The flesh fell away from the naga’s skull, and its eyes dissolved into the water. Its long, snake’s body spasmed, cramping and twitching in a ghastly death-dance that kicked up soot and floating debrisincluding strips of the naga’s own burned flesh and bone.
Though the naga was dead, in an effort to salvage it for his own purposes, Insithryllax turned in the water and sliced the top quarter of the serpent-creature clean off with one swordlike claw. The body drifted on the river current, and the dragon started to reach for it, but changed direction againfastwhen the second naga passed close enough to be seen in the murky water.
“What do you want here, wyrm?” the naga asked in Draconic.
Insithryllax found her voice pleasing somehowmaybe it was just because she spoke his native language, and it had been so long…
He turned, floating, still submerged in the cold, murky water. He drew in a great lungful and relished it. It had been a long time, too, since he’d spent any time underwater.
Facing the naga, he bared his great fangs in a sneer. The naga twitched in the water and backed off. She began to rattle off a spell, and Insithryllax snapped at her, his long neck closing the distance between them with a single pulse of coiled muscles. The naga managed to slither backward in the water so that the dragon’s jaws came together only inches from her.
She finished her spell, and the water pounded against Insithryllax’s face so hard it curled his lips off his teeth. He had to slam all of his eyelids shut, and still it felt as though the water moved so fast it might scoop them from his skull. Water was forced up his nose, and he coughed out a spray of bubblesbut the bubbles instantly popped. The water pushed his head back and to the side, and it took all of the great black wyrm’s considerable strength to keep his neck from snapping.
He unfurled his wings in the water and brought them down and forward once, pushing as hard as he could.
Though he didn’t quite manage to counteract the fast-moving current, magically generated by the naga, he did lift himself up and out of the focus of its effect. He was at least able to open his eyes.
Insithryllax’s head lay just a few inches beneath the surface. He twisted his head around first right then left, and saw the naga floating, her lips moving, her eyes burning at him.
He pulled together the energy for a spell of his own, feeling the power coalesce in his throat.
The naga finished her spell first, and she shot up out of the water like an arrow loosed from a bow. Insithryllax had only to lift his head above the water to trace her pathstraight up, trailing water beneath her like a wake in the sky.
She arced over the surface of the river, slithering in the air as though struggling with the sensation of flight. Insithryllax drew in a breath and roared.
The spell he’d cast augmented the already deafening sound into a physical force. The naga cringed at the sound and dipped in the air. Her tail splashed in the water then she curved back up and away, skillfully avoiding the hammerlike effect of his enhanced roar.
Insithryllax’s spell effect faded as quickly as it had manifested, and the naga slithered and twisted until she stood almost perpendicular to the surface. She shot straight up again, then turned for the far bank.
Insithryllax beat his wings once, generating great waves that crashed against the riverbank, swamping the thick vegetation.
He watched the naga fade from sight as she flew away by the power of a spell. The naga was smart enough, then, not to face him. But she was a witness. Insithryllax wondered if that would matterand if it was worth chasing her down.
With his version of a shrug the wyrm sank back into the water and followed his nose to the three-quarters of a dead naga he’d left floating in the current. When he found the body he wrapped a huge, handlike claw around it, beat his wings over and over again until they not only broke the surface but had shed most of the water that clung to them. He took to the air, shook himself dryor dry enough. His scales still glistened with river water when he turned south toward Innarlith carrying the dead naga. He cast a spell that rendered him invisible so the poor little people of that petty city-state wouldn’t come to a complete halt while they watched a dragon land in their midst.
54
1 Marpenotk, the Yearof the Banner (1368 DR) Third Quarter, Innarlith
Marek wondered at the feeling of familiarity, being in a temple where he knew he was unwelcome. Not that he was particularly unwelcome at the Cascade of Coins. Maybe it was the location, in the Third Quarter among the tradesmen and workshops.
“It could be that I’m uncomfortable with temples in general,” he said.
Pristoleph nodded, and Marek could detect at least a trace of sincere camaraderie. It was a strange sensation.
“I never had a religious upbringing,” Marek went on, “and a life of study in the Art has taught me not to rely on the whims of gods and goddesses, but to force power from the eternal Weave.”
“Careful,” Pristoleph said, pausing to sip wine from a gleaming gold cup, “that kind of talk might attract thunderbolts in a place like this.”
Marek winked and said, “I’ve risked worse.”
“Why come then?”
“It is the sort of social gathering one needs to attend,” the Thayan replied, “whether one likes it or not. I’d like to think I’m not the only one here under false pretenses.”
“Waukeen seems the type to forgive and forget,” Pristoleph said. “For the right price, anyway.” “You’re circling him,” the Red Wizard risked. “Excuse me?” “Salatis.”
Pristoleph smiled, and declined to answer directly. “So, who will you honor tonight?” Marek asked. “Wenefir?”
“Marthoon is a festival honoring guards,” Pristoleph said.
“And isn’t he-?”
“Wenefir is my friend,” Pristoleph cut in, his gaze cooling rapidly.
“Of course,” Marek replied with a curt bow. “I apologize if I suggested otherwise. I meant only that it’s well known in the city that he… looks after you.”
“As I look after him.”
“Of course,” said Marek. “Is it true that they have a dozen of these?”
Pristoleph nodded and said, “But not all in honor of guards. And you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who are you here to honor?” Pristoleph asked. “Surely not Salatis.”
“I suppose one could say that I’m here to honor guards in general.”
“A fine answer,” said Pristoleph. “I wonder why you feel I’m circling him.”
“The priests here are calling themselves ‘Waukeenar,’” Marek said. “I could have sworn they were ‘Waukeenites.’”
“No, I think it’s always been ‘Waukeenar,’ but I could be wrong,” said Pristoleph. “Apparently I’ve been too busy circling the ransar to study church protocol.”
Marek smiled and said, “We’re all very busy, aren’t we?”
“It’s always good to have one’s day full.”
“I wonder how much more full a ransar’s day is,” Marek said. “Of course, should he find he was able to trust his friends, a certain amount of pressure could be set aside.”
“Trust?” Pristoleph asked. “Really?”
“I know it can be difficult to imagine, but let’s say that if he should decide that a new aqueduct is required, say,” Marek explained, “perhaps the ransar would trust his closest allies to make sure that the right people are allowed to supervise its construction.”
“Speaking of construction,” Pristoleph replied, his eyes roaming the space above them, “what do you call this?”
Marek followed the senator’s eyes up the length of a tall marble column. The column, and seven more just like it, supported a triangular roof that protected the wide front doors of the temple. The festivities had spilled out into the street in front of the building, and the doors had been left open and unguardedthe guards were being honored within, showered with gold and silver coins, with like sums being thrown into a deep well that served as the centerpiece of the temple proper.