lightly between the eyes with a single fingernail.
The captain’s gray skin flayed wide, and blood oozed from the wound.
The captain struggled to retain control, but his wrath would not let him. He trembled and shook from head to foot, as if straining to keep from lashing out.
He should have showed no emotion at all.
What a waste, the Death Lord thought, realizing that he would have to kill the soldier. Then the Death Lord uttered a small curse.
With a sound of shredding, the captain’s flesh began to rip from his body. Skin peeled away like parchment. His robes and armor were rent as if by some great beast.
There in the pale light, the Death Lord suddenly glimpsed runes upon the creature’s pale skin-runes of strength, speed, stamina, and bloodlust.
Ah, the Death Lord realized, our master is experimenting with some new magic. He must have sent these reinforcements only hours ago!
That seemed almost impossible. They would have had to run hundreds of leagues in a single night. But the Death Lord could not deny the evidence.
And I, he thought, have killed one of her special tools. I will have to hide the deed, for it is too late to stop.
Again and again the tearing came. The captain roared and fell to his knees, naked, while skin continued to flay, exposing fat and muscle. In a moment he pitched forward and lay silently twitching as the peeling continued.
The Death Lord peered upward. A layer of clouds sealed the heavens, blocking even the starlight. Upon the mount, just four miles away, Luciare shone with intense brightness, lit by lesser spirits.
The Death Lord had far more than he needed in the way of armaments, men, and spells to take the castle. There would never be a better time for a bloodbath.
A MEETING OF THE MINDS
A mastiff is bred for battle. The spinner dog is bred to turn a wheel. The beagle is bred to hunt rabbits and foxes. But what was I bred for?
Reason tells me that I have no purpose in life-that I am only the byproduct of my father’s lust and my mother’s want for affection.
But my heart whispers that I am free to choose my own purpose and to create my own destiny.
Horns blared throughout Luciare, clear horns as piercing as the cold of a mid-winter’s night, horns that told a tale of wyrmlings toiling up the slopes of the mountain.
Alun raced down the hallways to the lower levels. As he did, he heard shouts. “Warlord Madoc has returned! He stopped the wyrmlings at Cantular!”
Alun could hardly believe the good news.
The city was shut. Huge slabs of rock had been brought to seal every portico, every window. Through the hard work of thousands, the city’s defenses had been repaired in only a day. From outside, the stones fit so cleanly that it would be hard even to tell where the openings had been.
Inside the castle, light and life were everywhere. Children had been put to work lighting extra thumb-lanterns and placing them in the lower corridors where the wyrmlings would first enter. The stark white walls reflected the light, making the halls almost as light as day.
Flowers were strewn upon the floor, fresh leaves of rose and lavender and pennyroyal, so that a sweet scent filled the city. With each step, Alun perfumed the halls, and seeds were strewn beside the flowers-poppy and bean, wheat and rye.
It made the footing all that more treacherous.
Alun gained the lowest levels and had to fight his way past warriors in order to reach the portal.
Outside Warlord Madoc and his sons could be seen marching up the city streets now, capes flapping behind them, faces grim, only moments ahead of the wyrmling hordes. Crowds of warriors cheered them as triumphant heroes. Alun could see the wyrmlings racing up the mountain road, just moments behind, but Madoc was safely within the city walls.
Last of all among the returning heroes, came the Emir of Dalharristan, head lowered in humility. There were so few troops returning, Alun saw, that this could not really be celebrated as a victory.
“Ten thousand wyrmlings they slew!” someone shouted. “They died on the bridge of Cantular.”
Madoc trudged up to the main gate and made to pass Alun. “Milord,” Alun begged, “if I may have a moment?”
Madoc glared. “Is it important?”
“I have news that you should hear,” Alun suggested, “before you see the king.”
Madoc considered a moment, as if nothing that Alun could say would be more urgent than his own report to the king. Then he grabbed Alun by the sleeve and ushered him from the hall into the first living chamber that they reached. It had been a stately room for some merchant who did not want to travel far to get into the city. It was spacious and elegantly appointed. Now it was empty, the valuables hastily removed, the merchant having fled to higher-and presumably safer-quarters.
“What is so important?” Madoc demanded as he closed the door.
“High King Urstone tried to exchange Princess Kan-hazur for his son, and the wyrmlings cheated him. They took the princess, and gave nothing in return.”
“The king was a fool,” Madoc said. “Still, we can take comfort in one thing-the princess will not live out the week.”
“What do you mean?”
Madoc smiled. “My men have been poisoning her food with shavings of red-wort root for years. It will not harm her until she stops eating it.”
Alun considered. He wasn’t sure that his people could survive the night. But if they did, what would happen once Emperor Zul-torac discovered this act of treachery?
He’ll hunt us down to the very last woman and child, Alun thought. Between Urstone’s folly and Madoc’s treachery, we are doomed.
What had Daylan said? Hadn’t he said that there was but a hair’s difference between the wyrmlings and mankind? Madoc seemed little better than Zul-torac at that moment.
So much evil in the world comes upon us from poor leaders, Alun thought. Why was it my fate to be caught between these two?
We suffer them, he realized. We, the people, suffer them. We forgive their stupidity and their small- mindedness. We follow them into battles that should not be. We accept their flattery and petty bribes-when we would be better off to sweep them away, like flies from our dinner table.
“So,” Madoc said. “What do the people think of this debacle?”
Alun tried to think fast. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to support Warlord Madoc anymore. But Alun had the habit of telling the truth, and it came easiest to his lips. “There are many who blame him for this attack, saying that he sold his kingdom for a dream. There are those who believe he should be removed from the throne!”
The words of treason came to his tongue, yet his heart was not in it. He almost felt as if he stood outside himself, listening to someone else speak.
“Are any of his own warriors saying it?” Madoc asked.
“Some,” Alun admitted. “Still, the king has strong supporters, and there are those that love him. It would be foolish to come out openly against him.
“There is something more,” Alun said. “The king has shown favor to Fallion Orden, the wizard who merged our two worlds. He plans to do it again, binding many worlds into one. If he does, many people, folks like me who
