“What’s funny?” she probed. “Didn’t you just tell me that all your plans have ended in failure?”
“I said no such thing!” he declared, seeming to enjoy the verbal jousting. “I merely said that I lost the war, that I have no troops to command. But I don’t need troops, and I don’t need a throne. In fact, both have proved far more trouble than they are worth.”
“Are you leaving here, then?” Gretchan asked, not daring to hope that he’d answer in the affirmative.
“Well, you might say that,” he replied with a brief, private chuckle.
“Where’s Sadie?” the priestess demanded, looking around, realizing suddenly that the elder female wizard had vanished. “Did you kill her, just like you killed Facet?”
Like you’re going to kill me? She couldn’t suppress the terrible thought, though she didn’t speak it aloud. She shivered, wondering if her life would end the way Facet’s had.
Strangely, the grotesque face of the wizard twisted into a wounded expression. “Of course not!” he replied. “I need her!”
Gretchan saw, however, that he spoke the truth, for just then Sadie appeared behind him, climbing up toward the cage that remained where it had been placed on the rocky summit. The cleric saw that the elderly wizard carried the bell jar in her arms, a fact that apparently took Willim by surprise, for he turned around with a frown and confronted her with a question.
“Why are you bringing that silly thing up here?” he demanded.
“Because you need more than just me. You need two of us! I want you to free Peat from this spell.”
“You want me to?” Willim sounded incredulous.
“Well, of course, that is what I said,” Sadie replied firmly, refusing to back down. “It’s because I think you need him to be free as well. He can stay here and keep an eye on the priestess while you and I go and do what else needs to be done.”
Gretchan listened to the conversation with a growing sense of unease. The two wizards were talking almost as though they had forgotten about her presence, so she wasn’t about to interrupt and remind them. Instead, she watched and listened warily.
Strangely, the wizard seemed to be pondering his assistant’s suggestion. “Very well,” he said finally. “You’re right. It will be easier to coordinate the casting with three, rather than two.”
He gestured. “Put the jar down. Tip it over, off its base.”
Sadie did so but then hesitated, giving the wizard a penetrating look. Finally, she backed away. The blue spark hovered near the jar, drifting toward Sadie, then floating back to the base of the jar, apparently unwilling to leave its safe confines.
Willim gestured and snarled the command, a sound like the growl of an angry animal, to a spell. Magic shimmered in the air, and Gretchan felt the powerful sorcery as a pulse deep in her belly.
Instantly, the blue spark disappeared, and an old Theiwar dwarf, stooped and balding and looking around in startled fright, stood there. His blinking eyes fastened upon his wife, and he croaked out her name.
“Sadie!”
“Peat!” she replied.
Hobbling awkwardly, like someone who hadn’t used his legs or the rest of his body for a very long time, he made his way over to her and, for a second, the pair embraced.
“Thank you,” Sadie said to Willim.
He snorted, whether in amusement or contempt the cleric couldn’t tell.
Sadie nodded obeisantly to him, her chin firm. “Shall we make ready to go now?”
“Wait!” Gretchan protested. “Where are you going? And what do you want with my staff?”
Willim didn’t face her, but his cold chuckle was the most sinister sound she had ever heard. “I am going many places,” he said. He hoisted the rod with its anvil and the smooth shaft that the cleric knew so well.
“And as to this,” he said. “You will see soon enough. It’s a little surprise.” He turned to Sadie. “Come,” he said. “Let us go get the teeth.”
The prow of the boat nudged against the rocky shore of the island with a sound that seemed shockingly loud against the silence of the long, stealthy crossing. Brandon winced, certain they had announced their presence as surely as if they had come with a full complement of Kayolin drummers, but Otaxx merely tapped him on the shoulder, and together, gingerly, they climbed out of the boat.
They pulled the bow of the craft up out of the water far enough that it wouldn’t drift away, resting it on a flat rock. Carefully they stored the oars inside.
Looking around, Brandon saw that they were on a barren shore. The Isle of the Dead was aptly named, he decided, for there was not so much as a flake of lichen or a slimy, clinging fungus to be seen.
The two dwarves communicated by sign language, wishing to avoid any excessive noisemaking. Otaxx drew his short sword and pointed up the slope leading directly away from the water. Brandon nodded and raised the Bluestone Axe, the handle held in both of his hands.
Side by side, the two dwarves started up the hill.
TWENTY-THREE
The cleric was left alone with the old Theiwar male as Sadie and Willim disappeared into one of the passages below the hilltop.
“What happened to cause you and Sadie to get punished by Willim like that?” Gretchan said after she watched Peat look around in confusion then seat himself awkwardly on a flat rock nearby.
“Eh?” he replied as if surprised he could hear again. “Who are you again?” he asked. “Oh, I saw the master bring you into his lair. At least, I think I did. My eyes ain’t too good.”
“My name is Gretchan Pax. I’m a priestess-of Reorx. I’m a friend of Sadie’s,” she added, not certain if it was entirely the truth. But she could hope. “And no friend of Willim’s. I know he trapped you in that jar. But why?”
“Er, that is … well, we just had a little scheme going. You know, to make some profit on the side. The thing is, Sadie always had a little bit of greed to her. She, um, borrowed one of his spells-a dimension door-and we used it to get dwarves out of Thorbardin. You know, those who wanted to leave … and who could pay.”
Their discussion was interrupted by the return of Willim and Sadie, the two Theiwar climbing into view from just below the crest of the hill. They carried three conical objects, Sadie carrying one in both her hands, Willim carrying two, one in each hand, holding them by their narrow points. They set them on the ground, bases down and points up, and the cleric remembered that Willim had referred to them as “teeth.”
Each was about a foot high and at least six inches wide at the base. They were not perfect cones, but rather they had a bit of a curve to them, so that although the bases rested flat, the sharply pointed tips curved slightly. They were as black as coal.
“What kind of teeth are those?” Gretchan asked, deciding she had nothing to lose by being curious.
“Dragon teeth, of course. But not the teeth of any mortal dragon.” Willim the Black stood tall and all but beamed at her. Clearly, he was very proud of his rare treasures. “These are the teeth of a fire dragon, discovered by me after the Chaos War. Now, like their owner before them, they are about to change Thorbardin for all time.”
Once again Willim picked up Gretchan’s staff, and when he touched the wooden rod, she felt a stab of pain penetrate right through her chest.
“What are you doing?” she demanded angrily.
He chuckled. “To you, this pathetic stick is a symbol, perhaps even a tool, of your god. But to me, it is much, much more. You see, when you faced Gorathian and used the power of Reorx to defeat it, all of that power, that unspeakable, chaotic, destructive force, was absorbed by your staff, for it had no place else to go. If Reorx hadn’t claimed it, it would have been unleashed in an explosion powerful enough to destroy the whole city. And of course your god-excuse me, our god-would never allow that to happen.” He smirked and lifted the staff as he stepped over to the dragon teeth.