Dragons of Spring Dawning

by Margaret Weis

  Ariakas paused, a faraway look in his eyes, his mind running back over ancient legends.

  “Lord Soth!” he said suddenly, turning to the figure. “Knight of the Black Rose.”

  The knight bowed in acknowledgment.

  “I had forgotten the ancient story of Dargaard Keep,” Ariakas murmured, regarding Kitiara thoughtfully. “You have more nerve than even I gave you credit for, lady, taking up residence in this accursed dwelling! According to legend, Lord Soth commands a troop of skeletal warriors—”

  “An effective force in a battle,” Kitiara replied, yawning. Walking over to a small table near a fireplace, she picked up a cut-glass carafe. “Their touch alone”—she regarded Ariakas with smile—“well, you know what their touch is like to those who lack the magic skills to defend against it. Some wine?”

  “Very well,” Ariakas replied, his eyes still on the transparent face of Lord Soth. “What about the dark elves, the banshee women who reputedly follow him?”

  “They’re here … somewhere.” Kit shivered again, then lifted her wine glass. “You’ll probably hear them before long. Lord Soth doesn’t sleep, of course. The ladies help him pass the long hours in the night.”

  For an instant, Kitiara paled, holding the wine glass to her lips. Then she set it down untouched, her hand shaking slightly. “It is not pleasant,” she said briefly. Glancing around, she asked, “What have you done with Garibanus?”

  Tossing off the glass of wine, Ariakas gestured negligently. “I left him … at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Dead?” Kitiara questioned, pouring the Highlord another glass.

  Ariakas scowled. “Perhaps. He got in my way. Does it matter?”

  “I found him … entertaining,” Kitiara said. “He filled Bakaris’s place in more than one respect.”

  “Bakaris, yes.” Lord Ariakas drank another glass. “So your commander managed to get himself captured as your armies went down to defeat!”

  “He was an imbecile,” Kitiara said coldly. “He tried riding dragonback, even though he is still crippled.”

  “I heard. What happened to his arm?”

  “The elfwoman shot him with an arrow at the High Clerist’s Tower. It was his own fault, and he now has paid for it. I had removed him from command, making him my bodyguard. But he insisted on trying to redeem himself.”

  “You don’t appear to be mourning his loss,” Ariakas said, eyeing Kitiara. The dressing gown, tied together only by two ribbons at the neck, did little to cover her lithe body.

  Kit smiled. “No, Garibanus is … quite a good replacement. I hope you haven’t killed him. It will be a bother getting someone else to go to Kalaman tomorrow.”

  “What are you doing at Kalaman—preparing to surrender to the elfwoman and the knights?” Lord Ariakas asked bitterly, his anger returning with the wine.

  “No,” Kitiara said. Sitting down in a chair opposite Ariakas, she regarded him coolly. “I’m preparing to accept their surrender.”

  “Ha!” Ariakas snorted. “They’re not insane. They know they’re winning. And they’re right!” His face flushed. Picking up the carafe, he emptied it into his glass.

  “You owe your death knight your life, Kitiara. Tonight at least. But he won’t be around you forever.”

  “My plans are succeeding much better than I had hoped,” Kitiara replied smoothly, not in the least disconcerted by Ariakas’s flickering eyes. “If I fooled you, my lord, I have no doubt that I have fooled the enemy.”

  “And how have you fooled me, Kitiara?” Ariakas asked with lethal calm. “Do you mean to say that you are not losing on all fronts? That you are not being driven from Solamnia? That the dragonlances and the good dragons have not brought about ignominious defeat?” His voice rose with each word.

  “They have not!” Kitiara snapped, her brown eyes flashing. Leaning across the table, she caught hold of Ariakas’s hand as he was about to raise the wine glass to his lips. “As for the good dragons, my lord, my spies tell me their return was due to an elflord and a silver dragon breaking into the temple at Sanction where they discovered what was happening to the good dragon eggs. Whose fault was that? Who slipped up there? Guarding that temple was your responsibility—”

  Furiously, Ariakas wrenched his hand free of Kitiara’s grip. Hurling the wine glass across the room, he stood and faced her.

  “By the gods, you go too far!” he shouted, breathing heavily.

  “Quit posturing,” Kitiara said. Coolly rising to her feet, she turned and walked across the room. “Follow me to my war room, and I will explain my plans.”

  Ariakas stared down at the map of northern Ansalon. “It might work,” he admitted.

  “Of course, it will work,” Kit said, yawning and stretching languidly. “My troops have run before them like frightened rabbits. Too bad the knights weren’t astute enough to notice that we always drifted southward, and they never wondered why my forces just seemed to melt away and vanish. Even as we speak, my armies are gathering in a sheltered valley south of these mountains. Within a week, an army several thousand strong will be ready to march on Kalaman. The loss of their ‘Golden General’ will destroy their morale. The city will probably capitulate without a fight. From there, I regain all the land we appear to have lost. Give me command of that fool Toede’s armies to the south, send the flying citadels I’ve asked for, and Solamnia will think it’s been hit by another Cataclysm!”

  “But the elfwoman—”

  “Need not concern us,” Kitiara said.

  Ariakas shook his head. “This seems the weak link in your plans, Kitiara. What about Half-Elven? Can you be certain he won’t interfere?”

  “It doesn’t matter about him. She is the one who counts and she is a woman in love.” Kitiara shrugged. “She trusts me, Ariakas. You scoff, but it’s true. She trusts me too much and Tanis Half-Elven too little. But that’s always the way of lovers. The ones we love most are those we trust least. It proved quite fortunate Bakaris fell into their hands.”

  Hearing a change in her voice, Ariakas glanced at Kitiara sharply, but she had turned from him, keeping her face averted. Immediately he realized she was not as confident as she seemed, and then he knew she had lied to him. The halfelf! What about him? Where was he, for that matter. Ariakas had heard a great deal about him, but had never met him. The Dragon Highlord considered pressing her on this point, then abruptly changed his mind. Much better to have in his possession the knowledge that she had lied. It gave him a power over this dangerous woman. Let her relax in her supposed complacency.

  Yawning elaborately, Ariakas feigned indifference. “What will you do with the elfwoman?” he asked as she would expect him to ask. Ariakas’s passion for delicate blonde women was well-known.

  Kitiara raised her eyebrows, giving him a playful look. “Too bad, my lord,” she said mockingly, “but Her Dark Highness has asked for the lady. Perhaps you could have her when the Dark Queen is finished.”

  Ariakas shivered. “Bah, she’ll be of no use to me then. Give her to your friend, Lord Soth. He liked elfwomen once upon a time, if I remember correctly.”

  “You do,” murmured Kitiara. Her eyes narrowed. She held up her hand. “Listen,” she said softly.

  Ariakas fell silent. At first he heard nothing, then he gradually became aware of a strange sound—a wailing keen, as if a hundred women mourned their dead. As he listened, it grew louder and louder, piercing the stillness of the night.

  The Dragon Highlord set down his wine glass, startled to see his hand trembling. Looking at Kitiara, he saw her face pale beneath its tan. Her large eyes were wide. Feeling his eyes upon her, Kitiara swallowed and licked her dry lips.

  “Awful, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “I faced horrors in the Towers of High Sorcery,” said Ariakas softly, “but that was nothing compared to this. What is it?”

  “Come,” Kit said, standing up.

  “If you have the nerve, I’ll show you.”

  Toge
ther, the two left the war room, Kitiara leading Ariakas through the winding corridors of the castle until they came back to Kit’s bedroom above the circular entryway with the vaulted ceiling.

  “Stay in the shadows,” Kitiara warned.

  An unnecessary warning, Ariakas thought as they crept softly out onto the balcony overlooking the circular room. Looking down over the edge of the balcony, Ariakas was overcome with sheer horror at the sight below him. Sweating, he drew back swiftly in the shadows of Kitiara’s bedroom.

  “How can you stand that?” he asked her as she entered and shut the door softly behind her. “Does that go on every night?”

  “Yes,” she said, trembling. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Within a moment she was back in control. “Sometimes I think I’m used to it, then I make the mistake of looking down there. The song isn’t so bad.…”

  “It’s ghastly!” Ariakas muttered, wiping cold sweat from his face. “So Lord Soth sits down there on his throne every night, surrounded by his skeletal warriors, and the dark hags sing that horrible lullaby!”

  “And it is the same song, always,” Kitiara murmured. Shivering, she absently picked up the empty wine carafe, then set it back down on the table. “Though the past tortures him, he cannot escape it. Always he ponders, wondering what he might have done to avoid the fate that dooms him to walk forever upon the land without rest. The dark elven women, who were part of his downfall, are forced to relive his story with him. Nightly they must repeat it. Nightly he must hear it.”

  “What are the words?”

  “I know them, now, almost as well as he does.” Kitiara laughed, then shuddered. “Call for another carafe of wine and I’ll tell you his tale, if you have the time.”

  “I have time,” Ariakas said, settling back in his chair. “Though I must leave in the morning if I am to send the citadels.”

  Kitiara smiled at him, the charming, crooked smile that so many had found so captivating.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I will not fail you again.”

  “No,” said Ariakas coolly, ringing a small silver bell, “I can promise you that, Kitiara. If you do, you will find his fate”—he motioned downstairs where the wailing had reached a shivering pitch—“a pleasant one compared to your own.”

  The Knight of the Black Rose

  As you know,” began Kitiara, “Lord Soth was a true and noble knight of Solamnia. But he was an intensely passionate man, lacking in self-discipline, and this was his downfall.

  “Soth fell in love with a beautiful elfmaid, a disciple of the Kingpriest of Istar. He was married at the time, but thoughts of his wife vanished at the sight of the elfmaid’s beauty. Forsaking both his sacred marriage vows and his knightly vows, Soth gave in to his passion. Lying to the girl, he seduced her and brought her to live at Dargaard Keep, promising to marry her. His wife disappeared under sinister circumstances.”

  Kitiara shrugged, then continued:

  “According to what I’ve heard of the song, the elfmaid remained true to the knight, even after she discovered his terrible misdeeds. She prayed to the Goddess Mishakal that the knight be allowed to redeem himself and, apparently, her prayers were answered. Lord Soth was given the power to prevent the Cataclysm, though it would mean sacrificing his own life.

  “Strengthened by the love of the girl he had wronged, Lord Soth left for Istar, fully intending to stop the Kingpriest and restore his shattered honor.

  “But the knight was halted in his journey by elven women, disciples of the Kingpriest, who knew of Lord Soth’s crime and threatened to ruin him. To weaken the effects of the elfmaid’s love, they intimated that she had been unfaithful to him in his absence.

  “Soth’s passions took hold of him, destroying his reason. In a jealous rage he rode back to Dargaard Keep. Entering his door, he accused the innocent girl of betraying him. Then the Cataclysm struck. The great chandelier in the entryway fell to the floor, consuming the elfmaid and her child in flames. As she died, she called down a curse upon the knight, condeming him to eternal, dreadful life. Soth and his followers perished in the fire, only to be reborn in hideous form.” “So this is what he hears,” Ariakas murmured, listening.

  And in the climate of dreams

  When you recall her, when the world of the dream

  expands, wavers in light,

  when you stand at the edge of blessedness and sun,

  Then we shall make you remember,

  shall make you live again

  through the long denial of body

  For you were first dark in the light’s hollow, expanding like a stain, a cancer

  For you were the shark in the slowed water beginning to move

  For you were the notched head of a snake, sensing forever warmth and form

  For you were inexplicable death in the crib, the long house in betrayal

  And you were more terrible than this in a loud alley of visions, for you passed through unharmed, unchanging

  As the women screamed, unraveling silence, halving the door of the world, bringing forth monsters

  As a child opened in parabolas of fire There at the borders of two lands burning

  As the world split, wanting to swallow you back willing to give up everything to lose you in darkness.

  You passed through these unharmed, unchanging, but now you see them

  strung on our words—on your own conceiving

  as you pass from night—to awareness of night

  to know that hatred is the calm of philosophers

  that its price is forever

  that it draws you through meteors

  through winter’s transfixion

  through the blasted rose

  through the sharks’ water

  through the black compression of oceans

  through rock—through magma

  to yourself—to an abscess of nothing

  that you will recognize as nothing

  that you will know is coming again and again

  under the same rules.

  3

  The trap …

  B akaris slept fitfully in his jail cell. Though haughty and insolent during the day, his nights were tortured by erotic dreams of Kitiara and fearful dreams of his execution at the hands of the Knights of Solamnia. Or perhaps it was his execution at Kitiara’s hands. He was never certain, when he woke in a cold sweat, which it had been. Lying in his cold cell in the still hours of the night when he could not sleep, Bakaris cursed the elven woman who had been the cause of his downfall. Over and over he plotted his revenge upon her—if only she would fall into his hands.

  Bakaris was thinking of this, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, when the sound of a key in the lock of his cell door brought him to his feet. It was near dawn, near the hour of execution! Perhaps the knights were coming for him!

  “Who is it?” Bakaris called harshly.

  “Hush!” commanded a voice. “You are in no danger, if you keep quiet and do as you are told.”

  Bakaris sat back down on his bed in astonishment. He recognized the voice. How not? Night after night it had spoken in his vengeful thoughts. The elfwoman! And the commander could see two other figures in the shadows, small figures. The dwarf and the kender, most likely. They always hung around the elfwoman.

  The cell door opened. The elfwoman glided inside. She was heavily cloaked and carried another cloak in her hand.

  “Hurry,” she ordered coldly. “Put this on.”

  “Not until I know what this is about,” Bakaris said suspiciously, though his soul sang for joy.

  “We are exchanging you for … for another prisoner,” Laurana replied.

  Bakaris frowned. He mustn’t seem too eager.

  “I don’t believe you,” he stated, lying back down on his bed. “It’s a trap—”

  “I don’t care what you believe!” Laurana snapped impatiently. “You’re coming if I have to knock you senseless! It won’t matter whether you are conscious or not, just so long as I’m abl
e to exhibit you to Kiti—the one wants you!”

  Kitiara! So that was it. What was she up to? What game was she playing? Bakaris hesitated. He didn’t trust Kit any more than she trusted him. She was quite capable of using him to further her own ends, which is undoubtedly what she was doing now. But perhaps he could use her in return. If only he knew what was going on! But looking at Laurana’s pale, rigid face, Bakaris knew that she was quite prepared to carry out her threat. He would have to bide his time.

  “It seems I have no choice,” he said. Moonlight filtered through a barred window into the filthy cell, shining on Bakaris’s face. He’d been in prison for weeks. How long he didn’t know, he’d lost count. As he reached for the cloak, he caught Laurana’s cold green eyes, which were fixed on him intently, narrow slightly in disgust.

  Self-consciously, Bakaris raised his good hand and scratched the new growth of beard.

  “Pardon, your ladyship,” he said sarcastically, “but the servants in your establishment have not thought fit to bring me a razor. I know how the sight of facial hair disgusts you elves!”

  To his surprise, Bakaris saw his words draw blood. Laurana’s face turned pale, her lips chalk-white. Only by a supreme effort did she control herself. “Move!” she said in a strangled voice.

  At the sound, the dwarf entered the room, hand on his battle-axe. “You heard the general,” Flint snarled. “Get going. Why your miserable carcass is worth trading for Tanis—”

  “Flint!” said Laurana tersely.

  Suddenly Bakaris understood!

  Kitiara’s plan began to take shape in his mind.

  “So—Tanis! He’s the one I’m being exchanged for.” He watched Laurana’s face closely. No reaction. He might have been speaking of a stranger instead of a man Kitiara had told him was this woman’s lover. He tried again, testing his theory. “I wouldn’t call him a prisoner, however, unless you speak of a prisoner of love. Kit must have tired of him. Ah, well. Poor man. I’ll miss him. He and I have much in common—”