“Derek,” said Brian, almost running to keep up, “could I ask you a question?”
“If you must,” Derek said shortly.
“You hate wizards. You hate all things having to do with wizards. You cross the street to avoid passing a wizard. This dragon orb was made by wizards. The orb is magic, Derek. Why do you want to have anything to do with it?”
Derek kept walking.
“I have an idea,” Brian continued. “Send a message to the wizards at the Tower of Wayreth. Tell them you’ve received this information about one of their artifacts. Let them decide what to do about it.”
Derek halted and turned to stare at his friend.
“Are you mad?”
“No more than usual,” said Brian wryly. He guessed what Derek was going to say.
“You’re suggesting we turn over this powerful artifact to wizards?”
“They made it, Derek,” Brian pointed out.
“All the more reason to keep it out of their hands!” Derek said sternly. “Just because wizards made this orb doesn’t mean they should be permitted to make use of it. If you must know, it is because I distrust wizards that I am going to seek out the dragon orb.”
“What will you do with it if you find it?”
Derek gave a tight-lipped smile. “I will bring it to Sancrist Isle and drop it in Lord Gunthar’s soup. Then, when they make me Grand Master, I will go out and win the war.”
“Of course,” said Brian. He had more to say on the subject, but he knew any further argument would be futile. “You’ll have to write to Lord Gunthar, tell him you’re proposing to go on this quest, and ask his permission.”
Derek scowled. He couldn’t very well get around this, however. According to the Measure, a knight could not depart on such a long journey—three-quarters of the way across the continent—without receiving sanction from his superior, who happened to be Lord Gunthar.
“A mere formality. He will not dare refuse me.”
“No, I don’t suppose he will,” said Brian softly.
“He will send one of his men along to keep an eye on me,” Derek added. “Aran Tallbow most likely.”
Brian nodded. “I hope so. Aran is a good man.”
“He used to be a good man. Now he’s a drunkard who lets Gunthar lead him around by the nose. But I will have you along to watch my back,” Derek stated.
Brian wished for once Derek would ask him if he wanted to do something rather than telling him, not that it would make any difference. Brian would go with his friend now as he’d done in the past.
“Just think, my friend. This could be the making of you. You might even be made High Clerist!”
“I don’t think I want to be High Clerist,” said Brian mildly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Derek. “Of course you do.”
7
The Fewmaster sweats.
Iolanthe entertains the emperor.
o the knight took the bait,” said Skie the next morning. He and Kitiara were preparing to leave the dragon’s hiding place, a heavily forested area far from the walls of Palanthas.
“It is a good thing he did not ask for a sample of my handwriting,” said Kit, grinning. “He not only took the forged letter, he paid me one hundred steel for it. It is not every man willing to pay so handsomely for his own destruction.”
“If the orb does destroy him,” muttered Skie. “It could just as likely destroy us. I mistrust wizards. If this knight is a threat, why didn’t you just stick a knife in him?”
“Because Ariakas wants to please his new mistress,” said Kit dryly. “What do you know of these ‘dragon orbs’?”
“Very little,” Skie grunted. “That’s what worries me, and it should worry you. Why did you tell him your real name? What if he finds out that Kitiara uth Matar is not a thief, she’s a Dragon Highlord?”
“He would not have come to the meeting without hearing the name. These knights are snobs,” Kitiara said scornfully. “The fact that my father was a knight, even though he was a disgraced knight, helped convince Sir Nincompoop that I really did have the good of Solamnia at heart. I even told him my dear father died fighting for Solamnia.” Kit laughed. “The truth is, my father probably died at the end of some outraged husband’s sword!”
She shrugged. “As for Sir Derek finding out I am a Highlord, that is unlikely. My own troops do not know my true name. Kitiara uth Matar means nothing to them. To my soldiers and to the rest of the world, I am the ‘Blue Lady’, the Blue Lady who will one day rule over them.”
“One day,” the dragon grumbled. “Not now.”
Kitiara reached down to pat Skie on the neck. “I understand how you feel, but for the time being, we must obey orders.”
“Where do we go, Blue Lady,” the dragon asked bitterly, “since we’re not allowed to fight?”
“We fly to Haven, where the Red Dragonarmy has made their headquarters. We are going to try to find a suitable candidate for Dragon Highlord.”
“Another waste of time and effort,” said Skie, crashing through the brush and trampling scrub trees underfoot in search of a cleared space in which to spread his wings.
“Perhaps,” said Kitiara, and a smile played on her lips unseen beneath the helm, “but then again, perhaps not.”
The dragonarmy camp near Haven was really nothing more than a small outpost. Most of the Red Dragonarmy troops were scattered across Abanasinia, maintaining their grip on conquests they had already taken. Prior to her arrival, Kitiara had met with her spies inside the dragonarmy. They reported that the army, spread out over a wide area, from Thorbardin to the Plains of Dust, was in disarray; the officers quarreling among themselves, the troops grumbling and discontented, and the dragons furious.
Several officers were vying to become Highlord. Kitiara had a list of likely candidates, with detailed information on each.
“I will be here for several days,” Kitiara told Skie. The dragon had landed her in an area some distance from the camp. “I need you to speak to the reds.”
“Brainless behemoths,” Skie snarled. “Muscle-bound ninnies. Talking with them is a waste of time. They barely know words of more than one syllable.”
“I understand, but I need to know what they think—”
“They don’t,” Skie retorted. “That’s the problem. I can sum up their thought processes in three words: burn, eat, loot, and they’re so stupid that most of the time they do it in that order.”
Kitiara laughed. “I realize I’m asking a great deal, my friend, but if the reds are truly unhappy and threatening to depart, as I have heard, Ariakas needs to take action. I want you to find out if they are belly-aching or if they are serious.”
“Odds are they don’t know themselves.” Skie shook his mane in irritation. “We should be back in the north fighting battles.”
“I know,” said Kit quietly. “I know.”
Still grumbling, Skie flew off. Kitiara watched the dragon climb among the clouds. His neck craned downward. He was searching for food. He must have spotted something, for he made a sudden diving descent, clawed feet outstretched to snag his prey. Kitiara watched until she lost sight of the dragon among the trees. Then she took a look at her surroundings, got her bearings, and set off walking through the brush, heading in the direction of the camp, which she had seen from the air. She could not see the camp itself, but could tell its location by the haze of smoke rising from cook fires and the blacksmith’s forge.
Kitiara walked at her leisure, taking time to look over some dispatches she had received before she’d left. She read again the one from Ariakas stating the red dragons were complaining to their Queen that they were bored. They had entered this war to loot and burn, and if they didn’t get orders to do either, they were going to do it anyway on their own. The Queen reminded Ariakas that she had far more important matters to deal with than this and if he couldn’t handle this situation, she would find someone who could. Ariakas handled it by dumping it in Kit’s lap.
“I’ll do what I c
an, but I wasn’t the one responsible for this mess, my lord,” Kitiara muttered. “That was your boy, Verminaard. Maybe you’ll think twice next time about putting a cleric in charge of fighting a war!”
She opened the next dispatch, a missive she’d received just as she was leaving. This letter came from a spy in Solamnia, one of Lord Gunthar’s squires who was in her pay. The letter was long, and Kit paused beneath a tree to give it her full attention.
Derek Crownguard and two other knights set sail this date from Sancrist, heading for the city of Tarsis.
“Tarsis,” Kitiara repeated to herself. “Why do they waste time going to Tarsis? I told the fools the dragon orb was in Icereach.”
Reading farther, she found the explanation.
They were told they can find out more information in Tarsis about the dragon orb. Since that city lies not far from Icereach, they decided to stop there. Crownguard is considered a hero for having learned about this artifact. There is general consensus that if he returns with the orb and it allows them to control the dragons, as the knights believe, then Derek will be made Grand Master.
Lord Gunthar argued that they knew nothing about these orbs and so should leave them alone. He did not want Derek to undertake this quest, but he was powerless to stop him. Derek was very clever. He spoke of his discovery of the whereabouts of the dragon orb in open session. All the knights who heard about it were fired with enthusiasm. If Gunthar had tried to prevent Derek from going, there would have been rebellion. These fools are desperate, my lady. They hope for some sort of miracle to save them and they think this is it.
“Your witch’s plan appears to be working, my lord,” said Kitiara grudgingly. She went back to reading.
Gunthar did venture to suggest that he should consult Par-Salian of the White Robes, master of the Tower of Wayreth, and ask about this orb, so that they would have an expert’s opinion of its powers. Derek argued against this, stating that if the wizards learned of the whereabouts of this artifact, they would go after it themselves. Lord Gunthar could not help but admit this argument was valid. All the knights were subsequently sworn to secrecy about the nature of this quest, and Derek and his two companions were sent on their way with loud cheers.
Lord Gunthar did manage to send one of his own men on this quest along with Derek—Sir Aran Tallbow. Sir Aran is an old friend of Derek’s and knows him well. Lord Gunthar hopes Aran will act as a moderating influence on Derek. Aran could be a danger to your plans, my lady. The other knight who accompanies Derek is also one of his longtime friends. His name is Brian Donner, and so far as I can judge, he is of no consequence.
Derek and his friends set sail on a fast ship and as the weather is generally good this time of year, it is predicted he will have a swift voyage and a safe one.
Kitiara finished the letter and then thrust it in the pouch with the other dispatches. She would forward the letter on to Ariakas, who would be extremely pleased to hear that all was going even better than expected.
She kicked a rock in the road, sending it flying. The knights were “divided, desperate, searching for a miracle.” Now was the perfect time to attack them! And here she was, far from Solamnia, trying to find someone to replace a man whose arrogant folly had brought about his own downfall.
Ariakas had recommended she interview a Fewmaster known as Toede for the position of Dragon Highlord. The Fewmaster, a hobgoblin, had been sending in a flood of reports on the war in the west. These reports were deemed by Ariakas to be works of military genius.
“First he wants a draco as Highlord, now a hob,” Kitiara muttered. She kicked at another rock and missed. Halting, she kicked angrily at the rock again and this time connected. “I guess that makes sense. Now that the war is close to being won, Ariakas is beginning to see his human commanders as a threat. He fears that once we have no enemy to fight, we will turn on him.”
Kitiara smiled grimly. “In this, he might well be right.”
Kitiara carefully avoided entering the city of Haven. Abanasinia was her homeland. She had been born and raised in the tree-top town of Solace located nearby. There might be people in Haven who would recognize her, perhaps even remember that she’d visited the city several times before in company with Tanis and her twin brothers, all of whom were also known there.
Tanis Half-elven. Kitiara found herself thinking of him a lot these days, ever since she’d heard Grag tell Ariakas that a half-elf from Solace had been involved in the slaying of Verminaard. Half-elves were not that common in Ansalon, and Kit knew of only one who came from Solace. She had no idea how Tanis could have managed to get himself tangled up with slaves and Highlords, but if there was any man who could have bested Verminaard, it would be Tanis. Kit’s thoughts went back to him, recalling days filled with laughter and adventure, nights spent in his arms.
She became so lost in her memories that, not watching where she was going, she stumbled into a pothole and nearly broke her neck. Picking herself up, she scolded herself.
“What are you doing, wasting time thinking about him? That’s over and done with. In the past. You have more important matters to consider.”
Kitiara booted Tanis from her mind. It wouldn’t do for her to be connected with the local “heroes” who had, according to rumor, dispatched Verminaard. Ariakas was suspicious of her already.
Too bad, Kit sighed. She would have been very comfortable in one of Haven’s fine inns. As it was, she resigned herself to staying in the dragonarmy’s camp, where she would at least have the satisfaction of demanding that she be given the finest accommodations available.
Kit’s unexpected arrival in the headquarters of the Red Dragonarmy threw everyone into a panic. Soldiers rushed about in confusion, falling over themselves and each other in an effort to please her. Some chaos was only to be expected, however, since she’d come on them unannounced. For the most part, Kit found the camp well-run and well-organized. Draconian sentries were at their posts and doing their jobs. She was challenged no fewer than six times before she reached the camp.
Kitiara began to think she had underestimated the hobgoblin. Perhaps Toede was a military genius.
Kitiara looked forward to meeting the Fewmaster, but the pleasure was delayed. No one, it seemed, knew where he was. A draconian dispatched a messenger to fetch the Fewmaster, telling Kitiara the Fewmaster was either perfecting his skills with the bow on the firing range, or drilling soldiers in the parade yard. The draconian said all this in the mixture of Common and military argot typically used by soldiers of mixed races. The draco added a comment in his own language to another draco, apparently under the assumption she would not understand, because both grinned widely.
As it happened, Kitiara’s own personal bodyguard was made up of sivak draconians. She considered it would never do to have subordinates—especially those on whom her life depended—talking in an unknown tongue behind her back, so she had learned their draconic language.
Kitiara heard, therefore, that the draconians had not sent a messenger to either the parade ground or the archery range. The draconians had sent the messenger to the Red Slipper, one of Haven’s most notorious bawdy houses.
Kitiara was escorted to the Fewmaster’s headquarters. Inside, she found half the tent jammed with pieces of furniture, rugs, and knick-knacks that had probably been stolen. The other side of the tent was neat and orderly. Weapons of various types were stacked along one side. A large map, spread out on the dirt floor, showed the positions of the different armies. Kitiara was standing over the map, studying it, when a draconian lifted the tent flap and entered. She recognized the draconian officer she had met in Ariakas’s office.
“Commander Grag,” she said.
“I am sorry I wasn’t on hand to welcome you properly, Highlord,” the bozak said, standing rigidly at attention, eyes forward. “We were not informed you were coming.”
“I did that deliberately, Commander,” she said. “I wanted to see the army when it wasn’t dressed up for show. Warts and all, so to sp
eak, which terms seems appropriate when speaking of your Fewmaster.”
The commander’s eyes flickered, but he did not shift his gaze. “We have sent for the Fewmaster, Highlord. He is out in the field—”
“—practicing his thrusts and parries,” suggested Kitiara slyly.
Commander Grag finally relaxed. “You could say that, Highlord.” He paused, regarded her intently. “You speak draconic, don’t you?”
“Enough to get by. Please, sit down.”
Grag cast the fragile chairs of elf make a disparaging glance. “Thank you, Highlord, but I prefer to stand.”
“It’s probably safer,” Kitiara agreed wryly. “You know why I’m here, Commander.”
“I have a good idea, yes, my lord.”
“I’m to recommend someone to become the new Highlord. You impressed the emperor, Grag.”
The draconian bowed.
“Would you like the job?” Kitiara asked.
Grag did not hesitate. “No, Highlord, but thank you for considering me.”
“Why not?” Kitiara asked with genuine curiosity.
Grag hesitated.
“You may speak freely,” she assured him.
“I am a fighter, Highlord, not a politician,” Grag answered. “I want to lead men in battle, not spend my time groveling to those in power. No offense intended, Highlord.”
“I understand,” said Kitiara, and she sighed. “Believe me, I do understand. So you do the soldiering and this Fewmaster Toede does the groveling.”
“The Fewmaster is quite good at his job, Highlord,” said Grag with a straight face.
At this moment, the Fewmaster came blundering through the tent opening. Catching sight of Kitiara, Toede rushed up to her. The first words out of his yellow mouth proved the truth of Grag’s assessment.
“Highlord, forgive me for not being here to welcome you,” the hobgoblin gasped. “These dolts”—he cast a furious glance at the commander—“did not inform me you were coming!”
Kit had encountered hobgoblins before. She’d even fought a few before the war began. She had no use for goblins, who could be counted on to turn tail and run the minute the fighting got tough, but she’d come to respect hobgoblins, who were bigger, uglier, and smarter than their cousins.
Dragons of the Highlord Skies Page 9