Varia sat on the small rough table and told them exactly how the Tarmaks had managed to enslave a dragon. Her “horn” feathers were clamped tight to her head and her entire body was compressed into a small ball of angry feathers. Even as she told her story, she trembled with emotion and outrage.
“I found a perch high on the standing wall of the old throne room where I could look down into the court where the Tarmaks are holding the Solamnic Knights. They had put Linsha in a small cage and left her hanging out in plain view.”
Falaius’s deeply line face turned down into a frown. “Could they have known he was coming?”
“I don’t know,” Varia said. “We have feared for some time that there is a spy in the militia, but how could someone like that know so quickly that we were back? Crucible shapeshifted into a cat miles away from the city. No one saw him fly in.”
“Perhaps they were guessing,” Mariana suggested, “or just hoping the dragon would come. Maybe they’ve been hanging Linsha up in that cage for nights now.” She stifled a shudder at the thought of being trapped in a tight metal box for so long.
The owl shifted her weight from foot to foot. She could understand how skeptical these people felt. She had seen what happened to the dragon, and she still could barely believe it. She described the Abyssal Lance to them, the wicked black weapon with the rust colored barbs enchanted to kill whatever it penetrated. She told them about the crossbow and the bolt made from the tip of the lance.
Falaius slammed a hand on the table, causing Varia to jump. “How does this Tarmak control it? That’s what I don’t understand. This is a weapon created in a war long past by men far different from the Brutes.”
“The Brutes fought in that war,” Mariana reminded him. “The weapon was given to them by the Dark Knights. The Knights probably gave them the spells to control it as well.”
“So why do their spells work, while our mystics are relegated to poultices and herbal teas for healing?” Sir Hugh said. He sat sullenly at the table, the sole representative of the Solamnic Knights. Exhaustion colored his square face with gray and tainted his voice with impatience.
“I do not know,” Varia said. “I have seen the Tarmak general in daylight, and I know he wears a necklace made of dragon’s teeth.” She saw Mariana’s fair face darken with anger. “But maybe there is something else. Maybe he has some artifacts from Istar or a power from his own land we know nothing about.”
“Where is Crucible now?” asked the Legion Commander.
Varia hissed a little sound of displeasure. “The Tarmaks have chained him to a tree beside their headquarters in the city square. They are making a spectacle of him.”
The half-elf shook her fair head. “Where is Linsha?”
“She was put back with men. I counted three Legionnaires and fourteen Knights, including Sir Remmik and Lady Linsha.”
“They are in the dragon’s lair?” asked Falaius.
“In the old complex of ruins behind the throne room,” Varia said.
Sir Hugh sat up a little straighten Falaius and the captain were looking very thoughtful. “What are you thinking?”
Mariana paused before she answered. Her eyes, one of blue and one of green, stared thoughtfully into the distance. “If we could free Linsha—”
“And the others,” Falaius put in.
“And the others. We need her. And it might weaken the Tarmaks’ hold over Crucible.” She looked to Varia. “Do you think this is so?”
The owl slowly blinked her round eyes. She thought about what she knew of Crucible and bobbed her head. “It is possible.”
Some of the despair lifted from Sir Hugh’s face and his expression grew lighter. “If Linsha is free, then all we’d have to do is figure out how to remove that bolt from Crucible’s neck.”
“Will the Tarmaks not kill him if she escapes?” said one of the elves.
Varia stepped around to look at the newcomers. She had noticed them the day before, and she was pleased to see them again, for she had finally learned the truth of the disappearance of the Shield over Silvanesti. “As long that dart is in his neck, I do not think Crucible will try to leave. We must find a way to remove it without killing him.”
A loud shout rang out outside, drawing everyone’s attention. They leaped to their feet just as a scout pushed into the tent. Dirty and sweaty, he saluted both commanders and said, “A rider coming. Fast. From the north. A tribesman, I think.”
Mariana extended an arm to Varia and settled the owl on her shoulder before she followed the others outside. They could see a horseman coming along a trail that lay between two low hills. A reddish plume of dust flew from the horse’s hooves.
The older elf shaded his eyes to better see the rider. “It is a young man, a tribesman,” he said. “His horse is lathered and weary.”
With surprising speed, the militia reached for their weapons and ran to their posts. The few women and older folk in the camp immediately disappeared from sight, hiding out in the dunes and outcroppings. A dozen or so militia grouped around Mariana, Falaius, and the others and set arrows to their bows. A tense silence fell over the Wells.
The hoofbeats grew louder. Along the dusty road the rider came as if all the forces of Neraka were on his heels. Wisely, he reined his mount to a stop just out of arrow range and raised his arms to show he had no weapon in his hands.
“I bring word from my chieftain to the forces of Iyesta!” he called. “Do you know where I can find Scorpion Wadi?”
Mariana sighed before she called, “The Wadi is nothing more than a graveyard! We are all that is left of the dragonlord’s forces!”
The rider slid off his steaming horse and gratefully handed the reins to a soldier.
“I bring news.” His face glowed with a light of importance even the news of another disaster could not dampen. “The green dragon, Beryl, is dead. She died during the fall of Qualinesti. The elves’ city is destroyed, but the king saved many of his people by evacuating them through underground tunnels. They are making their way across the Plains even now.”
The young rider, lost in the import of his news, suddenly became aware that people were staring at him in a silent state of shock. No one moved. No sound was made. He cleared his throat to continue when he saw the two Silvanesti elves standing close by. Their pale, elegant faces were rigid with horror.
The eldest elf seemed to shake himself and he laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder for support. “Why are the Qualinesti crossing the Plains?” he asked.
“I… I don’t know exactly,” the rider stammered. “They have been driven from their lands by the Knights of Neraka and the forces of the green dragon. I guess they hope to seek shelter with your people.”
The two elves exchanged a look of dread. “We must leave,” the elder said to Mariana. “We must see for ourselves.”
Without a further word, they retrieved their horses from the picket line, saddled them, and were away in less time than it took for Falaius to salute the tribesman and draw him into the commander’s tent.
“Come, boy. Tell us again, and this time fill in some details.”
The same news arrived in Missing City the next night, brought by one of the Tarmak long-range patrols. The patrol, sent out to gather information about the lands north of the city, had come across another messenger heading for City of Morning Dew. After capturing him and extracting his news, they felt it was important enough to bring it themselves to the Akkad-Ur. They found him in his headquarters in the city square where the city’s lord mayor and his council used to meet. Outside, they were astonished to see a bronze dragon crouched balefully under the shade of a large yew.
The Akkad-Ur was not pleased to see them so soon, but he listened to their news and interrogated their prisoner. When he was satisfied he gave each warrior a coveted steel dagger from the treasury of the dead dragonlord.