“Did Danian say anything more to you about the leaves?” she yelled to Varia.
The owl hooted a no. “Although,” she added, “the Grandfather Tree was a gift from a god of neutrality. Perhaps the leaves can be used to help neutralize a spell of evil.”
Linsha plunged her hand into her tunic and pulled out the rolled packet of leaves and the chain with the dragon scales. Leaving the scales dangling, she flipped the fabric around the leaves so they unrolled in her hand.
The two leaves were still fresh looking, colored a lovely blue green, with five deep lobes on each leaf. Linsha stared at them wide-eyed as if she had never seen them before while her mind bloomed with a sudden inspiration. The long, lobed leaves resembled nothing so much as hands. The hands of a god. The Tree of Life.
Zivilyn, god of wisdom, she thought with all the strength she could muster, help me help this dragon.
Then the words of the shaman returned to her memory, and she knew what she should do… if the dragon could survive it, and if the centaurs could keep the Tarmaks off her long enough.
“Crucible!” she yelled. She slithered down the dragon’s shoulder and returned to his head. “Crucible!” She yelled again to get his attention.
He looked worse now. His breathing was still rapid and shallow, and his scales looked dingy. The golden light of his eyes had faded. He still writhed in pain, but his movements were weaker and not as frantic, and he did not respond to her voice.
She kicked him hard on the nose. “Crucible! Listen to me! I think I have a way to get that barb out. But I need your help. Don’t give up now! Help me.”
One eye slowly opened wider and rolled toward her. “How?”
“The barb entered your back while you were shape-shifting. I want to try to get it out, but you have to change again.”
“The Akkad-Ur warned me the barb would kill me if I tried to shapeshift,” he moaned.
“It will kill you if you don’t!”
“Tell him to change to something smaller!” Varia cried overhead. “That way the barb will be easier to reach.” She paused then hooted a warning. “And tell him to hurry! The grassfires are getting closer.”
“Make yourself smaller,” Linsha ordered. “Just not too small or the barb will reach your heart before I can get it.”
“I don’t know if I have the strength,” he gasped.
Varia fluttered down to the dragon’s face and looked into his eye that was almost as big as she was. You have to try! Change to your man-shape, Crucible. Do it now, or you will die.
When she sees me, she will hate me, he replied. I have betrayed her trust.
She should be allowed to make up her own mind, the owl insisted, and she won’t be able to do that if you are dead.
The bronze lifted his head and nudged Linsha with his nose. “I am sorry,” he groaned. His eye closed again, and a faint glow of light began to glimmer on his scales.
Linsha raced around to his back. She could still hear the sounds of the battle behind her and the wild yells of the centaurs; she could smell the thickening smoke of the grassfires. But she shut out the stink and the noises and the fear and placed a vallenwood leaf on each hand so her fingers matched the lobes of the leaves. She focused her thoughts inward. Although she feared there were many dead souls on the battlefield, she hoped perhaps she could use her healing ability just long enough to help ease the pain as she pulled out the barb.
The glow of light brightened and began to sparkle. The spell was slow, for Crucible was weak, yet it appeared to be working. The dragon was suffused in the golden light from head to tail, and his wings quickly shrank and vanished. His large body began to grow smaller within the aura of light. Linsha was forced to squint in the brilliant glow as she watched for the small reddish barb.
When Crucible shrank to something close to fifteen feet, Linsha spotted the tail of the barb penetrating the glowing area that she guessed was his shoulders. It glared through the beautiful light like an ugly splinter, its color dark with blood. She did not hesitate. Her leaf-covered hand shot through the coruscating energy of his being.
Linsha gasped. She was suddenly inundated by the power of Crucible’s being in a massive rush of memories, thoughts, emotions, and worst of all, his pain. Her consciousness reeled from the overwhelming assault of the dragon’s wounded mind, and she felt herself slipping both physically and mentally away from him. She was losing him.
No! No-no-no-no-no-no.
It was the only word she could dredge from the chaos of her mind, but it worked. Short and emphatic, it served as an anchor for her will and gave her a grip from which to reach deep into the wells of her ability. From her blood and her bones, she drew the strength to push her own awareness to the forefront and to focus on her own magic. Using the power drawn from her heart, she touched his mind and reassured him with the warmth of her presence. Crucible fell still. As they joined in mind and body, they became as forged together as two different creatures can be.
The dragon scales around Linsha’s neck began to glow, and she felt a new power emanating from the scales. Emboldened, she pushed her arm deeper into the dragon, seeking the dark red impurity of the barb. Her fingers touched it and caught the end before the barb could slip deeper into his back. For just a moment she felt the heat of the thing burn her fingers, then the power of the leaf surged through her hand and into the barb, cooling its foul heat and nullifying its power. She sent her own magic surging out of her heart, down her arm and fingers, and through the leaf into his form. He continued to diminish in size while she gripped the barb in one hand, then with both hands.
The leaves began to crinkle at the edges and turn brown. Linsha gritted her teeth. Her throat and mouth were dry, and she could feel the hungry, tickling touch of souls draining away her power. But the scales fueled her determination, and she did not let go. As Crucible dwindled to the size of a tall man, the leaves lost their vitality and wilted. The heat of the barb returned and scorched her hands. Ignoring the pain, she held tighter and began to pull with all her strength. Crucible’s tail vanished. His forelegs shrank to human arms.
An instant later there was loud pop and several things happened all at once. The blinding light vanished in the wink of an eye, leaving Linsha blinking at the spots in her vision. Unable to see clearly, she felt rather than saw the barb pull loose from Crucible’s back, and she stumbled backward, the barb still burning her hand. She dropped it like a searing coal and stamped on it. The scorched shreds of the leaves fell from her hands.
A deep groan of pain came from the ground near her feet and drew her attention from the dart. She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and looked down at Crucible’s shape sprawled on his belly. He had become a tall man, powerfully built, with dark gold hair, and skin deeply tanned. A torn, bloody wound disfigured his upper back and right shoulder. Blood ran in rivulets down his neck.
Linsha stared at him. Their union created by need and magic was broken, and in its place a sick, cold feeling crept slowly through her heart and mind. She hadn’t thought she had ever seen Crucible in his human shape, but she realized, looking down at the wounded man at her feet, that she had been wrong.
Her hand reached out to his arm, and she carefully rolled him over to see his features. The face she saw was the face of a friend—or someone she had imagined was a friend. The features that turned toward her with a mixture of apprehension, pain, and relief were those of Lord Hogan Bight, Lord Governor of the city of Sanction.
She fell to her knees beside him. “No,” she whispered. “This isn’t right. It can’t be right.”
And yet, an unobtrusive part of her mind said why not? When had she ever seen them together? But she couldn’t believe it completely. She couldn’t accept that another man she had liked and respected had lied to her and deceived her.