Chapter 31

The Burning Sea, Hith’s Cauldron

Molten rock fanned through the air, soaring high and far before splashing back down. The wheel turned fast, hurtling the Varya across the Cauldron, devouring the miles at a speed Shedara had seen a sailing ship achieve only once before without the aid of magic, and that had been running full-out at the leading edge of a storm so powerful it had drowned entire towns when it came ashore.

She had given up trying to understand how the fireship moved so quickly; the wheel was powered by steam made by the furnace, like most gnomish machinery, but how that could be enough to push a heavy boat through magma as fast as a skysteed could fly? None of the others could figure it out either, and the gnomes weren’t about to tell their secrets.

Shedara let her gaze linger on the paddlewheel a while longer, then glanced in the direction of Bilo. The columns were almost out of sight, only their tops visible above the horizon. The siege would be underway, the minoi of Ilmach using their water cannons and repeating crossbows and the gods knew what else to repel the kurshakur. Nosk had assured them, several times, that the gnomes could seal themselves up for years, sheltering from the fire minions in their stone citadel. Nothing could get in or out.

She wasn’t sure, though, and neither were Hult and Nakhil. After Suluk, after everything, how could they feel any confidence? Maladar was too cunning. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, if the Varya ever returned, it would find its home port in ruins, its halls scorched down to bare rock, the bodies of gnomes scattered and charred to black skeletons.

She sighed. Whatever the case, it was beyond her power. She couldn’t stop the devastation, any more than she’d been able to stop anything since the Faceless Brethren died. The gnomes, and the Glass Sailors beyond them, would either live or die. Never mind, then. There were other things she had to worry about. One was standing at the Varya’s rail beside her, gazing ahead, toward the Chaldar.

“He is waiting,” Azar murmured. “I can sense him, at the top of the tower. His war has begun, his armies are on the move. But something troubles him. He doesn’t have the power he believed, and he doesn’t know why.”

Shedara studied Azar. He looked as old as his father had: though he had no beard, gray showed in his hair at the temples, and harsh lines etched his brow and around his mouth. Maladar’s power had done that.

“What about us?” she asked. “Does he know we’re coming?”

Azar shut his eyes, concentrating, then shook his head. “Not yet… but soon. If I can sense him, he will be able to sense me as well, before long.”

“And then he’ll know,” she said. “He’ll understand why his power’s limited. It’s because of you… because you share his soul.”

“Yes. Without me, he can never be complete.”

And we’re bringing you straight to him, Shedara thought. Her mouth twisted. We really ought to hide you away, where he won’t find you in a thousand years. There are places… perhaps across the sea, in that place called Ansalon. Or we could just kill you, send the scrap of his soul to the gods, where he’ll never get it.

The idea was tempting. She bent her arm slightly, preparing to drop a knife into her hand. That and a quick stab, from his left side through the ribs… that was all it would take. Quick, easy. Dump him over the side, let the Cauldron devour the remains. She straightened her wrist, and the hilt slipped into her palm. She took a step toward him, the blade hidden from view. She’d done it before. Shedara was a thief, not an assassin, but that didn’t mean she’d never killed anyone.

“What will he do when he finds out?” she asked.

Azar never looked away from the Chaldar. “Send his minions for us. There are still many that haven’t gone to war, no matter what the gnomes believe. They will try to take me and bring me to him.”

“And if they do?” Shedara took another step closer, gripping the dagger firmly. Yes, one good stab, and Maladar would be thwarted forever.…

“I said they would try,” Azar replied.

He might have smiled slightly, or it might have been a trick of the light. Whatever it was, it was soon gone. He turned his head and looked directly at her, his eyes gleaming orange in the Cauldron’s glow.

Shedara froze, holding the blade motionless. She forced herself to keep her expression calm, friendly.

“You haven’t asked the real question yet,” Azar said. “The one you truly want to ask.”

Shedara swallowed. “All right. What happens when we reach the Chaldar? What are we going to do?”

“No,” Azar said. “That still isn’t it. You know most of the answer to that. You’re going to ascend the tower, and you’re going to try to destroy Maladar, even if you have to kill my father to do it. I know this, though you have tried to keep it secret from me. What you intend is no mystery.

“It’s what I’m going to do that troubles you.” His gaze turned back toward the Chaldar. “Because of what I carry. Because he and I are one.”

There was only the roar of flames and the constant churning of the Varya’s wheel. Shedara bit her lip, looking around. Nakhil was dozing on the other side of the boat. Hult was with the gnomes, helping them run the ship. Neither would see. She could make up a story, a lie to tell: an accident… something. She took another step, bringing her right beside Azar, the dagger between them. No one would see. It would take only a moment.

“I won’t deny it,” she said. “I want to trust you, Azar, but… well, it’s Maladar, even if it’s only the smallest part of him.”

“I know,” he said. “I hear that part speaking to me, in the silence. It says… terrible things.” His mouth pinched, his hand tightening around the Varya’s rail. “Even now, it tells me to take the knife from your hand and kill you with it.”

He moved then, so fast she had no idea how he did it. Maybe it was Maladar’s magic; maybe he was just that quick. All Shedara knew was, one moment she was holding the blade near his ribs, tensed to jab it into his heart; the next, her hand was numb, her wrist hurt like the Abyss, and Azar was pressing her dagger against her own throat, just hard enough that the slightest twitch from either of them would pierce skin and jugular.

“Azar,” she breathed.

“He wants me to cut you open,” Azar said. “He wants me to kill everyone on this boat and come to the Chaldar alone.”

Shedara stiffened. “You’re… you’re not going to, though. Right?”

He met her gaze a moment longer, then grimaced as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. He stepped back and opened his fingers, letting the knife drop. It clattered against the Varya’s metal deck.

“No,” Azar said, shaking his head. “But I may not always be able to resist. The voice grows stronger, the closer we get to my father. Who knows what will happen when I’m standing before him?”

Sweet Astar, Shedara thought. “That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

“I know it isn’t.” Azar sighed. “You want me to tell you I’ll hold my ground, that I won’t falter or break. You want me to promise I’ll help you defeat Maladar. But… I can’t. That’s the truth. When the time comes, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Then we may have to kill you too,” she said. “If it comes to a choice between our lives and yours.”

Azar looked up at her. He looked even older. He seemed to be aging by the hour. “I know,” he said, his eyes shining. “And I don’t blame you. But you won’t succeed. If that time comes, you will die first, just as sure as I took that knife from you.”

Shedara was still dwelling on those ominous words, staring up at the Chaldar, when a shout arose from the Varya’s bow. It was the lookout, Yorgam. He was bellowing in the gnomish language, which sounded to her ears like someone speaking three times normal speed and backward. He grew more frantic as he shouted, gesticulating wildly ahead and to starboard.

“What is it?” she asked, hurrying across the deck toward Hult. “Can you understand any of it?”

The Uigan nodded, his hand brushing the jade amulet he wore. “It’s difficult. The magic translates, but it doesn’t slow down the words.” He frowned, squeezing his eyes shut to listen. “Sails. A great many sails, rising out of the sea. Hundreds.”

“Sails?” said Nakhil, approaching from the bow. “That doesn’t make any sense. The only people who travel on the Cauldron are the minoi, and they use those to propel their boats.” He pointed back at the whirling paddlewheel. “Not sails.”

Hult shrugged, jerking a thumb at Yorgam. “That’s what he says.”

Shedara peered toward the horizon, shading her eyes against the Burning Sea’s glare. It was hard to see through the smoke and heat shimmer, but she made out a forest of masts, each bedecked with a taut sail. “It’s true,” she said. “It looks like a fleet of some sort. Sailing due west, straight as a spear.”

“But that’s not possible,” Nakhil protested. He licked a finger and held it up, scowling. “The wind’s all wrong. They’d have to tack back and forth to go west.”

“They would if they traveled on the same wind you’re feeling on your face right now,” Shedara said. “There’s magic at work. This is Maladar’s doing.”

“Full stop!” Nosk shouted from the helm. “Quell the furnace! Cut the steam! Move, now!”

Gnomes scrambled, following his orders. The Varya’s wheel slowed, then stopped. Nosk hauled on the wheel, slewing the fireship back and forth as it eased to a halt. They came to a stop with their port side facing the fleet.

“It’s more of his army, isn’t it?” Hult murmured, staring at the sails. They could all see them now, though the curve of Krynn still hid the boats’ hulls from view. “Those statues. He’s sending them to attack the League.”

“His war has begun,” Azar said, looking out across the sea. “The minotaurs will crumble before the Kheten Voi. One by one, their cities will fall. The survivors will surrender to their might. When it is done, the Voi will turn south and take Thenol. Then the valleys of Marak, and the Steamwall hobgoblins, and the forests of Armach-nesti. By the time they cross the Tiderun to conquer the Tamire, Maladar’s armies will be unstoppable.”

They all stared at him. His voice had changed, turning deep and cold. His face was different too—not the features, his expression. There was pride in the tilt of his head, a sneering curl to his lip, scorn in his eyes. Shedara nudged Hult, who had laid a hand on his talga. He glared at her, but she shook her head. A scowl darkened the Uigan’s face as he let go of the hilt.

“Maladar?” she asked. She kept her own hands in plain view, so he could see they were empty. “Is it you speaking?”

Azar leveled his gaze at her, and for the first time she saw what was inside him. She knew what he looked like. She had been in the Faceless Emperor’s company twice before. The cruelty, the arrogance, the edge of madness—it was all there, shining like dead stars through Azar’s eyes.

“You will fail,” the Faceless Emperor said through Azar’s mouth. “All of you will die before you see the inside of the Chaldar. All of you… except the boy. Him I will claim for my own. His body will be my new home, as was meant to be. I will give his father to the fire.”

All was silent, beyond the rumble of the Cauldron. Nobody moved. Then, so suddenly it made the others jump, Shedara began to laugh.

“You’re a fool, Maladar,” she said, smiling as Azar glowered at her. “You think you know the future, but you don’t. You never have. That’s why you died a thousand years ago. It’s why you’re split between two bodies now. And it’s why you’ll die again, on my sword, or Hult’s, or Nakhil’s. You act like you’re not afraid, but you are. You most certainly are.”

Azar’s face twisted into something hideous, rage distorting it so weirdly he barely looked like himself anymore. His eyes flashed with rage, but it was an impotent anger, full of fear. Shedara smiled even wider, and as she did, Azar’s eyes rolled back in his head and his face smoothed again. His legs gave out; he dropped to his knees. Nakhil and Hult moved in, catching him before he fell face-first onto the deck. They eased him down and laid him out. Hult bent over him, pressing his fingers against Azar’s throat.

“He’s all right,” he said. “Just passed out.”

“What was that?” Nakhil asked. “Was that really… him? Maladar?”

Shedara nodded, chewing her lip as she stared at Azar. “A shadow of him, at least. And his words. But did you see his eyes, right before he went down?”

“Yes,” Hult said. “He was afraid.”

“Of what?” Nakhil asked.

“Us,” Shedara answered.

They all looked at one another while the minoi jostled and yammered and watched the sails of Maladar’s fleet pass by.

“Then that means we can defeat him,” Nakhil said.

Shedara nodded. “Yes, we can. I just wish I knew how.”