Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (44 page)

12

Feal-Thas sets a trap.

Derek dreams of dragons.

pon his return to Ice Wall Castle from Neraka, Feal-Thas sent for the leader of the draconians to ask if any strangers had been seen in the vicinity. The draconians reported that a group of outsiders, including three Solamnic knights, had attacked two draconian guards. The knights and the rest of their companions were skulking about the camp of the Ice Folk. Feal-Thas had no doubt these were the knights sent by Kitiara, part of Ariakas’s scheme to plant the dragon orb among the Solamnics.

Ariakas had explained his plan to Feal-Thas when he’d been in Neraka. The emperor had used the analogy of besieging armies throwing the carcasses of plague-ridden animals over the walls into the enemy city so the disease could infect the defenders. Ariakas was applying the same principle here, except that the dragon orb would take the place of a plague-ridden cow. The knights would carry the dragon orb into Solamnia and there fall under its sway, as had the wretched King Lorac of Silvanesti.

Feal-Thas had agreed to go along with the scheme. He could do nothing else. Ariakas wore the Crown of Power. Takhisis loved him, while the Queen and Feal-Thas were barely on speaking terms. Feal-Thas took comfort in the fact that accidents happened, especially to glory-seeking knights. Ariakas could hardly fault Feal-Thas if this Solamnic ended up in the dragon’s belly.

There was another problem that Ariakas had not considered, because Feal-Thas had not told him. The dragon orb had its own plots and schemes.

For hundreds of years, ever since the dragons had gone to sleep following the Dark Queen’s defeat at the hands of Huma Dragonbane, the dragon orbs, made of the essence of dragons, had waited for their Queen’s return. Finally they heard Takhisis’s voice call out to them, as it had called out to her other dragons. Now this orb yearned to be free of its prison and back in the world. Feal-Thas heard its whispered temptations, but he was wise enough to shut his ears to them. Others—those who wanted to hear it, wanted to believe it—would listen.

Having heard the draconian report, Feal-Thas hastened to Sleet’s lair to make certain the dragon orb was safe. The white dragon had been ordered to guard the orb, and she would obey that order to the best of her abilities. Unfortunately, Sleet’s abilities did not fill the wizard with confidence. The white dragon was not particularly intelligent, nor was she clever, subtle, or cunning, whereas the dragon orb was all these and more.

Feal-Thas walked the frozen tunnels beneath the castle. He carried no light. At his coming, an icy enchantment caused the tunnels to shimmer with blue-white radiance. He passed the chamber that had once housed the orb and glanced inside. The traces left by the Guardian’s victims was still visible—blood covered the floor, spattered the walls. He paused to regard the gruesome scene. Some of that blood was Kitiara’s. Feal-Thas had been informed, just as he was leaving Neraka, that Kitiara had escaped her execution. Feal-Thas was disappointed, but hardly surprised. She was lucky, that one, lucky and fearless and smart—a dangerous combination. Ariakas should have never allowed her to live this long. Feal-Thas would be doing everyone a favor by getting rid of her.

He just had to find the way to get around that luck of hers.

Feal-Thas entered the white dragon’s lair. A magical snow, created by the dragon, drifted down around her. The snow kept her cool, kept her food—two dead thanoi and a human—from spoiling until she was at leisure to eat it. Sleet was dozing, but she woke up fast enough when she smelled elf. Her nostrils twitched. One eye was a red glittering slit. Her claws dug into the ice floor and her white lips curled back over her yellow fangs. She did not like Feal-Thas, and the feeling was mutual.

The whites are the smallest of the Dark Queen’s dragons and the least intelligent. They are good at killing and not much else. They obey instructions, but only if they are kept simple.

“What do you want?” Sleet muttered.

Her white scales glittered blue in the wizard-light. Her wings were folded over her back, her long tail curled around her massive, snow-covered body. Though small compared to a red dragon, she nearly filled the vast cavern she had inherited from some other white who had built it long, long ago, perhaps around Huma’s time. Pallid sunlight gleamed through the lair’s entrance at the far end, sparkling on walls coated with snow and hoarfrost from the dragon’s breath.

“I am here to ascertain that you are comfortable and have all you require,” said Feal-Thas smoothly.

The dragon snorted, blasting frost from her nose. “You came to check on your precious dragon orb because you don’t trust me. It’s safe. See for yourself. Then go bury your head in a glacier.”

The white dragon rested her head in the snow. Her red eyes watched Feal-Thas.

The orb stood upon an icy pedestal. Its colors static, suspended, the orb looked dead. As Feal-Thas approached the orb and his thoughts focused on it, it came to life. The colors began to swirl around the globe’s interior, making it look like a rainbow-glistening soap bubble—blue, green, black, red, white—changing and shifting, merging and separating.

Feal-Thas drew near. As always, his hands itched to touch it. He longed to try to exert his power over it, take command of it, become the orb’s master. He knew he could. It would be easy. He was powerful, the most powerful elf archmage who had ever lived. Once he had the orb, he would wrest the crown from Ariakas, challenge Queen Takhisis herself …

“Ha, ha.” Feal-Thas laughed gently. He came to stand before the dragon orb, his hands clasped tightly in his sleeves. “Nice try. You might as well give up,” he advised the orb. “I will not relinquish you. I know the danger you pose. You must try your blandishments on someone else, such as this Solamnic knight who has come to free you.”

The colors flashed briefly, swirled furiously, then settled back into a slow, drifting, seemingly-aimless motion.

“I thought that might interest you. I am certain if you apply yourself, you can snag him. You are the object of his desire. You should find it easy to seize hold of him, lure him to you, as your sister orb did Lorac.” Feal-Thas paused, then said quietly, grimly, “As you did me.”

The orb darkened, its colors blending, black with hatred.

“With me you failed,” Feal-Thas continued, shrugging. “You might well succeed with the knight. You could summon him here, then send the dragon away on some trumped-up errand. But you don’t need me to tell you that.” Feal-Thas wagged a finger at the orb. “You are toying with me, hoping to ensnare me.”

He again clasped his hands and said scornfully, “Spare yourself the trouble. Your tempting promises haven’t worked in three hundred years; they won’t work now.”

The colors swirled again, and this time green was uppermost.

“You are suspicious of my motives, as you should be. Of course it’s a trap. You bring the knight; I will slay him.” Feal-Thas gave another shrug. “Still, you might succeed. I might fail. Take the gamble.” He paused, then said quietly, “What choice do you have?”

Feal-Thas turned and walked away. He could see the light of the orb reflected on the ice walls flashing red, then purple, then going sullen, greenish black. He did not see, as he left, all the colors merging together in a riotous display of triumph.

Derek woke again from a dream of dragons. He gasped, breathing hard, not from fear, but with exultation. He lay awake, staring into the darkness, reliving the dream, which had been vividly real.

Usually his dreams were gray and black and nonsensical. He dismissed dreams, considering them wild forays of the slumbering, undisciplined mind. Derek never thought about his dreams or bothered to remember them, and he viewed with impatience those who yammered on about them.

But these dreams were different. These dreams were splashed with color: reds and blues, greens, blacks and shades of white. These dreams were filled with dragons, enemy dragons, clouding the skies. The sun shining on their scales made a hideous rainbow. People fled from them in open-mouthed, screaming terror. Blood, smoke, and fire spilled and billowed and crackled around him. He did not run. He stood firm, gazing up at the beating wings, the open mouths, the dripping fangs. He should have been holding his sword, but in its place he held a crystal orb. He raised up the orb to the heavens and he cried out a stern command and the dragons, shrieking in rage, fell from the skies, dying like shooting stars, trailing flame.

Derek was bathed in sweat and he threw off the fur blankets. The bitter cold felt good to him, slapped him out of the dream, brought him to conscious awareness.

“The orb,” he said softly, exultantly.

13

The assault on Ice Wall Castle.

ake up, you two,” Derek ordered sharply.

“Huh? What?” Aran sat up, still half-asleep, muddled and alarmed. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Brian reached for his sword, feeling about for it, since he couldn’t see in the darkness. Then he remembered—he’d given his weapon to Sturm. Brian groaned inwardly. A knight without his sword. Derek would view that as a most serious transgression.

“Be quiet,” said Derek in a low voice. “I’ve been thinking things over. We’re going to go along with this insane plan of the elf woman to attack the castle—”

“Derek, it’s the middle of the night,” Aran protested, “and cold as a goblin’s backside! Tell me in the morning.” He flung himself down and pulled the furs over his head.

“It is morning, or near enough,” said Derek. “Now pay attention.”

Brian sat up, shivering in the chill. Aran peered at him over the edge of the blanket.

“So we go along with the plan to attack the castle,” Aran said, scratching his stubble-covered chin. “Why do we need to talk about it?”

“Because I know where to find the dragon orb,” said Derek. “I know where it is.”

“How do you know?” Brian asked astonished.

“Since you appear to be so enamored of these newfound gods, let us say
they
told me,” Derek returned. “How I know is not important. This is my plan. When the attack starts, we will leave the main body, sneak into the castle, recover the orb, and—” He halted, half-turned to stare outside. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” said Brian.

Derek, muttering something about spies, ducked out of the tent.

“The
gods
told him about the orb!” Aran shook his head in disbelief and reached for his flask.

“I think he was being sarcastic. This isn’t like Derek,” Brian added, troubled.

“You’re right. Derek may be a stiff-necked, sword-up-the-butt, arrogant lunkhead, but at least he’s been an
honorable
, stiff-necked, sword-up-the-butt, arrogant lunkhead. Now he’s lost even that endearing quality.”

Brian pulled on his thick boots, figuring he might as well get up. The gray light of dawn was seeping into the tent. “Maybe he’s right. If we sneak into the castle—”

“That’s my point,” interrupted Aran, gesturing with the flask. “Since when does Derek
sneak
anywhere? This is the same Derek who had to turn the Measure upside down to find a way for us to enter Tarsis without proclaiming ourselves as knights to all and sundry. Now he’s sneaking into castles and stealing dragon orbs.”

“The castle of the enemy,” Brian pointed out.

Aran shook his head, unconvinced. “The Derek we once knew would have walked up to the front of that castle, banged on the door, and challenged the wizard to come out to do battle. Not very sensible, admittedly, but
that
Derek would have never considered turning sneak thief.”

Before Brian could respond, Derek crawled back inside the tent. “I’m certain the elf was eavesdropping, though I couldn’t catch him. It doesn’t matter now. The camp is starting to stir. Brian, go wake Brightblade. Tell him what we’re doing, and order him to keep this to himself. He’s not to tell the others, especially the elf. I’m going to talk to the chief.”

Derek left again.

“Are you going to go along with this crazy scheme of his?” Aran asked.

“Derek gave us an order,” Brian replied, “and … he’s our friend.”

“A friend who’s going to get us all killed,” Aran muttered. Buckling on his sword belt and taking a final pull on the flask, he stuffed it into his coat and stomped out of the tent.

Brian went to wake Sturm and found the knight already awake. A thin sliver of light spilled out from underneath the tent.

“Sturm?” he called softly, pushing open the flap.

The light came from a burning wick placed in a dish of oil. Sturm sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing the blade of Brian’s sword with soft, brushed hide.

“Almost finished, my lord,” said Sturm, looking up. The light of the flame shone in his eyes.

Brian squatted down. “The order to clean my sword was meant to be a jest.”

“I know,” said Sturm, smiling. His hand with the cloth glided slowly, carefully, over the sword’s blade. “What you did for me meant more to me than you can ever know, my lord. This is my poor way of showing my gratitude.”

Brian was deeply touched. “I need to talk to you,” he said. He explained Derek’s plan to use the attack as a diversion, slip into the castle, and steal the orb.

“Derek says he knows where the orb is located,” Brian added.

“How could he?” Sturm asked, frowning.

Brian didn’t want to repeat Derek’s sarcastic gibe about the gods, and so he evaded the question. “Derek has ordered you to accompany us.”

Sturm regarded him in troubled silence. The frown line in his forehead deepened. “Far be it from me to question the orders of a Lord Knight of the Rose—”

“Oh, go ahead—question!” Brian said wearily. “Aran and I have been doing nothing else since we came on this mission.” He lowered his voice. “I’m worried about Derek. He’s become increasingly obsessed with this dragon orb. Almost consumed by it.”

Sturm looked very grave. “I know something of magic, not by choice, mind you, but because I was around Raistlin so much—”

“Your friend the Red Robe wizard,” Brian clarified.

“Not friend, exactly, but, yes, he’s the one I meant. Raistlin always cautioned us that if ever we came upon any object that might be magical, we were to leave it alone, have nothing to do with it. ‘Such artifacts are designed to be used by those who have studied magic and know and understand its deadly potential. They pose a danger to the ignorant’.”

Sturm grimaced. “The one time I did not heed Raistlin’s warning, I paid for it. I put on a magical helm I had found and it seized hold of me—” Sturm stopped, waved the story aside. “But that’s another tale. I think if Raistlin were here, he would caution us against this orb, warn us against coming anywhere near it.”

“You make it sound like the orb has something to do with changing Derek, but how is that possible?” Brian argued.

“How is it possible for a dwarven helm to steal a man’s soul?” Sturm asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t know the answer.”

Tossing aside the cloth, he held the blade to the flame, watched the light flare off the gleaming metal. Sturm placed the sword on his bent arm, knelt on one knee, and offered it, hilt-first, to the knight.

“My lord,” he said with profound respect.

Brian accepted the sword and buckled it on beneath his coat. The belt was not large enough to fit over the bulky fur.

Sturm picked up the ancient blade of the Brightblades, his most valued inheritance from his father. He gestured toward the tent’s entrance. “After you, my lord.”

“Please, call me Brian,” said Brian. “I keep thinking you’re talking to Derek.”

It seemed the gods were with Derek and the Ice Folk, at least at the start, for the day dawned clear, the sun shone bright, and a brisk wind sprang up, an unusually warm wind for this time of year, Harald told them. He consulted Raggart the Elder, who said the gods sent this good weather as a sign they favored the venture. And because the gods were with them, he was going to go on the raid.

Harald and Raggart the Younger were both shocked. The old man could scarcely walk on his own. Both attempted to dissuade Raggart the Elder, but he would not listen. He tottered out to the ice boat unaided, carrying with him his frostreaver. When Raggart the Younger tried to assist him, the old man testily ordered his grandson to quit hovering around him like some damn mother bear.

Laurana brought her own frostreaver. She had planned to bring along her sword to use in battle. She was honored by the gift of the axe, but felt uncomfortable using it, since she was not trained in wielding such a weapon. But her sword was not in her tent. Laurana searched and searched and eventually realized it was probably inside Tasslehoff’s tent, along with everything else that had gone missing from the camp during the past few days. She had no time to go rummaging through the kender’s treasure hoard, so, fearing she would be late, she grabbed the frostreaver and hastened out into the morning.

She was gazing into the bright sunshine, thinking her plan might work after all, when Gilthanas caught up with her.

“Don’t you think you should stay here in camp with the other women?”

“No,” said Laurana indignantly and kept walking.

Gilthanas fell in beside her. “Laurana, I overheard Derek talking to his friends this morning—”

Laurana frowned and shook her head.

“It’s a good thing I did,” Gilthanas said defensively. “When the attack starts, the knights are going to use it as a diversion to enter the castle after the dragon orb. If Derek goes, I’m going with him. Just so you know.”

Laurana turned to face her brother. “You want me to stay here because you plan to take the dragon orb for yourself and you think I’ll try to stop you.”

“Won’t you?” he demanded, glowering.

“What will you do? Fight the knights? All of them?”

“I have my magic—” Gilthanas said.

Laurana shook her head and walked on. Gilthanas called angrily after her, but she ignored him. Elistan, walking toward the ice boat, heard Gilthanas’s shout and saw Laurana’s angry flush.

“I take it your brother does not want you to go,” said Elistan.

“He wants me to stay with the women.”

“Perhaps you should heed his concerns,” Elistan said. “The gods have blessed us thus far and I have faith they will continue to aid us, but that doesn’t mean we will not be in danger—”

“He’s not concerned about my safety,” Laurana said. “Derek and the other knights plan to use the battle as a diversion. They’re going to sneak into Ice Wall Castle to steal the dragon orb. Gilthanas intends to go after them, because he wants the dragon orb. He’s prepared to kill Derek over it or at least he thinks he is, so you see why I have to go.”

Elistan’s graying eyebrows came together; his blue eyes glinted. “Does Harald know of this?”

“No.” Laurana’s cheeks burned with shame. “I can’t tell him. I don’t know what to do. If we tell Harald, it will only cause trouble, and the gods are smiling on us this day—”

Elistan looked up at the bright sun, the cloudless sky. “It certainly seems they are.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I see you carry the frostreaver.”

“Yes, I didn’t want to. I don’t know how to use it. But I couldn’t find my sword. Tasslehoff must have run off with it, though he swears he didn’t.” Laurana sighed. “But then, that’s what he always swears!”

Elistan gave her a keen look, then said, “I think you should go with your brother and the others.” He smiled and added enigmatically, “This time, I think Tasslehoff is telling the truth.”

He walked off to join up with Harald, leaving Laurana to stare after him, puzzled, wondering what he meant.

The Ice Folk kept their boats hidden in a cove created by a natural formation of the glacier. The warriors crowded on board, as many as the ice boats could carry. Those who doubled as sailors took hold of the ropes, ready for the order to raise the massive sails. They looked to Harald to give the command. The chief opened his mouth, but the word died on his lips. He stared uneasily up into the sky.