before, a clucking, guttural language fit for poultry or swine.”
Sapphira held the cloth over her wound and touched Mardon’s arm. “Thank you for trying to protect me, but I guess you can’t understand that, either, can you?”
Mardon just stared at her, blinking.
“No, he doesn’t.” Morgan waved her hand toward the other man. “His own father, the king, doesn’t understand him.”
As the lantern light flickered on the king’s face, Sapphira finally recognized him. Though one cheek and his forehead were wrinkled with scar tissue, she remembered his deep brown eyes. “King Nimrod!” She dipped her head and curtsied, then looked up at him again, hoping her tears might draw some compassion. “I’m so sorry about that egg ” She covered her mouth with her fingers. “I forgot. He doesn’t understand, either.”
“No,” Morgan said, “but apparently he remembers you all too well. What did the Ovulum do?”
Nimrod slid a ring up and down his finger. Sapphira winced at the sight of the mounted jewel that had ripped her cheek. “The egg said some things I didn’t understand, and then dragons came and destroyed the tower. I guess he thought it was my fault.” She nodded toward the king. “Did a dragon burn his face?”
“From what I can gather. He uses hand signals quite well, so I’m pretty sure a dragon was involved. He also draws pictures when he tries to communicate.”
“Oh.” Mara folded her cloth in half and laid it on the table. “Well, I guess that helps.”
“Yes, and that’s why I called you here. Because of your obvious intelligence, Naamah and I believe you are the one most capable of teaching these two brutes how to speak the original tongue again. In fact, with all the languages now being used in the upper world, Naamah and I also have much to learn. So, we will soon organize a language school, of sorts, and call upon your linguistic talents to make sure we are all proficient in the new tongues. Your first students, however, are Nimrod and Mardon. Even though they are men, they still have a reasonable supply of brainpower.”
Sapphira shifted back and forth on her feet. “I will do whatever you request of me, of course, but may I also ask a question?”
Morgan sighed. “If you must.”
“Did they notice the tower museum when they came through the portal? Were they excited to see that it survived the dragon fire?”
“They have not seen the museum.” Morgan picked up a piece of graphite and handed it to Sapphira. “There are other ways to enter the lower realms, my dear, but we can discuss that later. For now, we had better get to work on something completely different. We are going to advance your spawn to mobility training immediately.”
A new rush of heat surged into Sapphira’s face. “How can he be ready for that? We haven’t even turned down the magnetic field to test his strength.”
“We’ll start him off slowly,” Morgan said. “But since his stalk thickness is greater than any spawn we’ve ever had, I think he’ll be walking in less than a week.”
“And then you’ll replicate him?”
“Yes. We’ll create a whole new race of intelligent and strong giants, and your spawn will be the leader. But right now, he is bonded to you. He cannot be the general we need until you wean him off your emotional support and release him to Mardon.”
Sapphira glanced at Yereq. He grinned at her. “How do I do that?” she asked.
“I will teach him how to hate, and then you will make him hate you.”
“Hate me? My spawn? I could never ”
Morgan slapped her across her unwounded cheek. “You will do what I say, or else! One more word of defiance, and my next blow will find your other cheek.”
Sapphira cupped her hand over her cut. As Morgan’s eyes flamed, Sapphira slowly backed away, nodding. “I’ll . . . I’ll do it.” Blood oozed onto her fingers, and a single drop fell to the floor. As soon as it touched, the stone seemed to sizzle. A tiny string of smoke rose past Sapphira’s knees. The string grew and slowly stretched out toward Nimrod, curling around his waist and then his neck.
With a sudden jerk, the string tightened into a taut gray rope and pulled Nimrod to the ground. Sapphira leaped back. Nimrod screamed, frantically reaching out, grasping for anything within arm’s length. Mardon caught hold of his father’s hand, but the former king sank slowly into the floor as if a sponge were absorbing his