Riding through the dusty streets of the village Imoen couldn't help but notice the browned and leathered faces of those who toiled in the hard-scrabble environment of the desert. The paucity and insignificance of Amkethran was made even more noticeable by the towering white marble walls of the monastery on the eastern edge of the town. Thirty feet high, the perimeter defenses of Balthazar's fortified residence dwarfed the other structures.

  Though it threatened to make her legs cramp up, Imoen spurred her horse forward until she rode even with Melissan at the head of the company.

  "This Balthazar sure likes to rub his fortune in the noses of these villagers," she whispered, appalled at the ostentatious display so blatantly shoved into the face of the abject poverty of Amkethran itself.

  "Hush, child," Melissan cautioned. "Beyond these walls Balthazar and his monks live a sparse, barren existence. These walls are for protection, not for show."

  Imoen blushed and turned her eyes to the ground. She admired Melissan. The tall woman was beautiful, strong, and wise. Men and women alike looked up to her. Imoen felt herself drawn to this mysterious woman who had become her protector. She felt herself constantly staring at the imposing figure in black, unable to take her eyes from Melissan's powerful, athletic form. Imoen loved the way Melissan dressed. Her dark clothing covering her entire body not only made her more mysterious, it also seemed to reject the stereotypical flashes of flesh most women used to attract the attentions of men.

  Imoen had wanted nothing more than to impress Melissan. That was the sole intent of her comments about Amkethran. Instead, she had stupidly embarrassed herself. Thankfully, Melissan had not noticed Imoen's shame—or at least, she had the decency to pretend not to notice.

  Imoen tried to save face by explaining her earlier comment. "I just meant, well, did they have to build the monastery right on the eastern edge of the town? It casts a shadow over all of Amkethran. It must take hours before the first light of the morning sun even touches the villagers."

  Melissan tossed her head back and laughed, her raven tresses cascading down her back as she did so. "You have the history of Amkethran somewhat backward, dear girl. The monastery has stood here for many generations. It is the town that is new. And it is no accident that those few who choose to live here have built their homes beneath the shadow of the monastery.

  "You have spent but one full day beneath the blazing sun of the Empires of the Sands," Melissan continued. "Surely you can appreciate the relief even a few extra hours of shade each day would provide. You should watch what you say in the streets of Amkethran. Balthazar and his monks are held in high esteem by the people of this town."

  Chastened by Melissan's words, Imoen could only stammer out a feeble apology. "I... I'm sorry, Melissan. I meant no disrespect."

  Melissan reached over to place her elegant hand reassuringly on Imoen's shoulder. The young girl felt a thrill at the noblewoman's touch. "Your concern for the less fortunate is touching, Imoen. In this case it is misplaced, but you must never apologize for your instincts to help others. In my youth, I, too, shared your passions."

  Looking up into Melissan's eyes, Imoen saw a genuine and sincere compassion. Imoen wanted to say something else, but she was afraid of ruining the moment, and the moment was gone.

  The electric touch of Melissan's hand slipped from her shoulder, and the tall woman spurred her horse forward. "I must go and see that the monks are prepared for our arrival," she called back over her shoulder. "We can speak again inside the safety of the tower."

  Imoen watched Melissan gallop off, her eyes drawn to the glorious mane of jet-black hair streaming out behind the woman.

  * * * * *

  In the comfort of his dragon's den, among the company of his faithful pets, Abazigal fantasized about his future as a pure-blood wyrm. The respect commanded by true dragons, the mere glory of their very existence, would be his once Bhaal had been resurrected. Abazigal, once spurned as a half-breed, would be hailed as a hero by all of dragonkind as he led them to their true destiny as rulers of Faerun.

  He had come far since his humble beginnings. Abazigal remembered nothing of his dragon mother. Did she reject him as the abomination he was, or did she protect him and nurture him? It didn't matter. Her existence was nothing but an idealized concept, his link to the glory of dragonkind, and a way to deny the history of his youth.

  Abazigal's earliest memories were of his cruel master, the nameless wizard who had sought to unlock the secrets of dragons through torture and experiments. Abazigal had served as a slave to the sadistic mage, cleaning the laboratory, caring for the dragon's eggs the wizard had managed to steal, feeding the young hatchlings as they were born, and disposing of their mangled, broken bodies when the wizard's experiments went awry.

  He was often experimented on by the master, though the mage was careful never to bring about Abazigal's death. Dragon eggs he had by the dozens, but a half-breed, the link between man and wyrm, was a rare beast indeed.

  That was exactly how the master had treated Abazigal and the dragons he kept imprisoned in his lab, as beasts. The experiments of the wizard destroyed most of his subjects' minds, the dragons lucky enough to survive his torturous research were left little more than brutes—incapable of speech or spells, stripped of their magnificent intelligence by a sniveling human wizard who dared to use the wyrms for his own twisted purposes.

  Abazigal was no mindless brute, though he pretended to be an imbecile in the master's presence. His act resulted in many beatings and painful punishments for failing to follow even the simplest of instructions, but they were a small price to pay for maintaining the ruse. Believing him to be stupid and harmless, the wizard allowed Abazigal free run of the laboratory. While the mage studied the secrets of Abazigal and the dragons, Abazigal studied the wizard's own secrets.

  With his dragon mother's innate intelligence, Abazigal mastered the intricacies of sorcery, teaching himself over many, many years—all the while slaving beneath the master's heavy hand. Once he had learned all he could from the wizard, Abazigal turned on his captor.

  The mage's death was slow and painful. Abazigal extracted retribution for not only his own sufferings but the sufferings of the pure-blood dragons whose torture he had witnessed over the years. Every shattered egg, every dead hatchling, every wyrm that had been transformed into a dumb beast no longer worthy of the title "dragon" by the master was avenged in the wizard's agonizing end.

  Winning his freedom did not end Abazigal's responsibilities to the young dragons the wizard had imprisoned. A dozen wyrms still lived, all too mentally damaged to fend for themselves. Abazigal had adopted them as his own. He tried to restore their minds, to elevate them to their rightful status, but the damage done by the master was irreparable.

  Perhaps killing them all, aborting their pathetic existence, would have been the right thing to do, but Abazigal could not bring himself to destroy them, flawed as they were. Instead, they became his pets, his army of quasi-dragons. Fiercely loyal, they served him without question to the best of their limited abilities.

  He was careful to hide the existence of his pets. If the true dragons learned of their existence, they might destroy them as an affront to the species. Yet Abazigal had allowed the greatest of his pets, a young but nearly full grown red, to participate in the siege of Saradush.

  His pet had done well, slaughtering dozens of the cowering Bhaalspawn during the battle. Part of Abazigal had hoped the battle would help the creature understand its own power. Part of him hoped it would not come back, choosing to try and survive on its own in the world, but instead, the young red had returned bearing a gift: a female half-elf.

  Abazigal knew the identity of the half-elf. She was the lover of Gorion's ward, and Abdel Adrian was coming for vengeance. No doubt he was currently trudging across the plains beneath the newly risen sun, following the path of Abazigal's pet toward the Alimir Mountains. Even if his enemy rode a horse, Abazigal knew, he would still be several days away.

  The wise course of action was to simply wait, bide his time until Abdel arrived, then unleash his pets on the Bhaalspawn. No single man, not even Bhaalspawn, could withstand the assault of a dozen dragons. Since his meeting with the council of dragons the previous morning, Abazigal was nearly out of patience. He had spent years suffering beneath the master's tyranny, futilely hoping he would learn some way to rid himself of his half-breed status. He had spent years plotting and conspiring with the foul drow Sendai and the rest of the Five to bring back their father.

  Now his greatest desire was nearly within his grasp. The sooner Abdel Adrian was dead, the sooner Bhaal would return and grant Abazigal true dragon status. Then Saladrex would support his plan to restore dragons to their rightful place.

  With a sharp, hissing whistle Abazigal grabbed the attention of his pets. "Find Abdel," he said slowly so their damaged minds could process his instructions. "Seek him out on the plains to the north. When you find him, kill him."

  One by one the dozen young wyrms who served Abazigal leaped from the mouth of his great cavern, eager as ever to do his bidding. Gathering speed, their great bodies rumbled across the plateau where Abazigal had built his lair, charging toward the sheer cliffs that fell away from the mountain peak on all sides. Screaming their hunting cries, their bodies plunged over the precipice, hurtling toward the ground below. At the last second they pulled out of the steep dive and arced high into the early morning sky, their calls still echoing throughout the mountains.

  Abazigal watched them go, as magnificent as any true dragons he had ever witnessed. Soon Abazigal himself would be one of them.

  * * * * *

  Abdel had passed the entire night without sleeping. His body, weary and battered from his battle with Sarevok, felt fresh and energized once again as the first rays of dawn peeked through the mountaintops to illuminate the entrance of his cave. Then he heard them—the unmistakable cries of a dragon in flight.

  He burst from the cave, scanning the skies for the beast. To his amazement he saw not one dragon, but nearly a dozen. Their enormous bodies dropped like stones from the top of a nearby peak, then swooped up and away. Abdel, fascinated by the spectacle, could only stand and watch.

  The dragons flew off to the north, oblivious to the human standing a short distance to the south watching their progress. When the final wyrm disappeared on the horizon, Abdel set off toward the peak they had launched themselves from, certain he would find Abazigal there, and hopefully Jaheira as well. If he had any hope of saving his lover, he would have to find her and escape before the army of dragons returned.

  It took less than an hour for Abdel to reach the base of Abazigal's mountain enclave, but the most difficult part of his journey was still ahead—a thousand feet straight up the sheer rock face. Studying the obstacle before him, Abdel could make out a number of small ledges and jutting rock formations large enough for a man to stand on. These were few and far between. Scaling the mountain would mean free climbing with no chance to stop and rest. Even Abdel's own godlike endurance had limits, and he was about to test them fully.

  Hoping his healing abilities could save him should he fall, Abdel began the ascent. Any ordinary man foolish enough to even attempt the climb would have surely plunged to his death long before reaching the first ledge, unable to push his body through the tremendous physical strain of literally crawling up the side of an unassailable mountain. Abdel had the strength necessary to drag himself ever higher.

  His powerful hands found holds in the countless tiny cracks and fissures that covered the cliff wall. His boots scrabbled and scratched at the hard surface, seeking and finding footholds in the rough stone. Often he was forced to support his entire weight with a single arm, hauling his massive body up until the sweat-slicked, groping fingers of his free hand were able to fasten onto a tiny outcropping of stone higher up the mountain. Again and again his limbs fought against fatigue as he dangled hundreds of feet above the rocks below, but each time the essence of his immortal father gave him the endurance to press on and up to the next ledge where he could stop and allow his body a few minutes to recuperate.

  The higher he climbed, the more difficult the trial became. The atmosphere grew thin, and Abdel found himself gasping for breath. The cold air of the mountain's upper reaches chilled his limbs, making them stiff and heavy. A sheen of icy frost coated everything, seeping into the crevices he used to pull himself along and making his grip slip and slide.

  When he finally slung his leg up over the ledge of the plateau at the summit, the sun was at its zenith. The climb had taken him well over three hours, time Abdel was afraid he couldn't spare. Determined as he was to rescue Jaheira, he had no illusions about what would happen if all the dragons returned at once to find him atop their mountain lair. He had barely survived an encounter with a single of the winged monsters—a dozen would shred him to bits.

  In the center of the plateau was a great, gaping hole—an entrance to the miles of passages, caves, and caverns descending deep into the mountain's heart. Somewhere in the rock labyrinth, Abdel prayed, he would find Jaheira.

  He drew his heavy broadsword from the sheath on his back and marched toward the cavern's entrance. Before he reached his destination, a single figure emerged from the pit and stood to face him.

  The thing was shaped like a man, but its skin was patched with multicolored scales. Its head was smooth and hairless, its eyes reptilian in appearance.

  "I did not expect you ssso sssoon," it hissed, a serpentine tongue flicking from its mouth as it spoke. "Even now my petsss are out hunting for you in the plainsss to the north."

  "I have come for Jaheira," Abdel said, brandishing his sword as he bargained for his lover. "Return her to me and I will leave."

  "Your lover isss no more," the monster hissed at him. "I sssaw her lassst breath myssself."

  The lizard thing laughed, and Abdel could no longer deny the awful truth. Jaheira was dead. Numb with grief, he could only shake his head in helpless denial. Images of her grisly end came unbidden to his mind, spurred on by the memory of his last image of Jaheira writhing in the dragon's grasp.

  In his mind's eye he could see her beautiful features twisted in relentless agony as she was crushed within the dragon's ruthless grip, her bones snapping like kindling. He imagined her head thrown back in a soundless scream as one of the beast's savage talons pierced her armor and chest, impaling her frail body even as she was frozen by the icy winds of the dragon's flight.

  "No!" Abdel screamed, his mind desperately scrambling to find some small sliver of hope. "No! I will not accept this!" He remembered this pain. He had thought Jaheira lost to him once before, but she had been brought back to life by the clerics of Gond Wonderbringer.

  "Give her to me! She may yet be saved!"

  Abazigal sneered, his reptilian lips curling into a disdainful sneer. "What makesss you think I will lisssten to your pleasss?"

  Abdel knew how ludicrous his request seemed. He understood the lunacy of begging his mortal enemy for the life of his lover, but he didn't care anymore. All he wanted was Jaheira back.

  "I will give you anything," Abdel promised, his voice wild. "My essence, my spirit, my soul... anything!"

  The only response was a scornful hiss. "Ssshe isss gone, fool! Her blood-soaked, broken body gasssped itsss lassst as my pet dropped her at my feet, as an offering for my approval.

  "Ssshe sssuffered, Abdel," Abazigal whispered, his voice dripping venom. "Ssshe died in pain. And then I gave her to my petsss. They ripped her apart and devoured her mangled corpssse pieccce by pieccce!"

  "No!" Abdel's scream ripped the sky, the very mountain trembled beneath the fury of his outrage. Had he the words, he would have vowed a million excruciating deaths upon Abazigal to avenge his fallen lover. But words rarely came to Abdel. He was a man of actions.

  "Your half-elf isss dead, Abdel Adrian," Abazigal replied mockingly. "Asss are you."

  The creature's taloned hands began to weave the arcane patterns of sorcery in the air, and he began to recite the words of a spell. Abdel leaped toward the monster, determined to hack the reptilian sorcerer down before he could complete his incantation.

  Three bounding strides brought Abdel in range. Spinning to build momentum he slashed his sword at the creature's neck, intending to avenge Jaheira's death by beheading his foe with a single blow. His sword deflected mere inches from the beast's throat, ricocheting harmlessly as it struck some unseen, impregnable sorcerer's shield.

  Lightning flared from the creature's clawed fingers and struck the big sellsword square in the chest, blowing Abdel backward through the air and nearly sending him over the plateau's ledge. Abdel landed less than a yard from the cliff's edge, then leaped to his feet and dived out of the path of a second blast of lightning that would have sent him plummeting over the precipice.

  He ducked and dodged the onslaught of electrical bolts, slowly working his way ever closer to his enemy The wizard didn't seem to care that Abdel was steadily closing the distance between them. Just before Abdel got himself within range to try another swipe of his sword, the creature vanished.

  Abdel spun around, certain his foe would reappear directly behind him, but the lizardlike mage was now standing on the far side of the plateau, already invoking another spell. Abdel heard a terrible roaring from above and just barely managed to dive clear of the column of flame plunging down on him from the sky. Abdel screamed in pain as the terrible heat blistered and seared his skin. As with the dragon's breath, the injuries inflicted by the fire did not heal.

  Badly wounded, Abdel slowly struggled to his feet, only to be knocked to the ground by another lightning blast.

  "You have no chance, Abdel Adrian," his enemy hissed. "Your crude warrior's skills are no match for my sssorcery."