by Cam Banks
The great dragon-cat leaped and ducked, snapping at the air with his jaws, narrowly missing Vanderjack’s head. The beast’s wings were whipping up rainwater and mud from the arena floor, making it almost impossible for the sellsword to maneuver around the dragonne. He wondered what the Conjurer or the Hunter would suggest and decided that the only way to snap Star out of his rage and frenzy was to risk delivering a blow to the creature’s head.
The crowd loved the new battle. Many, frightened of Star’s roar, had climbed up the stands to a higher vantage point. They saw a weary and bloodied man doing battle with a great beast that seemed like an amalgam of two of the most dangerous and predatory beasts they knew. From where they sat, they couldn’t tell Vanderjack was trying to reason with Star or neutralize him, not kill him.
“Sorry about this, big guy,” Vanderjack said and threw his shield with all of his might at Star’s massive skull. The shield rebounded from the beast’s head with a clang. Star barely blinked from the blow. He turned his head fully around to face Vanderjack, opened his jaws wide, and roared at the sellsword from a distance of only ten feet.
Vanderjack’s head felt as if an ogre had kicked him, and his chest shook with the unleashed rage tied up within the roar. It sent him flying backward, stunned, muscles strained to the point of exhaustion. As he lay there, the crowd shouting for him to get up and fight, everything from his concussed skull to the shredded tendons in his arms and legs screaming at him to just give up and die, he heard the one sound he knew would just make things worse.
It was the sound of the chains snapping.
Theodenes had had enough of the spectacle.
He’d watched the whole contest at Rivven Cairn’s side, under the cover of the canvas awning stretched over part of the balcony, but the rain still soaked his boots as it showered upon the balcony floor. The highmaster, meanwhile, kept dry by some minor cantrip.
Theodenes had watched it all, occasionally wincing but steadily becoming confident that the dark-skinned stranger in the scale mail shirt and helm who had fought his way to the chariots would win.
The highmaster must have recognized Vanderjack too, but she didn’t move to do anything about it. In fact, as Vanderjack and his last gladiatorial foe raced their chariots toward each other, he had decided that Rivven wasn’t going to lift a finger until Cazuvel was drawn out of hiding.
Then the arena’s big seventh gate was lifted and Star emerged, crazed, not at all the warm, intelligent creature he’d grown fond of. Theodenes was certain that they had done something to the dragonne to reduce him to that angry, almost mindless brute. Was it Rivven’s magic? Perhaps some herbal concoction prepared by the beast masters of the Horseman’s Arena to whip animals into a state of rage? Either way, Vanderjack looked in serious trouble.
Rivven continued to do nothing as Vanderjack tried pathetically to counter the berserk dragonne. She turned her head just enough to meet Theo’s gaze and smiled.
Theo had most definitely had enough.
It was a widely known fact that gnomes have a low resistance to stress. Never in his entire life, however, had Theodenes responded to stress by running into a room, the chains on his ankles clanking and bouncing, grabbing a polearm from a guard, running back out of the room, hooking the polearm onto the canvas awning above the balcony, then leaping from the balcony into open space in a vain attempt to use the awning and polearm together as a makeshift hang glider. And yet, that is exactly what he did.
The guards were astonished, no less Rivven Cairn, but the gnome was already up and over the rail of the balcony before they could do anything but stare and gape and point.
“What in the name of—!” was all Rivven could get out before she watched Theodenes vanish from the railing.
Theo hung on to the polearm, jaw set, wind catching in the awning and lifting him swiftly up and into the air, easily putting some distance between himself and the palace. He made a mental note to add a glider function to his ultimate melee weapon device, for it was extremely useful and more than a little exciting. One end of his stolen polearm was a standard axe blade backed by a spike, the spike firmly hooked into one corner of the awning. The other end of the polearm was fortunately caught up in a loop of cord lining the other end of the awning; otherwise Theo would be dropping like a stone.
The triumphant gnome managed a sort of strangled war cry as he angled himself toward the far end of the arena, where Star and Vanderjack were circling each other. Star was busy straining against his chains, and the links stretched, groaned, and finally gave way against the dragonne’s monstrous strength. The crowd was busy flinging itself toward the edges of the stadium seating, looking down over the high walls into the arena below, shouting and gesturing at the frightening display of bestial power.
Somebody in the crowd noticed Theo’s rapid descent and pointed upward. The cheers of “Ergoth! Ergoth!” were joined by “Kender! Kender!” As drenched and worn out as Theo was, with his luxurious white hair clinging to his scalp and his fine traveling clothes hanging awkwardly off his limbs, he looked to the idiot masses like a wet kender.
He landed in a sodden, muddy heap near Vanderjack. The awning fell forward, flapping in the wind, and, as luck would have it, flew right into Star’s face. The dragonne, finally free of his bonds, sailed right over Theo and the prone sellsword, jaws and forelimbs caught up in the canvas. Theodenes lifted the polearm out of the mud where it had landed and stood, prepared to defend himself and Vanderjack—once and no longer his enemy—against all comers.
“Star!” he shouted, watching the dragonne leap and flap crazily around the arena until he managed to claw the canvas away from his face. “Star, you are under the effects of some kind of pharmaceutical or metaphysical stimulant! Remember who we are! Theodenes and Vanderjack!”
The dragonne spun around, spraying water so hard that it splashed all the way up the nearby wall and into the faces of the throng watching from high above. There was more cheering, but the crowd’s mood had sobered somewhat. It was strange entertainment, a kender fighting a dragonne that flopped around as though it were confused.
Star tensed, his muscles bunching up, drawing himself back on his haunches. His wings spread wide and angled upward, as a bat’s might before it propels itself forward to snare an insect from the air. Theo gulped. Star was big enough that he could swallow the gnome in one bite if he wanted to.
Theodenes felt rather than saw the stirring of the sellsword beside him in the mud. Vanderjack was trying to pull himself up into a sitting position, but he looked terrible.
“No good,” said the sellsword. “May as well say whatever prayers you gnomes have to whatever gods you have, Theo. Star’s—”
Theo finished the sentence. “Charging right at us,” he said, gritting his teeth. He thrust the butt end of the polearm into the thick clay and braced himself for the impact. He thought of closing his eyes, afraid to look, but something made them stay open. Gnome curiosity, perhaps?
The dragonne beat his wings and launched himself up and into a swift and deadly arc, claws outstretched on the way down, wings pushing him halfway across the arena in the direction of the gnome and the Ergothian, jaws opening. Then, at the moment of impending collision, the wings beat once feverishly, and Star flew past overhead.
“He missed!” said Vanderjack, seized by a coughing fit.
“No, he didn’t,” said Theo, smiling. “Look!”
Star was flying around in a lazy arc over the stands of spectators. There were screams and cries of “The beast is loose!” and “Call for the guard!” and “It’s all the kender’s fault!” Then, without any signs of wrath or madness, he landed before the gnome and breathed a warm, wet greeting in his face.
“I apologize,” said Star. “It took me this long to overcome the enchantments the bozaks placed on me.”
“No apologies necessary, Star. We are simply glad that you have come to your senses.”
Star looked at Vanderjack, who was kneeling and trying to stand
up all the way. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Never felt better,” said Vanderjack. “Feel like I could go a few more rounds with those gladiators.”
Star suddenly whirled around, and the large feline eyes widened. “Be ready!” he bellowed. “Cazuvel comes!”
“Is that Etharion talking to you? Are the Sword Chorus here?” asked Vanderjack, using Theodenes as support. “Where’s Cazuvel?”
Star looked down at the ground. With a thunderous rumble like the sound of a hundred chariots clattering over rock, a colossal mechanism beneath the arena began its work. The puddles and lakes of water on the surface trembled, ripples disturbing their surfaces. The crowd fell into a hush, and the rain had stopped for the time being. Star said simply, “Cazuvel rises.”
The sucking sound of mud disgorging its contents followed as enormous doors in the arena floor lifted and slid open. Hundreds of gallons of water drained around the doors, but from inside the dark cavity, the rumbling noise grew even louder. A stone platform, clearly designed to lift large numbers of people or animals into the arena, rose from the new opening at the center of the arena. Underneath it, four columns of stone rose, forming a solid foundation for the structure as it climbed into the air above the arena with surprising speed and stability.
Upon the platform was what appeared to be an elaborate cage fashioned from iron. It was the same cage that Star had been locked up in at Castle Glayward. Even from that distance, Theodenes could see that on one inside wall of the cage a woman’s body was chained up; her wrists and ankles had been secured to the bars.
“Gredchen!” said Vanderjack, pointing. “What in blazes has Cazuvel done to her?
On the opposite wall of the cage was a rectangular object that both Theo and Vanderjack recognized as the painting of the baron’s beautiful daughter.
Cazuvel himself, still dressed in black robes, his hood thrown back and gaunt albino features boasting an exultant grin, stood on top of the cage. His arms were raised in the air. All of the crowd’s eyes were on him, having left Vanderjack, Theodenes, and Star for the magnetic appeal of the new surprise.
“People of Wulfgar!” screamed the wizard, his voice unnaturally loud. “Your time to bear witness has come!”
Theo suddenly remembered the highmaster. His gaze shifted to the balcony. He saw her there, a figure in black and red with a billowing cape and that hideous armored mask she wore. Her gauntlets gripped the balcony railing. Her two thugs were by her side. Theo wondered where her red dragon was, but only moments later, he saw the enormous bulk of Cear ascending the roof of the palace, squatting there with wings folded by his sides, waiting.
“Now that you have reveled in your blood sports and cried out for death, it is time to reflect on the future of Krynn!”
Vanderjack said, “He’s going to give a speech?”
“We need to get onto Star. You have to get up there!”
The sellsword nodded wearily. He looked pretty grimy and bloodied and bruised, from the gnome’s analytic point of view.
But Vanderjack climbed quickly onto Star’s back, joined by Theo. “I have a plan,” said Vanderjack.
“I have a better one,” said Theodenes.
“Would you shut up for once and listen to my idea? Trust me, for once.”
The gnome sighed. “All right.”
“Star,” he said, bending over and whispering instructions to the dragonne. “That was going to be my plan,” said Theo sulkily as Star sprang up from the floor of the arena and sped toward Cazuvel and the cage.
The crowd cheered. Theo cringed. The wizard looked down at the approaching dragonne and laughed maniacally.
“People of Wulfgar!” crowed Cazuvel, gleefully pointing at the dragonne and his riders. “See how even now, facing certain doom, the brave heroes ride upon their mighty winged steed to the rescue of the fair maiden!”
The wizard reached into his robes and withdrew something long and sharp. The heavy clouds above the arena, which had until then permitted only a watery gray sunlight to filter through the rain, split apart. The object in Cazuvel’s hand shone brightly, almost dazzling.
“Lifecleaver!” said Vanderjack. “There’s my sword! Star, where are the ghosts? What’s he planning?”
Star rumbled, “I fear they are not present. There are dark forces I do not fathom at work up on that pedestal.”
Cazuvel was still pontificating. “Behold, people of Wulfgar! You will be the first to see the power of the Abyss made manifest!” With a single swift motion, the wizard drove the sword into the top of the cage, midway between the chained figure of Gredchen and the painting. The sound of metal scraping against metal rang throughout the arena.
Cazuvel intoned, “Cermindaya, cermindaya, saya memanggil anda dan mengikat anda!” Almost immediately afterward, a burst of vivid blue and orange light flashed from inside the cage as ribbons of energy began to dance between Gredchen, the sword, and the painting.
They were almost there. Theo gripped his polearm for an attack, but just as they swung close, to his surprise, Vanderjack shouted, “Take Theo clear, Star!” The sellsword leaped off with nothing but a battered shield.
“No! Vanderjack! Wait for me! Wait!”
“Trust him,” said Star, winging away from the platform. “Vanderjack knows what he is doing.”
Theodenes, looking over his shoulder as the sell-sword closed on the wizard, fumed … and feared for Vanderjack’s fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Vanderjack leaped toward certain doom.
The fetch in Cazuvel’s form stood amid a storm of energy, a storm that linked Gredchen and the painting, holding the sword Vanderjack had inherited from his mother, the queen of the pirates. His sword—one of the fabled nine-lives stealers and fashioned from unbreakable star metal ore—was undoubtedly the lynchpin of magic holding the storm together.
The wizard below lifted his hands and channeled the surging power filling the cage; it haloed him in alternating coronas of blue and orange. Seeing the sellsword plummeting toward him, he gestured with one hand and directed a bolt of the energy in Vanderjack’s direction. The ribbon of power struck the sellsword full in the chest, holding him there for a moment, surrounding him in the same coruscating light. Cazuvel tugged his arm back sharply, and the stream of magic acted like a fisherman’s line. Vanderjack was flung forcibly down and to the side of the cage, slamming into the stone platform.
The crowd screamed out its disappointment, although there were some cries in the stands applauding the wizard.
Cazuvel’s stunt with the magical snare had drained Vanderjack, rendered him almost unconscious. He struggled to breathe, but it was as if his lungs were filled with broken glass. The shield had buckled and folded around his left forearm, rendering both it and the arm useless. He couldn’t tell whether or not his hip had shattered, but did it matter anymore? The wizard walked along the roof of the cage and stood on one corner, looking down at him with the light from the magical storm shining in his eyes.
“Get up, get up, get up,” Vanderjack said to himself, speaking what he imagined the Sword Chorus would say if he could hear them. “Ignore the pain; die tomorrow.”
He reached out, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around a bar on the cage, and felt the thrumming power within the cage channel through his arm, his shoulder, up his neck, and into the base of his skull.
“Get up, get up!” cried the Sword Chorus, outside of his mind, coming from somewhere else. They were really speaking to him. He opened his eyes, pulled himself up against the side of the cage, and realized that the cage was acting as a conductor between him and Lifecleaver.
“Glad to … hear your voices,” he said, coughing blood. “Little late to the party, though.”
“The wizard cannot hear us,” said the Apothecary.
“He is distracted,” said the Hunter.
“Vanderjack!” shouted the Cook, whose wavering image seemed to hang beyond the bars, within the cage itself. “Cazuvel is
using the link between the painting and Gredchen to open a gateway into the Abyss. You have to stop him!”
“Right. I figured as much. I’ll get … right on that,” he said and flung himself to the left as Cazuvel tossed another bolt of lightning down at him. He almost tore his right arm out of its socket. The pain was intense, but it sharpened his senses, cleared away some of the fog.
“You are broken!” cried Cazuvel. “You are finished! Even now, I draw upon the powers of the Abyss! I wield the power unfathomable! Look at what great works I can accomplish while your life slips away from you!”
Another surge of power came from the cage and flooded the fetch’s mortal body, making him crackle with even stronger mystical forces. He spread his arms, and intoned, “Mati santet, mati sihir! Mati semuasaya daya!”
In the arena below, motes of orange and blue light winked into existence above the dozens of dead bodies of the gladiators. Threads of light seemed to unwind from those points of light, traveling at great speed toward the center of the arena, toward the cage, toward Cazuvel.
Vanderjack stared, but at least for the moment he felt invigorated by the same power Cazuvel was drawing upon. As long as he remained in contact with the cage, he seemed able to ignore the constant pain setting his nervous system on fire.
“He’s gathering the souls of the dead,” hissed the Conjuror.
“An abominable act!” said the Aristocrat.
“For what purpose?” Vanderjack asked. He moved one step at a time around the cage in Gredchen’s direction.
“To open dozens of smaller portals, using the souls as a bridge to the Abyss,” said the Cook.
Vanderjack winced. Why isn’t Rivven doing anything about this? he wondered. He took another step and watched as all of the myriad threads from the arena floor made contact with the fetch. It was becoming harder to look at Cazuvel, with all of the violent light radiating out from him. He looked away, toward the palace of the khan. She wasn’t standing there on her balcony anymore. Where had she gone?
