Troy Denning - The Cerulean Storm

Rikus still wasn’t convinced. “They have powerful magic,” he said.

“Which they will eventually use to dispel the fog in the arch’s passage,” Khidar replied. “But even for them, the shadow people are not easy to battle, and they were not prepared to meet us. You may believe me when I say that by the time they follow, your battle with the Dragon will be won-or lost.”

A crimson globe appeared in the darkness ahead, partially obscured by a thick wisp of blackness that reminded Rikus of a sand streamer blowing across the face of a moon.

“Now you must be quiet,” Khidar urged. “That’s our destination.”

As they drifted closer, the wisp of blackness grew thicker and more substantial, until it resembled a pair of gnarled tree boles rising up to meet high above ground. Only after studying the image for another moment did Rikus identify the dark band as a pair of huge legs. Khidar was bringing them up directly beneath Borys.

In the next instant, Rikus emerged from the Dragon’s shadow and found his head protruding above a vast plain of broken scoria. As his eyes adjusted to the red light of Rkard’s sun-spell, he reached up with sword in hand and braced his arms on the ground. He started to pull himself up, leading the way out of the Black.

The mul made it as far as his waist before Borys’s voice cried an incantation. The red light of Rkard’s sun-spell abruptly vanished, and a terrible, crushing agony gripped Rikus’s hips as he found himself clamped in solid stone.

Biting back the urge to scream, Rikus looked around and saw no shadows anywhere. Below the ground, he could feel Tithian tugging at his cold-numbed legs.

The mul raised his sword and stretched toward Borys’s foot but held his blow when he heard Sadira’s voice behind him. Rikus looked over his shoulder. He saw a black sphere leave her hand and shoot up toward Borys’s head.

The mul cursed silently, then stretched out to slash at the back of the Dragon’s ankle. The blade struck with a mighty clang, spraying blue sparks in all directions, then red smoke and yellow blood poured from the wound.

Borys howled and stumbled away, his head engulfed in a sphere of darkness. He turned a palm downward, then Rikus felt an eerie tingle as magical energy sizzled through the ground around him.

Sadira made her second attack, firing a storm of flaming blue ice at the Dragon. The pellets scoured long, smoking scars into his thick hide but did not penetrate. Borys growled in frustration and dodged, apparently expecting another attack and fearing that it would have more effect.

“Over here, Sadira!” Rikus called, waving his sword in the air.

“Rikus!”

The sorceress rushed toward him. She moved with incredible swiftness and was at his side in an instant, reaching into her robe for a spell component.

“Where have you been?” The words came so fast Rikus could hardly understand her.

“That’s not as important as where I am now-trapped halfway in the Black!” the mul growled. “We need a light.”

Fifty paces away, Borys uttered an incantation and touched his hand to his head. The sphere of darkness evaporated instantly.

“Light, Sadira!” Rikus urged. “Now!”

Sadira spoke a mystic syllable and touched the Scourge. A brilliant glow flared on the blade, casting a long shadow behind Rikus. He felt his waist come free. Before the mul could pull himself out of the ground, a pair of arms shot out of the Black and grabbed the rocky plain. Rikus felt Tithian’s shoulders pushing him up from beneath, then the mul was free of the cold murk.

Rikus stood and held his sword steady. Tithian’s head and torso emerged from the mul’s shadow. Sacha came with him, cleaving to a mouthful of long, gray hair. The king stopped climbing when he noticed Sadira staring at him with a murderous light in her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Ask later,” Rikus said. “We’re in enough trouble-”

Sadira’s head snapped toward the Dragon. She launched herself forward, giving Rikus a hard shove. Rikus heard the sizzle of a magic bolt crackle from Borys’s direction, then everything went dark. An instant later, the mul found himself standing near the brink of the abyss, staring back toward the center of the plain. Where he had been standing a moment earlier, there was now a smoking crater the size of the Golden Palace. Rikus could not see how deep the hole was, for it was surrounded by a rim of broken stone as high as Tyr’s city wall.

“By Ral!” The mul was so shocked, he could do little but gape at the immense hole. “Sadira!”

“What are you doing, giving up?” asked a familiar voice.

For the first time, the mul realized that he was standing near an arch similar to the one on the other side of the lava sea. Lying near its base, her head cradled in Rkard’s lap, was Neeva. Though Rikus could not see any injuries, her motionless legs revealed all he needed to know.

“Neeva!” he gasped.

“Go.” She pointed toward the crater. Borys was already limping down into it. “I’ll be fine with Rkard looking after me. See what happened.”

The mul started forward, then heard a strange voice at his feet. “St … ning … oaf!”

Noticing that he only heard the voice when his feet touched the ground, Rikus halted and looked down. Out of the shadow cast by his sword came Tithian, followed immediately by Sadira’s pale form.

“How did you-”

“It was the only place to go,” Sadira replied, cutting him off before he finished the question. “Where’s the Dragon?”

Rikus pointed toward the crater.

“We’d better hurry,” Tithian said. Still in serpent form, the king started to slither toward the crater.

“Wait,” Sadira said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“It’d better be a good one,” Tithian said. “We don’t have long before Borys realizes we’re not in that crater.”

The sorceress took the Scourge, then touched the blade to the Dark Lens. A flash of crimson light flared from beneath the enchanted steel. The sword began to glow red, and Sadira gasped in pain.

“What are you doing?” Rikus asked, horrified at the thought of what the heat might do to the temper of his blade.

“Remember what happened the first time you broke the Scourge?” she asked. “And how terrified Abalach-Re was in the Ivory Plain?”

The mul smiled, then looked to Tithian. “Weaken the blade,” he ordered.

“Are you mad?” the king gasped.

“If you want to kill Borys, do it!” Rikus ordered.

Tithian frowned but directed his gaze at the weapon. His brow furrowed in concentration. Where the Scourge’s blade touched the Lens, a white flame danced over the steel. Sadira cried out and dropped the sword.

Rikus tore a strip off the hem of the sorceress’s robe, then wrapped it around the Scourge’s hilt and picked the sword up. About midway down the blade, a black scorch mark stained the steel.

“That’ll do fine,” the mul declared.

Rikus led the way back to the hole, Sadira sprinting at his side. Tithian crawled behind them, holding the Dark Lens in his tail. When they reached the crater, Rikus signaled the others to hide, then climbed to the top and peered down on Borys. The Dragon was on all fours, still digging through the rubble at the bottom of the pit. The mul picked up a rock, intending to let it drop on Borys to get his attention.

There was no need. The Dragon drew himself up to his full height, and Rikus found himself standing eye to eye with the beast.

“Where’s my Lens?” Borys demanded.

The Dragon raised his hands but resisted the temptation to strike, obviously aware that Rikus would vanish if he did.

Allowing some of his very real fear of the beast to show through, Rikus replied, “I d-don’t have it.”