by Dragon Lance
“I won’t be able to do anything as long as I’m like this,” Kaz retorted, indicating his chains with a rattle. “Are you planning on releasing me?”
His ethereal companion looked away in what might have been outright embarrassment. “You will know when the time comes.” The staff tapped against the floor again. “The guard is stirring.”
The minotaur glanced at the door, hearing, in the distance, the movements of the sentry. He turned his gaze back to the gray man, but the human was no longer there.
“Typical mage,” he snarled under his breath. “More damned trouble than help!” Still, his mood had lifted, his determination returned. He had battled ogres, mages, and even living statues, defeating all of them. He might fall to Infernus, but he was not going to go complacently to his death.
It would have eased his mind if he had been able to retrieve Honor’s Face, but surely any strong minotaur axe could cut through the scaly hide of a dragon, couldn’t it? There was one way to find out.
Something blotted out the light. The shadowed head of the guard covered most of the barred window as he glanced inside at the prisoner.
“Something the matter?” Kaz asked.
The sentry peered inside, then snorted. After one more quick glance, he shook his head and departed without a word.
Alone again, Kaz considered the gray man. From what little he now recalled of Huma’s encounters with the figure, the gray man never said more than he needed to say. He did not promise that Kaz would succeed; nor did he promise that the minotaur would live, even if he somehow did garner victory. Huma had died even though he defeated the Dark Queen; the same might happen to Kaz. It was not a comforting thought, but it did not dissuade him. If he had one last opportunity even to slow down the dragon’s machinations, then he would gladly take it.
He wished the others were not involved. They might all perish. Even if the gray man mourned them also, he would immediately start searching for someone else to restore the balance. In some ways, his methods seemed almost as heartless as those of the dragon. Yet it was the gods who forced the mage to act as he did, the gods who interfered whenever they felt like it.
That was not quite the truth, and Kaz knew it. Paladine was not like that, and Kaz supposed that even the hands of the most powerful gods were tied at times.
“Paladine,” he whispered. “Kiri-Jolith … and you, too, Habbakuk.” The three gods made up the pantheon honored by the three orders belonging to the Knights of Solamnia. Kaz respected these three the most for their sense of justice and honor. Especially now, it made more sense to honor the Solamnic gods rather than Sargas, who seemed to demand so much and give pitifully little. “Do you think you could make an exception and interfere just one time? For me?”
He received no answer, of course.
*
Infernus looked out over his city, his kingdom. His eyes allowed him to see everything in exceptional detail despite the darkness. He could make out the tall walls surrounding the northern reaches of Nethosak. Nethosak had become a marvel that any race could admire, and the damage done by the war was but a memory. He had molded the minotaurs well in that respect; they worked like bees in a hive, constantly building and rebuilding for the good of the race.
There were exceptions, however. The greatest of these would perish, though, and his taint would fade before the year was out. The new campaign, the red dragon’s campaign, would demand the minotaurs’ full attention.
The minotaurs were his by right. Infernus knew that. It was he who had worked so long to make them what they were now. When he had come, at his mistress’s bidding, Nethosak had been a young city only a fraction of its present size. The temple of Sargas had been less of a power then, as had been the governing body of the race. Already a competitive people by nature, Infernus simply played on that aspect of the minotaur personality and busied himself creating what would become the Great Circus and the games.
With his ability to shift form, he had easily infiltrated their kind. A green dragon, often used for plans involving subtle cunning, might also have succeeded in influencing the minotaurs, but greens, Infernus thought with a snort of derision, were poor military beasts. They were good for little plots behind the scenes, but they failed to comprehend the intricacies involved in creating an armed force or fighting a strategic, large-scale battle.
He had thought first of assuming the role of emperor, but the temple and the role of high priest offered a more secluded, secret hierarchy. It provided him with the privacy he needed, plus its influence could be even greater than that of the other arms of the government, if played correctly.
So much work, Infernus thought with pride, returning to his chambers. Under the guise of the high priest Presir, whom he had, of course, been forced to eliminate, Infernus had caused the first temple to be built. Its grand scale had appealed to the populace, and he had known that, when completed, it would continue to impress future generations as well. The audience chamber and his own personal rooms he designed so that he would be able, at times, to return to his true shape. Infernus had directed the artisans to carve the dragon relief that now stood over the massive doorway to the audience chamber.
He had actually enjoyed revealing himself to the small, pathetic group that had attempted to rescue the hatchling. Only the minotaur supposedly chosen to be the next high priest ever saw his true form, and that just before the dragon dispatched the unfortunate and took on his corporeal shape. In some ways, it was a pity these heretics had to die. It would have been a pleasant respite for Infernus to, on occasion, speak to someone who knew the truth.
Of course, there was the hatchling. Given time, she would understand better than anyone else.
“You would be more comfortable if you would just give in to your destiny, Young One,” Infernus informed the tiny figure standing in the middle of the chamber. “I could ease the restraints a little bit, then.”
“I won’t help you!” Ty was surrounded by a field of crimson that pulsated with each breath the young woman took. The strain of standing through the night was obvious in her tense expression, but she had not sat down since Infernus had moved her here from the great audience chamber.
“Your will is a credit to your heritage. A human, even a minotaur, would not be so strong. They are all weak, the little races. It is we, the dragons, who should have rightly come to rule Krynn.” The high priest indicated the city outside. “We are everything they are not. Look at what little they have done during their existence. They spend so much time quarreling with one another that they fail to achieve much else. They need the guidance of an older, wiser race to show them how the world was meant to be. They need us, Young One. That is why you should be willing to help me. It is for their own good.”
“You’re lying! Kaz and Delbin would never want me to help you!”
There was a fleet waiting to depart in a matter of a few days and a vast army poised to march around and through the mountains to the west. They were awaiting his command. He did not have the time to spend trying to convince this confused young silver dragon of what was the right thing to do. Infernus decided that once the minotaur Kaz was dead, he would resort to harsher methods of persuasion. She would change her mind when the minotaur’s body was brought to her. The hatchling’s defiance, too, was a credit to her race, but enough was enough. Infernus had a world to conquer.
“You are weak, Young One, not so much in power but in mind. I see I shall have to do what I can to educate you, to teach you. You will come to appreciate my efforts, believe me.” Infernus steepled his hands. Centuries of role-playing had ingrained certain human habits in the dragon’s mind and body. He talked to Ty as he would one of his faithful acolytes. “This is for the good of all. You will agree in the end, even if your friend Kaz understands too late. It is better that his life ends before the great campaign begins. He would not cooperate, and his continued presence would only confuse otherwise loyal soldiers.”
Yes, Infernus thought. The death of … Tibe
ria’s … champion and the threat to her tiny kender friend would be enough to break the young one’s will. It was a pity he could not take the girl to the circus to watch the minotaur’s death, but it was too soon to risk bringing the youngster out in the open. Still, the same spell that had allowed Infernus to first discover his counterpart could be used again. The female could watch the events unfolding in the circus from here, in the temple, alone and helpless.
His captive continued to stand, as if by this mere act of defiance she could hurt Infernus. Infernus shook his head. “You weaken only yourself with this act, Young One. The minotaur will still die, and you will eventually collapse. Why not conserve your strength? Perhaps, if you get some rest, you will see things as they truly are meant to be.”
To his surprise and mild pleasure, Ty did just that. She sat down resignedly and, with a sigh, rubbed her eyes.
Then she did something that confused even the red dragon. Ty looked up and stared, her expression a questioning one. It was almost as if she were asking if she had made the correct decision by at last sitting down. But Ty was not staring at him. She was staring over the high priest’s shoulder.
Infernus turned quickly, wondering if the minotaur Kaz had somehow magically escaped again, but there was no sign of any other figure. Uneasy for some reason he could not fathom, the dragon crossed the chamber and peered around, seeking any shadowy area that might hide a watcher as small as the kender. Still there was nothing to see.
He turned back to Ty, but the young one had already closed her eyes, exhaustion having swiftly taken over. Finally Infernus dismissed the matter and departed the chamber. He still had a war to finish planning … once he made the final preparations for the minotaur’s death spectacle.
Chapter 16
CLAN LOYALTY
The announcement that Emperor Polik was to answer a challenge in the circus was not the most important reason for the vast crowd that squeezed into the huge arena that day. Polik had been winning his challenges for so long that most assumed he would win again. There were, of course, many who would have preferred to see him lose, especially a few select members of the Supreme Circle who cared neither for him nor for the influence of the high priest. Be that as it may, most of the crowd, both those able to gain entrance and those forced to wait outside and simply listen, had come for different reasons.
The short but unforgettable appearance by Kaz, a supreme champion still recalled by many – whose fame had reached a new zenith since his escape – had galvanized many minotaurs. There was something of a mystique about the infamous champion who had shunned his race at the height of his success. When it was announced that he had been recaptured and would appear in the circus again, anticipation had begun to build. Many in the audience actually sympathized with Kaz, realizing that it took bravery to step away after reaching such a plateau.
Aside from Kaz, there was another reason why the minotaurs flocked to the circus in even greater numbers than usual. That reason was the rumored announcement. No one knew just what that announcement was supposed to concern, but it was to take place immediately after the emperor’s expected victory, and the majority opinion was that the day of destiny had finally arrived. Everyone knew that the fleet was ready to set sail. The armies had been training near the mountains and were, by this point, ready for battle. The work still continued on ships and weaponry, but the might of the minotaurs was ready to be let loose. So the general populace was ready to believe.
Some wondered if the race had sufficiently recovered from its years of war and bondage, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. The emperor, with the high priest’s blessing, insisted that the minotaur race was ready. The Supreme Circle, while a little less enthusiastic, affirmed its confidence in the people.
At the moment, the elite legions were marching in full dress uniform around the floor of the circus. Armor gleamed in the sun as hundreds of minotaurs marched in perfect unison. Each unit carried high its standard, emblems depicting creatures of strength. There were those of the Bear Legion, the Lion, the Hawk, and, favored of the temple, the Dragon. The order of appearance was based on the battle records of each of these units, with Dragon inevitably first, but all were considered stalwarts of the cause. Horns blared as each unit passed the boxes where the rulership of the twin kingdoms sat. Cheers went up from the different sections when individual commanders paraded past. It was a glorious day for ceremony.
Polik contemplated all this as he prepared for the imperial combat. Everything was going as Jopfer had said it would. Oh, to be sure, there were those in the audience who resented his reign and protested the efforts he and the high priest had put into the new campaign, but their only choice was to join the war or be dishonored in the eyes of their fellows. The high priest had been exceptionally successful in his determination to undermine all resistance. Minotaurs were encouraged by the temple to inform on naysayers. The number of spies employed by the temple and the circle – not to mention his own private corps – had quadrupled in the past few months.
One of his aides entered the chamber. “Emperor, a cleric seeks permission for a private audience with you.”
It was about time, the graying minotaur thought. The combat was only minutes away. He had begun to wonder. “Send him in.” To his servants, he said, “You are all dismissed. Do not return until you are summoned.”
They knew the routine almost as well as he did. Polik did not care what they thought. Their livelihoods depended on his whims.
A robed figure, who might or might not have been the same cleric who had come the last time Polik had fought, entered the room moments later. They all looked the same to Polik – tall, narrow fellows with little humor. The cleric gave the emperor a cursory bow, then remained silent until the aide had departed.
“Well? Is it done?”
“Your challenger has received the blessing of the temple, as is proscribed by law. He has drunk the ritual goblet of wine and even now awaits the summons to the field.”
That was it, then. The cleric had given the fool the carefully drugged wine. The temple was adept at creating mixtures that did their work and later left no trace. In fact, someone drinking the same wine only half an hour later would feel no effects. His challenger would not even be affected until about the time he stood on the ten-foot-high, ten-yard-wide wooden platform and it began to rotate under the power of a dozen or so minotaur warriors. It was then that disorientation would strike him.
That was all the advantage Polik needed. Sometimes he felt he could have defeated a challenger undrugged. The clerics, however, had the process down to perfection and did not like any tampering. Jopfer was very much like his two predecessors, so much so that Polik, who also had collaborated with these two, sometimes felt as if he were dealing with the same cleric who had first crowned him emperor.
“And Kaz?” he finally asked. “What about Kaz?”
“At this time, he and his companions are being rounded up for their journey to the circus.”
“They should’ve been dealt with before my combat. My combat should be the culmination of events.”
The cleric’s expression did not change. “His Holiness has decided they should be used as examples after the grand crusade is announced. Their deaths will be used to remind other heretics what it means to defy the destiny of our race.”
Polik scratched his jaw. “Suppose so. Would’ve done it different, myself.” He shrugged. “That’s it, then. Time for the duel.”
“Sargas be with you, Emperor Polik.”
“Yes, yes …” The emperor turned away, seeking his helmet. As ruler of the empire, he was allowed to wear the ceremonial helmet in the hand-to-hand combat. “You’re dismissed.”
The robed figure gave Polik a brief look of contempt, but the emperor’s back was to him. With a final, even more cursory bow, he departed. Almost immediately, the servants and the aide returned.
“Are we ready to begin, Emperor?”
“Just help me find my helmet. I know
it was here a moment ago.”
Sighing silently, the aide forced back the thoughts that sprang to mind – thoughts that, were they known, could have got him tossed into the arena alongside the rebel Kaz – and started to search for his master’s missing helm.
*
Infernus sat in the booth set aside for him and his aides, four lesser clerics flanking him. He was clad in the most elegant robes of the high priest, gold trim and diamond sparkles making him glitter in the sunlight. It was all the dragon could do to suppress his eagerness and satisfaction, but he had to maintain the mask of quiet confidence, especially now.
Back in the temple, the hatchling, Tiberia, would be watching all of this. Infernus had decided it would be good for the young one’s education to see just how well her captor’s plans were progressing. The spell would give Ty a view of what went on in the arena based on the red dragon’s own perspective. The young one would see everything, including the death of her would-be champion, through Infernus’s eyes. It was a clever spell.
The day of destiny is upon us, Infernus thought, allowing himself a satisfied smile that brought shivers to the one cleric who happened to glance his way. My day …
*
They’re coming, Kaz thought, fidgeting. They’re coming, and the cursed gray human still hasn’t given me any kind of sign! The day before had passed without any clue as to what Kaz was supposed to do to free himself and the others. He had expected some clue from the mage before this moment; after all, the human had more or less promised. From what little he could recall of Huma’s experiences with the gray man, nothing indicated that the figure was a liar or a trickster. Still, he was beginning to wonder.
Ty, Hecar, Delbin, Fliara … their lives all depended on Kaz. He could not let them down, even if it turned out that the gray mage had let Kaz down. When the guards came for him, he would find some way to win.
