Prologue
Inthedaysfollowingtheir surrender to the human rebellion, the dwarven city of Polimnos was razed to the ground. In the midst of the dwarven evacuation and the arrival of human forces, the dragon Zamnes found the city abandoned. Both sides could only bear witness as the city burned, and the dragon fled with his hoard, his black scales hiding him amongst the smoke and ash. A small handful of brave warriors gave chase. None returned.
Zamnes, Scourge of Polimnos, was sighted occasionally in the following weeks and months, flying along the coast to deter any humans from entering the ruins of the city. Even if they had, there was nothing left to scavenge. The dragon had been nothing if not thorough.
After the war between the elven nation of Aefraya and the dwarven dynasty in Robruolor officially ended, and Autreth was granted independence from both, the dragon was not seen again. Eventually, despite whispers and rumors, the city was carefully picked clean, the rubble hauled away, and the beginnings of a new town rose from the ashes.
Some believed Zamnes’ lair was deep in distant mountains where labyrinthine tunnels kept the outside world from disturbing him; still others claimed he had taken up residence in a volcano rising up from the ocean, on an island that was weeks away by boat, but surely only hours by flight.
Only a few dared whisper that the Scourge had never left at all: that his lair was deep beneath the very foundation of Polimnos itself, and he slept content on his hoard for now. To rebuild was foolish, they would say, because when Zamnes eventually woke—as all dragons do—he would rise up and level the city once more, taking whatever wealth it had amassed in his absence as his own.
These few were closest to the truth. Zamnes’ lair was not directly underneath the city, but nestled underground in a cliff face less than two miles north of the city’s remains. There he slumbered after gathering his newly-found spoils. When he eventually woke, he set out to provide his last offerings to his progenitors, a symbol of true independence from his clutch.
His father, Mithantos, had scales black and gleaming as his own, and his lair was far to the south in a mountain made of obsidian. To him, Zamnes offered a chest of uncut gems: they would be worth much, and he had little knowledge of his father’s personal likes and dislikes. His mother, Ilrenth, was dark blue, and their only resemblance was their equally blue eyes. Ilrenth had claim to a remote island in the middle of the ocean, where her blue scales camouflaged her against the sight of all sailors, and she supplied her hoard with spoils taken from pirates and merchants alike. To her, Zamnes presented a collection of dwarven vases and urns. He knew she enjoyed the tiny details of pottery, and she thanked him for the gift, before they parted for what was likely the last time. After all, dragons were solitary creatures.
His offerings made, facilitating a clean break, Zamnes returned to his lair and found it undisturbed. Again he slumbered and lived idly, until he decided to investigate what had become of Polimnos in the two years since he had burned it down and carried its riches underground.
He decided to assume the guise of an elven mage. Elves commonly traveled the world, would live far longer than the humans that made up the population of Autreth, and had an innate knack for magic that would ensure his own prowess would be unremarkable. In front of a gleaming silver mirror he transformed, tweaking and adjusting his appearance until it suited his fancy perfectly. Tall, fair skin, a handsome face with hair as black as his scales, and familiar blue eyes.
“Adrissu,” he murmured to himself, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “A good name.”
It was the name of a powerful elven wizard from an age long past, a name that promised prosperity for this false identity. Magic interested him more than anything, and now that he had his own hoard, he was free to pursue his interests at his leisure. Perhaps, in time, he could even surpass the original Adrissu.
“A wizard should have a familiar,” he decided, and with two of the countless jewels that he had claimed, he performed the summoning rites. The familiar took the form of a small snake with gleaming black scales—fitting, he thought with a laugh, as he extended his hand and watched it slither up into his sleeve, as naturally as if it had always been there.
“Let us see what Polimnos has become in my absence,” Adrissu said to it, and left his lair.
Book One
Ruan
Chapter One
Aheavyknockthuddedat the wooden door of his tower.
“Adrissu!”
From the second floor, Adrissu sighed and gestured toward the stairs.
“Vesper, be a dear and answer the door,” he said. With a heavy dragging sound, Vesper uncurled herself from where she dozed at his feet. The snake, far larger now than when Adrissu had first summoned her, made her way down the stairs; and a moment later he heard the thud of her pressing her weight against the door handle to push it open.
“I’ll be down in just a moment, Councilor,” he called. Distantly, he could hear a slightly startled exclamation—he did not knowwhy, as Vesper’s presence in his tower should have been common knowledge to anyone who visited him, and the insufferable councilor had made more than a few house calls as of late. Benil Branwood was a skinny, nervous man who sought Adrissu’s advice too often and his favors even moreso; much as he tried to avoid the councilor, he had put this lunch meeting off twice already and suspected that the man would not take so kindly to another cancellation.
So with a sigh, Adrissu set down the alchemical ungents he had been mixing, wiped his hands clean, and descended the stairs to find Benil standing nervously in the doorway and eyeing Vesper as she curled up near the bottom step.
“Adrissu!” the man exclaimed as he appeared in the stairway, the nervous expression quickly replaced with an appeasing grin. “Good to see you. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today.”
“Of course,” Adrissu replied simply, giving the man a slight nod. “Forgive the delay, Councilor Branwood. I received a new shipment of sebran leaves last week and have been experimenting.”
“Is that what I’m smelling?” Benil said. “And please, please, we’re friends, aren’t we? You can always just call me Benil.”
Adrissu managed a tight smile. The human reminded him every time: he was starting to suspect that he was either too stupid to get the hint that they werenotfriends, or being purposely bullheaded. Knowing him, it truly could go either way.
“Shall we go?” Adrissu said, gesturing for the door.
Saltspire Tower, his home, sat on the northernmost edge of Polimnos’ borders near a cliff face that dropped into the ocean. Most days he could hear the soft sounds of the waves crashing far below, particularly during high tide. As they stepped out of his tower now, he could not hear the sea, but the smell of the ocean air was as thick as ever. The morning mist had burned off by now, a warm spring day well underway.
“Have you eaten?” Benil chattered, as they began to walk down the hill where his tower stood and along the path that led directly into town. The first few feet leading up to his tower were marked with stepping-stones; beyond those, the path was only packed dirt. “Margo, the baker, she’s started making these delicious meat pies. I’d be happy to get you one, my treat.”
