Emperor of Ansalon

Chapter 14

"I'm going with you!" Ferros insisted after Ariakas told him about the mysterious summons. The two sat in the estate's great room, with glowing embers in the fireplace and tumblers of lavarum near to hand. The house was silent around them, though Ariakas knew that mute Kandart watched and waited in the shadows, ready for the moment when the glasses were empty.

"I don't think that's a good idea," the warrior dis shy;agreed. "I was told to come alone-and besides, you know what your presence did to him last time."

"By Reorx, man-I didn't mean I'd walk right out there and shake his hand! But when you go to see that treacherous little weasel, I intend to be hiding in the background, someplace where I can get a good view."

The dwarf patted the heavy crossbow he had recently acquired, and Ariakas reflected that Ferros could pro shy;vide him with a measure of security. After all, the war shy;rior wasn't certain what the Zhakar wanted, but he'd learned enough from their first meeting to go into the rendezvous with full preparation and alertness.

"I don't think he'll try anything," Ariakas noted. "After all, he had a good taste of my sword last time. Still, it would be good to have you there to keep an eye on things."

"Yeah-I smell a trap," groused Ferros. The dwarf stood, furiously scratching at the rash along his arms, chest, and belly. "Damned firebugs!" he snarled. "Worse than ever last night!"

Ariakas chuckled sympathetically. "I still haven't had any in my bed-maybe they like your smell!"

"Humpf! So, you going to be ready for this?"

"I will be by midnight," Ariakas replied, grimly confi shy;dent.

The warrior had decided not to tell anyone at the temple about the upcoming meeting. If it turned out well, Ariakas could bring Tale Splintersteel to Wryllish Parkane and show the high priest that his efforts had in fact met with success. If nothing-or, even worse, some shy;thing disastrous-came of the meeting, there would be no need for his temple-mates to learn of the failure.

Ferros spent several hours honing to razor-sharpness the heads of his bolts. He had a full quiver of the steel-shafted missiles, and proudly informed Ariakas that the arrows could punch through plate mail at a hundred paces.

The human warrior, meanwhile, went to his dry gar shy;den and sat on a stone bench in the brittle bower.

Before him spread the valley. Today, with its eternal shroud of haze hanging unusually low, Sanction had a tight, enclosed feeling. Ariakas felt power tingling in the air, believed with certainty that things of great portent were in the works. He took his sword and laid the naked blade across his lap. The perfect blackness of the steel mirrored his own spirit to an infinite depth.

Gradually his mind filled with a sensation of falling- but very gently, as if wings had sprouted from his shoul shy;ders and now carried him easily toward Krynn from a great height. For nearly two hours he sat on the bench, his heart and lungs slowing their pace as his mind drifted on the currents of the Dark Queen. It was after sunset when he emerged from the trance, and he felt his body tingling with power and energy. He crossed through the courtyard into the main room of his house, and there he found Ferros Windchisel.

"I'm going to head down there early-get a look around," announced the Hylar. "It'll give me time to lie low before you show up."

"How will you contact me if there's trouble?" asked Ariakas.

"I'll figure something out-just stay alert," assured the dwarf. Ferros slung his crossbow over his right shoulder, where he could raise it and shoot in an instant. He wore a colorful plaid cape that served to conceal the short sword at his waist.

The dwarf made his way into the dusk, and Ariakas settled his nerves with a meal. His current chef was a domineering old matron who had held the job for two months, much longer than either of her two predeces shy;sors. Now she presented him with a light, delicious sup shy;per-as always, she performed splendidly. Finally, an hour before midnight, he left.

Ariakas wore his huge sword on his back. He had pur shy;chased a new scabbard of unadorned but sleek doeskin that completely hid the long blade. He could draw the sword with either hand, and if he gripped it with both he could bring it forward in a powerful, skull-crushing blow. Despite his fast progress in Lyrelee's unarmed fighting classes, he was grateful for the security offered by the weapon.

Approaching the Fireplaza obliquely, Ariakas crossed down to the Lavaflow River and started toward the cen shy;ter of the city. The right side of his body warmed to the radiance of the deep, crimson stream beside him. In the distance, he saw the Grand Bridge, the gray stone arcing upward through the darkness. The underside of the bridge glowed with its own light, heated, ovenlike, by the volcanic fury of the river.

The Fireplaza sprawled along a great section of this river, with the huge bridge connecting to the far end. Tall, stone-walled buildings surrounded the expanse. Several wide fissures gaped across the plaza's stone sur shy;face, and many of these belched forth clouds of steam, gas, or flame. At the opposite end stood Sanction's only public decoration-the War Monument.

This unique memorial consisted of the raised replicas of three sailing ships, supported by three clumps of stone columns. The three ships were clustered in close forma shy;tion, and from across the plaza, they looked as though they sailed through the air. The monument was dedicated to the fallen who perished during a brief fracas several decades earlier-one column had been raised for each of the one hundred and two men who had lost their lives.

During his months in the city, Ariakas had gleaned the tale of the structure, whose appearance had so puzzled him at first. The war had been a campaign against nearby Saltcove, reputedly a den of pirates and freebooters. The battle was Sanction's only claim to military glory, and the veterans of the conflict-all of whom had been well-paid by the city's merchants-had been able to extort the memorial's costs from their former employers.

From a reputable bartender Ariakas had learned the true story of the commemorated hostilities, which were grandiloquently entitled the 'Saltcove War.' The cam shy;paign was in actuality a single battle and had involved a boisterous, liquor-sodden expedition against the nearby fishing village, where several small-scale pirate captains had in fact maintained their strongholds. The town fell in the first rush, with several of the pirates fleeing to the hills with their henchmen. A few resisted, and four of Sanction's men perished in actual combat. The other ninety-eight fatalities had occurred when two of the overloaded invasion ships, both piloted by drunken cap shy;tains, collided at the entrance to Saltcove's harbor. The warriors aboard, armed and girded for battle, went down like stones as the ships broke apart around them.

It often surprised Ariakas that a city with such a sur shy;plus of warlike men could not boast of a more glorious military history. Still, a story of hearty, courageous men cursed with bad leadership was not unique in the history of Krynn. He speculated on what the armies of Sanction could accomplish if they were only leashed to a single goal. These men might even subdue Bloten, he believed — remembering all of the undersized expeditions he'd been forced to lead from Khur and Flotsam.

Ariakas passed between the monument and the Lava-flow River, picking his way between two of the long fis shy;sures. The gaps were only ten or twelve feet wide, but zigged and zagged for several hundred feet across the plaza. In a few places they were crossed by bridges, but the width of the chasms constantly shifted, so these crossings were short lived at best.

Several folk were about, including a few vendors of fruit, trinkets, cheese, and bread-all of whom had blan shy;kets spread on the ground, or small two-wheeled carts to display their wares. Somewhere a minstrel strolled, singing a bawdy song to laughter and jeers.

Ariakas veered to avoid the hustling approach of an old beggar woman, but the hag fairly leapt toward him, tugging at his sleeve and glaring up at him with one pen shy;etrating eye. The lid of the other was sewn shut, the seam vanishing in a maze other wrinkles lining her bony, angular face.

"Alms for an old woman, warrior?" she asked, glaring slyly at him. "Mayhaps in trade for your fortune told? This one old eye sees very clearly, mark my word!"

"Get away with you!" barked Ariakas, checking for danger as he raised a hand, ready to swat.

"One best listen to one's future," she said, ominously. "Even a Hylar dwarf knows that much!"

Ariakas froze, and then lowered his hand into his belt pouch. He passed the woman a steel piece, hoping that no other beggar in the vast square saw the transaction.

"Did you tell the fortune of a Hylar tonight?"

"I've seen the futures of everyone tonight," she retorted. "And who I tell is my business. But for you, warrior…." She lowered her voice portentously. "Look you toward the pillars of the Saltcove War-danger lurks in the shad shy;ows. Danger small in size, but great in number-danger going cloaked, hidden from the light."

Nodding his thanks, Ariakas surveyed the plaza in light of this new information. He reached for another coin, but the old woman shook her head and gave him a knowing smile. "The Hylar are not as stingy as some would say," she declared, cackling softly to herself as she hobbled away.

He turned his back on the flow of molten rock, moving into the center of the plaza and keeping the War Monu shy;ment to his left, a good two hundred paces away. He knew that at that distance, he was safe from any bow shot out of concealment.

But how was he to find Tale Splintersteel? Never before had he realized just how big the Fireplaza actually was. And where was Ferros Windchisel? He scanned the space, seeking the familiar dwarven silhouette, but was disappointed. Though he could see several hundred individuals within the plaza, many remained eclipsed by vendors' carts, the great monument, or knots of people.

As he searched, a fissure near him spit a great spume of steam into the sky. The eruption lasted for several sec shy;onds, and even after the blast ceased, a huge, white cloud drifted across the plaza, floating toward the river — where the radiant heat of the lava would quickly burn it away.

Then he saw a figure striding forward, emerging from the mist, and for a moment he wondered if this were Fer-ros. But the fog cleared slightly, and he saw someone considerably shorter than the Hylar, and yet equally broad in the shoulder and chest. The newcomer, fully wrapped in a cloak of fine embroidered silk, swaggered to Ariakas's right. The warrior pivoted to face the fellow obliquely, maintaining a watch from the corner of his eye on the multiple and shadowy columns of the memorial.

"Hello, warrior."

Ariakas recognized the same cold arrogance that had characterized Tale Splintersteel's voice in the Fungus Mug. Again that black cloth concealed most of his face, leaving only a thin slit where the two glittering eyes peered forth.

"Greetings, Zhakar Splintersteel," the human replied. "I am glad to see that you are well."

"That was not the impression I received when you massacred two score of my fellows," Tale snarled. He continued to approach Ariakas, and the warrior was forced to turn his back fully to the monument. Ariakas stepped to the side, however, to place a wide fissure behind him, protection against attack from the rear.

"I was merely defending myself," Ariakas retorted without rancor. "I should think you could understand my reasons perfectly." His voice masked his own sur shy;prise that the weapon had erupted with killing frost.

Tale Splintersteel shrugged. If he was terribly dis shy;traught about the loss of his henchmen, he hid the fact very well. "When you approached me in the tavern that night, you intimated there was a matter you wished to discuss-a matter of mutual profit."

Ariakas nodded, noncommittally. "That is what I said-then," he concluded pointedly.

Now it was Tale's turn to nod, which he did as if he understood the human's position completely. "Perhaps I acted with too much haste during our previous meeting. … I offer my apology. Understand: our antipathy was not directed against you."

"Why Ferros Windchisel, then?" demanded Ariakas. "You called him an 'affront' to you! He was ready to greet you with friendship, and you ordered us killed!"

"That is a matter between dwarves," Splintersteel said. "I offer my apologies that you were involved."

"Your apology is accepted," Ariakas added. "With the notation that I won't hesitate to use my sword if you try anything treacherous."

"Ah, that sword," mused the Zhakar. Ariakas thought the eyes flashed heatedly in the depths of that robe. "I have spent my life around weapons-making them, sell shy;ing them. Even, upon occasion, using them. Yet never have I seen a blade as potent as that."

"It serves me well," Ariakas allowed, suspiciously. He cast a quick glance behind and saw that nothing moved among the shadows below the War Monument. "I hope you didn't ask for this meeting to talk about my sword," he added.

"Only in part. As I told you, I'm an admirer of splen shy;did weapons-and yours is the most magnificent I have ever seen. It is natural to desire another look at it. How shy;ever, as you suggest," the Zhakar merchant continued, "that is only secondary to the true purpose for this meet shy;ing. What is the nature of the business transaction you wished to discuss?"

"It concerns a … henchman of yours. He was caught as a thief within the temple of Luerkhisis. It seems that he had something with him-something the priests could not recover, like a dust or powder of some sort. Do you know what it was that he carried?"

"Perhaps. Why? Has this 'dust' some sort of value?"

"I am asking as an agent for the temple-the priests are interested," Ariakas replied vaguely. He didn't want to reveal important negotiating information any more than did Tale Splintersteel. "But before we can discuss this I need to have some assurance that you know what we're talking about."

"Indeed, I do," replied the robed dwarf. Something in his posture appeared to slump, as if the knowledge set a heavy load upon the Zhakar's shoulders. "Why don't you ask this 'henchman' for an explanation?"

"He proved very close-mouthed," Ariakas said wryly. "Even though the priests can be quite … inventive with persuasion. The only thing they could get out of him was that he'd gone on your behalf."

Tale Splintersteel shrugged. As with the henchmen in the bar, if the fate of his agent troubled him in any way, he concealed the fact from Ariakas.

"What did he carry?" asked the human bluntly.

"Now that I am not prepared to tell you, unless you tell me why if s of interest to you."

"Suffice to say that the priesthood might create a mar shy;ket for you-a very lucrative one."

"Then why does the priest not come and talk to me himself?" demanded the Zhakar.

"Your reputation does not encourage friendly over shy;tures," Ariakas replied pointedly. "I came because I can take care of myself-or you, if necessary." Ariakas nod shy;ded slightly toward the sword to emphasize his point. Once more he cast a quick glance to the rear, ensuring that the monument was quiet.

He turned back, startled to see that Tale Splintersteel had raised his right hand. Reacting to the threat of attack, Ariakas started to reach for his sword, but real shy;ized that the Zhakar's hand was empty.

"What are you doing?" the warrior asked suspiciously.

The sound of Tale Splintersteel's voice-distant and removed, but full of subdued power-suddenly told him. The wretched dwarf had cast a spell.

Ariakas lunged toward the Zhakar, when abruptly the entire plaza vanished around him, swallowed by com shy;plete blackness. Dizzy, he whirled away from an imag shy;ined attack, realizing that he'd been rendered completely blind. He heard Tale Splintersteel's voice some distance away, and sprinted toward the sound-when, with equal suddenness, that clue ceased. Every noise in that bustling city halted abruptly, and he was left in a world of utter blackness and silence.

The warrior reeled, completely deaf, totally blind. Turning his face, he could feel the river by the heat radi shy;ating onto his skin, but he could see no sign of the brightly glowing lava. His feet scraping across the flag shy;stones made no sound-and, most sinister of all, neither did the treacherous Zhakar.

Ariakas remembered the chasm he had carefully placed to his back-now it yawned as a deadly threat an unknown distance away. Instinctively he reached for his sword-he could draw the weapon and flail blindly, at the very least! His hands closed around the hilt and in that instant his vision and hearing returned, bombarding his senses with light and noise. The pommel of the weapon tingled in his hand, and he felt there the power that had broken the Zhakar's spells.

He saw Tale Splintersteel creep toward him, no more than a dozen paces away. The Zhakar carried a hooklike sword that could be used to stab, slash, or grasp an opponent. As Ariakas's huge sword came free from its scabbard the dwarf's eyes stared madly through the nar shy;row slit in his robe.

Pretending that his senses were still obscured, Ariakas staggered through a circle, waving the weapon as if he had no idea where his enemy stood. His heartbeat quick shy;ened as his gaze swept past the War Monument-scores of dark shapes now scurried forward. Obviously they had lurked among the shadowy columns until Splinter-steel had given them some kind of signal.

Ariakas finished his circle, pausing in a fighting crouch but holding his blade at an awkward angle, as if expecting the Zhakar to be some distance away. Out of the corner of his eye, Ariakas saw the dwarf resume his advance. Those glittering eyes held steady on the mas shy;sive sword in the warrior's hands.

Although Ariakas could have leapt toward the dwarf and slain him with a quick, sudden blow, he judged that this was not fitting retribution. The man wanted Tale Splintersteel alive-the Zhakar would learn the folly of betraying the queen's champion!

Wheeling through a circle again, Ariakas raised the black blade toward the figures scuttling toward him across the broad Fireplaza. Tale Splintersteel froze, watching carefully-and ready at an instant's notice to dive away from that death-dealing sword.

Ariakas called upon the power of Takhisis. The plea was easier this time, a natural surrender to power much greater than his own. Energy thrummed through the sword blade, and the warrior pointed it toward the approaching dwarves. A gout of black liquid hissed out shy;ward, flying in a long stream across the plaza. Ariakas directed the stream against a clump of charging Zhakar. Searing, caustic acid showered across them, bubbling through their garments and quickly dissolving skin and flesh. When the liquid struck, the dwarves screamed and tumbled to the ground, writhing for several seconds before they grew still.

Ariakas shifted his aim, splashing the corrosive stuff across another group, and these uttered screams of terror and pain as the acid sizzled through their bodies. With a quick glance, Ariakas saw Tale Splintersteel darting away, but then another group attacked, coming around the end of the chasm he had used to guard his back. Again Ariakas shifted his aim, and the black acid arced through a showering trajectory, bringing the final Zhakar charge to a horrific halt. Slowly, the warrior lowered his sword, but he froze when a flash of color caught his eye. He gaped with astonishment, seeing that the steely blade had turned bright, crimson red! As with the white and black, the red color was pure and unblemished, a perfect hue that extended from the tip to the base of the metal surface.

Wonderingly, Ariakas turned through a circle. The dwarves who had been missed or mildly injured by the spray scrambled or limped back toward the War Monu shy;ment. The warrior let them go and turned back to find their master.

But Tale Splintersteel had disappeared. Whirling this way and that, squinting through the darkness, the war shy;rior tried to discover where the devious merchant had gone. He saw a flash of movement in one direction, then spat an oath-just a thieving urchin fleeing from a fruit vendor.

A sharp cry of pain ripped through the darkness, very near. He rushed over to the chasm and there he saw the huddled figure of the Zhakar. Splintersteel had climbed down the steep side, intent on concealing himself within the gorge, when something had arrested his flight. Aria shy;kas saw the steel bolt that had punched through the Zhakar's forearm, driven deep into the rock wall of the chasm. Tale Splintersteel screamed in agony, twisting and dangling from the missile that pinned him to the wall.

Ferros Windchisel swaggered to the lip of the precipice. He held the reloaded crossbow ready in his hands. Despite his confident gait, the Hylar's eyes flicked across the wide plaza, looking for danger in every direction.

"Help me!" shrieked the Zhakar.

"I'm in no hurry to do that," Ariakas remarked casu shy;ally. He strolled to the top of the chasm and looked down. Tale Splintersteel was pinned to the wall perhaps ten feet down. The Zhakar clawed at the steel bolt with his good hand, but couldn't break it free from the porous bedrock. Far below, the shadows of the bottom ebbed and swirled with faint tufts of steam.

"Tell me-what was it that the Zhakar took into the temple?" demanded the warrior.

"I don't know-I lied!"

"I think you're lying now," Ariakas retorted, keeping his voice level and calm. "Nice shot," he added with a grin directed at Ferros.

"I figured this little worm was up to something. Never woulda thought he'd try to make a getaway down to the lava pits, though." The Hylar smiled wickedly, enjoying the plight of the Zhakar.

"Help!" pleaded Tale Splintersteel again.

"You were just about to tell me something," Ariakas said. "What was it? Oh, yes-the stuff that the Zhakar carried into the temple! Come on, now-I think you know what it was."

"Mold," gasped the Zhakar, his voice contorted with audible pain. "It was the dust of the plague mold … not carried … it's with him, on him-on all of us!"

"Now we're getting somewhere," Ariakas declared. "Where can we get some of that mold?"

"Get me up-I'll tell you!" groaned Splintersteel, his tone thinned by pain. "Just, please, help me!"

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you," the warrior gently chided. "Do better than promise."

"What do you want me to do? By the gods, man-I'm bleeding to death here!"

Indeed, a dark, slick streak ran down the chasm wall below the struggling Zhakar. His protestations had grown weaker until his voice faded to a rasping croak. Splintersteel slumped, as if resigned to fate.

Ferros Windchisel came around the crevasse to clap Ariakas on the arm. "I thought of looking in there for him because I'd been using one of these cracks as a hid shy;ing place for the whole night. It worked swell, too- except for a few funny looks from folks who strolled past the edge."

"Good service, my friend," Ariakas acknowledged with a nod at the trapped Zhakar.

The Hylar removed a long, supple rope from a coil around his waist. He fastened an iron clip around his belt and ran the loop through. He extended the other end of the rope toward Ariakas. "Here-take hold of this and lower me down. I'll bring him up here to talk, if you promise not to make him too comfortable."

"Don't worry. He's a stubborn bastard-I think we'll have to do a lot of persuading to get what we want out of him." The human wrapped the rope around his waist and set his feet. Paying out line, he watched Ferros descend over the brink of the crevasse.

The Hylar rappeled nimbly down the wall until he was just above the Zhakar. Taking no chances, Ferros held a slim dagger ready as he dropped the last few feet until the rope supported him directly beside Splinter-steel. With a quick lash, loop, and knot, Ferros took the slack line hanging below him and secured the rope underneath the other dwarf's arms. The wounded mer shy;chant lord seemed dazed and listless, taking little note of the activity.

Next, Ferros grasped the steel bolt he had shot through Tale Splintersteel's arm. The loose material of the Zhakar's robe flapped around it, so the Hylar tore it away. Sinews tightening in his arm, Ferros pulled slowly and steadily. The straining power in his stocky body was obvious to Ariakas, who realized that the missile must have driven very deeply into the hardened lava.

Finally the shaft wiggled slightly, and with a grunt Ferros pulled it free, drawing a sharp outcry of pain from the formerly motionless Tale Splintersteel.

"Haul away!" the Hylar called up to Ariakas. The warrior immediately began pulling in the line, aided by Ferros walking up the wall. The dead weight of the Zhakar increased the load dramatically, but the pair finally heaved the injured dwarf over the lip of the chasm, where he sprawled, groaning, onto the plaza.

Ariakas gave Splintersteel a sharp kick on his wounded arm. "I should kill you right now," the warrior snarled. "Two times over you've earned death for your treachery!"

"Let's have a look at his face," suggested Ferros. "I can't figure why he's got to mask himself-unless he's even uglier than I can imagine." The Hylar reached down and roughly tore away the cowled robe that cov shy;ered Tale Splintersteel's head. As the Zhakar's hate-filled visage was revealed, the Hylar gasped in surprise and instinctively stepped back

"He is uglier than you can imagine," Ariakas remarked, trying to keep his tone droll as his stomach surged upward in revulsion.

Tale Splintersteel's two black eyes flashed vitriol from the middle of a mass of decayed, encrusted flesh. The dwarf's scalp, cheeks, and much of his chin had rotted away, replaced by a greenish layer of some kind of fun shy;gus. His hair was gone, except for small patches strug shy;gling to survive on the back of his head, and a few tufts of beard that managed to emerge around the scabrous growths on his face. The mouth looked like nothing so much as a moist sore, gaping open and then clapping angrily shut.

"Please!" groaned the Zhakar, reaching pathetically for his torn hood. Without a word Ferros tossed the rag back to Splintersteel, and the hideously afflicted dwarf hastily drew it back over his features.

"Are you all like this?" demanded Ariakas, remember shy;ing that every Zhakar he'd seen in Sanction had gone about cloaked and robed.

"More or less," replied the dwarf, with a resigned shrug. He no longer seemed menacing, nor even sinis shy;ter-instead, he was just pitiful.

"That's all very interesting," Ferros interrupted, "but don't we have something to do?"

"Right," agreed Ariakas. He yanked the Zhakar to his feet. 'This mold dust? Where can we get some?"

"You can't!" groaned the Zhakar. "It grows only in two places-within the fungus warrens of Zhakar, and on the skin of dwarves who suffer the plague!"

"On your skin?" asked Ariakas cautiously.

"Yes," grunted Splintersteel.

"Give me some, then-scrape it into a pouch," demanded the human, suppressing a shudder.

"It dies within minutes of removal," the afflicted dwarf retorted. "It won't do you any good."

Ariakas reflected on that information. Meanwhile, Fer shy;ros lashed the dwarf's hands behind his back, and by then the warrior had made his decision.

"Come on, Tale Splintersteel," announced the warrior. "We're going to make a call on the temple."