Raistlin went back despairingly to his studies, a coward so cowardly he dared not admit he was one.
10
KITIARA ARRIVED IN KHOLOS’S CAMP THE AFTERNOON FOLLOWING the failed attack by the mercenaries on the city’s wall. She was later than she’d thought she would be, knew that Immolatus would be seething with impatience. The secret opening in the mountain proved to be farther from camp than she had guessed, the way more difficult to travel.
She found the dragon sleeping soundly in his tent, heedless of the furious hammerings of the blacksmith, whose portable forge was nearby.
Kit could hear Immolatus’s snore over the pounding of the smith’s hammer. She barged into the dragon’s tent without bothering to announce herself, tripped on something that rolled out from under her foot. Swearing roundly, she caught her balance, peered down at the object closely in the dim light.
A map case? She was about to pick it up when she saw that it was a scroll case, such as wizards use to carry their magic spells. Kit let the case lie. No telling what spells of protection might be laid upon it. Several other scroll cases lay scattered about, as well as numerous rings that had spilled out of a pouch and a broken crock of what had been, by the smell, chicken broth.
Here was a mystery. The scroll cases did not belong to Immolatus, nor did he appear to have any interest in them, since he left them lying on the ground. Kit guessed that some sort of meeting had occurred in her absence, though with whom she could not fathom. The scroll cases bespoke a wizard, the chicken broth a cook. Perhaps the camp cook was also a dabbler in magic. Kit hoped to the heavens that Immolatus had not insulted the cook. The food was bad enough as it was.
She stood glaring down at him, resenting the fact that he was here snug and cozy in his tent, taking a nap while she’d been out doing his dirty work. She took grim delight in waking him.
“Eminence.” Kit shook him by the shoulder. “Immolatus.”
He woke swiftly, eyes open, fully conscious, staring up at her with a fury and a loathing that was not directed so much at her but at the daily realization and bitter disappointment he experienced on waking to find himself imprisoned in human flesh. He glared up at her, his red eyes cold, hating her, despising her as he despised all her kind, regarding her as she herself might regard a bloated, swollen tick.
She moved her hand from his shoulder swiftly, took a step back. She had never known anyone rise from the depths of slumber to this level of awareness so quickly. There was something unnatural about it.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Eminence,” she said, and that much was true. “But I thought you would like to know that I succeeded in completing our assignment.” She really could not help adding a slight ironic emphasis to the plural. “I thought you might want to hear what I found.”
Glancing about, she added offhandedly, “What happened, Eminence? What is all this stuff?”
Immolatus sat up on the bed. He slept in his red robes, never removed them, never washed them, never bathed. He gave off a disgusting odor, a musty smell of death and decay that reminded Kitiara of the dragon’s dank lair.
“I had a most interesting encounter with a young mage,” Immolatus replied.
Kitiara kicked aside a scroll case that was in her way and sat down. “He must have left in a hurry.”
“Yes, he did not care to linger.” Immolatus smiled unpleasantly, muttered, “He has something I want.”
“Why didn’t you just take it from him?” Kit asked impatiently.
She was truly not the least bit interested. The journey had been long. She was tired and irritable. She had important information to convey, if only the dragon would shut up long enough to hear it.
“A typical human response.” Immolatus glowered. “There are subtleties involved that you would not understand. I will have the item, but in my own way and my own time. You will find a note on the table. I want you to take it to the young mage. He serves, I believe, with those we so quaintly term our allies.”
Immolatus gestured to a scroll case lying on the table. The scroll had been removed. Apparently the message was inside.
Kit started to angrily retort that she was not Immolatus’s errand boy. Fearing that this would provoke an argument, when all she wanted to do was to relay her information and go to bed, she swallowed the words.
“What is the mage’s name, my lord?” Kitiara asked.
“Magius,” returned Immolatus.
“Magius.” She left the tent, hailed a passing soldier, and handed over the scroll case with orders to see that it was delivered.
“Well, uth Matar?” Immolatus said, on her return, “what of your mission? Was it successful? I gather it was not, since you are stalling, refusing to tell me.”
In answer, Kitiara pulled the book from her belt and handed in to the dragon. “See for yourself, Eminence.”
He accepted the proffered book eagerly, almost snatching it from her hand. “So you did find the eggs of the metallic dragons.”
A low chuckle of malicious joy gurgled deep in his throat. He scanned the numbers covetously, as she explained her notation.
“I counted them by rows; there are quite a number of them. ‘G’ stands for ‘gold’ and ‘s’ for silver, so that ‘11/34 eggs s’ means that there are thirty-four silver dragon eggs in row number eleven.”
“I am quite capable of understanding your scrawls, despite the fact that they look as if a hen has walked over the pages.”
“I am glad my work pleases you, my lord,” Kitiara said, too tired to care if he heard the sarcasm or not.
He did not hear her. He was intent upon studying her notes, muttering to himself, performing calculations, nodding, pleased, and emitting that sinister chuckle. When he turned the page and saw the map, a smirk contorted his features. He very nearly purred with delight.
“So this … this is the route to the secret entrance in the mountain.” He eyed it, frowning. “It seems clear enough.”
“It will be quite clear to Commander Kholos,” Kitiara said, yawning. She held out her hand. “I’ll take it to him now, Eminence, if you’re finished with it.”
Immolatus did not hand it back. He stared with intense concentration at the map. Kitiara had the impression that he was committing the map to memory.
“Are you going to the cave, Eminence?” Kitiara asked, startled and uneasy. “There’s no reason for you to do so. I assure you that my figures are accurate. If you doubt me—”
“I do not doubt you, uth Matar,” said the dragon pleasantly. He was in an extremely good humor. “At least not more than I would doubt any worm such as yourself.”
“Then, Eminence,” said Kitiara, giving him one of her most charming smiles, “you should not waste your time traveling to this cave. Our work is finished. Now would be an excellent time for us to depart. General Ariakas gave orders that we were to return to him with this information as quickly as possible.”
“You are right, uth Matar,” said Immolatus. “You should return to General Ariakas immediately.”
“Eminence—”
The dragon was laughing at her. “I have no further need of your services, uth Matar. Go back to Ariakas and claim your reward. I am certain he will be most happy to provide it.”
Immolatus rose from his bed, brushed past her, heading out of the tent. Kitiara caught hold of his arm.
“What are you going to do?” she demanded.
He gazed balefully at her. “Release your hold of me, worm.”
“What are you going to do?” Kitiara knew the answer. What she didn’t know was what in the name of all that was holy she was going to do about it.
“That is my business, uth Matar,” he said. “Not yours. You have nothing to say in the matter.”
“You’re going to destroy the eggs.”
He shrugged off her grasp, again started to leave the tent.
“Damn it!” Kitiara pursued him, seized hold of his arm, digging her nails into his flesh. “You know your orders—”
&n
bsp; “My orders!” He rounded on her, furious, savage. “I do not take orders! Certainly not from some piddling human who sticks a horned helm on his head and calls himself a ‘dragonlord’!
“Oh, yes.” Immolatus bared his teeth in a scornful grin. “I have heard Ariakas term himself this. ‘Dragonlord!’ As if he or any other human had the right to link his puny might and his pitiful mortality with us! Not that I blame him. He thinks that by emulating us in this pathetic fashion, he can garner for himself some small portion of the respect and fear that all species on Krynn grant to us.”
The dragon snorted, a gout of flame flickered in his nostrils. He hissed his words. “Like a child parading around in his father’s armor, he will find the weight too heavy to bear, and he will fall, a victim to his own self-delusion!
“I am going to destroy the eggs,” the dragon said with soft fury. “Do you dare to try to stop me?”
Kitiara was in dire peril, but, as she saw it, she didn’t have much to lose.
“General Ariakas gave the order, that is true, Eminence,” she said, boldly meeting the dragon’s glaring eyes. “But we both know who it is who gives him his orders. Will you disobey your Queen?”
“In a heartbeat,” said Immolatus with a snap of his teeth. “You think I fear her? Perhaps I would, if Takhisis were in this world. She isn’t, you know. She’s trapped in the Abyss. Oh, she can rant and rave and stamp her pretty little foot but she can’t touch me. And therefore I will have my revenge. I will avenge myself on the foul golds and silvers who slaughtered my comrades and drove us into isolation and oblivion. I will destroy their young as they destroyed ours. I will destroy the evil temple of an accursed god. I will destroy the city in which the temple stands and then”—his tongue flicked, a flame licking blood—“I will destroy the descendant of Magius. My revenge on them all will be complete.”
The red eyes flickered. “You should leave while you can, uth Matar. If I find that Kholos and his rabble stand in my way, I will destroy them, as well.”
“Lord,” Kit argued desperately, “Her Dark Majesty has plans for these eggs.”
“So do I,” said Immolatus. “Soon Krynn and its people will see the true might of dragons. They will know that we have returned to take up our proper sphere—rulership of the world.”
Kitiara could not allow him to ruin Ariakas’s plans, could not allow the dragon to flout the orders of the Dark Queen. Above all, she could not allow Immolatus to wreck her plans and hopes and ambitions.
She drew her sword as he talked, her motion swift and fluid. Had Immolatus been human, he would have found a foot of steel in his gut before he could draw his next breath.
He was not human. He was a dragon, a red dragon, one of the most powerful beings on Krynn. Flame enveloped Kitiara. The air sizzled and crackled around her, burned her lungs when she tried to draw breath enough to scream, searing her flesh. She fell to her knees and waited to die.
The flames abated suddenly. She was not hurt, she realized after a moment, except for the horrible memory of being burned alive. For the moment, that’s all it was, a memory. A memory and a threat. She remained where she had fallen, dejected, defeated.
“Farewell, uth Matar,” said Immolatus pleasantly. “Thank you for your help.” He left with a smile, a mocking bow, and a snap of his teeth.
Kitiara watched him walk out of the tent, watched her career walk out the tent with him.
She remained in her crouched and fallen position until she was certain that he would not return. Painfully, stiffly, she leveraged herself to her feet, using the cot to assist her. Once up and moving about, Kitiara felt better.
She walked outside, drew in a deep breath. Smoke-polluted air was better than the fetid, dragon-tinged air inside that tent. She sought a secluded part of the camp, found it behind the gallows. No one came here if he could help it. The only drawback was the flies. Kit ignored them. Alone, unseen, Kitiara mulled over her predicament.
She could not—must not—allow Immolatus to proceed with his intentions. Kit cared nothing for the dragon eggs. She cared nothing for the city or its inhabitants. As for the temple, after her unpleasant experience, she would have gleefully helped Immolatus destroy it herself. But she could not indulge in personal revenge, nor could the dragon. There was too much at stake here, the prize for which they gambled was enormous. And now, instead of placing what they’d won on the final bet, the dragon was going to spend their winnings on dinner and a show. And what a show it would be! Kitiara stomped the ground in anger and frustration.
Soon everyone in Ansalon would know that dragons had returned. Ariakas’s army was not yet ready to launch a full-scale assault. That much was obvious by simply looking around this camp. Kholos and his raw recruits would be dog’s meat for Solamnic Knights or any other well-trained force. They would lose the war before it had even started, all because one arrogant and egotistical monster decided to spit in his Queen’s eye.
“I cannot best him in a fight,” Kitiara muttered, walking ten paces one direction, turning and walking ten paces back. “His magic is too powerful. He’s proven that. But even the most powerful mage has a weak spot—right between the shoulder blades.”
She drew her dagger from her boot, stood turning the blade in her hand, watching the sunlight glint off the sharp steel. Though “Sir Nigel” might have been a phony Knight, he was true to his promise. She had recovered both her sword and her knife from the cavern.
“Even dragons don’t have eyes in the backs of their heads. And Immolatus thinks himself invincible, always a mistake.”
Locating a knot on a tree about twenty paces from where she stood, Kit held the dagger by the blade, aimed, and threw. The blade flashed through the air, buried itself about a handsbreadth from the knothole.
Kit grimaced. “Always did pull to the right.” Going to the tree, she yanked out the dagger, which was buried in the wood almost to the hilt. “That would have killed him,” she reflected. “At least when he’s in human form. It wouldn’t have done much to a dragon.”
The thought was daunting. If he changed form, she didn’t stand a chance. A horrible qualm seized her—suppose he had changed form already! He might, since he obviously didn’t give a damn about anyone seeing him. He might have decided to fly to the cavern. …
No, Kit reflected. Immolatus would remain in his disguise, at least until he reached the cave. For all he knew, the eggs might have a guardian. He had been in such a hurry, he never asked her about that. A guardian who wouldn’t be concerned at the coming of a red-robed mage, but who would sound the alarm at the advent of a red dragon.
Immolatus would use his human form to sneak inside the cave. At least that’s what she hoped he had the good sense to do. And at the thought of relying on the dragon’s good sense, Kitiara shook her head and sighed.
But whether he did or he didn’t, she didn’t have much choice. She had to find a way to stop him or she would be nothing but an itinerant sell-sword for the rest of her days.
Like your father, said an unbidden voice inside her.
Ignoring the voice, angry with it, Kitiara replaced the dagger in her boot and set off on the trail of the dragon.
11
MASTER SENEJ WAS RIGHT. HIS COMPANY’S MORALE LIFTED CONSIDERABLY on being told they had been chosen to infiltrate the city and undermine its defenses from the inside. The mission was dangerous, but after having been forced to endure the deadly fire from the walls without being able to strike back, the men welcomed the opportunity.
“This is what we’ve been trained for,” Sergeant Nemiss told her assembled troops. “Secrecy, stealth. Right up our alley. Here’s the plan.
“We scale the cliffs to the south of the city, cross over a ridge, and climb down the mountain. We enter the city on the side of the wall that butts up against the mountain. No one will be looking for us to come that way, so it should be minimally guarded.
“The baron’s map shows that there is a warehouse district located near an old abandoned te
mple close to where we go over the wall. From what we hear, no one has goods to sell, so we should find the warehouse empty. The plan is to reach the city before dawn tomorrow, hole up in the warehouse during the day. Late the next night we launch our attack.”
Sergeant Nemiss jerked a thumb in the direction of Raistlin, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd.
“The wizard Raistlin Majere will be marching with us.”
“Hurrah!” yelled Caramon from his place in the ranks.
Raistlin flushed deeply and cast his brother an annoyed glance. He noted that the rest of the members of C Company were not nearly so enthusiastic at the idea. Horkin’s long years of service had endeared him to the men, who tended to regard his being a mage as a minor personality flaw that they, as friends, were more than willing to overlook. Raistlin’s odd appearance, his sickly demeanor, and his tendency to remain aloof from the other soldiers combined to make them chary of his company.
The men muttered into their beards, but no one said anything aloud. Caramon was watching them and those few who had come into contact with his fists had a healthy respect for his ability to punish any insult, real or imagined, to his twin. Sergeant Nemiss was also watching them. She would not tolerate any “bellyaching” about orders. Thus Raistlin was accepted into Flank Company without a word of complaint. One man even offered to carry his gear for him, but Caramon took that upon himself.
Raistlin would carry his scrolls, his staff, and his magical components himself. He would have liked to have taken along a spellbook, for though he had finally been able to memorize the spells Horkin considered necessary to an operation of this kind, Raistlin would have felt more confident with several more hours of study. But Horkin said that the risk of the precious spellbook falling into enemy hands was too great.
“I can replace you, Red,” he added jovially. “I can’t replace that spellbook.”
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