The Cerulean Storm

THREE THE COUNCIL OF ADVISORS

When Sadira stepped into the vaulted murkiness of the advisors’ chamber, she saw that the entire host of Tyrian councilors stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the orator’s floor, while the feather-stuffed chairs in the gallery sat empty. She knew instantly that this morning’s session would be a trying one and that her opponents on the council would use her tardiness to make it even more difficult. Although her trip to help Rikus and Magnus had delayed the meeting less than a quarter hour, many advisors made a point of shuffling around to cast impatient glares in her direction.

Sadira started across the floor. The advisors were divided into four different groups, each gathered around a podium in a separate quarter of the floor. In the far corner, with the rays of the morning sun spilling through the windows behind them, were the guildsmen. Mostly humans and dwarves, they were dressed in sooty aprons and clay-specked tabards appropriate to their various professions. Next to them stood the free citizens, consisting of hemp-robed muls, half-elves, tareks, humans, and anyone else who had been either a slave or pauper before Tyr’s liberation. Closer to the entrance were the nobles, dressed in exotic silks of every color and description, and the templars, who embellished their black cassocks with bronze neckchains and breastpins of precious copper.

As Sadira passed between the noble and templar podiums, she found her way blocked by a double-chinned templar. He had a shaved head, eyes as shadowy as her own skin, and a long silver chain hanging around his corpulent neck.

“Sadira, here you are-at last!” he said, smiling just enough to bare his gray incisors. “How kind of you to come so promptly to the meeting you called.”

“If a short delay matters so much, then I suggest you let me pass so we can get started, Cybrian.” Sadira tried to step around the heavy templar.

“I think we can excuse your tardiness,” said a blue-frocked noblewoman, moving forward to block the sorceress’s way. She was a handsome woman with gray eyes, silver hair, and a patrician nose. The lady eyed Sadira’s dusty robe, then clucked her tongue and added, “But your raiment is another matter. By now, you should realize that your apparel reflects your respect for the council itself.”

Sadira suppressed the urge to make a sharp reply, suspecting that the noblewoman’s purpose was to disrupt the meeting by starting a senseless argument.

“To the contrary, Lady Laaj,” the sorceress said. “I came as I am because I have no wish to keep the council waiting.”

Sadira stepped between the noblewoman and Cybrian. When her adversaries tried to stand their ground, the sorceress chuckled at their foolishness. While her ebony body was steeped in the power of the sun, even a half-giant could not have blocked her way. She brushed the pair aside easily, sending them stumbling into the midst of their respective groups, and walked over to the free citizens. Here, the sorceress found her three guests waiting.

“Who were those two?” asked Neeva. A former gladiator with blonde hair, deep emerald eyes, and a figure as powerful as it was voluptuous, she wore only a breechcloth and halter, with a cape of green silk thrown over her shoulders to show respect for the council.

Sadira cast a contemptuous eye upon the two advisors she had just shoved aside. “The lady fancies herself the leader of the noble faction in Agis’s absence, and the templar is one of several who claim to speak in Tithian’s name,” the sorceress explained. “Because I asked the legion to stand ready this morning, they must think we’re going to find Agis and Tithian. Neither one would like that; they enjoy playing leader too much.”

“Never mind them,” interrupted Rkard, Neeva’s mul son. “What about Rikus?”

Though only six years old, the boy already stood as tall as most dwarves, with long graceful limbs, a sturdy frame, and cords of muscle running across his chest and arms. Like Rikus, he had sharply pointed ears and a hairless body, but he also had the distinguishing marks of a young sun-cleric: red eyes and a crimson sun emblazoned on his forehead.

“Both Rikus and Magnus are fine,” Sadira said. “They’ll be coming along later.”

“What happened?” Rkard pressed. “If Rikus needed help, it must have been bad trouble.”

“We can talk about that later, son,” said Caelum. He had the blocky features, pointed ears, and hairless body typical of a dwarf, with the same red eyes and crimson mark his son, Rkard, bore. In his hands, the dwarf grasped a closed ironwood box that Sadira had asked him to hold during the council meeting. “Right now, we have business to conduct.”

Caelum offered the box in his hands to Sadira. “Do you need this?”

“Not yet.”

Sadira climbed onto the podium and peered over the heads of her fellow advisors. The nobles and templars quickly grew silent, for Lady Laaj and Cybrian already stood on the respective pulpits for their two factions. But the guildsmen did not stifle their contentious discussions for several moments, until a bony, slender-faced man climbed onto the last platform. With the sooty apron of a blacksmith strapped over his chest, he looked as though he had come to the meeting straight from his shop.

“Charl Birkett to speak for the guilds,” he declared. “Gar won’t be coming today.”

“Then we can begin,” said Cybrian.

The templar raised his arm toward the murkiness of the vaulted ceiling, as did Lady Laaj. Their hands were closed, save that they held their index fingers open enough to form a small circle with their thumbs.

“What are you doing?” Sadira demanded.

“You may have convened the meeting, but any orator has the right to call for the wrab,” replied Lady Laaj.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten,” added Cybrian. “The tradition’s as ancient as Tyr itself.”

“I remember council practice better than you remember common courtesy,” Sadira replied, thrusting her own hand into the air. “Since Kalak’s death, it’s always been the one who called the meeting who controls the floor first.”

A shrill screech echoed off the stone arches. A tiny winged serpent dropped out of the ceiling’s shadowy coves. The creature glided around the room, barely distinguishable from the gloom above it. Everything about the flying snake was black: the leathery wings, the huge eyes, even the scaly body and barbed tail.

The wrab passed low over Sadira’s hand and circled back once. She thought it would perch on her finger, but its tongue suddenly flickered in Cybrian’s direction. It flapped its wings and sailed over to the templar. After coiling up on his hand, it thrust its tiny head down inside his curled fingers and remained motionless.

Sadira lowered her hand, not entirely discouraged. Cybrian would control the meeting’s agenda for now, but the wrab was notoriously restless. A natural user of the Way, it was trained to sense whether or not the assembly approved of the speaker’s topic. When the crowd’s interest began to ebb, it would seek a new roost from the upraised fingers, and control of the session would pass to the person it chose.

“Sadira, will you explain why you were late to your own meeting?” Cybrian asked, smirking.

“Perhaps later,” said the sorceress.

Her refusal to answer the question was in disregard for council rules, but it was also a common tactic used to gain control of the wrab. If she could interest the other advisors in her topic quickly enough, the creature would leave Cybrian’s hand and roost on her finger before he could call for a vote of censure and ask her to leave the chamber.

The sorceress motioned for Rkard to come up and stand with her, then continued, “I think my fellow councilors will be more interested in hearing how this boy is going to kill the Dragon.”

The advisors greeted her statement with snorts of derision and even a few guffaws, but her tactic worked. As skeptical as they were, the councilors were also curious. The wrab quickly left Cybrian’s hand and came to Sadira’s. The creature weighed almost nothing, and if not for its damp scales tickling her flesh, the sorceress would hardly have noticed its presence.

Cybrian glared at Sadira but did not object. He had used the same technique too many times to cry foul. “By all means, tell us,” he sneered. “I’m certain my fellow advisors will appreciate a good jest.”

The templar’s tactic was an effective one, playing on the crowd’s skepticism to such an extent that the wrab raised its black wings as if to leave Sadira’s hand.

“Perhaps you would waste the council’s time on a jest, Cybrian. You’ve certainly wasted it on many things just as trivial,” Sadira said sharply. “But I assure you, I would never do such a thing.”

The wrab folded its wings and pushed its tiny head down into her fist. Seeing that she had won the assembly’s support, at least for a time, Sadira laid her free hand on Rkard’s shoulder. The boy stood straight and tall, looking out over the volatile throng with an unflinching gaze.

“This mul boy is the son of Neeva, whom many of you will remember from her days as a gladiator, and of Caelum, son to the late uhrnomus of Kled,” Sadira said.

“Ten days ago, Rkard was visited by a pair of dwarven banshees, Jo’orsh and Sa’ram,” the sorceress continued. “Those of you who are familiar with the Book of the Kemalok Kings will recognize the names as those of the last two dwarven knights, who died before they could avenge the Dragon’s destruction of their city.”

“And they told the child to do what they could not-kill Borys?” asked Charl, incredulous.

“Not exactly,” replied Sadira. “They said that he would kill the Dragon.”

“And who heard them say this?” asked Lady Laaj.

“I did,” Rkard replied.

This prompted the noblewoman to give Sadira a patronizing smile. “My dear, since you have no children, you may not realize that young boys create make-believe friends,” she said. “Why, when my own sons were his age-”

“He did not make up Jo’orsh and Sa’ram,” Neeva reported. “I also saw the banshees.”

“And we have another harbinger as well,” Sadira said. She raised her hand, displaying the ring on her finger. “Last night, a messenger arrived bearing my husband’s signet.”

“Which husband? Agis, Rikus, or someone we haven’t heard about yet?” mocked Cybrian. “Maybe that dwarf?”

The comment drew a few crude laughs from the same pedants who always thought ill of Sadira for loving two men, but it failed to shake the crowd’s interest enough to dislodge the wrab.

“The signet is Agis’s,” Sadira said patiently. “With it came the message that he had found the Dark Lens.”

For the first time that day, the room fell completely quiet. Despite the efforts of Sadira and her husbands to keep the nature of the Dark Lens secret, they had spent five years searching for it, and word of what they were seeking had eventually leaked out. By now, most of the advisors knew not only what the Lens was, but why Sadira was seeking it. She intended to kill Borys, thus ending his practice of collecting a thousand slaves a year from each city of Athas. If the sorceress and her friends succeeded, not only would they save untold numbers of lives, they would also eliminate the greatest danger to Tyr itself: that the Dragon would attack the city for refusing to pay his gruesome levy.

It was Rkard who broke the astonished silence. “Jo’orsh and Sa’ram said I will kill the Dragon.” The boy addressed the advisors directly, utterly composed and confident. “But they also said I would need an army-an army of humans and dwarves.”

“Kled’s militia is prepared to fulfill this prophecy,” Neeva said. “After I learned of Rkard’s destiny, I summoned them to guard against attempts on his life. Even as we speak, they are at the Asticles estate, preparing to march.”

“And that’s why you have commanded Tyr’s legion to stand ready for action?” demanded Cybrian. “To give it to a child?”

“The legion will remain under Rikus’s command, as always,” Sadira replied.

“Speaking of Rikus, where is he?” asked Lady Laaj. “I’m sure that all of the advisors want to hear his opinion of this plan before voting.”

Sadira took a deep breath, knowing that her answer would send the council into an uproar. Still, she did not even consider concealing the fact that there were giants in the valley. The advisors had a right to know about any threat to Tyr, even if it meant it would be harder for her to get what she wanted.

“Well?” Cybrian asked.

“As they were returning to attend this meeting, Rikus and Magnus happened across some rampaging giants at our newest relief farm,” Sadira explained. “I’ve trapped the invaders for now-”

The chamber broke into a tumult as astonished advisors began yelling questions across the packed floor: “You mean half-giants?”

“How many?”

“What do they want?”

The wrab slithered completely into Sadira’s hand. The sorceress felt confident that it would rather have retreated to its lair in the ceiling alcoves, but it was too well trained to flee while a speaker commanded such rapt attention.

“Quiet, please!” Sadira shouted. “We can’t accomplish anything like this!”

The furor slowly faded to a drone.

As soon as it was possible to speak without screaming, Lady Laaj asked, “How many giants are there, and what are they doing so far from the Sea of Silt?”

“There are eight of them, and they want the Dark Lens,” answered Sadira.

“Then I suggest we tell the giants where to find it before they destroy us,” said Cybrian.

“I can’t do that,” Sadira said. “Not only would that endanger Agis-”

“Agis would be the first to sacrifice himself for the good of Tyr,” Lady Laaj interrupted. “Every noble knows that.”

“True-if his sacrifice would save Tyr,” Sadira agreed. “But it wouldn’t. Unless we kill the Dragon-”

“We won’t discuss such nonsense!” declared Cybrian.

“Would you rat her let him destroy the city?” Sadira countered. “Or are you willing to sacrifice a thousand lives a year to him?”

“Your scare tactics won’t succeed here,” Cybrian said. “We have nothing to gain by attacking the Dragon. He hasn’t been to Tyr since Kalak died.”

“That’s because Tithian has been paying the levy in secret,” Sadira replied.

“With what?” scoffed the templar. “His personal staff?”

“With men, women, and children kidnapped by his slavers,” said Neeva, stepping forward to stand at Sadira’s side. “They attacked our village less than four months ago.”

“How dare you speak such a lie?” Cybrian stormed. “King Tithian freed the slaves. He’d never-”

“He did, and I can prove it,” Sadira interrupted. She looked down at Caelum. “Open the box.”

The dwarf obeyed. A shriveled, ash-colored head with sunken features and cracked lips rose out of the box. It hovered in the air for a moment, its sallow eyes roaming over the assembly, then floated up to Sadira’s level.

Gasping in disbelief, the advisors pressed close around the sorceress’s podium, craning their necks to peer up at the disembodied head. Though many of the councilors had heard rumors that King Tithian kept a pair of disembodied heads as companions, few of them had ever seen one in person.

“Some of you may recognize the king’s confidant, Wyan,” Sadira said. “He’s the one who brought Agis’s signet ring to me.”

Wyan regarded the assemblage with a sneer, then rotated around to face Sadira. “What do you want?”

The sorceress nodded toward the crowd. “Tell them about Tithian’s slavers.”

Sadira did not worry that the head would disobey or lie. Wyan was one of the Dragon’s most ancient enemies, for Borys had separated him from his body more than a thousand years ago. Since then, the head had been condemned to a miserable existence where his sole physical pleasure was the drinking of warm blood. The sorceress had no doubts that Wyan would do whatever it took to destroy the Dragon, even if it meant betraying one of Tithian’s most carefully guarded secrets.

When Wyan did not speak up quickly, Sadira reminded him, “The sooner you talk, the sooner we can attack Borys.”

With a weary sigh, Wyan looked out over the advisors. “The king was only thinking of Tyr,” he said. “Anyone who thinks the Dragon would be denied his levy is a fool. Tithian did what was necessary to protect the city.”

The chorus of outrage that followed came mostly from the free citizens, but many of the guildsmen also added their voices. The nobles looked more frightened by Wyan’s admission than angered, while the templars quietly exchanged whispered comments of concern.

Wyan cautiously floated higher in the air, apparently fearing that one of the free citizens might try to hold him responsible for Tithian’s acts.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” said Lady Laaj. “You want the council to give you the legion so you can go off to battle the Dragon-leaving Tyr to defend itself from eight full giants?”

At this, the wrab crawled out of Sadira’s hand and launched itself into the air. For a moment, the sorceress didn’t understand why it had abandoned her, since everyone in the room seemed to be interested in the same thing. Then she realized that it was a matter of emphasis. Lady Laaj was talking about the defense of Tyr, while Sadira was still trying to convince the advisors to kill the Dragon.

Hoping the wrab would return to her, Sadira kept her hand in the air. “As I was saying earlier, I have the giants under control for now,” she said. “Before we take the legion out of the valley, they will be under control permanently-one way or another.”

The wrab settled on Lady Laaj’s finger. “And what if there are other giants?” the noblewoman asked. “The Dark Lens must be very valuable to them. Surely, they’ll send more warriors when these don’t return.”

“We should be back by then,” Sadira said, reluctantly lowering her hand.

“That’s not something you can guarantee, my friend,” said Charl, the guildsmen’s speaker. He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, but what Lady Laaj says is right. It’s foolish to worry about the Dragon when angry giants are about to storm the city.”

The noblewoman smiled. “We’ll put the matter to a vote,” she said. “All those in favor of telling the giants where to find the Dark Lens-”

“There’s no need to vote,” Sadira said. With the other three orators supporting it, the sorceress knew without a doubt that Lady Laaj’s motion would pass. “I won’t reveal the location of the Lens-none of us will. You’d be condemning Agis to death.”

“You’d defy the council for the sake of your husband-the same husband who has lectured this body so many times on the importance of lawful rule?” asked Cybrian.

“How dare you speak to me about the law!” Sadira spat. “You’re only doing this because you hope to see Agis and Tithian dead. You want control of the council.”

“Maybe that’s true of them, but not of me,” said Charl. “If you defy Lady Laaj and Cybrian on this matter, you’re defying the entire council. You, more than anyone, should know that when someone of your power does that, the city is on the path to despotism.”

“Tyranny of the many is tyranny nonetheless.” Sadira hissed the words, spewing wisps of black shadow over the heads of those standing between her and the guildsman. “If this council betrays Agis, voting to do it together makes the act no less wicked.”

“We have already discussed the matter,” said Lady Laaj. “Your magic is powerful enough that the council cannot compel you to obey, but we can strip you of citizenship. Will you comply with the council’s wishes or not?”

When Sadira replied, her throat was tight with anger. “No.”

The sorceress stepped off the podium, motioning for Rkard to follow.

“What are you doing?” demanded Caelum.

“Leaving Tyr,” Sadira replied, starting for the door.

“But what about Rkard’s destiny?” asked the dwarf. “Jo’orsh and Sa’ram said that he would have humans as well as dwarves in his army.”

The sorceress cast a cold glance over the council chamber. “Apparently, those humans will not be from Tyr,” she said. “We’ll gather them somewhere else.”

“There isn’t time to find another army!” snapped Wyan. “The giants won’t be the only ones searching for the Dark Lens. Every day we delay increases the chance that the sorcerer-kings-or Borys-will find it before we arrive!”

Sadira turned around and faced the head, who was still hovering high over the free citizens’ podium. “We can’t have Tyr’s legion,” she said. “You can see for yourself we don’t have the votes.”

Wyan ignored her and glared down at the advisors. “The city was better off under Kalak!” he yelled. “We will have our legion!”

The head floated closer to the ceiling, placing himself directly in the sun’s rays streaming through the window. His shadow fell in the center of the chamber floor, covering the heads of more than a dozen councilors, and began to expand. Crying out in alarm, the advisors pushed their way into the gallery seats. As the floor emptied, the black shadow spread across the granite blocks like an ink stain.

“Wyan, no!” Sadira commanded, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. She had known for some time that the head could communicate with the shadow giants, the nebulous beings of the Black, but she had never before seen any evidence that he could summon them to Athas. “Stop!”

When Wyan did not listen, Sadira pulled a glass rod from her pocket and pointed it at him. The head’s eyes went wide. Before she could begin the incantation of her spell, he left the light and flew up into the murky alcoves of the ceiling.

It did not matter. The shadow on the floor had taken on the shape of a tall, thin man with ropy limbs. A pair of sapphire eyes began to shine from the head, and a blue gash opened where the thing’s mouth should have been. Sadira pushed Rkard toward his mother. The sorceress did not need to utter any warning, for both women had seen such creatures before. Neeva had fought a shadow giant named Umbra during the war with Urik, while Sadira had visited the shadow people’s home in the Pristine Tower.

As Neeva took the child, she asked, “Are you going to allow this, Sadira?”

“It’s not for me to allow or disallow,” the sorceress replied. “The shadow people are the ones who bestowed my powers on me, and my magic won’t work against them.”

“But you’ve got to do something!” Caelum said. “We need Tyr’s legion.”

“I have no way to interfere,” Sadira snapped. “When I can do something, I will!”

The shadow rose to its feet, taking on a full three-dimensional body as tall as that of a half-giant. It stepped toward Cybrian and Lady Laaj, who defiantly remained standing on their podiums.

“Your tricks won’t fool us.” Cybrian looked past the shadow to Sadira. “You won’t win your way with a simple illusion.”

“The Black is no illusion!” hissed the shadow giant, stretching a hand out to each of the pair.

Recognizing the voice as that of the chief of the shadow people, Sadira stepped after the dark being. “Khidar, leave them alone.”

“You are not the one who asked me to take them,” the shadow replied.

Khidar wrapped his sinuous fingers over the pair’s skulls. As their faces disappeared into darkness, the wrab took wing and disappeared into its shadowy lair. Cybrian screamed, then Lady Laaj, their voices harmonizing into a single, pained, fearful howl.

Sadira grabbed the arm holding the noblewoman. The shadow giant’s flesh felt misty and cold, and holding it was like trying to grasp water. Still, the sorceress came closer to touching it than most beings, and when she pulled, tendrils of the arm came away in her hand. The black filaments evaporated into the air, vanishing like a dawn mist in the morning sun.

Khidar’s murky substance continued to swallow the templar and noblewoman, slipping over their shoulders, then down their wildly thrashing arms. Finally, the shadow consumed even their hips and legs, and they were gone.

For all of her magical powers, Sadira was helpless to stop the shadow giant. Casting a spell against him would have been useless, like trying to pierce the sun with a ray of light, and she knew better than to try. If she accomplished anything, it would be only to enrage Khidar to the point where he attacked more councilors.

Instead, the sorceress looked toward the ceiling. Though she could not see Wyan, she had no doubt that he was still up there in the murk. “This accomplishes nothing, Wyan. An army coerced into fighting is an army of slaves,” she said. “You know that neither Rikus, Neeva, nor I will have anything to do with that.”

“Then let the council vote,” Wyan countered. “They can do it here or in the Black.”

“Why bother?” demanded Charl Birkett. He stepped onto the floor and crossed to Sadira. “You and your friends have the power to take the legion, whether we like it or not-but I won’t lend my name to a sham.” The guildsman spat on the sorceress’s sandaled feet and turned toward the exit.

Khidar blocked his path. “The council has not voted,” said the shadow giant.

Charl glanced over his shoulder and glared at Sadira. “Tell this thing to stand aside.”

“I had no respect for Lady Laaj or Cybrian, true, but this is not my doing,” Sadira said. “You saw me try to stop him.”

“I saw you pretend to try,” the guildsman retorted. “Do not take me for a fool.”

Charl tried to step past Khidar. The shadow giant raised a hand to stop him. Sadira lashed out, closing her powerful fingers around the guildsman’s shoulder, and pulled him back. She shoved him roughly toward the gallery seats, drawing a murmur of angry comments from the other advisors.

“I suggest you vote.” The sorceress looked at Khidar, knowing that by now Lady Laaj and Cybrian would be half-frozen with the cold of the Black. “And do it now.”

Without taking his narrowed eyes off her face, Charl growled, “All those who think we should give our legion to Sadira?”

“Aye,” came the response.

Though the chorus was far from deafening, Charl said, “The motion carries. Now can we leave?”

Sadira glanced up at the ceiling. “Are you happy?”

Wyan came down out of the shadowy alcoves just far enough to be seen. “Your duties are finished, Khidar.”

“What of the noblewoman and the templar?” the shadow giant asked.

“Keep them,” Wyan sneered. “They’ll serve as an example to those who cross me.”

“As you wish.”

The shadow giant began to shrink. He quickly lost his human shape and melted onto the floor like a puddle of black water. Sadira waited until his blue eyes and mouth disappeared, then dropped to her knees and pressed her palms into the center of the dark stain that had been Khidar. The cold she felt was not that of the stone. It was more bitter and biting, numbing her flesh to the bone and stiffening her joints so that she could hardly bend her fingers.

“Caelum, keep Wyan out of the light!” she yelled, not looking up.

“I’ll burn him to cinders if I see him poke so much as his nose out!” the dwarf promised.

Sadira uttered a string of mystic syllables, and her hands sank into the Black up to her elbows.

“Lady Laaj, Cybrian, take my hands!” Sadira directed her words at the floor and began to shiver as the circle of shadow slowly contracted around her arms. “I’m here to help you!”

Whispers of astonishment echoed down from the galleries as the advisors started to return to the floor, but Sadira hardly noticed. Her whole body ached with cold, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She began to fear that the noblewoman and templar had been gone too long, that the Black had turned their bodies into frozen lumps of flesh.

Then, as the stain on the floor contracted to no more than a pair of small circles around her arms, Sadira felt a weight at the end of each hand. Her frozen flesh no longer had any sensation of touch, so the sorceress had no way of knowing whether or not the missing advisors had finally found her. Nevertheless, she willed her fingers to close, not sure whether the digits were obeying her wishes, and rose.

As Sadira pulled her arms from the floor, each of the dark circles around them expanded to the size of a human body. Out of the shadowy stains came the shivering forms of the two advisors. Their flesh was as pale and shiny as alabaster, and their muscles were so stiff that their own legs would not support them. With each breath, plumes of white steam rose from between their quivering lips, and hundreds of gleaming ice crystals clung to their clothes.

Murmuring reticent words of gratitude, several allies of the two advisors stepped forward to take their shivering friends from Sadira’s arms. Charl studied the sorceress thoughtfully, then asked, “Why’d you do that? You already got the vote you wanted.”

Sadira shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not the one I wanted-only the one I needed. If Khidar had taken any more of you, I wouldn’t have been able to pull you all back.”

“Then you really meant what you said about not taking the legion if it was coerced from us?”

Sadira nodded. “And what I said about leaving Tyr before I would be part of betraying Agis.”

The sorceress started to turn toward the exit, but Charl caught her by the arm. “Wait a minute. Tyr can’t afford to lose a citizen like you,” he said. “If we let you take the legion to fulfill the boy’s destiny, can you really keep the giants away from the city?”

“Yes,” Sadira replied. “And if we can’t, not only will we send the legion back, Rikus and I will return to fight with it.”

Charl raised his finger to summon the wrab. “Then before you leave, there’s one more vote we should take.”