Dah’mir was picking himself up from the ground. His fine robes were scorched and his pale face smudged, but his acid-green eyes were brighter than ever. He whirled like a striking serpent, shouting an arcane word as his fingers flicked at the night.
As if dawn had come early, daylight spread across the side of the mound to reveal a battered party of orcs-and the scattered bodies of chuul, dolgaunts, and even mind flayers. Near the top of the slope, stood an old white-haired orc, his staff still directed toward Dah’mir.
The moment froze.
Then a warrior among the orcs raised an axe over his head and screamed out a wild battle cry. The cry whipped through the orcs and abruptly they were pounding down the slopes in a howling, savage green wave.
The Bonetree hunters and dolgrims leaped to meet them without even a word from Dah’mir, horrid shrieks and wild screams rising into the air. More threw themselves wildly at Geth and Singe’s little band. From the corner of his eye, Singe saw Orshok spin a staff while Krepis met a dolgrim with a thrust from a spear. Natrac battled a Bonetree hunter, one of the bloodthirsty young men who had tried to challenge Ashi. Dolgrims leaped at Geth; the shifter threw one back with a thrust of his gauntlet, then cut down the other with a swing of his sword.
Singe just stared at Dah’mir’s back, turned to them as he glared up at the old orc on the mound. There was a clear line between him and the green-eyed man. The wizard thrust out his hand and spat a word of magic.
Flames roared from his hand, two seething bolts that washed over Dah’mir’s back and engulfed him utterly.
The fiery blast had even less effect than the lightning. Dah’mir whirled and the magical flames were snuffed out in the folds of his robe. Eyes filled with utter rage pierced Singe-then Dah’mir stiffened and his face twisted in anger. His hands clenched into fists, he threw back his head, and roared, “Enough!”
The flash of lightning lit the tunnel ahead. Thunder shook the stone-lined walls. “Il-Yannah!” Dandra gasped.
“We’re close!” Ashi shouted. She raced forward. Dandra tightened her grip on her spear and darted after her.
It seemed as if the sun rose as they reached the mouth of the mound, a warm and magical light that flooded the tunnel and shone across a scene of chaos outside. Dandra caught a glimpse of a crowd of Bonetree hunters and dolgrims. Of Singe, Geth, Natrac, and two orcs standing at defense, weapons bristling.
Of Dah’mir standing, pointing up at the slope of the mound, green eyes blazing.
She froze at the sight of him.
His presence was as stunning and irresistible as ever, drawing her every thought to him in horrible fascination. All the way up through the tunnels of the mound, following the path that Ashi had marked, Dandra had tried to prepare herself for this moment, fortifying herself, telling herself that this time she would not succumb to his charm.
But there was no charm about Dah’mir now. Rage poured from him instead. He was furious and terrible, some ancient power, some predator of unbelievable madness and strength. Standing atop a toppled chair, Medala screamed and ranted as if animated by that madness. Dandra fought to pull back, to close her eyes and cut off the sight.
Ashi did it for her, dragging her back into the tunnel as cries of battle rage and the thunder of charging feet rolled down from above. Orcs streamed past the tunnel mouth in a tide of fury. Hunters and dolgrims surged forward to meet them. Violence swirled outside the mound-but Ashi’s quick action had broken Dah’mir’s hold on her. Dandra sucked in a heaving breath. Ashi released her. “Are you all right?”
“Dah’mir almost had me again.” There was a frightening suspicion growing inside her. She could still hear Medala screaming in reflection of the insanity that shone in Dah’mir’s eyes. “It’s his madness,” she breathed half to herself. “There’s something about his madness …”
There was no time to follow the thought. The distinctive roar of flame rushed over the battlefield. Dandra gasped. “Singe!” Bracing herself against Dah’mir’s power, she leaped back to the tunnel mouth in time to see the green-eyed man, his robes smoking, throw back his head and roar.
A roar that changed and grew deeper as Dah’mir’s throat and chest swelled and stretched and … transformed.
“Light of il-Yannah!” she breathed in shock.
“Twelve bloody moons!” cursed Singe in awe. Geth could only stare, his gauntlet and the Dhakaani sword just weights on his arms.
The change began in Dah’mir’s face. His cheeks swept back into his ears. His chin grew sharp and pointed as the tip of a knife, his entire lower face stretching out after it. His eyebrows rose and vanished as flat, sweeping horns rose from his head.
Clenched fists became knotted claws. Arms and legs shifted and changed. Black hair and robes of leather merged and became scaly hide as pale skin darkened and took on a sheen of copper that spread down Dah’mir’s throat and belly. A thick tail thrust out of his back and he grew-and grew-and grew.
Acid-green eyes as big as lanterns narrowed. Massive legs flexed and thrust against the ground. Wings like coppery-black sails stretched from Dah’mir’s side to beat the air.
Geth’s lips peeled back to bare his teeth and he found his voice. “Tiger, Wolf, and Rat!” he snarled as the dragon leaped into the sky.
CHAPTER 17
Everywhere around them, the fury of battle gave way to panicked chaos. Orc raiders and Bonetree hunters alike fell back in awe at the sight of the terrible and majestic monster climbing into the night. With shouts of gut-deep fear, they reeled apart, fighting to scatter.
The dolgrims didn’t flee. Wiry arms rose in triumph and gash-like mouths gibbered horrid glee as they surged forward to hack and thrust at raiders and one-time allies alike. There was an eager spark in their eyes that Geth would have sworn hadn’t been there before, as if they had been freed to unleash the darkest bloodlusts of their twisted souls.
The shifter spun. Across the battlefield, the mouth of the mound gaped like a shadow under Dah’mir’s magical light. Geth flung out his arm, pointing with the Dhakaani sword. “There!” he said. “We need to get in there! We need shelter!”
Natrac’s eyes were wide, his pupils so large that barely a sliver of color showed around the black. “In there? Are you insane? We need to-”
The half-orc’s words faltered as Dah’mir’s wings dipped and his massive, shining body turned in an arc. On the other side of the churning battle, a knot of orcs was still fighting, caught up in mindless rage. Dah’mir’s wedge-shaped head darted forward and his throat heaved.
Thin yellow bile burst from his jaws in a long, hot gout. It swept across the ground below like a line of foul rain. Where it fell, the ground smoked and trampled plants shriveled. Most of it, though, spattered against the fighting orcs and their dolgrim assailants, drenching them.
Flesh melted, eaten away by the dragon’s acid. Huge red sores opened and spread. Skin sloughed from muscles and muscles fell away from bones. The orcs died squealing and writhing in the steaming mud. The dolgrims died too, but with excited screams that might almost have been praise for their dragon-lord.
Singe grabbed Natrac and dragged him toward the mound. In shock, the half-orc stumbled at first, then charged for the shelter of the mound’s mouth. Orshok and Krepis needed no encouragement-they leaped forward like sprinters. Dolgrims closed in around them. Geth held the rear of their desperate flight, beating back the four-armed horrors with sword and gauntlet. He kept one eye on the sky. Dah’mir’s bulk hampered his agility, but he more than made up for it in sheer strength. It took only a few beats of his massive wings to put the dragon high in the sky. He wheeled around the far side of the mound and began a wide turn for another pass over the battlefield.