Emperor of Ansalon

Chapter 20

They rested for a full day after the battle, making their camp in a niche on the leeward side of the tall ridge. There they recovered from the exertion and tended their many wounds-all of which, save Lyrelee's, proved to be minor. Though the priestess had been near death during the fight, the regenerative power of Ariakas's healing magic proved astonishingly effective. By the second night there was no sign that her skin had been punc shy;tured.

During this period of rest and recovery, the compan shy;ions kept a careful watch for attackers. The Zhakar knew where they were, they reasoned, since it would have been impossible for them to effectively hide in the open terrain. Still, they saw not a single sign of the stunted dwarves.

"Did we scare them that well?" Ariakas wondered as the sun set that night.

"It's that sword," Tale Splintersteel offered, pointing to the now-azure blade. "I told you-my people know good weapons, and that is one of the best."

"Know them, sure. But do they really fear this sword that much?" The idea that the weapon was all that deterred another attack seemed just a little unsettling to Ariakas. After all, now that the blade had turned blue he was not about to use it for a routine battle demonstra shy;tion. The Dark Queen's prophecy still resounded through his mind, and he vowed not to employ the power until he understood what she meant.

"In the heart of the world, it will set fire to the sky." he murmured, pondering the gleaming weapon.

"What was that?" asked Lyrelee, reclining near the low fire Ferros had built out of dried brush.

"Nothing-just my mind wandering," Ariakas replied hastily.

She looked at him quickly, a glance that seemed to penetrate right through his lie. Still, she settled back onto her rocky pillow and closed her eyes, apparently uncon shy;cerned.

"Keep sharp lookout, tonight," Tale Splintersteel sug shy;gested from his bedroll as Ariakas rose to take the first shift of guard duty. "Zhakar eyes are keen in the dark- and my country folk often favor the early morning hours for an attack."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ariakas retorted scornfully. Just the same, he held his blade out of the scabbard as he climbed to a rocky perch above their camp. From here he could see the slope to all sides of them, as well as the val shy;ley floor stretching to the right and left and the face of the ridge rising opposite them beyond.

The Zhakar made no appearance even through the darkest hours of the night, and when dawn found Ferros Windchisel in the watch seat, there had been not the slightest disturbance or intrusion. They ate a cold break shy;fast and finally returned to the trail, resuming the steep climb that had been interrupted two days before.

Ariakas watched Lyrelee carefully. Though she wore a pack nearly as heavy as his, her steps were firm, her breathing strong. She climbed without speaking, and seemed to show no sign of the nearly fatal wounds she had suffered in the attack.

They crossed three ridges on this day of vigorous marching, and late afternoon found them on a narrow trail that circled the waist of volcanic, looming Mount Horn. Tale Splintersteel had explained that not only did this mountain mark the border of Zhakar's inner realm, it held a watch post garrisoned with a company of dwar-ven guards.

Ariakas didn't like the looks of the trail. As it scaled the steep sides of the slumbering volcano, it provided room for them to walk only in single file. To the right, the sloping shoulder of the mountain swept downward and away for thousands of feet. It wasn't exactly a precipice, but anyone who fell would certainly roll for a long way before coming to a bruised and battered halt.

Even more nerve-racking was the sight of the moun shy;tain's cone-shaped summit rising steeply away to their left. The rocky surface concealed numerous niches and crannies wherein ambushing Zhakar could have con shy;cealed themselves by the dozen.

"The watch post's up there," explained Tale Splinter-steel, pointing to a notch in the trail before them. Ahead, the slope of the mountain rose into a jagged shoulder, and the steep pathway passed between that shoulder and the main summit. The gap was barely twenty feet wide, with rough cliffs of basalt to either side.

"Can we go around it?" wondered the warrior. Yet even as he asked the question, he looked at the moun-

tainside and realized that the watch post had been well chosen.

Below the rough shoulder, a cliff plunged for at least a thousand feet downward, and below that a jagged tumble of large rocks and loose scree offered a time-consuming nightmare of a crossing. The scree slope spilled all the way to a deep, white-water river scoring a channel along the valley floor.

Above the watch post was a slope that was nearly as steep as the lower cliff, here soaring all the way up to the mountain's sharp, angular summit. Though the place could possibly be circumvented by the upward route, any Zhakar lurking in the notch would have no diffi shy;culty moving upward faster than those approaching along the trail.

"They're certain to have already seen us," the dwar-ven merchant said helpfully. "Might as well march right up there and see what they do-just keep your sword handy," he added to Ariakas.

The warrior nodded, not liking this. The steel blade would provide him no more protection than inherent in its design, he knew, for he would not unleash the magic of the blue blade here.

The companions kept their eyes on the narrow notch as they moved steadily upward. With sunset and the coming of dusk, the wind grew chill, and the stony gap, a half mile away, took on an even more sinister appear shy;ance.

"Should we stop here and wait for morning?" asked Ferros Windchisel, mindful of the fading daylight.

"I think we should push on through," Ariakas declared. "This is a damned poor place to sleep, for one thing-no shelter from the wind, no firewood. Not even a flat place to rest besides the trail!" What he didn't say, but knew, was that he couldn't bear the tension of wait shy;ing. Whatever fate awaited them at the watch post of Zhakar, he wanted to find out now.

"I agree," Lyrelee added. "Even if we don't go any far shy;ther tonight-at least up there we'd have a chance for a windbreak.

"Let's go," said Tale Splintersteel with a resigned shrug. "Just make sure they can see that sword," he reminded the human warrior.

They hurried, anxious to reach the notch before dark shy;ness surrounded them. The first star had twinkled into sight by the time they made the approach, but the western horizon still shed pale light across the mountain heights.

"Let me go first" suggested Ariakas, moving past the others. The bare blade extended before him, he advanced cautiously toward the gap. The stone walls to the right and left loomed upward, dark and mysterious. Between them, not more than a dozen steps away, the gap opened out again. Even in the darkness Ariakas saw a wide val shy;ley beyond, much flatter and more gentle than the ter shy;rain they had crossed thus far.

But most of his attention remained on the walls to the right and left. Countless niches and ravines scarred the rough surface, cloaked with shadows his eyes could not penetrate.

His companions waited behind while Ariakas cau shy;tiously passed through the notch. He saw no sign of any other occupant, and so he reversed his course, this time closely checking the niches to either side of the path. Nothing there-though several of the cracks were too deep for a foolproof check. For a brief instant he consid shy;ered casting the light spell, but quickly discarded the idea. Though it would give him the ability to penetrate some of the shadows, it would dramatically outline him and his companions to watchers anywhere in the sur shy;rounding valley and heights.

"Seems clear," he reported.

All four of them advanced through the notch, Lyrelee and Splintersteel following Ariakas while Ferros cau shy;tiously brought up the rear. Again the passage occurred without incident; for all appearances, the notch had been completed vacated.

"Not bad," Tale Splintersteel murmured, clearly sur shy;prised. He nodded at the blue sword. "Word must have gotten around."

Ariakas smiled grimly, his relief immense. They camped in a little swale that provided some protection from the wind. The night passed without incident, and in the first light of dawn they finally got a look at their destination.

Zhakar Keep stood on a slope above the broad valley. The river that circled the base of Mount Horn continued through that vale, widening into a long, narrow lake for part of its length. High, rugged peaks surrounded the two sides of the valley, and the river's outflow dropped out of sight several miles away, suggesting a channel that might be a canyon or a gorge.

The stone-walled keep dominated the entire central section of the valley. Terraced slopes spread downward from the keep to the river, and behind it towering peaks rose toward the sky. The walls were black, as were the squat towers located at various places along those sheer barriers. The place did not resemble a castle so much as a walled compound, for within the walls the companions could see no buildings. Four long, black columns rose upward from the courtyard, and one of these belched a cloud of black smoke. Tale Splintersteel explained that these were the chimneys of the Zhakaran great forge.

"Where are your countrymen?" Ariakas asked, gestur shy;ing to the well-tended-but apparently abandoned- vista. Though the terraced fields were obviously devoted to carefully nurtured crops, no one labored there. Like the watch post, now behind them, the valley stood silent, by all appearances completely deserted.

"It's strange," Tale Splintersteel observed. "We must be creating quite a stir-look's as though they're expect shy;ing a siege!"

For the better part of the morning they approached the dark fortress. Throughout that time, they saw no sign of the valley's inhabitants, though the keep seemed to grow more ominous and sinister with each step closer. The only sign of life was the black stream of smoke that con shy;tinued to drift from the chimney.

They approached along a graveled road that led be shy;tween the fields of the terrace. Ariakas came first, with the naked blade resting casually on his shoulder, gleaming like some surreal but precious metal-liquid turquoise or azure. He made certain that the weapon remained in clear view at all times.

Reaching the double gates, the four companions stood before a wide portal consisting of two solid iron plates mounted on stone hinges. Ariakas knew that each gate must weigh an unimaginable amount. Inwardly, he raised his estimation of Zhakaran skill as craftsmen and builders. Quietly, calmly, he rehearsed the incantation to the spell Wryllish Parkane had taught him. It had been intended to give them access to the keep, but he had never imagined the full scale of the portal that would stand across the path.

"Go away! Strangers are not allowed in Zhakar! Go away, or you will be killed!" A thin, reedy voice came quaveringly over the wall. They could see no speaker, but the words carried clearly to their ears.

"We come in peace-we are a trade mission seeking audience with King Ironcog!" shouted Tale. "Tell him that Splintersteel of Sanction is here!"

"The king is too busy to see you-go back to Sanc shy;tion!"

"We will see the king!" Ariakas shouted, growing impatient.

"No. Go away! Leave our countryman behind when you depart-he will be punished for bringing you here."

Tale Splintersteel cast wide, fearful eyes at his com shy;panions, but they weren't paying any attention to him.

Instead, they stared upward, trying to see any sign of the speaker.

Ariakas decided to proceed. He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the great, iron gates. Each of the barriers towered upward at least three times his height and was nearly half that in width-dimensions that made him feel very small, indeed. Nevertheless, he murmured a silent prayer to Takhisis and then raised his voice so that it could be clearly heard within.

"I, Highlord Ariakas, command these gates-in the name of a power greater than you can comprehend-to give way before my knock. In the name of majesty and power, I command!"

His heavy fist banged against the gate, once, twice, and again. Booming reverberations echoed around them from the keep and spilled down into the valley beyond.

With a portentous creak, the gates began to swing out shy;ward. Ariakas stepped quickly back, brandishing his sword at the ready, studying the slowly expanding crack between the twin doors. Part of him wanted to gape in surprise, astounded that the simple spell had proven so successful. The dominant portion of his mind retained control, however, and his cool, almost bored inspection of the opening gates indicated that he had never expected any result other than this.

He heard gasps of surprise, even cries of panic, com shy;ing from the fortress. The gap widened, and he saw a wide, refuse-covered courtyard. Robed Zhakar scattered in all directions from the gates, though several armed with swords, crossbows, and battle-hooks crept hesi shy;tantly forward. The gates opened wider, and he saw several dwarves frantically trying to arrest the winch mechanism-but the chain creaked through the gears with automatic, inevitable progression, completely unre shy;sponsive to their efforts.

"Peace," said Ariakas, striding forward to meet the dwarven warriors blocking the door. His voice, his posture, betrayed no hint of the doubts and apprehen shy;sions he felt. "I offer no harm-and many profits."

Thankfully, the Zhakar backed hastily away from the human warrior, their eyes riveted to the unique weapon in his hands. Lyrelee, Tale Splintersteel, and Ferros Windchisel followed him through the gates, and the four of them confronted the dwarves within as the gates ceased their automatic opening.

"You can close them now," Ariakas announced to the gatesmen, who hastily commenced to crank the portals shut.

Several dozen dark-shawled Zhakar crept toward him, weapons raised, but they didn't look as though they intended to attack. Indeed, Ariakas suspected that a simple flick of his great sword would send them scatter shy;ing in panic. Many milky, baleful eyes observed him through slits in the faces of the cloaks.

Ariakas looked around the courtyard of Zhakar Keep. The place was like no other fortress or castle that he had ever seen. The high walls were pierced only by the single gate through which the companions had entered.

The ground inside the compound was a chaotic menage of shallow ravines and low ridges, except for one huge, blocklike building in the center of the grounds. From the roof of this structure emerged the four chim shy;neys they had seen in the distance. Otherwise, the many piles and ridges of dirt eclipsed any other features the courtyard might have held.

"Your turn," Ariakas muttered to Tale Splintersteel. "Tell them why we're here."

The Zhakar cleared his throat and stepped forward. Behind the screening masks, the guardsmen's eyes stud shy;ied him with palpable suspicion and hostility.

"These are not our enemies," began the merchant. "I have brought them here because they can bring great benefits, great prosperity to our realm. That is why it is essential for us to see the king!"

One of the guards stepped cautiously ahead of his fel shy;lows, though he cast a quick glance to the rear-as if ensuring that he had a line of escape, if necessary. This ad hoc leader then turned back to the visitors, scowling angrily.

"You know you can't bring outsiders here!" he snapped to Tale Splintersteel. "Did they make you a pris shy;oner? Are you a hostage?"

"No-not exactly," replied the Zhakar merchant, per shy;haps remembering that at one time he had been a pris shy;oner. "They wish to establish trade with us, and they insist on seeing the king themselves."

Next the spokesman turned to Ariakas. "The punish shy;ment is death for one of our number who brings out shy;siders to Zhakar." His tone was tinted with respect, even a little fear. "You must have been very persuasive."

"Have you not heard of the many-colored blade?" demanded Tale Splintersteel in growing exasperation. "This is the man who can slay a hundred dwarves with shy;out touching his sword to their flesh!"

The pale eyes widened within the slit of the cloak. "It's true, then-what they said about the valley of the Black-rock? That his sword spit fire, and a whole company per shy;ished?"

"Believe every word," urged the merchant sneeringly. "And heed well his sword-lest he use it to bring Zhakar itself crumbling down around your ears!"

Now the eyes widened in definite fear, and Ariakas raised the sword slightly to illustrate the point. The blue blade seemed to float in the air, the most intense color in the courtyard.

"I–I'll go tell the king," said the spokesman finally. "You watch 'em!" he commanded imperiously to his fel shy;lows, obviously relieved to have the chance to escape the presence of that awe-inspiring weapon.

The guards who had been assigned to watch them took their job very seriously, though they seemed far more concerned with the blue-bladed sword than with any other aspect of the visitors' appearance. Ariakas took care to brandish the sword so that it could easily be seen. He even whipped the weapon through several training drills, enjoying the sight of the Zhakar ner shy;vously backing away-as if they expected the thing to explode at any moment.

"What do you think the king'll say, now?" Ferros inquired of Tale Splintersteel.

Splintersteel shrugged. "That's anyone's guess," he whispered to the others. "Rackas is an old enemy of my family. Still, he's a profiteer first and foremost-he's likely to listen to our proposal."

The warrior nodded noncommittally.

Finally the messenger returned. "The king will con shy;sent to an audience," he announced importantly. "The prisoners are to be brought to the Royal Promen-"

"What prisoners?" growled Ariakas menacingly. "If you mean us, let the dwarf who will capture me step for shy;ward-now!"

Predictably, there was no movement among the rank of guards. Two dozen pairs of eyes followed as if hypno shy;tized while the blue blade carved a slow arc through the air.

The messenger stammered and hemmed. "If the, er, emissaries would be so good as to accompany me to the lift station, I will take you to the king."

He led the companions along a winding walkway flanked by mounds of dirt until they reached the wall of the huge stone blockhouse. An iron door opened at their approach, and they entered the structure.

Immediately they were struck by a blast of hot, dry air. Hammers rang against forges, and furnaces roared while bellows pumped fresh air into their fire boxes. The room was shadowy, almost totally dark except for the crimson glow of fires and red-hot metal, which showed hooded forms moving vaguely among hulking forges.

Ariakas murmured a quick magical command, and the gemstone in his helmet immediately flared into brightness. He saw Zhakar cover their eyes and turn hastily away from the illumination, satisfying himself that the light would help him maintain his command in the presence of these miserable creatures. Gradually the sounds of hammering died away, as the strange party was led through a maze of fire pits, anvils, casting pots, winches, and overhead chains.

In the center of the manufactory, they reached a cage consisting of black iron bars surrounding a flat platform. The platform was suspended by a grid of chains, and it swayed slightly as the Zhakar messenger opened the door and stepped onto it.

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" demanded Aria shy;kas, as he and Lyrelee instinctively held back from the strange contraption.

Tale and Ferros, however, passed through the gateway and turned to look at the humans. "It's just a lift," the Hylar said, amused. "We have hundreds like this in Thorbardin. How else would you go up and down- stairways?"

Inwardly, Ariakas groused that a stairway would be just fine with him, but he had already shown too much hesitation on the matter. Gruffly he stepped inside, quickly followed by the priestess.

The Zhakar pulled a lever, and immediately the plat shy;form lurched below their feet, sinking through the floor into a shaft that had been bored into the rock. Trying to suppress his nervousness, Ariakas watched the stone walls appear to rise around them. He listened uneasily to the clanking of chain overhead.

"This lift is counterbalanced with another one, not too far away," Tale Splintersteel explained. "When this one goes down, that one comes up. If the job is to take some shy;thing down to the city, then there's no need for any power-our weight does the job, though the chain rolls through several brakes so it doesn't go too fast."

"How can it lift cargo up to the ground level?" asked Lyrelee.

"For that we have the winchmasters," the Zhakar explained. "It doesn't move so quickly, but they can crank a load from the Promenade up to the Keep in a matter of ten minutes or so."

Personally, Ariakas didn't think their descent was any too speedy. His heart pounding, he could not banish the feeling that they had walked into a perfect trap.

Then the lift clanked to rest on a solid stone floor, caus shy;ing them all to lurch unsteadily. A metal door before them rumbled aside, and they stepped into a vast, dimly lit chamber. A vague, fiery illumination spilled into the place from two yawning cave mouths off to their right. Before them, twin rows of columns towered upward from the floor, vanishing into the darkness overhead.

At the end of the row of pillars, nearly lost in the shad shy;ows, the companions saw a pair of immense statues. Carved into the shape of hideous beasts, these figures stood with their backs to the cavern wall. Between the trunklike legs of the statue on the right, they saw a large, stone throne, then noticed a similar seat beneath the statue on the left.

"The King's Promenade," explained the messenger, indicating the wide roadway between the two rows of columns.

Slowly, deliberately, they started down the walk. Aria shy;kas naturally moved into the fore, his bright gem casting a wash of white on the floor before them. The columns to either side and the roadway to the thrones plainly indi shy;cated their route. In one of the thrones Ariakas saw a shrouded, shadowy figure. The warrior was amused to see the king shrink into his seat as the party moved closer.

Ferros and Lyrelee flanked the human warrior, a step or two behind, while Tale Splintersteel and the Zhakar messenger brought up the rear. Around them Ariakas sensed a huge number of dark, silent figures. Several forms stood just within range of his light, and the war shy;rior concealed his surprise as he saw Zhakar warriors mounted on four-legged lizards. The animals had a dull, unintelligent look, but the sleek sinew in their shoulders and legs suggested both speed and power. They were no bigger than large hounds, though sharp claws on their forefeet indicated that they could be savage foes in a fight. Yet even these bizarre cavalrymen cringed back when Ariakas swiveled his sword, or let his haughty gaze sweep over them.

His nervousness vanished entirely as he approached the Zhakar king. Ariakas carried the blue blade casually, the weapon unsheathed but resting easily on his shoul shy;der. With a flick of his wrist he could bring it down against a target on any side.

"Kneel when you meet the king!" hissed Tale Splinter-steel as they drew closer to the end of the promenade.

Now Ariakas's light fell on the figure seated in one of the huge thrones. The Zhakar was cloaked but unhooded, revealing a face that was scarred by the rav shy;ages of the mold plague. The king's beard was mostly gone, though several tufts of hair still sprouted from the skin over his jawbone. He looked bald, though he wore a heavy golden crown that concealed the top of his head.

"King Rackas Ironcog of Zhakar!" proclaimed a dwarf concealed in the shadows off to the sides. "Kneel before the greatness of his royal presence!"

Ferros Windchisel stepped to the warrior's side, and then knelt humbly-a dwarven warrior showing respect to the monarch of another dwarven state. Ariakas nod shy;ded to Lyrelee on his other side, and she, too, knelt. Meanwhile Tale Splintersteel all but groveled, prostrat shy;ing himself on the floor and crawling to the Hylar's side.

Only Ariakas remained standing. He met the flashing eyes of Rackas Ironcog with his own proud stare and then, with regal dignity, leaned forward in a gracious bow. His knees, however, did not bend.

"Who are you?" demanded the king, nonplussed by the display of confidence.

"I am Lord Duulket Ariakas, emissary of a powerful queen-the mightiest monarch on all Krynn," he pro shy;claimed grandly. "I bring salutations and praise to the esteemed lord of Zhakar!"

Somewhat mollified, Rackas Ironcog huffed in his throne. Apparently he was unused to anything even vaguely resembling diplomacy.

For the first time Ariakas noticed another Zhakar, standing in the shadows beside the throne. This one wore a cloak over even his face, which was unusual in the city so far as the human had seen. Also unique was the extensive golden thread embroidered around the fringes of the cloak. The masked dwarf leaned toward the king, apparently whispering something in his ear.

"Welcome to my realm," Rackas Ironcog said grudg shy;ingly, after a moment's silence. Ignoring any further pleasantries, he spoke bluntly. "This is the sword that killed one hundred of my finest troops?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," answered Ariakas. Inwardly, he scorned the repulsive monarch, who obviously knew less about court manners than the lowliest pageboy of Khuri-Khan. Still, he would go along with the charade as long as it suited his purpose. "The blade is a gift to me from my queen, and she bid me use it as an instrument of her will."

"She is mighty, this queen of yours," replied the king. "Now tell me, human-why does she send you to me?"

"We have come on a peaceful mission of trade," Aria shy;kas responded. "It is a mission that could bring unimag-ined profits into Your Majesty's treasuries, and at the same time form the basis of an alliance that will greatly benefit both our peoples."

"And you, Tale Splintersteel!" The monarch finally addressed the merchant lord. "This matter is important enough to cause you to defy ancient tradition, bringing outsiders to the heart of our realm?"

"Indeed, Majesty," replied Tale. "After heartfelt con shy;sideration I believe the human's suggestions of profit are based in fact. He who bears the colored sword has proven himself a fighter and negotiator of great strength and determination."

"Strength and determination.. those are admirable traits." The king nodded, scowling.

"Lord Warrior, will you and your companions accept our hospitality? I shall provide you with chambers in the royal apartments, where you shall have every comfort we can provide. When you have rested, I invite you to attend my table. Tonight, we shall make the arrange shy;ments for trade."

"Your hospitality is welcome," Ariakas agreed. "It is a fitting gesture for a meeting that will doubtless result in a long and profitable friendship."

As courtiers led them toward the royal quarters, Aria shy;kas risked a quick look behind. He saw the king's eyes staring at him-but not at the warrior himself, he sud shy;denly realized. Instead, Rackas Ironcog's eyes, glittering with greed, remained fastened to the azure blade in the human warrior's hand.