Кейт Новак - Song of the Saurials

“What reason?” Zhara snapped.

Her taunts help her fight her fear of the gods , the paladin explained.

“If she were virtuous, she would have no reason to fear the gods,” Zhara declared.

If you had ever lain helpless in the Darkbringer’s power, as she has, you would know better , the paladin replied.

Zhara lowered her eyes, chastened.

After pausing several moments, Dragonbait chucked her gently under her chin. You’ve had a long journey , he signed. You should rest now .

“Before I rest, I want you to tell me one thing” Zhara said. “Will the paladin in your tale ever return to the priestess he loved?”

When he has finished his service to Lady Luck , Dragonbait signed.

“When will that be?” Zhara asked.

When the Darkbringer is destroyed for all time , Dragonbait signed, and the paladin’s sister need never fear becoming helpless again. Rest now. We will talk again . The saurial rose to his feet.

Zhara smiled up at the lizard. “Do you promise?” she asked.

The paladin laid his hand on his chest, bowed, and slipped out of the Red Room as quietly as a cat.

The priestess sighed. Although she vowed to think more kindly of Alias, she doubted she’d ever really like her. The swordswoman was still a northerner and an adventuress, synonymous, in the priestess’s mind, with a barbarian. Zhara felt honored, though, that the paladin had divulged his story to her.

She yawned. Dragonbait was right. She should rest. The priestess reached over to the window, unfastened the shutter latch, and pushed the shutter open. Cool, moist air wafted into the room, carrying a number of tiny tufted seeds. As Zhara stared sleepily out across the gray landscape, the rain started falling once again.

She pulled off her sandals and threw them at her clothing trunk, listening with satisfaction to the thumping noises they made. Then she picked up her veil from the table and, for good measure, threw it in the direction of the trunk. It landed several inches short, but she was too tired to bend over to pick it up. Stupid veil, she thought. Let it lie there.

Pushing herself out of her chair, Zhara shuffled exhaustedly across the room and flopped onto the bed. Before they’d arrived in Shadowdale, she and Akabar had spent several days on the road with the caravan, camping in the open on the hard ground. As she lay back on the plump pillows, she anticipated the pleasures of sharing so large and private a room with her husband again. While she missed Akash and Kasim, her co-wives, there was no denying that she enjoyed having Akabar’s company all to herself.

Thinking of Akash and Kasim, Zhara uttered a quick prayer for their safety and health. Then she drifted off to sleep to the sound of the pattering rain and a vision of her handsome husband leaning over her, whispering her name.

A bad dream troubled her sleep. In the dream, Alias was closing her inside a coffin lined with daggers. The darkness of the coffin frightened Zhara as much as the idea of the daggers, and she was struggling with all her might to resist, when suddenly she awoke with a start.

The priestess wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the room about her was much darker than it had been; twisting shadows played on the walls all about her. She reached into a pocket of her robe for one of the stones she had enchanted with a continual light. Something pricked at her elbow when she moved her arm. She reacted automatically, rolling on her side, away from whatever she’d brushed against.

Instead of rolling to safety, she rolled into worse stabs—painful and itchy. She rolled onto her back once more and yanked out her light stone. She gasped in horror. The room was choked with a thicket of greenery, sprouting needle-sharp daggers from every stem and leaf. She was buried in the center of the thicket, unable to move without lancing herself on the needles. As if she were still dreaming, a scream caught in her throat and would not escape.

Attracted by her light stone, the plants closed in toward her, stabbing at her flesh. Zhara cringed from the pain and threw her arms up to protect her bare face. She could feel a dagger-plant coiling under the hem of her robes, stabbing at her bare calves.

Zhara felt panic wrapping about her as tightly as the plants. This had been one of Akabar’s dreams. The Darkbringer had gained the advantage of first attack. Once it finished with her, it would take Akabar. It would devour his soul before his spirit was strong enough to resist.

“No!” Zhara growled through clenched teeth at the purple flowering pods pricking at her lips, trying to thrust their way into her mouth. “You’ll never get my husband!” A burst of anger forced the panic away from her. She thrust her left hand into another pocket of her robe and grasped at a handful of bark there, meanwhile clutching at her throat with her other hand for the silver disk that was the holy symbol of her goddess. Ignore the pain! she ordered herself as the needles pricked into the back of her knee. Concentrate! Zhara began a prayer to Tymora asking for the goddess’s aid. The oft-repeated lines helped calm her nerves until she was able to summon the power for her spell. Crumbling the bark in her fist, she whispered, “Oak sister.”

Zhara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, concentrating on the numbness creeping up her left hand into her arm, across her torso, up her throat, down her other arm and into her legs. She took a deep breath and sat straight up in the bed. The dagger plants resisted her movements with their woody stems, but she could no longer sense their sharp prickers. Her spell had transformed her skin into bark that was hard enough to protect her but also smooth and supple enough so she could still move. She fought back the attacking greenery with her arms as if it were nothing deadlier than hay.

Her eyes were still vulnerable, so she was forced to keep them closed. The spell wouldn’t last long. It wasn’t panic that caused her to seek help, she assured herself, and she did so, shouting, “Dragonbait!” at the top of her lungs. She pushed herself off the bed and stomped on the plant stems, crushing them under her bark-covered heels until the floor was smeared with sticky pulp.

All around her, the plants kept growing faster than she could crush them. They began winding around her ankles and wrists, restricting her movements until finally they held her fast. Another plant twisted tight around her throat, and she knew that when the bark skin faded, she’d either be strangled or have her jugular vein pierced by the thorns.

She screamed for Dragonbait again and again, until a flowering pod thrust itself into her mouth. The prickles stung like a hundred bees, and the plant forced itself deeper, choking her.

Unable to get her hands to her mouth, Zhara bit down on the plant and ripped the flower from the stem with her teeth. She chewed, despite the agonizing pain, until she’d worked the flower into a wad small enough to spit out.

Something thumped on the door. “Help!” Zhara screamed. “Hurry!”

The door opened just wide enough for Dragonbait’s arm to slip through. He held out his sword and growled. The sword glowed, then burst into flame, illuminating the room in a brilliant light. Dagger plants swayed instinctively toward the light, only to be scorched by the fire. The saurial slashed blindly at the greenery until he’d cleared the way enough to thrust the door open all the way. He hacked at the stems, setting them alight and filling the room with an acrid, black smoke. Then he slashed at the base of the plants that held Zhara until he could pull her from the room.

The saurial stood in the doorway, brandishing his flaming weapon. The plants hesitated to approach now, as if warned that the glowing weapon was deadly. Dragonbait hissed once and pulled the door shut.