Crucible nudged Linsha and said, “You’d better go. I will give you two hours. If Varia will go to Leonidas and the militia, that should give everyone enough time to set up a diversion.”
Linsha found a torch inside the doorway and lit it. Bidding a hasty farewell to Crucible and Varia, she shouldered the shield and tried to lift the lance. Its full weight was more than she imagined. She staggered and would have fallen if Azurale hadn’t caught the heavy handle.
“You have not told me what to do,” he said, balancing the lance, “so I will go with you. You’re too worn from your ordeal to carry this far.”
She nodded her gratitude to the young stallion. “I didn’t want to ask. I know how much centaurs loathe close, dark places.”
They went their separate ways without further speech, each knowing what they had to do and each worried for the others. Linsha and the centaur carried the Abyssal Lance between them down into the tunnels of the great labyrinth, while Varia went in search of Leonidas and Lanther. Crucible found a dense grove of young pine and settled down to wait for everyone to reach their places.
This could work, Linsha told herself. It was simply a matter of timing. And if it didn’t… well then, they wouldn’t likely be alive to wallow in the failure. Time to do or die…
24
It Begins…
Varia flew hard to pass over the militia’s forces toward Iyesta’s palace. Mingled with her sense of urgency and her fear for Linsha and Crucible was a feeling of relief and approval at the remarkable speed and fortitude with which the Legion and its companion forces had answered Linsha’s call. Once Varia and Azurale had convinced Lanther to listen and he recovered from his fury at Linsha’s secret departure, he and Falaius had rounded up every available man and woman, put weapons in their hands, and prepared to set out. Considering how tired and ill-equipped everyone was, Varia was pleased they would respond so well.
Even the Solamnics. The owl chuckled at that memory. When Sir Remmik informed Falaius that the Knights were not going to the rescue of an exiled renegade, she’d thought the plainsman was going to strike the Knight where he stood. Instead he informed the Solamnic commander in no uncertain terms that the Knights were no longer in their snug little castle and if they wished to remain in the Scorpion Wadi, they would do as he told them. Varia chuckled again. Linsha would appreciate that little tale.
A short while ago, she had brought Linsha’s word to Falaius, and now the remnants of the Solamnics, the Legion, the militia, the city watch, and the dragonguards marched the long eight miles from the Wadi toward the ruins of the Artisan’s District to attack Thunder’s forces from the north. If all went as planned, they would draw off enough Brutes and mercenaries to allow Linsha and Thunder to do their task.
While the militia made its move, Varia intended to find Leonidas and Phoulos.
By the position of the sun, two hours came and went without any sign of the militia. The day was growing murderously hot, and there was no wind to stir the heat. Dust and traces of smoke hung above the Missing City like a yellow veil. Crucible grew impatient. As the third hour wound toward its finish, he decided he would risk the attempt with or without Falaius’ forces. He rose from his bed of pine needles and was about to step out of the grove when his sharp ears heard war horns on the wind. They were somewhere to the north of the palace, he estimated, near the slave pens. Good. If Leonidas did his work, the penned slaves were close enough to the fighting to give some added trouble to Thunder’s guards. He heard the horns sound again, and his heart beat strongly. Those were not militia horns. They were the horns of the Brutes. There was nothing for it now. He had to go.
The bronze stretched his legs and folded his wings to his sides. His eyes narrowed, and his horns lay flat on his head. Focus on the rage within, his heart told him. Draw on the anger, the hatred, the frustration he had trapped within for months. Here was an outlet worthy of his fury: Thunder had killed Iyesta, his friend. Thunder had endangered Linsha. He held Iyesta’s eggs captive. The big blue was a menace to everything Iyesta had worked so hard to build.
Crucible felt hate stir the power within him. Like other dragons, he had had trouble creating magic spells the past few years. Only his innate powers like shapeshifting and his breath weapon had remained with him without difficulty. But now he did not have the luxury of experimenting with unpredictable magic. He needed the power and he wanted it quickly, so he fed his hate and anger and resentment into it until the magic seethed like a volcano ready to erupt.
Crucible charged from the trees. He galloped across the magnificent garden ruins to the road, wheeled on the old stone pavings and shot like a bronze arrow for the gateway into the palace courtyard.
No one saw him coming until he was nearly to the gate. Thunder and the warriors camped in the courtyard were standing on or around the walls looking to the north. Not until the bronze’s taloned claws and heavy footfalls pounded on the road by the courtyard did a few guards on the gate turn around and see him coming. They raised their swords and their voices to the garrison and died in a white-hot blast from Crucible’s mouth. Thunder whipped his head around and saw his enemy, his prized desire, coming directly to him.
He moved his heavy bulk toward the palace to head off the bronze, but the smaller Crucible had too much momentum. He jumped over the blue’s heavy tail and charged into the roofless throne room. Swift as light, he raced across the floor where Iyesta used to sleep and whipped down the broad stairs into her treasure room. A lightning blast exploded on the stairs behind him. He ignored it. He was moving too fast for Thunder to take good aim. His original plan had been to destroy the plug of stone and earth Thunder had used to block the entrance to the tunnels. But when he saw the gruesome pile of dragon skulls in the dim light of the treasure chamber, he skidded to a halt and stared at it in horror.
The creation of a dragon skull totem involved killing other dragons-as many as possible. It usually took years to collect enough skulls to activate the power of the pillar, because at least three or four dozen skulls were needed with the brains intact. It was not always easy to slay another dragon in such a manner that preserved the brain within the skull. From the look of Thunder’s totem, Crucible guessed he had been at it for many years, in spite of the edict passed down from Malys forbidding the continued slaying of more dragons. Considering the blue’s unpredictable and solitary nature and the emptiness of his realm, he must have had to work hard to collect as many skulls as he had.
But the skulls were not the worst part of the totem. Thunder had added a new element that Crucible had never imagined-the brass eggs. They lay carefully arranged between the white bones of the bare skulls in the growing pyramid of the totem, still intact and waiting for whatever vile spell Thunder had planned.
Crucible heard a roar of fury behind him that shook the walls of the palace. He hesitated no longer. He shot a beam of his breath weapon at the stone blocking the stairway down and, snatching up an egg in his mouth, he bolted for the hole that opened up before him.
Thunder pounded down the steps of the throne room. He saw Crucible steal the egg and his fury burned to blind rage. Lightning ripped from his jaws and caught the bronze on the back leg.
Crucible squealed with pain, but he did not drop the egg and he did not stop. He shot through the shattered opening and slithered down into the darkness of the labyrinth.
Like a blue avalanche, Thunder went after him. The hole blasted out of the stone plug was large enough for the smaller metallic dragon, but Thunder had to take a few minutes to rip huge chunks of rock out of his way before he could squeeze his larger body down the stairs. He did not wait for his guard to follow, nor did he try to call the Brutes. This was a battle between him and the bronze. He had killed already down in these tunnels, and he planned to kill again.
In the warm pale light of the egg chamber, Linsha paced back and forth in front of the mound where the eggs had once lain. She knew too much time had passed. She and Azurale had found the egg chamber wit
hout much difficulty, and after putting the lance out of sight in the shadow of Purestian’s withered corpse, they had settled down to wait. And wait, and wait.
Something had gone wrong. She knew it. The militia had not come, or Crucible was injured, or Thunder had killed the bronze and added his skull to his magic totem. Maybe the blue was already chanting the vile spell that activated the power of the accumulated skulls. She shuddered to think about it.
To take her mind off the anxiety-and the smell of the dead dragon-she picked up three small, rounded stones and tossed them casually into the air one by one. As they came down, she caught them in one hand, tossed them to the other, and flipped them up again, around and around and around until they flew in a continuous circle. She hadn’t done this in a long while, but the motions quickly became familiar again and felt good to her exhausted, overworked body.
Azurale, nervous himself, came to watch her. “Why are you doing that?” he asked.
“It’s an old trick my brother taught me,” she replied. “You have to concentrate to keep the rocks moving. It helps clear my mind.”
The centaur watched for a few more minutes then wandered over to the entrance of the cavern. He looked tiny in the huge opening, and he felt very anxious. He did not like any part of this. Suddenly he tensed, looked at the ground, put a hand to the wall and felt the same slight vibrations he had sensed through his hooves. He pounded back to Linsha.
“Something is coming!” he said in a loud whisper. “Something big!”
Startled, she dropped the rocks on her feet. With a muffled oath, she whirled around to listen. At first she heard nothing, then a sound-a rumble growing closer and a roar like an oncoming storm-echoed down the tunnels. Her eyes widened, her pulse quickened, and she broke into a run.
Azurale wasted no time following her. They sprinted around the high mound and crouched down beside the lance that lay behind the bones of the brass dragon. They were out of sight.
Linsha felt her heart in her throat. From the sounds coming up the tunnel, the two dragons sounded like they were very close together, which was not a good sign. She and Azurale needed time to get her on Crucible’s back and get the lance seated in the pommel before they had to face Thunder. Then there was no more time to think. With the sound of a tornado, Crucible burst into the cavern. He had a large, mottled globe in his mouth, and his eyes burned with an inner fire.
Linsha rose from behind the bones to get his attention. She saw him run to the mound and place the egg carefully on the warm sands, then he came toward her, favoring his back leg. She was horrified to see a long seared gash cut across the back of his hind leg.
He ran into the shadow cast by the dead dragon, and without a word he crouched to help Linsha crawl up his front leg to the saddle on his back.
As Azurale lifted her high to the dragon’s bent knee, the three heard a massive growl and a roar of rage that shook the chamber.
Thunder charged into the cave.
25
Battle of the Dragon’s Lair
Silent as a shadow, Varia waited in a tree close to the high wall that formed part of the slave pens built by the mercenaries. Pressed against the trunk, she was nearly invisible to all but the most intense scrutiny. She had been silent for some time except for one sleepy-sounding cry that alerted Leonidas and Phoulos to her presence. The two centaurs stood close by, their hides dark with sweat and dust. Several other captured centaurs waited with them. Varia watched them and listened.
When the sound of the war horns came, the clarion calls swept loud and long on the hot morning wind. The denizens of the pens, civilians and warriors alike, stirred and looked around at each other, at the guards, and at the thin line of trees that blocked the view to the north.
Varia saw the two centaurs lift their heads then move side by side to remove the knives hidden in each other’s tails.
War horns sounded again from a different direction-Tarmak horns, sharp and fierce.
It was time.
Although some people knew Varia could talk, no one but Linsha knew what a virtuoso of sound the owl truly was. As soon as the sounds of the horns dissipated, she burst into a wild cacophony of shrieks, shouts, and bloodcurdling screams that burst out of the tree line as if the very skirts of battle were about to sweep over the land. She flew from tree to tree, bellowing and screeching.
In the slave pens, chaos erupted. Prisoners ran frantically, looking for a way out. The guards drew their swords and tried to restore order, but they kept looking at the trees or back to the palace as if they didn’t know what to think about the uproar. Under the cover of the confusion and noise, the centaurs moved close to the big wooden gates.
Varia paused in her shrieking long enough to take a quick look toward the palace. She saw the mercenaries form ranks in the courtyard and march out to find the militia. Only a few guards remained behind. Oddly, she did not see any of the Brute warriors leave with them.
Giving one more ululating scream, Varia launched herself from the tree and shot like an arrow over the heads of the captives.
“Arise and flee!” she screeched. “War comes again!”
Only Leonidas and Phoulos knew who gave that eldritch shriek. Everyone else shouted and ducked as the winged shape shot overhead.
The guards at the gate also flinched and ducked from the frightening apparition. In that moment of inattention, Leonidas and Phoulos turned and proved that centaurs are well armed even without swords or crossbows. Two sets of hooves driven by powerful hind legs slammed into the wooden gate with a resounding crash. The wooden gate held through the first blow, but a third centaur joined them, and on the second strike the gates exploded open. Leonidas took out the closest guard with his throwing knife, then the centaurs wheeled and attacked the guards.
The remaining slaves saw the open gateway and bolted for freedom. Some simply kept running into the gardens or fled back toward the city. Others, especially the captured militia and fighting men, joined the centaurs in a vicious hand to hand battle with the guards.
Varia circled overhead, watching in satisfaction. The two young centaurs fought well and led their forces slowly in the direction of the palace.
Suddenly, she saw the dark centaur rear, his front legs flailing the air. A spear protruded from his neck.
“Phoulos!” Leonidas bellowed.
Varia swooped low over the centaur as he struggled toward his friend and caught Phoulos’ hand. The wounded horseman staggered to his knees.
Phoulos collapsed to his side into a growing pool of blood. The owl sadly watched Leonidas clasp his friend’s hand hard. Fighting raged around him, but Leonidas took no notice. He and Varia waited until the gleam of life faded from Phoulos’ eyes and the body sagged motionless on the ground. Only then did Leonidas pick up a sword and, with a yell of rage, plunge back into the fighting.
Varia sang a soft word of farewell to the spirit of the dead centaur then flapped her wings and rose high to view the palace. They were close, but they had to get inside. Time was moving swiftly, and the ragged forces of the militia were not strong enough to engage in an extended battle.
Beyond the collapsed stone walls, the green overgrowth, and the old ruined foundations that lay between the slave pens and the palace, Varia noticed new warriors had appeared-Brutes, many of them. They were not marching to the north to join the mercenaries but toward the palace. Grim and intent, they moved toward their goal with the same speed and efficiency they had shown in their invasion of the city.
The owl squawked and spiraled higher. More Brutes, led by their general, appeared from the south road. They strode into the palace courtyard. Swords flashed in the sunlight, and Varia heard the shouts of frightened men and the screams of the dying.
“Those vultures!” she hissed.
The Brutes were attacking their own allies.
Thunder’s massive presence filled the great chamber. He roared again and sent a bolt of lightning searing across the roof.
“Crucible! You grubb
y worm! You can go no further! Come out!”
He did not see the bronze hiding behind the corpse, but he spotted the egg lying on the mound and hurried toward it. He reached for it then stopped and swept his gaze over the dead dragon in the back of the cave.
“Hurry!” rasped Crucible.
Linsha, using a strength born of terror and fury, scrambled frantically up his scaled shoulder to the saddle they had rigged between his wings. She settled herself into the seat and leaned over to reach for the lance.
Azurale handed it up to her butt first so she get it seated in the pommel.
“Here he comes!” warned Crucible.
“No!” Linsha cried, still leaning over the dragon’s side. “I’m not ready!”
The heavy lance dangled precariously in her grasp. She had not yet gained a firm grip on it, and if Crucible moved now, she knew she would drop it.
Azurale knew it too, and he knew he was not tall enough to help her put it in place. All he could do was give her a moment or two. Forcing hack his terror, he yanked off his crossbow and bolted out of the shadows into the open directly in the path of the blue dragon. The war cry of his clan cut through the heavy air. He fired his crossbow in the general direction of the dragon’s head and charged around the mound.
Thunder leaped, thrusting his massive head to snatch the centaur in his crushing teeth, but Azurale was young, agile, and desperate. He swerved, and Thunder’s fangs clashed on empty air.
Linsha watched the centaur’s frantic run for just an instant, then she wasted no more of his precious gift. She closed her eyes and marshaled all of her strength, all the spiritual energy of her heart, every vestige of power she had ever had and focused it all into one final lift with her tired, aching muscles. Her hands tightened around the handle, her arm muscles cramping at the weight of the lance. The weapon rose and settled neatly into place by her right knee, the butt resting on the support by the saddle pommel, the cowl shielding her right arm, shoulder, and the right side of her torso. Now all she had to do was hold on while Crucible maneuvered them close enough to drive the point into Thunder. If it didn’t work, she didn’t think they need worry about a second chance.
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