Troy Denning - The Obsidian Oracle

“You mustn’t be jealous, Agis,” Tithian said with a smirk. “Over these past years, I’ve developed talents that aren’t available to you.”

“Then where is it?” Agis demanded.

Tithian wagged his finger at the noble. “I won’t say,” he replied. “But I’ll tell you how I found it. That will protect my secret and convince you that I’m telling the truth.”

“I’m listening,” Agis replied.

Although he maintained a calm outward appearance, the noble’s heart was pounding fiercely. The Dark Lens was the key not only to safeguarding Tyr, but to revitalizing the rest of Athas as well. The lens would complement the two things that his friends already possessed: Rikus’s magic sword, the Scourge of Rkard, and the powerful magic with which Sadira had been imbued in the Pristine Tower. With all three elements together, they would finally have the power to put an end to the Dragon’s rampages.

After allowing Agis to remain in suspense for a moment, Tithian said, “I found the lens by not looking for it.”

“What nonsense is that?” demanded Kester.

“The lens was stolen from the Pristine Tower by two dwarves-dwarves who had vowed to kill Borys,” the king explained. “When they died without destroying him-”

“They violated their focus,” interrupted Agis, referring to the peculiar aspect of the dwarven personality that compelled them to dedicate their lives to an all-consuming purpose.

Tithian nodded. “When they died without fulfilling their purpose, they became undead spirits,” he said. “I used my magic to locate their banshees, and that’s how I know where to find the Dark Lens.”

“And you offered to share this Dark Lens with Andropinis. That’s why he loaned his fleet to you,” surmised Nymos. The sorcerer stepped to Agis’s side and laid a hand on the noble’s hip, then pointed in Tithian’s direction. “I say we tie him to a boulder and dump him over the side.”

“That won’t be necessary, Nymos,” said Tithian, regarding the reptile with a wary expression. “You’re correct in all your assumptions, except one. I have no intention of keeping my word to Andropinis. I want the lens so I can kill the Dragon-for the good of Tyr.”

“Forgive me if I doubt your motivations,” said Agis.

“Good,” said Nymos. “Let’s throw him overboard and go after the lens ourselves.”

“We can’t kill him,” said Agis. “I need him alive when he stands before the Court of Free Citizens.”

“You can’t intend to take me back now!” Tithian exclaimed. “This is the Dark Lens! It’ll make us as powerful as sorcerer-kings!”

“I’m not abandoning the lens,” said Agis. “You know it’s too important for me to do that.”

“Good,” said Tithian, a smug smile on his face. “Then we’ll work together-for the good of Tyr.”

Agis shook his head. “You’ll be spending this journey in Kester’s brig-and returning to Tyr in shackles.”

“We’ll do this thing together, or not at all,” said Tithian. “Otherwise, I won’t tell you where to find it.”

“What happened to your concern for Tyr’s welfare?” Agis asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking of now,” the king replied.

“You’re lying,” Agis replied. “Besides, I know where to look-the isle of Lybdos.”

Tithian’s eyes opened wide. “You fool!” he hissed. “You can’t succeed without me!”

“We can, and we will,” Agis replied, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll find the brig comfortable.”

The noble grabbed Tithian by the shoulders and turned him toward the center of the deck, where Kester’s slaves had gathered to watch the exchange. “I’ll try not to make the rest of your journey too unpleasant,” he said, looping his rope around the king’s wrists.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Tithian replied, his voice rather distant.

Agis looked up to see the slaves staring at the king in rapt fascination. At first, he did not realize what was happening, for the noble had never seen such expressions come over so many faces at once. “What are you doing?” he demanded, cinching the knot tight around Tithian’s hands.

“Perhaps you should explain that to me,” the king replied. “I thought you disapproved of slavery, my friend?”

“I do,” Agis replied. “But this is Kester’s ship-”

“Perhaps you and I should free these men,” the king replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the crowd. “After all, slavery is illegal in Tyr, and are we not Tyrians?”

“There’ll be no freein’ of slaves on my ship,” Kester growled.

The crew ignored her and, in trancelike unison, cried, “Hurray for Tyr!”

“Yes, hurray for Tyr!” Tithian shouted. “Help me, and you’ll all become heroes. You’ll live in great palaces and eat the fruit of the faro instead of the needle!”

With a stuporous cheer, the slaves surged forward to free Tithian. Kester leaped to meet them, yelling, “Back to yer poles!” She grabbed the first man in the mob and snapped his neck with a quick twist of her wrists. “I’ll snap the heads off all ye mutineers!”

As the tarek reached for her next victim, Agis drew his sword and cried, “Stop! It’s not their fault!”

The noble brought the pommel of his weapon down on the back of Tithian’s skull, adding another dent to the battered circlet. There was a resounding thud, then the king’s knees buckled, and he slumped to the deck at Agis’s feet.

To Agis, the shipfloater’s apprentice looked only slightly healthier than her dead master, who had succumbed to a fever just an hour earlier. Beads of cloudy sweat rolled down her brow in rivulets, a murky yellow film clouded the whites of her eyes, and red, cracked skin surrounded her nostrils and mouth. Even the freckles dotting her keen-boned cheeks had turned from pink to gray, while her breath came in labored wheezes.

Agis snapped his fingers in front of the young woman’s fine-boned face. Her puffy eyelids rose a sliver. She turned her listless eyes on his face, but she did not speak.

“Can you hold on alone, Damras?” he asked.

The apprentice nodded.

“Tithian is doing this to you,” the noble said. “I’m going down to the brig to put an end to it.”

“Hurry,” she wheezed.

Agis climbed out of the chaperon’s seat and started down toward the main deck. He had barely set foot on the ladder before Kester laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“What are ye doing out of the chaperon’s seat?” she demanded. In her hand, the tarek held a king’s eye, for the day was a breezy one, with a dust curtain hanging about half as high as the Shadow Viper’s mainmast.

“Damras is dying-”

“She’s just sick!” snapped Kester, cutting off Agis’s explanation. Without even glancing in the direction of the floater’s dome, she added, “Damras is young. She’ll be fine.”

“Denial won’t keep us afloat,” said Nymos, joining them. “If Damras dies, the Shadow Viper is doomed.”

“I told ye, she’ll be fine!” growled the tarek.

“No, she won’t,” Agis said. “Tithian is killing her.”

“That’s blather,” growled Kester. “If he kills the floaters, he sinks with us. Why would he-”

A pained cry from Damras interrupted the tarek. Followed by Kester and Nymos, Agis rushed to the side of the floater’s pit. Damras’s condition had deteriorated. Her chin lay slumped on her chest, and her cloudy eyes stared into empty space. Her trembling hands had slipped to the edges of the dome and were in danger of dropping off the glassy surface altogether.

Agis climbed into the floater’s seat, at the same time speaking over his shoulder to Kester. “You’d better head for that island.”