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Tithian closed his hand, satisfied that he had finally won Rajaat’s attention. “I am King Tithian of Tyr.”

“I know who you are,” the ancient sorcerer replied. He looked away from Tithian and plucked another cloud from the sky, then began to work it without paying the king any more attention.

“And do you also know of the promises that were made to me?” Tithian asked in a polite voice.

Rajaat fixed his diamond-shaped eyes on the king and said nothing. Another series of ripples rolled through his body, and he grew even larger.

“Can I expect you to honor those promises?” Tithian called.

“If you wish to serve me, you must learn patience,” Rajaat said, stepping away.

“Serve him!” Tithian hissed quietly. He turned to Sacha. “That wasn’t part of our bargain.”

Rajaat surprised the king by turning around. “You do not wish to serve me?” he asked, a malicious light glimmering in his eyes.

“I wish what I was promised,” Tithian said, swallowing nervously. “The powers of an immortal sorcerer-king.”

The gleam in Rajaat’s eyes grew warmer. “In time,” he promised.

The sorcerer held a closed fist far above Tithian’s head. The king looked up and saw the hand open high above. A cascade of salty water poured down from the enormous palm, hitting with such force that it swept him off his feet. The deluge did not stop for many moments, until Tithian felt a frothing tide of water rising beneath him.

Sadira peered over the tangle of floating logs, studying the looming figure she took to be Rajaat. He stood twice as tall as any giant, with a crown of lightning crackling around his head. A constant crash of thunder belched forth from his fang-toothed mouth, and whenever he exhaled, billowing blue fog shot from his gaping nostrils and dissolved in a torrent of rain. His entire body was swaddled in roiling clouds the color of turquoise, and great torrents of salty water poured from the claws at the ends of his gangling arms. Even his shadow was part of the tempest, causing the water to churn and froth wherever it fell.

“How’re we going to kill that?” asked Rikus, crouching at Sadira’s side. “He’s a walking storm.”

The sorceress shook her head. “I don’t know, but we’d better think of something fast,” she said. “This water isn’t getting any shallower.”

Using the log tangle as camouflage, Sadira and the mul were wading through a shallow lake that, not long before, had been a vast grove of trees. It was filled with fish and strange, scuttling creatures that vaguely resembled scorpions. The sorceress pushed the heavy load of timber before them, since her ebony skin and magical powers had returned with the peculiar blue dawn. The mul devoted most of his efforts to his axe, trying to keep it out of the water without letting it show above the logs. Glowing eddies of red and green light swirled over the blade, the result of a magical spell Sadira hoped would prove effective against Rajaat’s vapor-covered form.

“There’s Tithian,” Rikus said.

The mul pointed at a jumble of logs about fifty yards away and sticking out of the lake at all angles. In the center of the heap sat the king, resting cross-legged atop the Dark Lens. The black orb seemed strangely dark and murky, with only a single flicker of blue light showing deep within it. At Tithian’s side hovered Sacha. Both the king and the disembodied head were watching Rajaat, and so far they seemed oblivious to the presence of Sadira and Rikus.

Sadira pushed the log tangle in Tithian’s direction, sending a school of fish with squarish heads and writhing tentacles scurrying away. “We’ll take the Lens first.”

“Good thinking. That’ll keep Tithian out of the fight,” agreed Rikus. “Then what?”

“I’ll try fire,” Sadira said.

“It makes sense, given what Rajaat’s made of,” Rikus agreed. “Still, I’m beginning to wish the sorcerer-kings were doing this, instead of us.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Sadira said. “A little thing like being trapped under a collapsed wall isn’t going to kill the sorcerer-kings.”

Rikus frowned. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “Maybe we should wait and let them attack first.”

“So they can send Rajaat back to his prison and make another Dragon to keep him there?” Sadira scoffed. “I’d rather take our chances attacking him ourselves.”

Rikus gave a reluctant nod, and they continued toward Tithian in silence. As the pair approached, they saw that the logs around the king were covered with a lumpy brown crust of minerals and shells. Sadira cursed silently. They had seen several areas where the tree trunks were covered by similar crusts. Such places were usually surrounded by hedges of submerged rockstem, brightly colored plants that grew in fingerlike formations as hard as rock and as sharp as obsidian.

Sadira heard a muffled clack as one of her logs hit a finger of the rockstem. She and Rikus ducked down, watching through the tangle as Tithian and Sacha spun around. The king and the head peered in their direction for several moments.

Finally, Tithian’s voice drifted across the water to Sadira’s ears. “It’s nothing, just floating logs,” the king said, facing Rajaat again.

Sadira motioned for Rikus to ready himself, then pulled a splinter off of a log and held it in her open palm. As she whispered her mystic syllables, the sliver floated out of her hand, growing to the size of a war lance. Red smoke poured from all along its shaft, and scarlet sparks shot from its end. The sorceress leveled her finger at the king’s head and the spear sizzled away.

The lance had hardly passed out of the log tangle when Rajaat’s head snapped around. A blue spark flashed in his eyes as his gaze fell on the sputtering shaft, then he flicked a finger toward it. An enormous bug-eyed fish leaped out the lake and snatched the weapon from midair. The spear exploded in the creature’s mouth, blowing its head into a thousand small bits.

“Tithian is my servant,” boomed the ancient sorcerer. “Only I may destroy him.”

Rajaat stepped toward Sadira and Rikus, crossing two dozen yards of water with a single stride.

“Go, Rikus!” As she spoke, Sadira slipped a hand into the pocket of her wet cloak.

Rikus stepped forward, swinging his axe at the rockstem. The blade’s enchantment sent great geysers of water spiraling into the sky, and the mul smashed a large notch into the top of the hedge.

Tithian leaped off the Dark Lens and disappeared into the tangle of crusted trees.

Sadira pulled a ball of wax and sulfur from her pocket and threw it toward Rajaat, crying out her spell. The yellow ball erupted into a huge sphere of flame. It streaked up to Rajaat’s face and engulfed his head-then began to sputter as soon as it contacted the clouds serving as the ancient sorcerer’s skin. The fireball died away without raising so much as a puff of steam.

Rajaat reached for Sadira with his claw-fingered hand.

Rikus stepped away from the submerged hedge and swung his axe at the ancient sorcerer’s wispy wrist. The steel passed through harmlessly, with no geysers of vapor or swirling fountains of cloud to suggest that Sadira’s magic was working. In fact, it came out the other side clean and shiny, the enchantments on its blade dispelled.

Sadira tried to dive away, but Rajaat’s fingers closed around her waist before she could submerge herself. The enormous hand felt wet and soft yet as unyielding as her own dark flesh. The ancient sorcerer lifted her up before his blue eyes and studied her.

From the high vantage point, Sadira could see much of Ur Draxa. It was a huge city of forests and magnificent buildings, with a wide band of destruction encircling the clear waters of Rajaat’s spreading lake.

“Stupid half-breed,” hissed the ancient sorcerer, pelting her with a gale of cold rain. “Did you really think to use my own magic against me?”

He squeezed, filling Sadira with pain. She pushed against his crushing grip with both arms. It was all she could do to keep her ribs from collapsing. As strong as her sun-enhanced muscles were, Rajaat was far more powerful.