Dragons of Spring Dawning

by Margaret Weis

  It might have been mid-afternoon—by now the captain had completely lost track of time (those blasted citadels cut off the sunlight)—when one of the guards appeared, requesting his presence at the front gates.

  “What is it?” the captain snarled impatiently, fixing the guard with a piercing gaze from his one good eye (the other had been lost in a battle with the elves in Silvanesti). “Another fight? Knock ’em both over the head and haul ’em to prison. I’m sick—”

  “N-not a fight, sir,” stuttered the guard, a young goblin terrified of his human captain. “The watch at the g-gate sent m-me. T-Two officers with p-prisoners want p-permission to enter.”

  The captain swore in frustration. What next? He almost told the goblin to go back and let them enter. The place was crawling with slaves and prisoners already. A few more wouldn’t matter. Highlord Kitiara’s troops were gathering outside, ready to come in. He had to be on hand to extend official greetings.

  “What kind of prisoners?” he asked irritably, trying hastily to catch up on reams of paperwork before leaving to attend the ceremony. “Drunken draconians? Just take them—”

  “I—I think you should c-come, s-sir.” The goblin was sweating, and sweating goblins are not pleasant to be around. “Th-There’s a couple of h-humans, and a k-kender.”

  The captain wrinkled his nose. “I said,” He stopped. “A kender?” he said, looking up with considerable interest. “There wasn’t, by any chance, a dwarf?”

  “Not as I know of, sir,” answered the poor goblin. “But I might have missed one in the c-crowd, sir.”

  “I’ll come,” the captain said. Hastily strapping on his sword, he followed the goblin down to the front gate.

  Here, for the moment, peace reigned. Ariakas’s troops were all within the tent city now. Kitiara’s were jostling and fighting, forming ranks to march inside. It was nearly time for the ceremony to begin. The captain cast a swift glance over the group standing before him, just inside the front gates.

  Two dragonarmy officers of high rank stood guard over a group of sullen prisoners. The captain studied the prisoners carefully, remembering orders he had received only two days ago. He was to watch, in particular, for a dwarf traveling with a kender. There might possibly be an elflord with them and an elfwoman with long, silver hair—in reality, a silver dragon. These had been the companions of the elfwoman they were holding prisoner, and the Dark Queen expected any or all of them to attempt to rescue her.

  Here was a kender, all right. But the woman had curly red hair, not silver, and if she was a dragon, the captain would eat his plate-mail. The stooped old man with the long scraggly beard was certainly human, not a dwarf or an elflord. All in all, he couldn’t imagine why two dragonarmy officers had bothered taking the motley group prisoner.

  “Just slit their throats and be done with it instead of bothering us,” the captain said sourly. “We’re short of prison space as it is. Take them away.”

  “But what a waste!” said one of the officers—a giant of a man with arms like tree-trunks. Grabbing the red-headed girl, he dragged her forward. “I’ve heard they’re paying good money in the slave markets for her kind!”

  “You’re right there,” the captain muttered, running his good eye over the girl’s voluptuous body, which was enhanced, to his mind, by her chain-mail armor. “But I don’t know what you think you’ll get for this lot!” He poked the kender, who gave an indignant cry, and was instantly shushed by the other dragonarmy guard. “Kill ’em—”

  The big dragonarmy officer seemed confounded by this argument, blinking in obvious confusion. Before he could reply, however, the other officer—who had been quiet and hidden in the background—stepped forward.

  “The human’s a magic-user,” the officer said. “And we believe the kender is a spy. We caught him near Dargaard Keep.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place,” the captain snapped, “instead of wasting my time. Yeah, go ahead and haul ’em inside,” he spoke hurriedly as horns blared. It was time for the ceremony, the massive iron gates were shivering, beginning to swing open. “I’ll sign your papers. Hand them over.”

  “We don’t have—” began the big officer.

  “What papers do you mean?” the bearded officer cut in, fumbling in a pouch. “Identification—”

  “Naw!” said the captain, fuming in impatience. “Your leave of absence from your commander to bring in prisoners.”

  “We weren’t given that, sir,” said the bearded officer coolly. “Is that a new order?”

  “No, it isn’t,” said the captain, eyeing them suspiciously. “How’d you get through the lines without it? And how do you expect to get back? Or were you going back? Thinking of taking a little trip with the money you’d make from these, were you?”

  “Naw!” The big officer flushed angrily, his eyes flaring. “Our commander just forgot, maybe, that’s all. He’s got a lot on his mind, and there’s not much mind there to handle it, if you take my meaning.” He glared at the captain menacingly.

  The gates swung open. Horns blared loudly. The captain sighed in frustration. Right now he was supposed to be standing in the center, prepared to greet the Lord Kitiara. He beckoned to some of the Dark Queen’s guards who were standing nearby.

  “Take ’em below,” he said, twitching his uniform into place. “We’ll show them what we do to deserters!”

  As he hurried off, he saw with pleasure that the Queen’s guards were carrying out their assignments, quickly and efficiently grabbing the two dragonarmy officers and divesting them of their weapons.

  Caramon cast an alarmed glance at Tanis as the draconians grasped him by the arms and unbuckled his sword belt. Tika’s eyes were wide with fear, this certainly wasn’t the way things were supposed to be going. Berem, his face nearly hidden by his false whiskers, looked as if he might cry or run or both. Even Tasslehoff seemed a bit stunned by the sudden change in plans. Tanis could see the kender’s eyes dart around, seeking escape.

  Tanis thought frantically. He believed he had considered every possible occurrence when he had formed this plan for entering Neraka, but he’d obviously missed one. Certainly being arrested as a deserter from the dragonarmies had never crossed his mind!

  If the guards took them into the dungeons, it would be all over. The moment they took off his helmet, they’d recognize him as half-elven. Then they’d examine the others more closely … they’d discover Berem.…

  He was the danger. Without him Caramon and the others might still pull it off. Without him …

  There was a blaring of trumpets and wild cheering from the crowd as a huge blue dragon bearing a Dragon Highlord entered the Temple gates. Seeing the Highlord, Tanis’s heart constricted with pain and, suddenly, a wild elation. The crowd surged forward roaring Kitiara’s name and, for the moment, the guards were distracted as they looked to see if the Highlord might be in danger. Tanis leaned as near Tasslehoff as he could.

  “Tas!” he said swiftly, under the cover of the noise, hoping Tas remembered enough elven to understand him. “Tell Caramon to keep up the act. No matter what I do, he must trust me! Everything depends on that. No matter what I do. Understand?”

  Tas stared at Tanis in astonishment, then nodded hesitantly. It had been a long time since he’d been forced to translate elven.

  Tanis could only hope he understood. Caramon spoke no elven at all, and Tanis didn’t dare risk speaking Common, even if his voice was swallowed by the noise of the crowd. As it was, one of the guards wrenched his arm painfully, ordering him to be silent.

  The noise died down, the crowd was bullied and shoved back into place. Seeing things under control, the guards turned to lead their prisoners away.

  Suddenly Tanis stumbled and fell, tripping his guard, who sprawled headlong into the dust.

  “Get up, slime!” Cursing, the other guard cuffed Tanis with the handle of a whip, striking him across the face. The half-elf lunged for the guard, grabbing the whip handle and the hand th
at held it. Tanis yanked with all his strength, and his sudden move sent the guard head over heels. For a split second, he was free.

  Hurling himself forward, aware of the guards behind him, aware also of Caramon’s astonished face, Tanis threw himself toward the regal figure riding the blue dragon.

  “Kitiara!” he yelled, just as the guards caught hold of him. “Kitiara!” he screamed, a hoarse, ragged shout that seemed torn from his chest. Fighting the guards, he managed to free one hand. With it, he gripped his helmet and tore it off his head, hurling it to the ground.

  The Highlord in the night-blue, dragon-scale armor turned upon hearing her name. Tanis could see her brown eyes widen in astonishment beneath the hideous dragonmask she wore. He could see the fiery eyes of the male blue dragon turn to gaze at him as well.

  “Kitiara!” Tanis shouted. Shaking off his captors with a strength born of desperation, he dove forward again. But draconians in the crowd flung themselves on him, knocking him to the ground, where they held him pinned by his arms. Still Tanis struggled, twisting to look into the eyes of the Highlord.

  “Halt, Skie,” Kitiara said, placing a gloved hand commandingly on the dragon’s neck. Skie stopped obediently, his clawed feet slipping slightly on the cobblestones of the street. But the dragon’s eyes, as they glared at Tanis, were filled with jealousy and hatred.

  Tanis held his breath. His heart beat painfully. His head ached and blood dribbled into one eye, but he didn’t notice. He waited for the shout that would tell him Tasslehoff hadn’t understood, that his friends had tried to come to his aid. He waited for Kitiara to look behind him and see Caramon—her half-brother—and recognize him. He didn’t dare turn around to see what had happened to his friends. He could only hope Caramon had sense enough—and faith enough in him—to keep out of sight.

  And now here came the captain, his cruel one-eyed face distorted in rage. Raising a booted foot, the captain aimed a kick for Tanis’s head, preparing to render this meddlesome troublemaker unconscious.

  “Stop,” said a voice.

  The captain halted so suddenly that he staggered off-balance.

  “Let him go.” The same voice.

  Reluctantly, the guards released Tanis and fell back away from him at an imperious gesture from the Dark Lady.

  “What is so important, commander, that you disrupt my entrance?” she asked in cool tones, her voice sounding deep and distorted behind the dragonhelm.

  Stumbling to his feet, weak with relief, his head swimming from his struggles with the guards, Tanis made his way forward to stand beside her. As he drew nearer, he saw a flicker of amusement in Kitiara’s brown eyes. She was enjoying this; a new game with an old toy. Clearing his throat, Tanis spoke boldly.

  “These idiots arrested me for desertion,” he stated, “all because that imbecile Bakaris forgot to give me the proper papers.”

  “I’ll see he pays the penalty for having caused you trouble, good Tanthalasa,” replied Kitiara. Tanis could hear the laughter in her voice. “How dare you?” she added, whirling to glower at the captain, who cringed as the helmed visage turned toward him.

  “I—I was j-just following or-orders, my lord,” he stuttered, shaking like a goblin.

  “Be off with you, or you’ll feed my dragon,” Kitiara commanded peremptorily, waving her hand. Then, in the same graceful gesture, she held out her gloved hand to Tanis. “May I offer you a ride, commander? To make amends, of course.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” Tanis said.

  Casting a dark glance at the captain, Tanis accepted Kitiara’s hand and swung himself up beside her on the back of the blue dragon. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd as Kitiara ordered Skie forward once more. For a moment, his agonized search could detect nothing, then he sighed in relief as he saw Caramon and the others being led away by the guards. The big man glanced up at him as they passed, a hurt and puzzled expression on his face. But he kept moving. Either Tas had passed along the message or the big man had sense enough to keep up the act. Or perhaps Caramon trusted him anyway. Tanis didn’t know. His friends were safe now—at least safer than they were with him.

  This might be the last time I ever see them, he thought suddenly, with pain. Then he shook his head. He could not let himself dwell on that. Turning away, he discovered Kitiara’s brown eyes regarding him with an odd mixture of cunning and undisguised admiration.

  Tasslehoff stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what became of Tanis. He heard shouts and yells, then a moment of silence. Then he saw the half-elf climb onto the dragon and sit beside Kitiara. The procession started up again. The kender thought he saw Tanis look his way, but—if so—it was without recognition. The guards shoved their remaining prisoners through the jostling crowd, and Tas lost sight of his friend.

  One of the guards prodded Caramon in his ribs with a short sword.

  “So your buddy gets a lift from the Highlord and you rot in prison,” the draconian said, chuckling.

  “He won’t forget me,” Caramon muttered.

  The draconian grinned and nudged its partner, who was dragging Tasslehoff along, one clawed hand on the kender’s collar. “Sure, he’ll come back for you—if he can manage to find his way out of her bed!”

  Caramon flushed, scowling. Tasslehoff shot the big warrior an alarmed glance. The kender hadn’t had a chance to give Caramon Tanis’s last message, and he was terrified the big man would ruin everything, although Tas wasn’t really certain what there was left to ruin. Still …

  But Caramon only tossed his head in injured dignity. “I’ll be out before nightfall,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “We’ve been through too much together. He wouldn’t let me down.”

  Catching a wistful note in Caramon’s voice, Tas wriggled in anxiety, longing to get close enough to Caramon to explain. But at that moment Tika cried out in anger. Twisting his head, Tas saw the guard rip her blouse; there were already bloody gashes made by its clawing hands on her neck. Caramon shouted, but too late. Tika struck the guard with a backhand on the side of its reptilian face in the best barroom tradition.

  Furious, the draconian hurled Tika to the street and raised its whip. Tas heard Caramon suck in his breath and the kender cringed, preparing himself for the end.

  “Hey! Don’t damage her!” Caramon roared. “Unless you want to be held accountable. Lord Kitiara told us to get six silver pieces for her, and we won’t do it if she’s marked up!”

  The draconian hesitated. Caramon was a prisoner, that was true. But the guards had all seen the welcome reception his friend had received from the Dark Lady. Did they dare take a chance on offending another man who might stand high in her favor? Apparently they decided not. Roughly dragging Tika to her feet, they shoved her forward.

  Tasslehoff breathed a sigh of relief, then stole a worried peek back at Berem, thinking that the man had been very quiet. He was right. The Everman might have been in a different world. His eyes, wide open, were fixed in a strange stare. His mouth gaped, he almost appeared half-witted. At least he didn’t look like he was about to cause trouble. It seemed that Caramon was going to continue playing his role and that Tika would be all right. For the time being, no one needed him. Sighing in relief, Tas began to look with interest around the Temple compound, at least as well as he could with the draconian hanging onto his collar.

  He was sorry he did. Neraka looked exactly like what it was—a small, ancient impoverished village built to serve those who inhabited the Temple, now overrun by the tent city that had sprouted up around it like fungus.

  At the far end of the compound the Temple itself loomed over the city like a carrion bird of prey—its twisted, deformed, obscene structure seeming to dominate even the mountains on the horizon behind. Once anyone set foot in Neraka, his eyes went first to the Temple. After that, no matter where else he looked or what other business occupied him, the Temple was always there, even at night, even in his dreams.

  Tas took one look, then hurriedly glanced away, feeling a cold sickness creep over
him. But the sights before him were almost worse. The tent city was filled with troops; draconians and human mercenaries, goblins and hobgoblins spilled out of the hastily constructed bars and brothels onto the filthy streets. Slaves of every race had been brought in to serve their captors and provide for their unholy pleasures. Gully dwarves swarmed underfoot like rats, living off the refuse. The stench was overpowering, the sights were like something from the Abyss. Although it was midday, the square was dark and chill as night. Glancing up, Tas saw the huge flying citadels, floating above the Temple in terrible majesty, their dragons circling them in unceasing watchfulness.

  When they had first started down the crowded streets, Tas had hoped he might have a chance to break free. He was an expert in melting in with a crowd. He saw Caramon’s eyes flick about, too; the big man was thinking the same thing. But after walking only a few blocks, after seeing the citadels keeping their dreadful watch above, Tas realized it was hopeless. Apparently Caramon reached the same conclusion, for the kender saw the warrior’s shoulders slump.

  Appalled and horrified, Tas suddenly thought of Laurana, being held prisoner here. The kender’s buoyant spirit seemed finally crushed by the weight of the darkness and evil all around him, darkness and evil he had never dreamed existed.

  Their guards hurried them along, pushing and shoving their way through the drunken, brawling soldiers, down the clogged and narrow streets. Try as he might, Tas couldn’t figure out any way of relaying Tanis’s message to Caramon. Then they were forced to come to a halt as a contingent of Her Dark Majesty’s troops, lined up shoulder to shoulder, came marching through the streets. Those who did not get out of their way were hurled bodily to the sidewalk by the draconian officers or were simply knocked down and trampled. The companions’ guards hastily shoved them up against a crumbling wall and ordered them to stand still until the soldiers had passed.

  Tasslehoff found himself flattened between Caramon on one side and a draconian on the other. The guard had loosened its clawed grip on Tas’s shirt, evidently figuring that not even a kender would be foolish enough to try to escape in this mob. Though Tas could feel the reptile’s black eyes on him, he was able to squirm near enough to Caramon to talk. He hoped he wasn’t overheard, and didn’t expect to be, with all the head-bashing and boot-thumping going on around him.