Sir Hugh sat up a little straighten Falaius and the captain were looking very thoughtful. “What are you thinking?”

Mariana paused before she answered. Her eyes, one of blue and one of green, stared thoughtfully into the distance. “If we could free Linsha-”

“And the others,” Falaius put in.

“And the others. We need her. And it might weaken the Tarmaks’ hold over Crucible.” She looked to Varia. “Do you think this is so?”

The owl slowly blinked her round eyes. She thought about what she knew of Crucible and bobbed her head. “It is possible.”

Some of the despair lifted from Sir Hugh’s face and his expression grew lighter. “If Linsha is free, then all we’d have to do is figure out how to remove that bolt from Crucible’s neck.”

“Will the Tarmaks not kill him if she escapes?” said one of the elves.

Varia stepped around to look at the newcomers. She had noticed them the day before, and she was pleased to see them again, for she had finally learned the truth of the disappearance of the Shield over Silvanesti. “As long that dart is in his neck, I do not think Crucible will try to leave. We must find a way to remove it without killing him.”

A loud shout rang out outside, drawing everyone’s attention. They leaped to their feet just as a scout pushed into the tent. Dirty and sweaty, he saluted both commanders and said, “A rider coming. Fast. From the north. A tribesman, I think.”

Mariana extended an arm to Varia and settled the owl on her shoulder before she followed the others outside. They could see a horseman coming along a trail that lay between two low hills. A reddish plume of dust flew from the horse’s hooves.

The older elf shaded his eyes to better see the rider. “It is a young man, a tribesman,” he said. “His horse is lathered and weary.”

With surprising speed, the militia reached for their weapons and ran to their posts. The few women and older folk in the camp immediately disappeared from sight, hiding out in the dunes and outcroppings. A dozen or so militia grouped around Mariana, Falaius, and the others and set arrows to their bows. A tense silence fell over the Wells.

The hoofbeats grew louder. Along the dusty road the rider came as if all the forces of Neraka were on his heels. Wisely, he reined his mount to a stop just out of arrow range and raised his arms to show he had no weapon in his hands.

“I bring word from my chieftain to the forces of Iyesta!” he called. “Do you know where I can find Scorpion Wadi?”

Mariana sighed before she called, “The Wadi is nothing more than a graveyard! We are all that is left of the dragonlord’s forces!”

The rider slid off his steaming horse and gratefully handed the reins to a soldier.

“I bring news.” His face glowed with a light of importance even the news of another disaster could not dampen. “The green dragon, Beryl, is dead. She died during the fall of Qualinesti. The elves’ city is destroyed, but the king saved many of his people by evacuating them through underground tunnels. They are making their way across the Plains even now.”

The young rider, lost in the import of his news, suddenly became aware that people were staring at him in a silent state of shock. No one moved. No sound was made. He cleared his throat to continue when he saw the two Silvanesti elves standing close by. Their pale, elegant faces were rigid with horror.

The eldest elf seemed to shake himself and he laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder for support. “Why are the Qualinesti crossing the Plains?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know exactly,” the rider stammered. “They have been driven from their lands by the Knights of Neraka and the forces of the green dragon. I guess they hope to seek shelter with your people.”

The two elves exchanged a look of dread. “We must leave,” the elder said to Mariana. “We must see for ourselves.”

Without a further word, they retrieved their horses from the picket line, saddled them, and were away in less time than it took for Falaius to salute the tribesman and draw him into the commander’s tent.

“Come, boy Tell us again, and this time fill in some details.”

The same news arrived in Missing City the next night, brought by one of the Tarmak long-range patrols. The patrol, sent out to gather information about the lands north of the city, had come across another messenger heading for City of Morning Dew. After capturing him and extracting his news, they felt it was important enough to bring it themselves to the Akkad-Ur. They found him in his headquarters in the city square where the city’s lord mayor and his council used to meet. Outside, they were astonished to see a bronze dragon crouched balefully under the shade of a large yew.

The Akkad-Ur was not pleased to see them so soon, but he listened to their news and interrogated their prisoner. When he was satisfied he gave each warrior a coveted steel dagger from the treasury of the dead dragonlord.

“Throw him in the slave pens,” he ordered, indicating the cowering tribesman. Then he paused and a slight smile eased across his face. “Better still, take him to the old palace and put him in with the Knights. We’ll let the woman brood a little further on disaster. And summon the dekegul.”

He leaned both hands on his work table and studied his latest map while the warriors bowed and left to obey his orders. Quickly his hand snatched another map from a stack and another and another until he had most of the Plains of Dust as far west as the Kharolis Mountains and Thorbardin spread out before him. He pondered the maps for a long time. There it was spread out before him. A land ready for the taking.

It was too good to keep to himself. Gloating, he went outside, past his guards, and across the street to the yew where the bronze dragon sat chained and waiting for his command. For once the Akkad-Ur did not bother to don his ceremonial mask, and his long face and aquiline nose were exposed to the bronze dragon’s sullen view. Crucible glanced at him briefly then turned his head away and glared into the darkness that had fallen over the city.

Too energized to stand still, the Akkad-Ur paced in front of Crucible only a few steps away from the limit of the short chain that bound the dragon.

“This seems to be a disastrous year for dragons,” he said, knowing full well that Crucible was listening to him. “I have heard from my scouts that Thunder and Iyesta were not the only dragons to fall this summer. The dragon Beryllinthranox has also died.”

In spite of his efforts to appear disinterested, Crucible’s ears swiveled around to hear the Tarmak better.

The Akkad-Ur continued to pace back and forth. “She invaded the Qualinesti Forest and destroyed the city of Qualinost. But in the course of the invasion, she was killed. It’s a shame really. All those elves displaced and wandering. But there you are. The fortunes of war.” He stopped in front of Crucible and crossed his arms. “You certainly know what that means. The deaths of these three dragons leaves the entire Plains of Dust now available to the first conqueror strong and daring enough to take it.”

Crucible’s head swung around until he was staring down at the Tarmak, his golden eyes as cold as a winter dawn.

The Akkad-Ur gave the dragon a short, derisive bow and turned on his sandalled heel. He made it nearly ten paces back toward his headquarters when the dekegul, the Akkad-Ur’s commanders of the army, came running at his command. They saluted and waited eagerly for his news.

“Tomorrow the next shipment of reinforcements and supplies arrives. In three days we march. We will take the army north and west to consolidate our hold on Iyesta’s realm as planned and take the remaining lands of the Plains of Dust. In the name of our emperor, we shall establish a new realm where the Tarmak nation will grow strong.”