Dragons of the Highlord Skies dc-2

by Margaret Weis

  Laurana had flown on griffons before. She was used to flight, and she kept a concerned watch on her companions. Brian had gone deathly pale as they soared into the air, but once airborne he stared down at the ground unrolling beneath him and gasped in awe and delighted wonder. Derek was stern and grim, lips pressed tightly together. He did not look down, but he did not hide his face either. Aran was enjoying himself. He yelled out that they should try to convince the griffons to carry them into battle, as the Dark Queen’s minions rode their evil dragons. Sturm had all he could do to keep tight hold of Tasslehoff, who nearly tumbled off in his efforts to grab a cloud.

  Beneath them was the Plains of Dust, white with snow. They saw a band of Plainsmen, who halted in their travels and gazed upward as the shadows of the griffons flowed over them. The beasts flew over Rigitt, and though they saw no signs of the dragonarmy, they could see the wharf crowded with people eager to flee. Only a few ships were in the harbor; far too few to carry all those seeking passage.

  Leaving Rigitt behind, they flew over the gray-blue sea, and now all of them buried their heads in the griffons’ manes, not from fear, but for warmth. The frigid wind blowing off the glacier stung their cheeks and burned their eyes and froze their breath. When the griffons began to spiral downward, Laurana peeped out from the feathers to see beneath her a white land of blue shadows, frozen and empty.

  She laid her head among the griffon’s feathers and pictured her homeland, where it was always springtime, the air always warm, perfumed with the scents of roses, lavender and honeysuckle.

  Her tears froze on her skin.

  6

  Highlords. High treason. itiara’s journey from Tarsis to Neraka was not a pleasant one. The skies were gray and overcast. A chill drizzling rain mixed with snow fell almost the entire trip. She was chilled and wet all the time. When they stopped at night to rest, she could not build a fire to warm herself, for the only wood she could find was soaked. The blue dragon was respectful to her and deferential, but he wasn’t Skie. She couldn’t talk to this dragon about her plans and schemes, couldn’t visit with him while he crunched beef bones from a stolen cow and she stewed a rabbit.

  Kitiara was angry at Skie. He had no right to make such accusations, yet she found herself hoping the dragon would think better of his temper fit and come in search of her, ready to apologize. Skie did not appear, however.

  They arrived at Neraka as darkness was falling. Kitiara sent the blue to the dragon stables, telling the beast to be ready to depart the moment the meeting was adjourned. Kitiara made her way through the crowded streets to the Broken Shield Inn. She was cold, hungry, and wanted a warm bed, a blazing fire, and hot, spiced wine. But when she arrived, she was told regrettably that there was no room. The inn was filled to capacity with Highlord Toede’s personal staff, retinue, soldiers, and bodyguards.

  Kitiara could have slept in her own private quarters in the Temple of the Dark Queen, but those chambers were cold, gloomy, and comfortless, not to say unsettling. The gates were trapped with deadly magicks, and she would have to remember the password and hand over her weapons and answer a lot of fool questions. She got on well enough with the draconian guards, but she couldn’t abide the dark priests slinking about in their heavy black woolen robes that always smelt of incense, cheap dye, and damp sheep. The fire in her grate in the temple would be small and feeble, almost as if the Nightlord was wary of any source of light invading his sacred darkness. There would be no spiced wine, for strong drink was forbidden on Temple grounds, and Kitiara believed, as did Ariakas, that while she was there, unfriendly eyes were watching her, ears were listening.

  Seeing the rage in Kit’s dark eyes when told there was no room, the innkeeper recalled suddenly that there might be one available. He hastily sent his servants to remove two of Toede’s henchmen who had drunk themselves into a stupor. It took six men to haul the dead drunk hobgoblins out of their beds; and they woke the next morning to discover, to their bleary astonishment, that they’d spent the night in the stables. Kitiara took over their room, aired it out well, drank several mugs of the warming wine, and fell into bed.

  Since this was an emergency meeting of the Dragon Highlords, there was none of the ceremony generally attendant upon such an exalted gathering. Formal meetings of the Highlords were accompanied by parades of soldiers dressed in shining armor marching through the streets with standards flying. As it was, few people in Neraka knew the Highlords were in town. Two, Salah Khan and Lucien Takar, were accompanied by their personal staff and bodyguards. Two others, Kitiara and Feal-Thas, traveled alone.

  The newly promoted Highlord Toede was the only one to bring his entourage. Toede had hoped to be able to triumphantly parade his troops, with himself mounted upon a black stallion, through the streets of Neraka. Various difficulties crushed the hob’s dreams. The stallion bolted at the smell of him; half his soldiers had deserted during the night, and the other half were too drunk to stand. Toede had to content himself with attending his first meeting resplendent in a suit of dragon armor, the scales of which weighed nearly as much as if they were still on the dragon, causing the poor hob considerable pain and discomfort, and hampering his mobility to such an extent that, in lieu of riding on the black stallion, he had to be hauled to the meeting in a hay wagon. The helm obscured his vision and his sword tangled his legs, tripping him, but Toede thought he looked sublime-every inch the Highlord-and he anticipated making a grand entrance.

  The meeting was scheduled for early in the morning. Kit left orders to be awakened at dawn and went to bed early. Takhisis was almost immediately in her dreams again, prodding her to go to Dargaard Keep. Kit refused. The Dark Queen scolded and taunted, sneered at Kitiara, called her a coward. Kitiara pulled her pillow over her head and either the Dark Queen grew weary of badgering her, or Kitiara was so tired that she slipped beneath the dreams into exhausted slumber.

  At the appointed hour, someone came banging on her door. Kitiara swore at them and told them to go away. When she finally woke up, it was to bright sunlight and the panicked feeling she was late. Muddle-headed and sluggish, Kit hurriedly dressed herself in her gambeson and put her armor on over that.

  She had given orders to have her armor polished and her boots cleaned and this had been done, though the job was not up to her standards. No time to remedy that, however. She was going to be late as it was. Her temples throbbed from lack of sleep and too much wine. She wished her head were clearer so that she could think better.

  Accoutered in her blue dragon scale armor and cloaked in a long blue velvet cape that was sadly wrinkled from having been stuffed into her traveling bag, Kitiara placed the helm of the Dragon Highlord on her head and set forth. The meeting was being held in the Blue Quarter, in the headquarters building of the Blue Wing, the same building where Kit had first heard about Tanis, first heard Ariakas’s idiot scheme regarding the dragon orb, first met Ariakas’s witch whose name she could not recall.

  Citizens and soldiers alike made way for Kitiara, and many cheered her. She cut a fine figure, walking tall and proud, her hand on her sword’s hilt. Kit enjoyed the walk. The cold air blew away the fumes of the wine, the cheers braced and emboldened her. Kitiara took her time, accepted the crowd’s adulation. The other Highlords could wait for her, she decided. She was not going to rush on account of the likes of Toede and that bastard Feal-Thas. She had a few things to say to Ariakas about him, as well.

  The Highlords had gathered in the dining hall of the Blue Wing, the only building large enough to hold them and their bodyguards. Since no Highlord trusted the others, the bodyguards were considered indispensable.

  Lucien of Takar, Highlord of the Black Army, who was half-human and half-ogre, brought with him two immense ogres, who towered over everyone in the room and gave off the stench of rotting meat. Salah Khan was Highlord of the Green Army. He was human; his people were desert-dwelling nomads with a love for battle. He was accompanied by six human males armed with long, curve-bladed knives thrust into
their belts and scimitars on their hips.

  Fewmaster Toede came surrounded by thirty hobgoblin guards, all armed to the teeth and all of them clustered protectively around Toede, who could barely be seen in their midst. Ariakas banned all but six of the hobs from entering. Weighed down by his armor, Toede clunked into the meeting room, guided by his guards, for he was having difficulty seeing through his ornate helm.

  Toede greeted the other Highlords with much slavering and slobbering. Ariakas ignored him. Lucien regarded him with disgust and Salah Kahn with disdain. Though he could not see all that well, Toede felt the distinct chill in the atmosphere, and he retired precipitously behind his bodyguards. He spent the rest of the time poking his hobs in their backs, urging them to remain alert.

  Feal-Thas strode into the room alone, accompanied by a great white wolf that padded silently at his side.

  “No men-at-arms tripping on your heels, Feal-Thas?” asked Ariakas, who was himself accompanied by six bozak draconians. One of them, a bozak with a deformed wing, was one of the largest draconians any of them had ever seen.

  “Why should I bring guards, my lord?” Feal-Thas asked with a look of feigned surprise. “We are all friends here, are we not?”

  “Some more than others,” growled Lucien.

  Salah Kahn grunted his agreement, and Ariakas chuckled. Neither of the other Highlords liked or trusted the dark elf. They would have turned on him in an instant, their knives out for blood, except for Ariakas. The emperor himself had no great love for the elf, nor did Queen Takhisis. They tolerated him because, for the moment, he was useful to them. Let him cease being useful and their support would end.

  “Besides,” Feal-Thas added, wrapping his fur robes around him, “I see so little in this room to fear.”

  Salah Kahn, whose temper was legendary, bounded to his feet, drawing his sword. Lucien, fists clenched, was rising from his chair, and Toede was eying the nearest exit. The bent-wing bozak drew a sword as large as some humans were tall and took his place in front of the emperor.

  Feal-Thas sat unperturbed, his long, thin-fingered hands folded on the table. The white wolf growled menacingly and put its head down, tail twitching.

  “Sheathe your sword, Salah Kahn,” ordered Ariakas good-humoredly, a fond parent separating quarreling children. “Sit down, Lucien. We are here on important business. Feal-Thas, bring that beast of yours to heel.”

  When order had been more or less restored, he added with a grimace. “We’re all a bit irritable. If you’re like me, you got little sleep last night.”

  “I slept fine, Your Lordship,” said Toede loudly. No one answered him, and, thinking they could not understand his words, he managed, with the help of two of his guards, to extricate himself from his helm.

  “I worship and respect Her Dark Majesty,” Salah Kahn was saying, treading cautiously. “No one more. But it is impossible for me to leave the war in the east to travel to Dargaard Keep. I wish Her Majesty could be made to understand this. If you were to have a word with her, Emperor-”

  “What’s this about Dargaard Keep?” Toede asked, mopping his brow.

  “She plagues me as she does you, Salah Khan,” Ariakas returned. “She is obsessed with this notion of bringing Soth into the war. She talks of nothing else, except that and finding the Green Gemstone man.”

  “Lord Soth?” Toede asked. “Who is Lord Soth?”

  “Personally I do not want this death knight anywhere near me. Consider his arrogance. He sets us a test?” Feal-Thas shrugged. “He should be honored to serve any one of us. Almost any one of us,” he amended.

  “Oh, that Lord Soth,” said Toede with a knowing wink. “He approached me, offered to work for me. I turned him down, of course. ‘Soth’ I said. I call him ‘Soth’, you see, and he calls me-”

  “Where the devil is Kitiara?” Ariakas demanded, slamming his hands on the table. He turned to a servant. “Go fetch her!”

  The servant departed, only to come back to say that the Blue Lady was at that moment entering the building.

  Ariakas exchanged a few words with the bent-wing bozak. He and several baaz draconians took up positions on either side of the door. Lucien and Salah Kahn glanced at each other, wondering what was up. Though neither knew, they both sensed trouble and kept their hands near their weapons. Toede was having some difficulty seeing over the heads and shoulders of his bodyguards, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that something dire was about to happen, and the only exit was now being blocked by six large bozaks. The hob gave an inward groan.

  Feal-Thas, who had written the letter betraying Kitiara, was able to guess what was about to happen. He waited with anticipation. He had never forgiven her for killing his guardian.

  Booted footsteps rang in the hallway, then Kitiara’s raised voice, calling jocular greeting to the guards. Ariakas’s dark, baleful gaze was fixed on the entrance. The bozaks flanking the door tensed.

  Kitiara strolled inside, her sword clattering at her hip, her blue cape flowing after her. She carried her helm beneath her arm.

  “My lord, Ariakas-” she began, about to raise her hand in salute.

  The bent-wing bozak seized hold of her, pinning her by the arms. A second bozak grabbed her sword and yanked it from its sheath.

  “Kitiara uth Matar,” said Ariakas in sonorous tones, rising ponderously to his feet, “you are under arrest on a charge of high treason. If you are found guilty, the penalty for your crime is death.”

  Kitiara stood frozen, staring, open-mouthed and confounded, so astonished she made no attempt to resist. Her first thought was this was some sort of jest; Ariakas was noted for his perverted sense of humor. She saw in his eyes, however, that he was serious-deadly serious.

  Kitiara looked swiftly around the room. She saw the other Highlords-three of them as astonished as herself-and she realized they had not been brought here for a meeting. This was a trial. These men were her judges, each one of whom coveted her position as Highlord of the Blue Dragon Army. Even as she realized this, she saw each man’s shock give way to pleasure, saw each cast dark glances at his compatriots, plotting and scheming how best to attain her position. In their minds, she was already dead.

  Kitiara’s impulse then was to fight, but that came a little too late. Her sword was gone. She was in the firm and painful grasp of an enormous bozak, who was armed with both a sword and powerful magicks. The thought crossed Kit’s mind that it would be better to fight a hopeless battle to the death now than face whatever torment Ariakas had in mind for her. She restrained herself, however. The Solamnics have “My honor is my life” as their credo. Kit’s was “Never say die.”

  She recovered her composure. She had not always obeyed Ariakas’s orders. She had gone off on raiding parties when she should have been laying boring siege to some castle. She had appropriated for the use of her troops certain tax revenues meant to go to the emperor. None of these offences could be termed crimes of high treason, however, though of course the emperor could call stealing a meat pie from his table high treason if he chose. Kit had no idea what all this was about. Then she saw the faint smile upon the lips of Feal-Thas, and Kit immediately recognized her enemy.

  She stood tall and straight, fearless and dignified in the grasp of her captors, and faced Ariakas.

  “What is the meaning of this, my lord?” Kitiara demanded with an air of injured innocence. “What act of high treason have I committed? I have served you faithfully. Tell me, my lord. I do not understand.”

  “You are charged with plotting the murder of Dragon Highlord Verminaard and hiring assassins to carry it out,” said Ariakas.

  Kitiara’s jaw dropped. The irony was chilling. She was being charged with the one crime of which she was innocent. She glanced at Feal-Thas, saw the faint smile broaden, and she snapped her jaw shut with a click of her teeth.

  Her voice trembling with rage, Kitiara stated, “I utterly refute and deny that charge, my lord!”

  “Lord Toede,” said Ariakas, “did Highlor
d Kitiara ask you in a most suspicious manner for information regarding the felons who assassinated Verminaard?”

  Toede managed to worm his way through the forest of his bodyguards and said with a gasp and many mop-pings of his brow, “She did, my lord.” “I did not!” Kitiara retorted.

  “Did she talk to a man called Eben Shatterstone, also seeking information about these people?”

  “She did, my lord,” Toede said, proud of being the center of attention. “The wretch told me so himself.”

  Kitiara would have liked to choke the hobgoblin until his beady little eyes popped out of his yellow head. But the bent-wing bozak had a grip of steel on her and she could not break free. She contented herself with shooting Toede a look so threatening and malevolent that Toede shriveled up and shrank back, terrified, among his bodyguards.

  “She should be in manacles, my lord!” the hob quavered. “Put her in leg irons!”

  Kitiara turned to Ariakas. “If you have no other evidence besides the word of this quivering mound of goo-”

  “The emperor has my evidence,” said Feal-Thas. Gathering his robes about him, he rose gracefully to his feet, his motion slow and unhurried. “As many of you know,” he said, speaking to the group at large, “I am a winternorn. I will not go into detail explaining this magical skill to the uninitiated. Suffice it to say, a winternorn has the power to delve deep into the heart of another.

  “I looked into your heart, Highlord Kitiara, when you were gracious enough to visit me in my icebound solitude, and I saw the truth. You sent these assassins to kill Lord Verminaard, hoping to succeed him as Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy.”

  “Lies! Liar!” Kitiara lunged at Feal-Thas in such fury that the bozak holding her was nearly dragged off his clawed feet. “I should have killed you at Icereach!”