Anthology - The Realms of the Dragons II

"Samas Kul?" the zulkir asked, no doubt wondering if Nusair had shared his secret with the hated guildmaster.

"He knows nothing," Nusair reassured his true master. If Samas Kul knew to whom Nusair truly answered, he wasn't sure if even Nevron could protect him.

"It would be foolish to waste such powerful summoning magic on that accursed guild. I, of course, could think of numerous alternative uses," Nevron said. His face twisted into that maniacal sneer once again.

"Of course, Lord Nevron," Nusair agreed. No doubt those alternative uses had something to do with the zulkir's rivals and their allies, Nusair thought-perhaps even Samas Kul himself. The tome and its magic would make a terrible weapon, indeed. Who needs an assassin, if a dragon will do the work instead? "I'll not disappoint you, Master!" Nusair added.

"Surely you won't," Nevron said in a threatening tone. His eyes smoldered as he watched his servant through the glass.

"The consequences for you would be most unpleasant. Are we clear?"

Shaking, Nuisair leaned over the orb. "Crystal clear, Master" he said.

It was popular knowledge that Nevron had summoned monstrosities from the underworld that he could command at will. Nusair wanted no part of an angry pit fiend.

With that thought, the powerful zulkir faded from view, his sneer still pasted across his face, and burned into Nusair's mind.

After the disturbing meeting with the master conjurer, Nusair hurried to his library. Despite Nevron's demands, Nusair would not be able to recover The Scalamagdrion on his own. Samas Kul watched him like a hawk, and expected to see him in Bezantur, minding his duties at the guild. Instead, Nusair would send his lead apprentice, Saura Umakra. The Rashemi wizard was ruthless. More importantly, she was someone he could control. And that was critical for what Nusair had in mind.

Finally, after all the years of licking Samas Kul's boots, Nusair could almost breathe the fresh air offered only by power!

Saura Umakra waited impatiently, staring through tall, arched windows at the Alamber Sea, all but black in the muted moonlight, thrashing at the rocks below. Winter's winds raced across the water, carrying with them what little natural moisture would come to Thay's arid coastal plain. Meager rains would soon fall to wash red slides of mud into Umberlee's emerald locker. The land was ever changing, she thought. Nothing stays the same, she assured herself. Nothing.

The wind whistled as it squeezed through tiny cracks in the windows of Darkul Tower. Behind her, the warmth of a raging fire heated her back while the coldness emanating through the window reddened her cheeks. The land was roasting hot in the summer and seemed equally frigid when winter's kiss was upon the barren plain. Saura pulled her cloak tighter, attempting to stave off the chill.

Nusair's library was easily the largest room in the tower and furnished in a comfortable, if dark, manner. Tapestries the color of a crimson drake, stretched down from the high ceiling, covering most of the walls in an attempt to imprison the warmth and deny the cold a foothold. Where there was no tapestry, shelf upon shelf of leather bound books lined the walls, like red bricks bound in gold. A rug of the same color as the tapestries languished on the stone floor. Comfortable chairs, upholstered in soft leather, were placed near the stone hearth and a heavy, wooden table, carved in intricate designs of twisting dragons sat like a draconic sarcophagus in the center of the room. Upon the table were several old books, half-rolled scrolls, and candles. The tiny flames flickered and wavered in drafts that slipped through the room's windows, their light lost in the blaze of the fireplace.

The large door that marked the room's only entrance swung open, drawing Saura's attention from the scene outside. In the doorway stood the master of the tower. On his face, Nusair wore a toothy smile.

Saura looked upon her mentor with thinly disguised scorn. Nusair was a handsome man to be sure. He was tall and thin, like many Mulan men, but he was strong, unlike so many purveyors of the Art who become soft with a lifetime of study. His shaved head, heavily adorned with twisting tattoos of magical script, glinted in the firelight. He wore red robes of the finest Shou Lung silk that ended just before the floor, giving the tiniest hint of soft black shoes beneath. He carried himself, Saura reckoned, with all the arrogance of an elf king, but possessed none of the substance.

For too long, Saura had stood in his shadow and shared his bed, waiting for him to reward her with robes of red. To Saura's way of thinking, the Red Wizard's contempt for her Rashemi heritage was all that stood between her and the blasted robes. Unfortunately for her however, she would have to do his bidding to get the robes she coveted. So, she had swallowed her pride for five long years. Saura didn't know how much longer she could bare it. But retribution would come swiftly, when finally it came.

"I have awaited your arrival, as you commanded," she said and knelt before her master.

"You have," he agreed before waving her to stand up. "And you'll not be sorry for it."

"As you say, Master." She forced a smile.

Nusair stepped forward and touched her face softly, running his manicured fingers down across her cheek. The dragon's claw tattoo that encircled her left eye suddenly flared with an angry twitch, as it always did when he touched her. She sneered inwardly and swallowed the rising bile brought on by his touch.

"I have finally succeeded where all others have failed," he said.

He turned from her and faced the fire, letting his hand fall away to his side. Nusair was not a man of normal desires, even for a Red Wizard. Saura knew the man's obsessions better than anyone else. She was painfully familiar with his odd preferences beneath the silken sheets in his boudoir, his taste for bitter duergar ale, and his obsession for all things Draconic. The wizard's compulsive lust for ancient artifacts and his well-financed expeditions to recover them were common knowledge among Red Wizards, and often the center of jokes among them as well.

"What great thing have you uncovered?" she asked, only half believing.

When he turned once again to stare into her eyes, any doubt Saura had about the validity of this particular fool's errand was suddenly erased by the look of victory firmly planted on his tattooed face.

"You seek the robes," he said, ignoring her question.

"Of course," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I have but one final task to ask of you," he said in hushed tones, as though someone might hear his secret, even there, deep within his own house. He reached out again and touched her cheek, tracing his hand, nails teasing at her flesh, over the intricate tattoo that wound down her sensitive throat to plunge into her neckline. When his hand reached her throat, he dug his sharpened nails into her flesh. "I am sure that it will be easier to stomach than some tasks I have asked of you."

Saura couldn't doubt that. Her years of service in the wizard's bed were a steep price to pay for this apprenticeship.

"What could it be then?" she purred, teasing, trying to ignore the growing pain in her throat.

"If you are able to pull this one off, my dear, I shall grant you your greatest desire." He let the promise hang in the air for a bloated moment then added, "But Samas Kul must know nothing."

Nusair's hand lingered for another moment at the small of Saura's throat and he stepped past her to stare out the great, arching windows. Saura breathed a sigh of relief as he released her neck. Or was it the relief promised by what he had just offered? She would finally get the red robes that she had craved for so long-but was withholding information from the dangerous guildmaster a wise thing to do?