"O Mighty Takhisis-all-powerful Queen of Dark shy;ness!" began Wryllish Parkane, his voice taut with sup shy;pressed anticipation. "Grant us thy will and thy power! Give to us thy tools, and make them from the children of our arrogant, metal-skinned foes!"
Immediately the sphere pulsed, small ripples flowing across its surface. The shining brass shell began to cor shy;rode, decaying to grimy scum in a matter of seconds. The orb shivered in steady contractions, wrinkling and bulging all across its surface.
The high priest raised his voice in a mighty prayer to the Dark Queen. The wizard muttered an incantation of his own, and from Dracart's fingers, pulses of blue magic flickered outward, wrapping the egg in a cocoon of sor shy;cery. Then the surface of the corroded sphere split apart, ripping in several directions like the jagged, expanding tracks of an earthquake. The tearing crackled loudly though the air, and a pervasive, putrefying stench filled the room.
Creatures slithered forth, dripping with ooze-but these were not the blind, malformed creations of the ear shy;lier corruption. At least ten distinct lizard beings were visible, snapping and clawing at each other. Rising upon powerful hind legs, they stood as tall as men. Talon-studded forepaws wiped the mucus from reptilian eyes, and baleful glares fastened upon the humans and dwarf in the room. The scaly humanoids advanced, forked tongues flicking from fang-studded mouths. Leathery wings, still sticky from the egg, stretched awkwardly from the shoulders of each of the monsters.
"These are not dragons!" hissed Tale Splintersteel, in awe and disbelief.
"No-not dragons," replied Ariakas, now seeing the potential of these creatures with astounding clarity. The others stood silent, waiting for him to continue, instinc shy;tively trusting him to lead.
"Not dragons-but the spawn of dragonkind." Aria shy;kas suddenly knew what these things were, what they would be called-and how they would serve him. "They are draconians."
He acted then, snatching the star of Takhisis from the patriarch's hand. Fastening his eyes onto the hideous faces of the monsters, he projected his will, his mastery, toward them. The lizard beasts stopped at the sight of the medallion, hissing and bobbing uncertainly. "Kneel, wretches!" Ariakas commanded. "Kneel before the sym shy;bol of your mistress-your queenl"
And when he raised the symbol overhead, all ten of the draconians collapsed, groveling, onto the floor.
Part Three
Triumph And Treachery
Chapter 18
Zhakar Road
Ariakas stood in a vast, cavelike chamber, surrounded by a horde of scaly draconians. Beyond them ranked legion upon legion of heavy infantry, horsemen, archers, and spear shy;men. All of them stood silently at attention, awaiting his command. But he couldn't make a sound. This mighty host stood on the brink of conquest, and yet he could not send it forth-could not so much as utter a stammering word.
At his back was his great sword, and he instinctively drew the weapon, raising the gleaming steel into the air. The army shouted, its collective voice a growing roar, swelling until the noise pounded him from all sides. Yet now the sword was frozen, even as was his voice. As if some powerful, invisible fist had seized the blade, gripping it with immortal strength, the silvery steel weapon hung in the air before his face. Heaving mightily, Ariakas could not lower it, could not even wiggle it from side to side.
He snarled, frustration growing within him, and the silvery blade turned white. Snow and ice swirled around him then, masking the troops and the draconians, send shy;ing shivers of inhuman cold piercing through his body.
Abruptly the sword became black. Still Ariakas could not twist it free from the invisible grip of the air, and as he struggled, a rich, full darkness surrounded him, cloaking vision in every direction-though the cheering of the troops continued to bombard him.
The darkness fell away, and the blade of his sword glowed blood red. The metal bore a shining gleam on its surface that actually looked wet, as if the weapon had just been immersed to the hilt in some fresh, gory wound. Yet still he could not move the sword, though he tugged and pulled and wrenched at its long grip. Fire rose around him, a great circle of crackling, hissing flame, surging upward higher than his head. He cried out, not from pain so much as outrage, and immediately the flames died away.
Ariakas sensed great creatures around him, then, lurk shy;ing in the depths of the vast chamber, beyond the reach of his vision. Towering in height, serpentine in shape, they skulked unseen in the shadows, their presence tin shy;gling with portent and power.
Suddenly he was surrounded by a cool, blue light, and Ariakas could see that the illumination emanated from his blade. Slowly, reverently, he took the hilt and pulled, gently drawing the sword to him. The force that had imprisoned the weapon gave way easily.
Once again Ariakas was the master of his sword, and his fate. Holding the blue blade upraised before him, he turned this way and that, allowing his troops to shout their adulation. For many minutes they roared, and his heart swelled with martial pride.
When he sheathed the sword, the cheering continued, but now it had faded to a background noise, mere accom shy;paniment to the ringing knowledge that had begun to grow in his mind.
The blue blade! He remembered the prophecy in the tower, spoken what seemed like a lifetime ago: Hold the blue blade, warrior-for in the heart of the world it shall set fire to the sky! Only now did he begin to sense the mean shy;ing. And as he walked the pathway that opened before him amid the ranks of his troops, he understood it would be the blue blade that would give him the might to com shy;mand, to rule.
As he marched onward, he realized that the pathway was no longer an aisle, but a bridge. On one side he saw a bright landscape, stretching to the infinite horizon, lined with columns of troops-all of them trundling for shy;ward under his command. In an awestruck moment, he beheld the skies overhead, filled with vast formations of huge dragons, winging outward to expand the Dark Queen's domain. All of this mighty host marched away toward the far points of Krynn.
But then Ariakas shifted his eyes to the other side of the bridge, and he could not help but cower away in reel shy;ing terror. Below him, beginning at the very toes of his feet, fell away an abyssal chasm, plummeting all the way to the midnight heavens.
Yet within that darkness was no cheery glimmer of a constellation, nor even a lone evening star. Instead, the place was a well of nothing, yawning hungrily forever, promising only pain and blood, darkness and dissolu shy;tion … without even the eventual respite of death.
Ariakas awakened with a start. A chilly film of sweat clung to his skin. The heavens did yawn overhead, but these were the familiar skies of Ansalon, with a gentle haze of dawn light already filling in the space of the east shy;ern valleys.
So it had been a dream. He exhaled, feeling Lyrelee stir beside him under the bedroll. The experience had been so vivid, so real, that he actually felt as though he had com shy;manded that mighty army. Then he remembered the hor shy;ror of that black chasm, and the chill shook him again.
For a moment he thought of the woman, so warm beside him. But this was not a problem for which she could bring him any comfort. Irritated, he rose into the dawn and looked around their small camp. Ferros Wind-chisel would be near, he knew, hiding in the shadows while alertly maintaining the last watch of their night's bivouac.
Tale Splintersteel still slept, which did not surprise Ariakas. Ever since their little group had departed Sanc shy;tion, the Zhakar had been the deepest sleeper of the four. Just as well, Ariakas thought, since Splintersteel could not be trusted on watch duty. That seemed all well and proper to the moldy dwarf because-as he had loudly pointed out-he was the one who was taking them to Zhakar.
In that role, at least, the merchant lord had whole shy;heartedly embraced their endeavor. As broker of the mold that had suddenly developed value, Tale Splinter shy;steel stood to make himself very rich-if they could get into Zhakar alive.
Ariakas cast another look at the sky, seeing that sun shy;rise was still nearly an hour away. He decided not to roust the others, choosing instead to stroll the dim twi shy;light until he found Ferros Windchisel. Mindful of the trackless Khalkist wilderness around them, he strapped his sword to his back before he walked away from the dying fire.
"Over here, warrior," came the hoarse whisper, mak shy;ing his job that much easier. He found the Hylar nestled in a niche between a great boulder and a sturdy fir tree.
"Another quiet night," remarked Ariakas, settling himself atop the boulder.
"That makes twelve now," Ferros agreed. "By the Zhakar's reckoning, we don't have much farther to go." The Hylar leaned back, then shifted awkwardly to rub at an itch behind his left knee. "Damned firebugs followed me out here!" he griped. "If anything, the little scuts are worse than ever! Can't stop scratching. It about makes me crazy."
Ariakas barely listened-the Hylar's complaint had become a regular morning litany. The human's mind instead drifted into solitary meditation.
Twelve days on the road, and Tale Splintersteel had suggested it would take two or three weeks to reach Zhakar. Despite the rugged Khalkists, to date the trek had not been physically grueling. It surprised the war shy;rior to realize how much, after the bustle and crowds of Sanction, he enjoyed the solitude and silence of the mountain heights. For the first part of the journey, he had been concerned with threats in the rock-bound fast shy;ness around them. Ogres were the traditional foes in the Khalkists, but now they had gotten beyond ogre country. The land between Bloten and Zhakar, where Splinter-steel's vile-tempered cousins dwelt, had seemed to offer few threats. Of course, even with Tale accompanying them, he wasn't certain they would be received with open arms when they reached the dwarven realm.
The Zhakar merchant had told them a little about his homeland. Though the realm itself was extensive, includ shy;ing numerous crags and the valleys between, the dwar shy;ven population was concentrated in the subterranean city of Zhakar. The only part of that metropolis exposed to the light of day was a great, five-sided keep, which stood proudly on the rising slope above a mountain torrent called the Stonecrusher River. Though the keep itself was a respectable castle in size, Tale Splintersteel had told
them that it was nothing compared to the vast network of delvings and warrens concealed underneath. It was those warrens that their expedition hoped to reach. That was where the plague mold grew, and that was where they could gather enough of the dust to corrupt vast numbers of the metallic dragon eggs.
Ariakas smiled privately as he remembered the results of the first hatching of draconians. The lizard beings that emerged from the brass egg had proven strong and hardy, albeit rather stupid. They could not fly, but they were fast and readily used their fangs and claws for battle. Three of them had already been slain in the tests they had conducted in the temple, but Ariakas had become convinced that these draconians would form the backbone of a huge and capable army.
". .. far today?" Ferros concluded his question, look shy;ing at Ariakas expectantly.
"Sorry," the human replied. "What did you say?"
"Forget it," groused the dwarf, reaching around to scratch an itch behind his back. "Just making conversa shy;tion-wondered how many of these ridges we'll have to cross today."
"However many it is, you'll find us the passes, my friend," Ariakas said warmly. Indeed, the mountain dwarf had proven adept at guiding them along the best routes. Sheer granite barriers rose in seemingly endless succession across their path, and Splintersteel had told them that no regular overland route existed between Sanction and Zhakar. Each dwarven trading caravan, laden with weapons and coinage, apparently sought its own path to the port city.
'This isn't turning out like I figured it would," Ferros observed after a few moments' silence. "When I set out to find the dwarven kingdom in the Khalkists, I pictured a place like Thorbardin. Sure, there's bickering 'tween the clans, but by and large it's a prosperous, thriving place. Mountain and hill dwarf don't get along too well, but at least the hatchet's been buried for a few centuries, now.
"But here!" the Hylar continued, his tone growing exasperated. "Can you imagine a whole nation of dwarves like that little weasel over there? I tell you, it makes my skin crawl-and not just because of the way they look on the outside."
"They're not your run-of-the-mill dwarves, I'll grant you," Ariakas said good-naturedly. "Still, without Splintersteel we wouldn't have a chance on Krynn of reaching their kingdom." The warrior looked at the dwarf shrewdly. "Why are you so determined to find this place? I'd have thought you'd given up on the Zhakar as allies, by now."
Ferros shrugged. "I suppose I have . . . but there's something more. What made them into such hateful little snipes? Even if they'll never be allies of Thorbardin, I have to know…. I guess that's why I'm here."
"Do you think they can be changed-that you can change them?"