Will could only pray to the Master of Stealth that such luck would continue, because the G.o.d knew, the prohibition against killing placed them at a considerable disadvantage. Nars charged, and he slung a skiprock. It cracked against one horse's head, rebounded to strike another's, and both animals toppled. The halfling hoped the riders had survived the spills.

Pavel shouted rhymes and swept his gold-and-garnet sun amulet through mystic pa.s.ses. A black horse, the target of one spell, wheeled and galloped away, bearing its rider helplessly along no matter how he yelled and dragged on the reins. A second conjuration froze a nomad as if he were a statue, and his mount, sensing its master's incapacity, veered off.

But two attackers remained, and had nearly raced into sword range. Will tucked his sling back in his belt and poised himself for what he must do next.

A Nar charged him. The halfling somersaulted, dodging pounding hooves and a sweeping scimitar. That brought him alongside the horse's flank. He sprang, and just managed to grab hold of the rider's dyed leather garments.

It was a feeble hold, and while he fumbled for a stronger one, the Nar attacked him. The nomad couldn't use the scimitar to slash in such close quarters, but he could bash with the heavy bra.s.s pommel.

The blows hammered down on top of Will's head, splashing sparks across his vision. Refusing to let the jolts of pain paralyze him, he finally achieved a secure grip on the Nar's belt. He s.n.a.t.c.hed out his dagger and drove it into the horseman's thigh.

The shock of the wound made the nomad stop beating at Will's head for a moment anyway. The halfling then struck with the pommel too, smashing blows into the nomad's kidney and solar plexus. The Nar jerked and flailed. Will clambered higher up the horseman's body and landed a strike to the jaw, snapping the larger combatant's head back. The nomad's eyes rolled up in his head, and he toppled sideways, out of the saddle, carrying Will along with him. Will sprang clear, performed a shoulder roll, and swarmed to his feet without injury.

Well, without further injury, anyway. His head throbbed, and blood streamed down into his eyes. He wiped it away and looked around, just in time to see Pavel catch a scimitar cut on his buckler.

The force of the slash made the priest stagger a step, but failed to disrupt the rhythm of his incantation or the precision with which he flourished his medallion. When he reached the end of the spell, the Nar's eyes opened wide. He dropped his sword, hauled brutally on the reins, jerking his mount around, and rode away as fast as he could.

"Right," said Will. "Maybe I'd cheat and scare them away with magic, too, if I was too cowardly to risk a fair fight."

"Perhaps I'd fight as you do," Pavel said, "if, like you, I had no particular use for my head. Will you survive?"

Will explored his gashed scalp with his fingers. "I think so."

"A pity."

Pavel peered about, spotted a dark Nar mare with a white blaze and socks, and crooning to the animal in a rea.s.suring tone, slowly advanced on it. The horse retreated. Pavel whispered a prayer and gripped his amulet. Though Will wasn't the target of the spell, mere proximity to the magic made him feel irrationally relaxed and happy, even as it seemed to dull the shouts, clash of metal on metal, and other sounds of combat stabbing through the darkness. Pavel eased toward the mare again, and she allowed him to swing himself up into the saddle. He rode to Will and hauled the halfling up behind him. Then he turned the horse to survey the battlefield. Will took the opportunity to do the same.

The Nars were brave, he had to give them that. Even Kara's shift to song dragon form hadn't scared them into breaking off the attack. Or perhaps, knowing they had another foe skulking somewhere in the darkness, they simply didn't know which way to run. In any case, they were fighting savagely, and still trying to avoid unnecessary slaughter, the seekers defended themselves as best they could.

Singing a fierce battle anthem with incantations threaded in, Kara fought a duel of spells with the Nar warlock. He battered her with a flare of jagged shadow that ripped one of her wings, and she responded with a wave of silvery light that seemed to have no effect on him.

Exploiting the prodigious strength of his iron arm, Dorn caught hold of a stallion's neck and dumped the animal and its rider onto the ground. Jivex dazed several attackers with a jet of his sparkling breath, Taegan, likewise on the wing, dodged a lance thrust and bashed his opponent with the flat of his elven sword, while Raryn parried a scimitar stroke with the shaft of his harpoon.

That was much as Will had time to take in before Pavel rode in the opposite direction from the battle.

"Aren't we going to help the others?" the halfling asked.

"They'll be fine," Pavel said. "If the Nars push her to it, Kara can slaughter the lot of them, all by herself. But perhaps we can spare her the necessity."

"How?"

"By stopping Brimstone."

"He's the one who attacked the Nars? How do you know?"

"Because I can feel him lurking somewhere nearby, as you'd feel the pangs of a broken tooth. Now stop blathering and look for him."

Brimstone, Will reflected. It made a certain amount of sense. Since he and his comrades traveled by day, the vampiric smoke drake couldn't journey with them. Accordingly, he was exploring Narfell on his own, but made contact with his partners periodically. They'd actually been expecting him to turn up for a while, and certainly the wyrm would have no qualms about ma.s.sacring a company of Nars for any number of reasons.

Blood dripped down Will's face. He swiped at it, then caught an acrid smell of smoke and combustion, and spotted a long, sinuous shadow.

"There he is!" he said. "Swing left!"

Pavel tugged on the reins, and in another moment, Brimstone came into clear view.

Red eyes glowing like hot coals, ruby-and diamond-studded platinum collar gleaming, a couple arrows jutting from his dark scales, Brimstone crouched among the shattered bodies of horses and men, with one living Nar squirming helplessly beneath each forefoot and another flopping in his jaws, impaled on the elongated fangs. The vampire's throat worked, and he made a gulping sound, as he sucked his current victim dry of blood.

The mare balked at approaching the wyrm any closer. His features taut, Pavel simply dismounted and let go of the reins. Will had to jump off quickly to keep the horse from running away with him.

Pavel raised his amulet above his head. "You know," said Will, "Brimstone is our ally. We could try just talking to-"

Warm golden light shined from the sun symbol. To Will, it felt pleasant. But Brimstone squinched his eyes shut and twisted his head away until the glow faded.

He didn't recoil sufficiently to release his prisoners, though. Rather, he pulled the corpse from his fangs with a flick of his forked tongue, spat the body out, and sneered, in his eerie, sibilant whisper, "Sun priest."

"Let them go," Pavel said.

"Have you gone mad?" Brimstone asked. "I saw you lying in wait for the savages as Karasendrieth's music lured them in for the kill, and I decided to make your task that much easier by slaying some of them myself. Which is to say, I'm helping you."

"Well, actually-" began Will. The drake's shining eyes shifted to him, and despite himself, he faltered. Even for a seasoned hunter of wyrms and other dangerous creatures, there was something particularly horrible about Brimstone, something Pavel, Lathander's agent and thus a sworn foe of the undead, felt even more intensely.

Will took a breath and began again. "Really, we hoped Kara's song would lull the Nars into being friendly. We were only 'lying in wait' to protect her if it didn't work out."

Brimstone snorted, suffusing the air more strongly with the hot, bitter stench of his breath. "Be that as it may, they meant to kill you. They're enemies, and their deaths needn't concern you."

"You know," said Will, looking up at Pavel, "at this point, it probably is too late-"

"Quiet," Pavel rapped, without taking his unblinking eyes off the drake for even an instant. "Set them free, abomination."

"I weary of the blood of hobgoblins and yetis," Brimstone whispered. "It's poor stuff compared to the ichor of men. You have no legitimate reason to deny me this prey, and I intend to keep it. Be thankful I don't take your blood instead."

"Back away," Pavel said. He shouted the opening words of a spell. Brimstone bared his fangs and charged, hurtling forward with appalling speed.

Curse it! Will thought. Over the past several months, he'd dodged death at the hands of countless foes, only, it appeared, to perish under the fangs and talons of a creature at least nominally an ally. He slung a skiprock at the huge ruby in Brimstone's collar. It was supposed to be impossible for an undead dragon to wander far from his horde. Back in Thar, Pavel had conjectured that the choker contained the magic enabling Brimstone to break the rule, and that destroying it might thus slay the drake as well.

The missile hit the gem, but to no effect, and Will had no time to fling another. Already Brimstone loomed over his intended victims. Already he was pouncing into striking distance.

"Lathander!" Pavel shouted.

Yellow light, hotter and brighter, blazed from the upraised amulet. Brimstone screeched and balked, though his momentum almost carried him right over the human and halfling. Patches of his charcoal-colored scales burned away.

Will didn't think he'd ever seen his friend conjure such a fierce light before, but then, Pavel had changed. The struggle to end the Rage had put a hitch in his walk, etched new lines in his handsome face, and maybe strengthened his faith as well.

Still, though, the magic was insufficient. When the flare faded, Brimstone, blinking as though half-blind, his charred hide steaming, whirled back around toward the priest. His throat swelled, and his head c.o.c.ked back at the end of his long neck, as he prepared to discharge his breath weapon. Pavel stood poised to try and dodge.

Will darted between the dragon and the human. "Sammaster!" he cried. "Remember him?"

Brimstone hesitated.

"You hate him more than anything, don't you?" Will continued. "That's why you're here, and why you need Kara and the rest of us, Pavel and me included. You'll never get your revenge without us."

The wyrm sneered. "You have an inflated opinion of your own importance. I suspect that if the two of you died here and now, the search would proceed without you."

Maybe, thought Will, but the important thing is, you're talking again instead of attacking. Your temper's cooling a little.

With an effort of will, he managed to turn his back on the drake and face Pavel. "And you," the halfling said, "you're acting just as stupid, though naturally, in your case, it comes as no surprise. Stopping the Rage is what's most important, right, and to do that, we need Brimstone the same as he needs us. By the h.e.l.ls, he already rescued Dragonsbane and saved your homeland, didn't he?"

"I still can't stand idly by and watch him feed on human beings," Pavel said. "My vows forbid it."

"Fine," said Will. "You stopped him. Now let it go."

Pavel took a long breath. "Get out of here," he said to the wyrm.

"Someday," Brimstone whispered, "we'll finish our appointed task. Then you and I will enjoy the consummation we crave." He flexed his legs, spread his immense wings, and sprang upward.

Pavel watched the vampire, making sure he was really flying off, then strode toward the men Brimstone had held helpless beneath his claws. Scurrying to keep pace with the long-legged human, Will was amazed to discover the wyrm had managed to charge without trampling the Nars, and almost as surprised to see that one of the nomads was the chief.

For the moment, the horror of his ordeal and the miracle of his deliverance had wrung all the aggression out of him. He stayed on the ground, trembling, staring ashen-faced at his rescuers.

"It's all right," Pavel said, lifting the barbarian to his feet. "You're safe now, and I can help any of your people who are wounded. You just need to order them to break off the attack."

Five Nars examined Dorn's iron arm, testing the sharpness of the talons and knuckle spikes. One accidentally gashed his finger. He grinned and held it up for his companions to see.

Unlike most civilized folk Dorn had encountered, the nomads didn't seem repulsed by the ugliness of his iron parts. Rather, they admired them as weapons. Still, he hated being the object of anybody's curiosity, and had to strain to bear it without discourtesy.

But maybe it was easier than it used to be. If so, he knew he had Kara's influence to thank.

Of course, most of his partners were exotic by Nar standards, but they all seemed to be tolerating the barbarians' gawking more comfortably than he. Preening, Jivex related stories of his battles against the wyrms, dracoliches, and demons that he had, to hear him tell it, slain more or less unaided. Taegan, meanwhile, displayed the particular blend of exquisite manners, wit, and swagger that had helped make him one of the most fashionable fencing masters in Lyrabar. The difference was, he no longer insisted on identifying himself as "an adopted son of Impiltur" or some such thing. He was willing to call himself an elf.

Not an avariel, however. As best Dorn could judge, Taegan's recent experiences had convinced him the elf race as a whole merited respect, but not his own winged offshoot of the family. If anything, the reverse was true. In the maestro's estimation, the avariels, due to some defect in their fundamental natures, had wasted centuries hiding like timid savages in the wilderness while their cousins raised splendid cities and perfected subtle arts.

Well, Dorn reflected with a fleeting, crooked twitch of a smile, if Taegan remained ashamed of his blood, it was too bad, but likewise his own affair. Malar knew, Dorn was about the last man on Toril to teach anybody else the trick of feeling easy in his own skin.

That might be why he disliked meeting strangers, and exchanging pointless blather with them before getting down to whatever business was at hand. But the Far Quey were like other Nars and barbarians in general. You couldn't rush through the exchange of courtesies without offending them.

Finally, though, the most important men in the raiding party were ready to sit down around a fire with Dorn and his comrades. Raryn fetched a jug of brandy. The Nars broke out a straight, spindly pipe as long as a man's arm and stuffed the bowl with the dried, ground remains of what was presumably a plant.

The nomads displayed a calm, proud demeanor. A newcomer wouldn't have guessed they'd recently tried to murder their hosts, or survived a clash with a creature out of nightmare.

Mibor, the chieftain, took a pull from the jug and pa.s.sed it on. "We thought the night dragon was your ally," he said in a voice as deep and harsh as Dorn's own, "and that the bard meant to hold us helpless while it slaughtered us."

It was evidently as close to an apology as he intended to go. Maybe, since Brimstone actually was the hunters' ally-a fact they all had better sense than to emphasize-it was more than they deserved.

"We understand," Kara said, human once more, l.u.s.trous eyes catching the firelight. "But I only meant to give you the song as a gift, and to signal peaceful intentions."

Taegan grinned. "I attempted to convey the same thing. It seems the Far Quey are warriors of such valor, they find it difficult even to fathom such a message."

Dorn wasn't sure whether that worked out to a compliment or not, but Mibor accepted it as such, and inclined his head.

"When you and the little drake first flew over our head," the chieftain said, "you said you were looking for information, and that if we helped you, we would help ourselves as well."

"It's true," Pavel said, his hands and jerkin still smeared and speckled with the blood of the men he'd tended. "I imagine that over the past few months, you've at least heard about flights of dragons ravaging the land, even if you've been lucky enough to escape their attentions yourselves. A circle of metallic drakes and wise wizards has formed to cure the wyrms of their madness, but to do so, they must first recover certain secrets."

Mibor frowned. "Secrets known to Nars?"

"It's possible," Kara said, "you can at least point us in the right direction." She accepted the pipe, inhaled, held the smoke in her lungs for a moment, then puffed it out in a perfect blue ring. "Do the Nars have tales of a time when elves-folk like my friend here, but most likely without wings-dwelled hereabouts?"

Mibor shot an inquiring look at Shabatai, the small wizard, presumably a custodian of tribal lore as well as the Far Quey's spellcaster. Shabatai hesitated, and Dorn sensed that, like many a civilized arcane pract.i.tioner, the Nar disliked admitting to ignorance on any subject whatsoever. But at length he smiled wryly and said, "No. Once, powerful mages ruled this country. Our memory goes back that far. But they were humans, not elves."

"Do you have any mysterious ruins?" asked Will. "Preferably haunted, accursed, or riddled with mantraps. So far, that's been the pattern."

"The cities of the wizard-kings lie buried in the earth," Shabatai replied. "Once in a great while, someone finds a way down to one or another of them. But I know of none, and even if I did, the old lords were human, as I said."

"Still, they may have known the Tel-quessir," Tel-quessir," said Kara, "and left records in one form or another." said Kara, "and left records in one form or another."

"Indeed," Taegan said, "but if our friends can't point us to one particular site, someplace a.s.sociated with elves, dragons, or famed as a repository of ancient lore, I'm not sure how to proceed. It's late in the game to dig up Narfell at random."

"What about the Hermit?" asked a young Nar woman, her swarthy, sinewy forearms tattooed with lines of high-stepping horses rendered in white ink.

Shabatai snorted. "It's not an old town or fort, and has nothing to do with wyrms or elves. On top of that, if it truly exists at all, it's certain death to seek it out. Why, then, would we speak of it now?"

"Because," the female warrior replied, "if the stories my grandmother told me are true, it knows the answer to every question."

Will grinned. "It sounds like just our kind of trouble."

The ogre smashed Dorn's human leg out from under him, and he slammed down on the ground. Around the arena, the spectators who'd bet on the giant-kin cheered, while those who'd wagered on the half-golem boy clamored in dismay. Dorn tried to scramble back up, but his thigh was broken, with jagged bone sticking through the skin, and a burst of pain paralyzed him. Smirking, its long, b.e.s.t.i.a.l face studded with moles, the ogre raised its greatclub and swung at its opponent's torso. Dorn tried to roll and catch the blow on his armored half, but the weapon pulped flesh and shattered ribs. The huge creature hit him again. Again. Again- Dorn's eyes sprang open. The pummeling, however, continued, though it was far less painful than it had been in the dream. He turned his head.

Kara had taken to sleeping nestled against his human side. At the moment, she writhed and flailed, trapped in a nightmare of her own. He shook her gently, she started to rouse, and he spotted Brimstone, his ember eyes glowing, looming over them. Dorn cast off his blankets, jumped up, and interposed himself between Kara and the vampire, iron half forward, vulnerable flesh angled back.

Brimstone sneered, revealing the long fangs at the front of his jaws and giving Dorn a whiff of his smoky breath. "Easy," he whispered. "If I meant you or Karasendrieth ill, you'd already be dead."

"Your presence poisons her sleep," Dorn growled, keeping his own voice low. "And anyway, you shouldn't be in camp. If the Nars see you talking to the rest of us, it could turn them hostile again." It was amazing that one of the sentries hadn't already noticed the huge reptile crouching in their midst.

"It's the Rage tainting her dreams," Brimstone said, "and my magic will keep each and every barbarian, the guards included, slumbering till dawn. Now help me rouse the others. We should talk." He turned, his tail swishing through the gra.s.s, and stalked away. He took care to step over the men sleeping around the dying campfires, and if he presently thirsted for their blood, nothing in his manner betrayed it.

Swallowing a spasm of loathing, Dorn lifted Kara to her feet. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, "it was just a dream." But she avoided his eyes, and in so doing, proved Brimstone correct, for in Dorn's experience, only the Rage had ever made her feel ashamed.

"Don't be upset," he said, feeling awkward as usual when trying to give rea.s.surance. "You're still sane."

"For now."

"For always. You know I'll look after you. Now come on. Pavel was sleeping over this way."