The Black Wing (15 page)

The throng of people who had worked so hard to slay the wicked fire now watched it rage
out of control. As a group, they backed across the courtyard toward the temple and the
main gate, then stood and watched, eyes streaming with tears, as the kitchen was consumed.
Above the kitchen, workers' scaffolding swayed in the heat. Ropes smoldered before
snapping loose. Support beams, already charred, began to glow from within.

As the blaze in the kitchen reached its height, the first of the wall supports collapsed.
The sound was like nothing Tate had ever heard beforelike a whip crack, only as loud as an
avalanche. Uncured mortar, weakened further by the heat of the fire, could not hold up the
massive stones. One stone slid out and crashed through the kitchen, casting up a shower of
sparks to more than twice the height of the curtain wall. Several more stones followed,
then the entire upper section of the wall poured down.

The castle shook under the blows, and people claimed later they were actually knocked off
their feet by the shock. When the dust cleared, Tate didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
A gaping hole forty feet wide and twenty feet deep made the wall look worse than it had
four months ago, when the restoration had just started. But in collapsing, the stones had
buried the kitchen, extinguishing the fire that had caused them to fall. Wolter came to
stand by his slack-jawed friend. The old knight's face was streaked with soot and sweat,
gray hair hanging in his eyes. “We'll rebuild, Tate. We did it once, we can do it again.”

Tate nodded numbly. In spite of his misery, Tate recalled a legend his father had told him
often. It was about two ancestral enemies who fought for hours only to ultimately kill
each other with simultaneous deathblows. As a child, Tate had thought the story epitomized
the ideals of honor and passion. Now, it just seemed a waste.

Fed up with inactivity and pteros's indecision, Khisanth slipped out of the elemental air
pocket. Outside was the same turbulent world as before, featureless, constantly changing,
lit by lightning and pounded by thunder. Khisanth pushed herself away from the bubble and
drifted slowly, trying to focus her thoughts on escape.

Suddenly a flash of lightning ripped into her flank, convulsing the muscles there and
forcing a bellow of surprise and pain from the dragon. Looking back in anger, Khisanth saw
her hind leg kicking uselessly in spasms caused by the lightning. The randomness of the
attack infuriated her; she couldn't even “think” like lightning to anticipate the next
bolt. As though answering her thoughts, several more bolts of lightning shot past
dangerously close. She flapped back into the airy haven.

Pteros was just as she'd left him. He eyed her scorched scales and asked apprehensively
what happened. Frustrated and impatient, Khisanth refused to answer. “Did you see some
other creature? Or has the elemental come back?” No answer came from Khisanth. “Why would
the elemental attack you? Do you think it was the enemy the elemental had mentioned? Fraz,
was that its name?” 'It was just a bolt of lightning." Pteros was silent for a while. His
head slumped on his forepaws. He stared forlornly at

the shimmering blue wall. “You've got to try that gate spell, Pteros.” Hearing the
uncompromising tone in Khisanth's voice, the ancient beast answered without raising his
head. “That spell is something I learned from an elf captive long, long ago, near the end
of the war. I've forgotten most of what the elf told me about its use. I seem to recall it
wasn't something we could use to go elsewhere, but rather a portal to bring something to
us.” Pteros looked worried. “It would be most imprudent to try it.” The ancient dragon's
timidity in the face of emergency brought Khisanth's anger back full force. “Does that
mean you won't try anything, for fear of making things worse? How much worse can they
get?” Khisanth's words only made Pteros look more miserable. “Your friend is right.
Creating a magical gate here is most unwise. In fact, even the discussion of it might
attract the attention of creatures more powerful than yourselves, plentiful indeed on a
quasi-elemental plane.” Khisanth and Pteros whirled in the bubble to find the source of
the unnaturally deep voice. They both lurched back at the sight of a bestial, yet
beautiful face pressed through the side of the air bubble. The face resembled a gorilla's,
but with large, fan- shaped ears and a bald, pointed pate. The fur was white, almost a
blindingly pure white, and the lips and mouth bright crimson. But most startling were the
eyes, which promised incredible yet sinister intelligence. Khisanth eyed the beast warily
at a distance. “You speak as if you've met such a creature.” “I am one.” The creature
stepped fully into the bubble. His body, half the height of a dragon's, was thick and
muscular and covered with sleek, pale fur. Like the face, the rest of the creature was
vaguely simian, except for an unnaturally long tail that ended in bony barbs. The creature
moved through the lightning environment with an easy grace that told Khisanth he was no
stranger to this realm. “How is it you were foolish enough to come to my little plane
without the means to leave?” “If you're as powerful as you say, you already know the
answer to that,” Khisanth said boldly. Pteros gasped at her reply. “Actually, a lightning
elemental brought us here against our will,” the old dragon explained hastily. “Perhaps
you've seen it, a globe-shaped creature filled with white bolts of lightning?” “I knew the
elemental to which you refer, yes.” The creature's meaning was unmistakable. “That one
won't bring unwanted creatures here anymore.” He raised one brow. “You would both be wise
to choose your words carefully, lest you give the impression you don't like the realm of
Fraz.” With no apparent physical effort at all, the creature whirled across the bubble at
tremendous speed. He stopped a short distance behind the two dragons. “Very well, Fraz,
now that you've killed our elemental, can you return us to the Prime Material plane?”
Though her tone was bold, Khisanth was wary of this creature who had disposed of the
elemental, something Khisanth was not at all sure she could have done in this place. “If s
within my power to send you anywhere you want to go, and some places you'd rather avoid,
too. Because I find you and your lost friend so amusing in a helpless, pathetic kind of
way, I'm willing to help you. You must do something for me first.” Fraz allowed that to
hang in the air for a few moments before continuing. “While I have many friends, I have
even more enemies. In that regard, I am truly wealthy. I'd like you to engage one of them
in a true contest of fighting skills. You needn't slay it.” Pteros summoned the nerve to
ask, “Why must we fight someone you don't even want us to kill?”

The creature drifted close to Pteros and stared into the dragon's eyes. “Because I am the
most powerful creature in my realm, and it would amuse me.” “What if we refuse your
challenge?” asked Khisanth. “Call it a command, call it an order, call it a request you
can't refuse.” The creature's tail flicked like a caf s, motionless except at the tip. The
bony spikes clicked against each other as they flexed. Then Fraz shifted so he appeared to
stand on all four limbs, like a gorilla, and walked through the air on his knuckles. He
circled around the dragons twice, never looking away.

Abruptly Fraz tapped his chin with a razor-sharp nail. “There was another creature here
recently from the Prime Material. He tried to refuse. Perhaps you met him, a slight fellow
with slanted eyes and charred flesh?” Though the reference to Yoshiki Toba had meaning for
Khisanth alone, she was suitably impressed.

The creature's sinister eyes shifted from side to side as if he were concentrating. Fraz
pointed a fingernail at Pteros. “Charred flesh would be your fate.” He turned his gaze on
Khisanth. “You, on the other hand, would be forever trapped in my cozy realm, which would
be the greatest punishment for you, if I'm reading your mind correctly.” The dragons were
silent. “Good, I see you've agreed to my contest. You will be fighting a storm giant. He's
a crafty old fellow named Comenus who has been a thorn in my side for too many centuries.
Seeing how two mighty black dragons pitted against a lone giant isn't much of a contest,
I've decided you'll fight not as dragons but as serpents. Feathery serpents, I think, for
variety.”

As he spoke, the beast traced a glowing symbol in the air with a yellowed fingernail. The
completed symbol hung before them, and Fraz positioned his talon beneath it as if
balancing the glyph. A puff of breath started the device spinning and spitting tiny
sparks. Suddenly, with a flick of Fraz's finger, the sigil split in two and flashed across
the bubble to burn into Khisanth and Pteros. Color swam before Khisanth's eyes. When her
vision cleared, she saw, where Pteros had been, a snake with wings. His body was all
black, with two large wings that had red spots at the base. He resembled a monstrous,
serpentine blackbird, like those Khisanth had seen so many times in the swamp. Glancing
down, Khisanth saw that she looked the same.

The dragon despised being compared to a snake. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed
patience, but it alluded her. The infuriated dragon tried to belch murderous acid from her
stomach to blanket and obliterate Fraz, but all that came forth was a weak growl. Instead
of being angry, Fraz seemed tremendously amused, laughing out loud at Khisanth's feeble
effort to attack. “No! No! Please don't burp on me, oh mighty dragon,” he mocked. In a
blink, he turned deadly serious. “That is all your acid is to me.” Fraz abruptly opened
his mouth, far wider than it should have been able to go, wider than his jaws could allow,
and then wider still, until his maw was twice the size of his head. He exhaled, filling
the elemental bubble with heat and stench. But a swirling cloud appeared before Fraz. His
mouth returned to normal and closed. “Move forward to see what I am showing you,” he
commanded. The dragon-snakes moved up reluctantly as the mixing colors formed shapes and
pictures. A huge man, with light green skin and dark green hair, dressed in a flowing
tunic, sat in a titanic chair. A massive sword rested across his knees. “This is your foe,
Comenus. Concentrate on this place you are seeing, and whichever direction you travel, you
will arrive there. Remember this place. Proceed straightaway to Comenus. He's expecting
you.” The image, as well as Fraz, dissolved into a swirling cone of colors, but the
undulating laughter echoed in the bubble for moments afterward. Khisanth searched her mind
for some qhen advice of Kada-gan's. What she fixed on was not qhen at all, but the reason
Kadagan had given her for choosing her as the instrument of Dela's rescue:

“Dragons and humans have long been enemies, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” “We
need to find Comenus.” “You, a snake, are planning to fight a storm giant?”

“I'm not staying here forever.” Khisanth didn't care whether Pteros followed her or stayed
behind. All his tales of heroism aside, he was proving to be nothing more than a tired,
timid old creature. “How will you find him?” “By concentrating on him, as Fraz said.”
“Wait for me!” she heard Pteros call, more afraid to be left alone than to follow.
Khisanth darted through the bubble and into the seething tumult beyond. Once removed from
the protection of the pocket of elemental air, the two snakes were buffeted like leaves in
the wind. Moving in a continuous direction took tremendous effort. Khisanth had no idea
where she was going, but she concentrated on the image of Comenus. After much fluttering,
she spotted something approaching through the seething clouds and flashing lightning. She
slowed down to get a good look. Pteros winged up alongside. The approaching object was
becoming more distinct through the turbulence. Comenus. The storm giant was enormous, far
larger than Fraz's image had made him look. The giant would have been much taller than
Khisanth, and nearly as massive, even in her natural form. His skin was pale green, his
beard and hair a darker shade of the same color. A narrow jeweled crown circled his brow.
Across his shoulders was draped a tunic of silk and spun gold, while tores of gold and
electrum circled his biceps. Comenus sat on a throne that appeared to be made of dark
clouds shot through with lightning. Lying across his lap was a sword half as long as
Khisanth's body. Propped against the back of the throne was a bow as thick as a tree, with
arrows like lances. The throne was propelled through the air by some invisible means, like
everything else in this realm. As the chair approached the two snakes, it, too, slowed
then stopped, a mere fifty or so paces away. Khisanth had hoped to find Comenus in another
elemental sphere so she could talk to him. Out here, in the deafening thunder, she could
not hope to communicate with the giant. As if in response to her thought, the thunder died
away, the lightning stopped flashing. Even the wind dropped. It made sense, Khisanth
guessed, that a storm giant would have control over the elements. After he had silenced
the storm, Khisanth expected Comenus to address her, but he sat impassively. So Khisanth
broke the silence. “You must be the storm giant, Comenus.” Instantly the giant was on his
feet, shouting in a voice that outdid the thunder, “Fraz has sent you to slay me!” The
sword floated at his side within easy reach while he snatched the bow from its rest. An
arrow disappeared from the quiver and reappeared nocked on the bow. When the giant drew
the enormous bow, it sounded like a tree crashing in the forest. Khisanth was shocked that
a creature so large could move so quickly. She and Pteros scrambled away from the enraged
titan, but not fast enough. The shot cracked like thunder. The arrow rushed past Pteros,
its steel tip missing him by a hand's breadth, but its immense feather fletchings grazed
his wing. The impact spun the snake-dragon around in a spray of blood from the lacerated
wing. Pteros flew back, nursing his wound. The giant touched the bowstring a second time,
and another arrow jumped from the quiver to the bow. As he drew it to his shoulder,
Khisanth called, “We don't want to kill you. What could two tiny snakes hope to do to a
storm giant? We only want to talk!” The giant's bow was still poised and ready to fire at
Khisanth. Even though she was minuscule next to the giant, Khisanth doubted Comenus would
miss at such short

range. “You're right, Comenus. Fraz sent us to fight you. But we are not his allies.
First, Fraz slew the elemental that could send us back to our home plane. Then he changed
us from dragons into these ridiculous snake things. The last thing we want is to see his
wish fulfilled.” The gianf s expression was blank. “It would be faster for me to simply
kill you.” He loosed his arrow. It streaked straight toward Khisanth. There was no time to
think, but her reflexes were still those of a black dragon in her prime. The snake body
twisted aside, stretching to get out of the huge arrow's path. The iron tip, razor sharp
and spinning through the blue air, sliced through Khisanth's tiny right wing at the first
joint. She watched in mixed horror and fury as two-thirds of her wing tumbled away. In
spasmodic flight, she barely managed to land on the storm-giant's cloud. Comenus set aside
his bow and grasped his sword. As he extended the weapon, there was a burst of smoke.
Abruptly Fraz appeared in front of the giant, facing Khisanth. The giant froze in place,
as if time had stopped. “You've lost,” the ape-creature said, then wagged a hideous
finger. “Tsk, tsk. You tried to betray me. Still, you did come.” Fraz looked suddenly
sorrowful. “I know what. I'll send just one of you back to the Prime Material. But which
one?” Pteros rushed forward from where he'd been cowering, favoring his injured wing.
“Send me, Fraz. Her injury is worse than mine. She won't be able to fly anyway.” The old
dragon's pleas hardly surprised Khisanth. The whole scene seemed unreal, even less
tangible than her dreams of flying with Led. Why had the storm giant just stopped moving?
The more she thought about that, the more she thought there was something odd about all of
this. Then Khisanth remembered another of her discussions with Kadagan. The nyphid had
been explaining the difference between illusion and reality. Khisanth's ability to change
shape, he said, was reality. And because of that, it was more powerful than any illusion;
in fact, it was more powerful than magic of most types. With that thought foremost in her
mind, Khisanth closed her eyes and projected herself back into her own body. She felt
immediately, and knew even before opening her eyes again, that Fraz's spell was shattered.
When she did look, the dragon saw her body returned to normal, her wing whole and
unharmed. The same happened to Pteros. Comenus and his throne and his weapons were gone.
Only Fraz remained. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “so you've penetrated my little game at last.” In
amazement, Pteros stared at his restored body and health. When he looked up, his eyes were
dull and pitiful. Khisanth wanted to rip Fraz's smug, sneering face right off his head.
But by anyone's reckoning the creature had displayed an impressive amount of power. “All
right, Fraz,” she said as calmly as she could, “we passed your little test. Now send us
home.” Suddenly, Fraz's head cocked to the side, and his expression changed from smug
superiority to alarm. He spoke, seemingly to someone, but the dragons heard only Fraz's
voice. “Yes, mistress ... I understand ... It was a harmless game, mistress, no disrespect
was intended ... Of course, as you wish.” Giving both dragons a malicious grin, he said.
“You owe your return to the Prime Material plane to that which we all serve.” Fraz's eyes
seemed to penetrate Pteros for a moment. His voice was full of rancor when at last he
said, “I just hope you like the destination I've chosen for you.” Before the Cataclysm,
the area of the Great Moors had been a sea. Mem Citadel was an island stronghold, a
fortified base for the sleek ships that plied those waters. But the Cataclysm made islands
sink and the sea bottom rise. The citadel now stood on a slight rise in an otherwise bleak
and featureless expanse of bog.