He also learned of the profusion of cults, all worship shy;ing false gods, that had sprung into existence since the Cataclysm. Many of the warriors who had served him had professed great allegiance to one or another of these deities. It amused him to think that their prayers had been directed to nothing more than an uncaring cosmos.
And he learned that, of the true gods of Krynn, Takhi-sis was the being meant to inherit mastery of all. Mortals and immortals together would one day worship at her altar, each and every one of them owing existence itself to her pleasure. For now her favored clerics were marked with leather collars to display their status in her service- with red reserved for the high priest and blue for his chief lieutenants. Declining through black and then green, the white collars denoted the many young novices.
Of the dragons, his teachers said much. He learned of the mighty scarlet wyrm, the red dragon whose breath burned like the flame of an infernal furnace, and the white, whose exhalation exploded like a blast of arctic frost. When Fendis described this serpent, the warrior vividly recalled the frigid eruption from the white blade of his sword. Then he learned of the black wyrm and- mindful of his midnight blade-he listened avidly to the description of this dragon's caustic acid breath. Spit in a long stream, the liquid could rot flesh, wood, or metal with ease. Neither were the green and blue dragons excepted. The former's expulsion of poisonous gas, a seeping, seething cloud of noxious fumes, brought insidious and horrifying death. The latter's lightning bolt could sear enemies with explosive force, or pulse through metal with sizzling heat, melting even steel bars in a way that mere fireballs could not. And these five attacks comprised only the breath attacks of the col shy;ored dragons. The creatures also possessed claws that could rend an ox and jaws that could crush a small house.
Many dragons, he learned, stood so high in the favor of their goddess that the Dark Queen granted them spells with which to further her aims. And it was with the discussion of these spells that another fascinating phase of his training began.
Fendis and Parkane worked with Ariakas alone, drawing forth from him the memory of the power that had possessed him when he had cured Ferros Wind-chisel's wounds, and his own. For long hours the clerics instructed him on the rituals of prayer that allowed mor shy;tals to tap into immortal power.
Ariakas showed a remarkable aptitude in these stud shy;ies. Soon he could call into existence a globe of light such as Parkane had used in the Sanctified Catacombs, or weave an enchantment to create a fine meal-or to cor shy;rupt and decay a large stockpile of food. A useful spell allowed him to neutralize a poisonous meal even before it was ingested, or to cure the effects of toxin afterward.
He learned chants that could increase his effectiveness in battle, and others that could reveal the presence of traps and snares in his path. The two elder priests were astonished at the rapid pace of his progress, and for a time it seemed that every day added a new magical incantation to the warrior's repertoire.
Not all of his studies consisted of these lessons in his shy;tory, magic, destiny, and power. The temple encouraged well-rounded training, and Ariakas joined a class taught by the priestess Lyrelee in bare-handed combat. When he first observed her, he was fascinated by her skill in the unique hand-fighting technique, and greatly attracted by her feline power and beauty. He welcomed the opportu shy;nity to join her class. In his initial lesson he watched her throw several young and obviously inexperienced novices onto the floor, deflecting their attacks with clever feints and crisp, well-practiced maneuvers.
When he stood up for his turn, he all but swaggered over to her, determined to show the youngsters what a real warrior could do when faced with such fancy foot shy;work-and incidentally ensuring that he earned this woman's respect. Several seconds later, from his position flat on the floor, he reflected that perhaps the lightning-quick woman could teach him a thing or two.
Wryllish Parkane himself instructed Ariakas on the techniques of meditation, which the high priest assured him would greatly facilitate the communication between man and goddess. Wryllish sat for hours, motionless, and-though at first the monotony threatened to drive Ariakas mad-the warrior swiftly developed the patience to match his teacher. He found that these ses shy;sions really did liberate his mind, allowing his imagina shy;tion to drift into places usually reserved for his dreams.
This is not to say that Ariakas became a monk. In fact, though he visited the temple for at least a short time every day, he returned to his house on most nights. Fer-ros Windchisel had wasted no time in making himself at home there, and when Ariakas remained in the temple for several days at a time the warrior was glad to know that someone was keeping watch over his property.
When Ariakas did come home, the dwarf and the human often made a long evening of it, exploring the inns and taverns of Sanction. Often they got roaring drunk, occasionally they found-and won-a fight, and always Ariakas felt in the dwarf a kindred spirit. He reflected that a true warrior is a warrior foremost, be he dwarf or human.
The Hylar spent his days seeking information on the Zhakar, a task that had become exceedingly difficult in the weeks following their confrontation at the Fungus Mug. The mysterious dwarves might have all gone underground, for as much information as Ferros could garner.
Growing increasingly irritable as time passed without success, Ferros Windchisel began to complain about life in Sanction. His favorite gripe was a claim that the place was infested by tiny, biting firebugs. Showing Ariakas raw, itching wounds on his arms, the dwarf insisted that vile insects took nocturnal snippets from his skin. Aria shy;kas suffered no bites himself, but he could not dispute the reality of the dwarf's suffering.
The best that Ferros could do about his quest to find Zhakar was to get a secondhand description of a convo shy;luted trail from an old ship's captain. The man claimed he'd once hired a Zhakar mate who had divulged a few details about his homeland. These the captain related to Ferros-in exchange for the two barrels of beer con shy;sumed during the discussion.
Of all Ariakas's activities, inside the temple and out, he found that the combat lessons with Lyrelee were the most appealing and invigorating. The woman knew a tremendous amount, and was eager to share her knowl shy;edge. Ariakas, in turn, began to instruct Lyrelee and some novices in the use of the sword, dagger and bow- the three weapons with which he was most comfortable.
He continued to find the priestess to be an alluring female, and for the first time since his stay in the tower he began to consider the delightful prospect of intimate physical joy. He had routinely hired harlots since his arrival in the city, but regarded time spent with them as little more than fleeting and impersonal entertainment.
Ariakas spent time talking to Lyrelee after the other students had departed the class, and the warrior sensed that she, too, felt a kindling of desire. He remembered the warning of Takhisis regarding his women, but some shy;times he tried to convince himself that it couldn't truly apply to the lithe priestess. Certainly a woman who labored so diligently in the Dark Queen's service could not be made a scapegoat for her punishment!
These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he made his way home, long after dark, one late-summer night. He had just crossed the Grand Bridge, which was still crowded even at this late hour, and had begun to meander up the hill toward his palatial house.
A scurrying form moved through the shadows of an alley, and Ariakas spun, reaching for his black-bladed sword-though he didn't draw the weapon.
Cloaked in dark robes, a short figure shuffled toward him, stopping ten feet away. He could make out no details beneath the deep cowl.
'Tale Splintersteel wants to see you," hissed the figure. "He will meet you tomorrow night, alone. Be in the cen shy;ter of the Fireplaza at midnight."
Before Ariakas could respond, the hunched figure darted into the shadows and disappeared.
Chapter 14
Plaza of Fire
"I'm going with you!" Ferros insisted after Ariakas told him about the mysterious summo
ns. The two sat in the estate's great room, with glowing embers in the fireplace and tumblers of lavarum near to hand. The house was silent around them, though Ariakas knew that mute Kandart watched and waited in the shadows, ready for the moment when the glasses were empty.
"I don't think that's a good idea," the warrior dis shy;agreed. "I was told to come alone-and besides, you know what your presence did to him last time."
"By Reorx, man-I didn't mean I'd walk right out there and shake his hand! But when you go to see that treacherous little weasel, I intend to be hiding in the background, someplace where I can get a good view."
The dwarf patted the heavy crossbow he had recently acquired, and Ariakas reflected that Ferros could pro shy;vide him with a measure of security. After all, the war shy;rior wasn't certain what the Zhakar wanted, but he'd learned enough from their first meeting to go into the rendezvous with full preparation and alertness.
"I don't think he'll try anything," Ariakas noted. "After all, he had a good taste of my sword last time. Still, it would be good to have you there to keep an eye on things."
"Yeah-I smell a trap," groused Ferros. The dwarf stood, furiously scratching at the rash along his arms, chest, and belly. "Damned firebugs!" he snarled. "Worse than ever last night!"
Ariakas chuckled sympathetically. "I still haven't had any in my bed-maybe they like your smell!"
"Humpf! So, you going to be ready for this?"
"I will be by midnight," Ariakas replied, grimly confi shy;dent.
The warrior had decided not to tell anyone at the temple about the upcoming meeting. If it turned out well, Ariakas could bring Tale Splintersteel to Wryllish Parkane and show the high priest that his efforts had in fact met with success. If nothing-or, even worse, some shy;thing disastrous-came of the meeting, there would be no need for his temple-mates to learn of the failure.
Ferros spent several hours honing to razor-sharpness the heads of his bolts. He had a full quiver of the steel-shafted missiles, and proudly informed Ariakas that the arrows could punch through plate mail at a hundred paces.
The human warrior, meanwhile, went to his dry gar shy;den and sat on a stone bench in the brittle bower.
Before him spread the valley. Today, with its eternal shroud of haze hanging unusually low, Sanction had a tight, enclosed feeling. Ariakas felt power tingling in the air, believed with certainty that things of great portent were in the works. He took his sword and laid the naked blade across his lap. The perfect blackness of the steel mirrored his own spirit to an infinite depth.
Gradually his mind filled with a sensation of falling- but very gently, as if wings had sprouted from his shoul shy;ders and now carried him easily toward Krynn from a great height. For nearly two hours he sat on the bench, his heart and lungs slowing their pace as his mind drifted on the currents of the Dark Queen. It was after sunset when he emerged from the trance, and he felt his body tingling with power and energy. He crossed through the courtyard into the main room of his house, and there he found Ferros Windchisel.
"I'm going to head down there early-get a look around," announced the Hylar. "It'll give me time to lie low before you show up."
"How will you contact me if there's trouble?" asked Ariakas.
"I'll figure something out-just stay alert," assured the dwarf. Ferros slung his crossbow over his right shoulder, where he could raise it and shoot in an instant. He wore a colorful plaid cape that served to conceal the short sword at his waist.
The dwarf made his way into the dusk, and Ariakas settled his nerves with a meal. His current chef was a domineering old matron who had held the job for two months, much longer than either of her two predeces shy;sors. Now she presented him with a light, delicious sup shy;per-as always, she performed splendidly. Finally, an hour before midnight, he left.
Ariakas wore his huge sword on his back. He had pur shy;chased a new scabbard of unadorned but sleek doeskin that completely hid the long blade. He could draw the sword with either hand, and if he gripped it with both he could bring it forward in a powerful, skull-crushing blow. Despite his fast progress in Lyrelee's unarmed fighting classes, he was grateful for the security offered by the weapon.
Approaching the Fireplaza obliquely, Ariakas crossed down to the Lavaflow River and started toward the cen shy;ter of the city. The right side of his body warmed to the radiance of the deep, crimson stream beside him. In the distance, he saw the Grand Bridge, the gray stone arcing upward through the darkness. The underside of the bridge glowed with its own light, heated, ovenlike, by the volcanic fury of the river.
The Fireplaza sprawled along a great section of this river, with the huge bridge connecting to the far end. Tall, stone-walled buildings surrounded the expanse. Several wide fissures gaped across the plaza's stone sur shy;face, and many of these belched forth clouds of steam, gas, or flame. At the opposite end stood Sanction's only public decoration-the War Monument.
This unique memorial consisted of the raised replicas of three sailing ships, supported by three clumps of stone columns. The three ships were clustered in close forma shy;tion, and from across the plaza, they looked as though they sailed through the air. The monument was dedicated to the fallen who perished during a brief fracas several decades earlier-one column had been raised for each of the one hundred and two men who had lost their lives.
During his months in the city, Ariakas had gleaned the tale of the structure, whose appearance had so puzzled him at first. The war had been a campaign against nearby Saltcove, reputedly a den of pirates and freebooters. The battle was Sanction's only claim to military glory, and the veterans of the conflict-all of whom had been well-paid by the city's merchants-had been able to extort the memorial's costs from their former employers.
From a reputable bartender Ariakas had learned the true story of the commemorated hostilities, which were grandiloquently entitled the 'Saltcove War.' The cam shy;paign was in actuality a single battle and had involved a boisterous, liquor-sodden expedition against the nearby fishing village, where several small-scale pirate captains had in fact maintained their strongholds. The town fell in the first rush, with several of the pirates fleeing to the hills with their henchmen. A few resisted, and four of Sanction's men perished in actual combat. The other ninety-eight fatalities had occurred when two of the overloaded invasion ships, both piloted by drunken cap shy;tains, collided at the entrance to Saltcove's harbor. The warriors aboard, armed and girded for battle, went down like stones as the ships broke apart around them.
It often surprised Ariakas that a city with such a sur shy;plus of warlike men could not boast of a more glorious military history. Still, a story of hearty, courageous men cursed with bad leadership was not unique in the history of Krynn. He speculated on what the armies of Sanction could accomplish if they were only leashed to a single goal. These men might even subdue Bloten, he believed — remembering all of the undersized expeditions he'd been forced to lead from Khur and Flotsam.
Ariakas passed between the monument and the Lava-flow River, picking his way between two of the long fis shy;sures. The gaps were only ten or twelve feet wide, but zigged and zagged for several hundred feet across the plaza. In a few places they were crossed by bridges, but the width of the chasms constantly shifted, so these crossings were short lived at best.
Several folk were about, including a few vendors of fruit, trinkets, cheese, and bread-all of whom had blan shy;kets spread on the ground, or small two-wheeled carts to display their wares. Somewhere a minstrel strolled, singing a bawdy song to laughter and jeers.
Ariakas veered to avoid the hustling approach of an old beggar woman, but the hag fairly leapt toward him, tugging at his sleeve and glaring up at him with one pen shy;etrating eye. The lid of the other was sewn shut, the seam vanishing in a maze other wrinkles lining her bony, angular face.
"Alms for an old woman, warrior?" she asked, glaring slyly at him. "Mayhaps in trade for your fortune told? This one old eye sees very clearly, mark my word!"
"Get away
with you!" barked Ariakas, checking for danger as he raised a hand, ready to swat.
"One best listen to one's future," she said, ominously. "Even a Hylar dwarf knows that much!"
Ariakas froze, and then lowered his hand into his belt pouch. He passed the woman a steel piece, hoping that no other beggar in the vast square saw the transaction.
"Did you tell the fortune of a Hylar tonight?"
"I've seen the futures of everyone tonight," she retorted. "And who I tell is my business. But for you, warrior…." She lowered her voice portentously. "Look you toward the pillars of the Saltcove War-danger lurks in the shad shy;ows. Danger small in size, but great in number-danger going cloaked, hidden from the light."
Nodding his thanks, Ariakas surveyed the plaza in light of this new information. He reached for another coin, but the old woman shook her head and gave him a knowing smile. "The Hylar are not as stingy as some would say," she declared, cackling softly to herself as she hobbled away.
He turned his back on the flow of molten rock, moving into the center of the plaza and keeping the War Monu shy;ment to his left, a good two hundred paces away. He knew that at that distance, he was safe from any bow shot out of concealment.
But how was he to find Tale Splintersteel? Never before had he realized just how big the Fireplaza actually was. And where was Ferros Windchisel? He scanned the space, seeking the familiar dwarven silhouette, but was disappointed. Though he could see several hundred individuals within the plaza, many remained eclipsed by vendors' carts, the great monument, or knots of people.
As he searched, a fissure near him spit a great spume of steam into the sky. The eruption lasted for several sec shy;onds, and even after the blast ceased, a huge, white cloud drifted across the plaza, floating toward the river — where the radiant heat of the lava would quickly burn it away.
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