The History of Krynn: Vol III

by Dragon Lance

  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  The servant who’d awakened her had withdrawn beyond the tall white doors that marked the entrance to the empress’s suite.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 cou
ntry, 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.

  The messenger saluted and handed over the leather cylinder. “Compliments of Lord Egrin,” he said.

  Inside the cylinder was a spool of parchment. The message was brief. Tol passed it to Tylocost, then summarized its contents for the others.

  “The hordes with Egrin and Pagas have been skirmishing with a large formation of nomads, riding east. Egrin asks if I will move up and join the attack.”

  “The nomads are fleeing; let them go,” said Zala.

  Tylocost handed the scroll to Kiya. “Hammer them, my lord,” he said. “The harder the better, for the sake of future peace.”

  Kiya agreed. “I know plainsmen, Husband. If you let them ride out unmolested, they’ll convince themselves they were never defeated. Eventually, they’ll be raiding the empire’s borders again.”

  “My lord, I’d be happy to safeguard the treasure,” Queen Casberry piped.

  “The fox guarding the henhouse,” cracked Tylocost.

  They began to trade insults, but Tol didn’t hear them. He’d taken the dispatch back from Kiya. Its last line bothered him.

  According to prisoners from the Firepath tribe, Egrin had written, it is likely their chief, Tokasin, rides with the host ahead of us. So Tokasin, the red-haired nomad who’d led the attack on Juramona, was still alive.

  “Tyiocost,” Tol said, interrupting the bickering. “See the caravan safely to Caergoth. I will ride ahead to the rendezvous point at the confluence, gather the hordes there, and go after the nomads.”

  Casberry’s kender were all on foot and couldn’t keep up with Riders anyway, so Tol agreed she should remain behind and “guard the treasure” as well. There was no question Kiya would accompany Tol, but when Zala offered to do likewise, he demurred, telling her to stay with Tylocost, the kinder, and the wizard.

  “Besides, you have business in Caergoth, don’t you?”

  He had written a pardon for Zala’s human father, held captive in the city. It held no legal standing, but should be sufficient to get the old man released if used in conjunction with the empress’s ring and seal, which Zala still carried.

  The huntress was plainly torn. Although eager to free her father, she didn’t like letting Tol out of her sight. If he got himself killed, she would lose the huge bounty owed her by Empress Valaran, and she and her father would likely be targets of the empress’s wrath. However, her father was aged and alone. Lord Tolandruth was neither. She agreed to continue south with Helbin and the elf to Caergoth.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” Kiya said. “I’ll watch out for Husband.”

  The Dom-shu woman understood the half-elf’s quandary. She disliked being parted from Tol, too. Miya had never felt the same way about him, and teased the tough, stoical Kiya for her “motherly concern.” Kiya thumped her sister soundly, but couldn’t explain her feelings. Perhaps they sprang from Tol’s lack of concern about his own safety. Although he’d lived four decades, he still seemed like a younger brother, one a bit too naive for the dangerous company he kept.

  Knowing it was risky, Tol left only a demi-horde of Riders to protect Tylocost’s foot soldiers and the treasure caravan. Of greater concern to Tol than brigands was imperial intervention. Caergoth housed a large garrison, reinforced by remnants of the armies defeated by the nomads. If Governor Wornoth took it on himself to seize the treasure on behalf of the emperor, there would be little Tylocost could do. The war chest of Tol’s burgeoning campaign would be lost.

  Still, Tokasin’s band had committed many outrages in the eastern provinces, of which the burning of Juramona was only one. Tylocost was right. To preserve future peace, the tribesmen must be punished as severely as possible.

  With just over two hordes, Tol and Kiya rode away from the slow-moving caravan. They arrived at the rendezvous point before midday and found eight landed hordes mustered near the confluence of the east and west branches of the Caer River. Tol proclaimed this the new Army of the East. He and ten thousand Riders headed off to join Egrin’s pursuit of the fleeing nomads.

  Ten hordes take up a great deal of territory. The landed hordes, former imperial warriors, knew how to sort themselves into formation. From wing to wing, Tol’s force covered almost three leagues.

  By noon the next day, the Ergothians began to see signs of what lay ahead. Dust rose over rolling hills and woodlands, marking the movements of large bodies of horsemen ahead of them. Scouts were sent out to locate friends and foes. Word came back from the southern wing of Tol’s army: armed men, several hundred strong, were riding toward them.

  “Nomads?” asked Tol. The sun was high, the air humid; a breeze stirring through the pines around them offered little relief.

  “No, my lord. They’re in armor,” said the scout. “They wear yellow capes and golden breastplates, and bear white plumes on their helmets.”

  Tol frowned. Why did that sound familiar?

  “Probably pirates,” Kiya said absently.

  Tol pivoted his horse in a tight circle. “What?” •

  “Is your hearing failing, Husband? Men your age often start to lose their prowess in one way or another —”

  He shouted for his horde commanders. Yellow capes were the mark of Tarsan soldiers. Tarsan marines, not pirates, wore brass breastplates and plumed helmets.

  The news caused the warlords to swear roundly. If Tarsis had broken the peace treaty so hard won by Tolandruth and Lord Regobart, the empire was in worse danger than ever.

  Tol halted his army and swung it south, to face the unknown band of Tarsans. Scouts estimated their strength at a few hundred, but they could be the advance guard of a much larger force.

  All ten hordes formed the famous scythe formation long favored by Ergothian commanders. The warriors sorted themselves into a great crescent, with the horns of the scythe facing the enemy. If their foes rode straight in, they
faced encirclement. If they tried to attack either end, the rest of the hordes could strike them. The silent mass of horsemen rode forward at a fast walk. No sense tiring their animals on so hot a day before a possible battle.

  Scouts ranged wider and deeper, to get behind the unknown cavalry. They sent back confirmation. No larger force was in sight. The Tarsans, if Tarsans they were, had only this small band.

  When the oncoming force was reported to be only half a league distant, Tol brought his army to a halt. The dust they’d churned up rolled forward over their sweating bodies. They faced an open field. On its far side rose a low hill, its base sprinkled by tall poplars.

  They were on familiar ground: the Eastern Hundred. Tol had been born not ten leagues from this spot. The civil war between the Ackals and Pakins had raged back and forth through this province for six years. Later flare-ups, like the raids that had first brought Tol into contact with Marshal Odovar, had not died out completely until Tol was in his teens. Thinly populated and devoid of large cities, the Eastern Hundred was a crossroads for armies moving east and west, traveling to and from the heartland of the empire.

  Over their own enforced silence, the Ergothians heard the clatter of metal-clad men and horses on the move. The high, tinny notes of a fife lilted above the noise. Tol drew his sword. Ten thousand warriors followed suit.

  “No one is to move until I say,” Tol commanded. “Not one blade!”

  At the far side of the field, a wedge of horsemen, mounted on light-colored animals, emerged slowly from the poplar trees. Their brass cuirasses and plumed helmets threw off painfully bright reflections from the high sun; their yellow mantles were stained with grime. The lead riders bore standards of white and gold, but instead of leaping dolphins, symbol of the Tarsan marines, the banners were decorated with golden balance scales.

  Tol inhaled sharply, hardly crediting his eyes. It had been many years since he’d seen that symbol on the livery worn by guards of the House of Lux – the guild of goldsmith and gem merchants in Tarsis.