Emperor of Ansalon

Chapter 18

Ariakas stood in a vast, cavelike chamber, surrounded by a horde of scaly draconians. Beyond them ranked legion upon legion of heavy infantry, horsemen, archers, and spear shy;men. All of them stood silently at attention, awaiting his command. But he couldn't make a sound. This mighty host stood on the brink of conquest, and yet he could not send it forth-could not so much as utter a stammering word.

At his back was his great sword, and he instinctively drew the weapon, raising the gleaming steel into the air. The army shouted, its collective voice a growing roar, swelling until the noise pounded him from all sides. Yet now the sword was frozen, even as was his voice. As if some powerful, invisible fist had seized the blade, gripping it with immortal strength, the silvery steel weapon hung in the air before his face. Heaving mightily, Ariakas could not lower it, could not even wiggle it from side to side.

He snarled, frustration growing within him, and the silvery blade turned white. Snow and ice swirled around him then, masking the troops and the draconians, send shy;ing shivers of inhuman cold piercing through his body.

Abruptly the sword became black. Still Ariakas could not twist it free from the invisible grip of the air, and as he struggled, a rich, full darkness surrounded him, cloaking vision in every direction-though the cheering of the troops continued to bombard him.

The darkness fell away, and the blade of his sword glowed blood red. The metal bore a shining gleam on its surface that actually looked wet, as if the weapon had just been immersed to the hilt in some fresh, gory wound. Yet still he could not move the sword, though he tugged and pulled and wrenched at its long grip. Fire rose around him, a great circle of crackling, hissing flame, surging upward higher than his head. He cried out, not from pain so much as outrage, and immediately the flames died away.

Ariakas sensed great creatures around him, then, lurk shy;ing in the depths of the vast chamber, beyond the reach of his vision. Towering in height, serpentine in shape, they skulked unseen in the shadows, their presence tin shy;gling with portent and power.

Suddenly he was surrounded by a cool, blue light, and Ariakas could see that the illumination emanated from his blade. Slowly, reverently, he took the hilt and pulled, gently drawing the sword to him. The force that had imprisoned the weapon gave way easily.

Once again Ariakas was the master of his sword, and his fate. Holding the blue blade upraised before him, he turned this way and that, allowing his troops to shout their adulation. For many minutes they roared, and his heart swelled with martial pride.

When he sheathed the sword, the cheering continued, but now it had faded to a background noise, mere accom shy;paniment to the ringing knowledge that had begun to grow in his mind.

The blue blade! He remembered the prophecy in the tower, spoken what seemed like a lifetime ago: Hold the blue blade, warrior-for in the heart of the world it shall set fire to the sky! Only now did he begin to sense the mean shy;ing. And as he walked the pathway that opened before him amid the ranks of his troops, he understood it would be the blue blade that would give him the might to com shy;mand, to rule.

As he marched onward, he realized that the pathway was no longer an aisle, but a bridge. On one side he saw a bright landscape, stretching to the infinite horizon, lined with columns of troops-all of them trundling for shy;ward under his command. In an awestruck moment, he beheld the skies overhead, filled with vast formations of huge dragons, winging outward to expand the Dark Queen's domain. All of this mighty host marched away toward the far points of Krynn.

But then Ariakas shifted his eyes to the other side of the bridge, and he could not help but cower away in reel shy;ing terror. Below him, beginning at the very toes of his feet, fell away an abyssal chasm, plummeting all the way to the midnight heavens.

Yet within that darkness was no cheery glimmer of a constellation, nor even a lone evening star. Instead, the place was a well of nothing, yawning hungrily forever, promising only pain and blood, darkness and dissolu shy;tion … without even the eventual respite of death.

Ariakas awakened with a start. A chilly film of sweat clung to his skin. The heavens did yawn overhead, but these were the familiar skies of Ansalon, with a gentle haze of dawn light already filling in the space of the east shy;ern valleys.

So it had been a dream. He exhaled, feeling Lyrelee stir beside him under the bedroll. The experience had been so vivid, so real, that he actually felt as though he had com shy;manded that mighty army. Then he remembered the hor shy;ror of that black chasm, and the chill shook him again.

For a moment he thought of the woman, so warm beside him. But this was not a problem for which she could bring him any comfort. Irritated, he rose into the dawn and looked around their small camp. Ferros Wind-chisel would be near, he knew, hiding in the shadows while alertly maintaining the last watch of their night's bivouac.

Tale Splintersteel still slept, which did not surprise Ariakas. Ever since their little group had departed Sanc shy;tion, the Zhakar had been the deepest sleeper of the four. Just as well, Ariakas thought, since Splintersteel could not be trusted on watch duty. That seemed all well and proper to the moldy dwarf because-as he had loudly pointed out-he was the one who was taking them to Zhakar.

In that role, at least, the merchant lord had whole shy;heartedly embraced their endeavor. As broker of the mold that had suddenly developed value, Tale Splinter shy;steel stood to make himself very rich-if they could get into Zhakar alive.

Ariakas cast another look at the sky, seeing that sun shy;rise was still nearly an hour away. He decided not to roust the others, choosing instead to stroll the dim twi shy;light until he found Ferros Windchisel. Mindful of the trackless Khalkist wilderness around them, he strapped his sword to his back before he walked away from the dying fire.

"Over here, warrior," came the hoarse whisper, mak shy;ing his job that much easier. He found the Hylar nestled in a niche between a great boulder and a sturdy fir tree.

"Another quiet night," remarked Ariakas, settling himself atop the boulder.

"That makes twelve now," Ferros agreed. "By the Zhakar's reckoning, we don't have much farther to go." The Hylar leaned back, then shifted awkwardly to rub at an itch behind his left knee. "Damned firebugs followed me out here!" he griped. "If anything, the little scuts are worse than ever! Can't stop scratching. It about makes me crazy."

Ariakas barely listened-the Hylar's complaint had become a regular morning litany. The human's mind instead drifted into solitary meditation.

Twelve days on the road, and Tale Splintersteel had suggested it would take two or three weeks to reach Zhakar. Despite the rugged Khalkists, to date the trek had not been physically grueling. It surprised the war shy;rior to realize how much, after the bustle and crowds of Sanction, he enjoyed the solitude and silence of the mountain heights. For the first part of the journey, he had been concerned with threats in the rock-bound fast shy;ness around them. Ogres were the traditional foes in the Khalkists, but now they had gotten beyond ogre country. The land between Bloten and Zhakar, where Splinter-steel's vile-tempered cousins dwelt, had seemed to offer few threats. Of course, even with Tale accompanying them, he wasn't certain they would be received with open arms when they reached the dwarven realm.

The Zhakar merchant had told them a little about his homeland. Though the realm itself was extensive, includ shy;ing numerous crags and the valleys between, the dwar shy;ven population was concentrated in the subterranean city of Zhakar. The only part of that metropolis exposed to the light of day was a great, five-sided keep, which stood proudly on the rising slope above a mountain torrent called the Stonecrusher River. Though the keep itself was a respectable castle in size, Tale Splintersteel had told

them that it was nothing compared to the vast network of delvings and warrens concealed underneath. It was those warrens that their expedition hoped to reach. That was where the plague mold grew, and that was where they could gather enough of the dust to corrupt vast numbers of the metallic dragon eggs.

Ariakas smiled privately as he remembered the results of the first hatching of draconians. The lizard beings that emerged from the brass egg had proven strong and hardy, albeit rather stupid. They could not fly, but they were fast and readily used their fangs and claws for battle. Three of them had already been slain in the tests they had conducted in the temple, but Ariakas had become convinced that these draconians would form the backbone of a huge and capable army.

".. far today?" Ferros concluded his question, look shy;ing at Ariakas expectantly.

"Sorry," the human replied. "What did you say?"

"Forget it," groused the dwarf, reaching around to scratch an itch behind his back. "Just making conversa shy;tion-wondered how many of these ridges we'll have to cross today."

"However many it is, you'll find us the passes, my friend," Ariakas said warmly. Indeed, the mountain dwarf had proven adept at guiding them along the best routes. Sheer granite barriers rose in seemingly endless succession across their path, and Splintersteel had told them that no regular overland route existed between Sanction and Zhakar. Each dwarven trading caravan, laden with weapons and coinage, apparently sought its own path to the port city.

'This isn't turning out like I figured it would," Ferros observed after a few moments' silence. "When I set out to find the dwarven kingdom in the Khalkists, I pictured a place like Thorbardin. Sure, there's bickering 'tween the clans, but by and large it's a prosperous, thriving place. Mountain and hill dwarf don't get along too well, but at least the hatchet's been buried for a few centuries, now.

"But here!" the Hylar continued, his tone growing exasperated. "Can you imagine a whole nation of dwarves like that little weasel over there? I tell you, it makes my skin crawl-and not just because of the way they look on the outside."

"They're not your run-of-the-mill dwarves, I'll grant you," Ariakas said good-naturedly. "Still, without Splintersteel we wouldn't have a chance on Krynn of reaching their kingdom." The warrior looked at the dwarf shrewdly. "Why are you so determined to find this place? I'd have thought you'd given up on the Zhakar as allies, by now."

Ferros shrugged. "I suppose I have. but there's something more. What made them into such hateful little snipes? Even if they'll never be allies of Thorbardin, I have to know…. I guess that's why I'm here."

"Do you think they can be changed-that you can change them?"

"I know the answer to that," Ferros sighed with a shake of his head. "At least, I think I do-and it's not hopeful."

"Nobody made you come along," Ariakas reminded him.

"True enough." Ferros went back to grousing. "Still, if you two had been left alone with Fungus-Cheeks, who knows what he might have done? And you!" The Hylar's tone grew accusing. "Bringing a woman along on a trip like this? What's the matter, didn't you get enough in the tower?"

Ariakas flushed. "It's different from the tower, damn it!" he snapped. "I thought you understood that!"

Ferros blinked, taken aback. Then he shook his head stubbornly. "You might call it different, but it looks to me like this one's got you hopping through the rings right in order."

"Never mind about her," the warrior replied, rising to his feet. Suddenly he was in a foul humor, anxious to get moving. He saw that the sunrise had already brightened most of the sky.

"Come on," he said peremptorily. "Daylight's wast shy;ing."

While the Hylar, grumbling, rose from his sheltered niche, Ariakas went to wake Lyrelee and Tale Splinter-steel. In neither case was he particularly gentle, and soon all four of them had dressed and hoisted their packs for another day on the trail.

This day, as on all the others, they climbed a steep ridge only to see from its crest the rolling ranks of the Khalkists, stretching before and behind them like break shy;ers on a vast, restless sea. Still, after all this time on the trail their muscles were hardened and their endurance great. The four travelers barely paused to catch their breath at the first summit before Ferros began picking out a route into the narrow valley below.

Tale Splintersteel followed directly on the heels of Fer shy;ros Windchisel. Always robed from head to toe, the Zhakar dwarf nevertheless made good time on his stocky legs. He seemed to have great freedom of movement even within the confines of his garment, leaping nimbly from rock to rock or scampering from ledge to shelf down a steep defile, and he often demonstrated real strength in his arms and shoulders when called upon to perform a belay or to hoist himself up or down a rope.

Lyrelee came next. Though the priestess was garbed in traveling leathers instead of the silken pants and blouse that she normally wore, Ariakas still saw in her the cat shy;like grace of movement that had first attracted him. Now, as he watched her climb, his mind often wandered over the delightful and sensual experiences they had shared in the past weeks.

Their intimacy had begun in Sanction, immediately following the creation of the first draconians. The combi shy;nation of the dangers they had shared and the thrill of opportunity present in the corruption ritual had infused them both with an animal passion that the time since had done very little to diminish.

Only after their first, exhaustive embrace had Ariakas recalled Takhisis's warning regarding women. Since then he had tried to rationalize the state of affairs, almost con shy;vincing himself that the goddess would not claim the life of one such faithful and capable priestess.

At first, when Tale had agreed to take Ariakas to Zhakar, neither the priestess nor the Hylar had struck the warrior as likely traveling companions. Ferros Wind-chisel remained determined to investigate the dwarven kingdom, however, and Ariakas had not tried hard to dissuade him from making the journey. Strangely, now that he knew the true nature of the Zhakar, Ferros had pursued his quest with more conviction than ever. The mountain dwarf's skills proved such an asset that even Tale Splintersteel had been forced to lay aside his preju shy;dices.

Lyrelee had joined them immediately before their departure. Wryllish Parkane had complained that the expedition was not powerful enough to impress the innately hostile Zhakar. Though the high priest had envi shy;sioned a fully armed company of troops as an escort, Ariakas had demurred, insisting that the ability to travel fast and light would more than make up for the lack of numbers. He had also pointed out that his crimson-bladed sword was more powerful than a full comple shy;ment of men-at-arms.

Tale Splintersteel had offered to provide an escort of two dozen Zhakar, but Ariakas had immediately rejected that suggestion. He would not appear to these dwarves as a prisoner, nor as an escorted guest. He intended to dictate terms as strongly as any potential conqueror. As a compromise, and with very little persuasion necessary, the lord had offered to take Lyrelee as an additional fighter.

For a week following the corruption of the eggs, Aria-kas had trained diligently under the high priest himself, learning new spells that might help their mission. He could now cure many types of wounds, as well as dis shy;eases and poisonings-and, too, he could cause the same kinds of injuries to his enemies as he could heal in his friends.

Other spells opened wider paths of communication between him and his goddess. These he often employed in the still of the night, ensuring that the Zhakar did not lead them into treachery or ambush-especially since, after his experience with the Shilo-Thahn, he was a lot less willing to trust his own instincts to protect them against surprise attack.

Ariakas knew that the greed driving Tale Splintersteel was a powerful motive, but he was not entirely certain it would overcome the dwarf's inherent hatred and spite-fulness. Thus far, apparently, avarice had won out. At the same time, Ariakas had not forgotten the measure of revenge due the treacherous Zhakar.

The real keystone of their defense rode on Ariakas's broad back. The two-handed sword that had blown frost and spewed acid remained a perfect red, and the warrior could barely begin to imagine the strength of the firestorm that would swirl forth from it upon his com shy;mand. The breath of the red dragon was, in many ways, the most terrifying of any serpent's attack. When the time was right, he felt certain that the red blade would serve very well to bring the Zhakar to heel.

The trail meandered onto a broad, grassy slope, and for a time they were able to walk abreast, conversing with more ease than was usually possible on the trail. As they often did in such instances, the companions contin shy;ued to question Tale Splintersteel about his homeland.

"You said that you Zhakar are ruled by a king-not a thane?" Ferros asked.

"Aye-the king of Zhakar. A chief as grand as any mountain dwarf king, I assure you."

"Interesting. In Thorbardin, the heads of the various clans are called thanes. The king represents a uniting of the Theiwar, Daewar, Hylar, and all the rest. I would think that in a nation composed of one clan …"

"We are all we are," the Zhakar said stubbornly.

"Who is your king-do you know him?" Ariakas inquired.

"I wish I didn't," said the dwarf sourly. "When I was dispatched to Sanction, I was a trusted cousin of the king. Since then, my cousin was killed. A dwarf named Rackas Ironcog took over the throne. He's treated me as an enemy ever since."

"Could he have you replaced? Is your position in Sanction official?" asked the human.

"It is-and he would, if he could. I've been far enough away to handle my own problems. He's sent a number of agents to try and remove me." Tale's voice broke into a bitter bark of a laugh. "None of them, so far as I know, has survived the rigors of the trip home."

"So we face a political problem as well," mused Aria shy;kas. "Do you have friends in Zhakar-dwarves you can count on?"

"I think so. There's another cousin of mine-distant, but we've worked together before. Whez Lavastone's his name. He's got designs on the throne, I'm sure."

"Perhaps we can use him. Can you think of any partic shy;ular threats that we have to worry about once we're in the city?"

"You mean, assuming they don't kill us on sight?" asked Ferros dryly.

Ariakas didn't reply-he merely pointed to his sword.

"Do you know about the savants?" the Zhakar inquired. When Ariakas shook his head, the dwarf con shy;tinued. "A few of our people have some magical power. These study under the masters, and can use their powers for treachery or concealment. A savant can often blind or deafen his target just by the use of his spells."

The warrior vividly remembered the encounter in the Fireplaza. "You didn't mention that you're a savant," he observed.

"Must have slipped my mind," Tale Splintersteel said with a dismissive shrug.

Ariakas noted the information, but then his mind wandered back to one of his favorite topics lately: con shy;sidering the military potential of the draconians. The wizard Dracart, as well as Wryllish Parkane, had been certain that the number and the capabilities of the lizards could be improved upon. Perhaps a dozen, or a score, or even more draconians would eventually be yielded by the corruption of a single egg.

What an army they would make! He imagined the host, snapping and growling restlessly, spreading across the battlefield. What human force would stand before them? Ariakas felt, with a fierce and exultant confidence, that even steady veterans-even troops like ogres and elves-would be sorely pressed to hold firm against a rushing horde of draconians.

There was no doubt in his mind but that he was meant to command these beasts. Now his destiny seemed clear to him. The reasons for the testing in the tower, the warm reception he had received in the temple, all these curious things made sense in light of this manifest for action.

Where would they campaign? For now, the targets of the war seemed secondary to him. In truth, he felt that all of Ansalon might be his eventual target. Certainly, with savage troops like these, he could choose anywhere he wanted for his first onslaughts. Backed by the might of the Dark Queen, they would be an army such as Krynn hadn't seen in a thousand years!

Propelled by thoughts and ambitions, Ariakas barely noticed the miles falling behind them. When he finally took note of their surroundings, they had reached the knife-edge summit of a tall ridge-one of the highest they had yet climbed.

"There," Tale Splintersteel said, pointing at a cone-shaped peak in the middle distance. "That's Mount Horn. It stands above Zhakar Keep and marks the spot well."

Ariakas estimated another two days' march would be needed to reach the mountain, crossing no less than a half dozen lesser ridges he could see between them. Still, he found it very heartening that they were so close to their destination.

The others, too, gained new vigor from the knowl shy;edge. They started down the slope on the other side of the ridge, moving quickly, even sliding in the midst of small, gravelly avalanches that were triggered by their descent. The ridge slope was steep, scored by numerous parallel ravines from top to bottom as if it had been raked by the claws of some monstrous beast. As before, Ferros Windchisel led the way, while Tale, Lyrelee, and Ariakas followed in line. They moved down one of the ravines, which promised a straight route all the way to the stream at the valley floor.

A shout from the priestess attracted Ariakas, and in surprise he looked toward Lyrelee. She threw her hands into the air and then toppled forward, slipping and tum shy;bling down the slope of the ravine. Only when she flipped onto her back did Ariakas see the bent shaft of a crossbow bolt, jutting out from her rib cage. Then battle cries arose from the surrounding rocks, and at least a hundred stunted, warlike figures broke from cover, swarming to the attack.