Dragons of the Highlord Skies

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  “If you are trying to say that the kender is a little liar, I am aware of that,” stated Derek impatiently. “The kender is not lying now. We have proof of the veracity of his claims. I think you and your friends should come see for yourselves.”

  “If Tasslehoff has been able to help you, I am glad. I’m sure Tanis will want to speak to him,” Sturm added wryly. “Now, if there is nothing more to discuss—”

  “Just one thing—who is the woman in the veil?” Brian asked curiously, glancing over his shoulder.

  The woman was still seated on a bench, speaking to the true elf and the half-elf. The dwarf stumped about nearby.

  “Lady Alhana, daughter of the King of Silvanesti,” Sturm answered. His gaze warmed as it fell upon her.

  “Silvanesti!” Aran repeated, amazed. “She is far from home. What is a Silvanesti elf doing in Tarsis?”

  “The reach of the Dark Queen is long,” said Sturm gravely. “The dragonarmies are about to invade her homeland. The lady has risked her life to travel to Tarsis in search of mercenaries to help the elves fight off their foes. It was for that she was arrested. Mercenaries are not welcome in this city, nor are those who seek to hire them.”

  “Do you mean to say the dragonarmies have moved so far south that they threaten to attack Silvanesti?” asked Brian, aghast.

  “So it would seem, my lord,” Sturm replied. He glanced at Derek and said in tones of sympathy and regret, “I hear war has come to Solamnia as well.”

  “Castle Crownguard fell to the dragonarmies, as did Vingaard,” said Derek stolidly, “and all the realm to the east. Palanthas yet stands, as does the High Clerist’s’ Tower, but the fiends may launch an attack at any moment.”

  “I am sorry, my lord,” said Sturm earnestly, and he looked Derek in the eye for the first time. “Truly sorry.”

  “We do not need sympathy. What we need is the power to drive these butchers from our homeland,” Derek replied harshly. “That is why this dragon orb is of such vital importance. According to the kender, it confers upon the one who masters it the ability to control dragons.”

  “If that is true, it would indeed be good news for all of us who fight for the cause of freedom,” Sturm said. “I will go inform my friends.”

  He walked off to speak to the half-elf.

  “Now, I suppose we must be civil to these people,” said Derek dourly, and bracing himself, he went to join Sturm.

  Aran stared after him. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Brian? He’s being nice to Brightblade so he will help us keep hold of the kender. Otherwise, Derek wouldn’t give Sturm the back of his hand.”

  “Maybe,” Brian admitted. “though, to do him justice, I honestly believe Derek doesn’t think of it like that. In his mind, he’s doing this for Solamnia.”

  Aran tugged on his mustaches. “You’re a good friend to him, Brian. I wish he deserved you.”

  He started to reach for his flask, then remembered it was empty, and with a sigh sauntered off to make the acquaintance of Sturm Brightblade’s regrettable friends.

  As it turned out, one was not so regrettable, not even to Derek, who felt no reduction of his dignity upon being introduced to the Lady Alhana. The Solamnics had not been ruled by a king for many centuries, but the knights were still respectful of royalty and charmed by it, especially by such surpassingly beautiful royalty as Alhana Starbreeze.

  They proceeded to the library, where they found the kender perusing books with the magical glasses. The half-elf, who had been presented to them as Tanis Half-Elven, was inclined to be severe with Tas for running off, but eventually Tanis relented, when it appeared that Tasslehoff was actually able to read the ancient texts and was not making it all up.

  While the knights and the kender and his friends were talking, Brian slipped away to go in search of Lillith. He had been disappointed to find, on his return, that she had left upon some errand. He went back to the entrance and found Marcus peering nervously up the stairs.

  “There’s a bad feeling in the air,” he said. “Do you notice?”

  Brian remembered Aran saying the same thing not so long ago. Now that Marcus had called his attention to it, Brian did feel ill-at-ease. As Aran had said, it was as though someone were walking across his grave.

  “Where’s Lillith?” Brian asked.

  “She’s praying in our chapel,” Marcus replied. He indicated a room off to one side of the main entrance. Another door, marked with the book and the scales, stood partway ajar.

  Brian was startled by this. He didn’t know what to do.

  “It’s just … we might be leaving soon … I wanted to see her …”

  “You can go in,” Marcus said, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt—” “It’s all right.”

  Brian hesitated, then he walked over and gently pushed on the door.

  The chapel was quite small, large enough for only a few people at a time. At the far end was an altar. On the altar lay an open book and beside it was a scale of balance, perfectly poised so that both sides were equal. Lillith was not kneeling, as Brian had half expected. She sat cross-legged before the altar, very much at her ease. She was speaking in a low voice, but it did not seem that she was praying so much as holding a conversation with her god, for she would occasionally emphasize a point with a gesture.

  Brian opened the door a little farther, intending to slip into the back of the room, but the door hinges creaked. Lillith turned around and smiled at him.

  “I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Gilean and I were just talking,” she said. “You speak of him as though he were a friend,” said Brian.

  “He is,” said Lillith, rising to her feet. Her dimple flashed.

  “But he’s a god. At least, you believe he is a god,” said Brian.

  “I respect and revere him as a god,” Lillith answered, “but when I come to him, he makes me feel welcome as if I were visiting an old friend.”

  Brian glanced down at the altar, trying to think of some way to change the subject, which made him uncomfortable. He looked at the book, thinking it must be some holy text, and said in astonishment, “The pages of the book are blank. Why is that?”

  “To remind us that our lives are made up of blank sheets waiting to be filled,” Lillith replied. “The book of life is open when we are born, and it closes with our death. We write in it continually, but no matter how much we write, what joy or sorrow we experience or what mistakes we have made, we will always turn the page, and tomorrow’s page is always blank.”

  “Some people might find that prospect daunting,” said Brian somberly, looking down at the page, so starkly white and empty.

  “I find it filled with hope,” said Lillith. She moved close to him.

  He took hold of her hands and clasped them in his own. “I know what I want to write on tomorrow’s page. I want to write my love for you.”

  “Then let us write it on today’s page,” said Lillith softly. “We will not wait for tomorrow.”

  A small cut-crystal jar filled with ink stood on the altar; beside it was a feather pen. Lillith dipped the quill in the ink and then, half-serious and half-laughing, she drew a heart on the page, as might a child, and wrote his name, Brian, inside the heart.

  Brian picked up the pen and was going to write her name, but he was interrupted by the sound of horn calls coming from outside the library. Though the horns were distant, far away, still he recognized them. His stomach clenched. His heart thudded. His hand jerked and dropped the pen that had been forming the letter “L”.

  He turned toward the door.

  “What is that dreadful noise?” Lillith gasped.

  The blaring noise was growing louder by the moment. She grimaced at the discordant, raucous blaring.

  “What is it?” she asked urgently. “What does it mean?”

  “The dragonarmies,” said Brian, striving to be calm for her sake. “What we feared has happened. Tarsis is under attack.”

/>   He and Lillith looked at each other. This was the moment they must part, he to his duty, she to hers. They gave each other the gift of a precious moment, a moment to cling to each other, a moment to memorize a loved face, a moment they would each hold in the coming darkness. Then they let go, each turning away.

  “Marcus,” Lillith called, running out of the chapel. “Fetch the Aesthetics! Bring them here!”

  “Derek!” Brian shouted. “The dragonarmies! I’m going out to take a look!”

  He was about to race up the stairs when he heard raised voices coming from the library’s interior. Brian groaned inwardly. He could guess what was going on. He turned from the stairs and made his way among the bookshelves, moving as rapidly as possible, hoping to head off a dispute.

  “Where do you think you are going, kender?” Derek could be heard shouting.

  “With Tanis!” Tas yelled back, sounding amazed at the question. “You’re knights. You can get along fine without me, but my friends need me!”

  “We offer you our protection, Half-Elven,” Derek was saying as Brian arrived. “Are you turning that down?”

  “I thank you, Sir Knight,” Tanis replied, “but as I told you, we cannot go with you. We have friends in the Red Dragon. We must return to them—”

  “Bring the kender, Sturm,” Derek ordered, “and come with us.”

  “I cannot, sir,” Sturm replied. He rested his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. “He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.”

  Derek was incensed that Sturm Brightblade, a Solamnic, would have the temerity to refuse a direct order from a knight who was his superior by birth, and to add insult to injury, instead proudly proclaim that he obeyed the orders of some half-breed elf.

  Tanis understood. He started to say something, perhaps to try to assuage Derek’s ire, but Derek intervened.

  “If that is your decision, I cannot stop you,” Derek said, cold with anger. “But this is another black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.”

  Sturm went livid. He cast a conscience-stricken look at the half-elf, who appeared considerably astonished.

  “What did he say?” the dwarf demanded. “The knight’s not a knight?”

  “Leave it, Flint,” said Tanis quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, of course it doesn’t matter.” Flint shook his fist under Derek’s nose. “We’re glad he’s not one of you stuck-up steel-for-brains knights! It would serve you right if we did leave you with the kender!”

  “Tanis,” Sturm said in low tones, “I can explain—”

  “There’s no time for explanations!” Tanis was shouting in his urgency. “Listen! They’re coming closer. Gentlemen, I wish you success. Sturm, see to the Lady Alhana. Tasslehoff, you’re coming with me.” Tanis laid firm hands on the kender. “If we get separated, we’ll meet at the Red Dragon Inn.”

  The horn calls were coming closer. Tanis managed to marshal his friends together and they hurried off, following the kender, who knew the path through the bookshelves. Derek glared at the books piled on the table in frustration. There were a number not yet studied.

  “At least we know there’s an orb in Icereach, and we know what it does,” Aran pointed out. “Now let’s get out of this city before all hell breaks loose.”

  “The horses are stabled near the main gate. We can escape in the confusion—” Brian added.

  “We need that kender!” Derek stated.

  “Derek, be reasonable,” Aran said, but Derek was unpacking his armor and refused to heed him.

  The time for disguising themselves was past. They might have to fight their way out of the city, and Aran and Derek buckled on their breastplates over chain mail and put on their helms. Brian, who had lost his armor when his horse ran off, had to make do with his leather. They sorted through their gear, took only what they deemed necessary, and left the rest behind. They made their way among the books, back to the entrance.

  “I thank you for your assistance, Mistress,” Derek said to Lillith, who was keeping guard on the door. “How do we find the Red Dragon Inn?”

  Lillith stared at him in astonishment. “This is a strange time to go inquiring for a room, sir.”

  “Please, Mistress, we don’t have much time,” Derek stated.

  Lillith shrugged. “Go back to the center of the city. The inn’s not far from the Hall of Justice.”

  “You go on ahead,” said Brian to the others. “I’ll catch up.”

  Derek cast him an annoyed glance, but made no comment. Aran grinned at Brian and winked, then he and Derek dashed up the stairs.

  Brian turned to Lillith. “Shut and seal the door. They won’t find it—”

  “I will,” she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she was composed and even managed a smile. “I’m waiting for the other Aesthetics to come. We have laid in supplies. We’ll be safe. Draconians are not interested in books—”

  No, thought Brian, despairing, they’re only interested in killing.

  He gave her a last, lingering kiss, then—hearing Derek bellowing—he tore himself away from her and ran after his friends.

  “May the Gods of Light watch over you!” she called after him.

  Brian glanced back over his shoulder and waved his hand in farewell. The last he saw of her, she was smiling and waving, then a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

  Brian looked up to see the red wings and enormous red body of a dragon. The dragonfear swept over him, crushing hope and rending courage. His sword arm faltered. He staggered as he ran, barely able to breathe for the terror that seemed to darken everything around him.

  The dragonarmies had not come to conquer Tarsis. They had come to destroy it.

  Brian fought against the fear that twisted inside him so that he was nearly physically ill. He wondered if Derek and Aran were watching him, a witness to his weakness, and pride and anger bolstered him. He kept running. The red monster flew by, heading toward those sections of Tarsis where panic-stricken people were thronging into the streets.

  Brian found Aran and Derek sheltered in the shadows of a crumbling doorway.

  More red dragons came, their wings filling the skies. The knights heard the roaring of the monstrous beasts, saw them wheel and dive down upon their helpless victims, breathing great gouts of fire that incinerated everything and everyone it touched. Smoke began to rise as buildings exploded into flame. Even from this distance, they could hear the horrible screams of the dying.

  Aran had gone ashen. Derek maintained his stern composure but only by great effort. He had to lick his lips twice before he could speak.

  “We’re going to the inn.”

  They all ducked involuntarily as a red dragon flew overheard, his belly skimming the treetops. Had the dragon looked down, he would have seen them, but the beast’s fierce eyes were staring hungrily ahead. He was eager to join in the slaughter.

  “Derek, that’s madness,” Aran hissed. Sweat beaded his lip beneath his helm. “The dragon orb is what is important. Forget the damn kender!” He pointed to the thickening coils of black smoke. “Look at that! We might as well march into the Abyss!”

  Derek gave him a cold look. “I’m going to the inn. If you’re afraid, I’ll meet you back at our campsite.”

  He started off, running down the street, dodging from one shelter to another, diving from a doorway to a grove of trees to a building, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the dragons.

  Brian looked helplessly at Aran, who flung up his hands in exasperation.

  “I suppose we’ll have to go with him! At least maybe we can keep the idiot from getting himself killed.”

  BOOK III

  1

  The Red Dragon Inn. The chase.

  pon leaving Icereach, Kitiara and Skie had met up with her force of blue dragons and her sivak draconian guards, who had been loitering about on the outsk
irts of Thorbardin, keeping watch on the dwarven kingdom to see if those on the bounty list turned up. Kit had a good excuse for going to Tarsis. Ariakas had recently promoted Fewmaster Toede to the position of Dragon Highlord of the Red Wing, though on a temporary basis. Kitiara could tell the emperor she had gone to view the battle brewing there to see how the hobgoblin conducted himself.

  The blue dragons had heard about the possibility of an attack on the city and were eager to get in on the fighting. Skie was the only dragon who was not pleased at the prospect, and this was because he knew the truth. Kitiara wasn’t going to Tarsis to fight or to evaluate the hobgoblin. She was going for her own personal reasons. She’d told him as much.

  Skie revered Kitiara as few dragons in the history of Krynn had revered a human. He honored Kitiara’s courage. He could personally attest to her skill and her intelligence when it came to warfare. He credited her tactics and strategy with having conquered much of Solamnia, and he was convinced that if Kitiara had been in charge of the war instead of Ariakas they would have now been taking their ease in the conquered city of Palanthas. Kitiara was calm and cold-blooded, masterful and courageous in battle. But when it came to her personal life, she gave in to her wayward passions and let desire master her.

  She went from lover to lover, using them, then discarding them. She thought she was in control of these affairs, but Skie knew better. Kitiara thirsted for love as some thirst for dwarf spirits. She hungered for it as a glutton does his dinner. She needed men to adore her and even when she no longer loved them they were supposed to continue to love her. Ariakas was perhaps the sole exception, and that was because Kitiara had let him love her simply to achieve advancement. They understood each other, probably because they were alike. He required of women what Kit required of men. He was the only man Kitiara feared, and she was the only woman to daunt Ariakas.

  Take this Bakaris, Skie thought. Kitiara’s sub-commander and her current lover. Charming, handsome, he was an adequate soldier, but certainly not her equal. Left to his own devices in Solamnia, which is where he was now, he’d make a pig’s breakfast of the battle should they be called upon to fight. Skie only hoped that this foray into the south didn’t keep her away from the war too long.