Clandestine Circle

Chapter Thirteen

Perhaps two hours later, Linsha woke with a start. Although they were still entombed by stone and darkness, her internal clock told her it was close to morning in the world outside. She sat up, stiff, sore and disgusted with herself for failing in her duty. She had fallen asleep on watch, a punishable crime in many orders, and certainly in the elite corps of Lord Bight’s bodyguards.

She climbed to her feet and scrubbed her face with one hand. It surprised her that the hand hurt. A tinderbox in the pack lit a spare torch and gave Linsha light to examine her hands. Both were scraped and lacerated from her fall, and further examination revealed a tear in the leg of her new pants and bruises on her legs and abdomen.

“Great,” Linsha grumbled to herself.

“What is?” asked the governor, sitting up. “This rock bed that has disagreed so strenuously with my back?”

Linsha sniffed. At least he had the decency to be stiff this morning. His endurance and strength were beginning to make her feel like an old woman. “I’ve torn my uniform already,” she said irritably and pointed to the damage. “And worst of all, Your Excellency, I fell asleep on duty.”

Lord Bight lifted his shoulders in a shrug, although he was secretly pleased she had confessed. “I told you to, remember? Don’t sweat it.” He didn’t tell her about his small part in helping her to sleep.

They ate a quick meal, lit a second torch, and set out again on the faint path under the mountain. The cavern of fire fell away behind them, its rumble fading to a trembling silence, its heat giving way to bone-chilling cold. Linsha estimated they had passed beyond Mount Ashkir and were somewhere under the southern mountains, and yet where they were going, Lord Bight still would not say. They walked and climbed for hours along the underground path in a steady march south. At what felt like noon, they took a break to eat and rest and then pushed on again harder than before. As if he sensed a deadline approaching, Lord Bight set a fast pace, and from the ease that he found his way through the bewildering passages and caves, Linsha realized he had been this way before, probably many times.

It was nearly sunset when Lord Bight struck a passage that sloped steadily upward and led Linsha toward the surface. They entered a long, flat-roofed cavern with a broad floor, and they saw a slit of daylight gleaming at the far end. Both of them hurried forward, eager to be out of the oppressive darkness. The light grew brighter the closer they drew, and they tossed their torches aside and began to run. Their run turned to a sprint, and, laughing in relief, they plunged into the sun and wind of early evening.

Linsha threw her arms wide and collapsed on a sward of grass. She inhaled the perfume of sun-warmed grasses and wild flowers and the tang of pine and cedar. A breeze stirred among the trees, and insects trilled noisy songs in the grass.

The cave exited into a narrow valley strewn with broken rock and copses of mountain pine. The valley ran roughly north and south down the flanks of a reddish peak that still gleamed a fiery bronze in the ruddy light of the setting sun. Linsha didn’t recognize the peak, but she judged from the distance they had traveled that they were on the south side of the range that hemmed in Sanction. And the only thing on this side of the mountains was the swampy domain of the black dragon, Onysablet.

Her delight evaporated. A cold lump of apprehension settled in Linsha’s belly. She shook off the bits of grass on her clothes and climbed to her feet. Lord Bight had walked to an outcropping and stood looking south.

“Your Excellency, why are we here?” she ventured.

He continued to look south. “To meet a contact. Do not fear. As long as you are with me, you will go unharmed.”

“What contact?”

He turned around, the pleasure turned to ashes in his eyes. His broad face was set in a grim mask. “I am going to summon a dragon. One who considers herself a scientist of sorts.”

“Sable,” hissed Linsha. Instinctively she scanned the southern horizon for a sign of the monstrous black.

The man, still carrying his wooden box, began striding down the valley. “Leave the pack and come. We need to hurry.”

“Lord Bight… this is stupid. Even if the black comes, she won’t help us,” Linsha yelled after him.

“Young woman,” he shouted back, “trust me!”

Linsha hesitated for a few heartbeats, long enough for several alternate courses of action to run through her mind and be rejected in the face of too many truths. He had brought her this far, he had saved her life, and she was still his bodyguard and honor bound to defend him no matter how stupid he was behaving. Not to mention the fact that the Clandestine Circle would sell its collective soul to know how Lord Bight managed to fend Sable off his territory. Witnessing this meeting could be the chance she’d been waiting for.

Muttering under her breath, she tossed the pack and the spare torches into a clump of bushes by the outcropping and sped after him. He marched downhill at a ground-eating pace for over a mile while Linsha jogged to keep up with him. She spent the time pondering the possibility that he had suddenly suffered a mental breakdown. Summon Sable? That was lunacy.

The valley ended abruptly on the flat head of a broad, treeless plateau. Lord Bight crossed it and came to a quick halt at the rim, where the ground dropped away in a breathtaking cliff. Several hundred feet below, the base of the cliff formed the wall of a small canyon that contained a dark, brackish stream.

Linsha, coming up beside Lord Bight, looked down and saw where the stream meandered out of the canyon into a low range of hills. Dusk approached, and the sky was filled with mellow light that cast a pale glow on the murky terrain below. The governor pointed south. She followed his motion and stared out beyond the hills to the sunken fringes of the watery realm of the dragonlord, Onysablet. The largest black dragon left after the Purge, Sable laid claim to this land that had once been the foothills and verdant grasslands of Blöde, and she reshaped the landscape to fit her will, crushing the level of the land and bringing in the waters. The ogres who lived here had been driven into remote mountain strongholds in the southern Khalkists, and now, more than twenty years after her arrival, only a few scattered high points of land remained dry above the largest swamp on Krynn, and the once high foothills of the southern Khalkists were nothing more than rocky points jutting out of the drowned land.

Linsha shuddered. The destruction and waste of such a huge area filled her soul with rage. She crossed her arms and glared at Lord Bight. “So how do you call a dragon who is probably miles away and busy making more swamp?”

“Like this.” He pulled a thin chain out from under his tunic and palmed a slim silver whistle. His eyes closed, and his face took on a tense mask of deep concentration. He took a few deep breaths then blew a long note on the whistle.

At least Linsha assumed there was a note. She did not hear a thing. “You’re joking.”

He glanced at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and blew more air through the instrument. “There is more to this whistle than meets the eye. Now, look that way,” he told Linsha, a finger pointing southeast.

The sun’s red disk slipped to the horizon on their right, and shadows crept out of the stagnant swamp. The wind blew stronger over the plateau, burdened with the smells of rot and mud and marsh grass.

Linsha waited, her heart pounding, her eyes fastened on the darkening skyline. The sun slipped lower, and a few stars, like tiny shards of crystal, peeped through the dusky twilit sky.

A small black dot appeared just above the hazy dark line of the swamp’s horizon. Linsha had to look twice to see it. It looked like a bird in the distance, but as it sped nearer it grew larger and larger until the black shape became a dragon that roared over the swamp like a storm cloud. Monstrous and dark as the bog she sprang from, Sable flew past the boundaries of her watery realm, over the barren line of hills, and swept over the plateau. She circled overhead, her great head swiveling to stare at the humans who had the audacity to disturb her. The wind of her passing flattened the grass on the plateau and sent dust and grit swirling.

Linsha clenched her hands at her sides and resisted every instinct she had that screamed at her to draw her sword. Against that ebony monster, she knew her tiny blade could do no damage, and it would probably only irritate Sable. She could only pray fervently that Lord Bight knew what he was doing.

The governor stood motionless, his head tilted up to watch the dragon, his hands and the wooden box in plain view.

Sable circled around again, then banked her great wings and landed on the flat plateau. The ground trembled under her massive weight, and her huge body blocked the light of the setting sun. She settled her wings close to her dusky body and surveyed the two people not more than twenty feet away. Her yellow eyes gleamed like twin fires in the twilight.

“Hogan Bight,” she hissed. “Aren’t you dead yet?”

He laughed and sketched a bow. “Onysablet, how pleased I am to see you.”

The dragon lowered her long head close to Linsha. Her ivory horns twitched in irritation.

The lady Knight froze. The reek of decay and foul muck filled her nostrils, and the heat of the dragon’s breath blew over her like a hot furnace. But she refused to move or react to the dragon, even though it took everything she had to resist the dragonfear.

“Who is this worthless bit of refuse? I hope this is another addition for my zoo,” Sable said maliciously. “I’m rather short of females.”

A shudder shook Linsha from head to foot, and she almost bolted. Sable’s zoo was nothing but a collection of hideous creatures created by her revolting experiments with parasites, slaves, swamp creatures, and anyone unlucky enough to be caught in her domain.

Lord Bight shook his head. He put his hand on Linsha’s shoulder, and she felt reassurance in his touch and strength in his nearness.

“Sorry, Your Mightiness,” he said lightly. “This one is not available. However, I have brought something I think you will appreciate more.” He unfastened the catch on the wooden box, lifted the lid, and carefully withdrew a glass jar that rested snugly in a nest of cotton. He held up the jar for Sable’s inspection. The jar held some dirty water that partially obscured a loathsome creature that swam about within.

Sable dipped her neck to peer closely at the thing. “What is it? I can barely make it out.”

“A cutthrull slug,” he announced with visible pride.

The dragon’s head shot up and her eyes flared in excitement. “From the caverns of Mount Thunderhorn?”

“The same. The shadowpeople found this for me. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

Stunned, Linsha tore her eyes away from the dragon to stare at the man, wondering if she understood him clearly.

“And what makes this a special occasion, little man?” Sable purred, her yellow eyes greedily fastened on the jar.

“I wish to appeal to your scientific nature,” Lord Bight replied. “I have come across an interesting disease, and I thought perhaps, with your vast knowledge and years of research, you might be able to identify it.”

Intrigued and a little flattered, Sable crouched closer to the ground. She crossed her forearms and looked down her long snout at Bight. “Describe it.”

He did so, in clear and precise terms, without once mentioning the fact that the disease was imperiling Sanction.

Sable’s expression turned contemplative—an effect that Linsha found disconcerting. “Where did you witness this disease?”

“On a ship from Palanthas. Most of the crew had died from it.”

The dragon curled a lip thoughtfully. “Since you rarely leave that ridiculous little lair you call Sanction, it must have come into your harbor.” She paused as if dissecting this information. “I’m surprised the ship made it past those dark ships near the bay. Pirates are always on the lookout for an easy prize. Hmmm… let me think.” She gazed sightlessly into the distance, oblivious to the drops of acid that fell from her teeth to the ground. “It sounds similar to a plague I noted before the last Cataclysm. Killed mostly humans. Unfortunately it died out before I grew interested enough to study it.”

“How? How did it die out?” he asked, trying not to sound too insistent.

“I don’t remember. Some thought it was induced by magic because it flared up so quickly.” Sable suddenly snorted and sprang to her feet. “That is all I remember. I have talked enough, Bight. May I have the jar, or do I melt you and your female into an insignificant puddle?”

He laughed. “You can try, Sable, and I will never bring specimens for your collection again.”

“Ha! Most of them are worthless anyway. I don’t know why I bother coming.”

In spite of her words, she watched avidly while Lord Bight placed the jar and its creature back in its packing and fastened the lid. With a delicacy Linsha wouldn’t have believed possible for such a large dragon, the black clamped three claws around the box and lifted it carefully. She executed a little run toward the edge of the plateau before she jumped skyward and her wings took their first great sweep downward. The force of the air thrust beneath her knocked Linsha and Lord Bight to the ground. Without a final word or farewell, Sable glided into the approaching darkness and passed away on silent wings.

A very long moment of silence followed.

Linsha was so flabbergasted she didn’t know what to say She climbed to her feet and stared at Lord Bight, who appeared deep in thought. Emotions seethed within her: disbelief, amazement, disappointment, relief, awe, confusion.

“Is that it?” she finally exploded with the first thought that came into words. “We left Sanction in the middle of a crisis and walked for an entire day to give a jar of waste water to a dragon? For what?”

He rose and answered calmly, “Actually that was not just dirty water. It was a cutthrull slug, a very rare and particularly viscous little parasite that Sable has wanted for her collection.”

“Is that how you bribe her to stay away from Sanction? An odd parasite here, a slave there? I can’t believe she accepts it. There has to be something more.”

“Why?”

Linsha heard the sharp edge of his query and realized her questioning was pushing the limits of her position as squire. She toned down her inquisitor’s voice and returned to being Lynn. She lifted her hands in a careless gesture. “Sorry, Your Excellency. The dragon scared me witless. I guess I just overreacted.”

“She does have that effect.”

“But I still don’t understand how a dragon overlord like Sable doesn’t just melt you and take Sanction for her own.”

Lord Bight cocked one eyebrow and flashed his enigmatic smile. “Sable and I have a diplomatic relationship. The creatures I bring her are only a small part of it.”

A diplomatic relationship. The Clandestine Circle would love that ambiguous response. In fact, Linsha couldn’t wait to tell them. For years the Knights of Solamnia had thought it strange that the lord governor seemed to devote most of his efforts toward foiling Sable while the Dark Knights continued to camp at his back door. Why, they wondered, didn’t he do something to rid Sanction of them permanently? Some in the Circle feared he was secretly laying the groundwork for a profitable treaty with the Dark Knights.

Except, Linsha thought, what good did it do to rid yourself of one enemy when a more powerful one could just move in and turn all your hard work to swamp? Lord Bight was not all-powerful, despite how he acted sometimes, and his resources were not limitless. Perhaps he decided to resolve his problems with the worst enemy first and merely keep the others at bay until he was ready to give them his full attention. She couldn’t believe that he would willingly relinquish control of the city to anyone, dragon, or Knight, or even volcano. Lord Bight would deal with the Knights of Takhisis when he was ready. Unfortunately, none of this explained why Sable respected his presence in Sanction.

Linsha pulled in a deep breath. She still felt shaky and confused, and she wasn’t sure what Lord Bight had learned from the conversation with Sable.

When she asked him, he rubbed his beard and answered dryly. “Sable knows not to lie to me. It would dry up her source of specimens. But she rarely tells me anything directly. That reference to dark ships and pirates, for example. There could be one, or there could be many. There have been no pirates in Sanction Bay for many years, but she wouldn’t have mentioned them if there hadn’t been some kernel of truth in her words. When we return, I intend to send some scouts to find out.”

He began walking back up the plateau, and Linsha fell in beside him.

“What about the disease?” she asked.

“Oh, she knows what it is. That’s why she left so quickly, so she wouldn’t have to tell me. But she did drop a few useful hints. There is a precedence for this plague; maybe we can find it in the old records. And the theory that it was started by magic. That’s interesting. I need to talk to Mica about that one.”

“All right,” Linsha sighed. “I’m just glad that’s over. Where to now?”

“Back to Sanction.”

“Back the way we came?” she groaned.

“Unless you’d rather climb over the mountains. That takes about three more days.”

Linsha thought about Varia and Windcatcher, her bed in her small chamber, the bathhouse in the garden, and in the back of her mind came a teasing reminder of Ian Durne. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m with you, my lord.”