SummerDanse by Terie Garrison Page A

shoulder, Zhantar guided me to stand before this man. My knees shook so hard I could hardly walk. I clenched my fists to keep my hands from trembling. How had I ever got myself into this position? For this man was surely a dragonmaster.
    “This is the young lady of whom I spoke,” Zhantar said in a casual tone, seemingly unaware of my turmoil.
    “I see,” said a muffled voice from within the hood. “Come closer,” he said, and somehow I made myself do it. A hand—long fingered, well-groomed, and elegant—touched the wood collar. The fingertips strayed to the skin of my neck, sending a thrill of dread through me. I feared and almost hoped my heart would stop.
    “There is power in this wood.” His other hand came up and he passed the circlet several times around, the heat of his fingers caressing my throat. “You see that it has no beginning and no end. Like power itself. And like power, its integrity must not be breached.”
    He let go of the wood, and it dropped heavily into place, as if it were made of iron instead of the light wood it actually was. My hope of freedom fell with it. Then he touched my left cheek, his hand gentle but firm.
    “There is an interesting tale here. I have never seen nor heard of such a thing. Will you tell me?”
    I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I shut it again, closed my eyes, and took several shallow, ragged breaths.
    “Perhaps another time,” he said, and relieved, I nodded.
    “My ... associate tells me you can do magic, that you might wish to join us. Is this true?”
    I licked my lips. “I can do a little magic, yes, sir.”
    “And you might wish to join us?” he repeated.
    “I don’t know, sir.” It came out as a whisper.
    “What? Don’t know if you would like to live in splendor and in the king’s favor? Don’t know if you want to have the power of the universe at your beck and call? Surely this is false modesty. Do you not know who it is who stands here before you?”
    By now, my whole body shook, and I had no way to control it. I was afraid I would faint away.
    Zhantar stepped up and gripped the magician’s shoulder. “Donavah,” he said, a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye, “let me introduce you to my son.”
    The magician’s beautiful hands reached up and drew back the hood.
    It was Anazian.

    Oh, my son, my son. Well met at last, at long last. Let me clasp you to my bosom, let me touch your face. Oh, it is really you. I see your mother in your smile and in the light of your eyes.
    Oh, my son, my son. You have done so much, sacrificed so much of your life in our cause. My pride in you swells my heart nigh to bursting. It is really you? Are you really here? I pray your indulgence, let me touch your face yet again, assure myself I do not dream.
    Oh, my son, my son. We sit here poised on the cusp of victory, a victory of which we would have little hope if not for you. Join me in a celebratory cup. Let us lift our glasses aloft and toast one another. Let us taste the sweetness of anticipated victory.
    Oh, my son, my son.

Everything froze. My heart. My breath. My very thought. In an instant of clarity, I saw it all, how I had been toyed with by these two powerful men.
    Then my flight instinct took over.
    I spun on my heel and made a dash for the nearest door. Laughter followed me. I turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge.
    Looking over my shoulder, I found the two of them advancing toward me. I smacked the door in frustration. The other doors would also be locked, but perhaps a window would offer escape. I ran to the nearest one and tugged with all my strength, but it might have been nailed shut for all the good it did.
    Desperate, I slammed my fist into the glass and shattered the pane. My hand passed through, glass shards slashing it. But I had not chosen well, for the window I’d broken was a small one, far too small for me to get out. Footsteps drew near.
    A weapon. Perhaps I could protect myself from them that way. Disregarding the