stared down into Borys's nearest eye, trembling in fright.

“Why doesn't Borys just go in and take it?” asked Magnus. “He must be powerful enough.”

“Easily,” answered Sadira. “But he'd have to use his magic, and he needs to save all his energy for another task more important to him.”

“What?” the windsinger asked.

“To keep something locked away,” she answered, pointing the tip of a red-glowing finger at Lyanius.

“You know about that?” gasped Wyan. “And you still want to deny Borys his levy?”

“Khidar and his people did not seem so terrible to me,” she answered.

Lyanius stopped struggling, then looked back down to the Dragon. “No!” he yelled.

Borys's fist closed, and the uhrnomus's body disappeared into a spray of blood. On the village wall, the sergeant lowered his hand. The dwarven crossbows clattered, launching a hundred steel bolts at the Dragon's chest. They struck with a hollow rattle, then fell away in an ineffectual rain of metal.

Sadira rushed down the hill, moving so fast that she left Magnus and the two heads far behind. As she ran, Borys raised one leg and stepped over the wall. Rikus lifted his sword and turned to face the Dragon, but did not move forward to attack. Instead, he suddenly lowered the blade and dropped to his stomach. Before his belly hit the roof, dozens of spells flashed from the hands of the sorcerers outside the gate. In the next instant, the air was filled with lightning bolts, streams of fire, sparkling projectiles, and more kinds of deadly magic than Sadira had ever before seen in one place.

Borys disappeared into a dazzling explosion of magical energy. Even so far from the fight, Sadira felt the ground trembling beneath her feet, and the wind was filled with the caustic stench of incendiary spells.

When the storm died away, Borys still straddled the wall. Wisps of smoke
—
black, gray, red, and many other colors
—
were rising off his mottled hide. Other than that, he showed no sign of having been injured.