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-”