Troy Denning - The Amber Enchantress

“Brace yourself,” Sadira said. “This will hurt.”

“What’s going to-”

Magnus’s trunk erupted into flames. He screamed, sending a loud, echoing howl rolling across the field in all directions. For several moments, he writhed about madly, choking on acrid smoke and trying to bat out the fire consuming his lower half. Searing pain filled his entire body, and he began to think Sadira had decided it would be kinder to kill him than to leave him here, trapped and alone.

Then his legs came free and he fell forward, landing at the sorceress’s feet. “How did you do that?” he gasped, running his hands over his still-smoking legs.

“A legacy from the shadow people,” the sorceress said, holding a hand down to the windsinger. “Among other things, I’ve gained quite a lot of control over most forms of magic.”

Magnus flattened his ears doubtfully. “What kind of nonsense-”

“It’s not nonsense,” Sadira responded.

To prove her point, she pulled the windsinger’s immense bulk off the ground. He came up as though he weighed less than a child. His jaw dropped open and he stared at her arms in frank astonishment.

“You have the strength of a half-giant!” Magnus gasped.

“It’s not strength,” Sadira said. “It’s the sun. As long it’s above the horizon, I’m steeped in its power.”

“So you’ve become a sun-cleric?” he asked.

Sadira shook her head. “No,” she said. “The shadows explained it to me like this: the sun is the source of all life. All magic comes from life-force-whether it’s from plants or animals. Sorcerers draw their mystical energy from plants, the Dragon gets his from animals. From now on, I’ll get mine from the sun-the most powerful source of all.”

Magnus remained doubtful. “The shadow people did this for you?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense that shadows would know so much about the sun.”

“Who else would understand more about light?” Sadira asked. “Without light, you can’t have shadow.”

Instead of answering, Magnus tilted his ears forward and looked over the sorceress’s shoulder. “There’s something over there,” he whispered.

Sadira turned around just as a sarami-swaddled body rose from the brush about fifty yards away. Even from this distance, the sorceress could see that his red nostrils were flaring with hatred, and his bulbous eyes were fixed on her face. He raised a hand and pointed it in her direction.

The sorceress shoved Magnus aside, sending him sailing through the air in a long arc.

Dhojakt’s lips moved as he uttered his incantation. The glowing form of a giant owl appeared above his head, then streaked toward Sadira. Where there should have been eyes, the magical beast had orange flames, and instead of claws, it had a pair of sizzling lightning bolts.

Sadira did not even try to avoid the attack. Instead, she remained motionless and allowed the bird to swoop down upon her. When it reached striking distance, the raptor assaulted in a storm of sparks and flame, its silver talons crackling harmlessly against her skin and streams of fire shooting from its eyes and washing off her with no effect. Sadira allowed the attack to continue for a moment, then laid her hand against the raptor’s body. She began to pull energy from it, much as she had once drawn the life-force of plants when she wished to cast a spell. The owl’s attacks ceased and its body steadily dwindled away, until nothing at all remained of the magical bird.

Looking toward Dhojakt, Sadira turned her hand downward and expelled the energy. As it returned to the soil from which it had come, she moved toward him.” I was wondering what had become of you, Prince,” she yelled.

Behind her, Magnus returned to his feet and followed at a safe distance. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “Let’s run for it-at least until we’re out of sight of the tower. If he even scratches us-”

“He won’t!” Sadira hissed.

As they approached, Dhojakt did not retreat. “You were fortunate at Cleft Rock,” he said. “It took quite some time to work free-especially since the grotto rock made it impossible to use magic.”

“I had hoped to destroy you,” she answered, stopping a few paces from the prince. Magnus circled around to the side, taking care to stay well out of arm’s reach. “This time I will.”

“I think not,” the prince replied, paying no attention to the windsinger. “Just because I didn’t dare follow you into the tower doesn’t mean I can’t kill you now.”

Sadira started to raise a hand to collect the energy for a spell, then thought better of it and let her arm drop back to her side. She wanted to know more about why Dhojakt had been afraid to follow her into the Pristine Tower.

“You’re a liar,” Sadira said. “If you were too weak to go to the tower, you’re too weak to hurt me now.”

The comment did not provoke the angry response for which the sorceress had hoped. Instead, Dhojakt gave her a confident smile. “It’s not that I was too weak to enter the tower. But what good would it have done me to chase you into the midst of my father’s oldest enemies? I would have been so busy fighting them that there would’ve been no time to kill you.”

“You and your father have no reason to be enemies with the shadow people … or me,” the sorceress said, puzzled by the prince’s willingness to talk. He had never before struck her as the type who wasted much time conversing with enemies, and she did not like the fact that he was doing so now. “After all, the Dragon is as much an enemy to your father as to the shadow people.”

This caused a rumble of laughter to roll from the prince’s throat. “What makes you think that?”

“Even your father couldn’t enjoy paying his levy every year,” Sadira countered.

“No, but he does it willingly,” chuckled Dhojakt. He glanced westward, to where the sun’s disk had settled only halfway below the horizon. Looking back to Sadira, the prince added, “I thought the shadows would have told you-my father helped create the Dragon.”

The prince had clearly intended his comment to startle Sadira, and he had succeeded. Fortunately, the sorceress was not so shocked that she had missed the significance of Dhojakt’s glance toward the sun. He was trying to stall her until night fell, which suggested that he had deduced the nature of her new powers-and that could only mean that he had a thorough knowledge of the Pristine Tower.

To Dhojakt, Sadira said, “What you claim is impossible. The Champions of Rajaat changed Borys into the Dragon-”

“And when they were finished, each claimed one of the cities of Athas, and they became the sorcerer-kings,” the prince finished. “My father was Gallard-”

“Bane of the Gnomes,” Sadira finished, recognizing the name from her conversation with Er’Stali.

“Yes,” Dhojakt replied, once again looking westward.

Sadira did not bother to follow his glance, for she had heard enough. As incredible as it seemed that the champions could survive for so many centuries, what the prince told her made sense. It explained his knowledge of the tower, the sorcerer-kings’ willingness to pay the Dragon’s levy, and the reason his father had sent him to stop her from reaching the tower in the first place.

Deciding she had learned all she would from the prince, the sorceress raised a hand toward the sun. From the slowness with which energy came to her, she could tell that well past half its disk had sunk below the horizon.

“Watch yourself!” Magnus yelled.

The windsinger had barely spoken when Dhojakt flexed his two dozen legs and sprang forward. As the prince descended on Sadira, his bony mouthparts shot from between his lips and darted for her throat. The sorceress allowed the venomous mandibles to close around her neck, then staggered a single step backward as Dhojakt’s heavy body slammed into her. For a moment, they stood face to face, a faint smile upon Sadira’s lips as she felt her enemy’s poisonous pincers trying in vain to puncture her skin.