"Go away! Strangers are not allowed in Zhakar! Go away, or you will be killed!" A thin, reedy voice came quaveringly over the wall. They could see no speaker, but the words carried clearly to their ears.
"We come in peace-we are a trade mission seeking audience with King Ironcog!" shouted Tale. "Tell him that Splintersteel of Sanction is here!"
"The king is too busy to see you-go back to Sanc shy;tion!"
"We will see the king!" Ariakas shouted, growing impatient.
"No. Go away! Leave our countryman behind when you depart-he will be punished for bringing you here."
Tale Splintersteel cast wide, fearful eyes at his com shy;panions, but they weren't paying any attention to him.
Instead, they stared upward, trying to see any sign of the speaker.
Ariakas decided to proceed. He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the great, iron gates. Each of the barriers towered upward at least three times his height and was nearly half that in width-dimensions that made him feel very small, indeed. Nevertheless, he murmured a silent prayer to Takhisis and then raised his voice so that it could be clearly heard within.
"I, Highlord Ariakas, command these gates-in the name of a power greater than you can comprehend-to give way before my knock. In the name of majesty and power, I command!"
His heavy fist banged against the gate, once, twice, and again. Booming reverberations echoed around them from the keep and spilled down into the valley beyond.
With a portentous creak, the gates began to swing out shy;ward. Ariakas stepped quickly back, brandishing his sword at the ready, studying the slowly expanding crack between the twin doors. Part of him wanted to gape in surprise, astounded that the simple spell had proven so successful. The dominant portion of his mind retained control, however, and his cool, almost bored inspection of the opening gates indicated that he had never expected any result other than this.
He heard gasps of surprise, even cries of panic, com shy;ing from the fortress. The gap widened, and he saw a wide, refuse-covered courtyard. Robed Zhakar scattered in all directions from the gates, though several armed with swords, crossbows, and battle-hooks crept hesi shy;tantly forward. The gates opened wider, and he saw several dwarves frantically trying to arrest the winch mechanism-but the chain creaked through the gears with automatic, inevitable progression, completely unre shy;sponsive to their efforts.
"Peace," said Ariakas, striding forward to meet the dwarven warriors blocking the door. His voice, his posture, betrayed no hint of the doubts and apprehen shy;sions he felt. "I offer no harm-and many profits."
Thankfully, the Zhakar backed hastily away from the human warrior, their eyes riveted to the unique weapon in his hands. Lyrelee, Tale Splintersteel, and Ferros Windchisel followed him through the gates, and the four of them confronted the dwarves within as the gates ceased their automatic opening.
"You can close them now," Ariakas announced to the gatesmen, who hastily commenced to crank the portals shut.
Several dozen dark-shawled Zhakar crept toward him, weapons raised, but they didn't look as though they intended to attack. Indeed, Ariakas suspected that a simple flick of his great sword would send them scatter shy;ing in panic. Many milky, baleful eyes observed him through slits in the faces of the cloaks.
Ariakas looked around the courtyard of Zhakar Keep. The place was like no other fortress or castle that he had ever seen. The high walls were pierced only by the single gate through which the companions had entered.
The ground inside the compound was a chaotic menage of shallow ravines and low ridges, except for one huge, blocklike building in the center of the grounds. From the roof of this structure emerged the four chim shy;neys they had seen in the distance. Otherwise, the many piles and ridges of dirt eclipsed any other features the courtyard might have held.
"Your turn," Ariakas muttered to Tale Splintersteel. "Tell them why we're here."
The Zhakar cleared his throat and stepped forward. Behind the screening masks, the guardsmen's eyes stud shy;ied him with palpable suspicion and hostility.
"These are not our enemies," began the merchant. "I have brought them here because they can bring great benefits, great prosperity to our realm. That is why it is essential for us to see the king!"
One of the guards stepped cautiously ahead of his fel shy;lows, though he cast a quick glance to the rear-as if ensuring that he had a line of escape, if necessary. This ad hoc leader then turned back to the visitors, scowling angrily.
"You know you can't bring outsiders here!" he snapped to Tale Splintersteel. "Did they make you a pris shy;oner? Are you a hostage?"
"No-not exactly," replied the Zhakar merchant, per shy;haps remembering that at one time he had been a pris shy;oner. "They wish to establish trade with us, and they insist on seeing the king themselves."
Next the spokesman turned to Ariakas. "The punish shy;ment is death for one of our number who brings out shy;siders to Zhakar." His tone was tinted with respect, even a little fear. "You must have been very persuasive."
"Have you not heard of the many-colored blade?" demanded Tale Splintersteel in growing exasperation. "This is the man who can slay a hundred dwarves with shy;out touching his sword to their flesh!"
The pale eyes widened within the slit of the cloak. "It's true, then-what they said about the valley of the Black-rock? That his sword spit fire, and a whole company per shy;ished?"
"Believe every word," urged the merchant sneeringly. "And heed well his sword-lest he use it to bring Zhakar itself crumbling down around your ears!"
Now the eyes widened in definite fear, and Ariakas raised the sword slightly to illustrate the point. The blue blade seemed to float in the air, the most intense color in the courtyard.
"I–I'll go tell the king," said the spokesman finally. "You watch 'em!" he commanded imperiously to his fel shy;lows, obviously relieved to have the chance to escape the presence of that awe-inspiring weapon.
The guards who had been assigned to watch them took their job very seriously, though they seemed far more concerned with the blue-bladed sword than with any other aspect of the visitors' appearance. Ariakas took care to brandish the sword so that it could easily be seen. He even whipped the weapon through several training drills, enjoying the sight of the Zhakar ner shy;vously backing away-as if they expected the thing to explode at any moment.
"What do you think the king'll say, now?" Ferros inquired of Tale Splintersteel.
Splintersteel shrugged. "That's anyone's guess," he whispered to the others. "Rackas is an old enemy of my family. Still, he's a profiteer first and foremost-he's likely to listen to our proposal."
The warrior nodded noncommittally.
Finally the messenger returned. "The king will con shy;sent to an audience," he announced importantly. "The prisoners are to be brought to the Royal Promen-"
"What prisoners?" growled Ariakas menacingly. "If you mean us, let the dwarf who will capture me step for shy;ward-now!"
Predictably, there was no movement among the rank of guards. Two dozen pairs of eyes followed as if hypno shy;tized while the blue blade carved a slow arc through the air.
The messenger stammered and hemmed. "If the, er, emissaries would be so good as to accompany me to the lift station, I will take you to the king."
He led the companions along a winding walkway flanked by mounds of dirt until they reached the wall of the huge stone blockhouse. An iron door opened at their approach, and they entered the structure.
Immediately they were struck by a blast of hot, dry air. Hammers rang against forges, and furnaces roared while bellows pumped fresh air into their fire boxes. The room was shadowy, almost totally dark except for the crimson glow of fires and red-hot metal, which showed hooded forms moving vaguely among hulking forges.
Ariakas murmured a quick magical command, and the gemstone in his helmet immediately flared into brightness. He saw Zhakar cover their eyes and turn hastily away from the illumination, satisfying himself that the light would
help him maintain his command in the presence of these miserable creatures. Gradually the sounds of hammering died away, as the strange party was led through a maze of fire pits, anvils, casting pots, winches, and overhead chains.
In the center of the manufactory, they reached a cage consisting of black iron bars surrounding a flat platform. The platform was suspended by a grid of chains, and it swayed slightly as the Zhakar messenger opened the door and stepped onto it.
"How do we know this isn't a trap?" demanded Aria shy;kas, as he and Lyrelee instinctively held back from the strange contraption.
Tale and Ferros, however, passed through the gateway and turned to look at the humans. "It's just a lift," the Hylar said, amused. "We have hundreds like this in Thorbardin. How else would you go up and down- stairways?"
Inwardly, Ariakas groused that a stairway would be just fine with him, but he had already shown too much hesitation on the matter. Gruffly he stepped inside, quickly followed by the priestess.
The Zhakar pulled a lever, and immediately the plat shy;form lurched below their feet, sinking through the floor into a shaft that had been bored into the rock. Trying to suppress his nervousness, Ariakas watched the stone walls appear to rise around them. He listened uneasily to the clanking of chain overhead.
"This lift is counterbalanced with another one, not too far away," Tale Splintersteel explained. "When this one goes down, that one comes up. If the job is to take some shy;thing down to the city, then there's no need for any power-our weight does the job, though the chain rolls through several brakes so it doesn't go too fast."
"How can it lift cargo up to the ground level?" asked Lyrelee.
"For that we have the winchmasters," the Zhakar explained. "It doesn't move so quickly, but they can crank a load from the Promenade up to the Keep in a matter of ten minutes or so."
Personally, Ariakas didn't think their descent was any too speedy. His heart pounding, he could not banish the feeling that they had walked into a perfect trap.
Then the lift clanked to rest on a solid stone floor, caus shy;ing them all to lurch unsteadily. A metal door before them rumbled aside, and they stepped into a vast, dimly lit chamber. A vague, fiery illumination spilled into the place from two yawning cave mouths off to their right. Before them, twin rows of columns towered upward from the floor, vanishing into the darkness overhead.
At the end of the row of pillars, nearly lost in the shad shy;ows, the companions saw a pair of immense statues. Carved into the shape of hideous beasts, these figures stood with their backs to the cavern wall. Between the trunklike legs of the statue on the right, they saw a large, stone throne, then noticed a similar seat beneath the statue on the left.
"The King's Promenade," explained the messenger, indicating the wide roadway between the two rows of columns.
Slowly, deliberately, they started down the walk. Aria shy;kas naturally moved into the fore, his bright gem casting a wash of white on the floor before them. The columns to either side and the roadway to the thrones plainly indi shy;cated their route. In one of the thrones Ariakas saw a shrouded, shadowy figure. The warrior was amused to see the king shrink into his seat as the party moved closer.
Ferros and Lyrelee flanked the human warrior, a step or two behind, while Tale Splintersteel and the Zhakar messenger brought up the rear. Around them Ariakas sensed a huge number of dark, silent figures. Several forms stood just within range of his light, and the war shy;rior concealed his surprise as he saw Zhakar warriors mounted on four-legged lizards. The animals had a dull, unintelligent look, but the sleek sinew in their shoulders and legs suggested both speed and power. They were no bigger than large hounds, though sharp claws on their forefeet indicated that they could be savage foes in a fight. Yet even these bizarre cavalrymen cringed back when Ariakas swiveled his sword, or let his haughty gaze sweep over them.
His nervousness vanished entirely as he approached the Zhakar king. Ariakas carried the blue blade casually, the weapon unsheathed but resting easily on his shoul shy;der. With a flick of his wrist he could bring it down against a target on any side.
"Kneel when you meet the king!" hissed Tale Splinter-steel as they drew closer to the end of the promenade.
Now Ariakas's light fell on the figure seated in one of the huge thrones. The Zhakar was cloaked but unhooded, revealing a face that was scarred by the rav shy;ages of the mold plague. The king's beard was mostly gone, though several tufts of hair still sprouted from the skin over his jawbone. He looked bald, though he wore a heavy golden crown that concealed the top of his head.
"King Rackas Ironcog of Zhakar!" proclaimed a dwarf concealed in the shadows off to the sides. "Kneel before the greatness of his royal presence!"
Ferros Windchisel stepped to the warrior's side, and then knelt humbly-a dwarven warrior showing respect to the monarch of another dwarven state. Ariakas nod shy;ded to Lyrelee on his other side, and she, too, knelt. Meanwhile Tale Splintersteel all but groveled, prostrat shy;ing himself on the floor and crawling to the Hylar's side.
Only Ariakas remained standing. He met the flashing eyes of Rackas Ironcog with his own proud stare and then, with regal dignity, leaned forward in a gracious bow. His knees, however, did not bend.
"Who are you?" demanded the king, nonplussed by the display of confidence.
"I am Lord Duulket Ariakas, emissary of a powerful queen-the mightiest monarch on all Krynn," he pro shy;claimed grandly. "I bring salutations and praise to the esteemed lord of Zhakar!"
Somewhat mollified, Rackas Ironcog huffed in his throne. Apparently he was unused to anything even vaguely resembling diplomacy.
For the first time Ariakas noticed another Zhakar, standing in the shadows beside the throne. This one wore a cloak over even his face, which was unusual in the city so far as the human had seen. Also unique was the extensive golden thread embroidered around the fringes of the cloak. The masked dwarf leaned toward the king, apparently whispering something in his ear.
"Welcome to my realm," Rackas Ironcog said grudg shy;ingly, after a moment's silence. Ignoring any further pleasantries, he spoke bluntly. "This is the sword that killed one hundred of my finest troops?"
"Aye, Your Majesty," answered Ariakas. Inwardly, he scorned the repulsive monarch, who obviously knew less about court manners than the lowliest pageboy of Khuri-Khan. Still, he would go along with the charade as long as it suited his purpose. "The blade is a gift to me from my queen, and she bid me use it as an instrument of her will."
"She is mighty, this queen of yours," replied the king. "Now tell me, human-why does she send you to me?"
"We have come on a peaceful mission of trade," Aria shy;kas responded. "It is a mission that could bring unimag-ined profits into Your Majesty's treasuries, and at the same time form the basis of an alliance that will greatly benefit both our peoples."
"And you, Tale Splintersteel!" The monarch finally addressed the merchant lord. "This matter is important enough to cause you to defy ancient tradition, bringing outsiders to the heart of our realm?"
"Indeed, Majesty," replied Tale. "After heartfelt con shy;sideration I believe the human's suggestions of profit are based in fact. He who bears the colored sword has proven himself a fighter and negotiator of great strength and determination."
"Strength and determination.. those are admirable traits." The king nodded, scowling.
"Lord Warrior, will you and your companions accept our hospitality? I shall provide you with chambers in the royal apartments, where you shall have every comfort we can provide. When you have rested, I invite you to attend my table. Tonight, we shall make the arrange shy;ments for trade."
"Your hospitality is welcome," Ariakas agreed. "It is a fitting gesture for a meeting that will doubtless result in a long and profitable friendship."
As courtiers led them toward the royal quarters, Aria shy;kas risked a quick look behind. He saw the king's eyes staring at him-but not at the warrior himself, he sud shy;denly realized. Instead, Rackas Ironcog's eyes, glittering w
ith greed, remained fastened to the azure blade in the human warrior's hand.
Chapter 21
To hold a Throne
The quarters that were given to the companions by Rackas Iron-cog had been hailed by the Zhakar king as the finest ambassadorial apartments in the realm, but to Ariakas they were more reminiscent of a stinking dungeon. Low ceilings forced the warrior into a permanent stoop, while his sleeping chamber gave him barely enough space to turn around. A central anteroom linked their small indi shy;vidual compartments, but the bare stone walls and dank, stale air suggested a place more suited for imprisonment than hospitality. A heavy door barred them from the rest of the royal chambers, and as a precaution, the warrior jabbed a dagger into the frame, ensuring that the portal could not be shut tightly from the outside.
The only concessions to luxury in the sleeping rooms were mattresses of fur-lined stuffing and plush blankets of animal pelts. The companions took advantage of the hours until dinner by resting, though after a little time Ariakas rose and paced in stooped agitation. To the vet shy;eran warrior, the situation reeked with disadvantages. He checked the door, making certain it had not been tampered with.
The only illumination in the rooms came from the magical light spells that Ariakas and Lyrelee alternated casting. Of necessity, a few hours had passed in darkness while the two communed with the Dark Queen, replen shy;ishing their clerical magics. After he rose from his brief rest, Ariakas perched his helmet with its glowing gem-stone in a corner of the main room, where the illumina shy;tion could spread through the apartments.
Soon Ferros Windchisel emerged from his sleeping room. The Hylar grunted in annoyance as he scratched a patch of red, irritated flesh along his forearm.
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