woman.”
But Crucible would not be placated. “What have you done to her? I want to see her now! Show me she is still alive!”
“I think not. I will leave that to your imagination. Is the Rose Knight still alive, waiting to come rescue you at her first opportunity? Or did she die in the slave pens after my officers made use of her?”
Crucible’s roar shook the camp, sent the horses plunging in panic, and the Tarmaks running for their weapons. He sprang upright in falls of cascading water and sprang at the Akkad-Ur, who was still standing calmly on the bank. He reached a shallow shoal not far from the water’s edge when the pain hit him. It exploded between his shoulder blades, seared up his neck and down his back, and burned into his brain like a firebrand. His strength turned to ash, and his legs fell out from under him. He crashed into the mud and gravel writhing in agony. Red ribbons of pain twisted through his mind. The dragonfear pulsed from the dragon’s body in almost palpable waves, but this time the Akkad-Ur was ready. When the terror squeezed his belly and his men fell to their knees around him, he twisted his fist and brought his spell to an end.
The pain stopped and Crucible lay still, gasping in the shallow water.
“I fear you have forgotten, Dragon,” said the Akkad-Ur, “who holds the end of your chain. The dart of the Abyssal Lance in your back has now moved another inch or two closer to your heart. It is nearly buried beneath your scales. Is this what you want? To die in consuming agony on a muddy riverbank?”
Crucible groaned. “I just want to see her.”
“No. I think another form of persuasion would be more effective to curb your belligerence and change your mind about your participation.” He snapped his fingers and two tall Keena priests in sleeveless robes came out of his tent carrying a large iron box suspended between two poles. They set the box down by the Akkad-Ur’s feet, bowed, and handed him a pair of heavy leather gloves. Their faces expressionless, they stood back to watch.
The bronze raised a suspicious eye. He waited warily while the Akkad-Ur donned the gloves and unlocked the box. Using some care, he lifted the hinged lid and reached inside. He pulled out an oblong orb large enough to fill both hands, as sleek as polished metal, and the color of pale gold. A brass dragon egg. He set it on top of the box and angled it to his satisfaction.
Crucible recognized the egg and felt a bolt of dread go through him that was almost worse than the barbed dart. “No,” he whispered.
“We keep these quite warm to incubate them,” the Akkad-Ur informed him. “We have fourteen left. We had more, but we have used them for various things. I find the inherent power of magic in the embryos to be most useful.”
The Akkad-Ur pulled out a large dagger. In front of Crucible’s horrified gaze, he stabbed the blade into the top of the egg, pulled it out, and stabbed again. He paid no attention to the albumen and blood that trickled out from the break. Carefully measuring and stabbing, he cut a circular hole in the egg and pried off the top. An attendant brought a large cauldron.
Grief stricken, Crucible could only stare as the Akkad-Ur tipped the egg over and poured out the contents into the cauldron. He choked back a cry as a bloodied, half-formed embryo slid out and fell with a splat into the ruined contents of its egg.
“There are thirteen more,” the Akkad-Ur said. “We will kill each one before your eyes if you do not obey my every command.”
Crucible glared at him, hate in his glowing eyes.
“Do we understand each other?”
The dragon forced a nod. What he had just seen left him speechless.
The Tarmak turned his back on the dragon and raised his dripping dagger over his head. “The feast of dragon blood will be prepared tonight! Who will partake of the offering?”
A roar answered him as every warrior around him raised his weapon and shouted.
The two Keena collected the heavy cauldron and carried it to a large fire. While Crucible watched, grim and shaking, they chopped the embryo to bits, mixed its body back into the egg, and added powders and liquids until they had made a foul looking soup. Other priests gathered and began chanting and beating drums while the ghastly soup cooked. The call of the drums sounded through the huge camp and brought the Tarmaks crowding around the clearing. When the potion was cooked to everyone’s satisfaction, the head priest pulled out the small, underdeveloped dragonet’s skull, filled the brain pan with liquid, and gave it to the Akkad-Ur.
Bathed in torchlight, the Akkad-Ur faced the east and raised the skull in salute. “To the godson, Amarrel, Keeper of Dragons, Champion of the White Flame, beloved of the goddess, we who are about to fight in your name, salute you!” So saying, he brought the skull to his lips and drank the contents in one long swallow. The Tarmaks howled their approval in time to the beating of the drums.
Crucible turned away. He heard the warriors rush forward to get their smaller shares of the potion, but he could not watch it. He didn’t know why they cooked and ate the baby dragon or what purpose it served for them. All he knew was the baby had been killed because of him, because he had been greedy for water and lost his temper. If Iyesta had been alive, she would never have forgiven him.
His thoughts went back to iron box. It was heavy and rather large. Where would the Tarmaks store thirteen of those things? And how did they keep them warm? He tried to dredge out of his memory everything he had seen in the massive column of Tarmaks, wagons, beasts of burden, horses, chariots, and the slave train, but he could not remember seeing anything large enough to haul thirteen of those big iron boxes. Maybe they were scattered throughout the column on various baggage wagons. He didn’t know. Maybe the Akkad-Ur was bluffing and only a had a few while the remaining eggs stayed safely in Missing City. It did seem rather ridiculous to bring fourteen dragon eggs on an invasion. But how could he know for sure? Did he want to risk any more of the eggs?
Linsha and the dragon eggs. Two invisible lengths of chain far stronger than anything the Tarmaks could forge from steel.
Growling deep in his throat, Crucible curled up in the shallows of the river and brooded on revenge.
21
“Excuse me, Lady Linsha, my name is Danian. I have been asked to see you.”
The Rose Knight looked up from her plate into two pairs of captivating eyes, one pair human and clouded beyond use, the other pair avian, beady black, and sparkling with intelligence. She felt Varia lean forward on her shoulder to stare at the other bird. The bird was a kestrel, a sleek and lovely predator.
The sight of the kestrel tweaked her memory, and she remembered. Leonidas had said something about a healer with a kestrel. He hadn’t mentioned the man was blind. Intrigued, Linsha set aside her plate and climbed carefully to her feet. To her surprise she looked down on the healer. He was somewhat short for a Plainsman with a build that was slender and ropey like a pine tree toughened and stunted by the desert wind. His dark hair was cut short and his skin was deeply tanned.
The evening meal was almost over and the tribal bards and clan storytellers were preparing for the evening’s entertainment. The feast had not been fancy, but the two tribes who had hosted it had worked hard to prepare a satisfying and hearty meal for the day’s newcomers. It was tribal custom to start any gathering with a feast and songs that lasted far into the night before a large meeting was called. Linsha appreciated the food, and she knew the storytellers and singers would regale the crowd with war songs and tales of great bravery to excite their minds for coming battle. In truth, she didn’t want to hear them. Perhaps she was getting too old for battles, but she had long ago given up looking for glory among the hacked and maimed bodies on the field.
“Healer,” she said to Danian, “I don’t know what you can do to help my ankle. The injury is several days old. But if you would like to leave this crowded place and come to our camp, I would be pleased to talk to you.”
He cocked his head as if listening to something then nodded. “I will tell Wanderer I am leaving and we will go.”
She watched him with interest as he wove his way unerring through the busy, crowded space under the tree set aside for feasting. If she hadn’t seen the milky fog that obscured his eyes, she would never have guessed
