Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (21 page)

The unnatural quiet disturbed Magnus even more than the lack of visible activity. As his
big ears swiveled around the plaza, he heard nothing-not a child whimpering, not a gorak
scratching at a stone wall, not a stifling wind hissing through the streets. The place was
as noiseless as death.

“Do you think this is Samarah?” asked Rikus. The mul whispered his question, apparently
reluctant to disturb the eerie tranquility of the place.

The windsinger shrugged. 'It's in the right place,“ he replied, starting toward the well.
”But the inhabitants seem to have abandoned it."

“Or been driven away,” said Sadira. Her voice was loud and sharp as she stepped from a
narrow path between two huts.

“What do you mean?” asked Neeva. She was clutching her battle-axe in both hands, as if she
expected to be attacked at any moment. Caelum and Rkard were not with her. When the scouts
had not returned, she had sent them with what remained of the Bronze Company to examine
the village's southern perimeter. The Tyrian legion was circling around in the opposite
direction, inspecting the north side. “Did you find something?”

The sorceress shook her head. “No, but I'm worried about what happened to Sa'ram.”

“Then tell us why,” Rikus demanded. “This is no time to make us guess.”

Sadira scowled at the mul, but Magnus interposed himself between the two spouses before
she could retort. “Perhaps we should have something to drink first,” he said. “Thirst is
making all our tempers short.”

The windsinger was not being very honest, and they all knew it. After the battle against
the Raamins, the coolness that had come between Sadira and Rikus had warmed slightly for
about a day. Then something had gone wrong, and now they could hardly speak without
quarreling. From what the windsinger had gathered, Rikus had tried to make love to Sadira,
and that had angered the sorceress, who was still mourning her other husband's death.

As they moved across the square, Rikus peered around the windsinger. “I'm sorry, Sadira.
That was uncalled for,” he said. “What were you going to say?”

Without acknowledging the apology, Sadira explained, “Jo'orsh said that Borys wanted him
and Sa'ram because their magic was still hiding the Dark Lens,” she said. “But that was
before Sa'ram was destroyed.”

The company neared the well, causing the inixes to look up and hiss. Magnus ignored their
threats and began to examine the tackle on their backs, at the same time keeping his
enormous ears turned toward the sorceress.

“So you're worried that by destroying Sa'ram, you ruined the enchantment that had kept the
lens hidden all this time?” the windsinger asked. He pulled a heavy waterskin off an inix
harness.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Sadira said. 'It's been ten days since the battle with
Abalach. If the Dragon suddenly found himself able to locate the lens, that would be more
than enough time for him to come here and take it-along with the villagers, Tithian, and
anyone else who happened to be here."

“That's true,” Magnus said, opening the waterskin in his hands. The liquid inside smelled
too much of leather and lime to have come from the well. “But that doesn't explain the
absence of our scouts. Wherever they went, they didn't take their waterskins. In fact,
they didn't even change water.”

Sadira and the others scowled. Anyone who traveled the Athasian desert knew to keep a
waterskin handy, and it was a rare man who did not fill that sack with the freshest water
available. That the scouts had not done this suggested they had not lingered at the well
for long.

“There's only one way to find out what's going on here,” said Sadira. “We'll have to
search the village.”

“Right, but first things first,” said Rikus. He pushed an inix aside, then retrieved a
rope and bucket tied to the toppled rail I'm thirsty."

The mul tossed the bucket into the pit. After falling for a moment, it struck the bottom
of the well with a muffled sound somewhere between a splash and a thud. Rikus allowed the
weighted pail a moment to sink, then pulled it up. He stepped away from the inixes and
tipped his head back, closing his eyes in anticipation of a cool drink.

The water that flowed from the bucket was cloudy and pink. Rikus gulped down a mouthful,
then made a sour face and threw the bucket across the plaza. “It tastes like blood!”

“That's what it looked like-”

Hundreds of frightened voices cried out from the north side of the village. The screams
lasted for only an instant, then faded away in a single, strangled croak. By the time
Magnus and his companions spun around to look toward the disturbance, Samarah had fallen
silent again. They saw nothing but a hillside of orange stones rising above the scaly
roofs of the empty village.

“We'd better see what happened,” said Sadira, leading the way across the plaza.

Magnus followed the others. They crossed the plaza in silence, the thick dust cushioning
their footsteps, and entered a crooked lane running northward through a small borough of
huts. Here, they had to plow through waist-high silt drifts, filling the alley with gray
clouds of dust. Neeva and Rikus began to choke and cough, but Magnus simply closed his
mouth and breathed only through his huge nostrils. Deep within his nose, several membranes
kept his airway clear by filtering out fine particles of dust.

The group emerged beside a small pasture that lay between the huts and the village wall. A
blanket of undisturbed silt covered the ground, the jagged shapes of upturned stones
visible beneath the gray shroud.

“We should be able to see the legion by now.” Magnus said. He pointed across the pasture.

The village wall rose only chin high. If the Tyrian warriors had been standing on the
other side, it would have been an easy matter to spot their heads protruding above the
crest. Magnus saw nothing but a slope of rock and dust.

“Four hundred warriors don't just vanish,” Rikus said.

“The scouts did,” Magnus reminded him.

The mul grunted an acknowledgment, then said, “Let's go and have a look.” He drew the
Scourge, which had grown back to its original length.

Magnus pulled the mace from his belt, and the small company started across the field. The
stones beneath the dust were loose and often shifted as soon as any weight was put on
them. The companions had to move slowly, picking their way carefully to avoid turning an
ankle.

Sadira reached the wall first. She peered over the top and cried out in alarm. The
sorceress gave the barrier a hard shove and stones flew in all directions. She slipped
through the resulting gap and stared at the ground with a horrified expression on her face.

Magnus and the others followed her through the breach. Along the base of the wall lay the
Tyrian legion, still in column formation. Most warriors had fallen with their heads
uphill. All were curled into the fetal position and clutched at their stomachs in agony.
Their faces were twisted masks of anguish, except that their gaping mouths seemed more
astonished than pained and their vacant eyes uniformly stared at the same spot on the
slope above. Although none of the bodies were moving, they looked more paralyzed than dead.

Magnus kneeled beside a red-haired woman whose hand still gripped her half-drawn sword. He
leaned over her head, cocking one of his ears to cover her mouth and nose.

“Well?” Rikus demanded.

“Her lips no longer sing the song of being,” the wind-singer said. He placed a hand on her
torso. The flesh remained soft and warm, though it was as still as stone. “Nor does her
heart carry the beat of life.”

“There are no wounds,” Neeva said, rolling over a black-haired man. “What happened?”

“Their life-force was drawn from their bodies,” said Sadira. She climbed up the hillside
to where the warriors' dead eyes were fixed. “And this is where Borys was standing when he
did it.”

Magnus and the others joined the sorceress. She stood beside a pair of three-toed
footprints such as a bird might make-save that these were a full two paces across. The
windsinger had no doubts about who had made the tracks, for he had seen the Dragon attack
Wed and recognized the prints from there.

“You were right, Sadira,” Magnus observed. “Borys has beaten us to the Dark Lens.”

“So let's take it back,” said Rikus. He studied the ground, looking for an indication of
where the Dragon had gone. There were no other tracks, only the ones Sadira had
discovered. “If we can find Borys.”

“I have a feeling he'll find us,” said Magnus.

“Or my son!” gasped Neeva. She pointed across the village. A short distance beyond the
south wall, the sun's rays glinted off the bobbing figures of armored dwarves. “If he
knows of the banshees' prophecy, he'll try to kill Rkard.”

The warrior had hardly spoken before a gaunt figure as tall as a giant appeared behind the
Bronze Company, emerging from thin air as though stepping from behind an unseen curtain.
He was the color of iron, with a chili-nous hide equal parts flesh and shell. His head sat
atop a serpentine neck and resembled that of a sharp-beaked bird, with a spiked crest of
leathery skin. He had long, double-kneed legs, and his gaunt arms ended in knobby fingers
with sword-length claws. The beast crept up behind the dwarves so silently that they
seemed unaware that it was following them.

“Caelum! Behind you!” Neeva yelled. She started down the hill at a sprint.

Rikus followed instantly. Magnus was only a step behind when he felt Sadira's fingers
digging into his shoulder. “You go to the well.”

“But you'll need help-”

“Do it, Magnus!” The sorceress looked across the village. Outside the wall, the Dragon had
almost reached the rear ranks of the Bronze Company. The dwarves, who were too far away to
have heard Neeva yell, seemed as oblivious as ever to his presence. “I'm not going to
leave Rkard in danger!”

Sadira gave Magnus a gentle shove, and he found himself running down the slope. The
windsinger glanced back and saw the sorceress looking toward the Bronze Company, one hand
searching her cloak pocket for spell components. He faced forward again and rushed through
the gap in the village wall.

Magnus crossed the rocky pasture at a full sprint, stones clattering and slipping beneath
his pounding steps. He almost fell as he entered the narrow lane between the stone huts,
knocking several holes in the walls as he bounced from one side to the other.

At last he emerged in the square. He saw Borys's gaunt form looming above the huts on the
south side of the village. The Dragon was hardly moving at all, simply staring down at the
ground. Magnus feared the beast had already destroyed the Bronze Company, for he did not
hear so much as a shield clanging outside the wall.

The windsinger rushed across the plaza, his huge feet crashing down on the dusty stones.
The inixes looked up and hissed, then slowly backed away from the well to reveal Caelum
and Rkard. The two Kledans sat on the ground, looking dazed and frightened.

“Don't worry. Sadira used a spell to move you.” Magnus called, still fifty paces from the
pair. “The Dragon destroyed the Tyrian legion, and now he's after the Bronze Company.”

Rkard was on his feet instantly. “Then why'd she move us?” he demanded. “I can't kill
Borys from here!”

Outside the village wall, Neeva's distant voice called, “Bronze Company, halt! Face to the
rear!”

Billows of orange smoke poured from the Dragon's nostrils, streaming out of sight as they
passed behind the huts on Samarah's south side. Dozens of warriors cried out in anger and
fear. They began to cough and choke, but the windsinger did not hear the dang of any
armored bodies falling to the ground. Neeva shouted a harsh command, ordering the dwarves
to attack.

Rkard drew his sword and started toward the battle, but Caelum grabbed the youth's
shoulder to hold him back.

From outside the village came the clatter of dwarven axes striking stony flesh. Borys
roared in anger and raised a clawed foot so high into the air that Magnus saw it above the
roofs of the huts. The Dragon slammed his heel down. The windsinger heard death screams
and crumpling metal.

Rikus screamed in anger, then Sadira's voice rang out with the mystic syllables of a
spell. A low growl rumbled through the ground, ending with a tremendous bang. The Dragon
stumbled back. The dwarves gave a mighty cheer, and Magnus heard them tramping forward.
Sadira called out another incantation, and a black bolt of magic energy blasted a hunk of
scaly flesh off the beast's shoulder. Borys sprayed glowing sand toward the village wall
and retreated.

Neeva yelled the order to charge, and the clamor of running feet filled Magnus's ears. The
windsinger could also hear Rikus disparaging Borys's courage in a futile attempt to lure
him back to the fight. At the same time, Sadira was shouting for the company to spread out
so that the Dragon could not use a spell to make an easy counterattack.

As Magnus joined Caelum and Rkard at the well, the boy looked up at him. “What are they
doing?” Although the Dragon's towering form had already retreated so far that it was no
longer visible behind Samarah's huts, the young mul's eyes were still turned southward.
“Jo'orsh and Sa'ram said I'm the one who's going to kill the Dragon.”

“Perhaps, but we should not complain if your mother and her friends succeed now,” said the
windsinger.

“Besides, I doubt that this battle will be our last one with Borys,” said Caelum. “He is a
powerful enemy and will not be slain so easily.”

A hut at the plaza's edge suddenly collapsed, spraying stones halfway across the square.
Magnus looked toward the sound and scowled. “What caused that?”

“Whatever it was, I don't like it.” Caelum raised his palm toward the sun.

“I'll go take a look,” Magnus offered.

The windsinger gripped his mace more tightly and started toward the ruined building. He
moved across the square cautiously, his dark eyes searching the narrow alleys for some man
or creature that could have destroyed the hut. A cloud of silt hung in the air around the
fallen shack, but it was thin enough that Magnus could see that there was no one lurking
inside it.