Thunder’s massive presence filled the great chamber. He roared again and sent a bolt of lightning searing across the roof.

“Crucible! You grubby worm! You can go no further! Come out!”

He did not see the bronze hiding behind the corpse, but he spotted the egg lying on the mound and hurried toward it. He reached for it then stopped and swept his gaze over the dead dragon in the back of the cave.

“Hurry!” rasped Crucible.

Linsha, using a strength born of terror and fury, scrambled frantically up his scaled shoulder to the saddle they had rigged between his wings. She settled herself into the seat and leaned over to reach for the lance.

Azurale handed it up to her butt first so she get it seated in the pommel.

“Here he comes!” warned Crucible.

“No!” Linsha cried, still leaning over the dragon’s side. “I’m not ready!”

The heavy lance dangled precariously in her grasp. She had not yet gained a firm grip on it, and if Crucible moved now, she knew she would drop it.

Azurale knew it too, and he knew he was not tall enough to help her put it in place. All he could do was give her a moment or two. Forcing hack his terror, he yanked off his crossbow and bolted out of the shadows into the open directly in the path of the blue dragon. The war cry of his clan cut through the heavy air. He fired his crossbow in the general direction of the dragon’s head and charged around the mound.

Thunder leaped, thrusting his massive head to snatch the centaur in his crushing teeth, but Azurale was young, agile, and desperate. He swerved, and Thunder’s fangs clashed on empty air.

Linsha watched the centaur’s frantic run for just an instant, then she wasted no more of his precious gift. She closed her eyes and marshaled all of her strength, all the spiritual energy of her heart, every vestige of power she had ever had and focused it all into one final lift with her tired, aching muscles. Her hands tightened around the handle, her arm muscles cramping at the weight of the lance. The weapon rose and settled neatly into place by her right knee, the butt resting on the support by the saddle pommel, the cowl shielding her right arm, shoulder, and the right side of her torso. Now all she had to do was hold on while Crucible maneuvered them close enough to drive the point into Thunder. If it didn’t work, she didn’t think they need worry about a second chance.

“Hold on!” the bronze said.

Linsha could do little else. Holding on with all her strength, she clung to Crucible as he charged out from behind the dead brass into the open.

Thunder did not see them immediately. His attention was still on the fleeing centaur. Azurale had reached the opposite side of the sand mound from Thunder and was dashing back and forth around the base of the high mound, trying to avoid the dragon’s attack.

The blue tired of the cat and mouse game and changed tactics. Instead of lunging around the side of the mound, he threw his massive body over it. The great weight of his chest crushed the brass dragon egg into the sand, while his neck and head snaked over the edge of the mound and caught Azurale just as the young centaur wheeled to escape. The dragon’s teeth closed around his human torso and crushed him. Azurale never had time to scream.

Thunder tossed back his head and ripped the centaur in half. Blood sprayed across the sand. He swallowed, snatched up the horse half, and gulped that down too. Only then did he turn his head around to see the bronze behind him.

Linsha had only a glimpse of the blue crouched on the torn and bloody mound. She saw the blood on his muzzle and the mess on his chest that was egg albumen mixed with shards of egg, sand, and the bloody gore that was once a dragon embryo. She screamed once in fury and protest, then tightened her muscles and clamped the black lance in place as Crucible sprang on the blue. They drove the rust-red tip into the dragon’s back just below the base of his neck.

Thunder bellowed in agony. No one had ever inflicted such pain on him before. He twisted away and whipped his blunt tail around to slam the bronze to the ground.

Linsha, still clinging to the lance, was pulled out of the saddle. To her horror, she found herself dangling from the barbed shaft buried in the Thunder’s back. The blow had been a serious one, but it obviously hadn’t killed him, and now she was swinging from the back of an infuriated dragon.

“Crucible!” she screamed. She flung up her legs and wrapped them around the shaft, so she wasn’t just hanging.

Thunder heard her, peered around, and recognized the curly-haired human who had flown with Iyesta. The air hissed from his nostrils, yet he did not dare use his lightning weapon. The blue’s lightning was more random, and he did not want to use it so close to his own back. He tried to reach around with a taloned forefoot to snatch her off, but the lance swung out of his reach and the pain from the barbed head buried between his shoulders was agony. He flapped his wings and roared in fury.

Another pain seared across his left haunch and lower wing as Crucible ducked in close and shot a beam low against Thunder’s body.

In that frantic moment after the Abyssal Lance pierced the blue’s tough scales, the dark spells incorporated in the wood and steel reacted with the dragon’s blood and began to work their evil purpose. It did not matter that the dragon afflicted was an evil dragon himself. Good or Evil, the lance was made to kill.

Linsha felt the change first. The wood became hot beneath her fingers and legs-so hot she could barely tolerate the pain of the heat burning into her skin. She shot a look at the sandy floor, figured her chances of surviving a fall and Thunder’s attack, and decided they weren’t much worse than clinging to a burning lance stuck in an enraged dragon’s back.

Thunder screeched in fearful pain. Within his neck and shoulders a terrific heat spread from the barbs of the lance. He shook himself fiercely, but with every move of his muscles the barbs slid deeper and deeper past his spinal chord and into his chest. Insane with pain, he lunged at Crucible, intending to crush the smaller dragon beneath his greater weight.

For Varia, the sight of the Brute warriors slaughtering the mercenary guards in the palace courtyard was enough to drive out all thoughts of sending the escaped prisoners and slaves into the throne room for a look. She would be sending them to their deaths. Instead she swooped close to Leonidas.

“Leave!” she shouted over the fighting. “Go north! Find the militia! The Brutes are attacking the palace!”

He shot her a look of bitter anger and sadness, but he nodded his understanding.

Most of the guards were dead by that time, so it took only a matter of minutes for the captives to complete their small victory, gather their mixed company, and follow Leonidas out of the ruined palace grounds toward the Artisan’s District.

Varia watched them long enough to see them on their way before she flew toward the throne room. If she couldn’t bring human hands and centaur muscles to help find the eggs, at least she could bring owl eyes to look for them. On noiseless wings, she swept down through the shattered roof and found a perch in a shadowy niche where several chunks of stone had fallen from the roof. She settled into her hiding place just as the Tarmak general strode into the throne room.

A few mercenaries, furious at the violent intrusion, fired arrows and crossbow bolts from behind a pile of rubble, but the Brutes swiftly dealt with them and dragged their bodies out to join their comrades in a pile by the door.

“Clear it out!” the general told his men.

The Brutes spread out into the remains of the throne room and down into the lower chamber.