From the day in Chatara Kral’s childhood when her father had dedicated his service to Takhisis, goddess of evil, Chatara Kral had known her destiny. She would rule! By any means necessary, she would have everything and anything she wanted, when she wanted it. All around her would be her subjects, and none would dispute her dominance and continue to live.
Pure, unencumbered power would be her inheritance. Her father had bargained with a goddess for such rewards, but something had gone amiss. Takhisis had abandoned her quest and her followers.
But still Chatara Kral blazed with ambition. If she could not inherit absolute power, she would take it for herself. She would have the world, or as much of it as she cared to take, and all its riches. And she did not intend to share.
Chatara Kral had always known that one day her brother Vulpin would be an obstacle. His dreams were like hers, but in the world they both envisioned there could be only one absolute ruler.
Thus Vulpin-now the Lord Vulpin of Tarmish as she was now regent of Gelnia-must be eliminated. With him out of the way, Chatara Kral would be invincible. The Vale of Sunder would be her base. From here, her armies of conquest would march.
Such was her legacy from that shadowy, cruel figure who had sired her. And she knew beyond doubt-none other than Dred the Necromancer, communer with the dead, had told her-that nothing in this world could stop her from claiming it.
She was invincible, and she was without scruple. Thus when she and the last of her elite guard-brutish, stoic icemen from the frozen south-found themselves trapped in the Tower of Tarmish, Chatara Kral did not hesitate. Behind her and ahead of her were cave assassins, the favored instruments of Lord Vulpin. When these met her phalanx of axe-wielders, Chatara Kral committed her icemen to a battle to the death.
She would lose most of them, she knew. She might even lose all of them. It made no difference. She could always entice more followers. Casually she betrayed them, and the chaos that ensued in the murky tower gave her what she wanted. As her faithful savages bled and died for her on the winding stairs, demolishing Vulpin’s assassins even as they fell, Chatara Kral slipped past and headed for the top.
From the shattered portal opening onto Lord Vulpin’s aerie, she saw her goal-Vulpin himself, holding an ivory stick in one hand and a cringing, frightened girl in the other.
The Wishmaker! So Vulpin really had it, and had found someone to activate it!
With a snarl like a serpent’s hiss, Chatara Kral started toward her brother. Two cave assassins came from shadows to confront her, guarding their lord, and she knew that they were the last. Chatara Kral’s gleaming sword glinted in the light. The primitive cave vandals were among the most feared fighters in Ansalon, but for Chatara Kral they would be the work of a moment. Then Vulpin would be alone.
Vulpin saw his sister emerge from the portal, and was not surprised. He had known she would come. But now his haste became frenzied. The girl, Thayla Mesinda, was so terrified that she could hardly speak. Yet the words she must voice, the spoken wish that worked the magic of the Wishmaker, must be exact.
“Listen to me, girl,” Vulpin snapped, impatiently. “You must memorize this! The talisman is a spell-maker. Your wish will shape the spell. You will wish three things! Do you understand?”
“Three … three things,” Thayla whispered.
“Three things. The first is that Chatara Kral must die.”
“Chata … Chatara …”
“Chatara Kral!” Vulpin spat the name.
“Chatara Kral,” Thayla repeated it. “I will wish for Chatara Kral to die.”
Vulpin’s last two assassins were blocking Chatara Kral’s path, their weapons threatening. Somewhere near, Vulpin could hear a scraping sound, like that of metal on stone. He glanced around. The irritated little gully dwarf was out of its cabinet. Stooping and panting, it labored, dragging a wide, iron bowl behind it.
“You will wish that I, Lord Vulpin, never be driven from this place,” Vulpin ordered the girl.
“I will … will wish that Lord Vulpin never leave this place,” Thayla managed.
“And you will wish that I, Lord Vulpin, shall prevail!”
“I will wish that Lord Vulpin pre-pre-”
“Prevail!” Vulpin hissed.
“Prevail,” Thayla whispered, struggling with the word. The big man’s fingers on her throat were an agony, but she was helpless to escape.
“Those are your wishes,” Vulpin said.
Across the stone floor a cave assassin screamed and doubled over, impaled on Chatara Kral’s flashing blade. The remaining assassin dodged aside and attacked. Vulpin raised the Fang of Orm and a tentative voice behind him announced, “Got lotta stew here. Anybody want some?”
“Get out of here!” Vulpin shouted, glancing around. With both hands occupied, he aimed a kick at the annoying gully dwarf. Clout dodged aside, and the man’s booted foot collided with the legendary Great Stew Bowl, throwing sprays and dollops of noisome concoction in all directions.
In Vulpin’s cruel grasp, Thayla squirmed and kicked. “Clout, get away!” she urged. Then the fingers tightened again and she hung silent, half-conscious and struggling for breath.
“The wish!” Vulpin ordered. “Remember the wish!”
“I … remember,” she gasped.
He loosed his hold slightly, set her on her feet and thrust the Fang of Orm into her hands, his angry eyes watching the last assassin fall. Chatara Kral stepped over the body and smiled a cruel, victorious smile. Raising her sword again, she stepped toward Vulpin.
“Wish, girl!” Vulpin hissed. “Wish, now!”
Thayla grasped the Fang of Orm. “I wish …” she said, and the daylight seemed to darken around them. Great, dark clouds sprang into being overhead, swirling and coiling like a massive storm aloft. “I wish that Chatara Kral die,” Thayla gasped. “I wish that the Lord Vulpin never leave this place.”
“Good,” Vulpin whispered. “Very good. Go on.”
Overhead, the dark clouds rolled, forming themselves into a wide ring with darkness at its center-a darkness that was beyond darkness.
“I wish,” Thayla said, gasping, “that the Lord Vulpin pre-pre …”
“Means wind up on top,” a helpful little voice nearby said.
“That Lord Vulpin wind up on top,” Thayla said, obediently.
On the near horizon a dark shadow streaked toward the tower. The shadow grew, revealing wide, graceful wings, a long, sweeping tail and extended talons. “Now,” a voice like distant thunder rumbled. It was the dragon’s own voice, speaking to itself. “Now is the time, Verden Leafglow!”
For a long moment, the humans atop the tower stood frozen, gawking at what was happening in the sky above. Out of the blackness within the ring of clouds, a gigantic head appeared, the sloping, glaring head of a great serpent. A mouth the size of a maize field opened wide, and black vapors drifted about the gleaming, curved luster of a single fang.
“Run like crazy!” Clout gurgled. In panic he upended the legendary Great Stew Bowl and ducked as it fell upside down. It clanged to the stones, with Clout hidden beneath it. Its surface was no longer dull, aged iron. It blazed now, like mirrors in sunlight, and the radiant, complex visage on its surface seemed to hang above it.
“No!” Chatara Kral screamed her anger. “This is a work of magic! But you will not see its end, Vulpin!” She launched herself at her brother, her blade singing.
Vulpin broke out of his trance at the last instant. Thrusting Thayla Mesinda aside, he blocked his sister’s lethal cut with a steel gauntlet. Her momentum carried them both back a step, as they grappled and fell. They struggled on the stone floor, Vulpin delivering mighty blows with a steel-clad fist, Chatara Kral kicking and biting, pushing aside his visor as nails like tiger claws sought his eyes.