Emperor of Ansalon v-3

by Douglas Niles

  "Damned if they don't have firebugs here, too," groused the dwarf. "Too small to see-but I got bites all over my arm." Irritated, the dwarf scratched at a place on the back of his skull.

  "I hope we don't have anything worse than bugs to worry about," Ariakas replied wryly. Then he looked at Ferros in sudden concern, seeing as if for the first time the raw skin, the patches of scabs that had began to mar his body. A sickening premonition rose within him.

  Ferros scowled thoughtfully. "They have us pretty well boxed in, don't they?"

  "I don't like it," Ariakas agreed.

  Soon the other two travelers emerged from their chambers, and the four of them gathered in the anteroom to discuss their situation.

  They were startled by a knock on the door. Ariakas rose and, after removing his dagger from the jamb, opened the portal to reveal an unusually tall Zhakar male. The dwarf's face was disfigured by the mold plague, but there existed a pride and self-confidence in his posture that struck the warrior as unique.

  "I am Whez Lavastone," their visitor informed them, bowing deeply. "Perhaps you will grant me the honor of a private interview?"

  Silently Ariakas gestured the fellow into the room, try shy;ing not to look at his patchy, disfigured face. The Zhakar squinted away from the glowing gem in the corner and took a seat that left him in silhouetted view to the others.

  "Greetings, Merchant Splintersteel," the visitor said, with a formal nod to Tale.

  "The same, Lord Lavastone," he replied. Splintersteel turned to his companions, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Whez Lavastone was a high adviser to Pule Tenstone, our previous king. There were many, when last I was in Zhakar, who imagined him to be our future ruler."

  "There are still many," Whez Lavastone asserted. "Though our current monarch is not among them."

  "Why do you come here?" interrupted Ariakas.

  "Tale Splintersteel served my former lord well, and I wish to reward this service by giving you a warning."

  "Go on," said the warrior suspiciously.

  "Rackas Ironcog has no intention of opening any trad shy;ing discussions with you. He desires to kill you and steal your sword-with which he plans to hold onto his throne indefinitely."

  "I suspected treachery-though I'm surprised at the bluntness of his approach."

  "Ironcog is nothing if not blunt," Tale noted. The Zhakar thought for a moment before speaking to Whez Lavastone. "How stands the support of the new king?"

  Their visitor shrugged. "As well, or as poorly, as any king of Zhakar. He holds his throne until someone takes it away from him-and, as always, there are many who desire it."

  "One of those, presumably, being you?" inquired Aria-kas directly.

  "Naturally." Whez accepted the question as perfectly reasonable. "But there are other considerations as well."

  "We're listening," Ariakas noted.

  "King Ironcog feels that we're already engaged in too much trade with humankind. In fact, since we first observed your approach, he's been using you as an example of the dangers that Zhakar exposes herself to- even through distant Sanction."

  "Too much trade?" Tale Splintersteel, the merchant lord, was appalled. "I have to fend off demands for swords and shields, for minted coins and arrowheads! I could sell three for every one I get-and at no reduction in price! What madness is this to try and kill the greatest source of income in the realm?"

  "It came about during Pule Tenstone's reign," Whez said with a shrug. "And we all know that you were Pulc's agent. Perhaps if Ironcog had his own minister of trade, he'd feel differently-as it is now, he fears giving too much power to his rivals."

  "May we assume, then, that those rivals are more amenable to increased trade?" Ariakas probed.

  Whez Lavastone smiled, a grotesque distortion of his plague-pocked face. Even against the glare of the gem Ariakas could see the Zhakar's teeth gleaming between slick, bloody gums. "Witness my presence here," the dwarf noted. "And this warning: take no food at Rackas Ironcog's table, if you would live to see the morning."

  "No food!" spluttered Ferros Windchisel. "First we get a dungeon cell to sleep in, and now we're not supposed to eat! This is not dwarven hospitality by Thorbardin standards!"

  "You're not in Thorbardin," Whez Lavastone retorted, his tone taut with controlled fury-even hatred. "And when Thorbardin abandoned us to our fate, they lost the right to critique our customs!"

  "What abandonment?" growled the Hylar. "Why do you think I've come all-"

  "This is getting us nowhere," Ariakas interrupted sharply. Ferros Windchisel bit back his objection. "As for the food, I think we can dine safely-and I do mean dine," he reassured his companions. "I'll perform a little ceremony before dinner that should see to that."

  "Also, beware the king's savant-Tik Deepspeaker. He is ever treacherous, and seeking ways to further himself in his master's eyes," cautioned Whez.

  "Was that him in the gold-trimmed robe, standing next to the throne?" asked Ariakas.

  Their visitor nodded, and Tale Splintersteel cursed. "I might have known that scoundrel would find his way into royal favor." He turned to Ariakas. "King Tenstone was blinded by a savant before the assassin's knife found his heart. It is widely believed that Deepspeaker was the one who aided in the killing."

  "As to this king's reluctance to trade, I'm open to sug shy;gestions," Ariakas concluded.

  "You could fry him with your sword," suggested Tale Splintersteel. "We could arrange it that the new regime is ready to take over immediately."

  "I'm nobody's assassin," Ariakas replied. "If you want him dead, you'll have to do it yourself."

  "Very well," said Whez Lavastone, rising to his feet with alacrity. "I didn't expect you to attend to that mat shy;ter-but at least you know who your enemies are."

  "We thank you for the warning," Ariakas acknowl shy;edged, standing and nodding his head as the Zhakar headed back to the door. When the visitor had left the human reinserted his dagger in the frame, propping the door open by several inches.

  Within an hour they were summoned to dinner, and the four of them were escorted by a rank of Zhakar guards through several long, wide hallways of the Royal Wing. The warrior wore his blue sword on his back, and when the captain of the escorts appeared ready to ques shy;tion him on that point, Ariakas scowled so darkly that the dwarf remained silent.

  When they reached the dining hall, the humans were pleased-and surprised-to see that their host had arranged for torches to be placed throughout the large room. In the flickering light, the humans and Ferros would at least be able to see the plates in front of them.

  Rackas Ironcog and the gold-robed Tik Deepspeaker were already seated and did not rise as the four guests were ushered to places at the long table. There would be no other diners, apparently.

  "Will you join us in tea?" invited the Zhakar king as an attendant approached with a steaming pot. "It is our native beverage, favorite of all our people."

  "Please forgive us," Ariakas replied. "But we have, er, experienced that tea in Sanction-it does not agree with the nondwarven constitution."

  "Aye-nor even the constitution of the foreign dwarf," grunted Ferros Windchisel. The Hylar looked crestfallen, as if he had expected to find a cold mug of ale waiting for him.

  Tale Splintersteel examined his cup, apparently ex shy;pecting something like a poisonous viper to lunge forth. When the scowling king and his masked adviser hoisted their mugs, the merchant followed suit-though Ariakas thought his lips barely touched the steaming liquid.

  "Our dinner," murmured the king. He raised a scabrous hand, and a file of servants came forward car shy;rying platters of hot, aromatic food. Most of the breads and pies seemed to have a fungus base, though the Zhakar kitchens also produced a moderately sized haunch of roasted venison.

  "Your hospitality is most appreciated," Ariakas said after the platters had been placed on the table. "Perhaps you will allow me the indulgence of a customary hon shy;orific?"

  "You are my guest," acknowledge
d the king, though his moldy eyelids lowered suspiciously. He cast a look at Tik Deepspeaker. Within the gold-fringed robe, the savant's eyes glittered evilly at the human.

  Ariakas rose. "My Mistress," he said reverently, "we ask your blessing of this meal in full acknowledgment of our host's generous spirit and gracious hospitality…." His voice droned on, reciting a meaningless collection of pleasantries while King Ironcog tapped his fingers impa shy;tiently on the table.

  As he spoke, the warrior passed his hands over the assembled platters, completing the intricate gestures of a purification spell-an incantation that would remove any toxins from food or drink.

  He finished his ritual, and Ariakas smiled pleasantly at the king while he took his seat. They immediately helped themselves to the food, though the warrior noted that the Zhakar monarch and his adviser took only from a few of the platters, ignoring the meat and the pies entirely. With a nod to his companions, Ariakas reached for a helping of everything.

  As they ate, Ironcog asked them several idle questions about Sanction, and even managed to speak to Ferros about Thorbardin-though he could not conceal his resentment of that elder realm. At the same time, the monarch scrutinized his guests carefully. Ironcog's eyes glittered as he watched Ariakas raise a large bite of meat to his lips, and then he blinked expectantly while the warrior chewed.

  "Delicious," murmured the human truthfully. Indeed, whatever subversive preparations had been done to the food, the Zhakar had cooked a tasty collection of delica shy;cies.

  For a time, the king studied Lyrelee, who also ate with gusto, perhaps because-unlike Tale and Ferros-she understood exactly what Ariakas had done to protect them. The two dwarves, meanwhile, picked at their food after they saw the humans eating, but could not entirely mask their unease.

  Rackas Ironcog, however, grew increasingly agitated as the meal continued. The king's eyes sought those of the savant, but Tik Deepspeaker kept his own gaze riv shy;eted onto his plate, saying nothing during the course of the meal. His mold-encrusted face darkened by a furi shy;ous scowl, Ironcog's gaze leapt restlessly from guest to guest, searching for some signs of discomfort or weak shy;ness. Near the end of the meal, however, with everyone to all appearances well-stuffed, he muttered a curse and, scowling fiercely, made an attempt at conversa shy;tion.

  "You said that you came here to trade," Ironcog said smoothly. "What do you desire that you cannot obtain through our Minister of Trade in Sanction? After all, we have an extensive distribution network of arms and armor, as well as coins and other metal goods, already in operation." The king raised his eyebrows, mutely ques shy;tioning Tale Splintersteel.

  "We seek that which you have never traded," Ariakas began. "It is a thing you have called a curse, but it has a unique application in our temples. It is the fungus of the plague mold, which we understand inhabits the lower catacombs of Zhakar."

  "The mold?" Ironcog was clearly surprised and baf shy;fled. "In truth, if we could have eradicated the stuff we would have-and now to find you have an interest in it! This is a startling development, indeed."

  The king thought for a moment, and then continued. "What would you offer in exchange, should we be will shy;ing to part with this unique substance?"

  "The agents of the temple have access to many sources of fine gems," Ariakas began. "Diamonds, rubies, emer shy;alds … as well as numerous more mundane stones. For a start, we will offer you quarter-weight in gems for all the living mold you can ship to Sanction."

  Rackas Ironcog's eyes widened slightly at the gener shy;ous offer, and for a moment Ariakas wondered if he would give it serious consideration. Then the Zhakar's eyes flicked, unconsciously, to the hilt of the warrior's sword, and the human knew that the dwarven king still desired only one thing out of these negotiations.

  "You have spoken of the great warrens of Zhakar," Ariakas noted politely. "Could you possibly arrange for my companions and myself to have a tour of these cav shy;erns? It would considerably enhance the negotiations, I assure you."

  Rackas seemed on the verge of denying the request, scowling furiously while he apparently tried to think of a good reason for refusing. Nothing came to mind, appar shy;ently, for he remained silent for several moments. Beside him Tik Deepspeaker raised his head for the first time in many minutes. The gold threads framed a dark shadow where his face would be, though his bright eyes gleamed within. He looked at Rackas Ironcog and slowly nodded his head.

  Only then did the King of Zhakar wrinkle his face into a hideous caricature of a smile, and the glimmer of an idea came to light in his eyes.

  "A tour?" he mused, as if discussing a suggestion of profound wisdom. "Very well. You will get a good night's rest, of course-but then, first thing tomorrow, I shall show you the caverns of our fungus warrens."

  Chapter 22

  Warrens of Plague

  Ariakas, sleeping very lightly, heard a noise in the anteroom beyond his chamber. Silently rising, he grasped the reas shy;suring hilt of his sword and stepped through the door into the pitch-dark chamber. His ears strained without success to detect any further sound.

  "Oh-hello, warrior." He recognized Ferros Wind-chisel's voice. The Hylar sounded as though he were in a foul mood.

  "Couldn't sleep?" asked Ariakas.

  "It's this damned itch," groused the dwarf. Ariakas heard sounds of vigorous scratching accompanied by a muffled series of curses. "It seems to be spreading," added Ferros. His voice now had a serious tenor.

  "Firebug bites?" Ariakas did his best to keep his voice casual, but he felt an ominous sense of concern. The Hylar snorted and kept scratching.

  Ariakas muttered his incantation, and the gemstone in his helmet-still resting on the floor where it could illu shy;minate the room-flared into light. Ferros slouched against the wall, blinking irritably against the illumina shy;tion. The warrior was shocked at the appearance of his friend, though he tried to conceal the feeling with a mask of impassivity.

  Both of Ferros Windchisel's arms were red, with cracked skin flaking off around his elbows and spread shy;ing toward his wrists and shoulders. The Hylar scratched them vigorously. Far more distressing to Ariakas, how shy;ever, was the new disfigurement of the dwarf's bearded face. Windchisel's right cheek was puffy and distended, with a rough growth of patchy scabs covering all the skin between his eye and his beard. In fact, some of his facial hair had tufted away, leaving the characteristic red, sore wound that Ariakas had seen on many of the faces around him during the past two days.

  The warrior met his friend's frank stare, wondering only for a second if the Hylar understood what was hap shy;pening to him. The bleak despair he saw was tinged with fury, confirming that Ferros Windchisel knew his fate only too well.

  "I can't believe I wanted to visit this hell-hole!" snapped the dwarf, awkwardly changing the subject. "It boils my blood just to think that these little degenerates come from the same stock as the clans of Thorbardin! Why, when I see how they treat each other. the stupidity and violence…."

  The voice trailed off, and Ariakas respected Wind shy;chisel's silence. For some time they sat together, each pri shy;vately recalling the events of their brief but profound friendship. Ariakas wondered about the future-would Ferros try to return to Thorbardin, running the risk of carrying the plague there? He didn't think so. The war shy;rior resolved to himself that, when they returned to Sanction, he would see that the Hylar was given a role in the temple-something suitable to his abilities, that might somehow alleviate the pain of his self-imposed exile.

  "It was that damned Fungus Mug!" spat Ferros Wind-chisel explosively. "That first night-it started then!"

  "But you never went back there," reminded Ariakas.

  "Seems like it doesn't matter," the dwarf replied. "It's plague-once it sets in, I can't fight it. I'm going to end up like these. " His voice trailed off into strangled silence, and for long, excruciating minutes, Ariakas felt his friend's silent pain.

  "There might be something I can do … a chance, any shy;way," Ariakas
began slowly. "A spell against disease could perhaps reverse the infestation."

  "D'you think so?" The Hylar's eyes lit with hope, and Ariakas could only shrug.

  The warrior knelt beside his companion. Bowing his head, Ariakas reached out and placed his hands over the sores on Ferros Windchisel's arm. Mouthing the ritual of healing, he called upon his Dark Queen, pleading with Takhisis for the power to heal the scabrous wounds. But the flesh remained moist and weeping beneath Ariakas's palms. Gritting his teeth in an animalistic snarl, Ariakas groped for the power, the faith, to heal the dwarf's cruel affliction. His fingers touched the rotting flesh while his words beseeched Takhisis. And still his goddess did not respond.

  At last, exhausted by the effort, the warrior collapsed backward in dismay. Ferros Windchisel leaned his head against the wall, his eyes tightly shut as if in pain- though Ariakas knew it was a spiritual and not a physi shy;cal hurt that sapped his friend's vitality.

  An unknown time later, Lyrelee and Tale Splintersteel awakened. Both of them saw Ferros and, though the

  priestess's eyes widened in dismay, neither said any shy;thing about the Hylar's rapidly advancing affliction. Shortly, a column of Zhakar guards arrived, with the captain informing Ariakas that they would escort the companions to the king. Rackas Ironcog himself would show them the fungus warrens.

  "This is one tour I'm not going to take," Tale Splinter-steel noted as the others prepared to leave. "I have some old companions I'd like to see. I'll meet you back here before dinner."

  "Very well," Ariakas agreed, not displeased to be rid of the wretched dwarf for a few hours.

  The monarch of Zhakar met them as they emerged into the Promenade. The fiery glow emanating from the two large side caverns continued to cast the vast hall in a reddish hue, and Ariakas could not help but be im shy;pressed by the spectacle of the tall columns stretching up into the midnight distance. The beastlike statue framing the king's throne loomed in the darkness like a living creature, protecting-or menacing-the monarch who sat at its feet. Two ranks of the lizard-mounted cavalry flanked the walk. The beasts bowed their scaly heads in tribute as Ariakas walked past.