Dragons of the Highlord Skies

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  Iolanthe pointed down a side street. “At the end of this street is a stable where Salah Kahn houses his horses. The horses of Khur are the fastest and the best in the world,” she added with pride. “They are also the smartest. To protect them from being stolen, my people teach them a secret word. You must speak this word, or the horse will not permit you to mount. The horse will buck and lash out at you with its hooves and might kill you. Do you understand?”

  Kit understood. Iolanthe told her the word. Kit repeated it and nodded.

  “One more thing,” said Iolanthe, detaining Kit as she was about to leave.

  “What’s that?”

  Iolanthe looked at her searchingly. “Will you keep your vow? Will you ride now for Dargaard Keep?”

  Kitiara hesitated. She thought about life on the run. Ariakas would offer a reward for her the moment he discovered she was missing. It would be a large reward. Every bounty hunter in Ansalon would be searching for her. She’d never be able to show her face in any city or town again. She’d be constantly looking over back, afraid to go to sleep.

  “I will keep my vow,” Kit said.

  Iolanthe smiled. “I think you mean it. You will need this when you enter Dargaard Keep.”

  The witch took hold of Kitiara’s hand and slid a large silver bracelet decorated with three jewels carved of onyx onto her wrist.

  Kit grinned. “You want me to look my best for the death knight? Does it have earrings to match?”

  “What do you know of Lord Soth?” Iolanthe asked.

  “Not much,” Kit admitted. “He’s a death knight—”

  “He can kill you with a single word,” Iolanthe said. “He has an army of undead warriors who are bound to defend him, and if you fight your way past them, which is doubtful, you will encounter banshees. Their song is so horrific that if you hear but one wailing note, your heart will cease to beat and you will drop down dead. You will not survive five minutes in Dargaard Keep, much less an entire night.”

  Kit was subdued.

  “So I take it this bracelet is magical.” Kit eyed the piece of jewelry doubtfully. “Will it protect me in some way?”

  “It will save you from dying of sheer terror. In addition, the onyx gems will absorb magical attacks made against you, though they will only take so much punishment. After that, they will crumble and the bracelet will be useless. Still, it should at least get you inside the front door. Its power is limited. Don’t put it on until you intend to use it.”

  Kitiara clasped her hand over the bracelet.

  “Good luck,” Iolanthe added. She placed her hand over a ring she wore and began to mutter to herself.

  “Wait, Iolanthe,” said Kit, and the witch halted her incantation.

  “Well, what now?”

  Kit wasn’t used to being grateful. The words stuck in her throat and came out gruff and awkward. “Thank you.”

  Iolanthe smiled. “Do not forget what you owe me,” she said and disappeared, her black robes melting into the dark night.

  Kitiara hurried down the alleyway. Behind her, she could hear more shouts as the tale spread among the outraged followers of Takhisis that a murderous White Robe had used his magic to infiltrate their Temple.

  She found the stables and chose a black horse, liking the look of his powerful musculature, noble stance, the proud arch of his neck and the glint in his eye. She spoke the word Iolanthe had taught her. The horse permitted her to saddle him and within a few moments she was galloping out of the city.

  Kitiara took the road north, toward Dargaard Keep.

  Back in the Temple, the account of the White Robe caught the imagination of the worshipers and by the time the Nightlord arrived on the scene and was able to interrogate witnesses, several dark priests swore they had been standing right next to the daring wizard. The dark priest with the bald head and the scar across his nose was apprehended by a squad of draconians. Angered over the death of Targ, they gutted the man on the spot, only to discover after he was dead that he was not and never had been a user of magic. By dawn, the entire city of Neraka was being turned upside down as the draconians went house to house searching for the now-infamous White Robe wizard.

  Such was the furor and outrage over the killings in the temple that everyone lost interest in the execution of Kitiara uth Matar. Guards were sent to bring her to the Arena of Death, only to find that she had managed to escape during the night’s chaos. Ariakas was given this information by a quaking aide, who expected nothing less than death himself. Iolanthe was weeping and having hysterics in a corner. The Nightlord was raving about his ruined Abbey and demanding to know what the emperor was going to do to fix it. While he was talking, Salah Kahn came storming in, shouting in fury that his favorite horse had been stolen.

  Ariakas received all this news with a calm equanimity that astonished everyone. He said nothing. He did not kill the messenger. He listened to the Nightlord’s ravings and Salah Kahn’s rants and Iolanthe’s hysterics in silence, then ordered the Nightlord, the Highlord, the witch, and everyone else to leave.

  Once he was alone, Ariakas paced the floor and considered the amazing coincidence that had brought a White Robe wizard to blow up the Dark Abbey on the very same night Kitiara happened to be locked up in the store room in the Temple awaiting execution.

  The Emperor shook his head and said to himself in admiration, “What a woman. What a woman!”

  9

  The spy. The dream.

  Fire and rainbows.

  rian woke from the deep sleep of exhaustion with sudden alertness. He lay still, listening, until he was certain he’d heard the voices, not dreamed them. They spoke again and he flung off the fur blankets, and, moving silently and stealthily, he crept around the slumbering form of Aran to the tent opening.

  “Whassamatter?” Aran mumbled.

  “My turn at watch,” Brian whispered, and Aran pulled the furs over his head and snuggled down deeper among the animal skins that formed his bed.

  Brian, bundled in furs, opened the tent flap and peered into the darkness. No one was stirring. Derek was out there somewhere. He had insisted they set their own guard, though Harald had assured him the Ice Folk kept careful watch. A light shone from under a nearby tent—Sturm’s tent. Brian crept closer.

  Night in Icereach was black and silver, brittle with cold, spangled with stars. He could see well in the lambent light and if he could see he could be seen. He stayed in the shadows.

  The voice that had awakened him had been Laurana’s. She’d said something about Silvanesti. She was inside Sturm’s tent, and as Brian watched from the shadows, he saw the dwarf join them.

  Their voices were muffled. Brian circled around to the back of the tent to hear what they were saying. He despised himself for spying on those he had come to consider friends, but the moment he had heard Laurana’s voice mention the ancient elven kingdom, his suspicions were aroused.

  “We know,” Laurana could be heard saying as Flint entered the tent. “You had a dream about Silvanesti.”

  “Apparently I’m not the only one?” Flint asked, making it a question. His voice was hoarse. He sounded nervous, uneasy. “I suppose you—you want me to tell you what I dreamed?”

  “No!” Sturm spoke out harshly. “No, I do not want to talk about it—ever!”

  Laurana murmured something Brian could not hear.

  He was perplexed. They were talking about a dream, a dream of Silvanesti. It didn’t make sense. He shuffled his feet to keep them warm and kept listening.

  “I couldn’t talk about mine either,” Flint was saying. “I just wanted to see if it was a dream. It seemed so real I expected to find you both—”

  Brian heard footsteps and shrank back into the shadows. The kender came dashing right past him, so excited he never noticed the knight. Tas flung open the tent flap and crawled inside.

  “Did I hear you talking about a dream? I never dream, at least not that I remember. Kender don’t, much. Oh, I suppose we do. Even animals dream, bu
t—”

  The dwarf made a growling sound and Tas returned to the subject. “I had the most fantastic dream! Trees crying blood. Horrible dead elves going around killing people! Raistlin wearing black robes! It was the most incredible thing! And you were there, Sturm. Laurana and Flint. And everyone died! Well, almost everyone. Raistlin didn’t. And there was a green dragon—”

  None of the others inside the tent said a word. Even the dwarf had gone silent, which was odd, since Flint rarely let Tas ramble on with such nonsense. Tas faltered in the silence. When he spoke again, he was apparently trying to nudge them into responding.

  “Green dragon? Raistlin dressed in black? Did I mention that? Quite becoming, actually. Red always makes him look kind of jaundiced, if you know what I mean.”

  Apparently no one did, for the silence continued, grew deeper.

  “Well,” said Tas. “I guess I’ll go back to bed if you don’t want to hear anymore.” He spoke hopefully, but no one took him up on it.

  “Good night,” Tas said, backing out of the tent.

  Shaking his head in perplexity, he walked right past Brian—again without seeing him—muttering, “What’s the matter with everybody? It was only a dream! Though I have to say,” he added somberly, “it was the most real dream I’ve ever had in my whole entire life.”

  No one spoke inside the tent. Brian considered this all very strange, but he was relieved to know that they weren’t plotting against them. He was about to slip back to his tent when he heard Flint say, “I don’t mind having a nightmare, but I object to sharing it with a kender. How do you suppose we all came to have the same dream? What does it mean?”

  “A strange land—Silvanesti,” Laurana said in thoughtful tones. The light wavered beneath the tent. She opened the tent flap part way and Brian hunkered down in the shadows, hoping fervently she didn’t see him.

  “Do you think it was real?” Laurana’s voice trembled. “Did they die—as we saw?”

  “We’re here,” Sturm replied reassuringly. “We didn’t die. We can only trust the others didn’t either, and—this seems funny, but somehow I know they’re all right.”

  Brian was startled. Sturm sounded very sure of himself, but after all it had been only a dream. Still, it was odd that they had all shared it.

  Laurana slipped out into the night. She carried a thick candle and its flame illuminated her face. She was pale from the shock of the nightmare, and she seemed lost in wonderment. Gilthanas emerged from his tent, which was directly across from Brian’s, so the knight was trapped. As long as the two stood there, he couldn’t go back.

  “Laurana,” her brother said, coming up short at the sight of her. “I was so worried. I had a dream that you died!”

  “I know,” said Laurana. “I dreamed the same thing, so did Sturm and Flint and Tas. We all had the same dream about Tanis, Raistlin, and the rest of our friends. The dream was horrible, yet it was comforting at the same time. I know Tanis is alive, Gil. I know it! The rest are alive, as well. None of us understand it—”

  She and her brother went into his tent to finish their discussion. Brian was about to return to his, deeply ashamed of himself, when he heard movement. The dwarf and knight were walking out of the tent. Again Brian ducked back into the shadows, vowing he would never spy on anyone else so long as he lived. He was not cut out for this!

  “Well, so much for sleep,” Flint was saying. “I’ll take my turn at watch now.”

  “I’ll join you,” Sturm offered.

  “I suppose we’ll never know why or how we all dreamed the same dream,” said the dwarf. “I suppose not,” said Sturm.

  The dwarf walked out of the tent. Sturm was about to follow when he appeared to find something on the ground just inside his tent flap. He stooped down to pick it up. The object glittered with a bright blue-white light, as though a star had dropped from the sky to rest in Sturm’s hand. The knight stood staring at the shining object, turning it over in his hand. Brian could see it quite clearly—a pendant formed in the shape of a star. The pendant gleamed with its own sparkling radiance. It was incredibly beautiful.

  “I suppose not,” Sturm repeated, but as he stared at the jewel he now sounded thoughtful. He clasped it tightly, thankful to have recovered it.

  Passing Gilthanas’s tent, Sturm heard Laurana’s voice inside, and ducked in there. Brian hurried thankfully to his own tent, slipped inside, stumbled over Aran’s feet, and found his own bed. He could overhear the three talking in the tent opposite.

  “Laurana,” said Sturm, “can you tell me something about this?”

  He heard her gasp. Gilthanas said something in Elvish.

  “Sturm,” Laurana said, awed, “that is a starjewel! How did you come by such a thing?”

  “The Lady Alhana gave it to me before we parted,” Sturm replied in a hushed and reverent tone. “I didn’t want to take it, for I could see it was extremely valuable, but she insisted—”

  “Sturm,” said Laurana, and her voice was choked with emotion. “This is the answer—or at least part of it. Starjewels are gifts given by a lover to his beloved. The jewels connect them, keep each in the heart and mind and soul of the other, even if they are parted. The connection is spiritual, not physical, and is impossible to break. Some believe it lasts even beyond death.”

  Sturm’s reply was muffled, and Brian could not hear it. His thoughts went to Lillith—they had not been far from her this entire trip—and he could only imagine what the knight must be feeling.

  “I have never heard of a starjewel being given to any human,” said Gilthanas, adding caustically, “Its value is incalculable. It is worth a small kingdom. You have done well for yourself.”

  “Do you truly believe I would ever sell this?” Sturm demanded. His voice trembled with his rage. “If so, you do not know me!”

  Gilthanas was silent a moment, then he said quietly. “I do know you, Sturm Brightblade. I was wrong to imply such a thing. Please forgive me.”

  Sturm muttered that he accepted the apology and walked out of the tent. As he left, Gilthanas asked again for Sturm to forgive him. Sturm said nothing; he simply walked out.

  Laurana spoke angrily to her brother in Elvish. Gilthanas replied in Elvish. Brian couldn’t understand the words, but the elf lord sounded contrite, though sullen.

  Laurana emerged from the tent and ran after Sturm.

  “Gil didn’t mean it—” she began.

  “Yes, Laurana, he did,” Sturm said. His voice was stern. “Perhaps he came to think better of his cruel remark, but when he first spoke those words, he knew exactly what he was saying.”

  Sturm paused then added, “He wants the dragon orb for your people, doesn’t he? I’ve seen him hanging about the knights. I know he’s been spying on Derek. What does your brother know about this orb?”

  Laurana gave a little gasp. Sturm’s blunt accusation had taken her by surprise. “I don’t think he knows anything. He’s just talking—”

  Sturm cut her off in exasperation. “You keep trying to pour honey over everything. You placate Derek. You coddle your brother. Stand up for yourself and what you believe in for once.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and Brian heard her boots crunch in the snow.

  “Laurana,” said Sturm, relenting, “I’m the one who is sorry. After what you’ve been through, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’ve kept us together. You brought us here.”

  “For what?” she asked in hopeless tones. “So we could freeze to death?”

  “I don’t know,” he returned. “Maybe the gods do.”

  The two were silent, friends comforting each other.

  Laurana spoke. “Could I ask you one question before you go?”

  “Of course,” Sturm replied.

  “You said you knew Tanis and the others were alive …”

  “They did not die in Tarsis as we feared. He and our friends are with Lady Alhana in Silvanesti and though they have been in great peril and they feel great sorrow, for the
moment they are safe. I don’t know how I know that,” he added simply, “but I know it.”

  “The magic of the starjewel,” Laurana said. “Lady Alhana speaks through the jewel to your heart. The two of you will always be connected …

  “Sturm,” she said softly, so softly Brian could barely hear, “that human woman I saw in the dream, the one who was with Tanis. Was that … Kitiara?”

  Sturm cleared his throat. He sounded embarrassed. “That was Kit,” he said gruffly.

  “Do you think … are they together?”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible, Laurana. The last I saw of Kit, she was traveling to Solamnia, and anyway I doubt she would be in Silvanesti. Kit never had much use for elves.”

  Laurana gave a sigh that was audible even to Brian. “I wish I could believe that.”

  Sturm tried to reassure her. “We were all in the dream together and we’re not in Silvanesti. Tanis and the others are alive and that is good to know. But remember, when all is said and done, Laurana, it was just a dream.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Laurana replied, and she bid him a good night and returned to her tent, but as she walked past Brian’s tent, he heard her murmur, “A magical dream …”

  Brian lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. He had lived his life, for the most part, having nothing to do with magic. Wizards were viewed with deep suspicion in Solamnia, and those wizards who chose to live in that realm—and there were few—kept to themselves. The only magic he had ever seen had been performed at fairs and even then his father had told him it was all sleight-of-hand and make believe. As for holy miracles, he had seen for himself when Elistan healed the wounds suffered by the white bear. He did not agree with Derek that it was trickery, though Brian could not quite bring himself to believe it was the gods either.

  Yet now he was in the company of people who had been around mages since they were small; a wizard of the red robes had been a childhood companion. Though they did not understand its workings, they accepted magic as a part of their lives. They were convinced they had all shared a dream because of a shining bit of jewelry. Even the gruff and dour old dwarf believed it.