“Excellent.” Ryslind lowered himself into the room. Once the others had joined him, he said, “I suggest you do the same thing with the Necromancer’s little trapdoor. Or do you require time to rest, to regain your strength?”

Even Jig could see the way Ryslind baited his brother, pushing him to admit that the magic was too strong for him. Every word the wizard spoke positively oozed compassion, as if it were all he could do to watch Barius shoulder this heavy burden by himself.

“We shall proceed,” Barius said through gritted teeth. Again he used the rod, this time melting the throne itself into a ladder. Before he could finish, he cried out and fell. His hands pressed against his temples.

“Such pain,” Ryslind muttered sorrowfully. “You must have triggered another backlash when your ladder pierced Straum’s illusionary sky. A pity, for in most cases the rod’s magic is easy to control. Only when it collides with other art does it cause this kind of anguish, and then only to the unskilled.”

As Barius used the rod like a cane to push himself back up, Jig found that he actually felt sorry for the prince. Then he remembered being led around at the end of a rope, punched in the face, and threatened time and again for the past week. His sympathy faded.

Barius managed to finish the ladder without further problems. The rungs were a bit slippery, having taken on the glassy polish of the throne, but nobody fell off.

At the bottom, another of Straum’s dragonchildren waited for them. “You have the rod,” it said. This one was smaller and darker than the first. Female, Jig guessed. Or perhaps it was simply younger.

Barius drew himself up and forced the fatigue from his face. “I do.”

He saw Darnak glance worriedly at their escort, and he could guess what the dwarf was thinking. Barius might, with luck and a great deal of help from the gods, be able to use the rod against Straum. But did the prince’s plan include a way to deal with Straum’s children? A lot of good it would do to kill the dragon if the dragonchild tore them apart a second later.

They couldn’t retreat. The creature probably had orders to stop them if they tried. The only thing to do was march onward, through the gardens and into the cave, and hope Barius knew what he was doing.

When they arrived, they found that Straum had emerged from his lake. His body stretched across much of the cave, and rows of enormous wet footprints suggested that he had been pacing. His head perked up as Ryslind entered.

“You have it,” Straum breathed. When he saw what Barius carried, he threw back his head and roared so loudly Jig thought his head would crack. The terrible sound went on and on, and when it stopped, the echoes continued inside his skull.