by Jeff Crook
A cloud of steam boiled from the back of the smithy, carrying with it an odor of boiled meat. Cael staggered away, gorge rising in his throat. The dwarf swore a string of curses.
“Gimzig, you dolt, are you still alive?” he shouted.
After a few moments, a voice answered him from the darkness. “Yes… um… maybe you had better go without me.”
“Do you need aid?”
“No I think not. Perhaps a little butter.”
“I haven’t got any butter, you doorknob!” the dwarf cursed. He grabbed the elf and led him through a door that brought them under a low shed. Cael ducked under the eaves and followed his companion into the narrow alley beyond.
“Why must Gimzig always smell like a dung heap?” Cael asked.
“He spends most of his time in the sewers.”
“But why?”
“You’re asking me?” Kharzog snorted. “Why does a gnome do anything? Whole books have been written about it, mostly by other gnomes. Hurry up. We’ll miss everything.”
They turned a corner, entering an alley slightly wider than the one they’d just left. A few people hurried along ahead of them, one bearing a picnic basket, another a jug of wine big enough to souse a small army.
Despite his greater stride, the elf began to fall behind his dwarven companion. “How is your limp?” Kharzog asked sarcastically of his struggling companion.
“Better. I hardly think about it now,” Cael answered. His staff beat a rapid pace on the slick stones of the alley.
The dwarf scowled. “You know how I feel about that,” he said.
“It keeps the fingers in my rings,” the elf said with a laugh.
“And how does your shalifi, Master Verrocchio, feel about it?” Kharzog asked angrily. Without waiting for a response, he continued, “You know how I feel about such deception, not to mention your profession. Your master would be ashamed if he were alive.”
“He is alive, somewhere,” Cael answered grimly. It was obvious that he had no desire to continue the conversation. Wagging his beard in frustration, the dwarf continued on his way.
They drew near the end of the alley. Revelers thronged the street beyond, some of them spilling into the alley, where they danced in small groups to the beat of a fife and drum corps. The dwarf elbowed a way through them and forced his way into the street. “By my father’s black beard, this is the largest crowd I’ve seen in ten lustrums,” he shouted above the noise. All around them, people were dancing in the street. The air was filled with the competing sounds of bands, voices raised in song, laughter, and shouting. Noisemakers, crackers, and whistles frightened dogs and small children and sent them barking, howling, or screaming through the crowds. All the while, the people danced, huge masses of them dancing together, so that all that could be seen were their heads or hats going up and down. There was no getting through them. They filled all of Horizon Road, so that the elf and dwarf were forced to detour down sidestreets and alleys.
All along their way, people tried to pull them aside in a friendly fashion, pushing flagons of wine and foamy ale into their hands. “We want to drink with a dwarf!” they shouted stupidly.
“Out of my way, you drunken fools,” the old dwarf laughed, as he pushed his way through them. He’d lived in Palanthas all his life, and he was used to the Palanthians’ insensitivity to “outsiders,” meaning any nonhuman, or for that matter any human not from Palanthas. It wasn’t that they were mean-spirited. They just didn’t know any better. “We have business in the Old City,” he shouted when they plucked at his sleeves.
The elf fared no better, and perhaps worse, as curious women clung to his elbows and invited him to a quiet place for a private word. He’d gracefully dislodge them, almost reluctantly, for he knew the old dwarf, despite the smile in his beard, was impatient to get to the Great Plaza. Meanwhile, Cael resisted his natural inclination to relieve those he met of their superfluous wealth, but only to spare himself the dwarfs ire.
Palanthas was built upon a design meant to reflect the perfection of the heavenly spheres. In the center of the city lay the Great Plaza—a vast marble courtyard surrounded by the city’s most important buildings, including the Lord’s Palace, the Courthouse, and the barracks of the City Guard. Roads led out from the Great Plaza like the spokes of a wheel, while secondary roads were laid in concentric circles, spreading like ripples in a pool. All roads from the Great Plaza led outward.
Not long after the city was founded, a great wall was built around it, and over the years it was modified and improved until it was reckoned one of the architectural marvels of all Krynn. Where the roads passed through the wall, there stood seven mighty gates, with gate towers rising over three hundred feet above the streets of the city.
The wall was, in fact, two walls, one inside the other, with a deep muddy trench between them. It ran in a great circle, and everything within the wall was called the Old City. All the oldest and wealthiest families of Palanthas lived within the Old City, the Great Library was built here, as was the now-vanished Tower of High Sorcery. All that remained of the ancient tower was a strange pool surrounded by a small forest of magical trees—the Shoikan Grove. In the Old City also stood the Temple of Paladine, as well as the more recently constructed Shrine of Takhisis.
However, the original city planners had failed to appreciate how large and important Palanthas would grow to become. As the city outgrew its first wall and spread outward, houses and businesses began to fill up the valley between the surrounding hills and to dot their slopes. The city outside the first wall was called New City, though much of it was as old or older than many of the buildings in the Old City. In New City could be found the main markets, as well as the Old Temple District and the University. Here also lay The Dwarven Spring, the ancient public house belonging to one of the oldest families of Palanthas—the Hammerfell dwarves.
This day, the day of the Spring Dawning Festival, the streets of New City were packed with people from all over Krynn. They had come by way of the seven roads leading into the city, but most had traveled the Knight’s High Road—the only overland passage through the Vingaard Mountains, an impregnable natural barrier that surrounded the city and protected it from the outside world. A great many more had arrived by ship, finding port in the calm waters of the Bay of Branchala. They filled Palanthas’ inns and public houses, wine shops and streets. Those who couldn’t find lodging camped in the parks and plazas, any place where a tent could be pitched or a blanket spread. Coins of steel and silver fairly rained into the merchants’ pockets. Vendors packed the city’s markets with their stalls like so many fishermen along a pier, casting their lines into the surf of humanity rolling along their shores. Hundreds of wagonloads of provisions flowed into the Merchandising District every morning, only to flow out again by midday to fill orders arriving from the city’s inns. Only the bakers complained, for they were kept elbow deep in dough morning, noon, and night.
The Spring Dawning Festival was also one of the few times of the year when the Knights of Takhisis relaxed their control over the city’s traffic. Flow into and out of the Old City was usually carefully watched at the seven gates, but on the day of the Spring Dawning Festival, when many thousands were crowding their way to the Great Plaza, not even the formidable Dark Knights could track every person passing through. Over thirty years had passed since the Dark Knights had wrested the city from the hands of the Knights of Solamnia, but the city continued to prosper. Indeed, some people thought business prospered because of the Knights. It seemed their greatest concern was maintaining an iron-fisted rule over the city. Though the Knights’ laws were more strict than any the city had ever known, and their punishments more ruthless than civilized folk were used to seeing, there were not a few citizens who were glad of it. The level of lawlessness was at an all-time low. The city’s jails were filled, and the ancient and seemingly untouchable Thieves’ Guild had been destroyed. In the last ten years, the Spring Dawning Festival had grown from a civilized celebrati
on to a veritable carnival.
Although the Knights maintained a show of force at the seven gates, this day. they did more gawking than guarding. The Spring Dawning Festival was a holiday for them as well. Many looked forward to a magnificent feast to be held that evening in their barracks’ mess halls, while their officers prepared for the social functions to be held throughout the night in the homes of nobles or aboard yachts anchored in the bay. All through the day, discipline was relaxed for one and all. Officers and soldiers laughed and joked among themselves as they lounged around the gates, leaning on their pikes, pointing out colorful characters in the crowd or sneaking cups of wine behind their shields. They kept only a casual watch for weapons and other contraband. The strict policy of checking identification papers was relaxed.
Cael and his dwarven companion eventually found themselves squeezed into the crush at the Horizon Road Gate. Cael’s leg had tired him a bit, so his coppery hair clung damply to his pale flushed face, but the old gray-bearded dwarf fairly panted. His bucket of beer was empty, and his dwarven patience was as thin as the hairs covering his flushed pate. He cursed and shoved, trying in vain to hurry the crowd through the gate. While they waited, a tremendous boom shook the buildings, and looking up, they saw beyond the city walls a fireball hanging in the sky.
“Reorx’s beard! We’re late! That’s the signal for the joust,” the dwarf snarled. As though to reinforce his words, a fanfare of trumpets floated to them on the fine spring breeze. A second fireball exploded in the sky, shaking them to their bones, but a third, appearing as a point of light streaking up from the center of the city, sputtered and failed.
“Look at that!” someone behind them commented. Turning, they saw a small group of young men and women, all dressed in robes of red, pointing at the failed fireworks. “It is as I said,” one hissed. They huddled together, whispering.
Cael looked at the old dwarf with a puzzled expression.
“Magic,” the dwarf spat. “Not to be trusted, I always said, and now I’m proved right. There’s a rumor that magic is failing, that magicians’ spells and incantations are losing their power. And it not thirty years since the new magic was discovered after the old spells ceased to work, after Chaos stole the moons of magic. Good riddance, I say. They’d do better to use real gnomish fireworks, dangerous as they may be.” He snorted, waving his hand at the failed fireball’s pitiful smear of oily smoke now shredding in the breeze.
They inched their way toward the gate, passing finally beneath its massive arch into a ‘short roofed passage between the walls. It was pleasantly cool and dark after the warm spring sun and the close air of New City’s streets and alleys. However, the drums of a fife corps thundered within it, while the dancers jumped up and down like pistons in a gnomish engine. People grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders and dragged him into their dance, and in the crush Cael lost sight of his companion, though he was able to track the dwarf’s progress by the occasional bellowing curse heard above the pounding of the drums. However, it was not long before he was himself caught up by the dancers and dragged into the fray. He was jostled, pummeled, pinched, pressed, elbowed, poked, and finally spun like a chip on the flood out the other end of the tunnel into the open air of the Old City. Somehow, he’d managed to keep hold of his staff. The old dwarf was nowhere to be seen.
“You there! Hey you!” a voice shouted. Looking around, Cael spotted a contingent of Knights of Takhisis standing in the shadow of the gate’s southern tower. One Knight motioned for the elf to approach. Cael slowly hobbled through the streams of people. As he neared, the Knight who had hailed him winked. “Come over here,” he said.
“May I be of service, Sir Garrud?” Cael asked of the winking Knight.
“I thought that was you, Cael,” the Knight said. “Going to the party?”
“Eventually,” the elf answered as he watched for his companion.
“Here, try a little of this, “ the Knight said. He proffered a small brown bottle behind his shield. Grinning, Cael stooped, took the bottle and tilted it to his lips. Immediately, a fine silver mist erupted from his lips, filled the air with a potent odor of pure alcohol.
“Dwarf spirits,” the Knight laughed. “The best.”
“Indeed,” Cael gasped.
“What’s all this then?” shouted a voice behind them. The old dwarf appeared from the crowd. “Cael! So here you are. Confounded idiots! I thought they’d be the death of me.” He stopped beside his friend and, planting his heavy dwarf boots wide apart, glared up at the Knight.
“You, what are you up to?” the dwarf demanded of Sir Garrud. “Why pick Cael out of the crowd? It’s because he is an elf, isn’t it? I suppose you’ll be wanting to see my papers next. Do you know who I am?” he said, wagging his finger at the Knight’s nose.
“We have orders to arrest someone fitting Cael’s description, Master Hammerfell,” the Knight said sternly. “Fortunately, his documents are in order. I’m glad of it. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest an old friend. Cael and I are old friends, aren’t we Cael?
“Friends we are,” the elf smiled tolerantly.
“Yes, yes. That’s all good and well,” the dwarf growled. “If you are finished with him I’d like to go. We have a place on stage for the joust and the unveiling.”
“You’re already late. The joust has begun,” Sir Garrud said as he clapped Cael on the back, sending the chuckling elf and the old dwarf, sputtering with curses, on their way.
Chapter Six
In the center of the Great Plaza, a white knight lay on his back, wearily waving his hand in supplication, as a triumphant green-clad knight bowed to the raucous crowd. The Spring Dawning joust was symbolic. The white knight represented winter, while the green knight was the coming spring. Their mock battle celebrated the defeat of winter and the annual renewal of spring. Of course, the green knight always won, but the people enjoyed the event, and cheered wildly when the green knight at last overcame his white-clad adversary.
Master Hammerfell was angry at having missed the show. He and Cael made their way hastily onto the stage built upon the steps of the Lord’s Palace, overlooking the Plaza. An attendant showed them where to stand, as the crowds continued to cheer. Nobody noticed their late entrance, for Master Hammerfell’s place was far from the dignitaries and nobles surrounding the Lord of Palanthas, the Lord Knight of the Knights of Takhisis, and the city’s senators. Among these latter personages sat Bertrem, head of the order of Aesthetics of the Great Library of Palanthas, as well as, numerous wealthy merchants, courtiers and courtesans, nobles, and prosperous captains of the city’s merchant fleet Near them, a powerful contingent of grim-faced guards huddled around a small, weasel-faced man dressed in robes of gray. He glared at anyone who approached too closely.
“Look who is here,” Cael said, pointing him out.
“Arach Jannon,” the dwarf snorted in “They say he knows everything that passes within Palanthas, that he sits in his chamber beneath the Lord’s Palace like a great spider, controlling the web of informants and spies that he has spun across this city. No deed goes unmarked, no cargo landed, no missive dispatched by secret courier, no seditious word whispered, but that he knows about it. He is the Judge of Law of the city, a man to be feared. His is also the special duty of protecting the Founderstone and investigating its power.”
“A Gray Robe, eh?” Cael noted. “Is his magic powerful?”
The dwarf shot him a suspicious glance. “I suppose. Despite his looks, he is not a man to be trifled with, I hear. He is clever and ruthless. They say it was he who brought the old Thieves’ Guild low. Those warriors you see around him are his handpicked guard. The Nine Axes they are called, very dangerous men, the best in all Solamnia. They are not Knights of Takhisis, so they are not above a knife in the back. They guard the Founderstone day and night, and are but one strand in a larger net of traps and foils. Look!”
At the center of the stage stood a man imploring the crowd to silence. He was a small, elderly fellow w
ith a balding head and a groomed goatee protruding from his weak chin. With each pleading gesture for silence, the crowd grew less respectful, beginning to jeer.
“The Lord Mayor of Palanthas,” the dwarf shouted. “Xavier uth Nostran. What a fool.” Turning round, he found his elf companion gently loosening the pursestrings of their nearest neighbor—a wine importer by the name of Jevor Kannigan. Kharzog elbowed the elfin the ribs and trod on his foot with one heavy dwarven boot. Cael reluctantly left the merchant’s fat purse where it hung and returned his attention to the festivities.
People were shouting good-natured obscenities at Lord Xavier, suggesting that he assume all sorts of impossible body positions. Some of the nobles and senators on the stage chuckled in embarrassment. Finally, a tall, powerfully built man wearing the black armor of the Knights of Takhisis rose pointedly to his feet. The crowd quieted somewhat, though they felt safe enough in their numbers to hurl a few curses even at the Lord Knight of the City, Sir Kinsaid. He stared ominously out at them as though memorizing their faces for fixture reference, and soon the jeering abated.
“People of Palanthas,” the lord mayor said in a high, reedy voice. “Before the ceremonies continue, our great champion, the Lord Knight of the City of Palanthas, Sir Elstone Kinsaid, has an important announcement to make, which I am sure shall greatly benefit us all.” His voice scraped an octave higher on the words “important announcement,” causing many in the crowd to wince at his words. Few important announcements made by Sir Kinsaid had ever benefited anyone but the Knights of Takhisis. Lord Xavier cringingly resumed his seat.
With a final scathing glance round, Sir Kinsaid unrolled the scroll he had been clutching, and, holding it up formally, began to announce in a booming voice. “People of Ansalon and all the lands of Krynn, citizens of Palanthas, lords, ladies, and gentlemen, let it be known, by order of the Lord of the Night, Sir Morham Targonne, that from this day forward, the noble chivalric order formerly known as the Knights of Takhisis shall be known as the Knights of Neraka.”
