“They are better off dead,” Dhamon retorted.
The dragon curiously raised the ridge above one eye.
Dhamon edged forward, slowly, cautiously, keeping an eye on Nura and still keeping the shadow dragon mentally at bay. “I won’t call myself Dhamon Grimwulf any longer. I stopped being Dhamon Grimwulf when the last of my flesh disappeared. Now I’m just some foul creature you’ve created to destroy. A spawn, though not so perfectly formed as the ones Sable birthed. I’ve no wings, dragon. Only stubs. Your creation is flawed. I’m an abomination.”
The dragon roared, the sound harsh and metallic like a thousand clanging bells. Dhamon couldn’t tell if the dragon was laughing or voicing its fury.
“But your flawed and ugly creation is strong,” Dhamon continued, inching closer. “I intend to show you just how strong.” Swiftly bunching the muscles in his legs, Dhamon leaped but didn’t make it more than a few yards before he slammed into an invisible barrier. He suspected by the wide grin on Nura Bint-Drax’s face that it had been erected by her spell. The wind knocked out of him, Dhamon could do nothing about Nura’s next lightning-fast enchantment.
A huge, invisible fist slammed down on him from above, crushing him to the stone floor, pinning him there and forcing the air from his lungs.
“Hurry, master,” Nura said nervously. “I cannot hold him long. He is indeed very strong, and he seems able to fight my greatest magic.”
“I require only a little time, Nura Bint-Drax,” the dragon rumbled in response. “Hold him still, and I shall vanquish his spirit.”
“You can’t hold me!” Dhamon shouted at the naga, “and you can’t defeat me.” Dhamon pressed his clawed hands against the stone ground and drew on his hate as well as his strength to push himself against the force, which yielded only slightly. He redoubled his efforts. “I won’t let you beat me, you damn snake!”
He heard the stone crack beneath his claws, heard Nura whispering encouragements to the dragon, heard the dragon speak in drawn-out syllables foreign to him, also heard the slapping of footsteps.
Dhamon inhaled deeply, picking up the nearby scent of the ogre-mage. Even if he arrived in time, would Maldred help him, Dhamon wondered as he pushed harder against Nura’s unseen force.
Could he help himself?
The dragon continued its strange recitation. The noise jarred against the leathery palms of Dhamon’s clawed hands. He tried to understand the words, which were obviously part of a spell. Dhamon raised his head slightly and, turning it, managed to see the shadow dragon’s massive eyes shimmering darkly. Motes of light gleamed in the centers like birthing stars. A moment more and the magical glitter spilled out like tears to coat the treasure nestled between the dragon’s claws.
“Hurry, master,” Nura urged. “I am still holding him!”
“No,” Dhamon grunted, refusing to surrender. He made more headway against the force and finally managed to crawl to his knees. “You won’t hold me.”
He didn’t know what the shadow dragon was trying to do, but it had to be dangerous enough to require outside magic—clearly the mound of magical treasures was powering the dragon’s spell.
Dhamon’d seen it done many times when in the company of Maldred and Palin and, once, when the red overlord, Malys, tried to use the eldritch energy of ancient artifacts to power her ascension to godhood.
“I can’t let you win.”
“The master will triumph.” Now Nura spoke in her woman voice. “He will live forever, and I will live at his side.”
Dhamon hadn’t noticed her approach, but there she was, inches away—looking cherubic and innocent and cupping her hand as if she were holding him in her palm.
“You cannot best my master, Dhamon Grimwulf. You would do well to surrender and avoid the suffering. Oblivion would end all your pain.”
“Never!” The strangled cry echoed off the cavern walls. “He will not rob me of my spirit and transform me into a damnable abomination! He will not!”
“You already are an abomination, Dhamon. It’s a pity you can’t see yourself. So much more impressive than your weak, human body, but an abomination!” Her face took on a peculiar softness.
“Relax, Dhamon. Let your spirit find oblivion. Make it easy for us and yourself.”
“I will die before I let that happen!”
Nura laughed, the sound of crystal windchimes. “An abomination! But, Dhamon Grimwulf, my master is merciful and won’t let you die—not entirely. He will take over your body and displace your spirit, no matter how hard you fight.”
She laughed again, soft and long, and when she stopped this time her eyes twinkled with a merry malice that made Dhamon involuntarily shudder.
He continued to push against the invisible field while searching inward. The furnace in his chest was fiery, and the heat stretched from his chest and stomach down to his arms and legs and feet. The heat beat out a pulse, and as Dhamon concentrated and searched inward, the pulse became a thunder in his ears.
He dug his claws into the stone. Into the stone, he realized. The force of his claws alone had split the rock.
“You feel it, don’t you, Dhamon Grimwulf? You realize it finally? You know what my master is doing. What he would have done weeks ago, if your body had progressed faster, if you had accepted all the changes sooner. If you had managed to slay Sable…”
“…which would have permitted the magical energy dissipated from the Black overlord’s death to power the shadow dragon’s spell.” This came from Maldred. The ogre-mage was standing at the entrance to the chamber, warily watching the shadow dragon, and Nura as she hovered over Dhamon.
Maldred tried to look away, not wanting to stare at Dhamon’s ultimate form, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated. His gaze kept returning to his onetime friend—now a pathetic, misshapen creature, an abomination.
“Well, Prince,” Nura purred, “I see Dhamon got away from you again. You’re not very good at keeping your charge in check.”
With a snarl, Maldred rushed forward, but he also struck an invisible wall. The child raised her hand, fingers sparkling like her eyes, mouth moving in unheard words. The magical glaive flew from Maldred’s grasp, soaring through the air to land in the pile of treasure melting in front of the shadow dragon.
“Where did your precious sword go, Prince? Your wonderful, magical greatsword? The one your father gave you? And Fiona—where is that blade? The sword I had specially crafted? I want all those magic weapons, and I want them now!”
Maldred beat his fists against the invisible barrier, tossed back his head, and howled his rage.
“Won’t let the dragon win,” Dhamon muttered to himself, still pushing, pushing.
“Oh, but you will. You have no choice, Dhamon,” Nura said, returning her attention to Dhamon. She squatted next to him, outside the barrier. “Powered by the death of Sable, or powered by the magic in the treasures, it really doesn’t matter. The master will soon have the energy to complete your body. The master will live.”
“Fight it, Dhamon!” Maldred shouted. “Fight it with everything you’ve got!”
Nura leaned her face down close to Dhamon’s, her warm breath seeping through the barrier. “Power the spell and displace your rebellious spirit…. and place his soul inside your beautiful, new scaly shell.”
“No!” Dhamon screamed, straining his leg muscles.
“The master is dying, Dhamon Grimwulf,” Nura persisted. “The Chaos energy that birthed and nurtured him is fading away, but he will be renewed, through you. He will live a long time, because I was right after all—you are the one.”