—
Nyphron was alone on the third floor balcony that ran around the outside of the Verenthenon when Malcolm found him. “So much for your plans,” he told his ex-slave. “I think your prediction of me becoming the ruler of the world was a bit off.”
“Try not to think too much; you don’t have the talent for it.”
Nyphron’s brows rose. He was having trouble adjusting to this new Malcolm, this onetime slave who behaved as an equal. No, he thought, he acts like my superior—like my father. Nyphron had never cared for the easy authority Zephyron exercised over him, one of the many reasons he’d spent so much time abroad with the Galantians. And he cared even less for Malcolm. If either of them had more than a day in their futures, he might have voiced his objection, settled the issue, but as it was, he couldn’t see the point.
“They’re creating bridges right now.” He pointed down at the seven tongues, each of slightly different lengths, reaching out toward their side of the Bern. “Come morning—”
“Not morning,” Malcolm said. “They’ll attack tonight.” He looked up at the stars. “Two, maybe three hours.”
Nyphron felt a surge of panic, then it subsided. What difference does a few hours make? The result will be the same. “Just as well, I suppose. No sense prolonging it.”
Malcolm stared at him, perplexed. “You really think you’re going to die?”
“The fane won’t pardon me after this.”
“No, I mean you’re certain the fane will defeat us?”
Nyphron looked out at the campfires, and then down at the rubble below them. “We lost almost half our fighting force today, and that was without the fane bringing in his infantry. Yes, we will all die. Maybe not you. Can you die?”
Malcolm smiled at him. “What would it be worth to win this battle?”
There was no point in replying, so Nyphron simply waited. He had no idea who, or what Malcolm was—a Miralyith perhaps? But he’d never seen Malcolm perform magic. A crimbal lord? There were legends about them sometimes leaving Nog and visiting Elan. They possessed great powers and weren’t bound by the same laws as Rhunes, Fhrey, and Dherg. But again, there was that issue of a lack of magic, and crimbals were known to wallow in the stuff. He might be a demon or spirit. Stories spoke of such things walking the face of Elan and causing mischief to mortals. Whatever Malcolm was, Nyphron certainly didn’t trust that smile.
“You’ll owe me a favor,” Malcolm said. “I will ask you to do something, and you must do it—no matter what it is.”
“Scary promise.”
“It is.”
“I won’t kill myself.”
“No, it won’t be that.”
“And I will be ruler of the entire civilized world?”
Malcolm paused in thought. “Well, minus Belgreig. The Belgriclungreians are about to have a bit of a revival, but you’ll be allies.”
“Fine,” Nyphron said. “I did say civilized world.” He stared at the thin figure before him, who didn’t have a trustworthy face, and he certainly wasn’t a man. “Why do I feel like you’ll twist this into something terrible?”
“You’re right to be wary. I can tell you now that you won’t like what I’ll ask of you. Certainly not at the time I ask it. Wouldn’t be much point in my making this agreement if it was something you’d agree to willingly. But it won’t be anything too horrible, and in time, you’ll agree that I was right.”
They stood looking out at the torch-and star-filled night, watching the growing bridges—seven fingers of death.
“So, do we have an agreement?”
“If by some miracle we do win tomorrow—or tonight—how can I know it was you who made it happen?”
“If you agree to my demand, then tonight you’ll see a dragon rise from the rubble of Alon Rhist. This”—he paused and allowed a little smile to creep onto his lips—“Gilarabrywn will fend off the worst of the fane’s assault.”
“The worst? And what of the rest?”
Malcolm pointed to the eastern sky. “The Gula-Rhunes.”
Nyphron shook his head. “That’s impossible. The fires were never lit.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Seriously? I just told you a dragon would rise up out of the rubble and do battle for you, but it’s the coming of the Gula horde that you can’t believe?”
“Okay, none of it is believable.”
“So when it happens, when you see it all with your own eyes, and exactly as I’ve described, you’ll know it was my doing, and you’ll be bound to this agreement we make tonight, yes?”
Nyphron didn’t need to think long. The bridges were growing at an uncomfortable speed. Malcolm was right about that much. The attack wouldn’t be in the morning. “Agreed. I just wish you were telling the truth.”
* * *
—
Padera and Malcolm were the first to enter Persephone’s room after Nyphron had left. “That Fhrey downstairs is a terrible patient,” Padera grumbled.