Xar expanded his range of hearing, listened for her. He heard her, running and sobbing, heard her fall. Then he heard another voice.
Xar smiled. He’d been right. The dwarf. She’d led him to the dwarf. He listened to their conversation, ignored most of it. What an inane story. The dwarf was drunk; that much was obvious. Xar laughed aloud at the suggestion that the citadel’s gates be opened to the tytans. Mensch were more stupid than he’d thought.
“I will open the gates, dwarf,” Xar said. “When you are dead! And you can make friends with the tytans then!”
The two were emerging from the maze. Xar was pleased. He hadn’t expected them to come out so soon.
He strolled over to one of the nearby buildings and hid in the shadows. From here he could see the entrance to the maze, yet remain unobserved. He would allow them to get far enough from the maze so that they could not run back to it for protection.
“I will kill these two now,” he said to himself. “Leave their bodies here for the time being. When the others are dead, I will return for the corpses, begin the preparations to raise them.”
He could hear the heavy footfalls of the dwarf, moving down the path, nearing the entrance. The elf female was with him, her footfalls much lighter, barely discernible. But he could plainly hear her frantic whispers.
“Drugar! Don’t go out there! Please. I know he’s there. I know it!” Perceptive, these elves. Xar forced himself to wait patiently and was rewarded by the sight of the dwarf’s black-bearded face popping out around the corner of the hedgerow. The face vanished again immediately, then, after a pause, reappeared.
Xar was careful not to move, was one with the shadow in which he hid. The dwarf advanced a tentative step, hand on an ax he wore at his belt. He looked up the street and down. At length he gestured.
“Aleatha, come now. It is safe. Lord Xar is nowhere in sight.” The elf female crept out. “He’s here somewhere, Drugar. I know he is. Let’s run!”
She caught hold of the dwarf’s hand. Together they began running up the street—away from the maze, straight toward Xar.
He let them get close; then he stepped out into the street, directly in front of them.
“What a pity you had to miss my party,” he said to the dwarf. Raising his hand, Xar wove the runes that would slay them both.
The sigla shimmered in the air, swept down on the stunned mensch in a bright flash and, suddenly, began to unravel.
“What—?” Furious, Xar started to recast his magic; then he saw the problem. The dwarf stood in front of the elf female. In his hand he held the amulet with the Sartan runes. The amulet was protecting them both. Not for long. Its magic was limited. The dwarf had no idea how to use it beyond this feeble attempt. Xar strengthened his spell.
His sigla burned, flared. Their light was blinding and burst upon the dwarf, upon his puny amulet, with a roar of fire. A shattering explosion, a cry of pain, a terrible scream.
When the smoke cleared, the dwarf lay on the pavement. The elf female knelt over him, pleading with him to get up.
Xar took a step toward her to finish her off.
A voice thundered through the air, halted him.
“You killed my wizard!”
A dark shadow obliterated the sun. Aleatha looked up, saw the dragon, saw that it was attacking Xar. She didn’t understand, but understanding didn’t matter. She bent over Drugar. Tugging on his beard, she begged him, pleaded with him to wake up, to help her. She was so frantic, she never noticed that her hands—where they touched the dwarf—were covered with blood.
“Drugar, please!”
The dwarf’s eyes opened. He looked up at the lovely face, so near his own, and he smiled at her.
“Come on, Drugar!” she urged tearfully. “Stand up! Hurry! The dragon—”
“I’m going... to be with... my people...” Drugar told her gently.
“No, Drugar!” Aleatha choked. She saw the blood now. “Don’t leave me...” He frowned to quiet her. With his fast-fading strength, he pressed the amulet into her hands. “Open the gate. The tytans will help. Trust me! You must... trust me!” He stared up at her, pleading.
Aleatha hesitated. The magic thundered around her; the dragon roared in fury; Xar’s voice chanted strange words.
Aleatha clasped her hands tightly around the dwarf’s.
“I trust you, Drugar,” she said.
His eyes closed. He gasped in pain, yet he smiled. “My people...” He breathed softly, finally.
“Drugar!” Aleatha cried, clutching the amulet in her bloodstained hands. Xar’s magic flashed. A tremendous wind, raised by the violent lashing of the dragon’s gigantic tail, blew her hair into her face.
Aleatha was no longer crying. She was calm now, surprised at her calmness. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.
Holding fast to the amulet, unnoticed by either the wizard or the dragon, the elf kissed the dwarf tenderly on his forehead. Then she rose to her feet and walked, with purpose and resolve, down the street.
Paithan and Roland and Rega stood knee-deep in a vast pile of bricks, fallen timbers, and tumbled blocks of marble.
“Are... are any of us hurt?” Paithan asked, looking around in dazed confusion. Roland lifted his foot, displacing an enormous mound of bricks that had been covering it. “No,” he said hesitantly, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.
“No, I’m all right. But don’t ask me how.”
Rega brushed rock dust from her face and out of her eyes. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Paithan answered. “I remember the man in black asking about his wizard and then he was a dragon shrieking about his wizard and then... then ...”
“The room sort of exploded,” Roland continued. He climbed up and over the rubble until he reached them. “The dragon’s head bashed through the ceiling and the room started collapsing and I remember thinking, ‘This is it, pal. You’re finished.’ ”
“But we’re not,” said Rega, blinking. “We’re not finished. I wonder how we survived?” She gazed around at the terrible destruction. Bright sunlight flooded the room; the dust sparkled in it like myriad tiny jewels.
“Who cares how we survived?” Roland said, heading for a large hole that had been blasted through the wall. “We did, and that’s enough for me. Let’s get the hell out of here! Xar is probably after Aleatha!”
Helping each other, Paithan and Rega clambered over a pile of bricks and rubble.
Before he left, Paithan glanced behind. The circular room, with its round table, was destroyed. Whatever voices had once spoken in that room would speak no more.
The three ran out of the hole in the wall just in time to see a gigantic ball of fire illuminate the sky. Frightened, they fell back, took shelter in a doorway. A boom shook the ground.
“What is it? Can you see?” Roland demanded. “Do you see Aleatha? I’m going out there.”
“No, you’re not!” Paithan caught hold of him. “I’m just as worried about her as you are. She’s my sister. But you won’t help her by getting yourself killed. Wait until we know what’s going on.”
Roland, sweating and ashen-faced, stood trembling; he seemed prepared to race off anyway.
“The dragon’s fighting Xar,” Rega whispered, awed.
“I think you’re right,” Paithan agreed, pondering. “And if the dragon kills Xar, we’re probably next.”
“Our only hope is that they kill each other.”
“I’m going to go find Aleatha!” Roland ran down the stairs.
“Roland! Don’t! You’ll be killed!” Rega went running after him.
“There’s Aleatha! Over there! Thea!” Paithan yelled. “Thea! We’re up here!” He dashed down the steps to the street level. Aleatha was at the bottom, walking along the street. She either couldn’t hear her brother’s shout, or she was ignoring him. She walked swiftly, didn’t stop, although now Roland had added his powerful voice to the elf’s weaker one.