'No!' he wailed. 'No! No! No!'
She pulled her dagger out and held it, ready to fight him off. Master Halnian surged to his feet, his eyes still mad, his veins still protruding above his skin like strings pulling his overtaxed muscles into action. His hands moved swiftly and another spell started to build there-uneven and erratic.
'You are one of them!' he said. 'You are one of them oneofthem oneofthem!' His voice dissolved into a murmur that became the verbal component of the spell. A column of light shot upward, piercing the tower floors and continuing into the sky.
'Oh Hells!' Cassian said. 'Get out, get out!' He grabbed Shava by the hand and shoved Tennora ahead of him down the stairs.
'What's he doing?' Tennora shouted over the sudden roar of The first of the meteors struck when they reached the landing in front of the library. The tower jolted and threw Cassian and Shava to their knees. Tennora fell back against the wall and grabbed hold of the window ledge as a second shock rattled through the stones of the tower. The sound of Master Halnian's sobbing laughter echoed through the stairwell, and the plaster of the ceiling sifted down like heavy snow. They'd never make it down the spiralling stairs in time.
'Quickly!' Tennora shouted, pulling Shava and Cassian in turn to their feet. 'Cass, get us out the window.'
Cassian did as he was told, pulling a wand from his pocket. They climbed up beside him on the windowsill as a third and fourth shock hit the tower. 'Yuettfawellsevell,' he said, and all three leaped.
Tennora's heart caught in her throat as the wind whipped her hair free of its braid and the ground surged up to meet them. Cassian reached out and grabbed her by the hand. She clung to him as if he could anchor her.
The spell that surrounded Cassian engulfed both Tennora and Shava and buoyed them just as they reached the ground. They landed as if they'd done no more than leaped off a step, but both women, never having experienced such a spell, landed on their knees.
'Hells and devils,' Shava panted. 'What's wrong with him?'
Tennora pulled herself to her feet. 'He's been taking something. A smoke. I think it's some kind of-'
A piece of the granite casing, its polished pink and gray surface scorched and crumbling into gravel, slammed into the ground, peeling up the mat of grass. Smaller chunks followed, skidding along the garden's turf. Tennora risked a look up as she scrambled back out of their reach.
The meteors had stopped, but the tower was coming down. It leaned toward them at a precarious angle. The casing had been knocked out of true and, freed of its mortar, rained down on them. If Master Halnian had another fit, threw out another spell, the building wouldn't stand a chance.
'We have to get out of the way!' Shava cried.
'But Master Halnian-' Cassian said.
Tennora sprinted toward the gate. The guards were rushing in, trying-no doubt-to rescue Master Halnian. And best of luck to them-even if they could get inside the tower, even if Master Halnian was still alive, they still had to contend with Master Halnian himself.
'Outside his study,' Shava said. 'Quickly!'
'And carefully!' Tennora added over her shoulder. Whatever Master Halnian had been breathing, he wasn't entirely in his right mind. She dashed through the gates as a squadron of the Watch clattered in, bellowing for someone in charge.
Very good luck to you if you find him, Tennora thought, and she added a little prayer to Tymora and fallen Mystra that Master Halnian had not been killed by his own spell or by the drug that smoldered in his brazier.
Behind her, Cassian kept calling her name, but she didn't look back. She ran into the streets of the South Ward, holding the gorget of the Songdragon to her chest and trying not to grin. It was, as her aunt would have said, a most inappropriate time to be elated.
THIRTEEN
Nestrix's consciousness swam near and darted away several times before she could grasp hold of it and pull herself from sleep. She swayed as she sat up, and took in her surroundings. She had awakened in a cold, dank room. No-a cage, she amended. She was surrounded by iron bars, and beyond that slick walls of mold-covered brick illumined in the meager light of a few caged glowballs. Vague shapes of boxes or trunks or furniture huddled in the shadows. The sound of rushing water thrummed from every direction. Water dripped on her head from a ceiling she couldn't see. The stormcloak she'd purchased hung around her neck, soaked through and tatter-edged when she felt along it. Someone had pulled out all the pins.
Her head was pounding and her throat was parched. She opened her mouth and tilted her head back to catch the water, then nearly spit it out at the foul, metallic taste. She made herself swallow and take a few more drops. Her mouth and throat burned.
She remembered the lightning breath, the brief moment when she felt as powerful as a summer storm-just before her pathetic body failed her. She gently prodded the blisters at the comers of her mouth.
Then she remembered why she had breathed the lightning she knew she couldn't handle.
Tennora… and the taaldarax.
Nestrix sprang to her feet, to the bars. She passed them one by one under her hands, searching for the door. It rattled when she grabbed it, but for all her shaking, it wouldn't budge.
Her stupid, useless eyes couldn't pierce the darkness, but she couldn't smell Tennora anywhere. Just the buttery must of old wood, the sharpness of rust, and the sweet putrescence of stagnant water. No wizard-thieves. No dokaal with inky fingers.
She slid down to her knees, alone in the dark.
She was at the mercy of the green taaldarax. How her heart had stopped when she'd thrown open the door. She'd expected to find Tennora hurt and cornered. She'd expected to find another of his lovacs looming over her.
But the taaldarax himself, even in the skin of a young man, was unmistakable. She didn't doubt he'd felt the same explosion of recognition-underneath that acrid, swampy smell of his were still the cool, dusty notes of a male dragon. Whatever he had looked like to Tennora and the other dokaal, Nestrix only saw the proud, sharp features of a young green, all horn and fang.
And arrogance-a dangerous arrogance.
She swallowed, trying to wet her mouth, and found herself thinking of her grandsire, Chendarixanath, a hoary old ulhar with a horn that could gouge a hole in a ship as it sailed. He had been a player in the great game, had still been playing when the Spellplague rolled over Faerun. Nestrix did not know what had become of him.
For a decade she had learned the game from him, curious and hungry for power at first, then bored and disinterested in its intricacies, at which point he chased her from his caverns. If she closed her eyes, she could remember watching Chendarixanath doling orders out to his lovacs and lecturing a younger, coltish version of her dragon self. She could remember the basic rules of the game, boomed out in guttural Draconic.
'First,' he said, 'you may not act against another player. Xorvintaal is about subtlety and patience. To cut another player out, you must trap them with their own movements.'
The green and his lovac had spoken as if she were a player, fully knowing she had already broken the most cardinal of rules. It did not bode well for her, she thought. Either he no longer suspected her of playing, or he was not so fond of following rules himself.
'Your pieces are your greatest asset,' Chendarixanath had said. 'And your greatest obstacle; a weakness in them is a weakness in you. Cull those you cannot trust.'
The man with the knives was clearly the lovac, the foremost of the green's pieces in Waterdeep. And yet it was the taaldarax who had attacked Tennora, when he should have ordered the lovac to put other pieces into play. Alert the Watch of a false crime. Imply the betrayal of some local criminals. Even hiring someone to hire an assassin would have been a reasonable, if artless, move.
But no. The green had disdained such thoughtful planning and chosen instead to make himself a piece in the game, making himself his greatest weakness. Her grandsire would have been disgusted.
'Half of the game is what you do,' he had said, 'but the true art is in the other half-what you force others to
