Aryx wanted to point out that he would not have had to do so if the gods had been of greater use to those they claimed to watch over. Clearly, although they wore mortal forms, the gods did not always think in mortal terms. So much could have been avoided if they had acted with more honor, more responsibility. For all that Aryx had been through, the gods wanted to reward Aryx with a single jewel. The notion actually stirred fresh the embers of the minotaur’s ire. What good was a jewel during these times of crisis? If Mithas and Kothas were destroyed, not all the gold and gems in Ansalon would bring it back. “Spare me your rewards, Kiri-Jolith! I’ll have little to spend them on if my family, my people, are destroyed by these monsters of Chaos!” He straightened, secretly marveling that he had the courage to stand up against the gods. “Is that all your kind think we mortals care about? Treasures and trifles? I’ve lost one brother so far, and possibly more, and you offer me some paltry treasure?”
“No … I offer you an eye for an eye.”
The minotaur frowned. “What do you mean?”
The god held the emerald jewel so that Aryx could study it. “An eye for an eye. What the Coil’s Magori warriors stole, I can return … albeit in somewhat different form.”
The Coil? The Magori? Aryx started to ask the God of Just Causes about the names, but then at last the intricate details of the gem seized his attention. No simple stone this, after all. An eye of finest crystal stared back at the warrior, but not an eye with which a minotaur or even a human or elf would have been born. No, this eye had a reptilian cast to it, and more. The artisan who had carved it had imbued it with a sense of masterful guile and fiery life so startlingly real that Aryx almost thought that the eye appraised him in turn.
A false eye was still a false eye, though, however elaborate. His interest in it faded. “What do you expect me to do with that?”
“See things for what they are. Come closer, Aryximaraki.”
The minotaur thought to decline the god’s offer but found his body moving of its own accord across the vast palm. A swift glance at Kiri-Jolith quickly verified that the deity had decided to encourage the mortal’s progress. Aryx would receive his unsettling gift whether the warrior truly wanted to or not.
“You will see as others see, but you will also see as others cannot. This is a gift with many sides, Aryximaraki. Learn to use them wisely.”
“I don’t want your—” was as far as Aryx got.
Kiri-Jolith did not throw the eye at him, but rather the gem flew from his huge fingers. Held in thrall by the god, Aryx could do nothing as the reptilian eye shot unerringly at his ruined socket. The minotaur braced himself, knowing that this would not be an easy acceptance.
“You’ll need it, grandson,” the other voice insisted, not without a little regret.
The emerald orb reached its target.
The minotaur roared in pain. However, instead of fire, ice coursed through him. A great chill shook Aryx, nearly sending him into a fit. He felt something moving, shifting in the damaged socket, something so cold his entire head felt almost numb.
“The pain will pass soon,” the bison-headed god promised.
Suddenly he could see something with his left eye. The something remained only a dark blur for a time, then gradually solidified into the overwhelming head of Kiri-Jolith. The god, seemingly oblivious to what Aryx suffered, watched as his gift became a part of the minotaur.
The chilling pain at last began to fade, and as it did, Aryx’s vision grew sharper. More and more he could see as he had before—no, even better, if he concentrated only on the left eye. The only unsettling thing about the view seemed to be a slight emerald cast to the world. Aryx shut his right eye and discovered that the world did indeed take on a greenish tint. Definitely unsettling, but he could become used to it. He would have to become used to it.
The God of Just Causes had indeed granted him a greater gift than Aryx had initially supposed. The emerald coloring aside, the eye proved in every way superior to his old one. He had supposed that the new eye would only be cosmetic, that it would serve no true function. Knowing the gods, Aryx admitted to himself that he should have expected more. Gods did not give out useless trinkets. Dangerous ones, yes, but not useless.
Of course, Kaz Dragonslayer had been quoted more than once as saying that every gift of the gods had a price.
“When you wish to see beyond the surface, use only the dragon eye. It will reveal to you much more.”
Aryx did not hear the rest, having focused on two words. “You said … ‘dragon eye’?”
“From the eye of the ancient leviathan, Tyrannus Bloodbane, Aryximaraki, slain in the Age of Dreams.”
Bloodbane. The dusky gray minotaur had heard that draconian surname in bard tales, something concerning the elves during the War of the Lance. He cared little for the thought of bearing any part of a dragon, much less from one called Tyrannus Bloodbane, but what choice did he have now? Besides, surely this dragon must be long dead if Kiri-Jolith had taken his eye.
“I don’t like this!” the other voice warned. “You haven’t even told him about—”
“He will know what he must know; I can do no more,” Kiri-Jolith replied. “Time runs short, Aryximaraki. You must return now.”
Return? Aryx did not know if this dream had any merit in reality, but his dream self could not return to the waking world without more from the god. Not for himself, no, but for all the others, his family and friends …
He turned on Kiri-Jolith, his fear for the others pushing him yet again to dare the bison-headed god’s wrath. “You’ve given me an eye back, for which I thank you, but while we stand here, your children die all around you! We battle for our home, but the magic of gods battles against us, too! Those abominations from the sea have slaughtered far too many already! You claim some of my people as your own, yet we’ve been nothing but pawns of the Dark Queen for so long! If you are at all our god, then save your children!”
“You have the sword and you have the eye, and that is more than you think.” Kiri-Jolith looked sad indeed. “I am doing what I can, Aryximaraki. Am I not sending you back to them?”
The massive bison head faded again into a constellation, and as it did, the hand upon which Aryx stood tilted, sending the helpless mortal plunging.
Caught between shock and fear, Aryx roared as he dropped toward the distant disk of Krynn.…
Fragile Alliances
Chapter Eleven
The Magori did not like the flames, perhaps because fire reminded them of that place from which they had come, a place to which they had no burning desire to return. Dismembering a few had convinced the rest that facing flame and foe would be better than earning the wrath of Father Chaos’s most loyal and trusted servant. The Magori feared the most loyal servant more than they feared any flames. They would fight and slaughter, their endless numbers overwhelming the betrayer Sargonnas’s children.
The serpentine segments writhed and slid about one another, some in agitation. There still existed for the Coil the annoyance that the betrayer Sargonnas had left no sign of his ending, no hint as to whether he had truly ceased to be. The Father of All and of Nothing would expect his most faithful servant to know the truth. Not knowing disturbed its otherwise intact sense of imminent triumph.
The betrayer had to be nonexistent; he had to be.
No matter. Whether or not the betrayer still existed, in but a short time, his so-called children would not. The Magori had already regrouped, this time urged to advance even if the defenders set both islands completely ablaze. All they needed to do was wait but a little longer, wait and let the very fog that protected the Magori weaken those upon the islands further. By this time, the enchanted mists had permeated everything, and that would soon make the daunting task of the insipid defenders yet more impossible.
One defender in particular interested the most faithful servant. One of the mortal creatures wielded a toy of the gods, a little pin that pricked too well. Why the little mortal had been
granted this artifact of power, the Coil desired to know. Some last trick of Sargonnas’s, perhaps, although in the end, a thousand little toys would not defeat the Father of All and of Nothing. Still, if the Coil seized this mortal and the weapon he wielded, it would surely please Father Chaos. Perhaps then he would grant the Coil blissful nothingness.
Yes, the servant of Chaos wanted this little mortal with the pin that pricked, wanted him very much.…
* * * * *
Aryx bolted upright in bed, sweating. In his mind, he could still see himself falling, falling, falling.…
“A dream!” he muttered to himself. “A blasted dream!”
That helped calm him a bit. Aryx took a deep breath, relaxing himself even more. That he had dreamed of the gods did not surprise him; they had been in his thoughts much more than he had let the others know. Would that they were as evident in the waking world as they had been in his nightmares.
Aryx rose, wondering what hour it was. Perhaps only a few minutes after he had drifted off to sleep. The minotaur listened for activity but heard nothing. The best thing would be to search for a sentry and ask him. Of course, as tightly wound as Aryx now felt, he doubted he could have fallen asleep again anyway.
Arranging his kilt and harness, the dusky gray warrior debated taking with him the Sword of Tears. True, the journey might last only a few minutes there and back, but if the fifth hour approached, Aryx might not have time to return for his weapon. The demon blade could come to him of its own accord, but he did not want to count on that property. In fact, he did not want to count on any ability of the artifact save its skill at readily cutting through the armored shells of the Magori.
Magori? Aryx frowned, momentarily wondering where he had heard the curious name. The dream, of course. Kiri-Jolith had called the abominations the Magori and mentioned also that they were controlled by something known as the Coil, a servant of the Chaos. The former title somehow fit the crustaceans, but to think that Kiri-Jolith had actually imparted the information to Aryx would mean that the astonishing gift he had given to the minotaur also …
Suddenly he realized that he had been seeing out of both eyes.
Aryx stared at his left hand, shifting it farther to that direction. Not until he had stretched it back beyond his side did it disappear from view. Stunned, the minotaur shut his right lid. The world instantly took on an emerald hue, as if Aryx stared through the stone on the Sword of Tears.
Turning about, the troubled warrior searched for a mirror, any reflective surface in which he could inspect his appearance. He raced over to a small looking glass hanging near a weapons case and almost thrust his muzzle into it.
The scars from his blinding still remained, but the brown orb the dying reaver’s acidic venom had ruined had now been replaced by one completely green, even the parts that were normally white. Even more startling, Aryx’s left eye now had a different slant to it, one identical to that of a reptile or … or a dragon.
From the eye of the ancient leviathan, Tyrannus Bloodbane, Aryximaraki, slain in the Age of Dreams …
All true … the dream had been no dream, but a summons before the gods … or simply one god. Aryx realized he still did not know the identity of Kiri-Jolith’s invisible companion, but surely it had to have been Habbakuk or some similar deity. That hardly mattered now, though. Aryx gingerly touched the bottom lid of the new eye, surprised to feel no pain.
The gifts of the gods generally had a price. He had thought such in the dream and did not change his mind now, seeing how the emerald eye glittered as he stared. Concentrating on his natural eye, Aryx uneasily noted how on his right he looked his old self, while on the left, it was as if another person—another creature, even—stared at him. He shivered, at last turning away from the mirror lest he be tempted to tear the god’s gift from its socket.
What would the others say when they saw him? How could he answer their questions when they sought to know about the orb? Aryx cursed the gods in general. His ancestor, Kaz Dragonslayer, had spoken true: Trust in the gods to interfere in your life any way they could. Recalling more of the dream that had not been a dream, Aryx realized that in addition to Lord Broedius, Clan Orilg, and the minotaur generals, now two, and possibly more, gods had chosen him as their pawn in this war, again for no good reason that he could discern.
The worst part was that his own sense of honor would not let him shirk the roles thrust upon him even if Aryx knew himself inadequate.
His gaze fell upon the Sword of Tears. The minotaur’s eyes went wide as he noted a dark aura around the sword, even those parts hidden by the sheath. He concentrated with his emerald eye and saw that the aura took on more solidity, as if some shield surrounded the artifact.
Aryx reached for the sheath. “Do you know anything about this gift? And what’s this foul glow you’ve acquired?”
The Sword of Tears made no answer. Aryx snorted, having assumed such a response. He would gain nothing trying to question the sinister blade; it told him only what it intended to tell him. Switching eyes, the minotaur also noticed that the aura vanished. No one other than he could see it.
Opening both eyes now, Aryx relaxed … and as he did, the aura remained invisible. So only by concentrating with the emerald eye could he see such things with some sort of consistency. Of what use such a trick might be, Aryx could not say. Useful for a magical creature such as a dragon, but hardly for a warrior.
Buckling the sheath in place, he at last abandoned the room. Whether or not the time neared, Aryx could no longer stay where he was. The silence, the emptiness, reminded him too much of the Abyss and the images that Kiri-Jolith had revealed to him.
Krynn did indeed face destruction … no, worse than that. Somehow he knew that if the fiery giant succeeded, it would be as if Aryx’s world had never existed. The gods did what they could to prevent that from happening—well, some did—but they needed also to rely on mortals to stand against the Father of All and of Nothing’s own servants, the beings of Chaos. Wherever mortals won, they weakened Chaos. Where they failed … Krynn moved nearer and nearer to oblivion.
The minotaurs had been trained since their creation to fight. Each time they had been enslaved, they had risen again, stronger than before. Sargonnas had spoken the truth when he had indicated that the mortal forces of Ansalon, of all Krynn, needed the strong arm, the determination, of Aryx’s people.
Apparently the servants of the Chaos had realized that also.
Aryx marched down the hall, careful not to disturb any of his companions. To his annoyance, he did not spot a sentry until he had reached the end of the one corridor and marched halfway down the next. Aryx still did not know how others would react to his “gift,” but he could not hide it forever. Better to reveal the truth as soon as possible in the hope that those he confronted would see that behind the emerald orb still existed a simple warrior who wanted nothing more than the survival of his world.
The sentry remained in position as Aryx approached, eyes straight ahead. The minotaur stepped in front of the knight, looking down at him. “You there. What hour do we approach?”
The knight did not look him directly in the face. “We’re just past the fourth hour.”
He did not elaborate, nor even pay any attention to Aryx. The warrior snorted. His first contact with another had hardly turned out as he had expected. Aryx thought of drawing the sword just to get the guard to pay more attention, but he realized the folly of such an act. “How far past?”
At last the human glanced up, impatience and disregard evident in his own eyes. However, the moment he met Aryx’s own gaze, the knight stiffened. The human’s mouth hung open and he stared at the draconian orb.
“How far past?” Aryx repeated.
“Just … just a few minutes … no more.” The sentry continued to stare, as if ensnared by Aryx’s emerald eye.
“Thank you.” The minotaur warrior quickly walked off in the direction of Lord Broedius’s chambers. Behind him, Aryx could sense the Knight of
Takhisis still watching him, no doubt his mouth yet hanging open. He hoped not everyone would react so. Aryx did not like the thought of leaving a trail of gawking spectators wherever he went.
Too soon, though, the minotaur suspected he would do just that. Each guard he passed broke from his duties to openly stare at the unsettling eye. One even followed him a few steps. If the trained warriors of Takhisis could not accept the eye, what would those such as Seph or Delara think? Would Kiri-Jolith’s gift turn everyone away from him? Did he even dare to attempt to speak with the generals?
What choice did he have? Everyone had already lain the responsibility for cooperation on his shoulders. He would have to make his people listen despite the distraction of the emerald orb.
As he neared Broedius’s chambers, he heard the rumble of talk from within—minotaur voices, none whose tone hinted at pleasure. Aryx paused several yards from the doors, composing himself. Two human sentries by the entrance glanced his way, then clutched their weapons more tightly the moment they noticed his left eye.
Seeing no reason to delay, Aryx marched toward the guards. “I’m Aryximaraki of Clan Orilg, sent by Lord Broedius himself to speak with the minotaur generals.”
One guard could not even find his voice. The second managed to nod his head before belatedly adding, “You … Lord Broedius said you were … you were to have permission to enter as soon as you arrived.”
“Then if you’ll stop gawking and let me pass, I’ll be out of your sight.” His annoyance began to turn to anger. Aryx had been given no choice in accepting the god’s gift.
The second knight opened the door. As Aryx barged through, he saw that only a few of the generals had arrived. Hojak stood there, an unfamiliar, tawny warrior next to him. Beyond them, General Geryl spoke with two others, one a short, muscular elder and the other the same size as Geryl, only with a girth nearly twice the circumference. Aryx’s fellow clan member carried in one hand his axe, as did two of the others. The remaining duo, Hojak one of them, wielded long swords. Clearly the generals had not come to this meeting expecting much in the way of good news, although he doubted that they intended to do literal battle with Broedius and his officers.
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