“My lord, I beg you,” Helbin urged. “Do not open this box. I give you my word it is not dangerous to you. But opening it-” The wizard shuddered. “The effect could be incalculable!”
Sweat had beaded Helbin’s sunburned brow and trickled into his close-cropped beard. Tol was beginning to wonder about the possible danger. Still, he had to know what was in this box.
With Tol’s wary gaze upon him, and muttering all the while about dire consequences, Helbin opened the box. On the middle finger of his left hand he wore a large amethyst ring. He tapped the round purple jewel on the box four times. One edge of the brass rim popped up.
Tol waved him back and lifted the hinged door. The box was lined with soft black felt. Nestled inside was a dully gleaming object, a statuette wrought in gray lead.
The small figurine hardly seemed worth all the trouble. Tol noticed tiny screw clamps attached to its head. His puzzlement showed, and Helbin, averting his eyes from the figurine, whispered, “Look at its features.”
Tol bent closer, then straightened abruptly, nearly dropping the statue in shock.
“Nazramin!”
Helbin nodded miserably. “The image you hold was made by the late sorcerer Mandes. These”-he flicked a finger toward the screw clamps-“are intended to destroy the emperor’s mind, slowly and painfully.”
Tol was far less shocked than Helbin by the statue and its purpose. It surprised him not at all to discover that the devious, traitorous Mandes had been hexing his own patron. Then Helbin’s last words suddenly sparked a revelation.
“This is how Nazramin destroyed his brother!” he exclaimed.
Image magic was the lowest, vilest form of sorcery, a practice of scrubby shamans or mercenary sorcerers. It shamed a proud wizard like Helbin to possess such a monstrous object.
Seeing it again loosed the floodgates of Helbin’s memory, and the story of how it had come to him poured out.
After Mandes’s death, one of the wizard’s servants had delivered certain scrolls and the figurine to Empress Valaran. The scrolls described how Prince Nazramin had employed Mandes to ruin the mind and body of his brother, Ackal IV, through black magic. The prince did not know, of course, that Mandes had made a second image, of Nazramin himself. The new emperor’s natural cruelty had been magnified tenfold by Mandes’s sorcery.
Tol stared at the figurine. The cunningly crafted metal face bore the perfect impression of the emperor’s outthrust chin, high forehead, arrogant eyes, and his perpetual sneer beneath an upswept mustache.
Helbin begged Tol to put the statuette back in its box. Instead, Tol asked, “If I damaged this thing, would the same hurt be inflicted on Ackal V?”
“Not literally. With sympathetic magic, parallel harm occurs,” Helbin said. The two screw clamps, he explained, were simply a representation of the power summoned to damage the emperor’s mind.
Why had Mandes sent this awful object to Valaran after his death? Tol wondered. Not for atonement. The rogue wizard had never felt a moment’s remorse in his life. No, Tol realized this was Mandes’s final act of malice. Valaran, loathing Ackal V herself and inviolate within the imperial precinct, was the perfect choice to inherit the figurine and fulfill Mandes’s plan for revenge.
He asked Helbin why Valaran had sent the statuette out of the city.
“Her Majesty enlisted me in her plan to save the empire,” Helbin said slowly. “I was glad to oblige. The bakali were pouring across the border. What everyone else saw as a disaster, Empress Valaran saw as the possible salvation of Ergoth. She ordered me to travel the countryside, using my skills to obscure the movements of the bakali host from my colleagues in the Tower of High Sorcery. Without advance knowledge of the enemy’s movements, the incompetent generals of the Great Horde stood no chance of defeating the invaders.”
The explanation took Tol’s breath away. “That’s treason!”
Helbin stiffened. “Strong medicine for an ailing patient, my lord. The emperor’s corruption and brutality will surely destroy the empire. Empress Valaran lacks powerful allies at court. She reasoned, quite sensibly, that a major military defeat would stir the provincial warlords to rise up against the emperor, inspiring the cowed warlords in Daltigoth to follow suit.”
Tol swore under his breath. Scheming wench! In her grand design, who did Valaran see leading the landed hordes to the rescue? That simple, dutiful soldier, Tol of Juramona, of course! He couldn’t decide whether her grandiose machinations filled him with pride, or fear.
“You still haven’t answered the question-why send the image out of the city with you? Why not use it to destroy Ackal V, as the Mist-Maker used one to kill the emperor’s brother?”
Helbin said distastefully, “My lord, Empress Valaran is a woman of high purpose and great courage. She would not stain her soul by stooping to Mandes’s methods. She reasoned that if conditions in the palace deteriorated too rapidly, her life, and that of her son, Crown Prince Dalar, would be in danger. Her Majesty placed the statue in my keeping to ensure it remained hidden.”
That was face-saving nonsense. Ridding herself of the figure removed the temptation to kill her husband outright. His death, at this time, would be inopportune. Valaran was of noble blood, but not royal, and she would have no support to rule herself. Claimants to the imperial throne would spring up like toadstools after a summer rain. The result would be chaos on an unimaginably bloody scale.
That’s where Tol came in. Returned to Daltigoth, he and his army could maintain order while the warlords deposed or executed the crazed Ackal V. The crown prince could be enthroned, with Valaran overtly or covertly the power behind the throne, backed by Tol’s hordes. It was a brilliant plan, devious and twisted, worthy of a lifelong resident of the imperial palace.
Helbin was still talking, but Tol had stopped listening. He grasped the clamp encircling the statuette’s temples, and the wizard yelped. Helbin might loathe the statuette and all it stood for, but it had been placed in his charge by the empress herself.
Ignoring his protestations, Tol removed the two clamps. Deep dents remained on both of the statuette’s temples and on its forehead.
“This is not how Ergoth will be saved,” Tol said. He waved Number Six, torchlight flashing off its polished steel blade. “This is the instrument of our deliverance! Nothing else!”
He hunted up a piece of cloth from a nearby pile of loot, wrapped it around the evil image, and tied the whole thing to his back, where his mantle concealed it. After filling the small brass-bound box with coins and jewels from a nearby pile of treasure, he led a sorely complaining Helbin back to the campfire.
Queen Casberry and Tylocost were trading stories about the stupidity of humans. Kiya hailed Tol in relief.
“You arrive just in time, Husband. These two are talking us all to death!”
Tol dropped the box on the ground. Rubies and golden coins spilled out.
“That’s all there was,” he said, meeting their eyes. “Release Master Helbin from his bonds.”
Kiya wasn’t certain this was wise, but Tol said the wizard was joining their company. He directed a pointed look at Helbin, adding, “His freedom and continued good health are entirely in his own hands.”
Tol sent for horde commanders Trudo and Argonnel. The treasure confiscated from the nomads would be invaluable in sustaining their fight and must be safeguarded against any attempts by plainsmen (or others) to abscond with it. Tol wanted the treasure promptly moved, all of it.
White-haired Trudo, eldest of the commanders of the landed hordes, stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Where are we to take it?” he asked.
“To the only place strong enough to hold it: Caergoth.”
His words provoked ominous silence. Trudo and the younger Argonnel exchanged worried looks. Zala, not understanding the swift change of mood, whispered to Tylocost, “What’s the matter?”
He murmured, “Caergoth’s governor is one of the emperor’s most notorious toadies. Lord Tolandruth is proscribed. In Caergot
h he can be arrested, even executed.”
After an instant’s surprised silence, Zala laughed. The bright sound earned scowls from the assembled warlords. Queen Casberry demanded to know the joke.
Zala grinned at the somber faces. “Lord Tolandruth should fear going to Caergoth?” she said, disbelieving. “I think you’ve got it all backwards. It’s Caergoth that should fear Lord Tolandruth!”
Casberry cackled, and Tylocost muttered about wisdom from the mouths of children.
Valaran awoke with a start. An instant later, the noise came again: a loud knock at her door and the sounds of movement in the antechamber.
“Come,” she said, sitting up.
The door swung inward. Framed in the dark opening was a disheveled servant bearing a lamp. “Your Majesty,” she said, “the emperor is calling for you!”
Valaran frowned. “Now?”
“Yes, Majesty. Most urgently.”
Dismissing the servant, Valaran slid out of bed. A silk robe of brown and gold brocaded with crimson metallic thread lay across the foot of her bed. She drew it on and donned matching slippers. Her long chestnut hair was braided for bed, so she merely tucked a few errant strands behind her ears before fitting a copper-colored veil over her head and face.
The servant who’d awakened her had withdrawn beyond the tall white doors that marked the entrance to the empress’s suite. There she waited, flanked by sleepy ladies-in-waiting with no more idea what was happening than Valaran. With the women surrounding the empress, the entourage journeyed through the maze of palace corridors.
The doors to the emperor’s rooms stood wide open.
Surprisingly, the opening was flanked by two ordinary soldiers, members of the Household Guard. Ackal V had relied on his Wolves so long Valaran scarcely saw regular Householders anymore. One of the soldiers escorted the empress and her ladies within.
Even from a distance, Valaran could feel the absence of the stifling heat Ackal usually maintained in his chambers. The cavernous hypostyle hall was rapidly cooling to normal. She walked a little faster.
The fire had been allowed to die out in the enormous fireplace. The emperor, wearing nothing but a soldier’s white loincloth, stood before it. He was drinking wine straight from a tall silver urn. Piled on the floor around him and on his bed were the furs, gloves, and heavy clothing he usually wore. The lamplight showed how emaciated he’d become. His ribs were easily visible, and the knobs of his collarbone stuck out like doorknobs at the base of his hollow throat.
Paralyzed by the sight of their nearly naked sovereign, the empress’s escort fell back in disarray. At Valaran’s command, the warrior escorted them out and she found herself alone with her husband.
“Lady, what day is it?”
Taken aback, Valaran regarded the emperor in silent confusion. He repeated the question, and she stammered, “Day four of the Quarter Moon of Luin, Your Majesty. Year Seven of your reign.”
“I did not ask the year!” His temper was unchanged, at least.
He picked up his discarded trews and used them to wipe sweat from his face and chest. “I feel as though I’ve come out of a fever. It was hot as dragon’s breath in here!” he exclaimed, drinking again from the urn.
Valaran’s thoughts were racing. A symptom of Ackal V’s madness, as far back as when Mandes was still alive, was an extreme sensitivity to cold. Obviously something was amiss. Had his madness veered onto another course?
“Helbin,” said Ackal V, lowering the pitcher of wine.
Thank the gods she wore a veil. Hearing that name made Valaran’s face flame with alarm. Her hands, tucked into her sleeves, gripped her forearms tightly. “Who, sire?” she stammered.
“The Red Robe. You know who I mean. I want Helbin found and arrested.”
Was he toying with her? She cleared her throat and asked, “For what charge, Your Majesty?”
“Treason. This business of our seers not being able to observe the bakali-they must have some magical aid.” He waved a hand. “Any idiot could see it. Helbin disappears, then our search for the invaders is stymied. And the Red Robe’s expertise?” The emperor grinned, showing long teeth. “Protective wards and veils of obscurity! He’s aiding the lizards the same way that Mandes did decades ago. I want him dragged back here in chains. Then we’ll find out what the bakali are doing.”
He swept the debris of clothing and furs from his wide bed and climbed into it, dismissing her.
Cautiously, she asked, “You Majesty, why do you give me this order? Such matters are not usually my responsibility.”
“I can’t find Tathman at the moment. He must be in the city somewhere.”
Yes, somewhere in the city killing people. “I will convey your wishes to the warlords, sire.”
“Ignorant, worthless fools, the lot of them,” he muttered, closing his eyes to sleep. “I shall take personal command of the Great Horde. It all falls to me. I will wipe the bakali from the face of Krynn!”
When she was safely out of his sight, in the darkness of the far end of the hall, Valaran was seized with a violent shaking. Mandes’s spell was broken! There could be no doubt. The emperor had recovered his wits. As cruel and unfeeling as ever, his reason was returning-and that made him even more dangerous.
She must relay his order for Helbin’s capture. Ackal V would know if she disregarded his command. But that wouldn’t stop her from trying to warn the Red Robe that his part in her plot was now known. He must not be captured. If he should be made to divulge what he knew-contemplating that disaster made Valaran’s heart shrink to a small, frantic knot.
She fought her rising panic, bracing herself against a column. If the blood of the Ackals ran strong in her husband, the blood of their rivals, the Pakins, flowed with equal strength in her. The Ackals had always been savages; the Pakins ruled by their wits. Cold, at times harsh, to be sure, the Pakins were the intelligent strain in the dynasty. She must call upon that acumen now to save herself and, even more importantly, to save her son. She had to out-think the emperor.
Let Ackal V lead his army into battle. Maybe the bakali would accomplish for her what Mandes, Helbin, and even Lord Tolandruth thus far had not.
Chapter 15
A Clash of Worlds
Lacking the time to procure wagons, Tol decided to transport the nomads’ plunder by horse. The loot was distributed among the herd of captured animals, with especially bulky items loaded onto travois. Strung out in single file, the caravan was quite long. Tylocost’s foot soldiers trudged close alongside the column, while Riders patrolled at a distance. Two thousand men made a formidable escort for the treasure train, but it was a long way to Caergoth.
“Tempting target,” observed Queen Casberry, swaying along in her sedan chair.
“For whom?” asked Tylocost, walking at her side. He considered the kender more of a danger to the treasure than any nomads.
She ignored him and spoke to Tol, who rode on her other side. “It’s a good thing you have us here, my lord.”
“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s help,” Tol replied gravely.
“Grateful. Mmm, yes. About that-your lofty wife made certain promises to us, certain offers. I’d like to take this matter up with you now, my lord.”
Tylocost snorted. Kiya was on the far side of the column, leading the Juramona Militia, and could hardly speak for herself.
“Beware, my lord!” Tylocost warned. “Tiny fingers are reaching for your purse!”
“Tiny fingers soon will be reaching for your eyes, elf!” Gasberry snapped.
Tol suppressed a smile. “Speak your mind, Majesty.”
She launched into a long, rambling address about how long she had lived, how many places she’d visited, and what a good friend to the empire Hylo had always been. She made it sound as though Ergoth and Hylo had been allies and equals for decades, although it was her husband, King Lucklyn the First, who had signed treaties that reduced Hylo to Ergoth’s vassal.
“When the monster XimXim infested our c
ountry, the empire sent you to defeat him,” she said. “We won’t dwell on the many years it to took for Ergoth to aid us in our battle against the dreadful creature.”
“Yes, don’t dwell.”
She gritted her teeth at Tylocost’s interruption, but continued, “It’s only fitting that now, when the empire faces its most harrowing moment, Hylo returns the favor. However-”
“Here it comes!”
Casberry lashed out with her fly whisk, made from the severed tail of a donkey. Tylocost ducked the blow.
Annoyed, the queen declared with unkenderlike brevity, “We were promised one gold piece per day, per blade!”
Tylocost exclaimed, “That’s double the going rate for mercenaries! And for what? Them?” He waved a hand at the Royal Loyals, most of whom were dragging their scabbards just to see the patterns of dust that arose.
“A generous offer,” Tol remarked. A good portion of the kender army’s wages, he knew, were kicked back to Casberry. That was simply how business was done in Hylo. “Is Your Majesty not satisfied with it?”
Casberry stared. “You mean, you’ll pay?”
“If Kiya proposed it and you accepted, I must hold to the agreement.”
She sank back against her cushions, beaming. “You’re a prince, Lord Tolandruth. A true prince among humans!” Tylocost sighed, and shook his head.
A dusty rider was galloping toward them. He held aloft a leather cylinder. A message. Tol reined up, and the order to halt was passed down the line. The kender dropped where they were and broke out their skins. Cider and homebrew flowed freely.
Kiya rode over to see what had prompted the stop, and Zala arrived from the trailing ranks. She, too, was mounted on a nomad pony, as was Helbin, trotting close on her heels. Tol had set Zala the task of minding the wizard.
Helbin’s standing was still somewhat murky. Tol had demanded the wizard remove the shield that hid the bakali from the scrutiny of the Daltigoth wizards. Helbin objected, citing the empress’s orders. Tol had then refused to unchain his wrists and placed the Red Robe under Zala’s care. A few days scourged by fetters ought to convince the soft, city-bred Helbin to do as Tol required.
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