The God Catcher

SIXTEEN

The home of Nazra Mrays glittered with hundreds of magical lights, buoyed by the laughter of several score pleasantly drunk guests. Plucking a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant, Nazra started another turn around the party, loving the sounds of her painted silk skirts whisking against the floor, the clink of glasses, the calls of her friends and admirers. Nazra wrapped herself in their delight-she did love fests so.

Meridian Cloudcroft, a clever old elf who knew half her secrets but none of the good ones, held his glass up in a mock toast. "Good evening, my dear. A terrific success."

She held her glass up in turn. "Many thanks, old friend. I do try."

"And where's little Antoum?"

"In bed," she said with a chuckle. "He may be my son, but he's only got eight years under his belt, and that is not enough to weather one of my parties."

Which wasn't to say he hadn't begged to be allowed to watch and visit with those friends of hers he knew and liked, Cloudcroft among them. She had compromised-he could have a piece of anise cake and a little watered wine, and he could watch the guests arrive in their finery. Antoum hadn't been happy about that, but it was the best he was going to get.

"Pity," Cloudcroft said. "Have a new illusion to show him." He twisted the rim of the pin he wore, and a small blue dragon seemed to fly out of it and circle the perimeter, roaring. Nazra laughed.

"Ah! You'll have to come by another time. He'd adore it."

"Have you noticed we're missing Master Sandhor?"

She leaned in close. "Indeed. I wonder if he's slighting me or just distracted by something more… political?" She winked.

Cloudcroft laughed. He and Nazra had been friends since she was much younger and much glimmer, and he dark-haired and broad-shouldered. They'd shared more than one bed in those days. He knew many things about Nazra that no one else did, and believed a few more, such as Nazra being one of the Masked Lords and that he might be Antoum's father-though for that to be so, Nazra would have had to endure a great many more months of pregnancy than normal.

She let him have his jokes and played along.

"If he comes late, do let me know," she said with a smile. "I'd like to take some of the wind from that old cog's sails."

"As long as I can watch," Cloudcroft said.

Nazra passed back into the crowd, greeting her guests and praising their attire. But in her mind she was upstairs, watching her son sleep peacefully. There were those in Waterdeep-many of them in her home that night-who thought Nazra Mrays was a paltry excuse for a mother and thanked the gods that she had coin enough to give over the care of her son to hired help. Nazra smiled and laughed, and knew better-Antoum was her pride and joy. Let them overlook him as some spoiled, motherless child; he and Nazra knew better.

"Good evening," a voice said near her ear, "and well met."

Nazra turned and found herself looking into the dark green eyes of a man who-while good-looking-was too young for her. She stepped back, appraising his well-cut-and thoroughly outdated-green velvet jerkin and breeches. He wore a matching half cloak and a silly-looking collar with a great gaudy moonstone on it. Amusing, to say the least.

"Well met indeed," she said. "Though I don't recall meeting you before. I'm Nazra. And you are?"

"A meager star orbiting your brightness," he said with a certain earnestness that indicated he was much too young for Nazra. Nazra raised her eyebrows. At least he had the decency to blush.

"I must beg your forgiveness," the young man said. "I don't often do this, and I find I'm getting ahead of myself."

Nazra smiled and fluttered her lashes in the way young men who read too many chapbooks found charming. "You're doing just fine, dear boy."

"I'm very glad to hear it," he said. "Could we walk in the garden? I should like the privacy."

Erin M. Evans

The God Catcher

A bold one, Nazra thought. Ah well, if he got too bold, it would just give her a good reason to make him the end of a good joke later, refreshing everyone's spirits. She took his proffered arm.

The night was cool, the first edge of autumn taking hold after a long hot summer. The sky was clear, and Selune had the grace to shift away toward the horizon, giving the stars room to shine. Climbing vinestar blossoms scented the garden, and a marble fountain bubbled near the back wall.

"A lovely garden," he said, "though not half so lovely as its mistress."

"Did Cloudcroft send you to tease me?" Nazra said slyly. "A handsome young man, squiring me around a moonlit garden, mysterious as a chapbook hero. You'd better be careful. An old lady like me could have a fit of shock with this kind of treatment."

"Would you like to hear a joke?" he asked shyly. "I've heard you're fond of them. First the… Wait, how does it go? First I say …"

"You trip on your own tongue," she said with a laugh. "It's much easier if you don't try so hard."

"I suppose you know better. Here, give me another chance." He stopped at the fountain and slid around to face her. "First, I say to you: I've taken your son."

Nazra rolled her eyes. That wasn't remotely funny. Then she saw the young man wasn't laughing, and her heart stopped. "What do you mean?" she said.

"I've taken him. You see, I want something you have, and it's terribly important you know I'm serious. Now, you say-"

Nazra started to scream for her bodyguards, only to find the man's gloved hand stifling her mouth. She stomped on his instep, but his foot suddenly wasn't there. He seized her, pinning her arms to her sides, and pulled her too close to struggle free-as skinny as he'd looked, he was as strong as an ogre.

"Now, don't do anything that might make me angry," he whispered in her ear. "You do this wrong, and I might just kill little Antoum anyway. For now he's quite safe somewhere you'll never find him, and he'll stay that way until one of two things happens.

"I want the staff."

Nazra tried to shake her head, but the young man held her fast. "I know. You've been told to say you don't have it. It's in the Blackstaffs care. But I know for a fact that staff is nowhere near Blackstaff Tower. You have it, and you know where you keep it. Bring me the dragonstaff of Ahghairon, and Antoum comes home in one piece.

"But if I hear so much as a sword rattling in its scabbard, your boy dies. Understand? You don't tell your guards. You don't tell the lords. You don't tell the Watch."

Down to her bones, Nazra shook with fear, with rage, with uncertainty. Antoum-her poor little boy-Antoum who was too young, too perfect to die. Not like this. If the man let her go, she could race to the staffs hiding place, have it in his hands before he could harm Antoum. Her little boy.

But the dragonstaff was no trifle or trophy. She held it for the safety of Waterdeep, and she had a duty to make certain it was secure. It wasn't hers to give.

The shadows near the arched portico that led to the garden grew deep and spread as a large body passed the entrance. Jorik. The half-orc bodyguard glanced up into the garden, idly-and with every ounce of will in her, Nazra begged him to notice her in the shadows.

He did. "Who's there?" he shouted, stepping into the gardens. He drew the short sword he always carried. "Show yourself."

"I'll give you three days," the man said, unperturbed by the threat, "to think it over. If there are guards here when I come back, your boy's corpse will be floating in the bay."

Jorik spotted them and sprinted toward Nazra, leaping over the low bushes. The young man let go of her, shoving her to the ground where she landed on her back. He tore off one glove, revealing a brace of rings. He grabbed a fat gold one and twisted it.

And abruptly vanished.

Jorik skidded into the space the kidnapper had occupied, sword up and ready. Panting and puzzled, he lowered his sword.

"What happened? Are you all right, Lady Mrays?" he asked.

"No, Jorik," she said, letting him help her to her feet. "We've got trouble. Come." She walked quickly through the house, wishing she could tear off the heavy skirts. Another two bodyguards-how could they have missed someone stealing her boy? — stood by the stairs, and she grabbed them by the arms.

"Give me your sword," she snapped at one. Blade ready, guards close, she threw open the door of the nursery.

The governess slumped in her chair, her pale throat cut and gore all down her dress. Her son's guards had fallen where they stood on either side of the door, their entrails spread across the floor and their blood seeping into the carpet. The window was open to the night.

Antoum's bed was empty.

Nazra rushed to it anyway, as if by throwing aside the blankets and the pillows she would find him, curled up tight like a frightened rabbit. The sheets were still warm where he'd lain. She pressed her hands to it, willing the nightmare to end.

On the wall just above Antoum's pillow, a spot of blood bright as her lip stain crept down the wall.

She raised a trembling hand to it, touched the sticky fluid. Terror overwhelmed her. Her breath came too fast. Her heart beat like a caged dove. Gods, oh gods. They'd hurt him. They would kill him.

She had to do something!

Nazra swallowed all those emotions, so that her voice was cold and calm when she spoke to the chief of her guards. "I'm going to my study. Jorik, send two men to guard the doors and tell Cloudcroft and Agnea to keep the guests happy in my absence-tell them I've had too much to drink for an old woman-but ease them out. I want it quiet in an hour. The rest of the men, go get them searching. Quietly. Look for clues around the grounds." She took in the bodies of the governess and the two guards. "Have Agnea find their next of kin and get the priests in here to clean up."

"Yes, saer," Jorik said, and sheathed his sword.

She picked up her skirts and hurried down the hall to her study, the young man's dark green eyes and sharp nose keen in her memory. Three days, and in those three days, she needed to learn as much as possible, as quietly as possible.

He'd had a faint accent-something guttural she couldn't place. He was a wizard of some sort No. Not a wizard. Not necessarily. He'd done his magic with an enchanted ring. Rich and clever-and not, himself, Waterdhavian.

He might be clever, but she was cleverer.

Let's find out who you're working for, she thought.

She pulled the cloth off her mirror and activated the spell that opened a connection to a mirror in the palace of the Open Lord Dagult Neverember. Her reflection wavered and was replaced by an elderly halfling polishing a silver tray and grumbling to himself.

"Well met, Madrak," Nazra said. The halfling startled. Seeing Nazra in the mirror, he sketched an elaborate bow.

"Goodwoman Mrays," he said, "to what do we-"

"I need to speak with Lord Neverember. Now."

"I'm afraid the Open Lord is… indisposed."

"I don't care about his disposition," Nazra said sharply. "Find him. Bring him here. If he says he won't come, remind him he owes me a favor for certain services rendered."

"Very good, saer," the halfling said with another bow. He tucked the platter under his arm and walked out of Nazra's sight.

She pulled open the drawer of her writing desk and took out a stylus and a bit of foolscap. She wrote a list of all the attributes of the young man she could remember: his eyes, his hair, his height, the details of the strange collar he wore, the number of rings, and so on. She wrote until her mind felt as if it had been wrung dry. Then she turned it over and started on the details of Antoum's room: the window, the wounds, the blood on the wall Her hand started to shake.

The face of a man, his features stern and proud, his hair wild and tawny as the mane of a lion, appeared in the frame of the mirror. He snorted. "Nazra. This better be important. I was… enjoying someone's company."

"My son has been taken," Nazra said to Dagult Neverember, the Open Lord of Waterdeep. "There is nothing more important."

That visibly startled Dagult. He had a son too, Nazra knew, and she recognized too well the emotions that shifted over his normally closed features in quick succession. There but for the blessings of Tymora would I be. He recovered quickly.

"Who have you angered now, Nazra?" he said. "Whose temper have you roused with that sharp tongue?"

"No one to be trifled with," she said. "This is neither a matter of politics nor politeness. I need your help and I need your silence. He wants the dragonstaff."

"The dragonstaff?" Dagult said. "The dragonstaff?" He shook his head. "That won't do at all. We can't possibly-"

"He has Antoum!" Nazra cried. "I have but three days to find him out and track him down. If I can't… if I don't give him the dragonstaff, he'll kill my son."

"Out of the question," Dagult said. "It's not yours to give." He leaned in closer to the mirror, as if it would obscure what he whispered next. "You took an oath, Nazra, an oath you cannot break."

"And I'm not asking you to give him the dragonstaff." Not yet, she added to herself, though it shamed her to admit it. "I want help tracking him down. Quiet help. Help no one would notice."

Dagult folded his ringed hands. "Perhaps you'd be willing to offer me something. Say you stop pushing so hard for those trade levies?"

"Bastard."

"You're tying my hands with those," Dagult said. "You of all people can't blame me for using what I have when I have it."

Nazra narrowed her eyes. "And you of all people cannot blame me for countering the offer. Give me access to the guard, and I'll burn the evidence I have that you've been collaborating with a certain brigand of the sea who's supposedly reformed-but you and I both know he's not getting those items because he's a better bargainer than our honest merchants. You don't, and I swear to Torm, Dagger, I'll bring you down so hard you'll come out in the sewers."

His cheeks flushed an angry red. "Gods blast it!" he shouted, slamming a fist down on the desk. "You cannot speak to me that way."

"Right now I'm a dangerous woman to test," Nazra said, not breaking her gaze. "Help me find my son, Lord Neverember. Or test me, and we'll see what happens."

The Open Lord seemed to weigh that. "What do you know about him? This kidnapper."

She watched the Open Lord for a long moment. "Swear to me it's not your doing," she said softly.

He looked appalled. "Mystra's blood, Nazra. That's a fair step beyond my style. I'm no kidnapper. I swear."

She flushed. They'd had their quarrels and their joint machinations, but she should have known better. "He's not from Waterdeep," she said. "He has a plethora of magical trinkets on his person, not the least of which is a collar-the sort you see on old-style plate-with a moonstone as big as a-"

"A deck of cards," Lord Neverember finished.

Nazra raised her eyebrows. "I was going to say a child's hand, but yes. Right on the flat of his chest. You know it?"

Lord Neverember ran his hand over his face. "Your man's wearing a piece of the Songdragon's armor."

Nazra's pulse sped again. "Why?"

"Gods know, Mrays-I mean Nazra. Can't remember what the blasted thing does. It's not supposed to be in his hands though. Unless your man's an eladrin. Some wizard holds the gorget. One of those House of Wonder sorts. Lives near the Market."

"Halnian?" Nazra said, shocked. "Rhinzen Halnian?"

"Sounds right. You know him?"

"He's my son's tutor."

Dagult smiled wickedly. "Well then, I suppose you know where to begin."

The bars were not going to bend, Nestrix had to admit. Not the walls, not the ceiling. She even tried blowing a little lightning into one comer to melt the metal, but succeeded only in shocking herself and burning her lower lip. She sucked on it, considering her options and cursing to herself the hand of fate.

There was a lock on the door-if she rested for a while, she might be able to draw up enough dragonfear to get one of her guards to drop the key. If she had a wire like Tennora's, she might be able to unlatch it by drawing up the thiefs memories.

A sudden rush of emotion cut her off that path of thoughts, and she was surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes. Tennora was gone.

"Weeping for some dokaal," she muttered and wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. Tennora was gone, and she had never said she was sorry for running off.

She was sorry now, though she was just as surprised to realize that as she was that she was crying. Who was she? What was she doing, weeping over some dokaal?

"Not some dokaal," she said aloud, as if to convince herself. "Tennora."

She had gone and made friends with a human. After a hundred years of walking among the dokaal, Clytemorrenestrix, the Terror of the Calim, She Who Thunders in the Sky, had begun to enjoy the company of a human! If Nestrix had been able to tell herself, in the days after the Blue Fire came about, that she would find herself locked in a cage and crying for the loss of a human, she did not doubt her younger self would have laughed.

Nestrix brushed the tears from her cheeks as if they were insects, as if they irritated her.

Tears would not stop Dareun. Tears would not make him suffer as he so richly deserved. But to make him suffer, she would have to escape the cage.

And then what? she thought sourly. Breathe on him and hope you don't die of it? She sank down onto the crate, mired in despair. She would be trapped here until Dareun decided to kill her.

She looked down at her hands and smiled viciously at that. She'd take her chance then, if he were foolish enough to try.

A light flickered in the passage that led up to the surface-and went out. Nestrix sneered at it, waiting for Dareun to come striding down the passageway, smug as a red dragon on a mountaintop.

The light did not return, and neither Dareun nor his colorful lovac appeared from the shadows. Nothing came down the dark path.

But something had undeniably been there. Nestrix cursed her feeble eyes, unable to pierce the gloom. If not Dareun or his lovac, then what? One of the city's soldiers? A creature of the tunnels?

The light flicked on again, like the tail of a firefly, and briefly illuminated a woman in leather armor.

Nestrix racked her mind, but couldn't remember a woman in jacks among Dareun's minions. An adventurer then, she thought. Well, at least this would be interesting.

The woman in the leather armor stepped into the edge of the glowballs' light. She caught Nestrix's eye and pressed a finger to her lips before stepping back into the shadows.

Nestrix's heart stopped-the woman in the leather armor was Tennora.

She had to purse her lips to stop herself from crying out. Tennora! Tiamat m'henich, she was alive.

The guards on either side of the exit hadn't heard Tennora or seen her brief light. They stood, looking bored and dismayed at the task they'd been given. But that wouldn't last long-Tennora couldn't strike both at once.

She needed help.

Nestrix cleared the worry from her thoughts, shut away the trepidation so that it couldn't taint her.

She stood before the bars, watching the guards until they watched her back.

All that fear, all that anger, all the rage at being held like a beast in a cage-she poured it into them. Their eyes widened, and the grip on their weapons tightened. She felt every nerve in her skin screaming at the absence of her scales and the absence of the storms. She gathered that up and poured it into them too.

The guards passed nervous glances to each other. Nestrix drew up the memory of how she had seemed to the thief in the desert, the image of her former self-unstoppable as a sandstorm, rearing up, lighting crackling in her jaws as the wall of Blue Fire rushed in and swallowed them all. Riding the dragonfear the image streaked into the men's heads as well. She screamed-a battle cry, a thunderclap, a keening.

The one on the left started shrieking. The one on the right dropped his weapon, his eyes so wide the whites gleamed all around. He stood there for a moment, knees shaking so hard he could barely stand, before turning tail and bolting down the tunnel.

There was an ugly grunt and a thud.

The second guard stopped screaming, and though he trembled, he turned toward the dark tunnel, sword held high. He glanced over at Nestrix, who was still forcing the dragonfear on him, though the effect was clearly diminishing.

His face contorted in a sneer and he started down the tunnel.

Only to walk straight into one of Tennora's fireballs.

The flames ignited his hair and he screamed again, twisting away from the tunnel.

Tennora ran out of the shadows, holding the other guard's sword, her face white and determined. As the guard beat down the last of the flames, he turned and caught the blade of the sword across the fleshy part of his belly. The armor he wore protected him somewhat, but not from being knocked onto his back.

Still faintly gray, Tennora pulled out her dagger and, planting her knee on his chest, held it to the man's throat.

"Keys," she said.

"I… I haven't got 'em," he gasped. "The master carries them."

"Give me a good reason to let you live, then," Tennora replied, and oddly, she sounded as if she meant it.

"I–I-I-"

"There's a chemical in here somewhere," Nestrix interjected. "They used it to put me to sleep when they kidnapped me. Knock him out and deal with him later."

Tennora's brown eyes fell gratefully on Nestrix for a moment. She prodded the man with the dagger. "Where's the poison?"

"It's… it's… I'll get it for you," he said. "He keeps it in a case, over in those crates there. Let me get it for you. Don't kill me."

Tennora glanced up at Nestrix briefly, then shifted her weight off the man. "All right. Go find it," she said. She made a little gesture with her hand, as if telling him to get up.

"Oh thank you, thank you," the man said, climbing to his feet. "You're doing the right thing. It's right over-Ha!" He pulled his own dagger from his belt and spun on Tennora with a cry of triumph.

"Ziastayix.'"

He was cut short by the silver bolts that flew from Tennora's pointed finger, catching him in the face twice. Tennora stepped out of his attack and plunged her own dagger into his side. His eyes went wide as he sank to the ground.

For a moment, the only sound was the water dripping from the ceiling of the room.

"You did give him a chance," Nestrix said after a moment. "Everything after that is his own fault for underestimating you."

The young woman's face was still white as a sheet. "I knew he would," she said quietly. "I just hoped…"

She looked up at Nestrix again, and all Nestrix's grief and fear came flooding back. Her eyes welled up with tears. "They said they'd killed you," she explained, wiping the tears off. "And I never… I'm not meant for this! I don't want to care whether you're dead or alive, but I do, Tennora-oh gods, and they said you tried to save me?"

"Sort of," Tennora said. "Calm down. I'll explain once we're out." She pulled a lockpick from her belt and went for the door.

A spark as long as her finger leaped between the lock and the pick as she went to work the mechanism. Tennora jumped back with a hiss.

She tried again, but again the lock sparked.

"Stlarning hrast it," she swore. "It won't quit!"

Tennora took the lock in her hand-nothing happened. "It's charmed," she said. "We need the key."

Nestrix frowned. "Check the guards. The one might have been lying."

Tennora dragged the dead man in from the tunnel and searched both guards' pockets and belt pouches, even unbuckled their armor in case the key hung around either's neck. Nothing. She swore again.

"We have to wait for Dareun then." Tennora looked at the bodies lying on the ground. "I'll hide them for now. When he comes back, we can work out where the keys are and get you out."

"No," Nestrix said, grabbing her by the arm. "You need to leave. That henich may be a wyrmling with a bad temper, but he has enough power to back that up. He'll kill you, and he won't fall for the same tricks his lovacs did."

Tennora slipped out of Nestrix's hold. "I'm terribly sorry," she said, "but you don't get much say in the matter. You're in there, I'm out here, and I'm not leaving without you." She picked up the first guard's ankles. "Also, I don't know how to get out of here, so they'd be on me in a few hours anyway."

One at a time, she hauled the two minions behind the piles of crates, repositioning the boxes so it wouldn't look as if they'd been moved.

Hells-the smell of their blood was still thick in the room. That had to be fixed. Tennora gave the crates a last shove into position and returned to stand in front of the door, studying the lock.

"Get as far to the side as you can," Nestrix said.

Tennora stayed standing directly in Nestrix's range. "What are you going to do?"

"Burn off the smell of blood. Move out of the way."

"No," Tennora said. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Not as badly as Dareun will hurt us both if he finds his men dead. We don't have a chance of deceiving him while it smells like this." Nestrix pointed over to the wall behind the crates. "Over there."

Tennora scowled and stood in front of Nestrix as if she were going to argue again, but after a moment she relented and squeezed between the cage and the crates, into the comer farthest from Nestrix's range.

"Stop your ears," Nestrix said. "It will be louder down here."

Her stomach quivered-it was going to hurt; there was no avoiding it. She drew several deep breaths to calm herself and find the node of magic that remained, tingling in the back of her throat. For a moment she felt normal, as if her neck were long and sturdy, her throat call used against the lightning. When the tingling became almost unbearable, she drew hard on the frayed Weave that floated through her.

The clap of thunder pounded her ears before her mouth could burn. Her throat-and then her whole body-droned with the lightning. For the moment before it hurt, Clytemorrenestrix remembered what it was like to ride the storms.

Then she burned.

She collapsed, shattered, to the ground, as Tennora shouted her name. Every breath seared, every muscle refused to comply with the merest demands. She lay still and waited for the slow creep of magic to soothe away her wounds-if the Spellplague had left her vulnerable in her own body, at least it granted her this balm.

When she stirred, the smell of lightning hung in the room, bare and faintly metallic, and there was no trace on the air of the meaty odor of blood.

"Are you all right?" Tennora said. She was kneeling at the door of the cage, eyes like saucers.

Nestrix coughed and sat up. "As right as expected. Did I break the lock?"

Tennora prodded the keyhole with a pick-the same spark. "No such luck."

Nestrix stared at the lockpicks, the sight of them overlaid by the memory of other picks in unfamiliar hands, the thiefs short-fingered ones, then her own darker ones. The locks coming undone, click by click.

"Oh," she said softly.

Tennora gave her an alarmed look.

"Give me the picks."

"You don't know how to use them," Tennora said.

"Give me the picks." She reached out to hold the lock, and studied it. "Do you believe the hunter?" she asked.

Tennora shrugged. "He makes some compelling arguments," she said, "but he doesn't have all the answers. So I don't think I do. But I also don't think it matters. Whether or not you were a dragon."

"I was," Nestrix said. "And it seems I wasn't."

She told her the story of the Blue Fire and the thief in the desert-the thief whose thoughts rang among her own. The memories that rose up like shipwrecks after a hurricane, the changing face that she'd only recently put a name to. As she spoke, it was as if a weight had been drawn up off her shoulders, and though Tennora's eyes widened as Nestrix spoke, Nestrix was glad she had told her.

"So, if it soothes your thoughts, I don't… always remember whether I killed someone or not. Sometimes the memories overwhelm me. I'm not certain it's always myself doing it."

"Like the wizard?"

"No," Nestrix said, "I definitely killed him."

Tennora frowned. "And you think she can tell you how to pick the locks?"

"No-listen to me. She is me. I know how to pick the locks." Tennora still looked confused. "Give me the picks you'd use."

Tennora picked up the lock again and peered inside. From her stash she took out three wires and the flat stick. "These. Probably. The mechanism's a funny shape."

Nestrix chose one of the wires at random and slid it into the lock. The hum of electricity pulsed through her bones, but if she held the pick tightly, she found she could manipulate it.

Nestrix picked up the flat stick and was suddenly assaulted by the memory of a similar tool being held over the bright flames of a fire. This will hurt, he says, and then the wide handle of the turner against the cut on her belly, the one that won't stop bleeding, and the smell of blood boiling and she screams Nestrix threw the tool to the ground before she could stop herself.

"Hey there, watch it!"

"I'm not used to it, all right?" she shouted. "That wasn't the right memory." She picked up another one, the thin point bent into a long curve. She remembered the pick in her hand, tracing the tip of it along a man's tanned arm making him fidget and want to grab her, Gralik who is Tantlevgithus and she who is Lyra and they switch back and forth, blue scales and golden skin and brown hair and black hair and blonde, that night in the desert, on the still-warm rocks She dropped the pick, stunned by the sudden, inopportune longing. "Damn it." "Are you sure you have the memory?"

"It's in there. I've seen it." She pointed to the flat tool. "That goes in, and then the thin ones work up against the top and find the moving bits."

Tennora nodded. "More or less. Maybe you just have to try it."

Nestrix wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Every time I pick up one of those tools, all I see are her memories. It's as if she's taking me over."

"I thought you said she was you."

"I don't know!" Nestrix shouted. "I don't know, and I don't like her changing things!"

"All right." Tennora blew out a long breath. "If you can't do it, we have to get the key."

"How do you possibly think you're going to manage that?" Nestrix said.

"I haven't thought of how yet." Her brow puckered. "We'll have to kill him, I think." "Really? You?"

Tennora gave her a withering look. "I took care of the two guards when I had to."

"I noticed," Nestrix said. "Why the change of heart?"

"They hurt you, hurt me. He's going to do something to undermine the city. We can't let that happen."

"Then they don't count."

Tennora shuddered a little. "Agreed. I wish we knew what exactly he planned to do. If we could stop him…"

Nestrix shook her head. "It's folly to guess at a taaldarax's end goal, but whatever he plans, there's a child involved." She told Tennora what Dareun had said.

"Mystra's bones," Tennora said. "Whose child?"

Nestrix shrugged. "He didn't say."

"Well, could you guess? Were there clues?"

Nestrix shook her head. "Remember, I can count the number of dokaal I know and recognize on one claw. He could have painted a portrait and it would mean nothing. But… he said, 'I feel as if I could unmask a hundred lords tonight' after he put on your collar." She gave Tennora what she thought might be a sympathetic look. "It was a good try, by the way," she said, even though it wasn't. But Tennora couldn't have known she had to think two steps beyond a taaldarax, even a brash, inexperienced one such as Dareun.

But for some reason, Tennora's face broke into a grin. "No, it's not-"

Something prickled at Nestrix's spine. "Hush."

There was a low clank from the tunnel that led into the lair. Andareunarthex was returning.

"Get behind the crates," she hissed at Tennora. To her credit, the girl jumped to her feet without asking questions and squeezed alongside the cage, behind the boxes that had transported Dareun's treasure.

Nestrix slipped the lockpicks into the pocket of her apron, brushed off her skirts, and stood, staring directly down the tunnel as her opponent came into view. Behind him, a half-elf wyrmling-a child, she corrected herself-struggled in his grip. Nestrix was startled to realize she'd seen him before-he was the boy in the boot shop, whose feet had grown too much. Trailing them came Ferremo and two more minions.

Dareun halted and looked around, marking the absence of each guard in turn. His eyes fell on Nestrix sitting calmly on the empty box in her cage, her cape arrayed over her shoulders like folded wings. He stormed across the room, dragging the little boy behind him.

Oh you henich achuakosj, she thought. I will revel in your fall.

"What have you done with my men?" he said.

Nestrix shrugged. "They ran off. One would think you'd better inure your pieces to the dragonfear, taaldarax." She gave him an insolent smile. "And me not even at my strongest."

He narrowed his eyes and stood closer to the bars of the cage, but he didn't break away from her gaze. "You're lying."

Nestrix smirked at him. "Dragon Queen, but you're addled. What do you think I did? Managed to escape long enough to kill your men and dispose of the bodies, only to climb back into my cage? I guarantee you, no matter how stupid you'd like to think I am, if I could get out, I'd be glad to leave your lovacs' bloody bodies behind and you wouldn't ever see me again."

He stood a moment longer, staring her down. Nestrix didn't flinch.

A low growl thrummed in Dareun's throat. He turned away, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door to the cage. Quicker than Nestrix could move, he twisted the little boy's arm, forcing him into the cage with her. He slammed the door.

"Do quit your crying, young Master Mrays," Dareun said in dulcet tones. "This woman is a very fierce dragon, and she might just gobble you up if you don't."

The boy looked up at Nestrix with alarm in his eyes and bit his trembling lip. A bruised and swelling cut on his cheekbone oozed blood and, judging by the dark streaks, had been for some time. The little boy pulled his legs up to his chest with a whimper. Fear nudged at Nestrix's heart-he looked so like a wyrmling hiding in a hole.

Dareun turned and caught Nestrix's eye. He gave her a cruel grin. "Don't worry," he whispered as he passed the cage. "Even if you leave him be, the blindfin will have him soon enough."