Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (22 page)

Finally, when he had crossed about three-quarters of the plaza, he heard something clatter
across a cobblestone ahead. Less than three paces away, a swirl of silt rose off the
ground with no apparent cause. Normally, he would have attributed the disturbance to the
wind. But the day was a still one. There was not even a faint breeze, and he knew that no
air current had caused the sound or the puff of dust.

Something hard and knobby struck Magnus in the chest. Though the jolt lacked the sharp
impact of an attack, its force was powerful and unyielding. The windsinger's feet left the
ground, then he crashed down on his back a short distance away. The air over his face
stirred faintly as something unseen passed over him. The ground trembled slightly as
something heavy settled down just a short distance from his head. Then everything was once
again still and quiet.

Magnus regained his feet and rushed toward the well. “Something's coming, Caelum!”

The windsinger's warning was hardly necessary. Caelum's palm was already glowing brilliant
crimson. The dwarf pushed his son behind him, then pointed his hand at the ground and
traced a circle around himself and Rkard. A scarlet glow washed over the cobblestones,
sending waves of heat pouring into the sky.

Magnus was twenty paces away, and Caelum's spell scorched his tough hide even from that
distance. Tongues of orange flame began to lace the shimmering wall, though the dwarf and
his son showed no sign of discomfort inside their protective fire circle. The
wind-singer's mace burst into flame. He barely managed to toss it aside before it burned
his hand. At the well, the bone rails surrounding the pit turned black and began to smoke,
then abruptly vanished in a fiery flash.

Unable to endure the terrible heat of the sun-cleric's spell, Magnus stopped. The fiery
curtain around Caelum and Rkard waved as though something were passing through it. Even
before the windsinger saw the flames outline the shape of a gaunt figure, he knew the
awful truth. The Dragon had created a double of himself to lure Rikus and Sadira away.

Magnus burst into song, summoning a hot gale that swept across the plaza and fanned
Caelum's spell. The flames flared white. Glowing cobblestones shot from the ground like
lightning bolts, trailing blue fire and filling the air with ear-piercing whistles. The
rocks rattled off the Dragon's legs and bounced away with no effect.

Borys passed inside the circle. The only effect the flames had on him was to coat his body
in soot, rendering him more or less visible. Caelum raised a glowing hand and sprayed the
blackened Dragon with crimson fire. The flames bounced off the beast's chest and curled
back.

Magnus rushed forward, ignoring the searing pain that washed over him with each stride. As
he ran, he sent a wind-whisper to Sadira. “Borys has tricked us! Come to the well at once!”

Even as he committed the words to the wind, the windsinger worried about all the things
that could keep the message from reaching the sorceress. If Borys's magic had caused
today's eerie stillness, Magnus's breath would be muffled long before it left the village.
Or, if the battle had drifted too far east or west, the wind-whisper would bypass her. And
if the words did reach the sorceress, it would take a little while for her to disengage
from the fight with the fraudulent dragon and return to the well. By then, Rkard might
well be dead.

Inside the fire circle, a loud thud sounded as Borys kicked Caelum in the chest. The dwarf
shot into the air, his limp hand still trailing flame. He crashed down on the far side of
the well and did not move.

Magnus reached the circle of fire and tried to hurl himself through. He slammed into the
flames as though smashing into a stone wall, then his leading flank erupted into
blistering pain. The smell of scorched hide filled his nostrils. The windsinger fell away,
bellowing in agony and madly slapping at the embers flaring to life on his thighs. He
slammed to the ground and rolled. Once he managed to get control of himself, he returned
to his knees, already singing a lyric that would ease his pain.

Magnus looked up in time to see Rkard diving forward. The boy's sword flashed, hit the
Dragon's scorched leg, and snapped. The young mul cried out in disbelief, then rolled
through the fire wall and came up facing Borys. He stood about a quarter of the way around
the circle from Magnus, less than a dozen paces away.

The Dragon stepped into the fire curtain and stooped down to pick up Rkard.

Magnus pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, his legs protesting each step with
fiery pain. “Rkard, over here!” he yelled.

The young mul looked toward the windsinger. When Borys's hand flicked down to cut him off,
the boy dodged away and began to run, fleeing toward a hut on the opposite side of the
plaza.

The Dragon turned to chase the boy.

Suddenly, on the other side of the fire circle from Magnus, a gnarled mass of bone stood
between Borys and the boy. The lump was almost as tall as the Dragon himself, with glowing
orange eyes, a long gray beard, and stiff branches of bone protruding from its shoulders.
Magnus shook his head, unable to understand where the banshee had come from. The thing had
appeared in a flash, standing where there had been only empty air an instant before.

“I won't let you slay our king again,” said Jo'orsh.

“I have no intention of killing him,” Borys replied. “I'm taking him to Ur Draxa, where
I'll return him to you-in return for the Dark Lens. Now, stand aside.”

With his arm of stiff bone, Jo'orsh slashed at the Dragon, opening a long gash in Borys's
snout. Boiling yellow blood spilled from the wound, hissing and popping as it splashed off
the cobblestones.

Magnus circled around Caelum's fire curtain, ducking his face behind his shoulder to
shield it from the blazing heat.

Borys tried to sidestep his foe, and Jo'orsh moved to block his path. The Dragon struck,
driving a fist through the banshee's gnarled ribs. A deafening crack reverberated across
the square, and the banshee burst apart. Shards of white bone rained down on the plaza
from one end to the other.

As soon as they hit the ground, the fragments astonished Magnus by slowly tumbling back
toward the place Jo'orsh had been standing.

Swallowing his shock, Magnus lowered his shoulder and charged. Though he was not foolish
enough to believe he could injure Borys, he hoped to slow the beast down long enough for
Rkard to escape.

Borys stepped away, forcing the windsinger to change courses and rush after him. In two
paces, the Dragon crossed to the hut where Rkard had gone. He ripped the hide roof away
and tossed it across the square. Apparently, the young mul had left through a back window,
for the Beast did not reach down to pluck him out of the building.

“Where are you, little boy?” The Dragon slapped the hut in frustration.

The building exploded into flying stones. Less than a dozen paces away, Magnus had to stop
running and duck away to shield his head. When the windsinger looked up again, the beast
was tearing the roof off the next building. Again, the Dragon smashed the shack, then he
ripped the hide off a third shack.

This time, a red flare shot up from inside and engulfed Borys's slender head inside a
glowing likeness of the sun. Unconcerned, the Dragon reached into the hut. When he pulled
his hand out, it was curled into a tight fist, with Rkard's head showing out the top.

“No!” Magnus roared.

The windsinger sprinted the last few steps to the plaza edge. He threw himself at the
Dragon's bony shin and wrapped his massive arms around it. Borys started toward the tiny
silt harbor east of the village, smashing his foot through the nearest hut.

The windsinger grimaced from the impact, but held on easily. His thick hide was as tough
as a lirr's, and it shielded him from all but the most serious of blows. He began to sing
in his loudest voice, calling up a gale from the Sea of Silt. Borys dragged him through
another hut, then another and another. Magnus continued to sing, and soon the sky above
was filled with gray clouds of dust. Yellow bolts of lightning crackled out of the
gathering storm, each striking the Dragon's head. The wind-singer was not foolish enough
to think his windstorm could harm the beast, but he hoped it would draw his friends'
attention to Rkard's danger.

Borys chuckled, then slammed his foot through the village wall and stepped into the
harbor. Magnus sank beneath the silt. He closed his eyes and mouth, trying to breathe
through his nose. The membranes protecting his nasal passages were clogged by dust, but at
least the filters kept him from swallowing the powdery loess and choking. He would not
suffocate for a few more moments.

Holding his breath, Magnus pulled himself up Borys's knee. The storm would continue for a
few moments without his ballad, but if he wanted to keep it going, he would soon have to
raise his voice again. The wind-singer reached up, searching for a handhold on the
Dragon's thigh.

Magnus felt a hand slip around his torso. The claw pulled him free and lifted him out of
the silt. The wind-singer saw that the Dragon had already carried him and Rkard out of the
harbor. They were heading toward the heart of the Sea of Silt.

Above Magnus, Rkard had managed to work an arm free of the Dragon's grip and was trying to
bend a clawed finger back to free himself. The windsinger knew he would not succeed. Even
a mul child could not be that strong.

Magnus snorted, clearing his nostrils, and raised his voice in song. A peal of thunder
cracked over the Dragon, and a dozen forks of sizzling energy stabbed at his head. Borys's
eyes flashed even brighter than the lightning.

“Your noise makes my head throb,” the Dragon hissed.

Three sharp claws pierced the windsinger's hide, cracking his massive ribs like a storm
snapping faro branches. His ballad changed to a howl. He felt the Dragon's arm whip
outward, then Magnus found himself soaring over the pearly sea. His black eyes clouded
over and he began to arc downward, the wind singing in his ears.

* * * * *

Neeva found her unconscious husband next to the well, one armed draped over the side. The
flesh had been scraped off one side of his skull, and a dark streak on the cobblestones
marked where he had been dragged across the plaza to the pit. Strangely enough, the wound
itself looked clean, as though someone had taken the trouble to bathe it before abandoning
him.

“Caelum! Wake up!” She kneeled at his side and shook his shoulder. When his eyes failed to
open, she slapped his cheek-not lightly. “Tell me what happened to Rkard!”

The dwarf's eyes did not even flutter.

Behind her, Jo'orsh's bones continued to clatter as they tumbled toward each other. Neeva
looked toward the noise and shuddered. The banshee had reconstructed only about half of
his gnarled body, most of the torso and one leg, and somehow he looked even more hideous
than before.

Rikus and Sadira appeared at the edge of the plaza, leading the five haggard survivors
from the Bronze Company toward the well. The rest of the command, nearly thirty warriors,
had perished in the battle with the counterfeit Borys. At the time, with its claws ripping
through steel breastplates and its heels smashing thick dwarven skulls, the beast had
seemed real enough. It was not until the fight had ended and the Dragon had shrunk into a
frightened, battered gorak that they had discovered the creature's true nature.

It was then that they had noticed the dust storm drifting out to sea. For a moment, it had
seemed to Neeva that she saw a red light in the heart of the tempest, but the others had
not been able to find it when she tried to point it out to them. Finally, even she could
not see the glow, and the squall had moved out of sight. They had rushed back to the
village, finding it as quiet as when they had first arrived.

“How is he?” called Sadira.

Neeva shook her head. “Alive, but that's about all,” she reported. “Any sign of Magnus or
Rkard?”

The sorceress shook her head.
“I'm
sorry.”

Neeva cursed. “I want to know where my son is,” she said. “Why doesn't Magnus send a
wind-whisper to tell us where they are?”

“He may have,” Sadira replied. “But if he did it after the battle began to drift eastward,
we wouldn't have been there to hear it.”

“Or maybe he didn't have time,” Rikus suggested. “If it came down to a choice of
protecting Rkard or warning us, I've no doubts that he'd defend the boy.”

“As long as he was able-which may not have beenÇ that long,” Neeva said. She picked her
husband up and carried him a safe distance away from the well. “But what happened isn't as
important as how we're going to find my son again.”

“Maybe Jo'orsh will be able to tell us something,” Sadira suggested. She glanced toward
the banshee, who had reassembled his complete torso, both legs, and an arm. “He must have
seen what happened.”

Rikus nodded. “Until then, maybe this can tell us something.” The mul kneeled at the side
of the well. He pointed at the dark streak marking the path along which Caelum had been
pulled. “Could Rkard have been the one who dragged his father over here?”

Neeva shook her head. “He'd just carry Caelum,” she said. “You know how strong he is.”

“Unless he was hurt, and looking for a place to hide,” Rikus said. He grabbed the well
rope and handed the end to Neeva. “I'll go see.”

Neeva barely had time to loop the line around her back and sit before the mul stepped into
the dark pit. The rope bit into her waist, and she waited in tense silence while the mul
descended. The warrior did not know what she wanted him to find. If Rkard had been injured
and dropped into the well, he might well have drowned. On the other hand, she could not
bear the alternative-that Borys had taken him and disappeared. She found herself placing
all her hope in Magnus, praying that the windsinger had taken her son and hidden where
neither Sadira or the Dragon could find them.