The Cerulean Storm

NINE ABALACH-RE

The cargo kank scratched at the white-crusted ground with all six claws, protesting Sadira’s command to halt. She did not begrudge the beast its impatience. The poor creature had not had water in more than five days, since the legion had started across the glaring salt flats of the Ivory Plain. Now, with the pollen of blade blossom, yellow fan, and other oasis flowers loading its bristly antennae, the insect could probably taste the water it had been denied for so long. The sorceress counted herself lucky that it obeyed at all.

Sadira had stopped two hundred paces from a ring-shaped knoll covered with slender saedra trees. The long-needled conifers grew with upraised boughs that resembled the arms of a sun-worshiping dwarf. Purple-flowered vines with long, yellow thorns grew twined around the boles, and beards of moss dangled from the branches.

On the hilltop ahead, two ranks of enemy warriors had formed a battle line among the trees. Most wore green tabards over yellow hemp kilts. In their hands they held square wooden shields and long throwing spears. Obsidian-spiked flails hung at their belts. Unarmed officers wearing light blue turbans stood along the line, interspersed at regular intervals.

“There must be two thousand of them,” Rikus observed, coming up behind her. Like Sadira, he led a cargo kank, and he carried young Rkard on his shoulders. “This worries me.”

Sadira nodded, and the mul walked to within two paces of her before stopping. This was as close as they had come during the last ten days, for the sorceress could not quite bring herself to forgive Rikus. When she had told him about Agis’s death, the mul’s first response had not been sorrow or even sympathy. He had wanted to know how they would manage without the noble. Sadira could not even bring herself to imagine life without Agis, and she had let her husband die without the thing he most desired, an heir to carry on the Asticles name. How could Rikus expect her to think about their future at a time like that?

Caelum stepped forward, placing himself between Rikus and Sadira. “That’s no raiding tribe,” the dwarf said. He reached up and took his son off Rikus’s shoulders. “It looks more like a legion.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Magnus. “A Raamin legion. When I was with the Sun Runners, we had to flee the city’s soldiers many times.”

“But we’re a good fifteen-day march south of Raam, with Gulg and Nibenay in between,” protested Sult Ltak. After the fight against the giants, Neeva had distributed the survivors of the Granite Company among the rest of Kled’s militia and had asked Sult to stay near her for special assignments. “What are Raamins doing here?”

“Borys sent them,” Rikus concluded. “I’ll bet he’s made the sorcerer-kings spread their armies all over the desert looking for us.”

“Whoever sent them, they’re between us and water,” said Neeva, also joining the group. “We’ll have to hope our warriors are strong enough to drive them out.”

Sadira looked back to inspect the legion. The three Kledan companies led the column, standing five abreast in thirty disciplined rows. The dwarves had removed their heavy armor and had strapped it across their backs to keep from being baked alive in the midday sun. Even this concession to the scorching heat had not saved them entirely, for they had flushed faces and glazed eyes.

The Tyrian humans looked even worse. They stood in a double column behind the dwarves, breathing in short, rapid gasps and leaning on each other for support. Those who owned armor had tied it into bundles and had dragged it along behind them, while many others had tried to shade themselves from the sun by stretching scraps of cloth over their heads. A few warriors were shifting from one leg to the other in a futile attempt to keep the hot ground from scorching their feet through the thin leather of their sandals. Most seemed too lethargic for such efforts, simply bracing themselves on their weapons and clenching their teeth against the pain of standing in one place.

Sadira saw a small group of stragglers coming up behind the legion, but beyond them nothing rose above the surface of the salt flat: not a boulder, not a single barren stem of spike-brush, not even the whirling wisps of a wind spout. The plain stretched clear to the horizon, glaring white, utterly level. As the legion had crossed that blistering, blinding expanse, the scouts had not found a single trace of animal dung, had not seen so much as a beetle scuttling across the sparkling ground, had not heard the call of even one gluttonous kes’trekel waiting for them to die. There had been nothing, no sign of any other living creature.

Sadira faced Rikus and Neeva. “Should we fight now or rest for a while?”

The sorceress did not worry that their foes would attack first. No commander would leave a defensive position on a hillside to advance across the open salt flat, especially when he had water and the enemy did not. If they wished, Sadira knew, they could even make camp in the full confidence that the Raamins would wait for them to make the initial assault.

After considering the sorceress’s question, Neeva said, “Resting won’t do us any good. The more time we spend in the sun, the thirstier our warriors will be when the fight starts.”

Rikus nodded his agreement, then turned to face the legion. Before he could say anything, Rkard grabbed his hand. “Rikus, the Scourge!”

The boy pointed at Rikus’s scabbard, a cylinder of bleached bone intricately carved with the mul’s life story. Tyr’s freedmen had presented it to him in gratitude for throwing the first spear against Kalak.

The mul frowned. “What of it?”

Rkard lifted the scabbard. The tip of the cylinder had cracked open, and a short length of the Scourge’s broken point was protruding through the hole.

“That’s strange.” Rikus took the scabbard. “But thanks for noticing, Rkard. Broken or not, I’d hate to lose the tip of my sword.”

The mul pulled his sword out of the scabbard, then gasped in astonishment. The broken blade no longer ended in a jagged barb. Instead, it curved to a sharp point at about two-thirds its original length.

“What’s happened?” Rikus gasped.

“It’s growing back!” Rkard concluded.

Rikus shook his head. “Steel doesn’t grow.”

“Enchanted steel might,” said Sadira. She pointed at the old tip, still protruding from the scabbard. “And that would explain why the broken piece is being pushed out of the scabbard.”

The mul rubbed his cheek and studied his revitalized blade. Finally, he shrugged. “What do I know?” he asked. “I’m just glad to have it returning to normal.”

“As are we all,” said Caelum.

Rikus tipped his scabbard down and let the broken end of the Scourge’s blade slide out. “Since you kept me from losing this, why don’t you take it?” he asked Rkard. “Maybe we can make it into a dagger for you.”

The boy accepted the gift with a gaping mouth. Even if the blade had not been part of the Scourge, it was steel-and in the metal-poor world of Athas, that fact alone made it a weapon of considerable value.

“Rkard, have you forgotten what to say when someone gives you a gift?” asked Neeva.

The boy blushed. “I’ll cherish it as I cherish your friendship,” he said, bowing to Rikus.

To Sadira’s surprise, Rikus remembered the proper response. “Let it be a symbol of our trust.”

Rikus bowed to Rkard then faced the legion. “Tyrians, flank the dwarves, forming a two-rank line!” he yelled. “We must fight before we drink!”

The warriors quickly spread out to both sides of the dwarves. Most of those who had been dragging armor left it lying on the salty ground. In the scorching heat of the Ivory Plain, few humans were strong enough to carry the extra weight into battle without collapsing from heat exhaustion.

As the Tyrians scurried into position, Neeva turned to her warriors. “Form assault wedges!” she called. “I’ll lead the Iron Company. Yalmus Ltak will take the Boulder Company. Caelum, hold the Bronze Company in reserve.”

Unlike the Tyrians, the hardy dwarves did not abandon their armor. Each warrior helped the dwarf to his front unfasten the equipment and put it on. Within a few seconds, the three companies were fully armored in helmets and breastplates. The gleaming steel reflected the sunlight so brightly that Sadira could hardly bear to look at the Kledans.

“That glare will trouble the Raamins.” Sadira used her dark hand to shield her eyes.

“Not as much as our axes,” promised Sult, cinching down his breastplate.

The Iron and Boulder Companies arranged themselves into wedge-shaped formations, with the points aimed at the center of the Raamin lines. The Bronze Company moved twenty paces back and formed a compact square, each man standing straight and motionless in the blistering heat. Sadira was tempted to suggest they use their broad-bladed axes to shade each other, but thought better of it when she remembered that all Kledans venerated the sun.

“What shall I do?” asked Magnus. “I can’t kill all their templars, but I should be able to take out a few.”

“You stay here with Caelum and Sadira,” said Rikus.

“But all those Raamins wearing turbans are templars,” Magnus objected.

“I know,” Rikus replied. “That’s why I want you and Sadira to stay back. You’ll have a better view and can help where you’re needed most.” The mul looked to Sadira, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“I understand what you want,” Sadira replied. She knew he was hoping she would say something kind or encouraging, but she could not bring herself to do it. The anger inside was too powerful, perhaps because it was something she did not quite understand. When the mul did not turn away, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be going?”

Rikus spun on his heel and started toward the oasis. Without saying a word, he lifted the Scourge and waved the legion after him.

Neeva eyed the sorceress for a moment. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him?” she asked. “Rikus isn’t the one who killed Agis.”

“No, but he’s still glad to have my other husband gone,” Sadira said. “He’s only upset now because I miss Agis more than he thought I would.”

Neeva closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “Is that what you think?”

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong,” Sadira countered.

“I shouldn’t have to.”

Neeva looked away and waved the Iron and Boulder Companies forward. Before leaving, she looked back to Rkard. “Stay with the Bronze Company-and no heroics this time.”

The boy frowned, but nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

Neeva smiled, then stepped into her place at the back corner of the Iron Company.

With Caelum and Rkard, Sadira watched the warriors of Tyr and Kled advance. Seen from the rear, the joint legion reminded Sadira of an ungainly bird. The gleaming triangles of the dwarves represented the body, feathered with silvery breastplates of steel. The human flanks were its wings, ragged, gangly, and barren of plumage. It was a strange creature, born equally of desperation and hope. The sorceress hoped it would prove both savage enough and smart enough to slay its prey.

The formation had traveled about a quarter of the distance to the oasis when a mad cackle rang out from the center of the knoll’s summit. Though the voice was female, it sounded more like the bloodthirsty call of a wyvern.

“Who was that?” asked Sadira.

Magnus shrugged. “Even the Sun Runners have not run afoul of every official in Raam,” he said. “It could be a high templar-or even the sorcerer-queen herself.”

Caelum pushed his son toward the Bronze Company. “Take the kanks and hide yourself behind the formation,” he ordered. “And remember what your mother said about heroics.”

Rkard took Sadira’s switch and tapped the antennae of the two cargo kanks. They clacked their mandibles in frustration but slowly turned to follow the boy toward the Bronze Company.

“Hiding won’t save you, child.” The words rolled across the salt flat as clear and distinct as the lyrics to one of Magnus’s ballads, though the voice was aloof and cold in a way that the windsinger’s could never be.

Rkard started to turn around, but Caelum yelled, “Don’t listen to her, Son. Go on!”

As the young mul slipped behind the ranks of the Bronze Company, Sadira searched the oasis hill for the speaker. At the same time, she raised her hand to her mouth and caught a wisp of her shadowy breath, then faced the yalmus of the Bronze Company.

“I know you and your warriors prefer sunlight,” she called. “But stay beneath this shield. It’ll protect you from Raamin magic.”

With that, she uttered her incantation and blew the black shadow toward the reserves. The wisp floated over to the Bronze Company, stretching into a long, dark cord as it moved. It dropped to the ground in front of the yalmus and snaked its way around the formation. When it had formed a complete square enclosing Rkard and the dwarves, a gray pall crept over the entire company.

The dwarven warriors cast nervous glances into the white sky, muttering and fidgeting. Several even stepped out of line-until their yalmus chased them back into place with a sharp command.

Again, a cruel laugh rolled across the salt flat. A chorus of Raamin voices cried out in fear, then a small section of the enemy line grasped their chests and dropped to the ground. Sadira studied the slope behind the fallen warriors carefully, looking for the cause of the men’s sudden deaths. She found only half a dozen saedra trees and several clumps of silverfan. There was not even a blue-turbaned templar standing in the vicinity.

“Did you kill those Raamins?” Magnus asked. Sadira shook her head.

“Then what-”

Before Caelum could ask his question, a seething orb of white radiance shot out from the gap in the Raamin lines. It skimmed over the legion’s flank, vaporizing four Tyrian warriors as it passed. Sadira and Magnus barely managed to duck before it blazed over their own heads, a stench like burning tar riding its wake. The ball crashed into the front rank of the Bronze Company and exploded in a blinding flash. The dwarves shouted in anger and alarm, but no one cried out in pain.

The yalmus ordered his warriors to form their ranks. As the spots cleared from her vision, Sadira saw that her gray pall remained intact and had protected the dwarven ranks from injury. Still, the Bronze Company had fallen into disarray. Most of the dwarves had dropped their axes and were blindly trying to find their weapons again, while many others were simply rubbing their eyes and shaking their heads. Rkard stood in the center of the jumble, his eyes pinched shut and his hands clutching the sword shard Rikus had given him.

“By the wind!” Magnus gasped. “That leaves no doubt that Abalach-Re is with them.”

“She is,” Sadira said. “Only a sorcerer-king-or -queen, in this case-could and would call upon the life force of her own soldiers to cast a spell.”

The sorceress turned around to study the area near the collapsed Raamins. She saw no one standing nearby. The sorcerer-queen was using magic to hide herself.

Sadira reached into her pocket and withdrew a bead of amber, crushing the golden gem between her ebony fingers. She tossed the powder toward the oasis and uttered her incantation. A huge billow of flaxen mist formed above the gap Abalach had created in her own lines. A thunderclap crashed over the hillside, and the cloud split, unleashing a deluge of yellow beads as large as melons.

As each globe landed, it exploded in a golden spray that coated anything it contacted. The Raamins cursed and yelled, trying to scrape the sticky syrup from their bodies. The stuff hardened almost immediately. Soon hundreds of saffron pillars covered the hillside, each encasing the astonished form of a suffocating warrior. None of the dark shapes trapped inside the diaphanous columns appeared to be a sorcerer-queen.

A great cheer rose from the Tyrian warriors, for Sadira’s spell had done more than a little to offset the advantage of the Raamins’ defensive position.

“Double-time advance!” called Neeva.

The dwarves broke into a steady run, their formations as tight as ever. The Tyrians began to trot, though their ranks loosened as they picked up speed.

Near the top of the oasis, a huge circle of saedras turned brown and dropped their needles. Before the needles hit the ground, the red bark darkened to black, and the barren boughs began to droop. The roots released their hold on the hillside. Tree after tree crashed to the ground, smashing Raamin warriors and raising a large cloud of dust.

The sorceress did not see anyone nearby who could have caused the destruction, though she knew it had to be the result of a defiler drawing the energy for a spell. Since she could not see any other sorcerer in the vicinity, Sadira thought it was most likely Abalach-Re herself who had destroyed the trees. Sorcerer-queens could summon spell energy from plants, as well as from men and animals.

Sadira reached into her robe, whispering, “Whoever you are, this will be the last time you defile an oasis.”

Abalach surprised the sorceress by answering. “I spoiled a thousand oases before you were ever born, girl.” Her voice was a mere whisper in Sadira’s ears. “And I’ll spoil another thousand after you die.”

At the top of the hill, a pair of blue streaks flared under the dirt. They shot down the slope, glimmers of azure light flashing up every time they passed beneath a stone. Like a pair of sapphire arrows, the bolts sped out beneath the salt flat, each racing straight toward one of the dwarven companies. When they reached the warriors leading the two wedges, a tremendous crackle echoed over the plain. The dwarves went rigid. Their helmets and breastplates erupted into showers of sparks. Dancing cords of energy leaped from their torsos to the men behind them. These warriors also stiffened, and their armor exploded into blue embers. In an instant, the crackling waves of energy fanned out over both companies of dwarves.

At the back of the Iron Company, Neeva screeched and flung the steel battle-axe from her hands. The rest of the Kledans, trapped inside their metal breastplates, were not so lucky. They remained completely rigid and motionless, blue energy cords dancing over their armor and weapons. Soon, their flesh blackened and began to smoke. One after the other, the dwarves burst into flame and disintegrated into piles of ash. An instant later, all that remained of the Kledan companies were two piles of soot-stained armor and Neeva, standing alone and dazed on the salt flat.

Caelum started to call the Bronze Company forward, but Sadira stopped him. “Leave the reserves here, or Abalach will use the same spell against them,” she said. “You and Magnus reinforce the Tyrian flanks with your magic. I’ll fight from here-and guard Rkard.”

The dwarf nodded, then he and the windsinger rushed forward. Sadira considered casting a spell to protect the Tyrian troops from Abalach but quickly decided against it. If she spent her energies shielding while the sorcerer-queen attacked, Rikus’s assault would stall against the superior force waiting on the hill. To win the battle now, she had to reduce the number of Raamins facing her husband, while also putting Abalach on the defensive or killing her outright.

Sadira pulled a lump of sulfur and a pinch of bat guano from her pocket. She rolled the two components together into a viscid mass and held it in the palm of her hand. When she spoke her incantation, the wad slowly expanded, emitting a stream of gray, foul-smelling smoke.

As the gummy ball enlarged, the defiled area of the knoll surged upward, forming a huge dome that continued to swell. When the hillside looked ready to explode, Sadira whispered a mystic syllable. The viscid mass she was holding vanished in a billow of smoke.

On the hillside, the swollen dome abruptly collapsed in on itself. The slope trembled, and a murmur of concern rustled through the Raamin ranks. The boughs of the saedra trees began to quiver. From deep inside the knoll sounded an angry rumble, and tongues of flame shot from beneath the defiled ground. Then a mighty explosion shook the entire oasis, hurling a huge section of the knoll into the sky.

A cloud of ash and dust spread over the salt flat, casting a gray pall over the white plain. Splintered trees and Raamin bodies rained down with sharp cracks and soft thumps, most landing within twenty or thirty paces of the hill. Rikus waved his sword, and, with a great cheer, his warriors broke into a full sprint. The cry even seemed to rouse Neeva from her shock, for she picked up her battle-axe and rushed to join the charge.

Rikus and his followers began to leap over the bodies and saedra trees littering the approach to the hill. Crackling thunderbolts and sputtering fireballs rained down from the slope above. Tyrian warriors fell all along the line. The black streamers of smoke that rose from their bodies were a grisly contrast to the white salt upon which they lay.

Catching up to Rikus’s charge, Caelum and Magnus answered the Raamins with their own spells. The dwarf sprayed the slope with a crimson beam that set fire to anything it touched. The windsinger summoned a ferocious southern gale. The squall scoured the hillside with an airborne wall of salt, shredding clothing and flesh alike.

A strand of sparkling green fiber appeared on the ground between Rikus’s charging legion and the base of the hill. The right flank reached the green strand first. As the warriors leaped across the line, a loud crack reverberated beneath their feet. The filament became a gaping chasm with a bright emerald glow shining up from its depths. The Tyrians screamed, and a lime-colored tongue of vapor shot up to engulf each one of them. The entire flank simply dissolved, their bodies eaten away even before they fell out of sight.

Magnus stopped at the edge and tried to peer down into the fissure. A green tendril shot up and lapped at his thick hide. He stumbled away, clutching at his throat and coughing.

At the other end of the Tyrian line, where the hill curved away slightly, the warriors had not been so close to the chasm when it opened. Most had managed to stop at the brink and were dragging themselves away on their hands and knees, coughing and choking while tendrils of green vapor lapped at their feet.

From her vantage point across the salt flat, Sadira did not see Rikus among the survivors. She ran her gaze over the tide of crawling refugees and located Neeva and Caelum, but there was no sign of the mul. The sorceress felt a cold lump form in her stomach. Rikus had been leading the charge at his end of the line. Had he fallen into the chasm?

Determined to prevent Raam’s sorcerer-queen from casting any more such spells, Sadira pulled a pinch of powdered glass from her pocket. After a moment of searching, she spotted another circle of Raamin bodies near the summit of the hill. It was directly above the chasm’s right end, and Sadira felt certain that it marked the place Abalach had been standing when she had drawn the energy for her last spell.

Sadira tossed the powdered glass into the air and spoke her incantation. As it dropped to the ground, the silvery dust scintillated in the light of the crimson sun. On the hillside, sparkles of red light flashed over the withered saedras. The glimmers quickly coalesced near the heart of the despoiled ground, outlining the distant shape of a mature woman dressed in flowing robes.

The figure turned toward Sadira. “You’ve found what you’re looking for,” said Abalach’s voice. “What do you think you’ll do with me?”

Sadira reached for a spell ingredient.

Abalach barked a sharp command in the language of her city. The Raamin warriors rushed down the slope, their spears ready to throw across the chasm at the retreating Tyrians. For a moment, the sorcerer-queen watched her army charge.

Then, as Sadira pulled a small glass rod from her pocket, Abalach tossed something into the air. A cloud of red smoke billowed into existence and swallowed her figure.

Recognizing the basic nature of the spell, Sadira realized instantly that her foe was using magic to change positions. Still holding the glass rod, she ran her eyes over the knoll, searching for Abalach’s new location.

Sadira saw that the Raamins had reached the bottom of the hill. As she watched, they ran up to the edge of the chasm and hurled their spears across the green abyss. Most of the shafts clattered harmlessly to the ground, but enough found their marks to fill the plain with death cries.

A similar squall of screams erupted from the enemy ranks. Green tongues of vapor began to rise from the chasm again, this time licking at Raamin warriors as a whirl of flashing blades and kicking feet knocked them into the abyss.

With a start, Sadira realized that the attacker was Rikus. The mul had landed on the other side of the gap.

Given the width of the chasm, the sorceress could not imagine that he had been able to leap across. It seemed more likely that in his typical brash fashion, Rikus had been charging too far ahead of the legion and had gotten separated when Abalach’s spell had created the abyss. For now, that was proving a misfortune for the Raamins, but Sadira did not know how long her husband could continue to fight so savagely.

Already, it seemed to the sorceress that he was tiring. He had stopped advancing and now allowed the Raamins to come to him. Sadira could see at least twenty of them moving toward her husband, whirling spiked flails above their heads. The sorceress pointed the glass rod in their direction and spoke the words to her spell. A bolt of energy arced over the chasm and came down in the center of the advancing Raamins. There was a tremendous bang, and bodies flew in all directions. To Sadira’s amazement, Rikus rushed his shocked enemies, sending them to their deaths twice as fast as before.

“Don’t be crazy, Rikus!” Sadira cried, knowing even the champion gladiator could not survive such odds. “Wait for help!”

“There won’t be any, stupid girl.” The voice belonged to Abalach, and this time it came from behind Sadira.

The sorceress felt a strange tingle deep within her belly. The entire Bronze Company gave a deep groan and dropped to the ground in a tremendous clanging of armor. The sensation in her stomach grew more severe, as if a cold hand had reached deep inside her to squeeze her entrails. She did not panic, for she had felt such pain before and knew what it meant: The life force was being drawn from her body.

Abalach had probably been waiting the entire battle for this moment. With all eyes turned toward the trouble at the front lines, it was the perfect opportunity for the sorcerer-queen to surprise the reserves with an attack from the rear.

Sadira spun around. She found a tangled mass of dwarves clutching at their stomachs as their life forces were pulled from them. Some had managed to remain on their feet, though they had to brace themselves on their axes and seemed in imminent danger of falling. Others had fallen unconscious and already appeared close to death, with gray faces and sunken eyes. Most simply writhed on the ground, their panicked voices cursing the magic that would rob them of the chance to die with their steel buried in their enemies. Sadira saw no sign of the magical pall she had cast over the dwarves earlier, and she realized that Abalach-Re had been near the company long enough to dispel the magical shield.

In the middle of the confusion stood Rkard, gaping at the dying company with wide, frightened eyes and showing no sign of physical distress. In his hands he clutched the sword tip that Rikus had given him earlier-which Sadira assumed to be the source of his good fortune. Apparently, the shard afforded him the same protection that the Scourge bestowed on Rikus. As long as he held the enchanted steel, the sorcerer-queen could not harm the young mul with any sort of attack, whether physical, mental, or magical.

Thirty paces beyond the boy stood Abalach-Re. The Raamin queen was an ivory-skinned beauty, with peaked eyebrows and huge, round eyes as baleful as they were dark. Her narrow nose ended in a sharp point. She had full lips as red as rubies, a slender chin, and a neck so long and thin it was almost serpentine. The queen’s only weapon was a small scepter, which had an eerie green light glimmering deep within its obsidian pommel.

Abalach raised a slender finger and beckoned to Rkard. The claw at the end of the digit was as long as a dagger. “Come here, child,” she said, a forked tongue licking over her red lips. “I only want the banshees. I won’t hurt you.”

Rkard shifted his grip on the broken blade. “Liar.” Abalach’s eyes flared, and she stepped toward the boy. “Then I’ll come to you,” the queen said. “The banshees will arrive soon enough-when I start breaking your little bones.”

Sadira could not tell whether the threat was a bluff or if Abalach did not realize the nature of the shard in Rkard’s hands, but the sorceress did not want to put the matter to a test. She directed her palm at the pommel of the queen’s scepter, which she knew served as a sort of mystic lens. Through it, Abalach could pull the life force from men and animals, using it to power her mightiest spells.

Sadira forced a stream of the sun’s energy from her hand. The beam was almost invisible as it left her palm, a pink ripple in the hot desert air. With her attention fixed on Rkard, Abalach-Re did not notice the faint shimmer as she drew it, along with the life energy she was taking from Sadira, into her scepter’s pommel.

The beam sank into the obsidian ball with a loud hiss. A crimson light flared in the heart of the dark orb, and Sadira felt the outflow of her life force cease. The pommel burst into shards with a brilliant flash of scarlet, spraying jagged pieces of obsidian in all directions. A ball of scintillating lights hovered briefly at the end of the scepter, then sank into the salt-crusted soil like water.

Abalach-Re threw her useless scepter aside. She scowled at Sadira, then said, “That will not save the child-or you!”

The yalmus of the Bronze Company and two dozen warriors, all that remained conscious, pushed themselves to their feet. Looking pale and nauseated, they stepped forward and attacked. Their steel axes bounced off Abalach’s ivory flesh without opening a single gash.

The queen began to slap them aside, her claws ripping through their breastplates as though they were flesh. The yalmus landed at Rkard’s feet, his armor torn open to reveal a gory mess beneath. The young mul backed away, his eyes wide with horror as he watched Abalach savaging the rest of the company. Sadira started forward to protect him.

As soon as Rkard stepped away from the Bronze Company, two lumps of gnarled bone appeared at the boy’s sides. They did not arrive so much as wink into existence, emerging from empty air in the flicker of an eye. The figures were as large as giants and so twisted they could not even be called skeletons. One even lacked a head, though both had long gray beards dangling from where their chins should have been.

Abalach broke the last dwarf’s neck, then smirked up at the two apparitions. “Jo’orsh, Sa’ram!” she said. “Come.”

Sadira stepped between the banshees and the Raamin queen. “What do you want with them?”

It was one of the banshees who answered. “The Lens. Our magic hides it from the Dragon and his minions.”

“Only until Borys’s spirit lords finish with you,” said Abalach. The queen cast a spiteful glare at Sadira, then lashed out, her daggerlike claws arcing at the sorceress’s throat.

Sadira twisted away and ducked. The talons raked across her shoulder, tearing away wisps of black shadow. The sorceress struck back, her hands cupped together and glowing scarlet with the power of the sun. The fists caught Abalach square in the jaw. The queen’s head snapped back, and her feet came off the ground. She landed half a dozen paces away, among the dwarves she had killed earlier, and immediately started to rise.

Realizing there was no time to cast a spell, Sadira moved to attack again. Abalach locked gazes with her, and the image of a lirr appeared in the queen’s dark eyes. It resembled a large lizard with tough, diamond-shaped scales and a tail covered with thorny spines. Sadira realized instantly that the thing was a mental construct, that Abalach was attacking with the Way.

The lirr flared its magnificent neck fan and opened its pink gullet, then flashed across the space separating the two women. It tore into Sadira’s mind with such force that the sorceress cried out in pain and actually tumbled over backward, slamming the back of her skull into the salt plain.

The saurian appeared on the shadowy plain of Sadira’s intellect, then began to rip great gobs of spongy black matter from the ground. The sorceress’s head exploded into pain, and she could hardly believe that it was only her thoughts that the beast was gulping down. She had never felt a mental attack this powerful.

Nevertheless, remembering what her husband Agis had taught her, Sadira focused her thoughts on fighting the terrible beast. She opened a pathway to her spiritual nexus, imagining a dark cord running down to deep within her abdomen. She concentrated on the black matter of her mind and visualized it hardening into granite. A searing wave of energy rose from deep within her body. The shadowy material hardened into rock, catching the creature in the process of ripping away another large hunk of ground and encasing its claws in solid stone.

A mad cackle erupted from the beast’s throat. “How many wenches like you have I killed?” it chortled, speaking in Abalach’s voice. “A thousand years of battle, and you dare to think you can stop me!”

With that, the lirr rose to its hind legs, its trapped claws ripping away two great chunks of Sadira’s mind. White flashes of pain erupted all through the sorceress’s head. The beast dropped back down, smashing the rock encasing its talons, and began to tear away great chunks of black stone. Sadira heard someone screaming and realized it was she. She summoned more spiritual energy, hoping to counterattack, but the only thing that rose in response was a wave of bile.

The sorceress continued to fight, trying to create a wyvern or a baazrag to counter Abalach’s construct. She simply did not have the power. The lirr continued to rip through her mind until, at last, rays of white radiance began to flood her head, and she knew she would fall unconscious.

Then, from somewhere, she heard Rkard yell in anger as he attacked Abalach. The lirr screeched then went limp and faded away as rapidly as it had come. Sadira found herself alone inside her wounded mind, lost in a white fog of pain.

“Help!” the young mul called.

Though she did not remember closing them, Sadira opened her eyes. She found Abalach-Re five paces away, thrashing wildly and trying to shake young Rkard from her back. Sa’ram stood at her side. With the rigid shards of bone that served him as arms, the banshee was ineffectually trying to pluck the young mul off the Raamin queen.

Sadira pulled a tiny bead of silver from her pocket and yelled, “Rkard, let go!”

At the sound of her voice, Abalach spun around. Rkard opened his hand and sailed away, crashing down on an unconscious dwarf. He left the Scourge’s broken tip planted in the queen’s back.

Sadira spoke her incantation and flicked the silver bead at the shard, hoping to drive it through Abalach’s heart. The pellet streaked straight to its target, striking the jagged blade at a shallow angle. There was no blast of magical power, as the sorceress had expected. Instead, a pearly aura spread over the steel, and it began to hum with a high-pitched chime.

Abalach’s eyes went wide. She twisted a hand around behind herself, trying to reach the blade. Sa’ram stepped closer, lowering his skeletal arm to attack the queen’s back. Before the banshee could touch her, the Scourge stopped chiming. A huge geyser of black fluid shot from the shard’s jagged end and splattered Sa’ram’s gnarled form.

The inky liquid spread quickly, coating the banshee beneath a thick layer of ebony slime. Wherever the fluid stained Sa’ram’s twisted bones, they untwined and rearranged themselves into a less contorted skeleton. The back grew round and hunched, while the arms became long, gangling things that ended in barbed talons. The banshee’s gray beard disappeared, then a skull of sable bone rose from the shoulders in its place. The head seemed remotely human, with a drooping chin, a small jawbone, and a pair of rather flat cheekbones. Blue sparks replaced the banshee’s orange eyes, while a crown of yellow lightning crackled around his skull.

“Rajaat!” Abalach gasped, facing the apparition.

“Uyness of Waverly, Orc Plague!” The skeleton stared down at the queen, billows of black fume shooting from its nostrils. “I have come for you, traitor!”

Abalach-Re stumbled away. “No! You can’t be free!”

Sadira sprang at the queen’s back. Slipping one arm around Abalach’s throat, she used her other hand-and all her supernatural strength-to drive the Scourge’s tip deeper into the queen’s body. She felt the steel grate against a bone, then pass into a lump of softer tissue.

Abalach howled in pain but abruptly fell silent when Sadira twisted the blade. A convulsion ran through the queen’s entire frame, and she fell limp. Brown smoke began to pour from her nostrils and mouth. Her limbs went stiff, and the muscles of her stomach started to quiver. A terrible heat poured off her body, and her clothes began to smoke.

Sadira turned and hurled Abalach away, not bothering to extract the Scourge’s tip. The queen spun through the air with her arms and legs splayed stiffly at her sides. She dropped to the ground a dozen paces away, landing with a hollow thud. For a moment, the body just lay there, staring blankly into the sky while brown fumes rose from its nose and mouth. Finally, the corpse folded in on itself then burst into a column of bronze flame. The explosion left nothing behind except a salt crater stained brown with soot.

When Sadira looked back toward the black skeleton, she found it melting into a pool of bubbling sludge. The only recognizable feature was the head, and even it was quickly dissolving. The sorceress saw no sign that the ebony mass would reassemble itself into anything resembling Sa’ram. She silently spoke a few words of gratitude for the banshee’s efforts to protect Rkard.

A moment later, Rkard took her hand and tugged at her arm. “Come on,” he said. “Jo’orsh says that stuff’s dangerous.”

The sorceress opened her eyes and allowed the boy to lead her to Jo’orsh’s massive figure. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said, craning her neck to look into the banshee’s orange eyes.

“There is no need for sorrow,” said Jo’orsh. “A banshee can hope for nothing except to find rest, and now Sa’ram has.”

“And what of that?” Sadira asked, gesturing toward the black pool. “Was that really Rajaat?”

“Yes,” the banshee replied. “Your spell allowed his essence to escape the Scourge’s shard.”

The sorceress swallowed and stared at the bubbling fluid. “How do we put it back?”

“You cannot,” Jo’orsh replied. “But there is no need for worry. Like Rajaat himself, it is locked inside the Black. It can harm only those foolish enough to touch it of their own wills.”

A shiver of terror ran down the sorceress’s spine. “Then the sorcerer-kings didn’t kill Rajaat?” she asked, turning back to the banshee.

Jo’orsh did not answer, for he had vanished as quickly as he had arrived.

“What happened to your friend?” Sadira asked, taking Rkard’s hand.

“He’s still here-like always,” the boy said. He scowled thoughtfully then looked up Sadira. “It’s okay that I helped you, isn’t it?”

Sadira furrowed her brow and pretended to consider his question seriously. “I don’t know. Didn’t your mother tell you no heroics?”

“She did,” the young mul grumped. “But I don’t see why. Rikus gets to be brave.”

He pointed toward the oasis. When Sadira turned around, she saw her husband charging up the hill on the heels of the Raamin army, waving his sword and cursing his enemies for cowards. The sorceress could not help laughing. The mul did not seem to realize that Caelum had bridged Abalach’s chasm with an arc of flickering flame, or that Neeva was leading four hundred warriors-all that remained of the Tyrian legion-across the trestle to help him.

Sadira started toward the chasm. “Come on,” she said. “We’d better let Rikus know the battle’s over.”