straight and tall.
Of course, like the cultists, she was crazy in her fashion. In certain circumstances, it was evidently an advantage.
She turned to their escort. “You will present me to the wyrm,” she said.
The dragonkin stared at her. “To Eshcaz?” it asked, plainly astonished that anyone would seek to approach the red when he was in such a vile humor.
“If that is his name,” she said. “It is why you brought us here, is it not?”
The hulking dragonkin shrugged, a gesture that tossed its wings and made them rustle. “Come, then.”
They all tramped deeper into the chamber. Anton noticed he was starting to hyperventilate, and forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.
CHAPTER 8
As they approached Eshcaz, wending their way through the kneeling, toiling slaves, Tu’ala’keth realized the air was growing warmer. The dragon’s body radiated heat like a bed of coals, and his blank golden eyes glowed like twin suns. He was so gigantic-She scowled and ordered herself not to feel the dread and awe that gnawed at her composure. The emissary of Umberlee mustn’t quail before any creature, even this one.
Soon enough, Eshcaz twisted his head around to glare at her. The white-haired man studied her with curiosity and calculation in his narrowed eyes. She could see now that his dark robe was in fact wine-red, and reckoned he must be the “wearer of purple,” human master of the enclave, but subservient to the “sacred” dragons nonetheless.
“I brought a waveservant,” the dragonkin called, “and… uh… some prisoner.”
“Greetings, Lord Eshcaz,” said Tu’ala’keth. “I am indeed a waveservant, the keeper of Umberlee’s temple in Myth Nantar, in Seros beneath the sea. I bring gifts and a message from the goddess.”
The red made a rumbling sound. It might have been a chuckle. “Give me the gifts first.”
“As you wish.” She relieved Anton of his burdens then emptied the sea bags to make a glittering, clinking pile of coin and gems, topped with Anton’s red cape. The greatsword, however, she set aside. She remained convinced it partook of Fury’s essence. Thus, it belonged on Umberlee’s altar, or in the hands of a warrior devoted to her service.
Eshcaz stared at the gold and jewels like a starving creature regarding food. His eyes shined brighter, and his forked tongue flickered forth as if to taste the treasure.
“This too is a gift,” said Tu’ala’keth. She shoved Anton stumbling forward. “He is one of your enemies, a Turmian spy. He discovered your whereabouts and planned to muster a host to attack you. By the grace of Umberlee, I made him captive before he could report to his superiors. Accordingly, you are safe.”
“I’m always ‘safe,’” growled Eshcaz. “Do you think any fleet or army could challenge me?”
“Now that she’s seen you in all your majesty,” said the wearer of purple, “I’m sure she doesn’t. Still, if things happened as she claims, she’s at least spared us some inconvenience. Now, I suspect, she’s going to ask for something in return.”
“It is not what I ask,” she said. “It is what the Queen of the Depths commands.” She began to tell them of the dragon flight menacing Seros and of their role in its obliteration. The slaves’ chisels clanked and scraped in the background.
It didn’t take her long to realize that, despite the enchantment still in place to heighten her powers of persuasion, her declaration wasn’t having the desired effect. Eshcaz, the wearer of purple, and the dragonkin officer all peered at her as if she were babbling nonsense. Anton gave her a sardonic look that said, I warned you.
Refusing to let it rattle her, she kept her tone cool and matter-of-fact as she pressed on to the end. For after all, she hadn’t expected them to accede immediately. It would take some palaver back and forth.
“Waveservant,” said the wearer of purple. “I regret the devastation of your home, but you must understand…” He spread his hands. “To put it bluntly, we’re on the side of the dragons. All of them.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You have no way of reaching out to dragon eels, dragon turtles, and their ilk. They don’t figure in your plans and prophecies.”
“They may,” the human replied. “Even we don’t know the full extent of the First-Speaker’s designs. He may indeed shepherd some of the undersea wyrms to us before we’re through. Indeed, I have good reason to anticipate it. But even if he doesn’t, we could never conspire to harm any dragon. We venerate them.”
Eshcaz snorted, suffusing the air with a sulfurous haze. “Compared to me, Diero, such fishy things are vermin, as is every lesser wyrm slithering about these caves. Your true purpose is to serve and ‘venerate’ me, and I suggest you keep it ever in your mind.”
Diero bowed. “I do, Sacred One.”
Tu’ala’keth felt a thrill of hope. “Do I understand, Lord Eshcaz, that you have no objection to helping Seros?”
“None… in principle.” The red leered, and she realized he was toying with her. “But I see no advantage in it, either. My servants have more important work to do.”
“I have called upon you in the name of the greatest of the powers of darkness, whom we both serve in our fashions.”
“You aren’t listening. I bow to no one and nothing. Others serve me or perish.”
“You are proud,” she said, “and given your strength, it is proper that you should be. But surely your long life has made you wise as well. Wise enough to understand that even the mightiest of dragons ought not to offend the cruelest, most implacable goddess of Fury.”
“I see no goddess hereabouts.”
“Then open your eyes. She stands here with me.”
“I don’t care if she does. She has no dominion over me. I’m a creature of air, stone, and most of all, flame. Let her appear, and I’ll boil her to steam.”
“As long as you live on an island, you sit in her hand. She need only close it to crush you.”
“I’m bored with this,” said Eshcaz. “Someone, take that trident away from her and tie her up. I’ve never eaten a shalarin. I believe I’ll have her for supper.”
Tu’ala’keth could scarcely comprehend that matters had gone so disastrously wrong. But when her escort lifted its spear to club her with the shaft, the threat jarred her into action.
“Stop!” she cried. The reptile froze in place long enough for her to drive the trident into its guts. She yanked the weapon free. The dragonkin toppled.
She pivoted, seeking the next threat, and didn’t have to look far. Half a dozen other dragonkin were advancing on her, whips and batons at the ready. Braided leather struck at her. She jumped to the side, and cracking, the lash missed.
Anton ran toward the greatsword where it lay on the floor. Perhaps he had some desperate hope of using the preternaturally keen edge to cut his bonds. A dragonkin diverted its attention from Tu’ala’keth for the moment necessary to bash him over the head. Anton collapsed and lay motionless, blood flowing from his scalp.
Tu’ala’keth cast about, seeking a way out of the circle of dragonkin closing in on her, and beyond that, a way of escaping the entire situation. Thus far, she could see neither.
She brandished her trident above her head and bellowed words of power in as theatrical a manner as possible. Maybe the aura of grandeur in which she’d previously cloaked herself made the display intimidating, for the reptiles balked for a moment, giving her precious time to conjure.
Then, however, they scuttled forward once more.
Whips surged through the air, too many for her to keep to the precise, demanding measures of the spell and dodge them all as well. Lashes slammed her, staggered her, split her skin.
Ignore the pain. Articulate the prayer.
Magic rustled through the cave with a sound like a breaking wave, and darkness followed in its wake. Even she, with her sensitive deepwater eyes, couldn’t see through the heightened gloom, nor, she was certain, could the dragonkin.
The difference was that, knowing the shadow was coming, she’d fixed the precise location of one of her foes
