by Doug Niles
The brown-furred animal popped its head above the surface again, and by this time, the green dragon had reached the edge of the water. With a single, practiced gesture, Aeren snapped down, lifted his prey upward, tilted back his head, and swallowed the animal in a massive gulp, a convulsion of emerald scales rippling along the length of his sinuous neck. He remained still for a few minutes, then uttered a contented sigh and returned to the pair of elves.
Samar still had his hand on the dragonlance, but although he kept his eyes upon the wyrm, watching for any sign of aggression, he didn’t lower the weapon. Instead, Aerensianic settled to the ground over his meager treasure pile and nodded contentedly.
“There’ve always been seals in these waters—that’s one of the things that attracted me here. Even in that summer, when the air was so hot and the sun seemed to scorch the sky, they came to the shore, and I ate well.
“I took to perching on a certain ledge on the face of the bluff over the sea. Even though it was scorching hot, especially as the summer moved on, the heat was somewhat mitigated by the sea breeze. Here, beyond the reach of the splashing surf, I could watch the rocks on which the waves crashed just below. Often the creatures would climb onto the perches, confident that they were safe from sea predators. Rare was the seal who could escape the strike of my jaws from above as I lashed down to snatch the hapless creature around the head.
“Thus I was content to watch and observe … or so I thought.
“On one of the warmest of the midsummer days, I was startled by a large winged shadow that flickered past. Of course, at first I though it was a blue dragon attack, and I lunged backward into the cave.
“Only then did I look up, and imagine my surprise at the sight of another green dragon, a splendid female! She was not as large as I, and she banked and came to rest on the ledge with a willingness that I found strangely enticing.
“ ‘Greetings, O strange clan dragon,’ she said, politely dipping her neck. ‘I am called Toxyria, and I am happy to find you here along a coast I thought had been abandoned by our kind.’
“ ‘Greetings, Beautiful Toxyria,’ I returned, and I explained that I had lived there for but a single winter. ‘And is your lair along here?’ I asked.
“ ‘A half day’s flight to the south,’ she explained, purring at my flattery. ‘And do you live here with your mate?’ she inquired demurely.
“I admit that in my delight I huffed a plume of green mist from my nostrils, and Toxyria inhaled the gas with obvious relish. ‘I have no mate,’ I explained. ‘I have flown here alone, from a forest a thousand miles and more away.’
“ ‘There is a plentitude of edibles in these seas,’ she noted, which I interpreted to mean that she did not regard me as unfriendly competition for the local food supply. ‘You will find that the winters are mild, for the sea is warmed by a northern current—that is, if you decide to stay.’ She looked at me with an expression I can only describe as hopeful.
“ ‘I have never found better hunting, nor a finer cave,’ I said. ‘All that was missing was the companionship of my clan … and perhaps that lack may have been very recently addressed?’
“She moved into my lair the next day, bringing the few baubles of her treasures that she deemed worth saving. I confess that I was embarrassed about my own poor hoard, but I explained the lack by reason of my recent arrival, and Toxy proved quite understanding. In fact, I wondered if she had purposely left many of her treasures behind out of a wish to spare me humiliation. Her tender actions gave me a powerful resolve to plunder sailing ships, perhaps even raid a few castles on distant Ergoth, in order to quickly establish a trove that would make her proud.”
The dragon’s voice turned melancholy, and his expression was far away as he stared toward the twilit entrance to the cave.
“She came here?” Silvanoshei pressed. “Then where is sh—?”
He stopped as Samar put a hand on his arm. The young elf looked annoyed for a moment, but he didn’t press the question.
“That detail, I suspect, our friend will get to in good time.…”
The Truth About Treachery
Chapter Seventeen
High Summer, 383 AC
The crushed mint was sweet, hot, and biting on his tongue as Gilthas bit down on the vial of powder. As Samar had instructed, he tried to envision his destination. Magic surrounded him, and for a dizzying second, he thought he was dying. He had no sense of focus, of place … nothing surrounded him, and he couldn’t picture that any solidity awaited him.
And in the next instant, that crazed sensation passed, and he was staggering, trying to regain his balance as he felt a floor underfoot, saw walls come into view around him. He lurched two steps to the side before he felt his footing level out, and then he stood still, blinking, holding his arms out to the sides as the sense of motion slowly receded.
He was standing within his own study, in the Speaker’s House beside the Tower of the Sun. True to Samar’s word, the magic had returned him to Qualinost. A look out the window showed that it was still the dark of night, so Gilthas assumed that the other part of the warrior-mage’s statements were true, that virtually no time had passed while he was teleporting.
Still dazed, Gilthas reconstructed the magical journey, the hundreds of miles traveled in the blink of an eye. The warrior-mage had told him to carefully visualize his destination, and so he had chosen this room, the place he was most familiar with in all the city.
He thought with a pang about Kerianseray, who would be returning to Qualinost on the back of a griffon. Irrationally he feared for her because she had to travel alone, though when he paused to think about it, he knew that his presence had been more a liability than an asset when it came to safety.
But finally his agitation began to settle, and he started to focus his thoughts, knowing that he had work to do. He needed to find Guilderhand and … His mind balked at the implications of impending violence, but he realized immediately that he needed a weapon.
He immediately went into the formal receiving room, automatically chanting the magic word that brought the crystal chandeliers into blazing prominence. There, arrayed on the stone wall above the massive fireplace, were the weapons of elven heroes—several long swords, a pair of crossed arrows, and an odd collection including a scimitar, long-hafted halberds, and even a wicked and obviously very heavy battle-axe.
The long sword being the traditional weapon of the elven warrior, Gilthas automatically went to the smallest of those, lifting down the keen weapon, surprised by its weight. He touched a thumb to the blade and winced at the drop of blood that quickly welled from his skin. Clearly the weapon was sharp enough to kill. He tested the balance of the sword, wielding it back and forth in front of him, trying without success to imagine what it would feel like to plunge that steel tip into flesh.
But how would he carry it? Or conceal it, for that matter? It was not like the Speaker of the Sun to go armed about the city.
His first question was answered when he found an assortment of scabbards in a nearby closet. One of these easily fit the sword, and though it took him several minutes, he finally figured out how to suspend the weapon from his belt. As to his second worry, he decided to bluff it out. If anyone questioned him, he would haughtily reply that the Speaker of the Sun would carry whatever he damn well pleased when he went about the city. Somehow the grim determination evoked by his words gave him confidence as he stalked through the quiet house and carefully opened the front door to step into the stifling air of the night.
Only then did he remember the Dark Knight guards who had so diligently patrolled the nighttime streets of Qualinost. He knew that his arrogant declaration would carry very little weight with these humans who had seen the elves surrender like whipped puppies even before a blade had been drawn in anger. There was no alternative. He would have to evade the patrols and hope that, on his own, he could be as successful as Kerian had been proven herself to be.
And how would he find Guilderhand? W
ould the spy teleport himself directly to Rashas? If so, then of course Gilthas would already be too late—unless for some reason the senator had not been where the spy expected to find him.
It was a hope, and the only one Gilthas could arrive at. He trotted down the winding path to the street and then paused to look up and down, trying to spot the patrols that had been so frequent around the Tower of the Sun. Already he was sweating, though he forced himself to breathe quietly, not wanting to make any undue noise. Surprisingly, there were none of the Dark Knights in sight. He didn’t waste time wondering where they were; instead, he darted along the shadows beside the road, hurrying to the nearest corner, where he ducked into a side lane.
Here the path was much darker than the main street, but he still tried to move quietly, loping along and holding the sword, which he quickly realized had a tendency to jangle. He dashed around another corner, trying to remember the street leading to Rashas’s elegant manor. It should be familiar, he thought wryly. It had been the first place he had visited in Qualinost when he had ridden into town all wide-eyed and gawking, never even suspecting why he had been brought here or that he would soon be the senator’s prisoner.
The side street angled back toward the main avenue, and the neighborhood looked familiar. He reached the edge of the wide route. There it was!
The large house, behind its sculpted hedge of lush blossoms, was unmistakable. He saw the lofty tower where Alhana had been held prisoner, and the other, lower wing where he himself had been reclused after Rashas had decided that he should be separated from the queen. He crouched in the shadows at the intersection, again studying the main avenue, alert for the presence of Dark Knight patrols.
Again he saw no sign of the city’s human occupiers. He began to think that was strange, but he didn’t waste any time wondering about his good luck. Instead, he started toward the gap in the hedge that led toward the front door.
Here he hesitated, however, as other questions began to assail him. What should he do about Rashas’s Kagonesti guards? With the exception of Kerianseray, who had come with him when he had moved to the Speaker’s house, the senator’s slaves had seemed fanatically loyal, not to mention fierce and bloodthirsty. His hand came to rest on his sword, but Gilthas knew he’d be no match for one of these savage warriors if they met on hostile terms.
Studying the house, he was surprised to see that many lights were on. His heart sank, and he immediately suspected a reason: Guilderhand had returned here, and the senator was busy learning about the Speaker’s meeting with the outlaw. It would be foolishness—almost suicide!—for him to walk into that conversation.
Before he could make up his mind to turn and flee into the night, however, the front door burst open and none other than Senator Rashas came rushing out, trailed by several of his wild elf bodyguards. The elder elf stumbled to a halt at the sight of the lone figure standing in his gateway. Rashas blinked, then uttered an oath as he rushed forward. ̣
“Where in the Abyss have you been?” he demanded. He seemed ready to grab Gilthas by the arm and shake him, but apparently thought better of such a presumptuous action. Instead, he planted his hands on his hips and glared at the Speaker of the Sun. “We’ve been looking for you since this morning. There are things happening, and you were needed in the councils! And now with the summons—by Paladine, you know we were supposed to be there an hour ago!”
“Things happening?” Gilthas was stunned, his mind trying to keep up with the words. He had been prepared for the senator’s anger, but his questions were merely mystifying.
“I ask you again, where have you been?”
“I—I went for a walk in the forest. I wanted to do some thinking by myself.”
Rashas lowered his voice to a hiss, a strong, penetrating force that pushed its way into Gilthas’s ears alone. “Don’t ever do that again! Do you understand? We need to know where you are at all times!”
Through it all, the younger elf was realizing one thing: Rashas didn’t know! He hadn’t spoken to Guilderhand! Almost light-headed with relief, he nodded dumbly, made sounds of assurance with his dry mouth and clumsy tongue.
“Come on, then. At least you’re dressed now, and I don’t have to drag you out of bed.” Rashas took hold of Gilthas’s arm and pulled him along the street toward the Tower of the Sun. “We’ve got to get to Lord Salladac!”
The Speaker had enough presence of mind not to ask why they were going to see Lord Salladac. Instead, he trotted along beside the older elf, who was moving along at what would normally have been quite an unseemly pace. They hurried down the main avenue, and once again Gilthas took note of the absence of Dark Knight guards. It had not been his imagination. Clearly they had been ordered to other duties than the night patrols of Qualinost’s streets.
As they approached his own house, the young elf flushed at the realization that he’d left the chandelier blazing in his receiving room. Bright light spilled from the windows across the garden, casting bright splashes of illumination through the shadowy street. Again Rashas made no remark about anything strange, so fixed was he on reaching the tower. Holding his sword to keep it from jangling, Gilthas was startled to realize that the senator hadn’t even commented on the fact that he was armed.
They arrived at the Tower of the Sun at the same time that Lord Salladac, coming from the other direction, approached at the head of a small company of guards.
“Thank all the gods he’s not been waiting for us,” Rashas whispered. “I’d hate to think what would happen to your head if he’d been here on time!”
Gilthas merely nodded, further mystified.
Silent servants admitted them to the vast council chamber, which was illuminated by a few small candles, though the corners around the walls and the yawning space overhead all expanded into utter darkness. Salladac seemed to like it like this. He bade the two elves join him on the rostrum while the guards—Dark Knight and Kagonesti—all halted a discreet distance away.
While they settled themselves on three stools, Salladac’s eyes fastened on Gilthas with a penetrating stare, and for an instant, the young elf was certain that he had been caught. He thought of the sword, knew beyond doubt that he could never draw it in time to strike, and he saw, too, that any damage he could do here was useless to the cause that had brought him back from Porthios’s camp.
Then the lord sighed and seemed to relax, stretching his arms over his head and making a great show of working the kinks out of his back.
“These nights are too hot, and your elven mattresses are too thin,” he said by way of introduction. “Even after a good night’s sleep I wake up stiff, and now, with all this alarm in the wee hours, I swear I’m lucky I can even walk.”
“What is the source of the alarm, my lord?” Rashas asked quickly.
“Urgent word from Lord Ariakan at the High Clerist’s Tower,” Salladac said bluntly. “I received a message, carried on dragonback, just after sunset.”
“Word about what?” Gilthas blurted.
“It seems there’s a new threat developing in the north,” the human lord explained. “I don’t doubt that it’s something we’ll be able to handle, though I admit there was a peculiar urgency to my lord’s missive. The Silvanesti campaign has been indefinitely postponed. My dragons are being recalled as of this morning, likewise about half of my brutes.”
“You’re leaving Qualinesti?” asked the young Speaker, now totally mystified. Guilderhand was utterly forgotten in the midst of these startling developments.
“Only temporarily, I assure you,” the lord said. He glowered sternly. “Don’t get any ideas about changing the new order of things. I anticipate that I’ll be back, with my dragons, in a matter of days.”
“We have no such thoughts, I assure you,” Rashas said. “But we would like to know about this threat. Is it a danger to Qualinesti as well?”
“I wish I knew,” Salladac admitted. “But to tell the truth, I’m afraid it might be. There are reports of fires burning where they
don’t belong-over the ocean, to be precise. All Palanthas is in an uproar, and Ariakan wants all the talons of his dragon forces gathered in one place.”
“Is it an invasion?” wondered Gilthas.
“Tough to say for certain, but it could be. My lord used the term ‘Storms of Chaos’ when he talked about the things he’d seen. It’s not terribly specific, but it was the tone of his letter as much as anything else that has me worried.”
Salladac let the elves digest this disturbing bit of news as he looked back and forth at them frankly. “If the worst comes, then Qualinesti will be attacked by forces more horrible than anything we’ve—either elf or human—ever faced before. And we’ll have to fight it together if we are to have any chance. That’s why I called you here—both of you.”
“Of course,” Rashas said, though he cast a sneering, sidelong glance at Gilthas.
“Rashas, if the unexpected happens, you will be in charge of maintaining calm in the city. Gilthas, my lord Speaker, you will need to muster a military force—all the elves who can hold a sword or shoot a bow. My knights and brutes, such as remain, will help you, but until I get back, you must take charge!”
“Me? I mean, of course,” stammered Gilthas, utterly flabbergasted by this development.
“Is that … I mean, have you thought this through?” asked Rashas, his own eyes wide. “No offense to the young Speaker, but he has never been in battle before!”
“And you have?” The human’s tone was biting. “Let’s just say I like the young fellow’s mettle.”
Rashas frowned but clearly knew better than to forcefully argue with the lord who had conquered his city. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited for Salladac to invite him to speak.
“Speaking of enemies, there’s the other matter,” the senator began, with a hesitant look at Gilthas. “Perhaps we should speak in private?”
