Emperor of Ansalon (d-3)

by Douglas Niles

  Tale Splintersteel followed directly on the heels of Fer shy;ros Windchisel. Always robed from head to toe, the Zhakar dwarf nevertheless made good time on his stocky legs. He seemed to have great freedom of movement even within the confines of his garment, leaping nimbly from rock to rock or scampering from ledge to shelf down a steep defile, and he often demonstrated real strength in his arms and shoulders when called upon to perform a belay or to hoist himself up or down a rope.

  Lyrelee came next. Though the priestess was garbed in traveling leathers instead of the silken pants and blouse that she normally wore, Ariakas still saw in her the cat shy;like grace of movement that had first attracted him. Now, as he watched her climb, his mind often wandered over the delightful and sensual experiences they had shared in the past weeks.

  Their intimacy had begun in Sanction, immediately following the creation of the first draconians. The combi shy;nation of the dangers they had shared and the thrill of opportunity present in the corruption ritual had infused them both with an animal passion that the time since had done very little to diminish.

  Only after their first, exhaustive embrace had Ariakas recalled Takhisis's warning regarding women. Since then he had tried to rationalize the state of affairs, almost con shy;vincing himself that the goddess would not claim the life of one such faithful and capable priestess.

  At first, when Tale had agreed to take Ariakas to Zhakar, neither the priestess nor the Hylar had struck the warrior as likely traveling companions. Ferros Wind-chisel remained determined to investigate the dwarven kingdom, however, and Ariakas had not tried hard to dissuade him from making the journey. Strangely, now that he knew the true nature of the Zhakar, Ferros had pursued his quest with more conviction than ever. The mountain dwarf's skills proved such an asset that even Tale Splintersteel had been forced to lay aside his preju shy;dices.

  Lyrelee had joined them immediately before their departure. Wryllish Parkane had complained that the expedition was not powerful enough to impress the innately hostile Zhakar. Though the high priest had envi shy;sioned a fully armed company of troops as an escort, Ariakas had demurred, insisting that the ability to travel fast and light would more than make up for the lack of numbers. He had also pointed out that his crimson-bladed sword was more powerful than a full comple shy;ment of men-at-arms.

  Tale Splintersteel had offered to provide an escort of two dozen Zhakar, but Ariakas had immediately rejected that suggestion. He would not appear to these dwarves as a prisoner, nor as an escorted guest. He intended to dictate terms as strongly as any potential conqueror. As a compromise, and with very little persuasion necessary, the lord had offered to take Lyrelee as an additional fighter.

  For a week following the corruption of the eggs, Aria-kas had trained diligently under the high priest himself, learning new spells that might help their mission. He could now cure many types of wounds, as well as dis shy;eases and poisonings-and, too, he could cause the same kinds of injuries to his enemies as he could heal in his friends.

  Other spells opened wider paths of communication between him and his goddess. These he often employed in the still of the night, ensuring that the Zhakar did not lead them into treachery or ambush-especially since, after his experience with the Shilo-Thahn, he was a lot less willing to trust his own instincts to protect them against surprise attack.

  Ariakas knew that the greed driving Tale Splintersteel was a powerful motive, but he was not entirely certain it would overcome the dwarf's inherent hatred and spite-fulness. Thus far, apparently, avarice had won out. At the same time, Ariakas had not forgotten the measure of revenge due the treacherous Zhakar.

  The real keystone of their defense rode on Ariakas's broad back. The two-handed sword that had blown frost and spewed acid remained a perfect red, and the warrior could barely begin to imagine the strength of the firestorm that would swirl forth from it upon his com shy;mand. The breath of the red dragon was, in many ways, the most terrifying of any serpent's attack. When the time was right, he felt certain that the red blade would serve very well to bring the Zhakar to heel.

  The trail meandered onto a broad, grassy slope, and for a time they were able to walk abreast, conversing with more ease than was usually possible on the trail. As they often did in such instances, the companions contin shy;ued to question Tale Splintersteel about his homeland.

  "You said that you Zhakar are ruled by a king-not a thane?" Ferros asked.

  "Aye-the king of Zhakar. A chief as grand as any mountain dwarf king, I assure you."

  "Interesting. In Thorbardin, the heads of the various clans are called thanes. The king represents a uniting of the Theiwar, Daewar, Hylar, and all the rest. I would think that in a nation composed of one clan …"

  "We are all we are," the Zhakar said stubbornly.

  "Who is your king-do you know him?" Ariakas inquired.

  "I wish I didn't," said the dwarf sourly. "When I was dispatched to Sanction, I was a trusted cousin of the king. Since then, my cousin was killed. A dwarf named Rackas Ironcog took over the throne. He's treated me as an enemy ever since."

  "Could he have you replaced? Is your position in Sanction official?" asked the human.

  "It is-and he would, if he could. I've been far enough away to handle my own problems. He's sent a number of agents to try and remove me." Tale's voice broke into a bitter bark of a laugh. "None of them, so far as I know, has survived the rigors of the trip home."

  "So we face a political problem as well," mused Aria shy;kas. "Do you have friends in Zhakar-dwarves you can count on?"

  "I think so. There's another cousin of mine-distant, but we've worked together before. Whez Lavastone's his name. He's got designs on the throne, I'm sure."

  "Perhaps we can use him. Can you think of any partic shy;ular threats that we have to worry about once we're in the city?"

  "You mean, assuming they don't kill us on sight?" asked Ferros dryly.

  Ariakas didn't reply-he merely pointed to his sword.

  "Do you know about the savants?" the Zhakar inquired. When Ariakas shook his head, the dwarf con shy;tinued. "A few of our people have some magical power. These study under the masters, and can use their powers for treachery or concealment. A savant can often blind or deafen his target just by the use of his spells."

  The warrior vividly remembered the encounter in the Fireplaza. "You didn't mention that you're a savant," he observed.

  "Must have slipped my mind," Tale Splintersteel said with a dismissive shrug.

  Ariakas noted the information, but then his mind wandered back to one of his favorite topics lately: con shy;sidering the military potential of the draconians. The wizard Dracart, as well as Wryllish Parkane, had been certain that the number and the capabilities of the lizards could be improved upon. Perhaps a dozen, or a score, or even more draconians would eventually be yielded by the corruption of a single egg.

  What an army they would make! He imagined the host, snapping and growling restlessly, spreading across the battlefield. What human force would stand before them? Ariakas felt, with a fierce and exultant confidence, that even steady veterans-even troops like ogres and elves-would be sorely pressed to hold firm against a rushing horde of draconians.

  There was no doubt in his mind but that he was meant to command these beasts. Now his destiny seemed clear to him. The reasons for the testing in the tower, the warm reception he had received in the temple, all these curious things made sense in light of this manifest for action.

  Where would they campaign? For now, the targets of the war seemed secondary to him. In truth, he felt that all of Ansalon might be his eventual target. Certainly, with savage troops like these, he could choose anywhere he wanted for his first onslaughts. Backed by the might of the Dark Queen, they would be an army such as Krynn hadn't seen in a thousand years!

  Propelled by thoughts and ambitions, Ariakas barely noticed the miles falling behind them. When he finally took note of their surroundings, they had reached the knife-edge summit of a tall ridge-
one of the highest they had yet climbed.

  "There," Tale Splintersteel said, pointing at a cone-shaped peak in the middle distance. "That's Mount Horn. It stands above Zhakar Keep and marks the spot well."

  Ariakas estimated another two days' march would be needed to reach the mountain, crossing no less than a half dozen lesser ridges he could see between them. Still, he found it very heartening that they were so close to their destination.

  The others, too, gained new vigor from the knowl shy;edge. They started down the slope on the other side of the ridge, moving quickly, even sliding in the midst of small, gravelly avalanches that were triggered by their descent. The ridge slope was steep, scored by numerous parallel ravines from top to bottom as if it had been raked by the claws of some monstrous beast. As before, Ferros Windchisel led the way, while Tale, Lyrelee, and Ariakas followed in line. They moved down one of the ravines, which promised a straight route all the way to the stream at the valley floor.

  A shout from the priestess attracted Ariakas, and in surprise he looked toward Lyrelee. She threw her hands into the air and then toppled forward, slipping and tum shy;bling down the slope of the ravine. Only when she flipped onto her back did Ariakas see the bent shaft of a crossbow bolt, jutting out from her rib cage. Then battle cries arose from the surrounding rocks, and at least a hundred stunted, warlike figures broke from cover, swarming to the attack.

  Chapter 19

  Fire on the Mountain

  Lyrelee lay still where she had fallen, nearly a hundred feet down the steeply sloping ravine from her companions. Ariakas saw the twisted missile in her body but then was forced to forget about the priestess as he and the two dwarves faced a howling onslaught. The trenchlike walls of the narrow gully gave them some protection from the cross shy;bows, but as he crouched there and studied the attackers, Ariakas realized they had walked into a well-planned ambush.

  The attackers were Zhakar, judging by their stature and the heavy cloaks covering them. Their next volley of bolts ripped savagely toward all three of the travelers; these dwarves apparently cared nothing for their kinsman. Indeed, several carefully aimed their small crossbows at Tale Splintersteel, and it was only the mer shy;chant lord's quick reflexes that saved him.

  A bolt ricocheted from a rock beside Ariakas, and the warrior ducked as another grazed his shoulder. His sword was in his hands, though he had no memory of drawing it. He looked around, frantically trying to form a plan of defense. They were surrounded. Looking upward, he saw a rank of cloaked dwarves surging down the gully from the crest of the ridge.

  Below, Lyrelee lay motionless, and the Zhakar ignored her body as they spilled into the gully and began to charge upward. Ferros Windchisel, in the lead, met the first of the attackers. The cloaked dwarves, disadvan-taged by attacking uphill, quickly fell back before the Hylar. Ferros sent a pair of them tumbling, skulls split by his keen battle-axe.

  "Your sword!" Tale Splintersteel's voice cracked with terror. Cowering in the bottom of the narrow gully, he frantically gestured Ariakas forward.

  Sneering in disgust, the human was about to leave the Zhakar to his own defenses when he remembered that, without Splintersteel, their chances of getting an audi shy;ence with the dwarven king would be virtually nonexis shy;tent.

  "Fight, damn you!" Ariakas barked. "Unless you think you can talk them out of this attack!"

  Leaping from rock to rock, the nearest Zhakar now loomed beside them. Apparently without fear, the stocky fighter launched himself through space, howling madly as he flailed toward the human warrior. Ariakas stuck him with the red blade, dumping the body off to the side with the force of the dwarf's own momentum before whirling to deflect the diving attacks of the next two Zhakar.

  By this time Tale Splintersteel had drawn his own hook-bladed short sword, though he continued to jabber at Ariakas, pleading with the man to use his potent blade.

  For his part, Ariakas fully intended to incinerate a bunch of Zhakar in the red blade's fireball. The attackers, however, were spread thinly across four directions of the steep slope, and the dragon-breath attack would only scour a part of one of those approaches. If he didn't want to waste the attack-and he didn't-he'd have to wait until his targets were more tightly packed.

  The three of them fought for their lives. The Khalkist dwarves set aside their crossbows and brandished swords, whooping and screaming as they attacked in furious waves. The companions kicked rocks and stones to tumble free against the attackers below. The narrow gully gave them a little cover, and also served to channel the downslope attackers straight into the Hylar's axe.

  Ariakas killed two dwarves at the edge of the ravine, then spun and drove back the attackers on the other side. Skidding noises warned him to look upward, and the warrior's sword swiftly gored another pair of Zhakar that had charged straight down from the ridge crest.

  Ferros gave a shout as the loose rock beneath his feet broke free and he slid down the slope. Falling to his back, the Hylar skidded on the tumbling scree, kicking a Zhakar full in the face when the cloaked figure tried to slash him with a hook-sword.

  "After him!" shouted Ariakas. He seized the squirm shy;ing Tale Splintersteel by the scruff of his collar and pushed him down the ridge. The merchant dwarf slipped and bounced, but kept his feet as he plunged after the careening Ferros Windchisel.

  The human warrior brought up the rear, taking long strides to keep up with the dwarves. After five steps Ari shy;akas stopped, planted his feet, and whirled to face upward. A half-dozen shrieking Zhakar rushed in pur shy;suit along the steep gully. The first of these leapt at Aria shy;kas, and he knocked the dwarf to his right with a sweeping blow of his sword. He bashed the second one on his backswing and repeated the maneuver back and forth until all six, gouged and bleeding, had been sent rolling down the ridge.

  Turning in the momentary lull, Ariakas plunged downward again, nearly losing his balance as the gully floor dropped through a steplike progression of three-foot cliffs. A Zhakar leapt at him from the right, and he chopped the dwarf almost in two, barely breaking stride. Another one rushed to the left edge of the ravine, but then ducked away when he raised the sword.

  Ferros Windchisel finally arrested the momentum of his slide, though not before he had reached Lyrelee's motionless body. His rapid descent had carried him through the bulk of the attacking Zhakar. Tale Splinter-steel joined them a moment later, and finally Ariakas reached the group. The Zhakar pursuers, for the moment, had been left behind and above them-though several skipped nimbly down the slope, closing fast. Again crossbow bolts bombarded them, but here the gully walls rose high and the runty dwarves could not find clear targets.

  Ariakas saw with relief that the priestess was alive. Lyrelee's eyes were opened, and her parted lips revealed tightly clenched teeth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from the staccato beat of her gasping breaths.

  "Look out!" warned Ferros, and Ariakas looked upward in time to hack a charging Zhakar and drive back two more with lightning slashes of the crimson blade.

  "Come on-let's run!" cried Tale Splintersteel, starting to lunge past Ferros and flee down the ridge.

  Ariakas again grasped the Zhakar by the scruff of his neck, jerking him back none too gently. He bent down shy;ward, confronting the terrified eyes behind the cloak with his own grimly determined glare.

  "Help her!" he snarled, releasing Splintersteel.

  "Your sword!" begged the Zhakar. "Use it! Kill them!"

  Angrily Ariakas shook off the suggestion. The attack shy;ers were still too scattered for him to slay more than a few, and he wasn't about to squander the precious power.

  Lyrelee, still unspeaking, sat up; her face was pale and her eyes were dim, unfocused. Tale Splintersteel, mutter shy;ing, reached for her arm and roughly helped her to her feet.

  Now several Zhakar closed in from each side. Ferros and Ariakas did their best to hold them at bay while Tale and Lyrelee hobbled slowly down the gully. The moun shy;tain dwarf's axe blade was spattered with blood and bits
of Zhakar robes, and streams of sweat ran down his bearded face while he whirled to face each new attack.

  Ariakas maintained his position as rear guard, where an increasing number of the attackers came at him. Soon the companions had dropped well below the area of the ambush, and Ferros-freed of the necessity to hack his way through dwarves-aided Tale in helping Lyrelee. Their pace picked up considerably, Ariakas falling back to hold the pursuing dwarves at bay.

  The Zhakar displayed a healthy respect for his crim shy;son blade, gradually becoming reluctant to press close. They held back, launching bolts from their crossbows whenever Ariakas turned to hurry after his companions. One of these stuck him in the shoulder, inflicting a painful wound, and when he spun to do battle, another missile lodged in his breastplate.

  Numerous dwarven bodies littered the bottom and sides of the ravine, and many other dwarves moaned piteously where they had fallen. A number of these had been injured when tumbling down the rocky slope, so that all told the ranks of the attackers had been sorely depleted.

  Still, by the time they reached the bottom of the long slope, Ariakas could see many dozens of the stunted dwarves creeping down the ridge in their wake. A desul shy;tory rain of crossbow quarrels arced downward, and one of these scraped the Hylar's hand, producing a growl of anger from Ferros. Still, the barrage lacked the intensity of the opening volley, and the companions broke from the shelter of the ravine across the narrow valley floor.

  A thin stream splashed through the steep-sided vale at the foot of the ridge, while another slope-it could have been a mirror image of the incline they had just descended -stretched toward the sky beyond the brook.

  Lyrelee, leaning between the two dwarves, limped toward the streambank, while Ariakas kept his attention riveted on the dwarves above. The Zhakar hastened for shy;ward, but now they were too far back to catch the group before the waterway.