The shadow dragon let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward, pressed Dhamon down against the floor, into the pool of blood. The dragon held him gently now with one claw. A talon on the other drummed softly against the scale. “Weaken the link, and he lives.”
Hot white pain shot up Dhamon’s leg. Wave after wave washed through him. He slammed his teeth together and writhed.
Malystryx threw back her head and released a gout of fire into the sky. The roar of her defeat was echoed by the rumbling of the volcanoes. The mountains thundered, and her plateau shook violently.
“Damage the scale, and he lives,” the shadow dragon observed.
The pain intensified, and Dhamon fought to stay conscious.
Malystryx spread her blood-colored wings, beating them savagely, rose into the sky. She angled her immense head down toward the lava-covered ground, opened her jaws, and released a roaring ball of fire. Flames splashed against the lava to lick at her tail.
Dhamon screamed in agony as the shadow dragon drew an impossibly sharp talon through the scale on his leg, shearing it in two.
The knight thrashed about in the cold blood, squirming and clawing at the stone floor until the pain diminished to a dull throb. He took great gulps of air into his lungs and struggled to sit up.
He wiped at the blood in his eyes and squinted. The chamber was dark, but a soft gray glow shimmered from the shadow dragon, bathing the cave in a surreal light.
“It is time to redeem yourself,” the shadow dragon announced.
“It is time to die, dragon!” came a voice from the mouth of the cave.
11
Dragon Magic
Gilthanas stood just inside the cave entrance, sword in hand, blond hair fluttering about his stern face. Behind him, practically filling the entrance, was a silver dragon.
“Release Dhamon Grimwulf, or you will die!” Gilthanas ordered. The elf, displaying no fear, pointed his sword at the shadow dragon. Gilthanas’s keen elven sight allowed him to see in the near-blackness of the cave, to make out Dhamon sitting naked in a pool of blood inches away from the dragon’s talons.
Dhamon blinked and turned toward the elf. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. His throat was impossibly dry. He struggled to his feet, his legs seeming like lead weights. He took a few slow steps nearer the shadow dragon and steadied himself.
“Dhamon,” Gilthanas said. “Come toward me.”
Dhamon shook his head, swallowed hard, and tried again to draw some moisture into his mouth. Gilthanas, he mouthed, wait.
“I have not harmed this man,” the shadow dragon said, his voice haunting and harsh.
The voice of an old man, Gilthanas thought. But not the voice of a feeble dragon, the elf knew. He and Silvara had spoken briefly with the blind villagers when they arrived in Brukt to search for Dhamon. There, they had learned how the shadow dragon slaughtered the Knights of Takhisis and that Rig and the others were on Dhamon’s trail.
“Indeed, I have saved this man,” the shadow dragon continued. “And I will not harm you—unless you force me to do otherwise.” Translucent black-gray scales shimmered, and the dragon seemed to shrink, just enough so he could better maneuver in the chamber. He slid by Dhamon and stretched toward Gilthanas. “I would speak with your silver companion now.”
“As you wish,” came Silvara’s musical voice. “Gilthanas...”
The elf brandished his sword, but didn’t use it. He stood his ground for a moment, then reluctantly stepped aside so the shadow dragon could leave the cave. The limestone chamber brightened a little, and the air seemed to warm a bit.
“You’re hurt.” Gilthanas heard Silvara say to the shadow dragon.
“I will heal,” came the whispered reply.
There were other words exchanged. Gilthanas tried to listen, but the dragon voices dropped to inaudible tones. The elf trusted Silvara to take care of herself, but he hoped she knew what she was doing by talking to the mysterious shadow dragon, a creature as large as she.
Now Gilthanas warily approached Dhamon. The glaive lay several feet away, all but covered by the blood. Dhamon made no move toward it.
“You killed Goldmoon,” Gilthanas began. He glanced over his shoulder toward the cave entrance. The two dragons were snout to snout, as their words, sounding like wind chimes, continued. The elf returned his attention to Dhamon, kept the sword pointed in front of him.
“And Jasper,” Dhamon said. His voice was remarkably soft, and it hurt his throat to speak.
“No. You wounded him severely, but the dwarf is alive.”
“I deserve death,” Dhamon said, looking at Gilthanas’s sword, then raising his eyes to meet the elf’s.
“Some would argue you deserve worse,” the elf returned. “But I’m not your judge, and we’re a long way from Schallsea—where you should be tried and punished.”
“And killed,” Dhamon whispered.
“Maybe,” Gilthanas’s voice was stern, offering no pity. “That’s not for me to decide. Palin would like to believe you weren’t responsible for your actions, that the Red was behind everything. Is that true?”
Dhamon didn’t answer. He searched for Malystryx in his mind, reaching a hand down to feel the cracked scale still imbedded in his leg. He felt her, briefly, like a whisper on the wind. She still watched like an eavesdropper in the secret part of his mind.
“Is that true?” Gilthanas almost shouted.
“She’s still here,” Dhamon said, pointing to his forehead. His voice was getting stronger, though his throat still ached, as did the rest of him. “Maybe you should judge me. If I can’t be rid of her, I’m not safe. I can’t be trusted. Malys wants the glaive. She was forcing me to bring it to her.”
The elf let out a deep breath. “I’ll take your weapon,” he said.
Dhamon gestured toward it.
“And you’re coming with me, too. Eventually we’ll make our way back to Schallsea or to the Tower of Wayreth. It depends where Palin wants you. Silvara risked a lot to come here, flying through Sable’s realm. We’ll take a different route back.”
Dhamon shook his head. “You don’t want me with you. Believe me.”
“Nor do I,” came the raspy voice from the cave entrance. “Unlike the silver, I have no desire to be shackled to a man.” The shadow dragon slid back inside the cave, bringing with him the cold air and the blackness. In the entrance behind him, the sky glowed dark purple and the stars began to shine through. “But I am not done with you. Dhamon Grimwulf, they call you, a former Knight of Takhisis, a renegade of Goldmoon. Malystryx, I will call you—but for only a few hours more.”
“I will help.” The voice was Silvara’s. She stood in the cave entrance, framed by the twilight sky, looking as she had when Gilthanas first met her—a Kagonesti with sparkling eyes and flowing hair.
The elf noiselessly glided into the cave, following the shadow dragon. She stopped briefly to look at Gilthanas. “Wait for us outside, and be vigilant,” she said. “He tells me a legion of red spawn is patrolling the mountains, and there are Rig and the others to watch for.”
Gilthanas opened his mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. His silver dragon companion had made her mind up about something, and his relationship was too tenuous with her to argue about it right now. “Be careful,” was all he said. “Call me if you need me.” He watched her follow the shadow dragon into the darkest recesses of the cave. Then he slipped outside.
Gilthanas drew his cloak about him as he paced. The elf knew a lot about dragons and was desperately in love with the silver dragon, but he’d never seen a creature before similar to the one in there with her. The shadow dragon had blinded an entire village. He prayed to the departed gods that Silvara was safe in the creature’s presence and that she knew what she was doing.
He’d known Silvara for decades, having met her a lifetime ago, though it had taken him a long time to admit he was in love with her. When she revealed that she was not a Kagonesti, but in reality a silver dragon, he spurned her and went his own way. It took him a long time to realize how lonely was the way, how incomplete was the life he’d chosen.