Troy Denning: The Amber Enchantress

Given this history, it was no wonder that Sadira did not trust the bonds of family love. Neeva might be happy living the rest of her life with Caelum and their child, but such domestic bliss was unthinkable for the half-elf. Deep inside, she would always be expecting the man to abandon her, as Faenaeyon had abandoned her mother. For Sadira, it was better to love two men at once. That way, she would never need either one so much that his departure would destroy her.

Sadira’s thoughts came to an end when the kank began clacking its mandibles, then tried to back away from the edge of the bluff. When the sorceress tried to make it turn left instead, the beast froze in its tracks.

From the sands beneath the beast’s feet rose a sigh, so deep and quiet that Sadira did not hear it so much as feel it in her stomach. The ground shuddered, then the kank squealed in alarm. The sorceress felt herself falling.

Sadira screamed and leaped from her bone saddle. She landed at the kank’s side in a choking cascade of sand. She and the beast tumbled down the steep slope head over heels, a blood-colored cloud of grit billowing around them. In the whorl of sand, legs, and antennae, the sorceress lost all sense of direction. It was all she could do to hold onto her cane.

The half-elf glimpsed the kank’s gray body crashing down upon her, sticklike legs flailing madly in the air. She cried out in alarm and kicked at its carapace with both feet. A painful jolt shot through her body and she rolled away from the massive beast, descending the rest of the slope in a wild series of backward somersaults.

Sadira came to a rest in a tangle of hair and limbs, buried to the waist and spitting bitter grit. The kank slid to a stop within a mandible’s reach of her head, and the roar of avalanching sand continued to sound from above. Fearing she would be buried alive, the sorceress pointed her cane at the descending wall of sand.

“Nok!” she cried, speaking the word that activated the cane’s magic.

A purple light glimmered deep within the weapon’s obsidian pommel. Sadira felt an eerie tingle in her stomach, then started to grow queasy. Beside her, the kank hissed in alarm as it, too, felt a cold hand reach inside it and draw away a portion of its life-force. Normal sorcery drew the energy for its spells from plants, but the cane utilized a more powerful kind of wizardry, one that drew its power from the life spirits of animals.

“Mountainrock!” she cried.

The sorceress moved her arm across the slip face. A vaporous wave of energy issued from the cane’s tip. It settled over the slope like a net, catching the cascade in its golden light and bringing the avalanche to a quick halt. Crackling and hissing, the yellow haze lingered on the surface for several moments. Finally, it began to drain away, leaving a sheet of sandstone in its wake. By the time the fog was entirely gone, the unstable dune looming above had become a butte of solid rock.

Sadira breathed a sigh of relief and began digging herself out. The kank also began to claw itself free. With its six legs, it finished the task much more quickly than the sorceress, then dropped to its belly and lay trembling with its antennae pressed back against its head. It closed its formidable mandibles and plunged them deep into the ground, splaying its legs out to the side in a display of total submission.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Sadira said, finally pulling herself free. “The spell is permanent.”

From above, Rikus yelled, “Sadira, are you hurt?”

The mul came plunging down the rocky slope, his tough hide scoured red from sliding over the sandstone. In his hand he held the Scourge of Rkard, a magical sword that Lyanius had given him during the war with Urik. Behind Rikus followed Agis, his expensive wool burnoose hanging from his shoulders in tatters.

As soon as they reached the bottom of the butte, Rikus pointed toward the caravan Sadira had seen earlier. “Did they cause the avalanche?” he demanded.

Sadira shook her head. “The bluff just collapsed,” she said. “Put your sword away. We don’t want the drivers to think we’re raiders.”

As the mul complied with her request, Sadira turned her attention to the approaching caravan. The entourage had come close enough for the sorceress to see that its members were mounted on inixes. Most of the fifteen-foot lizards carried ingots of raw iron on their broad backs, though several were burdened with a rider’s howdah instead. As they trundled along, their serpentine tails swished back and forth, sweeping up a small cloud of sand that kept the next beast in line from following too closely. They had long horny beaks, with pincerlike jaws that looked powerful enough to clip a man in half with a single snap.

“I wonder if they’re bound for Nibenay?” Sadira asked.

Rikus and Agis gave each other a forbearing look. Since leaving Kled, they had been trying to talk Sadira out of going to the Pristine Tower.

“I thought we’d decided against that plan,” Agis said, his tone overly patient and paternalistic.

“You decided,” countered Sadira, turning toward her kank. The beast still lay in the sand trembling, but did not shy from her approach.

“Don’t be a fool,” growled Rikus. “Even if we find something to help us, we have little chance of returning in time to help Tyr.”

“And we have even less chance of stopping the Dragon with what we know now,” Sadira answered, climbing onto her mount’s back. “Do you two have a better idea?”

Rikus looked to Agis, and the nobleman said, “Yes. There are many sorcerers and mindbenders in Tyr. Perhaps together we can find the strength to defy the Dragon.”

“And if not, we can oversee the filling of the levy,” added Rikus.

“You mean give up,” Sadira said bitterly.

“I mean deal with the reality,” said Rikus. “Thousands of people perished when I attacked Urik, and their deaths accomplished nothing except to annoy King Hamanu. If an entire army is only a minor irritant to a sorcerer-king, I don’t see how we can stop the Dragon.”

“What you suggesting?” Agis demanded.

“That we limit ourselves to what is possible,” Rikus answered. “Unless we stop him, Tithian will send only the poor to the Dragon. If we return to Tyr, at least we can be sure he fills the levy fairly.”

“Fairly?” Sadira shrieked, forgetting herself. The kank began to shudder more violently. “How can you be fair about sending someone to his death?”

“You can’t,” Agis admitted, biting his thin lips. “Let us hope it won’t come to that. A single person using magic or the Way can often succeed where a hundred strong men have failed. Perhaps a hundred sorcerers or mindbenders can succeed where Rikus’s army could not.”

“And if you fail, you’ll destroy the entire city,” the mul countered. “It would be better to go to the Pristine Tower than to fight the Dragon. If we don’t fight, only a thousand will die, instead of all.”

Agis considered the mul’s words, then offered a compromise. “I’ll organize a council of the most powerful sorcerers and mindbenders in the city,” he said. “If they cannot develop a plan for defying the Dragon, we’ll do as you suggest.”

“A committee isn’t going to defeat the Dragon,” Sadira growled. “For that, you need power and knowledge.”

“Perhaps there is more of both in Tyr than we realize,” the noble countered. He turned to Rikus. “What do you say?”

“How will we choose those who are to die?” the mul asked.

“You’re assuming that my plan will fail, and it won’t,” Agis said. “But if it comes to that, we’ll do our best to ease the burden. We’ll exclude the last bearers of a household name and the parents of young children-”