Return of the Sorceress (18 page)

Nearra formed a mental message and then sent it flying as if it were an arrow and she an archer.

Tarkemelhion! We need you!

But something didn’t feel right. She was certain the message had been sent, but …

“Come on!” The impostor gave one last yank and Nearra couldn’t hold onto the stalagmite any longer. She let go, and it pulled her toward the center of the cavern where her friends were busy fighting for their lives.

Caravan wagons circled around a campfire. Men and women sat before the flames, singing along as a man played a sprightly tune on a wooden flute. Horses were tied to wooden stakes to keep them from wandering off as they grazed. And less than a dozen yards away from the campsite a dragon sat and listened.

Raedon had taken a position that was not so close that he’d be noticed, but not so far away that he couldn’t hear, either. To avoid detection, he’d disguised himself as a large clump of bushes
covered with tiny copper-colored flowers. It was dark, and he was far enough away from the firelight that the humans in the caravan wouldn’t notice him no matter what form he wore. But their horses would pick up his dragon scent if he remained in his natural shape, and while it might be amusing to watch the animals’ reaction as they realized a honest-to-Paladine dragon was near, Raedon didn’t want to disrupt the camp—at least not yet. He’d never heard the song the traders were singing, and he wanted to memorize both the tune and the words.

Copper dragons belonged to the order of Chromatic—or Good—Dragons. Unlike their brethren, coppers lived for songs, stories, riddles, and jokes—especially practical jokes. Like others of his particular hue, Raedon loved to seek out travelers and have a little good-natured fun with them. He’d originally intended to trick the traders into believing that they’d chosen to camp in a haunted clearing. He was going to cast a spell to make dancing lights appear in the air above their campfire and then throw his voice so it sounded as if the lights were moaning. But when the traders began singing, Raedon decided to postpone his prank until they were finished.

As the song continued—and began to take a rather bawdy turn—Raedon became aware of another voice speaking over the music.

Tarkemelhion! We need you!

It was a voice he hadn’t heard for some time, summoning him by his True Name, and he knew that the words were being spoken directly into his mind.

It was Nearra.

Accompanying her words was a strong sense of urgency, and Raedon knew that his friend and the little ones who were her companions were in serious danger. Without another thought, he cast off his floral disguise and assumed his true shape. The
traders’ horses immediately began to whinny in fear and the humans stopped singing. Raedon didn’t have time to worry about them, though. He had to get to Nearra!

He spread his wings, coiled his powerful leg muscles, and launched himself into the night sky. He heard the humans in the camp shriek with terror and he called out, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! At least, not this much!” And then he beat his wings and ascended toward the clouds.

Raedon didn’t fully understand the bond he shared with Nearra. He was rather young as dragons went, and though like all of his kind he could cast spells, he was by no means an expert when it came to human magic. He knew that a great mystical power dwelled within Nearra, and that somehow the girl had used this power to reach out to him and create a link between their minds almost a year ago, when she and her friends had been threatened by an ogre and needed help. But whatever the true nature of the bond between them, it existed, and Raedon could not ignore her plea, even if he’d wanted to.

Raedon wasn’t sure where Nearra was, but he had a feeling that he was supposed to head southeast. It was odd because he had two mental pictures: one was a shadowy stone keep and the other was a grove of twisted, tangled trees. The more he concentrated on the images, the more the first one faded and the stronger the second became, until the keep vanished from his thoughts and only the sinister grove remained.

That’s where he was supposed to go—he was sure of it. If only he could get there in time.

The dracolich spread its rotted wings as it gazed down upon its prey.

Waves of fear pounded into Elidor. He couldn’t take his eyes
off the monster hovering over them. In life, the thing had been a white dragon, judging from the color of the flesh that clung to the beast’s skeletal frame. Its skull was bare, and its wings were little more than leathery tatters. Elidor knew that those wings were too damaged to work and only magic kept the hideous thing aloft.

The hollows of its eye sockets glowed with a hypnotic yellow light that seemed to bypass Elidor’s eyes and shine directly into his mind. He could feel his arms and legs becoming stiff and heavy, as if they were becoming coated with thick ice. The dracolich was using its power to paralyze him, and if he didn’t resist it, he would be frozen in place like a statue, easy prey for the undead monstrosity.

Elidor felt a tug, and he realized that it came from the rope that he still held in his hands. With great effort, he turned his head and saw Shiriki rubbing her bound wrists against the rough surface of a stalagmite, trying to cut herself free. Shiriki seemed unaffected by the dracolich’s presence, and Elidor wondered if that was because she served the dark goddess Takhisis.

He dropped the rope and began to string his bow. He wasn’t very skilled with it, but he doubted his throwing knives would have much effect on an undead dragon. And at least the beast was large enough that he stood a decent chance of hitting it.

Davyn was already firing arrows at the dracolich, one after the other in rapid succession. Some of the shafts lodged in the monster’s hide, but a number of them passed through its frame, tearing holes in its desiccated skin, but doing nothing to slow it down.

After a bit of fumbling, Elidor finally managed to get his bow strung. But before he could nock his first arrow, the dracolich opened its skeletal mouth and released a blast of frigid air.

Davyn ducked behind a large stalagmite to shield himself, while Catriona darted out of the range of the dracolich’s frost
breath. Ayanti still had Sindri on her back, and the centaur whirled and galloped off, weaving around stalagmites with equine grace.

Elidor was so busy messing with his bow that he didn’t have time to seek cover from the dracolich’s wintery blast. He saw it coming at him, a rolling cloud of white, accompanied by a soft crackling sound as if the dragon’s arctic breath was freezing the air itself.

Then Elidor saw a rope pass over his head and chest and tighten around his waist. Just as the wave of frost was about to engulf him, he was yanked backwards. He landed on his side and fiery pain shot through his ribsElidor saw Shiriki a few feet away. Her hands were free and she held the end of the rope that had bound her.

“Lucky for you I have good aim,” she said with a grin.

Shiriki knelt down and looked deep into Elidor’s eyes. “You know something? You’re kind of cute for a halfbreed.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. Then, swifter than he would’ve thought possible, even for one of his kind, she looped the rope around his wrists, then around his ankles and he was bound tight as a pig destined for market.

Shiriki gave him a wink, took back her sword, and then slipped away into the darkness.

“Stop!” Sindri shouted to Ayanti. “I want to get a good look at the dracolich!”

“Are you crazy? We’re about to get frozen!”

“I wanted to see something.” Sindri was upset. Not only was Ayanti taking him away from the dracolich, but also that intriguing metallic glint he’d spotted. There was something about that glint that called to him, more strongly even than interesting
objects usually did. He wanted—no, he
needed—
to get closer, to investigate whatever caused the glint, to touch it, pick it up, to
handle
it in the fullest sense of how his people used the word. But he could hardly do so while sitting on the back of a centaur who was galloping in the wrong direction.

He was still weak from the enchantments he had performed earlier, but he sensed that if he didn’t act now, he would never get a chance to take a look at whatever-it-was. So, without any further consideration of whether or not it was wise—and indeed, what kender worth his salt would waste time on something so unnecessary as looking before they leaped?—Sindri pushed off Ayanti’s back.

“Hey!” Ayanti called. “What are you doing?”

As Sindri fell, he remembered the lantern that he held, and he tried to angle his body so that it wouldn’t break and deprive his friends of the light they needed to battle the dracolich.

He struck the stone floor and the air shot out of his lungs. As he lay there trying to catch his breath, he realized he hadn’t heard glass breaking and there was still light glowing around him. He’d managed to keep the lantern intact. He rose to his feet, ignoring the wobble in his legs and the ache in his hip where he landed.

“Sindri! Wait!” Ayanti shouted. “I’m coming back for you!”

Sindri wasn’t about to wait. He’d explain to Ayanti later. He hurried off, moving the lantern until the whatever-it-was caught the light and reflected it. Sindri grinned. Gotcha! he thought, and started toward the center of the cavern.

As if it came from a great distance, he heard the sounds of his friends battling the undead dragon—the twang of Davyn’s bowstring, and the
chuk-chuk
of Catriona’s dragon claws cutting into the dead flesh of the beast, the roar and
whooooosh
as the dracolich released another gust of frost breath. But Sindri’s attention was
so completely focused on the marvelous whatever-it-was that he forgot about his friends and the monster they fought, and continued across the cavern floor toward the metallic glint. The atmosphere in the cave had turned as cold as the air in Icereach, and Sindri shivered as he walked.

Moments later the kender stood before the stalagmite where the glint came from, and his mouth hung open in amazed delight. Looped around the top of the stalagmite was a golden medallion embossed with the shape of a stylized sun. With fingers that trembled only partially due to the cold, Sindri reached out and gently, almost reverently, lifted the medallion off the stalagmite. As soon as his fingers touched the metal, he felt warmth flow into his hand, and he thought he heard a chorus of voices whispering, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Sindri! Look out!” Catriona shouted.

Irritated at being distracted from the whispering voices, Sindri absentmindedly slipped the medallion into one of his cape pockets and then turned to see what Catriona was making such a fuss about.

The dracolich still hovered in the air, though its feet dangled low enough for Catriona to have gotten in a few good strikes with her dragonclaws. The beast’s flapping wings spread the chill created by its frost breath. The baleful light that served the dracolich in place of eyes were trained on Sindri, and the kender had the feeling that he’d done something to anger the undead monster, but he couldn’t imagine what it had been.