“A pond would have been preferable,” said Obelia, who had followed Feril, trailed by Ragh. “Quiet water is the best, but this will have to do.”
Feril knelt on the bank and Ragh followed suit behind her, dropping his voice conspiratorially.
“Elf-scrolls and jars, powders, a ghost, and an overlord’s scale. You continue to amaze me. How’d you bring a ghost up from the bottom of the lake anyway? I always heard that such lost spirits were held to where they died.”
“Fingerbones,” she explained. Feril was leaning over, studying her own reflection in a patch of relatively still water. “I have Obelia’s fingerbones in the flask.”
“And some water from my home,” the ghost volunteered. “I thought that would be enough. Blessed am I to be free of that lake. Even being tethered to an old flask is preferable to being imprisoned in Nalis Aren.” Obelia then directed Feril to stir the stream and concentrate. As she did so, the dead Qualinesti concentrated on bonding with her energy, doubling her magic with his own.
“Now tell me, sivak Ragh,” Obelia said in a hushed voice, “where would these dropped scales likely be? That is where we should start our search.”
Ragh stared at the patch of water, thinking he saw motes sparkle beneath the surface. “Shrentak,” he said after a few moments. “It’s a city in the swamp, a vile dark city. Underneath it sprawls Sable’s home. That is where you might start.”
The clear water darkened and swirled, and all of a sudden an immense cavern was reflected on its surface. Gems and jewels, gold and silver bars, weapons and armor glimmered faintly in the light of a few oil lanterns hanging on the walls.
“That’s it! That’s one of Sable’s lairs—her favorite, I believe,” Ragh announced in an awed voice. He was at once in awe of the wealth and afraid of the prospect of returning there. “I happen to know a way in,” he said hesitantly. “More than one way, there is. Can’t afford to go through the city, though. Dhamon caused quite the ruckus there a while back, and I was with him. Not safe to go through the city, but there are hidden ways. I’d stand the best chance of slipping in and out. If I fail, elf, you can always try it yourself. Dhamon can’t show himself in the city no matter what. That would alert Sable.”
Feril was pointing to different sections of the chamber. “Too dark to see it all clearly,” she muttered to herself. “Sure can’t see any loose scales.”
Obelia made a tsk-tsking sound. “Remember, we don’t know for sure if there are any scales, dear elf-fish. Maybe Sable isn’t like other dragons. Maybe Sable doesn’t shed. We have to consider that possibility.”
“Then why risk it?” Ragh growled, turning at a noise.
It was Dhamon edging forward. His nap had been brief but enough to refresh him. He’d been listening to the last of his companions’ exchange. The wind shifted slightly at just that moment, and the smell of the swamp that still clung heavily to him assailed Feril and Ragh. Obelia beamed to see the dragon. Ragh grimaced to note the blood still staining Dhamon’s jaws from the bear meal.
“I’ll make Sable shed,” Dhamon announced. He tossed his head and snarled, revealing more blood on his teeth. “I’ll rip her scales from her bloody carcass.”
Ragh suddenly went weak in the knees.
15
“You can’t kill Sable, Dhamon, but she can kill you. You can’t scare her or pose even the smallest threat to her. You can make her mad…just like you were doing before we went searching for your elf.” Ragh was pacing on the bank, stopping just short of Feril before whirling on his heels and stomping back in the other direction. “I used to be Sable’s puppet, remember? I know just how powerful she is. You saw her, too. High, mighty, and huge! You told me all about it. You were human in those days, and one time you crept into the bowels of Shrentak and lost yourself. Ended up in her lair by accident and spotted her foul magnificence draped over mounds of coins. You were lucky she didn’t wake up. You wouldn’t be here now if she’d waken up, and now you want to go back?!”
Dhamon spoke calmly. “As you said, Ragh, I was human then, and I’ve seen her twice—there in her lair and at the Window to the Stars. I survived both times, and I was human then.” He dug his claws into the earth and his muscles rippled. He snarled again and his noxious breath spilled out, withering the plants on the bank and making Feril and Ragh gasp for fresh air. Obelia, chuckling, seemed to find the smell amusing. Dhamon exhaled again, seemingly enjoying his friends’ discomfort, then bent to drink deep from the stream.
The sivak stared at the elf. She glared back, refusing to back him up.
“I don’t believe you ever were only human, my friend.” Ragh let out a breath, the air hissing between his teeth. He continued, louder. “You don’t need to see Sable a third time unless you have a death wish.” Ragh slammed his fist against his hip for emphasis. “I, for one, don’t, and she’ll kill all of us.”
Dhamon disdained any reply, allowing a low rumble to escape his lips.
“You can’t win,” Ragh said, again gasping for air. “It would be suicide.”
“Yes, suicide,” Obelia agreed, to Ragh’s surprise. “A unique dragon, you are. Alone. Singular. Beautiful. If only Kalilnama could see you. If only all the elf spirits in Qualinesti in the lake could behold you.” He appraised Dhamon for several long minutes. “Maybe not suicide,” he said finally, undead eyes fixed on Dhamon’s sword-sharp claws, “but not worth risking in any event.”
“Not worth it,” Ragh agreed.
“Not necessary in any case. My elf-fish has already gone to far too much trouble to help you, Dhamon, for you to squander her efforts on a needless battle against the overlord. There is a safer course for getting one of Sable’s scales.”
“Yeah? What if there aren’t any scales, like you were saying?” Ragh, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, nearly spat out the words.
“Let him talk, sivak,” Feril said.
“Perhaps there are no errant scales in the beast’s lair,” the spirit continued, his insubstantial nose wrinkling at the sivak, “but I was rash to say the black dragon does not shed at all. Even if Sable does not shed, she still might lose the occasional scale for odd reasons. Let us take a look elsewhere, before we despair.”
The ghost returned his attention to the stream, again supplying Feril with energy for the scrying spell. Dhamon and the sivak both edged closer. The water swirled and the motes of light Ragh thought he saw before became prominent again, floating to the surface, then rising above it and winking out like lightning bugs.
“Together we must concentrate on the scales, elf-fish, only on the scales—the lone, solitary ones. Dropped. Shed. Scales as black as the dragon’s heart. Perfect ones. Scales that have not been cracked by weapons or age or magic, that have not been fashioned onto armor and shields. Untouched, perfect scales.”
Feril tingled all over as her fingertips touched the stream. The sensation reminded her of the nights she used to run along the sea cliffs of Southern Ergoth. A storm would be raging, rain hammering down. Lightning would dance through the sky and charge the air with energy. Such dangerous energy always made her feel exited.
“Sable’s scales,” the Kagonesti murmured. “In Habbakuk’s name, please show us one of Sable’s scales. A perfect scale. A lost or shed scale.”
The water swirled faster, the lights sparkled dizzily. Then they suddenly dimmed and tumbled, sinking into the water; after a few minutes the water stilled. Instead of pebbles at the stream bottom, they saw the image of a mountain range.
“The Kharolis Mountains,” Ragh noted. He was standing close behind Feril. “Hey, I think I know that particular formation. We’re not terribly far from it.”