Dragons of the Highlord Skies

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  “I’m going to kill you,” Kitiara said matter-of-factly. She was hoarse from coughing, her voice gruff.

  Laurana glared at Kitiara, not in fear, but in defiance.

  “I just want you to know I’m not some ordinary cutthroat,” Kit continued. “I want you to know why—”

  Movement at the far end of the alley caught Kit’s eye. She glanced up and saw three men emerging from the smoke. They carried bloody swords in their hands, and one them held a burning torch to light their way through the smoke and gloom of coming night. The torch light shone full on his face. Kitiara recognized him immediately.

  She swore almost every curse word she knew.

  Derek Crownguard and his two friends were striding purposefully down the alley. She had no idea what they were doing here when they should have been out questing after dragon orbs, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he must not see her. If he did, if he recognized her as belonging to the enemy side, he would immediately wonder why the enemy was sending him on a quest for a dragon orb. He’d be suspicious, perhaps even refuse to continue, and that would be the end of Ariakas’s pet plan.

  As if this weren’t trouble enough, the sivak was hissing at her from behind.

  “Highlord! Best hurry with your killing. That cleric’s coming!”

  Kitiara put her knife to Laurana’s throat.

  “Go ahead, kill me,” Laurana said, choking with tears. “I want to die. Then I’ll be with him.”

  Tanis, Kitiara said to herself. She’s talking about Tanis. She thinks Tanis is dead! They all think Tanis is dead!

  She saw it so clearly then—the inn collapsing, Tanis buried beneath the rubble, these people escaping, the group of friends separated. Of course, each must think the other dead, and Kit would be the last to disabuse her rival of that notion.

  Kitiara thrust the knife back in her boot and stood up.

  “Sorry, I don’t have time to kill you today, Princess, but we’ll meet again—you and I.”

  The sivak’s clawed feet scraped on the cobblestones. He skidded to a halt and stared at the knights, who, seeing the draconian, shouted and broke into a run.

  A wrathful cleric at one end of the alley. Three Solamnic knights at the other.

  “This way!” said the sivak, pointing up.

  A balcony from a second-story window extended out over the street. Smoke was rolling off the roof, but fire had not yet engulfed the building. The sivak crouched down below the balcony, then gave a convulsive leap. His strong legs propelled him into the air. He had long, skinny arms, and he grasped hold of the balcony’s railing and pulled himself up and over. Leaning down, he extended a clawed hand to Kitiara. She grabbed hold of his wrist and he dragged her up.

  The sivak climbed onto the balcony’s rail and balanced precariously. Another, shorter leap carried him to the roof. He dug his claws into the wooden shingles, hung a moment, kicking frantically, then managed to get a leg up. Lying on his belly, he hauled Kitiara after him.

  Kit looked back down. One of the knights was bending over Laurana. The other two were staring up at the draconian and Kit, wondering if they should give pursuit. Kit didn’t think they would, and she was right. With hundreds of enemy soldiers roaming the streets, there was no sense wasting precious time chasing after two of them. The cleric—who might have done some damage to them even from a distance—had stopped to tend to Laurana.

  The sivak shouted at her, and Kit began to run along the rooftop. From her vantage point, she saw the remaining draconians haring off down the street, not ready to risk their lives when there were easier pickings in other parts of the doomed city. Among them were the troops Kitiara had brought with her.

  “Baaz!” The sivak shook his head.

  He and Kit took their time, making their way from one rooftop to the next until they ran out of buildings. The sivak could have jumped off at any point, relying on his short, stubby wings to carry him safely to the ground. He stayed with Kit, however, until he found another balcony only a short distance from the roof. From there, Kit easily jumped down to the street.

  Though Kit protested that she would be safe enough, the sivak remained by her side.

  “I know my way around. I can show you how to get out of the city,” he said, and Kit, who had no idea where she was, accepted his help.

  Fires still raged. They would burn until the buildings were consumed, for there was no one to put them out. The red dragons had departed with the coming of night, flying off to rest and gloat over the ease of their victory. Draconians, goblins and human soldiers loyal to the Dark Queen roamed the city, searching for amusement. No one was in command. Highlord Toede had stayed far away from the fighting. He would not come anywhere near Tarsis until he’d been assured there was no danger. If there were officers in the city, no commander would dare try to restrain his forces, who were drunk with liquor and blood, for fear they would turn on him. Not that there were many commanders who would do so. Most were as drunk as, or drunker than, their troops.

  “Stupid idea—attacking Tarsis,” the sivak commented.

  A drunken goblin lurched into their path. The sivak bashed him on the jaw and kicked the crumpled body off to one side.

  “We can’t hold the city,” the sivak went on. “No supply lines. Two days our forces will be here. Maybe three. Then we’ll be forced to pull out.”

  He glanced at Kitiara and said slyly, “Unless, of course, this attack was your idea, Highlord. Then I’ll say it was sheer genius.”

  Kit shook her head. “No, this wasn’t my idea. It was hatched from the seething brain of your Highlord.”

  The sivak looked momentarily confused.

  “Toede,” said Kitiara. “Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy.” She gestured to the insignia the sivak wore on his harness. Then, looking at it more closely, Kit grinned.

  The two had reached the city gate. The sivak came to a halt. He was looking back toward the city, probably with an idea of returning to claim his share of what riches remained.

  “Except you’re not with the Red Dragonarmy, are you?” Kitiara said.

  “Huh?” The sivak jerked his head back to face her. “Sure I am,” he said, pointing to the insignia.

  “It’s upside down,” Kit said dryly.

  “Oh,” returned the sivak, and he gave a sheepish grin and righted it. “That better?”

  “If they catch you, they’ll hang you. That’s what they do to deserters.”

  “I didn’t desert.” The sivak waved a claw. “My commander and I heard about the attack on Tarsis, thought there might be some profit in it. We decided we’d bring the boys by to take a look, see what we could pick up.”

  “Who is your commander?”

  “You know, in all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten his name,” said the sivak, scratching his head and grinning. “Don’t get me wrong, Highlord. We do our part for the Queen, but we figure she won’t begrudge us making a bit of profit on our own. We’re what you might call independent contractors. We make certain we get something more out of this war than maggot-ridden rations and latrine duty.”

  He cocked an eye at her. “You gonna try to arrest me,

  Highlord?”

  Kitiara laughed. “Not after what we’ve been through tonight. You have served me well. You can go back to your commander. I’ll be safe enough from here on. My camp is not far. Thanks for your help.”

  She held out her hand. “I hope you don’t mind telling me your name?”

  “Slith, my lord,” said the sivak. After some hesitation, he extended his clawed hand.

  “Good to meet you, Slith. I am—”

  “The Blue Lady. Everyone knows you, ma’am.” Slith spoke in admiring tones.

  The two shook, hand and claw, then the sivak turned and headed back toward the rubble, blood, and ash that had once been Tarsis.

  “Hey, Slith,” Kit called after him, “if you ever stop being an independent contractor, come work for me!”

  The sivak laughed, t
urned and waved, but kept on going.

  Kitiara started walking. The plains stretched ahead of her. The night was dark and silent here, far from the chaos inside the city. The snow crunching beneath her boots was black with soot and ash. Furtive shadows slipped through the night around her—survivors lucky enough to have escaped Tarsis.

  Kit let them be.

  3

  Saving the kender.

  Escape from Tarsis.

  hen he left the library, Brian did not expect to make it out of Tarsis alive. He expected to face a well-organized and determined foe, such as the forces of the Blue Lady they had faced at Castle Crownguard and Vingaard, and he resolved to die bravely and take as many draconians with him as possible. Instead, what he and the other knights found when they went into the streets was a drunken, leaderless mob, far more interested in plundering and looting, murdering and raping, than in conquest.

  The red dragons posed the biggest threat, and while they were in the skies, breathing down fire upon the city and its hapless inhabitants, the knights were in danger. They sought shelter from the beasts as best they could, ducking into doorways or diving under rubble as the dragons roared overhead, spewing flame, occasionally snatching up some hapless person in their claws and devouring him in midair.

  Friend and enemy were both in danger from the dragons, for the reds had no compunction about blistering goblin hide or watching draconians sizzle. At one point, Brian hid beneath a smoldering oak tree alongside a quaking goblin, neither of them daring to move as a red dragon swooped low, searching for more victims. When the dragon had gone, the goblin took a gulp of some liquid from a greasy leather water skin, and, after a moment’s hesitation, offered Brian a drink. Brian should have probably slain the creature, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The two had shared a moment of terror, and both had survived. Brian politely refused the drink and waved his hand, indicating the goblin could depart. The goblin shrugged, and after a wary glance, he gave Brian a nod, then took to his heels. Derek spent the next ten minutes lecturing Brian sternly on his foolish sentimentality.

  The knights had fought their way through the streets to the Red Dragon Inn, doing what they could to save people from the brutish enemy or to ease the suffering of the dying. Most of the foes the knights encountered took one look at their grim faces and bloody swords, and unless they were bolder or drunker than most, ran off. It soon became clear to the knights that once the dragonarmy had gutted Tarsis, the soldiers would depart, slinking away into the night, hung-over and loaded down with spoils and slaves. The Highlord had no plans to occupy this city, merely to destroy it.

  Derek never lost sight of his goal, which was to find the Red Dragon Inn and find out what had become of the kender. But as they were walking down a side street near the inn, the knights came upon a draconian and a human soldier bending over a fallen woman, obviously with evil intent. The knights hastened to rescue the woman from the two, but before they could reach them, the draconian and the soldier had escaped into the night, climbing over the rooftops.

  “Should we go after them?” Aran asked wearily.

  They were all exhausted, half-suffocated from the smoke. Brian’s throat was raw from coughing and parched from thirst. They dared not drink the water from any of the wells, for it all had a reddish tinge to it.

  “Pointless,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Brian, see that the woman has come to no harm. Aran, come with me. The inn is in the next block.”

  Brian hastened over to help and found a middle-aged man helping the woman to her feet. Brian assumed he must be a relative until, getting a good view of the woman, he saw that she was an elf, and even though her face was smeared with dirt, soot, blood and streaked with tears, her beauty made him catch his breath.

  The man rose to his feet at the sight of the armed men, and he stood protectively in front of the woman, prepared to defend her. Brian saw the man was bearded and that he wore robes that must have once been white, though they were now gray from the soot and ash raining down over the city. He stood tall, upright and unafraid, though he had no weapons. A medallion on his chest flickered in the lurid light. He was a cleric.

  A cleric and an elf woman.

  “Have no fear. I am a Solamnic knight, sir,” said Brian. He turned around and shouted over his shoulder, “Derek! I’ve found them. You must be Elistan, I think,” Brian added, turning back to the two, who were regarding him in astonishment. “And you must be Laurana of Qualinesti. Are you hurt, Mistress? Did they harm you?”

  “No, but they meant to,” Laurana said. She seemed dazed, overwhelmed. “It was all so horrible … confusing. One of them seemed to know me. He said the strangest things to me … but how is that possible?”

  Elistan put his arm around her. She leaned against him, shivering. “I couldn’t see his face, for he wore a scarf over it, but I saw his eyes …” She shuddered.

  “How do you know us, sirs?” Elistan asked as Derek and Aran joined them, both coughing as a gust of smoke came swirling down the street.

  “Time for questions later, sir,” said Derek peremptorily. “You are still in danger. Where are the kender, Brightblade, and the rest of your party?” He looked about. “Where is Tanis Half-elven?”

  Laurana gave a sob at the name and put her hand to her mouth. Tears flooded down her cheeks, and she staggered weakly. Elistan held her and an elf male came hastening up to her. Brian recognized the elf as Gilthanas. He’d been with Tanis and the others at the library. Gilthanas glanced at the knights, gave a brief nod, then turned to care for his sister. He spoke gently to Laurana in their own language.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Gilthanas said in an aside to Elistan. “You see to the kender.”

  “Kender,” Derek repeated. “Do you mean Burrfoot? Where is he?”

  “Tasslehoff was hurt when a beam fell on him,” Elistan explained, leading the knights back down the alley. “He was near death, but Paladine, in his mercy, brought him back to us. He is over here with the others.”

  Brian glanced at Derek, who shook his head and smiled derisively.

  “Hullo again, Sir Knights!” Tasslehoff cried, waving his hand and then coughing himself nearly in two as smoke flew down his windpipe.

  “Are you sure he’s not hurt?” Brian exclaimed in amazement. “Look at him!’

  The kender’s clothes were torn and covered with blood. His jaunty topknot was matted with blood. His face and arms were badly bruised, though the bruises seemed to be fading.

  Tasslehoff answered Brian’s question by jumping gamely to his feet.

  “I’m fine!” he announced. “A house fell down, blam, right on top on me! My ribs were all smashed in and I was breathing funny when I was breathing at all, which I wasn’t sometimes, and the pain was pretty bad, and I thought I was a goner. But Elistan asked Paladine to save me and he did! Think of that,” the kender added proudly, pausing to cough, “Paladine saved my life!”

  “Why he bothered is beyond me,” stated the dwarf, and he gave the kender a poke in the back. “You wouldn’t catch Reorx saving the life of a kender fool enough to let a house fall on top of him!”

  “I didn’t let the house fall on me!” Tas explained patiently. “I was running along, minding my own business, and the house gave a sort of jump and a lurch and the next thing I knew—hey, Laurana! Did you hear? A house fell on me and Paladine saved me!”

  “Enough!” said Derek. “We must make haste! This place is still crawling with the enemy. Where is the rest of your party, Brightblade? The half-elf and the Lady Alhana?”

  “We were separated in the chaos,” said Sturm. He looked exhausted, his face was lined with sorrow and grief. “The inn was hit by dragon-fire. The others …”

  Sturm couldn’t go on. He shook his head.

  “I see,” said Derek in understanding. “I am sorry for your loss, but we need to get you and your friends to safety.”

  “Loss!” Tasslehoff cried shrilly. “What loss? What are you talking about? We can’t le
ave yet! What about Tanis? And Raistlin and Caramon?”

  Flint covered his face with his hand.

  “Tas,” said Sturm gently, going down on one knee and putting his hands on the kender’s shoulders, “there’s nothing we could do. The inn collapsed and he and the others were buried underneath—”

  “I don’t believe you,” Tas cried. Pulling free of Sturm’s grasp, he staggered weakly in the direction of the inn. “Tanis! Caramon! Raistlin! Don’t give up! I’m coming to save you!”

  He did not get far before his knees buckled and he went sprawling. Sturm picked up Tas and carried him back to where the knights were waiting.

  “Let go of me! I have to save them! Paladine will bring them back! He brought me back!” Tas fought to free himself from Sturm’s grip.

  “Tas,” said Elistan, patting the kender kindly on the shoulder, as Sturm set him on his feet, “our friends are with the gods now. We have to let them go.”

  Tas shook his head stubbornly, but his shrieks quieted to sobs and he quit struggling.

  “I need you, Tas,” Laurana added, a quiver in her voice. She put her arm around him. “Now that Tanis is … is not here …”

  Tasslehoff took hold of Laurana’s hand and squeezed it tight. “I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I promise.”

  Derek gathered the group together and started them moving down the street, heading in the direction of the south gate. Sword in hand, Aran took the lead. Brian brought up the rear, as usual. Derek kept close to the kender.

  Two days! Brian thought. Only two days ago, I walked through that very same gate. So much had happened, it seemed more like two years.

  Brian was more than half-tempted to run back to the library, back to Lillith. He would let Derek and Aran continue on their hunt for the dragon orb. He stopped in the street, and let the others go on ahead.

  Derek and Aran. Brian sighed deeply. The two would never make it to Icereach, not without him to mediate between them, curb Derek’s ambition, calm Aran’s wilder impulses. He had made a pledge to the Knight’s Council to go on this quest, and he could not abandon his leader or go back on his sworn word.