Troy Denning: The Amber Enchantress

The gaunt figure of King Tithian I crept across his antechamber on all fours, his limbs splayed to the sides and moving in the disjointed rhythm of an insect. The lower mandible of his jaw worked constantly, as if gnawing a stalk of thornstem, and his glazed eyes remained fixed on the stones of the floor. The king reached the corner, then clawed his way up the wall until he stood more or less upright. He spent a few moments trying to pull himself higher, then abruptly fell back to the floor and continued his journey in a new direction.

Two disembodied heads followed the king across the room, hovering a yard off the ground and studying his actions with worried frowns. One was shriveled and ashen-skinned, with sunken features and cracked, leathery lips. The other was bloated and gross, with puffy cheeks, eyes swollen to narrow dark slits, and a mouthful of gray, broken teeth. Both wore their coarse hair in topknots. The bottoms of their necks had been stitched shut with thread.

The beast’s mind has overpowered Tithian’s , surmised the bloated head, using the Way to mentally broadcast his thoughts. I told you he wasn’t ready for something so dangerous, Wyan .

Liar. You said nothing , countered Wyan. But it hardly matters, Sacha. If Tithian can’t escape the kank’s mind, he would be no good to us anyway .

Though he realized the heads were conversing, Tithian did not understand the meaning of their words. Ten days ago, he had used the Way of the Unseen to establish a mental link with a kank, intending to spy on an adversary who would be riding it out of the city. When he had expanded the contact, the beast’s bizarre senses had disoriented him, allowing the creature’s natural essence to overpower his mind. Now, the most primitive part of Tithian’s intellect believed him to be the kank: an insect twice the size of a man, with six canelike legs, a jacket of chitinous black armor, and a pair of bristly antennae on its head.

Tithian felt a strange rumble beneath his armpits, where, on a kank, a pair of drumlike membranes served as ears. The sounds rolled through his torso in muted tones that he dimly recognized as the voice of Sadira, one of the three people upon whom he was spying. As with Sacha and Wyan, the words seemed a meaningless garble.

The rational part of Tithian’s mind, the tiny spark of intelligence that knew him to be a monarch instead of a kank, wanted to comprehend what was being said. It was for that reason that he had originally joined his mind to the beast’s, and, despite his setback, the king remained determined to see his plan through.

Tithian focused his rational mind on the core of his being, that space where the three energies of the Way-spiritual, mental, and physical-converged in a tempest of mystical force. He visualized a cord of golden fire running from the nexus into his mind. An instant later, he felt an eerie tingle rise through his body. Though he knew it would fatigue him, the king continued to draw until even his fingers and his toes burned with energy. If he wished to overpower the beast’s instincts, he would need all the power he could marshal.

When he felt as though he would explode, Tithian used the energy to picture himself inside his own head: a gaunt, sharp-featured man with a hawkish nose, his long auburn hair encircled by the golden diadem of Tyr.

The insect immediately countered the maneuver, raising the image of a kank from the mucky gray terrain of the king’s mind. The beast struck quickly, opening its mandibles and darting forward to seize its prey. Tithian leaped away and hit the ground rolling. By the time he returned to his feet, the creature was turning to attack again.

The king visualized a pair of wings growing from his back. His body tingled as more energy rose from his nexus, then the appendages appeared. The kank lunged, and Tithian flipped his new wings wildly. He rose off the murky ground, barely avoiding its pincers as they clacked shut beneath his feet.

Before the dim-witted creature realized where he had gone, the king lowered himself onto its back and grasped its antennae. The kank sprang into the air, trying to throw off its unwelcome rider. Tithian held tight, pulling hard on the bristly tendrils in his hands.

The beast returned to the ground squealing in agony and alarm. Its antennae were attached directly to the nerves in its head, and any attack against the crucial appendages was a devastating one. The kank tucked in all three of its left-side legs, attempting to roll over and crush its rider.

Tithian was ready. Again drawing energy from within himself, he visualized the terrain inside his mind turning from ground to fog. His stomach felt as though it had risen into his throat, then he and his mount found themselves tumbling through gray haze. The king continued to pull on the kank’s antennae steadily, assserting through the constant pressure that he was the beast’s master. The kank struggled only a few more moments before resigning itself to Tithian’s domination.

The king did not have to wait long to know that he had overpowered the creature’s instincts. The kank had barely stopped struggling before its ear membranes resonated with a familiar voice. This time, with his own mind firmly in control of his perceptions, Tithian understood the words.

“What’s wrong with your kank?” It was Rikus, one of the men accompanying Sadira.

“I don’t know,” Sadira answered. “It went mad and tried to throw me. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Unable to distinguish between what was happening inside and outside its head, the kank had reacted physically to Tithian’s attack. Hoping to soothe Sadira’s concerns about her mount’s behavior, Tithian lightly tapped the antennae of the insect trapped in his mind. Both it and the true creature, the one that Sadira was actually riding, started forward.

“Whatever upset it seems to have passed,” observed Sadira’s second companion, the nobleman Agis of Asticles. “Let’s push on. Kled must be near, and I’m anxious to meet Er’Stali. From Rikus’s stories, he’s as learned as any sage in Tyr.”

“I’m no judge of that,” Rikus said. “All I know is that he’s the only man alive who’s read the Book of Kemalok Kings .

“You’re sure he’s still in Kled?” asked Agis.

“Of course,” Rikus assured his friend. “His knowledge of the book is all that remains of the dwarves’ history. The whole village would die before giving him reason to leave-or letting something kill him.”

Though the two men were only a few yards from Sadira’s mount, Tithian saw them as little more than a blur. A kank could focus only upon nearby objects-customarily the rocky ground over which it walked. Everything else seemed part of a hazy curtain of shapes and colors, with even the slightest movement causing a flash of light to sparkle in its eyes.

Because a kank’s range of vision did not include its rider, Tithian could not see Sadira at all. Still, he was far more aware of her presence than that of either Rikus or Agis. Through the kank’s mind, he felt her weight on his back, spread along its entire length by the section of chitinous shell covering the beast’s thorax. He could also smell her, for the insect’s bristly antennae were loaded with the scent of sour human skin, carefully masked with the fragrance of silver-thorn blossoms.

After the trio had ridden in silence for a few moments, Sadira asked, “Are you sure there’ll be something in the Book of Kings to help us, Rikus?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s our best chance,” the gladiator grunted. He shrugged, and to Tithian it appeared that bronze lights were twinkling around his shoulders. “We’ll never stop the Dragon unless we find a weak spot.”