Maldred’s words came fast and angry. “Just which one is your master, Nura Bint-Drax? The Black, Sable? Or the one lurking behind us?” He spun and glanced at an ancient willow and the darkness beyond the veil of leaves that hung to the ground, hinting at a cave opening. After a moment he turned back to stare at her. “Or do you really think you can be loyal to several masters?”
She cackled. “My loyalties are certainly not to the overlord in Shrentak. I only pretend to serve that bloated wretch of a dragon—as that serves my real master’s needs. I gain power and information from Sable. Magical incantations. The ability to create spawn…”
“And abominations.”
A sly nod. “The things I learn from Sable make me more valuable to my real master. Our master.”
“Serving two dragons is dangerous, Nura Bint-Drax.”
“Allying myself with two dragons. And I choose to think it is wise.”
It was Maldred’s turn to nod, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “If Sable somehow wins, you have a place in this fiendish world. And if the dragon behind us wins…”
“…I will have a place at his side.” She rocked back on her coiled tail smirking. “Whereas if Sable wins, you lose everything, and if the master wins, you’re still nothing more than an ugly servant. No matter what happens, you have forever lost your dear friend Dhamon Grimwulf.”
Maldred dropped his hands to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists. Dhamon had been as close as any brother to him.
“Does it pain you to betray him, O Prince?”
He would have struck her then with all the force in his massive ogre body, but he detected a rustling in the willow leaves behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a faint light emanating from beyond the cave mouth.
“So the master has awakened,” Nura said simply. She slithered by Maldred and passed through the veil of foliage.
Maldred turned to follow, moved a hand to part the leaves, then paused momentarily. He closed his eyes and searched for the spark within his barrel-like blue chest. Searching… there! Wrapping his mind around the spark, he coaxed it to grow until a warmth more intense than this steamy heat rolled down his arms and legs, up his neck, until his skin tingled with magical energy. When he first learned the spell, there were also gestures and words, and it took some practice, but through the years this spell had become second-nature to him. Now all he had to do was concentrate. As the spark brightened, his ogre-mage body shuddered, and the skin began to purl. In the passing of a few heartbeats Maldred appeared to fold in upon himself, and his bright sky-blue skin returned to its sun-bronzed hue. The stark white flowing mane shed, to be replaced by short, blond hair that looked as though it had just been cut and combed. But Maldred’s clothes still hung on his human frame in shreds, for his magic only affected his body—not what he wore.
The ogre in human guise retreated to the stagnant puddle and glanced at its surface, satisfied with what he saw. He knew he made a striking man, roguish and powerful looking, and just a bit noble from the set of his jaw. It was a form that turned the heads of women in practically every town and gave men pause about confronting him. It was a patchwork form he’d perfected, taking the best physical features from men who visited Blöten to deal with his father—he’d borrowed the brow of a brigand-king, the build of a pit-fighter, and the eyes of a Kaolyn assassin, who almost a decade ago had been hired to slay an upstart ogre warlord who threatened his father’s power-base. Maldred’s complexion was that of a young pirate he’d spotted years back on the coast near Caermish, and his smile was from a spy in Wayfold, whom his father had dispatched after he outlived his usefulness. The walk and mannerisms were strictly his own. He had grown to appreciate his human image, to prefer it over his natural form, as indeed he had grown to prefer humans to ogres. Nura Bint-Drax only said what he knew in his heart of hearts; ogres were an ugly, brutish race.
“Nura’s right.” He frowned and shook his head, released the spell, and his massive blue form again replaced the attractive human one. “I’m not worthy of pretending to be a human.”
Then Maldred glanced over his shoulder, seeing the willow leaves that covered the cave entrance rippling from the force of the dragon’s breath. A moment later, he brushed aside the veil and entered.
The light inside the cave came from the dragon’s eyes—large, catlike, and dull yellow, eyes made murky in part because of a thick film covering them. The dragon, like all dragons, was immense, and not all of the beast was visible because of the dense shadows of the cave, but Maldred could easily make out its massive head and part of its huge neck. The dragon was black, yet it wasn’t a black dragon. Its form was sleeker, head longer and wider, its color flat, not glossy, and the spikes of the thorny ridge that ran from just above its eyes and disappeared in the shadows along its neck were long and thin. It was not quite like any other dragon on Krynn. There was no scent about this one, though the cave carried the same strong, dank odor as the swamp. This dragon exuded tremendous power and radiated intense dragonfear. This latter had to be suppressed whenever Maldred and Nura Bint-Drax stood in its presence.
“Maaaaldred,” the dragon said, drawing out the word in a throaty purr.
“Master.”
The dragon looked tired and ancient to Maldred, though he knew that as far as dragons went, this one was actually quite young. Quite young but quite threatening, and Maldred hated the creature almost as much as he hated himself for working for it.
Its snout was vaguely horselike, and Nura Bint-Drax was coiled in front of its face, hands that she had formed, strangely attached to her snake-body, reaching up to gently tease the barbels that hung from the dragon’s lower jaw.
“So you have decided to join us, O Prince,” the child-snake cooed.
Maldred ignored Nura Bint-Drax but respectfully bowed to the dragon, then set his feet wide. A rumbling raced through the stone floor as the dragon spoke. The words were long and sonorous, and Maldred found himself having to concentrate to understand them.
“The human. Tell me about the precious human.”
“Yes, master,” Nura was quick to answer the dragon. “I will tell you about the human Dhamon Grimwulf. As I have already reported, Maldred allowed him to escape from Shrentak a few days past—on the back of a manticore…”
The dragon snarled, the sound rocking the cave.
“But I am remedying the situation,” she continued merrily. “I dispatched spawn, master. I ordered them to follow Dhamon and his companions and to capture him.”
The rumbling grew. Maldred clenched his teeth.
“The spawn will bring him here to us, master,” Nura continued. “Dhamon’s companions will, of course, be killed, but they are of no consequence. One is an addle-brained Solamnic Knight, the other a worn-out, wingless sivak. I told the spawn to make sure that Dhamon was kept safe but to take their pleasure with the other two.”
The rumbling softened, and Nura swayed in front of the dragon, obviously pleased with herself and considering the dragon’s rumbling to be praise. Then the rumbling abruptly stopped, and the dragon raised a lip, revealing sharp, misty-gray teeth and a charcoal black tongue.
“The precious human is gone.”
“My spawn will bring him back, master. I promise.”
“Your spawn are dead, Nura Bint-Drax.” The dragon blinked, and a veil of fog appeared in the cave mouth. “Watch.” Within a few seconds images materialized in the fog—the manticore and its riders, and the three spawn that initially pursued them.
“Dead.”
“I sent more spawn,” Nura quickly cut in. “I sent more to be certain Dhamon Grimwulf would be captured. The second force was more formidable—larger in number and stronger, more resourceful—the manticore could not best them all.”