Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (50 page)

The mask had left her hair somewhat damp, the curls clung to her face and forehead. Casually she ran her gloved hand through her hair, shaking it out. It was an old habit of hers and that small gesture brought back memories—

Tanis shook his head, struggling desperately to pull his shattered world together and attend to her words. The lives of his friends depended on what he did now.

“It’s hot beneath that dragon helm!” she was saying. “I don’t need the frightful thing to keep my men in line. Do I?” she asked, winking.

“N-no,” Tanis stammered, feeling himself flush.

“Same old Tanis,” she murmured, pressing her body against his. “You still blush like a schoolboy. But you were never like the others, never …” she added softly. Pulling him close, she put her arms around him. Closing her eyes, her moist lips brushed his.…

“Kit—” Tanis said in a strangled voice, wrenching backward. “Not here! Not in the street,” he added lamely.

For a moment Kitiara regarded him angrily, then—shrugging, she dropped her hand down to clasp his arm again. Together they continued along the street, the draconians leering and joking.

“Same Tanis,” she said again, this time with a little, breathless sigh. “I don’t know why I let you get away with it. Any other man who refused me like that would have died on my sword. Ah, here we are.”

She entered the best inn in Flotsam, the Saltbreeze. Built high on a cliff, it overlooked the Blood Sea of Istar, whose waves broke on the rocks below. The innkeeper hurried forward.

“Is my room made up?” Kit asked coolly.

“Yes, Highlord,” the innkeeper said, bowing again and again. As they ascended the stairs, the innkeeper hustled ahead of them to make certain that all was in order.

Kit glanced around. Finding everything satisfactory, she casually tossed the dragonhelm on a table and began pulling off her gloves. Sitting down in a chair, she raised her leg with sensual and deliberate abandon.

“My boots,” she said to Tanis, smiling.

Swallowing, giving her a weak smile in return, Tanis gripped her leg in his hands. This had been an old game of theirs, him taking off her boots. It had always led to—Tanis tried to keep himself from thinking about that!

“Bring us a bottle of your finest wine,” Kitiara told the hovering innkeeper, “and two glasses.” She raised her other leg, her brown eyes on Tanis. “Then leave us alone.”

“But—my lord—” the innkeeper said hesitantly, “there have been messages from Dragon Highlord Ariakas.…”

“If you show your face in this room—
after
you bring the wine—I’ll cut off your ears,” Kitiara said pleasantly. But, as she spoke, she drew a gleaming dagger from her belt.

The innkeeper turned pale, nodded, and left hurriedly.

Kit laughed. “There!” she said, wiggling her toes in their blue silken hose. “Now, I’ll take off your boots—”

“I—I really must go,” Tanis said, sweating beneath his armor. “My c-company commander will be missing me …”

“But
I’m
commander of your company!” Kit said gaily. “And tomorrow y
ou’ll
be commander of your company. Or higher, if you like. Now, sit down.”

Tanis could do nothing but obey, knowing, however, that in his heart he
wanted
to do nothing but obey.

“It’s so good to see you,” Kit said, kneeling before him and tugging at his boot. “I’m sorry I missed the reunion in Solace. How is everyone? How is Sturm? Probably fighting with the Knights, I suppose. I’m not surprised you two separated. That was one friendship I never could understand—”

Kitiara talked on, but Tanis ceased to listen. He could only look at her. He had forgotten how lovely she was, how sensual, inviting. Desperately he concentrated on his own danger. But all he could think of were nights of bliss spent with Kitiara.

At that moment, Kit looked up into his eyes. Caught and held by the passion she saw in them, she let his boot slip from her hands. Involuntarily, Tanis reached out and drew her near. Kitiara slid her hand around his neck and pressed her lips against his.

At her touch, the desires and longings that had tormented Tanis for five years surged through his body. Her fragrance, warm and womanly—mingled with the smell of leather and steel. Her kiss was like flame. The pain was unbearable. Tanis knew only one way to end it.

When the innkeeper knocked on the door, he received no answer. Shaking his head in admiration—this was the third man in as many days—he set the wine upon the floor and left.

“And now,” Kitiara murmured sleepily, lying in Tanis’s arms. “Tell me about my little brothers. Are they with you? The last I saw them, you were escaping from Tarsis with that elf woman.”

“That was you!” Tanis said, remembering the blue dragons.

“Of course!” Kit cuddled nearer. “I like the beard,” she said, stroking his face. “It hides those weak elvish features. How did you get into the army?”

How indeed? thought Tanis frantically.

“We … were captured in Silvanesti. One of the officers convinced me I was a fool to fight the D-Dark Queen.”

“And my little brothers?”

“We—we were separated,” Tanis said weakly.

“A pity,” Kit said with a sigh. “I’d like to see them again. Caramon must be a giant by now. And Raistlin—I hear he is quite a skilled mage. Still wearing the Red Robes?”

“I—I guess,” Tanis muttered. “I haven’t seen him—”

“That won’t last long,” Kit said complacently. “He’s like me. Raist always craved power …”

“What about you?” Tanis interrupted quickly. “What are you doing here, so far from the action? The fighting’s north—”

“Why, I’m here for the same reason you are,” Kit answered, opening her eyes wide. “Searching for the Green Gemstone Man, of course.”

“That’s where I’ve seen him before!” Tanis said, memories flooding his mind. The man on the
Perechon
! The man in Pax Tharkas, escaping with poor Eben. The man with the green gemstone embedded in the center of his chest.

“You’ve found him!” Kitiara said, sitting up eagerly. “Where, Tanis? Where?” Her brown eyes glittered.

“I’m not sure,” Tanis said, faltering. “I’m not sure it was him. I—we were just given a rough description.…”

“He looks about fifty in human years,” Kit said in excitement, “but he has strange, young eyes, and his hands are young. And in the flesh of his chest is a green gemstone. We had reports he was sighted in Flotsam. That’s why the Dark Queen sent me here. He’s the key, Tanis! Find him—and no force on Krynn can stop us!”

“Why?” Tanis made himself ask calmly. “What’s he got that’s so essential to—uh—our side winning this war?”

“Who knows?” Shrugging her slender shoulders, Kit lay back in Tanis’s arms. “You’re shivering. Here, this will warm you.” She kissed his neck, running her hands over his body. “We were just told the most important thing we could do to end this war in one swift stroke is to find this man.”

Tanis swallowed, feeling himself warming to her touch.

“Just think,” Kitiara whispered in his ear, her breath hot and moist against his skin, “if we found him—you and I—we would have all of Krynn at our feet! The Dark Queen would reward us beyond anything we ever dreamed! You and I, together always, Tanis. Let’s go now!”

Her words echoed in his mind. The two of them, together, forever. Ending the war. Ruling Krynn. No, he thought, feeling his throat constrict. This is madness! Insanity! My people, my friends.… Yet, haven’t I done enough? What do I owe any of them, humans or elves? Nothing! They are the ones who have hurt me, derided me! All these years, a cast-out. Why think about them?
Me!
It’s time I thought about
me
for a change! This is the woman I’ve dreamed of for so long. And she can be mine! Kitiara … so beautiful, so desirable …

“No!” Tanis said harshly, then, “No,” he said more gently. Reaching out his hand, he pulled her back near him. “Tomorrow will do. If it was him, he isn’t going anywhere. I know.…”

Kitiara smiled and, with a sigh, lay back down. Tanis, bending over her, kissed her passionately. Far away, he could hear the waves of the Blood Sea of Istar crashing on the shore.

B
y morning, the storm over Solamnia had blown itself out. The sun rose, a disk of pale gold that warmed nothing. The knights who stood watch upon the battlements of the Tower of the High Clerist went thankfully to their beds, talking of the wonders they had seen during the awful night, for such a storm as this had not been known in the lands of Solamnia since the days after the Cataclysm. Those who took over the watch from their fellow knights were nearly as weary; no one had slept.

Now they looked out upon a plain covered with snow and ice. Here and there the landscape was dotted with flickering flames where trees, blasted by the jagged lightning that had streaked out of the sky during the blizzard, burned eerily. But it was not to those strange flames the eyes of the knights turned as they ascended the battlements. It was to the flames
that burned upon the horizon—hundreds and hundreds of flames, filling the clear, cold air with their foul smoke.

The campfires of war. The campfires of the dragonarmies.

One thing stood between the Dragon Highlord and victory in Solamnia. That “thing” (as the Highlord often referred to it) was the Tower of the High Clerist. Built long ago by Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Knights, in the only pass through the snow-capped, cloud-shrouded Vingaard Mountains, the Tower protected Palanthas, capital city of Solamnia, and the harbor known as the Gates of Paladine. Let the Tower fall, and Palanthas would belong to the dragonarmies. It was a soft city—a city of wealth and beauty, a city that had turned its back upon the world to gaze with admiring eyes into its own mirror.

With Palanthas in her hands and the harbor under her control, the Highlord could easily starve the rest of Solamnia into submission and then wipe out the troublesome Knights.

The Dragon Highlord, called the Dark Lady by her troops, was not in camp this day. She was gone on secret business to the east. But she had left loyal and able commanders behind her, commanders who would do anything to win her favor.

Of all the Dragon Highlords, the Dark Lady was known to sit highest in the regard of her Dark Queen. And so the troops of draconians, goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, and humans sat around their campfires, staring at the Tower with hungry eyes, longing to attack and earn her commendation.

The Tower was defended by a large garrison of Knights of Solamnia who had marched out from Palanthas only a few weeks ago. Legend recalled that the Tower had never fallen while men of faith held it, dedicated as it was to the High Clerist—that position which, second only to the Grand Master, was most revered in the Knighthood.

The clerics of Paladine had lived in the High Clerist’s Tower during the Age of Dreams. Here young knights had come for their religious training and indoctrination. There were still many traces of the clerics’ presence left behind.

It wasn’t only fear of the legend that forced the dragonarmies to sit idle. It didn’t take a legend to tell their commanders that taking this tower was going to be costly.

“Time is in our favor,” stated the Dark Lady before she left. “Our spies tell us the knights have received little help from
Palanthas. We’ve cut off their supplies from Vingaard Keep to the east. Let them sit in their tower and starve. Sooner or later their impatience and their stomachs will cause them to make a mistake. When they do, we will be ready.”

“We could take it with a flight of dragons,” muttered a young commander. His name was Bakaris, and his bravery in battle and his handsome face had done much to advance him in the Dark Lady’s favor. She eyed him speculatively, however, as she prepared to mount her blue dragon, Skie.

“Perhaps not,” she said coolly. “You’ve heard the reports of the discovery of the ancient weapon—the dragonlance?”

“Bah! Children’s stories!” The young commander laughed as he assisted her onto Skie’s back. The blue dragon stood glaring at the handsome commander with fierce, fiery eyes.

“Never discount children’s stories,” the Dark Lady said, “for these were the same tales that were told of dragons.” She shrugged. “Do not worry, my pet. If my mission to capture the Green Gemstone Man is successful, we will not need to attack the Tower, for its destruction will be assured. If not, perhaps I will bring you that flight of dragons you ask for.”

With that, the giant blue lifted his wings and sailed off toward the east, heading for a small and wretched town called Flotsam on the Blood Sea of Istar.

And so the dragonarmies waited, warm and comfortable around their fires, while—as the Dark Lady had predicted—the knights in their Tower starved. But far worse than the lack of food was the bitter dissension within their own ranks.

The young knights under Sturm Brightblade’s command had grown to revere their disgraced leader during the hard months that followed their departure from Sancrist. Although melancholy and often aloof, Sturm’s honesty and integrity won him his men’s respect and admiration. It was a costly victory, causing Sturm a great deal of suffering at Derek’s hands. A less noble man might have turned a blind eye to Derek’s political maneuvers, or at least kept his mouth shut (as did Lord Alfred), but Sturm spoke out against Derek constantly—even though he knew it worsened his own cause with the powerful knight.