The Amber Enchantress

ONE THE CLOSED GATES

“Er’stali can’t be disturbed,” said the ancient dwarf, leaning over the balustrade atop Kled’s gatehouse. “Get back on your kanks and return to to Tyr.”

Save for his great age, which had etched dozens of furrows into his brow and left his jowls sagging like a beard, the man appeared typical of the dwarven guards flanking him. He had a squat build, with dark hairless skin and a rocklike bearing. A ridge of thickened skull ran along the top of his head, and harsh, jutting features dominated his face.

“Who are you to speak for Er’Stali?” Sadira demanded, placing both hands on the obsidian pommel of the cane.

“I am Lyanius, Kled’s uhrnomus!” the old man bellowed.

“What’s an uhrnomus?” Sadira asked, looking to Rikus for an explanation.

“The village founder,” Rikus answered. With a hairless body that seemed nothing but knotted sinew, he looked to be a taller, more lithe version of the dwarves-and with good reason. Rikus was a mul, a human-dwarf crossbreed who had inherited the best features of both races.

When Lyanius continued to stare silently down at them, Rikus went on to explain, “The uhrnomus speaks for his village. If he doesn’t want us to see Er’Stali, then we won’t.”

“That’s unacceptable,” said Agis, speaking for the first time. The noble was a vigorous man, with a sturdy frame and handsome features. He had long black hair streaked with gray, a pensive brow set over brown eyes, and a square, firm jaw. “I didn’t spend ten days in the desert to be turned away at the gate.”

“The choice is Lyanius’s, not ours,” said Rikus.

“Perhaps I can change his mind,” said Agis, fixing his eyes on the aged dwarf.

Rikus grabbed the noble’s shoulder. “Lyanius may be stubborn, but I owe him a great deal. Don’t even think of using the Way against him.”

Agis pulled away indignantly. “Who do you take me for-Tithian?”

The noble returned his gaze to Lyanius. “Before you make your decision, won’t you allow me to explain why we must speak to Er’Stali?”

“No,” answered the uhrnomus.

“Has something happened to him?” Rikus demanded.

“What makes you think that?” demanded Lyanius, scowling.

“Because you won’t let us see him,” Rikus said, his voice growing more concerned. “He hasn’t died, has he?”

Lyanius shook his head, though his eyes betrayed an unspoken concern. “No, he’s alive-”

“But not well,” Rikus concluded.

The old dwarf nodded.

“We’ll disturb him as little as possible,” Agis said. “Still, our need is great and we must speak-”

“I’m sorry,” Lyanius said, holding his hand up to silence the noble. “I’ll have water and food brought to the gate, so that you can begin your journey home freshly provisioned.”

“There’s more wrong here then he’s saying,” Sadira whispered to Rikus. “Even if Er’Stali’s sick, that’s no reason to keep us out of the village.”

The mul nodded. “That’s so, but what are we to do?”

As Sadira considered the problem, two more people appeared atop the gatehouse. The first was a dwarven male she did not know. He stood a full head taller than his fellows, with a lanky build and a crimson sun tattooed on his head. His rust-colored eyes burned with a fiery intensity, visible even from the bottom of the tower.

Sadira recognized the other figure, Rikus’s former fighting partner from the arena. Neeva was a blonde human with emerald eyes, pale skin, and full red lips. She towered above the dwarves like a desert willow in a thicket of mulga bushes, with a hugely swollen belly that hung over the rooftop’s low balustrade. Though she wore a light cloak over her back and fair shoulders, she had intentionally left her abdomen exposed to the sun’s searing rays. Even the underside was burned to a deep red sheen, with pale pink strips where layers of skin had peeled away.

“Rikus!” Neeva called, temporarily ignoring Agis and Sadira. “How wonderful to see you!”

Rikus did not reply. Instead, he only stared at the underside of his ex-lover’s swollen stomach, his mouth hanging agape and his black eyes betraying his distress.

Sadria tapped his arm with the tip of her cane. “Close your mouth,” she whispered. “It won’t do to seem jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Rikus hissed.

“Of course not,” Sadira replied, a wry smile crossing her lips. “But it hardly matters to me. I don’t resent your feelings for Neeva.”

“Not that you could say anything if you did,” Rikus said, casting a meaningful glance at Agis.

“Now is no time to discuss our relationship,” the noble whispered. ‘ “The only thing that matters is convincing this Lyanius to let us see Er’Stali-and it occurs to me that you can persuade Neeva to support us.”

Rikus frowned. “How?”

“You could start by saying hello,” Sadira answered. “It might help if she doesn’t think you’re angry with her.”

The mul looked back to the top of the gatehouse. “It’s good to see you, too, Neeva,” he said. “You’re looking, uh-very hale.”

“What I’m looking is fat and pregnant,” Neeva laughed. “Now, what are you doing here? You didn’t come all this way to wish me well.”

“Tyr’s in danger,” Agis answered quickly.

“That’s unfortunate for Tyr,” said the red-eyed dwarf next to Neeva. “My wife is in no condition to fight.”

“They can see that, Caelum,” she said, laying a hand on the dwarf’s arm. “Besides, I doubt they came all this way after a single sword arm.”

“Neeva’s correct, Caelum,” said Agis. “If it comes down to a fight, a hundred warriors like her couldn’t save Tyr.”

“What do you mean?” asked Neeva, frowning.

“The Dragon’s coming to the city,” explained Rikus.

Neeva and the dwarves stared at the mul with blank expressions, as if he had spoken in a language they didn’t comprehend.

After a pause of several moments, Agis added, “He’s demanded a sacrifice of a thousand lives-a levy we intend to deny. We’re hoping Er’Stali can remember something from the Book of Kemalok Kings that might help us defy the Dragon.”

Looking at Rikus, Lyanius asked, “This Dragon, could it be the same one King Rkard spoke of?”

“I believe it is,” the mul answered. To Sadira and Agis, he explained, “The last time I was here, the ghost of King Rkard appeared. Among other things, he told the dwarves that the lost city of their forefathers had been visited by the Dragon.”

Rikus had hardly finished his explanation before Lyanius declared, “I must ask you to leave at once. You’ll receive no help from Kled or any of its citizens.”

“A thousand people will die!” Sadira objected.

“Better that than all of Kled,” Lyanius answered. “If we help you, the Dragon will destroy us.”

“He’ll never know,” said Agis. “We’ve taken measures to keep both our journey and its purpose secret.”

The old man shook his head resolutely. “We cannot take the risk.”

Sadira looked to Neeva. “You know better than anyone why we can’t sacrifice a thousand blameless lives.”

“The decision is the uhrnomus’s, not mine,” answered Neeva, looking away.

“But the uhrnomus will listen to Caelum, and Caelum will listen to you,” Rikus answered. “Help us-for the sake of Tyr”

“I can’t ask these people to risk their lives for Tyr,” Neeva answered, waving her arm toward the village. “I have no right.”

“Forget about Tyr,” Sadira said, pointing at Neeva’s belly. “Do you want your child to live in terror of the Dragon?”

Neeva gave Sadira a resentful look. “Better that than to die in the womb,” she said.

“Really?” Agis asked. “If you teach your child to hide from tyranny instead of resisting it, are you not teaching it to live in bondage?”

“That doesn’t sound like the woman who helped kill Kalak,” Sadira pressed. “If it is, tell us now and we’ll stop wasting our time.”

Neeva glared down at her old friends, biting her lip in frustration. “When you want something, is there anything you won’t do to get it?”

“Not when what I want is to protect Tyr,” Sadira answered. “But that has nothing to do with Agis’s question. Will you teach your child to live in tyranny or freedom?”

Neeva fell silent for a moment, then dropped her gaze to her swollen belly. “You know the answer,” she said, taking Caelum and Lyanius by their arms. “Excuse us for a while.”

Neeva and the two dwarves were barely gone before Rikus turned around. “I’ll stake the kanks out to graze,” he said.

“Can you be so certain they’ll let us see Er’Stali?” Agis asked.

The mul nodded. “Caelum can deny nothing to Neeva.”

“But what about Lyanius?” asked Sadira. “He’s the one she must win over.”

“He has a good heart. In the end, he’ll do the right thing-especially with his son arguing for it,” Rikus answered.

“His son?” Agis asked.

“Caelum,” Rikus explained. “He’s the only one whose judgement Lyanius trusts.”

With that, the mul started away, calling the kanks after him. Although two mounts followed immediately, the one that Sadira had been riding lagged behind. The beast proved so stubborn that Rikus was finally forced to take it by the antennae.

“I wish I had his confidence,” Agis said. The noble sat down, bracing his back against the sun-red bricks of Kled’s village wall.

“Let’s just hope that his faith is justified,” Sadira said.

She sat beside Agis, folding her heels under her thighs to use as a cushion. Although it would have pained most women to bend their legs so compactly, the position came to Sadira as naturally as settling into a chair. She was a half-human, half-elf with lithe, sinuous limbs and a supple frame typical of those born of such parentage. Her eyebrows were peaked and slender, hovering above pale eyes as clear and unclouded as blue tourmaline. She had a small, full-lipped mouth and long amber hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves.

After making herself comfortable, Sadira opened her waterskin and drank. Even in the shade of the village wall, the temperature was blistering, with a feeble wind that seemed incapable of stirring up even the slightest whiff of fresh air. To one side of the village, the heat rose in shimmering waves off high bluffs of orange-streaked sandstone. On the other side, a giant sand dune reflected the sun’s crimson light so brilliantly that it hurt to look in that direction.

A short while later, Rikus returned. Over his massive shoulders were slung the empty waterskins that had been tied to the kank harnesses. “No word from inside?”

“You might as well sit down,” said Agis.

The mul shook his head. “I’ll stand. It won’t be long now.”

Rikus was wrong. The sky faded from the brilliant white of midday to the flaxen hues of early afternoon, and still they heard nothing from Kled. Sadira fell into a lethargic torpor and could not keep her thoughts off the cool well-water that would be available inside the village. More than once she found herself cursing the stubborn dwarves, and even begin to daydream about casting a spell that would allow her to sneak inside. She quickly rejected this idea, however. Having warned Agis not to employ the Way to influence the dwarves, she did not doubt Rikus would also disapprove of using sorcery to steal a drink of water.

Finally, as Sadira’s mouth began to grow bitter with thirst, the gate opened. Neeva stepped out alone. “Welcome to Kled.” She held her arms toward Rikus, who had stubbornly remained standing before the gate.

The mul stared into Neeva’s eyes for a moment. “Neeva, I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you, Rikus,” she answered, speaking quietly.

The mul shrugged off his waterskins and moved forward, embracing her tightly. When Neeva hissed in pain, he stepped away in alarm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring at her stomach. “I didn’t mean to hurt you-or the child.”

Neeva laid a hand on his arm. “You didn’t,” she said, running her fingers over her sunburned belly. “It just stung when you rubbed against me,”

Sadira and Agis stepped to Rikus’s side.

“Why don’t you cover that thing up?” Sadira asked, pointing at the red flesh of Neeva’s abdomen.

“My husband wants me to leave it exposed.”

“Why?” Sadira demanded. “Does he enjoy torturing you?”

“The pain she bears is for our baby,” said Caelum, stepping from behind the gate. “If the child is to have the fire-eyes, the sun must kiss Neeva’s womb from dawn until dusk.”

“What, exactly, are fire-eyes?” Sadira asked.

Neeva pointed at Caelum’s red eyes. “A sign of the sun’s favor,” she said. “Caelum wants our child to be a sun-cleric, like him.”

“Let us hope you’re successful,” Agis said, speaking to Caelum. “Has your uhrnomus made a decision about our request?”

“My father believes it is wrong for a powerful city like Tyr to endanger a small village like Kled-”

“Tyr will extend its protection to your village,” Agis quickly offered.

“What good will that do?” scoffed Caelum. “Aren’t you here because Tyr can’t protect itself against the Dragon?”

“That’s true,” Agis admitted.

“And that’s why Caelum persuaded his father to grant your request,” Neeva said, smiling warmly. “If it is in our power to help, we cannot stand idly by while the Dragon savages Tyr. That would make us not only cowards, but partly responsible for the deaths themselves.”

Caelum nodded, then said, “You must promise that no one will know you spoke with Er’Stali.”

“Done,” Rikus said, retrieving their empty waterskins.

When Sadira and Agis also nodded, the dwarf motioned them past the gate. After explaining that Lyanius had returned to his duties, Caelum led the group into the village itself.

They moved quickly down a narrow avenue flanked on both sides by the red flagstone walls of dozens of round huts. The structures stood barely as high as Sadira’s chin, with no roofs to shade the busy inhabitants from the blazing sun. The sorceress could look down into the interior of each building and see that all were arranged in a similar fashion. Near the east wall was a round table with a trio of curved benches, while a set of stone beds stood near the west. Hanging close to the door of each family’s hut were a battle axe, a short sword, and a spiked buckler-all forged from gleaming steel and freshly polished.

Sadira was about to comment on the priceless weaponry when they reached the village plaza, a circle of open ground paved with crimson sandstone. In the center stood a windmill, its sails slowly spinning in the hot breeze. With each rotation, the mill pumped a few gallons of cool, clear water into a covered cistern.

Despite her thirst, Sadira hardly noticed the well. Her attention was fixed on the far side of the plaza, where dozens of dwarves were sorting and polishing a small mountain of tarnished steel armor.

“By the moons!” Sadira gasped. On Athas, metal was more precious than water, and the mound of armor represented an unimaginable treasure. “Where did all that come from?”

“From Kemalok of course,” Neeva said. She gestured at the mountain of sand north of the village.

From what Rikus had told her earlier, Sadira knew that her friend referred to the ancient city of kings that the dwarves were excavating beneath the dune. Although the mul had said that it was full of steel weapons and armor, the sorceress had not imagined it to be anything like this.

“Even at his wealthiest, Kalak himself would have envied that fortune,” Sadira said.

“Which is why Lyanius didn’t want to let us into the village,” Agis surmised.

Caelum nodded. “Yes. You arrived at an inopportune time,” he said. “We brought the armor out of its vault only yesterday and were unprepared to receive visitors. I trust you’ll keep what you see here to yourselves?”

“Of course they will,” Neeva said peevishly. “Didn’t I tell you that Sadira and Agis are as trustworthy as Rikus?”

“Please,” Agis said, raising his hand. “Caelum’s caution is understandable. If word of Kled’s wealth spreads, the sorcerer-kings themselves will send armies to steal it.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Caelum said. He gestured at the waterskins hanging from Rikus’s shoulders. “Leave those here, and I’ll see that they’re filled.”

As the mul complied, he asked “Does this mean Lyanius wasn’t telling the truth about Er’Stali’s health?”

Neeva shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no.”

“A tribe of raiders attacked the village a few weeks ago,” Caelum said. “Er’Stali insisted on helping us defend the gate, and he was wounded.”

With that, the dwarf led the way up a narrow lane to a large hut covered by a makeshift roof of lizard hides. Neeva paused outside the door curtain and called inside to ask if Er’Stali would receive visitors.

“I’m working,” answered a weak voice.

“We’ve come from Tyr,” Sadira said. “We need your help.”

A long sigh sounded from inside. “Come in then.”

“Caelum and I will see to your waterskins and provisions,” Neeva said, holding the curtain aside for Sadira and her companions.

Before they could enter the hut, Caelum said. “Please don’t stay long. Er’Stali is trying to set down all he can remember of the Book of Kings. Every minute is precious.”

“Which is to say, I could die any time,” the old man’s voice growled. He broke into a fit of coughing, then gasped, “Now, come in and ask me your questions before it’s too late.”

Sadira stepped through the doorway. Pale sunlight shone through the hide roof, bathing the hut in a rosy glow. At the table hunched a skinny old man, swathed in ichor-stained bandages from neck to waist. He had a wispy white beard, gray eyes glazed with fatigue, and a face etched with deep lines of pain. On his forehead was a faded tattoo of a double-head serpent. Both of the snake’s mouths were filled by long, wicked-looking fangs.

Sadira recognized the mark as the Serpent of Lubar, the crest of a noble Urikite family. She knew the emblem from the personal standard of Maetan of Lubar, the Urikite general whom King Hamanu had sent to invade Tyr the year before. During the war, Maetan had stolen the Book of Kemalok Kings from the dwarves, and Rikus had promised to recover it. Unfortunately, the book had not survived, but the mul had managed to kill Maetan and return to Kled with the only living person who had read it-Er’Stali.

The old man did not even look up as Sadira and the others entered his hut. Instead, he kept his attention focused on his table, using a wooden stylus to scratch at one of the dozens of diptychs scattered around the room. The clay tablets filled the air with a musty smell and were stacked everywhere; in his cabinet, on benches, beside his bed, and all across the floor.

The old man held up a finger to keep them silent, then finished scoring his next thought onto the tablet. Finally, he looked up and squinted. “Who are you?”

Rikus stepped to where Er’Stali’s view of him would not be obscured. “They’re friends of mine,” the mul answered.

“Rikus!” Er’Stali gasped. “How good to see you again! What are you doing back in Kled?”

“We’re hoping you might have the answer to a problem we face,” the mul explained.

“Perhaps I do,” the old man said, grimacing at some pain deep within his body. He dipped his stylus into the bowl of water, then cleaned the end on a cloth. “What problem is that?”

“We’ve learned that the Dragon will soon visit Tyr,” said Agis. “Our king intends to sacrifice a thousand people to him.”

Er’Stali’s stylus slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. “Then I suggest you let him,” the old man said. “Better a thousand lives than the entire city.”

“No,” Sadira answered, shaking her head. “Tyr stands for freedom. If we yield to the Dragon’s demands, we’ll be no better than any other city.”

“Can you remember anything from the Book of Kemalok Kings that might help us?” asked Rikus. “The Dragon must have a weakness.”

“If Borys has any weaknesses, they were not described in the Book of Kings,” Er’Stali snorted. Nevertheless, he rose and, braced himself on the mul’s arm, shuffled over to the tablets next to his bed.

“Borys?” asked Sadira. Rikus had mentioned the name to her, but had not identified it as that of the Dragon. “I thought Borys was the Thirteenth Champion-”

“Of Rajaat,” Er’Stali finished, moving a stack of tablets aside. “Yes. He is also the Dragon.” The old man looked up at Rikus. “You remember the story Rkard’s specter told us, do you not?”

“Yes,” Rikus said. He looked to his friends, then explained, “Er’Stali was reciting the story of the battle between Borys of Ebe and Rkard, the last of the dwarven king. According to what Er’Stali had read, both Borys and Rkard died after the fight.”

“But the ghost of King Rkard appeared to tell us the account was wrong. Borys and the Dragon returned years later to destroy the city,” Er’Stali added. “Unfortunately, Rkard vanished before I could ask about the relationship between the two, but I have found an account that clarifies it.”

The old man sat down on his bed, then laboriously searched through a pile of tablets until he found the one he wanted. “If the Book of Kings has any help for you, it will be here,” he said. “It’s the last story, set down by a scribe who returned to Kemalok long after Borys destroyed the city. As I recall, the hand was jittery and frail. Leaving the tale in the book of his ancestors may well have been his dying act.”

Er’Stali read: “The day came when Jo’orsh and Sa’ram returned to Kemalok and saw what Borys had done to the city of their forebears. Both men swore to track down the butcher and destroy him. They set off for the mighty Citadel of Ebe with all their retainers and squires. When they reached his stronghold, however, they found it long abandoned, occupied now only by a handful of wraiths patiently awaiting the return of their master. These, Jo’orsh interrogated with the Way of the Unseen, learning that Borys had mysteriously lifted the siege of Kemalok just when it appeared it would succeed. He had sent his army back to the Citadel of Ebe and left for the Pristine Tower, the stronghold of Rajaat himself, to meet the other champions.”

Er’Stali looked up from his tablet to add an explanatory note. “The Book of Kings did not name all of these champions, but from what I can tell, each was to anihilate an entire race, much as Borys tried to destroy the dwarves. I have seen references to Albeorn, Slayer of Elves, and Gallard, Bane of the Gnomes.”

“Gnomes?” asked Rikus.

“The book doesn’t say who they were,” answered Er’stali. The old man looked back to the tablet, then continued reading. “Jo’orsh and Sa’ram left the Citadel of Ebe and traveled with their retainers into the wild lands beyond the Great Lake of Salt until they sighted a spire of white rock in the distance. Here, all manner of horrid guardians appeared. They left their squires and retainers in a safe place, then continued to the white mountain alone. When they entered the Pristine Tower, they found that, like the Citadel of Ebe, it was abandoned, save for the shadow giants-”

Sadira noticed Rikus’s face go pale, so she asked, “What do you know of these shadows?”

The mul shrugged. “Maybe nothing, but during the war with Urik, Maetan sometimes summoned a shadow-giant that he called Umbra,” the mul said. “The thing wiped out an entire company by himself.”

As Rikus spoke, Er’Stali began to wheeze. He feebly clutched his bandages, as if they were squeezing his ribs and making it difficult to breath.”

“I’ll get Caelum,” Rikus said, starting for the door.

“No,” Er’Stali croaked, waving him back. “He’s done all he can today.”

Fearing that the stress of their visit had weakened the old man, Sadira said, “Perhaps we should let you rest and come back later.”

Er’Stali shook his head, uttering, “Later, I might be dead-just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

They waited several moments for the old man to regain control of his breathing. Finally, pausing at short intervals to gasp for air, he began to read again.

“Here Sa’ram met the shadows, whom he bribed with obsidian. They told him that Rajaat and his champion had argued over the annihilation of the magical races, then fought a terrible battle against each other. By the time it had ended, Rajaat ruled the Pristine Tower no more. He was taken to the Steeple of Crystals and forced to use its arcane artifacts to make Borys into the Dragon.”

“To make Borys into the Dragon?” Rikus gasped.

Er’Stali nodded. “Now you know all the Book of Kings says about the Dragon.”

“It’s not much help,” said Rikus.

“What happened to Rajaat and the other champions after Borys became the Dragon?” asked Agis.

“The book did not say,” Er’Stali answered, wearily. “Jo’orsh and Sa’ram left the tower and sent their squires home. They were never seen again, but, obviously, they did not slay Borys.”

“That’s all?” asked Agis, incredulous. “The champions helped Borys become the Dragon, then disappeared without resuming their attacks on the other races?”

Er’Stali shrugged. “Who can say? You already know that after Rajaat’s fall, Borys returned as the Dragon to attack Kemalok. It also seems that Gallard destroyed the gnomes-I have never seen one, have you?” When Agis shook his head, the old man continued. “Perhaps the other champions fell against Rajaat, or perhaps they were too weak to fight any longer. All I can say is that the book ends with the disappearance of Jo’orsh and Sa’ram.”

The old man returned the tablet to its place.

Rikus turned to Sadira and Agis. “I’m sorry,” said the mul. “It was a wasted trip.”

Sadira frowned. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “We don’t have the answers we need, but we know where to look.”

“The Pristine Tower?” queried Rikus.

Sadira nodded. “If we are to learn more of Borys, we will learn it there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Agis. “Even if we knew where to find it, we can’t be sure the place still stands.”

“The Pristine Tower still stands, far beyond Nibenay,” said Er’Stali. “The elves know where.”

“What makes you so certain?” asked Rikus.

“Because the shadow giant you mentioned came from there,” Er’Stali explained. “In exchange for Umbra’s services, Maetan hired a tribe of elves each year to lead a caravan loaded with obsidian balls to the Pristine Tower. The caravan drivers never returned, but Umbra always appeared when Maetan summoned him. I assume the obsidian reached the tower.”

Sadira gave Agis a haughty smile. “You see?” she asked. “We’ll go to Nibenay and hire a guide in the Elven Market.”

“The journey could take a month, even longer!” Rikus objected.

“Which is why we must hurry,” Sadira countered. “We don’t know how soon the Dragon will come to Tyr, and it would be best if we returned to the city as quickly as possible.”

“And what do you hope to accomplish at the tower?” Agis demanded.

“What we failed to accomplish here,” Sadira answered. “To learn enough about the Dragon to defy him. Besides, if we’re lucky, we might even find some relics in the Steeple of Crystals that can help us.”

“Forgive me for saying so,” said Agis, “but I suspect that’s the real reason you want to go to the Pristine Tower.”

Sadira frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He means that when you smell magic, nothing else matters,” Rikus said. “Not even Tyr.”

“That’s not true!” Sadira retorted. “I love Tyr more than my own life!”

The mul shook his head. “It’s magic you love,” he said, pointing at the cane in Sadira’s hand. “Otherwise, you’d have returned Nok’s staff by now.”

“We’ll need it to deal with the Dragon,” the sorceress countered angrily. “And if you had kept the Heartwood Spear-”

“I promised to return it to Nok,” Rikus interrupted, his tone sullen and final. “Just as you promised to return the staff.”

“And I will keep that promise-when Tyr is safe from the Dragon,” Sadira said. She moved to the door and flung the curtain open. “Now, when do we leave for the Pristine Tower?”