“Better off than what?” Steel demanded harshly.
“Those known as the Dead Ones. But, come, Sir Knight. Your commander desires to speak with you, and we are wasting his valuable time. He seemed quite impatient.”
“How do I talk to him? Where is he?” Steel peered into the shadows as if he expected Subcommander Trevalin to step out of the stone walls.
“I have no idea where he is. He did not tell me. Look into the pool.”
The Live Ones yammered in excitement. Several dragged their bodies near the edge, pointed to the water with their misshapen appendages. Steel regarded them, the dark elf, and the pool with suspicion.
“Go to the edge,” Dalamar instructed impatiently, “and look into the water. Nothing dreadful will happen to you. Get on with this, Sir Knight. Your commander’s time is not the only time wasted. Critical events are happening in this world, as I believe you are about to discover.”
Steel, still dubious, but accustomed to obeying orders, walked to the edge of the pool, careful not to step on any of the Live Ones in the process. He stared down into the dark water and, at first, saw nothing except the reflection of the blue flame. Then the flame and water blended, rippled. He had a terrifying feeling that he was falling into the pool, put out his hands to stop himself, and very nearly touched Subcommander Trevalin.
The subcommander stood in a burned-out shell of a castle. Scorch marks charred the walls; the ceiling beams had fallen in; the roof was now the sky.
The subcommander was holding a staff meeting, apparently, for many knights under his command were assembled in the large room. At the far end of the room sat another knight, this one clad in the armor of the Knights of Solamnia. Steel might have taken this knight for a prisoner, but the armor was charred and blackened like the fire-scourged castle walls. Eyes as red as flame burned through the slits of the metal helm. Steel knew then the name of this dread knight, knew where his commander was.
Dargaard Keep, home of the death knight, Lord Soth.
“Subcommander Trevalin.” Steel saluted.
The subcommander turned around. “Ah, Brightblade. You are still a guest of my lord Dalamar, I see.” The knight saluted. “I thank you, my lord, for conveying my message.”
Dalamar bowed, his mouth twisted in a half-smile, a half-sneer. He was in a very awkward position. He had no love for Takhisis’s gray-robed wizards, yet he was bound—at least outwardly—to do all he could to forward his Dark Queen’s cause.
“How goes your mission, Brightblade?” Trevalin continued. “The Gray Knights are most anxious to hear.” A quirk of his eyebrow expressed exactly what he thought of the Gray Knights and their anxiety.
Steel faced his superior steadfastly, unblinking. “My mission has failed, Subcommander. The White Robe, Palin Majere, has escaped.”
Trevalin was grave. “This is most unfortunate, Brightblade. Is there any possibility you can recapture the prisoner?”
Steel glanced sideways at Dalamar.
The dark elf shook his head. “Not where he has gone,” he said softly.
“No, Subcommander,” Steel replied.
“A pity.” Trevalin was suddenly cool. “Majere was sentenced to death. You gave your parole for his return. Since you have allowed him to escape, it is you who must take your prisoner’s place.”
“I am aware of that, Subcommander.”
“You will, of course, have the right to state your case before the adjudicator. In this instance, that would be Lord Ariakan himself, since he is your sponsor.” Trevalin appeared relieved. “Fortunately for you, Brightblade, and for me, Lord Ariakan is extremely busy at the moment. Your trial will, of necessity, be postponed. You are a skilled and valiant soldier. I would regret losing you on the eve of battle. Which brings me to my point. You are ordered to return to your talon.”
“Yes, Subcommander. When?”
“Now. Immediately. There is no time to waste. I have already dispatched Flare to pick you up.”
“Thank you, Subcommander. Do I join the talon at Dargaard Keep?”
“No, Brightblade. We will have moved by then. You will meet us in the Vingaard Mountains. At dawn tomorrow, we attack the High Clerist’s Tower. You should not have any trouble finding us,” Trevalin added, his witticism drawing laughter from the assembled knights. “The gods themselves will look down on this vast army and be amazed. But I will give you directions.”
Dalamar watched and listened to this conversation in silence. Toward the beginning, Jenna had entered the chamber, beckoned to him that she needed to speak to him. He gave her a sign to wait. Hearing what he needed to hear, Dalamar moved to the front of the chamber, came to stand beside Jenna.
“What is it? Keep your voice low.”
Jenna leaned toward him. “The girl is gone!”
Dalamar raised an eyebrow. “Gone? How?”
Jenna shrugged. “By magic. How else? She took out a vial, broke open the wax seal. Smoke rose from the vial. Before I could stop her, she had inhaled it and she changed into smoke. There was no way I could reverse the magic, not knowing what spell the Irda had used.”
“You probably couldn’t have halted it anyway,” Dalamar remarked. “And so she left?”
“The smoke cloud vanished. She vanished with it.”
“Interesting. I wonder, if she had this capability, why she didn’t leave sooner?”
“Perhaps, as you said, the Irda sent her to spy on us. Does this settle in your mind that she is at least part Irda?”
“No, it does not. A gully dwarf could have used those enchanted objects if someone had shown the creature how. This answers none of our questions about the girl. Well, she’s gone, and that’s that. We have more immediate worries. The Knights of Takhisis plan to attack the High Clerist’s Tower at dawn.”
Jenna’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Blessed Gilean!”
“They will win,” Dalamar said, frowning, glancing over at Steel.
Jenna gazed steadily at Dalamar. “Can it be that such news displeases you? Aren’t you on the side of your queen?”
“If Takhisis were on my side, I would be on hers,” Dalamar replied bitterly. “But she isn’t. My queen has seen fit to employ her own wizards to do her work. If the High Clerist’s Tower falls to her knights, the city of Palanthas will most assuredly surrender. We will be at the beck and call of the Gray Robes.”
Jenna was shocked. “Surely you don’t imagine they would dare try to take the Tower of High Sorcery from you?”
“In an instant, my dear! The Conclave will fight them, of course, but we saw how well that worked when we raided Storm’s Keep.”
Jenna nodded, pale and silent. Her father, Justarius, had died in that disaster.
“Nuitari must be finding it difficult to stand up to his mother,” Dalamar continued dryly, referring to the god of dark magic, the son of Takhisis. “I notice his power has been waning of late.”
“He is not alone,” Jenna said. “Lunitari has been strangely powerless and, according to a White Robe I spoke to in Wayreth yesterday, Solinari has been distant from his people as well.”
Dalamar nodded. “I believe I will take a little trip, my dear.”
“To the High Clerist’s Tower.” Jenna understood. “What do I do with the knight?”
“His blue dragon is coming to fetch him. Take him up to the Death Walk. I will part the magical shell that protects the tower itself long enough for the dragon to descend and pick up her master.”
“Should we let him go? We could make him prisoner.”
Dalamar considered the matter. “No. We will return him to his army. One knight more or less isn’t going to make any difference to the outcome of the battle.”
“We might use him as hostage—”
“The Knights of Takhisis would do nothing to save him. In fact, he’s marked for death if he returns. He lost his prisoner, you see.”
“Then he won’t go back. Why should he?”
“Est Sularus oth Mithas. My honor is
my life. The Knights of Solamnia said it first, but the Knights of Takhisis subscribe to the same silly code. Try to make him break it. I’m sure you’ll find his response quite amusing.
“Besides,” Dalamar added thoughtfully, “I’m not certain but that we may be doing Her Dark Majesty a disservice by returning this particular knight to her. He is not wholly under her command.”
Jenna shook her head. “You talk in riddles, my love. He looks pretty well bound to Takhisis to me. What should I do after I get rid of him?”
Dalamar stared into the dark pool. The light of the blue flame flared in his eyes. “If I were you, Jenna, my dear, I would begin packing.”
Steel concluded his conversation with his commanding officer. The spell ended; the enchantment lifted. Once more the knight stood beside the pool of dark water. Several of the Live Ones had gathered around him, poking and prodding at his armor with interest. Suppressing a shudder, he backed up swiftly, almost bumped into Jenna.
“You are leaving us, I hear, Sir Knight.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Steel replied. “My dragon is coming here.” He glanced around. “Where is Lord Dalamar?”
“My lord has gone to part the magical shield that surrounds this place. I will take you to the Death Walk. You can meet your dragon there. Unless you would rather walk through the Shoikan Grove again?” she added archly.
Steel, sensing he was being made sport of, maintained cold silence.
“Please follow me, Sir Knight.” Jenna motioned to the door. “We will step out into the hallway. I do not want to climb the thousand stairs, and I prefer not to cast a magical spell in this room. The enchantments do not blend well.”
Steel accompanied Jenna from the Chamber of Seeing, not sorry at leaving. Once in the hall outside, he drew in a deep breath. The tower’s air was dank and smelled of herbs and spice, mildew and decay, but at least it cleared his nostrils of the foul stench of the chamber.
Jenna regarded him curiously. “I must first ask, Sir Knight, if you are quite certain you want to leave us.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Steel asked, regarding her warily. “Is there a chance to find Majere?”
“Not in this life,” Jenna replied, smiling. “That wasn’t what I meant. Dalamar tells me that if you return to your army, you will be executed.”
Steel was calm. “I failed in my duty. The penalty is death.”
Jenna regarded him with wonder. “Then why return? Escape while you can!” She moved near him, said softly, “I will send you anywhere you want to go. Bury this armor, and you will be a new man. No one would ever know.”
“I would know, Mistress,” Steel replied.
Jenna shrugged. “Very well, then. It’s your funeral. Shut your eyes. It will help dispel the dizziness.”
Steel shut his eyes, heard the wizardess start to laugh.
“Dalamar was right. Most amusing!”
25
The well dressed dearf.
Double or nothing.
sha stood next to a cart full of fruit with no very clear idea of how she got here or where here was. Her body tingled all over, from head to toe; her head seemed filled with wispy, smoky fog, and her nose tickled.
She vaguely remembered pulling out the vial, sniffing it, inhaling a most pleasant fragrance, and that was all she knew until now, when she found herself standing in what appeared to be an open-air market crowded with people. Usha expected everyone to be staring at her—having just appeared out of nowhere—but no one was paying the least bit of attention.
The people had too many troubles of their own. No one was selling anything in the market, except rumors. People huddled in knots, talking in low, urgent tones. Occasionally someone from one group would leave, go over to another group, ask for news. Usha heard several times the words: “Kalaman has fallen!” spoken in tones of fear and alarm. Usha could make nothing of this. She did overhear enough to convince her that she was, once again, in Palanthas.
Usha sighed. She was not particularly pleased to find herself still in Palanthas, still close to the dread tower. Yet she would have been sad to have left Palanthas, to have left all hope of ever seeing Palin again. Even though she told herself such hope was remote, she nurtured it. She no longer felt friendless and alone. Someone cared for her. And she had someone to care for.
She couldn’t see the tower from where she stood, but then she couldn’t see over the rooftops of the tall buildings surrounding her. She hoped to slip away while no one was bothering about her, lose herself in the crowd. She must do something to earn these steel pieces which the Palanthians considered so valuable. She was thinking about this, wondering what she could do, when the smoke, lingering in her nose, caused an irritating tickle. She fought it, but could stand it no longer. Usha sneezed loudly.
A flashily dressed dwarf near her jumped in alarm, his boots clattering on the pavement.
“By Reorx’s beard, Lass, you gave me a fright!” The dwarf gasped, wheezed for breath; his hand pressed over his heart.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Usha began, but was interrupted by another sneeze.
“Have a cold, do you, Lass? I’m susceptible to colds.” The dwarf, eyeing her nervously, backed up a step.
Usha shook her head, unable to explain due to the onset of a third sneeze. The dwarf backed up still further, held his hat over his face.
“Bless you,” the dwarf said, somewhat belatedly.
Usha nodded her thanks, sniffed, and began to sort through her pouches for a handkerchief.
The dwarf offered his. It was white, lacy, and marked with the initials DR in fanciful stitchery on the corner. The handkerchief looked too fine and elegant to use. Usha, embarrassed, dabbed at her nose with a corner and, blushing, handed it back.
The dwarf stuffed the hankie in a pocket and regarded Usha with bright, cunning eyes.
“What is your name, Lass?”
“Usha, my lord,” Usha replied with a curtsey, judging—by his clothes—that this dwarf must be someone important, if not the lord of Palanthas himself.
“Not ‘my lord,’ Lassie,” the dwarf said, though he stroked his full, glossy beard proudly. “Dougan Redhammer, at your service.”
Usha knew that the dwarves were skilled artisans, handy with metal and stone, but she had never heard that they were leaders in fashion. The legendary beauty of the halls of the great cavern city of Thorbardin was nothing when compared to the dwarf’s red velvet waistcoat with golden buttons; the magnificence of the immense gates of Pax Tharkas dwindled to insignificance when held up against Dougan’s frilly silk shirt with lace cuffs.
Red velvet breeches, black stockings, black shoes with red heels, and a wide-brimmed hat with a jaunty red plume rounded out the dwarf’s finery. His beard was long and silky black and extended well past his stout middle; long black hair curled over his shoulders.
The fragrant smells of fresh fruit, which had been sitting in the hot noontime sun, distracted Usha’s attention from the dwarf. She had not expected to be hungry again, following the feast in the Tower of High Sorcery, but that had been some time ago, her stomach informed her. Usha took a quick, surreptitious glance at the vendor, was relieved to see it was not the one who’d had her arrested.
Still, she’d learned her lesson. She tore her gaze away with a sigh, ordered her insides to think about something else. They refused with a growl.
The dwarf saw the look, however, heard the sigh and the growl.
“Help yourself, Lass,” he said, waving his hand. “The plums are not as fresh as they were this morning, but the grapes are fine if you don’t mind them a bit shriveled from the heat.”
“Thank you,” Usha said, refusing to look in the direction of the fruit, “but I’m not hungry.”
“Then you’ve swallowed a small dog,” Dougan said bluntly. “I can hear the beast barking from here. Eat up. I’ve had my lunch, so you’ll not be offending me.”
“It’s not that.” Usha’s cheeks were pink. “I … I don’t have any of what they term
‘coins’ …”
“Ah, that is a problem.” Dougan stroked his beard, regarded Usha thoughtfully. “New to the city, eh?”
Usha nodded.
“Where are you living?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Usha said evasively. The strange dwarf was taking far too great an interest in her personal affairs. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Oh, this and that. Look, sir, it’s been very nice talking with you, but—”
“I understand. You’re newly arrived in the city and looking for work. Find it all a bit overwhelming, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, sir, it’s just—”
“I think I might be able to help you.” Dougan eyed her critically, his head cocked to one side. “You sneaked up on me pretty good. I never heard you coming, and that’s a fact.” Reaching out, he took hold of her hand, studied it. “Slender fingers. Deft, I’ll reckon. Quick? Skilled?”
“I … I suppose so.” Usha regarded the dwarf with confusion.
Dougan dropped her hand as if it had been a piece of sunbaked fruit, stared at her feet a good, long time, then lifted his gaze to her face, muttering to himself. “Eyes that would charm Hiddukel from his money-counting. Features that would raise Chemosh out of his own grave. She’ll do. Yes, indeed, Lassie,” he said, raising his voice. “I know some people who are looking for talent just like yours.”
“What talent?” Usha asked. “I don’t—”
But Dougan wasn’t listening. Plucking up a bunch of grapes, he thrust them in Usha’s hands. He added several plums, a large squash, and would have added turnips, but Usha couldn’t hold anything more. This done, the dwarf started to leave.
“Hey! You! Haven’t you forgotten something?” The vendor—a large human—had been talking over the rumored fall of Kalaman with several friends. The sight of someone attempting to make off with his wares drove all thoughts of impending war right out of his head. He loomed over the dwarf. “I said, ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ ”
Dragons of Summer Flame Page 31