Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (28 page)

Brian opened the door a little farther, intending to slip into the back of the room, but the door hinges creaked. Lillith turned around and smiled at him.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Gilean and I were just talking,” she said. “You speak of him as though he were a friend,” said Brian.

“He is,” said Lillith, rising to her feet. Her dimple flashed.

“But he’s a god. At least, you believe he is a god,” said Brian.

“I respect and revere him as a god,” Lillith answered, “but when I come to him, he makes me feel welcome as if I were visiting an old friend.”

Brian glanced down at the altar, trying to think of some way to change the subject, which made him uncomfortable. He looked at the book, thinking it must be some holy text, and said in astonishment, “The pages of the book are blank. Why is that?”

“To remind us that our lives are made up of blank sheets waiting to be filled,” Lillith replied. “The book of life is open when we are born, and it closes with our death. We write in it continually, but no matter how much we write, what joy or sorrow we experience or what mistakes we have made, we will always turn the page, and tomorrow’s page is always blank.”

“Some people might find that prospect daunting,” said Brian somberly, looking down at the page, so starkly white and empty.

“I find it filled with hope,” said Lillith. She moved close to him.

He took hold of her hands and clasped them in his own. “I know what I want to write on tomorrow’s page. I want to write my love for you.”

“Then let us write it on today’s page,” said Lillith softly. “We will not wait for tomorrow.”

A small cut-crystal jar filled with ink stood on the altar; beside it was a feather pen. Lillith dipped the quill in the ink and then, half-serious and half-laughing, she drew a heart on the page, as might a child, and wrote his name, Brian, inside the heart.

Brian picked up the pen and was going to write her name, but he was interrupted by the sound of horn calls coming from outside the library. Though the horns were distant, far away, still he recognized them. His stomach clenched. His heart thudded. His hand jerked and dropped the pen that had been forming the letter “L”.

He turned toward the door.

“What is that dreadful noise?” Lillith gasped.

The blaring noise was growing louder by the moment. She grimaced at the discordant, raucous blaring.

“What is it?” she asked urgently. “What does it mean?”

“The dragonarmies,” said Brian, striving to be calm for her sake. “What we feared has happened. Tarsis is under attack.”

He and Lillith looked at each other. This was the moment they must part, he to his duty, she to hers. They gave each other the gift of a precious moment, a moment to cling to each other, a moment to memorize a loved face, a moment they would each hold in the coming darkness. Then they let go, each turning away.

“Marcus,” Lillith called, running out of the chapel. “Fetch the Aesthetics! Bring them here!”

“Derek!” Brian shouted. “The dragonarmies! I’m going out to take a look!”

He was about to race up the stairs when he heard raised voices coming from the library’s interior. Brian groaned inwardly. He could guess what was going on. He turned from the stairs and made his way among the bookshelves, moving as rapidly as possible, hoping to head off a dispute.

“Where do you think you are going, kender?” Derek could be heard shouting.

“With Tanis!” Tas yelled back, sounding amazed at the question. “You’re knights. You can get along fine without me, but my friends need me!”

“We offer you our protection, Half-Elven,” Derek was saying as Brian arrived. “Are you turning that down?”

“I thank you, Sir Knight,” Tanis replied, “but as I told you, we cannot go with you. We have friends in the Red Dragon. We must return to them—”

“Bring the kender, Sturm,” Derek ordered, “and come with us.”

“I cannot, sir,” Sturm replied. He rested his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. “He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.”

Derek was incensed that Sturm Brightblade, a Solamnic, would have the temerity to refuse a direct order from a knight who was his superior by birth, and to add insult to injury, instead proudly proclaim that he obeyed the orders of some half-breed elf.

Tanis understood. He started to say something, perhaps to try to assuage Derek’s ire, but Derek intervened.

“If that is your decision, I cannot stop you,” Derek said, cold with anger. “But this is another black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.”

Sturm went livid. He cast a conscience-stricken look at the half-elf, who appeared considerably astonished.

“What did he say?” the dwarf demanded. “The knight’s not a knight?”

“Leave it, Flint,” said Tanis quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, of course it doesn’t matter.” Flint shook his fist under Derek’s nose. “We’re glad he’s not one of you stuck-up steel-for-brains knights! It would serve you right if we
did
leave you with the kender!”

“Tanis,” Sturm said in low tones, “I can explain—”

“There’s no time for explanations!” Tanis was shouting in his urgency. “Listen! They’re coming closer. Gentlemen, I wish you success. Sturm, see to the Lady Alhana. Tasslehoff, you’re coming with me.” Tanis laid firm hands on the kender. “If we get separated, we’ll meet at the Red Dragon Inn.”

The horn calls were coming closer. Tanis managed to marshal his friends together and they hurried off, following the kender, who knew the path through the bookshelves. Derek glared at the books piled on the table in frustration. There were a number not yet studied.

“At least we know there’s an orb in Icereach, and we know what it does,” Aran pointed out. “Now let’s get out of this city before all hell breaks loose.”

“The horses are stabled near the main gate. We can escape in the confusion—” Brian added.

“We need that kender!” Derek stated.

“Derek, be reasonable,” Aran said, but Derek was unpacking his armor and refused to heed him.

The time for disguising themselves was past. They might have to fight their way out of the city, and Aran and Derek buckled on their breastplates over chain mail and put on their helms. Brian, who had lost his armor when his horse ran off, had to make do with his leather. They sorted through their gear, took only what they deemed necessary, and left the rest behind. They made their way among the books, back to the entrance.

“I thank you for your assistance, Mistress,” Derek said to Lillith, who was keeping guard on the door. “How do we find the Red Dragon Inn?”

Lillith stared at him in astonishment. “This is a strange time to go inquiring for a room, sir.”

“Please, Mistress, we don’t have much time,” Derek stated.

Lillith shrugged. “Go back to the center of the city. The inn’s not far from the Hall of Justice.”

“You go on ahead,” said Brian to the others. “I’ll catch up.”

Derek cast him an annoyed glance, but made no comment. Aran grinned at Brian and winked, then he and Derek dashed up the stairs.

Brian turned to Lillith. “Shut and seal the door. They won’t find it—”

“I will,” she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she was composed and even managed a smile. “I’m waiting for the other Aesthetics to come. We have laid in supplies. We’ll be safe. Draconians are not interested in books—”

No, thought Brian, despairing, they’re only interested in killing.

He gave her a last, lingering kiss, then—hearing Derek bellowing—he tore himself away from her and ran after his friends.

“May the Gods of Light watch over you!” she called after him.

Brian glanced back over his shoulder and waved his hand in farewell. The last he saw of her, she was smiling and waving, then a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

Brian looked up to see the red wings and enormous red body of a dragon. The dragonfear swept over him, crushing hope and rending courage. His sword arm faltered. He staggered as he ran, barely able to breathe for the terror that seemed to darken everything around him.

The dragonarmies had not come to conquer Tarsis. They had come to destroy it.

Brian fought against the fear that twisted inside him so that he was nearly physically ill. He wondered if Derek and Aran were watching him, a witness to his weakness, and pride and anger bolstered him. He kept running. The red monster flew by, heading toward those sections of Tarsis where panic-stricken people were thronging into the streets.

Brian found Aran and Derek sheltered in the shadows of a crumbling doorway.

More red dragons came, their wings filling the skies. The knights heard the roaring of the monstrous beasts, saw them wheel and dive down upon their helpless victims, breathing great gouts of fire that incinerated everything and everyone it touched. Smoke began to rise as buildings exploded into flame. Even from this distance, they could hear the horrible screams of the dying.

Aran had gone ashen. Derek maintained his stern composure but only by great effort. He had to lick his lips twice before he could speak.

“We’re going to the inn.”

They all ducked involuntarily as a red dragon flew overheard, his belly skimming the treetops. Had the dragon looked down, he would have seen them, but the beast’s fierce eyes were staring hungrily ahead. He was eager to join in the slaughter.

“Derek, that’s madness,” Aran hissed. Sweat beaded his lip beneath his helm. “The dragon orb is what is important. Forget the damn kender!” He pointed to the thickening coils of black smoke. “Look at that! We might as well march into the Abyss!”

Derek gave him a cold look. “I’m going to the inn. If you’re afraid, I’ll meet you back at our campsite.”

He started off, running down the street, dodging from one shelter to another, diving from a doorway to a grove of trees to a building, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the dragons.

Brian looked helplessly at Aran, who flung up his hands in exasperation.

“I suppose we’ll have to go with him! At least maybe we can keep the idiot from getting himself killed.”

BOOK III

1

The Red Dragon Inn. The chase.

pon leaving Icereach, Kitiara and Skie had met up with her force of blue dragons and her sivak draconian guards, who had been loitering about on the outskirts of Thorbardin, keeping watch on the dwarven kingdom to see if those on the bounty list turned up. Kit had a good excuse for going to Tarsis. Ariakas had recently promoted Fewmaster Toede to the position of Dragon Highlord of the Red Wing, though on a temporary basis. Kitiara could tell the emperor she had gone to view the battle brewing there to see how the hobgoblin conducted himself.

The blue dragons had heard about the possibility of an attack on the city and were eager to get in on the fighting. Skie was the only dragon who was not pleased at the prospect, and this was because he knew the truth. Kitiara wasn’t going to Tarsis to fight or to evaluate the hobgoblin. She was going for her own personal reasons. She’d told him as much.

Skie revered Kitiara as few dragons in the history of Krynn had revered a human. He honored Kitiara’s courage. He could personally attest to her skill and her intelligence when it came to warfare. He credited her tactics and strategy with having conquered much of Solamnia, and he was convinced that if Kitiara had been in charge of the war instead of Ariakas they would have now been taking their ease in the conquered city of Palanthas. Kitiara was calm and cold-blooded, masterful and courageous in battle. But when it came to her personal life, she gave in to her wayward passions and let desire master her.

She went from lover to lover, using them, then discarding them. She thought she was in control of these affairs, but Skie knew better. Kitiara thirsted for love as some thirst for dwarf spirits. She hungered for it as a glutton does his dinner. She needed men to adore her and even when she no longer loved them they were supposed to continue to love her. Ariakas was perhaps the sole exception, and that was because Kitiara had let him love her simply to achieve advancement. They understood each other, probably because they were alike. He required of women what Kit required of men. He was the only man Kitiara feared, and she was the only woman to daunt Ariakas.

Take this Bakaris, Skie thought. Kitiara’s sub-commander and her current lover. Charming, handsome, he was an adequate soldier, but certainly not her equal. Left to his own devices in Solamnia, which is where he was now, he’d make a pig’s breakfast of the battle should they be called upon to fight. Skie only hoped that this foray into the south didn’t keep her away from the war too long.

Skie didn’t know the identity of the man she was chasing after in Tarsis. She hadn’t told him that. All he knew was that it was someone she had known in her youth. Skie was confident it would be only a matter of time before Kit told him everything. He was the one being she trusted implicitly. Let her find this long-lost lover, whoever he was, Skie thought, and get him out of her system. Then she could get back to business.

They established their headquarters outside the city, near a hot springs Skie had discovered. Kitiara sent spies armed with Toede’s bounty list to Tarsis and other cities in the region and also sent search parties with orders to keep an eye on the major trade routes.

Although the snow hampered their efforts considerably, one of the search parties did come across something, though not what Kit had expected.

“Why haven’t Rag and his baaz reported in?” Kitiara asked the sivak commander of her squad of draconians.

The sivak had no idea, and he sent a patrol on dragonback to find out. They returned with unfortunate news.

“Rag and his men are dead, my lord,” the sivak reported. “We found what was left of them near a bridge south of Tarsis. The tracks in the snow indicated three men riding horses. They were on the road leading from Rigitt. One of the horses apparently bolted, for its tracks ran off back to the south. Two horses left the bridge together, traveling west, leaving the road and cutting across country.

“We found the runaway horse wandering about the plains,” the sivak added, “and on it was this.”

He held up a bracer decorated with the kingfisher and the rose.

“Solamnic Knights,” Kitiara muttered irritably. She shuffled through reports from her other spies, searching for one of them in particular.

The knight, Derek Crownguard, traveling with two fellow knights, arrived in Rigitt. The three men hired horses, stating they were planning to ride to Tarsis …

“Son of a bitch,” swore Kitiara.

Of course it had to have been them. Who else but Solamnic knights would have dispatched draconian warriors so handily? She couldn’t believe it.

“How long have they been dead?” she asked.

“A couple of days, maybe,” the sivak replied.

“Son of a bitch!” Kit swore again, this time with more vehemence. “So the bridge was left unwatched for days. The felons we are after could have crossed unnoticed, entering Tarsis without our knowledge.”

“We didn’t see any other footprints, but we will find them if they did, my lord,” the sivak promised, and that proved to be the case.

“Those you seek are in Tarsis, my lord,” the sivak reported a day later. “They entered the gates this morning. All of them.” He pointed to the bounty list. “Matches the descriptions perfectly. They are staying in the Red Dragon Inn.”

“Excellent,” said Kitiara, rising. Her face was flushed, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Summon Skie. I will fly there immediately—”

“There is, um, a slight problem.” The sivak gave a deferential cough. “Some of them have been arrested.”

“What?” Kitiara glared at him, hands on her hips. “Arrested? Who was the fool who ordered that?”

The moment she mentioned the word “fool” the answer came to her.

“Toede!”

“Not Highlord Toede in person,” the sivak said. “He sent a draconian emissary who is conducting the ‘negotiations’ with the Lord of Tarsis in Toede’s name. It seems that one of the gate guards recognized the Solamnic knight—this Sturm Brightblade,” added the sivak, consulting the list. “The gate guard told the Lord of Tarsis, who seemed inclined to make nothing of it. The draconian emissary insisted that the guards be sent to bring in the knight and his companions for ‘questioning’.”

“I’ll wring that hob’s neck!” Kit said through her teeth. “Does this emissary know these people are on this bounty list?”

“I don’t think he made the connection, my lord. All he knew was that a Solamnic knight had arrived in the city. The reason I say that is because some of the group were allowed to remain in the inn. The half-elf, the knight, the elf, the dwarf and the kender were the only ones taken into custody.”

Kitiara relaxed. “So the half-elf and the others are in prison.”

The sivak coughed again. “No, my lord.”

“By our Queen, what else went wrong?” Kit demanded.

“It seems there was a riot, and in the confusion the kender disappeared. The others appeared in court along with another elf, who turned out to be daughter of King Lorac. They were all being taken off to prison when the guards were attacked by three cloaked men who rescued the prisoners.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Kit in a dangerously calm voice. “The three men who rescued them were Solamnic knights.”

“It appears so, my lord,” said the sivak after a slight hesitation. “My informant overheard them speaking the Solamnic tongue, and the knight, Brightblade, recognized the others.”

Kitiara slumped back down in her chair. “Where are they now?”

“I regret to say the knight and his companions escaped. My men are searching for them. However, the women on the list and the other men, including the wizard and the cleric of Paladine, are still in the inn.”

“At least something has gone right,” said Kit, good spirits returning. “The half-elf will not abandon these people. They’re his friends. He’ll be back for them. Keep your spies at the Red Dragon Inn. No, wait. I will go there myself—”

“There’s, uh, one more problem, my lord,” the sivak said, sidling back a few steps to be out of sword range in case her wrath got the better of her. “Highlord Toede has ordered the attack. As we speak, dragons are flying on Tarsis.”

“I told that fool to wait for my signal!” Kitiara fumed to Skie as the dragon climbed toward the clouds.

She pressed herself close to Skie’s body, hunching down low over the dragon’s neck so as to add as little possible wind resistance. Taking off was always the most difficult part for the dragons. Even without riders, lifting their ponderous bodies into the air required great strength. Some riders were inconsiderate of their mounts, doing little to aid them and sometimes actually impeding them.

Kitiara understood instinctively how to help Skie, perhaps because she loved flying. When in the air, she and her dragon melded together. She felt almost as if she was the one who had wings. In battle, she knew Skie’s every move before he made it, just as he knew by the touch of her knees on his flanks or her hand upon his neck where she wanted to go—always to the fiercest part of the fighting.

A flight of blue dragons soared after them, each dragon leaping into the air, following Skie, their leader. This was always a proud moment for him, and for her, as he knew well.

“The reds will not be pleased to see us,” Skie shouted over the rush of cold air.

Kitiara remarked what the red dragons could do with themselves and added a few choice words about what they could do with Toede into the bargain.

“We are looking for an inn called the Red Dragon,” she told Skie.

“I think you’re a little late!” he called out.

They had just come in sight of Tarsis—or rather what had once been Tarsis.

Smoke and flame billowed into the air. Skie’s nostrils twitched and he shook his mane. He enjoyed the stench of destruction, but clouds of thick smoke would make seeing anything on the ground below damn difficult.

Kitiara had anticipated this, however, and had sent scouts into the city. She and Skie waited at some distance for the scouts to return, the dragon wheeling in easy circles just beyond the clouds of smoke. They had not been waiting long when a wyvern-rider came into view, emerging from the pall that covered the doomed city. Sighting the Highlord, the wyvern-rider changed course and flew over to them in haste.

“Slow down,” Kitiara commanded her dragon.

Skie’s lip curled in a sneer, but he did as he was ordered. Like most dragons, he detested wyverns. He considered them filthy beasts, a mockery of dragons, with their grotesque bird-legs, stunted, scaly bodies, and barbed tails. He glared at the wyvern as it approached, warning it not to come too near. Since the blue dragon could have snapped the wyvern in two with one bite, the wyvern heeded the blue’s warning, forcing the sivak rider to shout at the top of his lungs to make himself heard.

“The inn has been hit, my lord! Part of it has collapsed. The Red Wing’s troops have it surrounded.” The sivak draconian gestured. “That flight of reds you see is going to—”

Kitiara wasn’t about to wait to hear what the reds were planning to do. Skie understood her need, and he had altered course and was soaring after the reds before she had given him the command.

“Return to your post!” she shouted at the sivak, who saluted, and the wyvern sped thankfully away.

Blue dragons are smaller and more maneuverable than the hulking red dragons. Skie and his blues easily caught up with the reds, who were, as Skie had predicted, extremely displeased to see them. The reds glared balefully at the blues, who glared just as balefully back.

Kitiara and the leader of the Red Wing held a brief midair conference; the red shouting to Kit that he had orders from Toede to kill—not capture—the felons if he found them. Kit shouted back that he would be the one killed, not captured, unless he brought the assassins to her alive and well. The commander of the Red Wing knew Kitiara. He also knew Toede. He saluted Kit respectfully and flew off.

“Locate the inn,” Kit ordered Skie and the rest of the blues. “We’re searching for three people, remember, a half-elf, a human wizard, and his big, dumb-looking brother.”

The dragons flew into the smoke, blinking their eyes and keeping sharp watch to make certain no smoldering cinder landed on the vulnerable membranes of their wings. The blues had to be careful, for the reds, drunk with the joy of killing and burning, were heedless and reckless in their flight, swooping down on hapless people trying to escape, breathing flame on them, then watching them run, screaming, hair and clothes on fire, until they collapsed in the street.