Yes, the dragon answered. More clearly than ever.
Elias smiled. It was better than he had imagined. Nydeired’s red tongue shot out and licked Elias’ cheek, and he giggled, wiping his face with a corner of his tunic.
Sisren walked over. “Congratulations. How do you feel?”
“Great,” said Elias. “I feel great!”
“Do you want to wear your stone as an implant?” asked Chua. “It’s a bit painful at first.”
“Yes,” Elias nodded. “Can you show me how to do it?”
Chua nodded, reciting the spell that was required to create the implant. Elias held the stone to his bare chest and said the spell quietly. As it happened with Chua, Elias’ skin rose up to grasp the edges of the dragon stone. It was painful, but the throbbing subsided quickly.
“Don’t try to heal your skin with magic, or the stone will fall out. Let the wound scab over. The implant must heal naturally,” Chua advised.
“Thank you,” said Elias. He touched the stone carefully, wiping away blood that had dripped on the surface.
“Go spend some private time with Nydeired,” said Sisren. “Practice communicating, because we’re leaving for Morholt tonight.”
The Elves and Dwarves
Four days later, Carnesîr, Fëanor, and Amandila arrived at Mount Velik, casting concealment spells to disguise their approach. Thousands of empire soldiers had already made camp outside the mountain; the dwarves were under siege. The supply train from the river to the enemy camp ran for many leagues. Hundreds of wagons and carts transported supplies from the river to the soldiers.
At the base of the mountain, a battering ram had been set up, and it slammed repeatedly against the stone doors that were the entrance to the dwarf kingdom. Although the doors were exceptionally well made, they would not hold out indefinitely.
After sending a quick message to announce their arrival, the three elves and their dragons flew up the mountain and into the caldera.
The city was empty. “What’s going on here? Where is everyone?” said Fëanor.
A few men and women rushed by, ignoring the elves completely. Carnesîr grabbed a passing dwarf by the collar. “You! Tell me! Where is everyone?”
The man yelped. “We’re under attack! The city has been sealed, and the people are in hiding!” The frantic dwarf tried to squirm out of Carnesîr’s grip, but the elf held fast.
“Where is King Hergung?” he asked.
“Hergung is dead! Our king is dead!” the dwarf shrieked, his eyes wild. “He was attacked in the night, and now we’re doomed! The end of days—as the Kynn Oracle has foreseen! Now let me go! I must return to my family!” The terrified dwarf twisted out of Carnesîr’s grip and ran in the opposite direction.
“Hergung is dead?” said Amandila.
“I know where Hergung’s royal suites are located,” said Carnesîr. “Let’s get to the bottom of this. Follow me.” The dragons stayed behind, waiting patiently in the nearly abandoned city.
The elves walked up a corridor, which led to a steep stairwell. Even taking the steps two at a time, it still took a long time to reach the king’s chambers.
When they arrived, they were stopped momentarily by the guards stationed outside the door. “Halt! No one may enter.”
“You shall let us pass,” said Carnesîr, waving one finger in the air. The guards’ faces took on a dazed expression. The men stepped aside and let the elves enter.
The smell hit them immediately. There was no mistaking the odor; it was the stench of rotting flesh. Carnesîr covered his nose and looked at the others; this was a very bad sign.
Hergung lay on his ornate bed surrounded by his personal physicians. Tallin stood silently nearby. As the elves approached the bed, they were surprised to see Hergung’s eyes open. The king was still alive.
Hergung lifted one arm weakly, motioning for the elves to come closer. His physicians and attendants stepped aside, and Carnesîr went to the king’s bedside. Hergung’s face shone with sweat and his skin had a greenish pallor. “What happened, your highness?” Carnesîr asked.
Hergung didn’t respond. Instead, he tapped the bedspread. Carnesîr lifted the covers and gasped. An infection had ravaged his body. Hergung’s legs were ghastly. Swollen and disfigured, they drained pus from countless lesions.
One of the physicians tugged Carnesîr’s sleeve. “No one knows what happened,” the man said quietly. “Yesterday morning, Hergung awoke in terrible pain. He hasn’t been able to walk or even lift himself from the bed since then. At first, we thought we could control the infection, but despite our best efforts, it has spread. It’s taking all our skill just to keep him alive. We don’t know what caused it.”
“I do,” said Tallin. He held up a glass knife. The deadly blade was filled with blue liquid.
Carnesîr drew a sharp intake of breath. “The Balborites have been here.”
“Yes, but the doctors don’t believe me. They think this is a natural illness. I’ve been arguing with them for hours,” Tallin said, placing the deadly knife on the bed.
“It’s over then,” said Carnesîr. “If Hergung has kudu oil in his bloodstream, we won’t be able to save him. I can make his passing more comfortable, but that is all.”
“It’s not kudu oil,” said Tallin. “Otherwise, he’d be dead already. The knife was merely a clue, or a warning, but this sickness is something else.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” said Carnesîr. “What do you think it is?”
“I recall seeing a rash like this in the desert. It’s Orandi fungus.” Tallin poked Hergung’s leg with his index finger, and the king groaned. “Look here—see those purple sores? That’s the fungus. The physicians insist I’m wrong.”
“You are wrong!” said the physician. “The whole idea is ludicrous. There’s never been a recorded case of Orandi fungus outside the desert. How could Hergung possibly have been infected? He hasn’t been anywhere near the desert in years!”
Carnesîr examined Hergung’s legs. If it was Orandi fungus, he’d never seen a case this severe. The sores looked similar, but it was difficult to be sure. This infection was very far advanced. Carnesîr hated to admit it, but Tallin was probably right.
“I agree with you, Tallin. This attack was a warning. The assassin chose to send a message—punishment for Hergung’s alliance with the desert.”
“The assassin must have snuck into Hergung’s chambers and introduced the infection,” said Tallin. “It would be easy. Just a nick in the skin and a few fungal spores in the wound would be enough.”
“Tallin, do you have any experience curing this disease?”
Tallin nodded. “I cured a few cases while I was living in the Death Sands. Nomads, mostly. But I’ve never seen an infection this severe. It’s spread everywhere.”
Carnesîr turned to Fëanor and Amandila. “Go down to the city and calm the dwarves. Use charms if you have to. There’s black magic afoot here; I can feel it. The unrest is too great. Watch yourselves—it’s possible that the Balborite assassin is still here, hiding somewhere within the mountain.”
The two elves nodded and left the chamber, making their way back down to the main city.
Carnesîr pointed at the physicians and the rest of Hergung’s attendants. “All the rest of you—get out. Except you, Tallin. You stay.”
The physicians sputtered and protested loudly. “Under whose authority? You can’t force us to leave!”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Carnesîr, waving one hand. “Hilyoni!” Instantly, their spines stiffened and they turned to face the door. Forced to obey, the furious physicians walked stiffly out of the room, single file.
“That’s a neat trick,” said Tallin.
“It’s an elvish spell,” said Carnesîr. “I’m a believer in expedience. Let’s get started. We’re going to be stuck here a while.”
Neither Carnesîr nor Tallin were experienced healers, but they went to work. Tallin was correct—it was a fungal infection. “O
randi fungus is rare outside the desert, and unheard of in dwarves. We have no natural immunity to it.”
They used all their combined magical skill to stabilize the king. Hours passed as they worked together in silence. By the following morning, Hergung’s fever broke. The king slept peacefully, no longer in excruciating pain.
“He’s sedated. The worst is over. He will survive,” said Carnesîr.
“Yes, but it’s a shame he’s going to lose that limb,” said Tallin. Despite their best efforts, Hergung’s right leg would have to be amputated above the knee. The leg had been without circulation for too long. It had blackened during the night, and they had been unable to reverse the damage. “Still—it’s good. He’ll live.” Tallin sat down, exhausted from his efforts.
“Call the rest of Hergung’s physicians back. They need to remove that leg today,” said Carnesîr.
Tallin bit back a retort. Carnesîr was so used to giving orders. Tallin decided that he was too tired to argue. “I’ll let them know.”
Carnesîr nodded and left the chamber, pleased with his handiwork. He went down the long stairwell and into the main city. The hubbub had quieted down. Although a few dwarves still looked distressed, the populace had returned to their normal routines.
Carnesîr found Amandila first, working to calm a group of women and children. The elf said a few words of encouragement and then whispered an elvish tranquility spell under her breath. The dwarf women sighed and their faces took on dreamy expressions. The women dispersed slowly.
Carnesîr waited until all the women had left and then said, “How goes it?”
Amandila yawned and rubbed her eyes. Although elves are known for their stamina, she hadn’t slept for several days. “The hysteria wasn’t natural—it had a magical origin, a malicious bit of dark magic. But under the circumstances, it didn’t take much to stoke a panic. The mountain is under siege and Hergung was on his deathbed. The dwarves would have panicked anyway. It took all my strength just to restore some order to this place.”
“Where is Fëanor?” asked Tallin, who was coming down the stairs.
“A few of the other clan leaders were seriously ill,” said Amandila. “Fëanor went to help. The dwarves’ own mage-priests tried to heal them, with varying results.”
“Did they survive?” said Tallin.
“Sundergos and Akkeri are both dead. Skemtun will survive. Utan and Bolrakei are fine. Neither of them was attacked,” said Amandila.
Tallin’s jaw clenched. “Sundergos and Akkeri supported an alliance with Parthos. The other leaders opposed the treaty.”
“Then that’s the reason they’re dead,” said Carnesîr. “The assassin targeted them specifically. This means that Vosper knows exactly what’s been happening during your treaty talks. The dwarves have a traitor in their ranks.”
It’s Bolrakei! thought Tallin, remembering how she had sworn to block treaty negotiations until she got what she wanted.
“Do you suspect anyone, Tallin?” asked Amandila.
Tallin paused. He decided to keep his suspicions to himself. “No. I can’t think of anyone offhand,” he lied. “Mount Velik is under attack, and Hergung needs time to recover. I suggest that Carnesîr takes over temporary stewardship of the city. Under the circumstances, I don’t anticipate any objections from the dwarves.”
Carnesîr looked startled for a moment, surprised at Tallin’s suggestion. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Tallin. “Hergung is still unconscious, and Sundergos is dead. The other clan leaders don’t have any military training or experience. You offered support to the dwarves during the last two wars, and you’re familiar with their methodology and training.”
Carnesîr smiled, pleased to be in a position of authority again. “I will begin organizing the troops for battle. What will you do, Tallin?”
I’m going to check on Skemtun, Utan, and Bolrakei. If the assassin is still here, it’s possible that the others will be targeted.” With that, Tallin turned and left, making a beeline for Bolrakei’s chambers. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. Bolrakei was the one feeding the emperor information—that's how Vosper knew exactly when to strike.
When he reached the entrance to Bolrakei’s chambers, it was unguarded. He stepped inside unopposed. The air felt stagnant, heavy with perfume and the smell of something else: an odor that was familiar but that Tallin couldn’t identify. He walked carefully into the main room, and then he saw it—a trail of blood going into the next chamber. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Hud-leyna,” he whispered hastily, saying the concealment spell under his breath. The air shimmered and Tallin disappeared, hidden by the spell. He continued to move forward, staying close to the wall.
The next room was dark, but Tallin could see well enough to make out the bodies of Bolrakei’s two guards, crumpled in a heap in the corner. Their eyes stared up at the ceiling. Tallin knew both of the men were dead.
The trail of blood continued down a narrow flight of stairs, and Tallin moved forward in silence through Bolrakei’s labyrinthine chambers. The stairwell opened up to a maze of rooms, halls, and even more staircases. He entered another enormous room, which was awash in crystal light. The light was so bright that it looked like midday. Every inch of space on the walls held a glowing crystal, and the mosaic of light was breathtakingly beautiful. Tallin started to understand Bolrakei’s obsession with gemstones.
The next room was a small oratory, and Tallin found a larger pool of blood in the center of the room. Then he heard a groan. He looked around, but saw nothing except chairs and a short podium. The person groaned again. Where was the sound coming from?
Tallin refrained from calling out in case it was a trap. Then he felt it. A drop of blood landed on his cheek. He looked up and was completely unprepared for what he saw.
It was Fëanor, wrapped like a mummy and nailed to the ceiling. A giant hook, which was used to move supplies, had been lodged into the center of his chest, and bright red blood dripped from the horrible wound. If Fëanor had been mortal, he would have been dead already. As it was, he would bleed to death slowly.
was stuck so high up, that Tallin knew he wouldn’t be able to reach him, so he sent out a frantic telepathic message to Carnesîr and Amandila. Their shock was immediate. He relayed his location and ended the communication before either could respond. Then he continued following the blood trail, which became fainter and fainter as he advanced.
Eventually, the blood disappeared, and Tallin was forced to guess where to go next. He paused and listened. Then he heard it—a faint crying in the distance. Tallin thanked the gods for his excellent hearing and walked cautiously toward the sound, still maintaining his concealment spell and being careful that his footfalls were as silent as possible.
The crying grew louder, even though it looked as though he had reached the end of the hall. The only thing in front of him was a stone wall, but the sound was louder than ever. And then Tallin heard a woman’s voice: taunting, vicious—unmistakable. A voice he could never forget. His blood ran cold.
Memories flooded back. She taunted him over a year ago in Parthos, laughing over the bodies of innocents she had slaughtered. This was the master assassin that had gleefully killed King Mitca.
he and Tallin had fought on the palace ramparts. She was the deadliest opponent he had ever faced. Tallin won the battle, but she had escaped. Now she was here, killing indiscriminately, without remorse, without pity, and without regret.
It was Skera-Kina.
Morholt
As they had discussed, Rali borrowed his mother’s stone and took her place as Brinsop’s temporary rider. Aor insisted on accompanying his king, and the faithful guard took his place behind Rali on Brinsop’s saddle.
Hanko and Sisren rode Charlight, and Nydeired carried Elias and Islar, whose knowledge of the castle was deemed invaluable.
Six spellcasters. Three dragons. This small group was the final hope of defeating the emperor, an immor
tal mad with power.
Elias embraced his father before leaving. “Thank you for everything, Father.”
“Godspeed, my son. May Baghra guide you on your journey,” said Chua, a faint smile on his lips.
“Thank you,” said Elias. They both knew that this might be the last time they saw each other. Nydeired said his goodbyes to Starclaw, as well.
Be careful, my hatchling, my thoughts are with you, said Starclaw, while nuzzling her enormous offspring. Nydeired cooed softly.
“You’ll take care of Sela for me, won’t you?” said Rali.
“As if she were my own daughter,” said Chua. “Don’t worry. I promise Sela will be well cared for. Concentrate on the task at hand. You’ll need all your wits about you in order to defeat Vosper.”
“Ready?” asked Sisren. “We should leave before it gets too late.”
“Yes,” Elias replied. “I’m ready.” Although this was the most dangerous threat that he had ever faced, Elias felt calm. Chua was right—no matter what happened, he felt that this journey was his destiny.
They took off into the night sky, ascending quickly into the darkness. Islar fidgeted in his seat behind Elias, who could feel his hands trembling. “Islar, are you nervous?”
“A little,” said Islar. “Okay, a lot. I’ll admit it. I don’t want to return to Morholt. I’m afraid. It was difficult enough trying to escape the first time.”
“I understand your fears,” said Elias, “but we need you. No one else knows the layout of the castle.”
“If I get caught, the emperor will kill me. I’ve seen what he does to traitors.” Islar shivered.
“Stop thinking about it,” said Elias. “We’re not going on this mission to lose.”
“Aren’t you the least bit afraid?”
“No. Not anymore. I’ve learned a lot since I left Persil, and I feel like a completely different person. There were times in the past when I felt scared. But I’ve been lucky to have great role models.”
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