Dimly Merith saw figures move past him. Feldrin Feldspar, walking jerkily, slowly, went straight to where the onyx top still rotated. The dwarf pulled a sparkling silver cloth from a small leather pouch and dropped it on the top.
Instantly the tremendous magical force dissipated. Blessed air filled Merith’s lungs with a rush. His straining muscles, freed from the terrible force, slackened, and he lay limply on the ground. Through a pounding headache, he discovered a dampness on his face that proved to be a nosebleed. Painfully he sat up.
Armed overseers seized Dru and shoved him to the ground. A large wooden fork was thrust around his neck, pinning him to the dirt. Ulvian dragged himself to the elf who had saved his life and demanded in a weak voice that Dru be released.
“That cannot be done,” Feldrin said, grimly surveying the area. “He could slay us all.”
Workers and artisans had gathered in a crowd around the scene. Feldrin bent down and scooped up the silver cloth and onyx top, being careful to keep the black crystals wrapped in the shiny covering. Merith hauled himself to his feet and stood swaying.
“Come with me” Feldrin told him. “The rest of you, return to your tents! The healers will come and tend to your injuries!”
Feeling quite battered, Merith sluggishly followed Feldrin back to his tent. The master builder put the onyx pieces and silver cloth in a small golden box and locked it. Then he poured the grateful lieutenant a mug of Qualinesti nectar. Merith gulped it down.
“That was a very dangerous thing you did,” Feldrin said, crossing his powerful arms over his broad chest.
The room still seemed to Merith to be spinning like the magical onyx top, and he put a hand to his head. “I don’t understand,” he protested.
“That elf is Drulethen, the infamous sorcerer. For fifty years, he ruled a portion of the Kharolis Mountains from his hidden keep, and he used his terrible magic to kill and enslave anyone who passed by. Finally, the King of Thorbardin led an expedition of elves and dwarves against him. The clerics managed to defeat his spells only with great difficulty, but the warriors were finally able to storm the keep and take him prisoner.”
Merith’s mug was empty, and Feldrin refilled it. “It was discovered that his power was chiefly invested in a simple onyx amulet. When that was taken away, he was powerless. We didn’t know about the other piece of onyx. Drulethen must’ve kept it hidden for just such an occasion.”
The nectar was sweet and strong. It sent strength coursing through Merith’s veins as his head cleared. “But—he saved the prince!”
Feldrin sighed gustily. “Yes, thank Reorx! I don’t know why he did it, but I can’t fault his deed.”
“Why don’t you destroy the amulet? Or send it to Thorbardin, or somewhere else where Dru can’t possibly get at it?”
Feldrin smote the table top with his fist. “That’s the trouble! We can’t! My king originally took the ring to his palace in Thorbardin. While it was in his possession, he was so wracked by illness and his sleep so tormented by dreadful nightmares that in desperation he sent it back to me.” The master builder lowered his voice, though they were alone in the tent. “You see, my friend, the amulet is alive. It sometimes talks to mortals, and indeed there are those who say it was fashioned by the Queen of Darkness herself. It cannot be destroyed. Only the silver cloth can confine it once its power has been unleashed.”
Merith asked about the cloth. “One of the most sacred relics of my people,” Feldrin informed him. “No less than a scrap of hide from the Silver Dragon, the same one who loved and fought with the great human warrior Huma Dragonsbane.”
This revelation stunned the already woozy Merith. “By the gods,” he breathed. “I had no idea who or what I was dealing with! My only thought was to save the prince!”
“No harm done, young warrior.” Feldrin put a hand on Merith’s shoulder. “The Speaker of the Sun and the King of Thorbardin made a bargain to put the evil Drulethen to work. Personally, I would have struck his head off, but my royal master believes he can use the sorcerer’s knowledge for his own benefit, and the great and wise Kith-Kanan thinks he can actually reform Drulethen!” Feldrin shook his head. “The Speaker is always trying to improve his enemies.”
“Aye,” Merith agreed. “Ofttimes I have heard him say, ‘I used to kill my foes; now I make them my friends. A warrior needs as few enemies as possible, but a Speaker needs as many friends as he can make’.”
The barracks were quiet, save for the coughs of sleeping grunt gang members trying to expel the dust they’d breathed all day. Ulvian lay on his side, wide awake. Aside from some scrapes and an aching right leg, he was essentially unharmed by his brush with death, yet he could not sleep. Over and over he replayed the scene—the block teetering above him, Dru pushing it aside with his bare hands, the awesome presence of the power in the black crystal.
The prince sat up, wincing as his wrenched muscles protested. He padded on bare feet to Dru’s bed. Peering through the darkness, the prince realized his savior was not lying down but sitting with his knees drawn up to his smooth chin.
“Dru?” he whispered. “I need to talk to you.”
“If you answer one question for me. Are you in truth the son of Speaker Kith-Kanan?” Ulvian admitted he was. “I knew the Speaker had some half-human children,” Dru, said softly. A gruff voice nearby rumbled a demand for silence. The sorcerer rose and took Ulvian by the arm. He led the prince to the relatively open area by the water barrel, where they could talk more freely.
“I won’t forget your deed,” Ulvian began.
“I should hope not.” Dru said dryly. He smiled, his teeth showing white in the darkness. “We are a natural pair of allies, are we not? A prince and a sorcerer, both sentenced to labor on this ridiculous mausoleum, both required to hide their true identities.”
Dru lifted a dipperful of water to his lips. Once he’d taken a long drink, he asked, “What did you do to end up in such a place, Your Highness? Why did your infamously just father send you here to work like a dog?”
With some hemming and hawing, Ulvian explained his activities as a slave trader.
“It was a harmless diversion,” he insisted. “A few wealthy traders approached me and asked for my patronage. I had influence and knew warriors who could be bribed to look the other way. It was a mere lark, an adventure to keep boredom at bay, but my enemies in Qualinost used my capture as an excuse to exile me!” His voice rose until Dru had to quiet him. “I will reclaim what is rightfully mine,” the prince finished darkly. “I will fulfill my destiny!”
Dru squatted and began to idly trace elaborate designs in the dirt floor. Curving lines, loops, and squares took shape. “What enemies do you have, my prince? Who are they?”
Ulvian hunkered down across from his friend and said, “There is my sister, Verhanna, for one. The old castellan, Tamanier Ambrodel, thinks I’m immoral and wicked, and his son, General Lord Kemian Ambrodel, believes he is better suited to be Speaker than I. There is an old Kagonesti senator, Irthenie by name, who—”
“I see.”
Dru brushed the designs away with his hand. “I think we should make common cause, Your Highness. Your father and the king of the dwarves put me here. I’ve had to keep my true identity hidden because some of the elves and dwarves we work alongside would kill me if they knew who I really was.” The sorcerer thrust his face close to Ulvian’s. “Together we can escape this place and regain the power and position we are destined to have.”
“Escape?” Ulvian echoed weakly. “I-I can’t. My father will declare me an outlaw if I flee the country.”
“Who said anything about fleeing the country? You and I will go to Qualinost. There must be nobles, senators, and clerics who favor you, my prince. We’ll rally them round you and demand a pardon. What do you say?”