The wrath of the God. Rivals. it walked the bloody, burnt streets of Tarsis. She had with her a squad of draconians, who had been amazed and not terribly pleased to see this Blue Dragon Highlord appear out of the smoke and flame of the dying city and order them to accompany her. Kitiara’s untimely arrival had spoiled the draconians’ plans for looting, raping, and butchering. Now they had to protect this blasted Highlord, which meant they were missing out on the fun. The baaz did as they were ordered, but they were sullen and inclined to grumble.
Kitiara’s own plans for what she intended to do were vague, half-formed, something unusual for the woman who never went into battle without a well-thought-out plan of attack. Her first impulse had been to fly off in pursuit of Tanis and her half-brothers, but it had occurred to her that Skie could chase them down on his own. Kitiara needed to find out what had happened to her rival. Was Laurana dead? Had she and Tanis quarreled, separated, or chosen deliberately to take different paths?
Above all else, Kitiara wanted to see Laurana, to talk to her. One of Kit’s father’s dictums: know your enemy!
The red dragons continued to fly overhead, though now their enjoyment was dampened; they could not attack anymore, for their own troops had marched into the city. The red dragons dove down now and then to breathe a gout of flame on a building or chase after those who had fled the city and were trying to escape across the plains. The wind rose, fanning the fires that yet burned, picking up sparks and cinders and flinging them about, starting additional blazes.
Draconians and goblins roamed the streets in packs. Some of them were drunk by this time and were engaged in looting or looking to satiate other, more dreadful appetites. They had ceased fighting the few brave or desperate men and women who continued to battle. A lone human, Kitiara might have been menaced, but for her draconian troops. Seeing a commanding-looking man (for such she appeared) striding purposefully down the street, accompanied by a squad of baaz, even the most drunken draconian knew her for an officer, and since officers were to be avoided at all costs, they left her alone.
The streets were filled with the dead and dying. Some victims, caught in the fiery breath of the dragons, had been reduced to lumps of charred flesh, unrecognizable as human. Others had been cut down by swords, shot with arrows, or spitted on spears. Bodies of men, women, and children lay in pools of blood that mingled horribly with the melting snow. The gutters of Tarsis ran red.
Some people were still alive, but to judge by their tortured screams they were the unlucky ones. Some were still fighting, some had managed to escape into the hills, and some had found safe hiding places where they hunkered down in terror, afraid to breathe too loudly lest they be discovered.
Kitiara had seen dead bodies before and she stepped over and around them, feeling neither pity nor compassion, paying them little heed. The baaz who accompanied her had been among those who were in the city prior to the attack and they knew where the Red Dragon Inn was located. They led Kit, who had lost her way in the smoke and the rubble, to her destination, hoping to get rid of her as quickly as possible and get back to their fun.
Arriving at the inn-or what was left of it-Kitiara ordered her troops to halt. This street was oddly quiet compared to other streets. No roving gangs, no looters. The fires had been put out. The inn was in ruins, the upper stories smoldering. No one was about. The spies she’d planted here were nowhere in sight.
Kitiara pulled down the scarf she’d tied over her nose and mouth to keep out the smoke, thinking she’d give a yell to see if anyone answered. Before she could call out, however, smoke flew down her lungs, and she could do nothing for a few moments except cough and curse Toede.
By this time, she had been seen and recognized. A shadow detached itself from a building and came strolling over to her. It was a sivak draconian and at first she thought he was one of hers, but then she noted the sivak wore the insignia of the Red Dragonarmy.
“Where is Malak?” Kit demanded.
“Dead,” said the strange sivak laconically. “A red torched him by accident. Dumb-ass dragon,” he added in a mutter, then, straightening his shoulders, he saluted. “Malak relayed your orders regarding the assassins to me, Highlord, and since he was dead and there was no one left but baaz”-the sivak made a disdainful gesture-“I took command.”
“So what is going on here?” Kitiara asked, looking again around this part of the city that was oddly quiet, a haven of peace in a storm of chaos.
“I deployed the troops at both ends of the street, my lord,” the sivak replied. “I figured you’d want the area around the inn cordoned off until you caught the felons, especially since there’s money to be made off them,” he added, as a seeming afterthought.
“Good idea,” Kitiara said, eying the sivak with more interest. “Have you captured any of those on the list?”
“Some escaped on griffons-”
“I know that!” Kit interrupted impatiently. “What of the others? Are they alive?”
“Yes, Highlord,” the sivak answered. “Come with me.”
The sivak led the way down a street filled with rubble. Not a building was left undamaged. Kit had to climb over heaps of stone and broken beams and shattered glass. She could see, as she went, baaz draconians standing guard, warning away other troops who might have ventured into the area.
“We located the rest of the party,” the sivak informed her as they made what haste they could among the rubble. “They’re all together. I posted guards around the area to protect them, awaiting your orders. Otherwise they would be dead by now.”
“Wait for me here,” Kitiara told the baaz who had trailed after her. The baaz squatted down on their haunches, not sorry to have time to rest.
She and the sivak continued on for about a block, arriving at an intersection where the sivak called a halt. He pointed down a street that angled off the one on which they were standing. Kit peered through the swirling smoke. A house had collapsed into the street. A small group of people stood huddled around something lying on the ground. The group seemed nervous, continually glancing over their shoulders in fear of being attacked.
The sivak explained what had happened. “One of them-the kender-was pinned under a large beam. The rest managed to drag him out and now, near as I can tell, that guy with the beard is praying over him, trying to heal him.” The sivak gave a disparaging snort. “As if any god would bother himself to heal one of the little squeakers.”
The street was dark with smoke and shadows. Kitiara had to draw nearer in order to see. She recognized two of her old comrades-Flint Fireforge and Sturm Brightblade. She could not see the kender from where she stood, but she guessed it must be Tasslehoff. She gazed long at her old friends. She had not thought of them in years, but now, seeing them again, she felt a flicker of interest-Flint because he was Tanis’s closest friend and Sturm because… well, that was a secret she kept buried deep inside, a secret she had never told anyone, a secret she didn’t even trust herself to think about lest somehow it should slip out.
Flint was grayer, but otherwise much the same. Dwarves were long-lived and aged slowly. But she was shocked at the change in Sturm. When they had traveled north together five years ago, he had been handsome and youthful, albeit grave and solemn. He looked to have aged a quarter century in those five years, though, of course, part of his haggard pallor could be due to the fact that they were trapped in a city under enemy attack and his friends might be dead or dying.
Kitiara’s gaze glanced off Flint and Sturm and rested on the only female in the group-blonde and obviously an elf.
“Laurana.” Kitiara growled the word in her throat.
This woman, like the others, was covered in soot and dirt, her clothes sodden from the rain, filthy and bedraggled, her face streaked with tears. Yet even as Kitiara could look into the sky and see through the clouds of greasy, ugly smoke the bright radiance of the sun, so she could look through the dirt and grime, fear and sorrow and see the bright radiance of the elf woman’s beauty.
Kit eyed her, wondering if such a dangerously beautiful rival should be allowed to live. Now was the perfect opportunity to kill her. Tanis would never know Kit had been the cause of his beloved’s death. He would think his childhood sweetheart had died in the assault on Tarsis, just one victim among many.
Of course, her other friends would have to perish, too. She could not leave them alive to tell the tale. Kit felt a twinge of regret at that. The sight of Flint and Sturm brought back memories of some of the happiest times in her life. But their deaths couldn’t be helped. They might recognize her and tell Tanis she had killed his lover, and she didn’t dare run that risk.
What should be her plan of attack? The knight was the only one who was armed. Flint should have been carrying his ax, but he must have dropped it in his efforts to free the kender, for he didn’t have it on him. There was another elf-a male, whose resemblance to Laurana made it apparent that he was some relation, perhaps her brother. He was covered in blood, however, and though he was standing, he looked weak and ill. Nothing to worry about there. That left the vaunted cleric of Paladine-a thin, gaunt, middle-aged man, kneeling in the dirt and blood, praying to his god to heal a kender.
“I want them dead,” said Kitiara, drawing her sword. “But first I must interrogate the elf maid. While I do that, you slay the others.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” said the sivak, “but Toede’s put a bounty on this lot, and he’ll pay up only if they’re brought in alive.”
“I’ll pay double what Toede has offered. Here, take this,” Kit added, seeing the sivak look skeptical. Reaching to her belt, she detached a purse and tossed it to the draconian. “There’s far more in there than what these wretches are worth.”
The sivak took a quick glance into the purse, saw the glint of steel coins, hefted the weight of the purse, did some quick mental calculations, then tied the purse securely to his battle harness. The sivak made a motion with his hand, and the baaz left their posts around the street and came to join him, moving silently on their clawed feet.
“Give me time to snatch the elf, then you attack,” Kit ordered.
“Kill the knight first,” the sivak advised his troops. “He’s the most dangerous.”
Kitiara did not have much time. Red dragons were still flying overhead, taking their time, pausing on their way out of the city to destroy anything still standing. She could hear screams, shouts and explosions. Any moment, some fool red might knock down a building on top of her. Either that or a squad of goblins, mad with battle lust, could come along and ruin everything. Kitiara slipped from shadow to shadow until she had taken up a position directly across the street from where Laurana stood.
Kit waited. Her moment would come. It always did.
Tasslehoff was sitting up. His head was covered in blood, but he was most definitely alive. The cleric raised his hands into the air. A pity his triumph wouldn’t last long, Kit thought. Flint put his hand to his eyes and rubbed his nose. The dwarf would never let the kender see he was touched; he’d be shouting at Tas about something in a minute. Sturm knelt beside Tas and put his arm around him. Laurana stood watching and weeping quietly. She stood apart from the group, seemingly overcome by grief.
Kitiara darted forward. She ran swiftly on the balls of her feet, so that her footfalls made little noise. The sivak watched her bear down on her prey. He gave her a moment’s head start, then raised his voice in a gurgling shout. The baaz, swords drawn, surged forward. The sivak, keeping one eye on the Highlord, ran with them.
Kitiara grabbed Laurana from behind. Clamping one hand over her mouth and shoving the point of a knife into her ribs with the other, Kit started to drag her off.
The woman was an elf, lovely and delicate. Kit half-expected her to faint in terror. What she didn’t expect was for the delicate elf maid to sink her delicate teeth into Kit’s hand and to kick her, hard, in the shin.
Kit grunted in pain, but she didn’t let loose. She tried to haul Laurana away, but it was like trying to haul off a half-starved cougar. The elf maid twisted and writhed. She drove her nails into Kit’s flesh and lashed out with her feet, almost tripping her. Kit was losing patience, starting to think that she should just knife the bitch and be done with it, when the sivak appeared.
“Need help, my lord?” he asked, and before she could answer, he had grabbed hold of Laurana’s feet and lifted her off the ground. Between them, they carried her, kicking and struggling, into a nearby alley.
Here Kit released her. The evening sky was red with the lurid light of flames, and by that light, Kit could see blood welling from bite marks on her palm. She wrung her hand and glared at Laurana, who glared defiantly back at her. The sivak had the elf-maid pinned to the ground. He held his knife at her throat.
“Keep her quiet,” Kit said. “I’m going to see what’s happened to the rest.”
She watched as the baaz bore down on their victims. Sturm was on his feet, holding his sword, as Flint had hold of his axe and stood protectively over Tasslehoff. The elf lord and the cleric were searching about, shouting Laurana’s name.
“Elistan, get behind me!” Sturm called out.
The small group faced twenty baaz, eager for blood. Still, Kit knew her old friends. They wouldn’t go down without a fight. She sucked on her hand, cursing Laurana, and watched. She had no doubt of the outcome, but the battle should be an interesting one.
Sturm was continuing to shout at the cleric to take cover behind him, but the cleric wasn’t listening. He stood his ground and turned to face the baaz draconians, who shouted and slavered with glee at the easy kill. The cleric lifted his hands to heaven and raised his voice in a thunderous exhortation.
“Paladine, I beseech you! Send down your wrath upon the enemies of your most holy light!”
Kitiara chuckled, sucked on her bleeding hand, and waited for the baaz to spit the cleric.
A cascade of flame, white and dazzling and awful, thundered down from the heavens. The wrath of the god engulfed almost half of the attacking baaz. Half blinded, Kit could hear screams and horrible popping and sizzling sounds. When she could see again, she watched in shocked amazement as the scaly flesh melted from their bones, the bones blackened and withered away. The holy flame died, and there was nothing left of the draconians except greasy spots on the pavement.
“Damn!” said Kitiara, impressed.
The wrath of the god gave heart and strength to the others. Sturm and Flint ran to attack the remaining draconians, who, having witnessed their comrades die a horrible death, slowed their rush toward the cleric. Laurana’s brother continued to shout her name.
“I’ll find her,” shouted the cleric, and he turned and looked in Kit’s direction.
Kitiara took to her heels, hastening back to where the sivak was still holding fast to Laurana, keeping his knife at her throat. He’d bound her hands with a strip of leather cut from her own tunic.
“What was that bright light and all that screaming?” the sivak asked curiously.
“Your baaz going up in flames. Apparently Paladine is not the weak and sniveling god our Dark Queen claims,” said Kitiara.
The sivak shook his scaly head. “Baaz,” he muttered in disgust, “what can you expect?” Shrugging, he grinned and patted the purse she’d given him. “Fewer ways to split the take.”
“We don’t have much time. The cleric’s headed this direction, looking for the elf.” Kit squatted down to put herself eye-to-eye with Laurana. “Hand me the knife. You keep watch. Let me know if he gets close.”
The sivak did as ordered and dashed off to the end of the alley. Laurana made a sudden lunge, tried to struggle to her feet.
Kitiara gave her a light tap to the jaw with her fist, not enough to knock her out, but enough to stun her. Laurana fell back and Kit put her knee on Laurana’s chest, holding the knife at her throat. A trickle of red blood ran down the alabaster skin.
“I’m going to kill you,” Kitiara said matter-of-factly. She was hoarse from coughing, her voice gruff.
Laurana glared at Kitiara, not in fear, but in defiance.
“I just want you to know I’m not some ordinary cutthroat,” Kit continued. “I want you to know why-”
Movement at the far end of the alley caught Kit’s eye. She glanced up and saw three men emerging from the smoke. They carried bloody swords in their hands, and one them held a burning torch to light their way through the smoke and gloom of coming night. The torch light shone full on his face. Kitiara recognized him immediately.
She swore almost every curse word she knew.
Derek Crownguard and his two friends were striding purposefully down the alley. She had no idea what they were doing here when they should have been out questing after dragon orbs, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he must not see her. If he did, if he recognized her as belonging to the enemy side, he would immediately wonder why the enemy was sending him on a quest for a dragon orb. He’d be suspicious, perhaps even refuse to continue, and that would be the end of Ariakas’s pet plan.
As if this weren’t trouble enough, the sivak was hissing at her from behind.
“Highlord! Best hurry with your killing. That cleric’s coming!”
Kitiara put her knife to Laurana’s throat.
“Go ahead, kill me,” Laurana said, choking with tears. “I want to die. Then I’ll be with him.”
Tanis, Kitiara said to herself. She’s talking about Tanis. She thinks Tanis is dead! They all think Tanis is dead!
She saw it so clearly then-the inn collapsing, Tanis buried beneath the rubble, these people escaping, the group of friends separated. Of course, each must think the other dead, and Kit would be the last to disabuse her rival of that notion.
Kitiara thrust the knife back in her boot and stood up.
“Sorry, I don’t have time to kill you today, Princess, but we’ll meet again-you and I.”
The sivak’s clawed feet scraped on the cobblestones. He skidded to a halt and stared at the knights, who, seeing the draconian, shouted and broke into a run.
A wrathful cleric at one end of the alley. Three Solamnic knights at the other.
“This way!” said the sivak, pointing up.
A balcony from a second-story window extended out over the street. Smoke was rolling off the roof, but fire had not yet engulfed the building. The sivak crouched down below the balcony, then gave a convulsive leap. His strong legs propelled him into the air. He had long, skinny arms, and he grasped hold of the balcony’s railing and pulled himself up and over. Leaning down, he extended a clawed hand to Kitiara. She grabbed hold of his wrist and he dragged her up.
The sivak climbed onto the balcony’s rail and balanced precariously. Another, shorter leap carried him to the roof. He dug his claws into the wooden shingles, hung a moment, kicking frantically, then managed to get a leg up. Lying on his belly, he hauled Kitiara after him.
Kit looked back down. One of the knights was bending over Laurana. The other two were staring up at the draconian and Kit, wondering if they should give pursuit. Kit didn’t think they would, and she was right. With hundreds of enemy soldiers roaming the streets, there was no sense wasting precious time chasing after two of them. The cleric-who might have done some damage to them even from a distance-had stopped to tend to Laurana.
The sivak shouted at her, and Kit began to run along the rooftop. From her vantage point, she saw the remaining draconians haring off down the street, not ready to risk their lives when there were easier pickings in other parts of the doomed city. Among them were the troops Kitiara had brought with her.
“Baaz!” The sivak shook his head.
He and Kit took their time, making their way from one rooftop to the next until they ran out of buildings. The sivak could have jumped off at any point, relying on his short, stubby wings to carry him safely to the ground. He stayed with Kit, however, until he found another balcony only a short distance from the roof. From there, Kit easily jumped down to the street.
Though Kit protested that she would be safe enough, the sivak remained by her side.
“I know my way around. I can show you how to get out of the city,” he said, and Kit, who had no idea where she was, accepted his help.
Fires still raged. They would burn until the buildings were consumed, for there was no one to put them out. The red dragons had departed with the coming of night, flying off to rest and gloat over the ease of their victory. Draconians, goblins and human soldiers loyal to the Dark Queen roamed the city, searching for amusement. No one was in command. Highlord Toede had stayed far away from the fighting. He would not come anywhere near Tarsis until he’d been assured there was no danger. If there were officers in the city, no commander would dare try to restrain his forces, who were drunk with liquor and blood, for fear they would turn on him. Not that there were many commanders who would do so. Most were as drunk as, or drunker than, their troops.
“Stupid idea-attacking Tarsis,” the sivak commented.
A drunken goblin lurched into their path. The sivak bashed him on the jaw and kicked the crumpled body off to one side.
“We can’t hold the city,” the sivak went on. “No supply lines. Two days our forces will be here. Maybe three. Then we’ll be forced to pull out.”
He glanced at Kitiara and said slyly, “Unless, of course, this attack was your idea, Highlord. Then I’ll say it was sheer genius.”
Kit shook her head. “No, this wasn’t my idea. It was hatched from the seething brain of your Highlord.”
The sivak looked momentarily confused.
“Toede,” said Kitiara. “Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy.” She gestured to the insignia the sivak wore on his harness. Then, looking at it more closely, Kit grinned.
The two had reached the city gate. The sivak came to a halt. He was looking back toward the city, probably with an idea of returning to claim his share of what riches remained.
“Except you’re not with the Red Dragonarmy, are you?” Kitiara said.
“Huh?” The sivak jerked his head back to face her. “Sure I am,” he said, pointing to the insignia.
“It’s upside down,” Kit said dryly.
“Oh,” returned the sivak, and he gave a sheepish grin and righted it. “That better?”
“If they catch you, they’ll hang you. That’s what they do to deserters.”
“I didn’t desert.” The sivak waved a claw. “My commander and I heard about the attack on Tarsis, thought there might be some profit in it. We decided we’d bring the boys by to take a look, see what we could pick up.”
“Who is your commander?”
“You know, in all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten his name,” said the sivak, scratching his head and grinning. “Don’t get me wrong, Highlord. We do our part for the Queen, but we figure she won’t begrudge us making a bit of profit on our own. We’re what you might call independent contractors. We make certain we get something more out of this war than maggot-ridden rations and latrine duty.”
He cocked an eye at her. “You gonna try to arrest me,
Highlord?”
Kitiara laughed. “Not after what we’ve been through tonight. You have served me well. You can go back to your commander. I’ll be safe enough from here on. My camp is not far. Thanks for your help.”
She held out her hand. “I hope you don’t mind telling me your name?”
“Slith, my lord,” said the sivak. After some hesitation, he extended his clawed hand.
“Good to meet you, Slith. I am-”
“The Blue Lady. Everyone knows you, ma’am.” Slith spoke in admiring tones.
The two shook, hand and claw, then the sivak turned and headed back toward the rubble, blood, and ash that had once been Tarsis.
“Hey, Slith,” Kit called after him, “if you ever stop being an independent contractor, come work for me!”
The sivak laughed, turned and waved, but kept on going.
Kitiara started walking. The plains stretched ahead of her. The night was dark and silent here, far from the chaos inside the city. The snow crunching beneath her boots was black with soot and ash. Furtive shadows slipped through the night around her-survivors lucky enough to have escaped Tarsis.
Kit let them be.