Troy Denning: The Amber Enchantress

If they had been mistaken in that assumption, or if Sadira was wrong about the purpose of the levy Borys collected, her error was about to become a fatal one. Still, she had little choice except to press on with her strategy, for it was the only hope she had of forcing the Dragon to leave on her terms. The sorceress stepped forward to meet Borys, reaching out to touch his chitinous body.

The Dragon stopped. “What kind of bargain do you have in mind?” he asked, keeping a wary eye fixed on the sorceress’s hand.

“A simple one,” she said, breathing a silent sigh of relief. “You leave Kled and Tyr alone, and we will leave you alone.”

“No!” screamed Sacha, drifting into view from around the corner.

“Our agreement was that you would attack him!” added Wyan, following close behind. “Release the spell!”

Borys’s eyes darted to the two heads. “Arala and Bodach. I have often wondered what became of you two after Kalak’s death!” he hissed.

Sacha and Wyan stopped in back of Sadira, using her as a protective shield. “Cast the spell,” urged Wyan. “It’ll kill him-you’ll see.”

Though she did not say aloud, the sorceress knew Wyan was lying. Destroying the globes in Borys’s stomach would cripple only his ability to use his most powerful magic, but he would still be able to end her life in any one of a dozen other ways. Nevertheless, she thought she might force the Dragon’s hand by playing along with the two heads.

“How sure are you of that?” she asked. “If this doesn’t work, you’ll die with me.”

Sadira looked back to Borys. “What shall it be?”

The Dragon did not take his eyes off the two heads. “Let me have Sacha and Wyan,” he hissed.

The sorceress did not even hesitate to step aside. Before the dumfounded pair could object, one of Borys’s hands lashed out and enveloped them. “Until next year, then,” he said, giving the sorceress a formal bow.

When Sadira did not return the gesture, Borys turned and started walking. As he moved away, his body grew translucent and soon faded from sight altogether.

The sorceress sank to her haunches and began to tremble, but she did discharge the energy in her hand. Never again, she suspected, would she feel safe without the reassuring hum of this particular spell ringing in her ears.

For several moments, Sadira sat alone, too shocked and exhausted to move. The spell that she had cast to eavesdrop on the village was still active. Her ears were filled with the sounds of the battle’s aftermath-Magnus’s healing song, the moans of the wounded, and the mournful cries of those who had lost their loved ones.

One sound, she could hear above all the rest: Neeva screaming in pain and joy as she struggled to bring her child into the world. As Sadira sat listening, the shrieks of pain suddenly gave way to the sound of blissful laughter and the wail of a newborn infant.

A moment later. Rikus rushed around the corner, his sword still drawn. Where the Dragon’s blood had splattered him, the mul’s chest and legs were covered with white blisters. “What happened?” he asked, looking around as if he expected the Dragon to pounce on him at any moment.

Sadira gave the mul a warm smile. “Why don’t you tell me?” she asked. “Did Neeva have a boy or a girl?”

Far down the caravan road from Tyr, King Tithian I stood on a toppled argosy, staring into the moonlit eyes of the Dragon. Only through a practiced force of will could he keep his knees from trembling, and he was acutely conscious that the golden diadem resting on his brow had been fashioned for a head somewhat smaller than his own.

“It was Nibenay who failed to stop Sadira from finding the Pristine Tower, not me,” Tithian was saying. “My only mistake was trusting them.” He pointed at the two heads hanging from the Dragon’s waist.

“Your mistake was in believing you could rule Tyr!” hissed Sacha.

“And in daring to think you were smarter than your slaves!” added Wyan.

The Dragon laid a single hand over the heads, pressing a finger into each of their eyes. Both Sacha and Wyan fell silent immediately.

“You may continue,” snarled Borys, digging his claws on farther than truly necessary to keep the heads quiet.

“I promise you, my city will meet its levy next year,” Tithian answered, forcing himself not to look at the torture being inflicted on his former advisors.

“ Your city!” the Dragon scoffed. “Tyr belonged to Kalak, and Kalak to me. His power was my power, and you have robbed me of that.”

Tithian shook his head defiantly. “No, we did you a favor. Kalak was trying to become a dragon so he could take your place.”

“I’ll be the judge of what favors me and what does not,” the great beast snarled. “All sorcerer-kings are dragons of one kind or another, though they assume different shapes to suit their tastes. If Kalak wished to fashion himself after my form, that was his business-but he would not have dreamed of taking my place. Saying such things only shows how little you know about what you’ve taken upon yourself.”

“Then show me,” said Tithian.

The beast narrowed his great eyes. “You are too bold. I should kill you and the entire city for your impudence.”

“But that would be a great waste, or you would have done it already,” said Tithian. “On the other hand, if you grant me one small boon, I’ll double the levy that Kalak paid.”

The Dragon turned his head and regarded the king with a single black eye. “And in return? What do you want of me?”

“Nothing difficult,” answered Tithian. “Just help me become a sorcerer-king.”