"Let us just say," he answered, "that if you see me fall in battle at the end of the fight, do not come back to save me."
"Do you think that that is what Siyaddah would want?"
"I think that she would be hurt," the emir said, "but in time she would think of me less and less often."
"I think that some pain can never die," Talon argued.
"Whatever happens to me," the emir said, "tell her that I died valiantly, in battle."
"What if I don t want you to die in battle?" Talon asked.
Tuul Ra had no answer for that.
He rose, and climbed up from the cattails at the edge of the brook. He went beside the small fire. Little smoke came from the dry wood, and it was being dispersed by a light wind and by the trees.
In fact, the wind was strong enough that the flames sputtered with every gust, as if the fire would go out.
He had always felt uneasy around fire. He d always been aware of how it pulled at his sanity, sought to command him. But today he felt more wary than ever.
He had learned what kind of man he had been on the shadow world-faithless, brutal, an enemy to all of mankind.
Of course, that s not me, is it? That was someone else, in another life.
But somehow it felt like him.
Fire was the connection. Fire was always there, at the edge of his consciousness, calling to him: Use me. You need me. You are not whole without me, and I am not whole without you.
I was the most powerful flameweaver in the history of the shadow world, the emir thought. And I could be the most powerful in mine.
Yes, the fire seemed to whisper, its bright tongues speaking to some primal part of the emir s soul, piercing the base of his brain. You could be powerful. The world needs you to be powerful, to give yourself to the flames. How else will you conquer the wyrmling hordes?
How else indeed? Tuul Ra wondered.
It is a small matter, the fire whispered. Step into the flame. Give yourself to me.
It was a temptation. It had always been a temptation. Tuul Ra often suspected that his skills could blossom if he but let them. He d dared imagine himself fighting the wyrmling horde, striding into Rugassa with a ball of sunlight balanced in his hand, one so bright that it would make the wyrmlings eyes sizzle in the backs of their heads.
They are an evil people. Someone needs to destroy them.
The emir knelt in front of the fire, as if before an altar, and gazed into the flames.
Filled with curiosity, Talon, Daylan Hammer, and the Cormar twins all gathered around him.
The emir had long been able to bend smoke to his will. It was a talent he had noticed in childhood. And he could make flames rise up and dance like snakes at his command. But it was not a gift that he lusted for, or that he took pride in.
He studied the flames now. His pair of grouse was cooking unevenly. He sat staring at the flames, tried to twist them upward and to the south, so that the birds would cook more evenly.
But after what seemed like several moments, nothing happened. Fire was aware of him, of that he felt certain. He was drawn to it, as it was drawn to him. But it would not bend to his will.
"You can t just force it," Daylan Hammer said. "Fire always requires a sacrifice. Go fetch some wood. Try building it up."
"I ll get some," the Cormar twins said in unison, and they glanced at each other, laughed maniacally, and then leapt up and raced into the brush, each step choreographed, each move perfectly matching the other.
The emir considered waiting for the wood. But he knew that wood was not the only sacrifice that might be given. He reached up to his neck and pulled at a leather cord so that a sheepskin pouch popped out from beneath his ring mail. He opened the pouch and dumped a lock of hair into his hand, black and shiny.
He tossed the hair in, watched the fire consume it greedily, tiny flames flickering green and blue as they consumed the oils in the hair.
It had been the last memento from his dead wife.
In the hissing of the flames he heard the words "Serve me."
"I will feed you," he replied. "You may have my service, but not my soul."
18
Joy is the object of our creation. When one is united with a wyrm, it produces an abundance of joy. Therefore, always conduct your affairs in a way that makes you worthy of a wyrm.
Once Talon and the others had finished eating and broken camp, the emir kicked the coals from the fire off into the nearest bushes; seemingly with a thought the fire raced among some dry leaves and began licking the trunks of the nearest oaks.
What good will it do him, she wondered, to give himself thus to Fire? All it will do is warn the wyrmlings. They ll see the smoke.
Daylan watched the flames for a long moment and said softly, "It is written that Raj Ahten fed his fires day and night, burning entire forests. I suppose that such sacrifices must be made if you are to gain his powers."
"It is not much of a sacrifice," the emir said. "There is a blight upon the land. The trees will be dead within a month anyway, I fear, and then the first spark would set this whole land alight."
"Sooner than a month," Daylan said, "unless we can break the wyrmlings hold upon the land."
Talon did not have any idea how that might be done. She wasn t sure that Daylan knew. How were the wyrmlings even poisoning the land? Was it some sort of rune lore, like the reavers had used at Carris in her father s day?
The Cormar twins laughed at some private joke, then sprang off along the road, their steps perfectly matched, their arms swinging in unison.
We can t be far from Rugassa, Talon thought, though she could see no sign of it yet.
They raced on with renewed fury, running forty miles in the next hour, until sweat weighed down Talon s tunic. They stopped to drink at streams along the way, but each time it was only a gulp, stolen quickly, and then they were off again.
Soon, a mountain began to loom in the distance, dark and forbidding, its coned peak looking blue at first, and then gaining definition as the heroes neared.
From time to time, they continued to pass villages-all of the houses broken and destroyed.
We re near the town of Ravenspell, Talon realized, consulting a mental map.
It was late morning when they reached it, crossing a fine stone bridge into a walled city. The walls here were not high, only twenty feet or so. The gates of the city had been broken down, and like the villages before, the houses had been demolished, their thatch roofs pulled off, their doors smashed.
Talon had no desire to inspect the ruins. But as the three sprinted through the city streets, rushing at forty miles per hour, it was as if her mind was storing pictures-a burned hovel, a dead man sprawled on his belly while a buzzard flapped heavily into the air, a frightened dog rushing into the ruins to hide.
Suddenly they rounded a corner in the market section of town, and there she was-a girl of five or six with long blond braided hair there at a market stall, hunched over a pile of cloth.
She must have heard the noise, for she turned and shrieked, peering at them briefly in terror but not really seeing them.
The girl leapt over the counter of the market stall to hide.
The company came to a halt, and all of them stood for a moment, panting, each wondering what to do.
"Looks like the wyrmlings missed one," the emir said. He peered to Talon, then to the others. "What shall we do with the child."
The Cormar twins laughed mirthlessly at some private joke, then said in explanation, "We re not carrying her into battle."
"We can t leave her here," Talon said. "She ll starve, if the wyrmlings don t find her first."