by Dave Gross
"Nah."
"You can't tell me you wouldn't love to take her in your arms, open her mouth with your tongue, and fill that aching warmth she has been saving all her life."
"Never gave it a thought."
"No?" Her fingers trailed down my chest and across my belly. Before I could wriggle away, her hand caught me where I couldn't lie. "Admit it. You've been thinking of her this whole time. You've been wondering what it would be like to have us both. You could, you know."
A blind man could spot that trap a mile away. Still, considering what I knew of Kemeili—especially her bedroom decorations and what she kept behind that third panel—she could be serious. The possibilities were beyond tempting. But the risk ...
She shifted her grip and twisted hard. "You are thinking about it!"
"Gah!" This was the second time she'd proved that knowing there was a trap wouldn't keep me from falling into it.
"I knew it." She pushed me away and moved toward her clothes. Above her, a bright patch on the ceiling caught my attention. A big pile of bugs clustered there. The more they climbed over each other, the more the pile of them drooped down like a stalactite.
I grabbed Kemeili and pulled her away just as the first bugs fell. "What are you—?"
The bugs answered her question as two or three splashed into the pool. More plopped onto the floor and skittered around, afraid to crawl in any direction. A big mess of them came down on my clothes. The rest kept bunching up above us.
"They're trying to get us," I said.
Kemeili clutched her clothes to her body and stepped back from the rain of larvae. She looked up as she stepped into her leathers. "No they aren't." She pointed at the ceiling farther away. The bugs moved toward the center of the room. "They're trying to get away from something else."
All around the edges room, I saw the dull glow of fire-colored eyes. Their silhouettes were all angles and spines, pincers and claws. I recognized the goat-headed dwarves and the worm-stuffed elves. Somehow the demons had gotten into the city, and they were coming for us.
I lunged for the jacket. All the demons shifted when they saw me move. I grabbed the big knife and sidestepped away from Kemeili. They demons moved with me again.
"Go get the others."
"I won't leave you here alone." She cracked her whip, but none of the demons reacted. I leaped over one of the pools. They moved to cut me off.
"You've got to. The two of us could never fight our way through this gang."
She didn't like it, but she saw the sense in it. "I'll be back."
"Go!" I ran at a cluster of the little goat guys. The first one got one hell of a surprise. I jerked the big knife out of his throat and slashed another across the arm. As the rest of the demons surged toward me, I got one last glimpse of Kemeili running away, her heart-shaped bottom churning under her leathers.
As last sights go, I figured, that one wasn't so bad.
Chapter Seventeen
Interview with the Dragon
Varian
There was no need to feign my fear as I bowed before Zuldanavox. The greater struggle was to prevent myself from reaching for my handkerchief and covering my nose against the stench of her lair. Her breath was even worse, and she directed the occasional plume of sulfurous vapor in my direction to test my composure.
To his everlasting credit, Arnisant barely whimpered as the wretched gas passed over us. The hound remained obediently at my heel, albeit with his head upon the floor.
I finished my courtesy before coughing into my fist and wiping the tears from my eyes. "Mighty Zuldanavox, I greet you on behalf of myself alone and beg forgiveness for my ignorant trespass."
She remained as still and silent as a monument. I averted my gaze from her eyes but could not help admiring her gleaming scales. Even the least of them would provide the material for a spell allowing me to replicate her caustic breath. I wondered what she would think if she looked inside my satchel and found the red dragon scales.
Like a queen, she allowed her silence to weigh upon me. As a courtier, I was used to such methods of intimidation, but never from such a physically intimidating creature. Still, I knew my role and awaited her judgment like a soldier attending his commander.
When at last she spoke, her voice caused the surrounding treasures to tremble. "What boon do you beseech of me?"
"While I did not know of you until yesterday, I came here seeking my father. I ask that you allow him to return with me to Omesta."
"For what reason?"
"To—" I could not utter the words, so trivial did my purpose now seem. What did a creature nine times my age care of repairing the Red Carriage? Even to me, who had cherished the vehicle all my life, it seemed absurd to have traveled so far and endured such dangers simply to enlist the efforts of a carriage maker. Besides, my purpose had changed. Before that moment, I did not know how to express it. "So that he may introduce me to my elven family, show me the city where they live, and teach me what it means to be an elf."
The dragon rose and turned three times before settling once more. I struggled not to compare her gesture to that of Arnisant even in my imagination, for I knew some dragons could skim the thoughts of other creatures. Once more she fixed me with those unknowable eyes. "As you have no doubt discerned, I have grown accustomed to Variel's company. What do you offer in return for such a favor?"
For this much I was prepared. "I have uncovered an unusual form of magic, long forgotten among human wizards."
"Show me."
For this too had I prepared. I produced the riffle scroll from its pouch on my bandolier and fanned it before her. "On each of these tiny pages I have drawn a fraction of an arcane rune, divided by a formula derived from the cadence and gestures necessary to produce the spell's effect." Closing the scroll, I turned to show that I was not casting the spell in her direction and let the edges slip out beneath my thumb. The magic filled my body, and I kicked upward to hover a few feet above the floor.
Zuldanavox turned her head in a manner I took for interest. Once more I spread open the scroll, showing her that the runes had vanished as I discharged the spell.
"An interesting novelty," she said. "But I require no scrolls to work my magic."
"Of course not," I said. "Yet as a seeker of knowledge, you might extrapolate this simple function into something beyond my meager ability to suggest."
She growled, a great deep sound almost beneath the range of my hearing. Arnisant sat up and looked anxiously to me. I gave him the sign to lie down and thanked Desna that he obeyed. I had displeased the dragon with my clumsy flattery, but to apologize directly would be to acknowledge it. I abandoned my prepared speech. "In truth, the secret of the riffle scrolls was not forgotten as much as it was discarded. Apart from its novelty, it is useful only to those suffering from a rare handicap."
"What is that?"
"While I comprehend the theory of magic well enough, when I arrange a spell in mind, I suffer debilitating physical side effects."
"What sort of side effects?"
"Muscle aches, dizziness, and ..." How I loathed saying it aloud. "Nausea."
The dragon huffed, producing twin rings of vapor from her nostrils. Her inhuman face concealed whether she snorted in derision or amusement, but then she pressed her snout against my chest and inhaled.
The movement was so sudden, her head so massive, that I reeled in an overpowering sense of vertigo. Arnisant leaped to my defense, but I called out his name to halt a fatal provocation. There was nothing he could do to save me if Zuldanavox meant to kill.
But she did not intend harm. Instead, she sniffed so deeply that I felt my hair drawn up and my entire body pulled against the scales of her snout. Her body was much cooler than I had expected, not wholly reptilian but neither as warm as a mammal. As her breath subsided, I felt myself released from the current.
"Why do you suffer such difficulty with magic?" she asked. So close to her mouth, I felt her words like the first gusts of a summer storm.
"I do not know," I said truthfully.
"I will tell you the answer," she said. "You were not born to be a wizard."
"What?"
"Tell me about your mother."
"What?"
"I will soon regret sparing your life if your words do not become more interesting."
"My mother was Pontia Jeggare, a noblewoman of Cheliax."
"And Variel's lover, yes?"
"Yes." I disliked hearing my mother referred to by such a term. She should have been Variel's wife, but for her pride and his.
"And you think she was human?"
"What?"
"If I hear that word again, our conversation will conclude most abruptly."
"Of course she was human," I said. My teeth hurt from the effort of containing my anger. "She was heir to the greatest lineage in all of Egorian, one of the four most ancient lines in all of Cheliax, second in prestige only to the ruling house of Thrune and the noblest lady of her generation!"
"Yet she gave birth to a half-elven bastard."
"How dare—?" My hand turned to ice with the effort of not reaching for the Shadowless Sword.
"Have you never wondered where else your ancient family tree has branched?"
"There is no blemish on my lineage." Except my own bastardy, I thought.
"Then why," said Zuldanavox, "do you smell of dragon?"
The question paralyzed me. Its implications shook my will so greatly that I dropped to the ground. I barely remained standing from the jolt, but with it came understanding: Zuldanavox smelled some draconic essence on me. Yet it was not my ancestry she detected.
It was only my broken heart.
"Months ago, I suffered a grievous injury." I touched my breast. "My life was spared by the essence of a celestial dragon."
Zuldanavox raised her head again, neck arching in a gesture I took for disbelief. She lowered her head and sniffed again. Arnisant lay his head flat upon the floor and covered his muzzle in two enormous paws.
"I prefer my theory, but I suppose it is plausible," Zuldanavox said. The timbre of her voice rose in suspicion. "Did you murder this dragon for his heart?"
"No, it was a gift."
"To you?"
"No, to another who shared it with me."
"Tell me more."
And so I related the story of my recent journey to Tian Xia. I found myself expanding upon details I had barely sketched when talking with Variel. Somehow the knowledge that Zuldanavox cared nothing for me—might easily snuff my life at the most insignificant slight, intended or accidental—compelled me to speak with utter candor. I spoke bitterly of my demeaning treatment at Dragon Temple, the petty rivalries among my so-called brothers there, and my genuine astonishment at the fraternal bonds that eventually grew from such inauspicious origins. Finally I described my helpless wonder at the grace bestowed upon me by a princess of Quain.
Difficult as it was to interpret the body language of a creature the size of a townhouse, I sensed Zuldanavox was disappointed at my story. "Did you really think me descended of a dragon-human union?"
"It is uncommon," she said. "But it has been known."
Another shocking thought sprouted in my imagination. "You and Variel haven't—"
"Certainly not. He has been useful in gathering the treasures of this city and occasionally helpful in deciphering its mysteries, but he is no fit sire for my offspring."
"You are fond of him, though."
After a ten-second silence, she said, "I have grown accustomed to his presence."
Suppressing a smile, I mused privately that such words probably constituted a warm endearment from her when discussing an elf.
"Fly with me." No sooner had she uttered the words than she launched her massive form into the air. The beating of her wings crushed me to the floor and sent Arnisant sprawling. As she rose through the western opening of the amphitheater, the gale subsided.
"Stay," I bade Arnisant before taking to the air to follow.
Zuldanavox circled twice to allow me to catch up with her. Even by expending another spell to speed my flight, there was no way to keep pace with her. With each stroke of her vast wings, she propelled herself acres across the overgrown city. By stalling and gliding, she allowed me to soar beside her as she flew a tight circle around the central plaza. I dreaded the questions she would ask me there.
"What did you discover of the missing spires?" Out in the open air, her voice sounded more like a wave than thunder.
"One projects some sort of necromantic effect," I said, trusting that simple honesty would be the best protection against Variel's secret. There was no point denying that we had seen the subterranean chambers. If she had spied on us through her magic, even if Variel was correct that she could not scry upon the hidden chambers, she would know we had been there. The challenge was not to volunteer more than she asked.
Unfortunately, she was too persistent for that ploy to succeed. "What of the other?"
"Probably energy-channeling magic."
For a few moments we circled the plaza without speaking. I wondered how well versed she was in the classical schools of arcane magic. Like sorcerers, including those whose bloodlines descend from the ancient wyrms, dragons have an innate command over magic. Unlike wizards, they need not learn arcane formulae to unleash their spells. Everything I had learned of Zuldanavox suggested her hunger for knowledge exceeded even mine. It would be a mistake to assume she was ignorant of the mystery of the unrepresented schools. While I fretted silently about what she might deduce from what I had told her, she surprised me with a different question.
"Can you raise them?"
Recalling my own advice to Radovan, I said, "Yes."
"What will happen if you do?"
"That I cannot know without much more study," I said. "Obviously the others are designed to defend the city. Perhaps they harm invaders or create defenders or compel resident creatures to defend the city, but those are reckless suppositions."
"I could use more recklessness."
Zuldanavox flew toward the northwestern district. I followed as swiftly as possible, concerned that my flying spell would not persist long enough for the return journey. Despite the enhancements I wove into the riffle scroll, I could remain airborne for only a short period.
Zuldanavox flew to the highest tower in the city's mage district. She perched near its roof for a moment before her figure shrank and transformed into the elven shape I had first encountered. As I alit on the balcony on which she stood, I saw her slip a platinum band around her finger.
The ornament was not her only attire. Her magic also conjured clothing. She wore snug leggings and a simple vest, both of deep green suede. An undyed cotton blouse hung loose upon her arms, embroidered at cuff and collar with thread of gold. Seeing no weapon on her person reminded me that she hardly needed one. She leaned on the balcony railing and looked out across her city. The morning breeze lifted her hair, from which I detected an altogether agreeable scent of fresh leaves. Her feigned image appeared far more approachable than her true form.
"When did you first discover this city?" I asked.
"Is that your subtle way of asking my age?"
"No, no, no, definitely no."
She laughed, tossing her head as if she were a girl on the brink of adulthood. I smiled as though my panicked reply were an intentional joke.
"The city is mine," she said. "I took it from no one, but I could take it back from anyone. Do you understand?"
"I do." I barely stopped myself from adding, "Your Majesty."
"The elves flatter themselves that they could wrest it from me."
"Not all elves," I said. "Telandia is known for her wisdom. Surely she would treat with you rather than threaten."
"You are a fine parrot to your father."
"I share his opinion."
"You are not even an elf."
"No, I am not," I said. "I have met many elves in my years, but I have never understood their people. By herit
age and breeding I am human."
She turned to me at that, leaning close as if to sniff at me again. Instead she put her cheek close to mine, the soft illusion of her flesh brushing against my skin.
A decadent thrill passed through me. Simultaneously I felt a guilty excitement and an uninvited understanding of my father's association with this creature. What she lacked in genuine humanity she more than sufficed in its semblance.
"Please, will you tell me something of what you have learned about this city?" I asked.
"Why do you care to know?"
"My passion—"
"Your passion?" She moved closer.
"My greatest interest is in discovering new knowledge, or recovering that which was lost."
"You sound like a Pathfinder."
Remembering Variel's reaction to my revelation that I belonged to that society, I hesitated before answering. My hesitation was all the answer Zuldanavox required.
"You are a Pathfinder!"
I bowed my admission, hoping it would not be my final gesture.
"I adore Pathfinders."
Some mad whim put Radovan's words on my tongue. "Not for supper, I trust."
Her eyes widened, and for an instant the morning light imbued them with breathtaking radiance. I felt my lips part in a schoolboy's gape at her beauty.
"No," she said with a lascivious smile. "But perhaps for dessert."
The vertigo returned. I gripped the balcony railing for support, inadvertently clutching her hand. As I withdrew it, she fastened her grip upon me.
"You wish me to let Variel leave this place," she said.
"Yes."
"I will do so, on one condition."
"Yes?"
"You take his place."
"What?"
She sighed. "I thought we had won past that obstruction."
"I cannot possibly ...I mean, I have obligations at home." I swallowed the lump in my throat and exerted a supreme effort not to stammer. "Besides, what is the point of bringing him away if he cannot take me to Riverspire and introduce me to my family?"
"In winter, then," she said. "Come to me in winter. You know things Variel never learned. You have traveled far beyond the borders of Kyonin. Help me uncover the secrets of this place. Spend the rest of the year where you will."
