“Perhaps,” he said, shaking his head back at her. “But that is not your fate. Ilaweh has given you a chance at a new one.”
Kariana choked out, “I don’t deserve mercy.”
Again, the Southlander shook his head. “Killing you would be mercy. This path, if you would walk it, leads to absolution, but to reach it, you must walk through fire.”
“I don’t understand,” she gasped.
“You understand enough. Ilaweh showed you what he offers, what it costs. Will you fight, or will you live life on your knees?”
It wasn’t really a question. He already knew the answer. She could see that much in his ancient eyes.
Through trembling lips, she breathed, “I’ll fight. I’ll always fight.”
The Southlander smiled back at her. “Then I will fight by your side.”
Caelwen ground his teeth against the urgent impulse to stop whatever the Southlander was doing. I am supposed to defend her body! And yet, despite appearances, he was almost convinced Ahmed was not harming, but healing.
Kariana sat rigid in Rithard's chair, and Ahmed was on his knees before her, gripping her wrists with all his strength, his dark hands and corded muscles straining as her pale flesh convulsed. Kariana screamed, and sweat beaded on her forearms as she struggled.
Caelwen could stand by no more. He lunged forward, but Rithard interposed himself, a single finger held up.
“Stop,” Rithard said, and pointed at Kariana.
Caelwen blinked in shock at what he saw. What he had thought was sweat had begun to thicken. It now ran like milk on her skin, dripping to the floor, growing more viscous by the moment, and quickly changing color to a yellow, gangrenous ichor. The corruption ran down the Southlander's arms now, as well. Where it ran, his flesh grew pink as if he were burned, but he continued to pray through clenched teeth.
After a few moments, Kariana fell back into her chair, insensate, and Ahmed sagged backward into a sitting position. “I need a cloth,” he said in a tired voice. “Something to clean this from both of us. It burns.”
Rithard shrugged out of his cloak and handed it to Ahmed, then lifted Kariana's eyelids and examined her pupils. “Well, this wasn't how I had planned this meeting.” He continued his examination as Ahmed wiped the filth from both himself and Kariana. Where it touched the cloth, it ate at it like acid. “She seems to have come through it, though.”
Ahmed bent again over his knees, panting, and said, “We are not done yet.” He reached forward and took her head in his hands, one palm on each cheek. Kariana's eyes flickered, but she seemed otherwise insensate. “The rest is here, and it is much worse. This was just the beginning.” He drew in a deep breath, and Caelwen felt something large in the room, an intensity he could not define or even describe.
Caelwen waved a hand. “No. I think this is enough—”
Kariana's eyes snapped open, and her scream tore through the manse like a banshee wail.
Caelwen charged forward, and again, Rithard interposed himself. “That will be heard by everyone in the building. Someone needs to bar the doors, and I need to be here to tend her medically.”
“I can’t just let this happen!”
Kariana, swooning, whispered, “Go.”
Caelwen felt as if he were being torn in two. “Empress--” he stammered.
“My fight,” she gasped. “You…have your…orders. Go.”
Caelwen ground his teeth and glared at Rithard. “Keep her alive!”
Caelwen stepped outside the library just in time. Slat and several others were heading toward him, eyes wide with alarm.
“All is well,” Caelwen declared. Kariana shrieked again, the sound barely muffled by the intervening doors. Ah, well. It is hardly the first time I have stood such duty.
Slat poked a gnarled ginger at him in accusation and demanded, “What are you doing here? Where is my master?”
Caelwen struck a resolute pose. “Rithard is within, and I am without by orders of the Empress. These doors remain closed until she tells me otherwise.”
Slat scowled up at Caelwen. “I don't like this. Not one bit.”
“Neither do I, old one. But we follow our orders, eh?” As another agonized shriek pierced the air of the manse, Caelwen reached into his shirt and produced the one thing he always carried besides a weapon: his copy of the Book of Amrath. He flipped through to a verse that seemed particularly relevant and began to read aloud, as Slat bowed his head in reverence.
“There is nothing in life worth having that you will not, at some point, have to fight for, and the path to victory is never easy. Blood and treasure, pain and self-doubt, these are constant companions in any battle. A warrior will know them well…”
Chapter 8
For Mischief
Sadrik had just about reached his limit. The elders were treating him like an idiot as usual, telling him nothing of what was to come, or who this 'Cruentus' fellow even was. His ignorance never failed to amuse them, and if they could prolong it or even increase it, they were thrilled to do so. Maklin had gone so far as to taunt him with lies, claiming Cruentus was a real dragon, of all things! Sadrik had barely been able to contain his fury at the old man's gall. Had instant and painful death not been a certain result, Sadrik would have made a statement on dragons himself and set the hateful old bastard ablaze on the spot.
The notion of instant death had continued to be a compelling argument against surrendering to his urge for mayhem for quite some time, but now, after hours of being hauled about like a pup by the scruff of his neck, the balance was beginning to tip. Falling didn't seem so bad, really. At the very least, things would all be over quickly, whereas this torment dragged on and on. He imagined Maklin flashing on like a meteor, trailing smoke and flames as Sadrik dropped like a stone.
It would, he thought with a smile, be a lovely death as deaths go, and he could hardly deny the charm of his last vision being that of Maklin beating flames from his hair and screaming, but life was yet still sweet. He felt capable of clinging to it for another half hour or so, but after that, it was difficult to say.
As the land changed beneath them from forest to rocky, dry terrain, Sadrik began to feel as if they must be approaching their destination, but he steadfastly refused to ask, and none of the elders could be bothered to say. At last, when he felt he could bear it no longer, he felt them slow and start their descent.
The land rushed up at him, alien, harsh, and rocky, unmarred with any vegetation. A great, gaping chasm, its true depths veiled by mist, yawned wide and directly below them. The air felt warmer than it ought this time of year, dryer too, and smelled of burning brush. Sadrik looked at the others, trying to work out if this was an elaborate joke, but no one was laughing.
Maklin caught him craning his head up and gave him a grave look. “Still thinking of setting me on fire?”
“Is there truly a dragon down there?”
Maklin grunted. “The dragon, boy.”
They swept from the sky and into the chasm. It looked to be the remnants of a volcano. Rock lay in shattered tubes or long rolls, clearly once molten, though hard and relatively cool now. Sadrik saw from within that what he had thought to be mist was in fact smoke, a tremendous amount of it, though there was no obvious source. He thought to himself that surely smoke was harmless as they continued deeper into the crater.
The group touched down outside the largest of the stone tubes at the bottom, a great black glass tunnel more than twenty feet across. It sloped down at a treacherous angle, its jagged internal edges more than capable of shredding anyone unfortunate enough to slip trying to descend into it.
Sadrik peered into the bottomless pit of jagged death and felt slightly ill. “Do we have to go in?”
Maklin snorted and shook his head. “No. And stop looking so nervous. He'll likely not eat you, but he might take you captive if you're interesting, so best keep your mouth shut.”
Ariano nodded, even going so far as to allow a brief smile. She had been sullen a
nd brooding since Maranath had twisted her arm into coming here.
Sadrik stroked at his beard, still uncertain just how much of what they were telling him was truth. “I'll do that.”
Maranath looked them all over as if to assure himself they were presentable, then called out, “Cruentus!”
For long moments, there was no response. Maranath opened his mouth to call out again, when the ground beneath them began to tremble. A voice so deep that it seemed the grating of stone against stone rumbled, “Who dares disturb my rest?” The ground thrummed at the sound, the vibrations setting dust and pebbles stirring.
Maklin and Maranath looked at one another and rolled their eyes. Ariano simply growled softly and muttered, “Cheap theatrics.”
“Ah!” the creature called, “I know that voice!”
The rumbling beneath their feet grew until it seemed they were in the midst of an earthquake. Heat gushed from the lava tube, and the sound of claws scrabbling against glass echoed loudly, setting Sadrik's teeth on edge.
The beast thrust its head from the pipe first, a great wedge of red scales and fangs. Just his head is bigger than me. Mei, what will the rest of him be like?
The rest of him was near enough to fill the pipe as he hauled himself out. The Meites stepped back quickly to avoid being crushed as unknowable tons of scaled flesh burst from the tube.
Sadrik could find no words. The dragon was immense, fifty feet long if he were an inch, and quite literally breathing fire. Small flames jetted from his nostrils with each breath. His talons, each the length of a man, looked more than capable of rending the rock about them. Sadrik realized that they were likely the source of some curious trenches he had seen about the opening.
Cruentus snaked his head low toward Ariano, one huge, yellow eye hovering inches from her face while the other watched the rest of them with mild amusement. “Ariano Talus,” he rumbled in satisfaction. “You owe me a tale!”
Sadrik found his respect for Ariano growing by leaps and bounds. She showed no emotion at all beyond disdain and annoyance. “We’ve come here on other matters.”
Cruentus raised his head and snorted flame. “What other matters?”
Maranath took a step forward. “The Eye is abroad in the world again. We've come to hear what you know of that.”
Cruentus turned his full attention to Maranath, chuckling. “Have you, now?”
“What of the piece Tasinal entrusted to you? Do you still guard it?”
Cruentus's roar rattled Sadrik's teeth in his head, and started several minor rockslides. It took Sadrik a moment to realize that this was not a hostile gesture, but something akin to laughter. The dragon shook his head and turned back to Ariano. “I see now. You’ve not told them, have you? It must have gone terribly wrong for you. That’s why the other is not here. Dead, eh?”
Ariano's jaw clenched and unclenched in anger. “You hold your tongue, wyrm, or you’ll never hear your tale!” She kept her eyes locked with Cruentus's, ignoring the glares Maklin and Maranath were casting at her.
Cruentus shook his head in mock sadness. “A Meite not paying debts? Such a shameful thing. It reeks of weakness.”
“Be silent!”
“You lack the power to make me. Even if you had such power, your companions would restrain you. It seems they would hear your tale, too, eh?” The dragon lowered his head to regard her closely with one great eye. “I could tell what I know of it, but wouldn’t you prefer to shade it to your benefit?” Cruentus turned his head skyward and chuckled, jets of flame stuttering from his nostrils.
Maranath cast her a withering glare. “This is about the point I lose patience with you, I think.”
Maklin jabbed a bony finger at her chest. “Oh, it's well past that for me!”
Ariano clenched her jaw a moment, but it was clearly hopeless. “It would seem I am outplayed.”
The dragon flashed her a cruel, fang-filled grin. “And not even by me. You have outsmarted yourself here, it would seem. Delicious!”
Maklin spun to the dragon and shouted, “She can stall forever if you don't shut up!”
Cruentus lowered his head to the ground and closed his eyes. A jet of flame erupted from his nostril and came close enough to Maklin to make him jump backward and beat at his robe. Maklin opened his mouth to howl objection, but Cruentus held up a great talon in front of his lips in a gesture of silence, then pointed to Ariano.
Oh, well done! Beat him with his own curmudgeonry!
As for Ariano, Sadrik didn't think he had ever seen the old woman so uncomfortable. Is she actually digging in the dirt with her toe?
She took a deep breath and began. “Lothrian and I came here and took the piece a hundred years ago.”
Maklin's eyes bulged as if his head would explode. “You what?” he shouted, then doubled over in a fit of coughing.
Maranath's face was stony. “It gets worse, I think.”
Cruentus chuckled, prompting Maklin to step back a few more paces to avoid getting singed again. “I should say so,” the dragon rumbled.
Ariano stamped a foot. “You said you'd let me tell the tale!”
“I never said I wouldn't heckle you,” he answered. “Or correct you, if you lie.”
“Heckle her all you want,” Maklin groused, “But I'd appreciate it if you didn't roast me anymore! Watch where you're pointing that snout!”
Maranath shook his head in annoyance and slammed the butt of his staff against the ground, shouting “Enough!” The entire canyon rumbled with the shock wave, and several small avalanches of scree tumbled to the ground in protest.
Cruentus raised his nose into the air, courteously avoiding roasting anyone else while he laughed out loud. “Oh, he's upset. Do go on, Ariano.”
The sorceress took a moment to preen and cast glares at one and all before continuing. “We made a raid on Torium to retrieve the piece they hold,” she said, her words clipped and sharp. “And we lost the one we had instead.” She stared at the ground, her jaw working. Maklin opened his mouth, but Maranath held up a hand and stopped him. After a few moments, Ariano looked back up and spoke again. “I lost Lothrian there, too.”
Maklin looked at Maranath, and Maranath nodded with a sigh. For a moment, the old artificer was lost for words, opening and closing his mouth several times before at last sputtering, “Well, that was stupid!”
Sadrik could not resist the urge to clap very softly as Ariano clenched her fists and stepped toward Maklin, murder blazing in her eyes.
Maranath interposed himself between them. “Hear him out, Ariano.” He turned back to Maklin. “Assuming you actually have something of worth to say.”
Maklin sputtered as he spoke. “I don't see the point of it! The damned thing is useless until it's assembled.”
Cruentus chuckled again. “You think so?”
Maklin glared at the dragon a moment, then continued. “Why did you take it with you and risk losing it to begin with?”
Ariano's shoulders sagged, and for a moment she seemed nothing more than a tired, old woman. “It's was Lothrian's doing. He kept secrets from me, things he'd learned or guessed at from Amrath's private writings.”
Maklin waved his fingers in the air. “Ooh, spooky ghost tales and secret mysteries in the ancient books!” He spat on the ground. “Here's a better explanation: he took it there as a payoff! He was working with them in that damned pit, and you helped him! Now, they have two pieces!”
“He would never—!”
“Or worse, it was some complicated scheme to steal both pieces for himself. Did you actually see his corpse?”
Ariano’s face grew taught with anger and stress. “No. And I suppose either is possible, but I don't believe it. We fought them long and hard, killed them by the scores. If he were in league with them, there would have been no need to sacrifice so many of their own. And as for the second, it's ridiculous on its face.”
Maklin sneered. “Oh, you just can't imagine him trading that precious twat of yours for ultimate p
ower, is that it?”
“You wretched, soulless old simulacrum! What would you know about twats that you can even comment? And yes, mine is just that good, for your information!”
Sadrik snorted so hard that he began to choke.
“He's turning red,” Cruentus observed. “What does that mean in your kind?”
“Go ahead and roast both of them,” Maranath fumed.
Cruentus turned his huge head and stared at Maranath, aghast. “And miss what is to come? Madness! This is just getting interesting! They might even kill one another!”
Maranath gave them both sharp glares. “I think they're done for the moment, eh?”
Ariano offered him a smirk, and Maklin scratched at his neck, seeming bored now.
The dragon shook his head sadly. “A pity. Perhaps later they will get worked up again.”
“Or I will,” Maranath said with a deep scowl.
Sadrik cleared his throat and found he could breathe again. There was some doubt as to whether he should open his mouth, but it was simply too interesting a thought not to share. “Has anyone considered that one piece might be able to track the others?”
The three elders turned and looked at him, astonishment on their faces.
Cruentus raised his head again and roared approval and flame into the sky. “That is just what they told me when they gave it to me for safekeeping, youngling. That it was still connected, even torn asunder in this plane. It knows full well where its brethren lie.”
Ariano stood silent a moment, absorbing this, then snapped at Maklin. “So it does have a use! Wrong again, you doddering relic!”
“I suppose you'll have us believe you knew nothing of this, eh?” he groused.
“You all know full well Lothrian was secretive, and damned well my superior at the time. He told me very little, just kept saying 'Trust me' when I questioned him.”
“Sounds familiar,” Maranath said.
She shrugged. “I suppose it does.”
“He must have told you something. Why else would you have gone to Torium with him?”
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