Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (50 page)

Kit stumbled to a halt. She did not like to admit defeat, but she was too hungry, too tired, too cold and dispirited to keep going. She started to turn around, to head back down the road along which they had just come when Windracer gave a terrified shriek and reared up on its hind legs, hooves flailing. Kit had been holding tight to the reins, and the horse’s sudden, unexpected move nearly dragged her arm out of the socket.

Kitiara dropped the reins and grabbed her sword. The horse landed on its feet again and stood in the road, shivering and sweating, foam dripping from its mouth, its eyes rolling wildly. Kit looked and saw nothing, but she felt the horse’s terror. Then she heard hoofbeats behind her.

Kit whipped around, steel blade flashing in the sun.

An enormous jet-black horse with fiery red eyes stood blocking the road. A woman was mounted on the horse. She rode side-saddle, as did the noble gentry. She was clad in a dress of fine black velvet. The skirt fell in graceful, sweeping folds down the horse’s flank to the road. Her face was concealed by a long black diaphanous veil. She sat straight and tall, her black-gloved hands loosely holding the reins.

Kitiara dropped her sword. Quaking inside, more terrified than she had been at the thought of facing her executioner, she fell to her knees.

“Your Majesty!” she gasped fearfully. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” said Takhisis, and her voice was soft as the black velvet of her dress and as hard as the frozen ground on which Kit knelt. “I heard your ultimatum.”

Kit shivered. “Your Majesty, it wasn’t—”

“Of course it was. What you are saying is that if I want you to go to Dargaard Keep, I should find some means of getting you there in a timely manner.”

And
alive
, Kitiara thought, but she did not dare say that.

She risked sneaking a look from beneath her long lashes, but she could see nothing of the woman’s features hidden beneath the veil.

“If you command me, Your Majesty,” Kit said humbly, “I will keep going … as far as I can …”

Takhisis tapped her gloved hands in irritation. She sat straight in the saddle, turned this way and that, taking in the forest and the wretched excuse for a road.

“I give you credit,” Takhisis said. “You have done well to come this far. I knew this place was a mess, but I didn’t know how bad it was.”

She turned her veiled face to Kit. “I will help you one more time, Blue Lady, but that will be the last.”

The Dark Queen lifted a gloved hand to point skyward.

Kitiara looked up and gave a glad cry. Skie came into view, flying slowly overhead, his head down, searching this way and that. Kitiara shouted his name and leapt to her feet, waving her arms. Either the dragon heard her or he heard his Queen’s command, for he shifted his gaze, spotted her, and began spiraling downward.

Kitiara looked back to Takhisis. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not fail you.”

“If you do, it will not matter, will it? You will be dead,” Takhisis replied. “I suppose I will have to return Salah Kahn’s horse. I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”

She took graceful hold of Windracer’s reins and rode off down the road, leading the terrified steed behind her. When the goddess had disappeared into the darkness of the woods, Kitiara had a joyous reunion with Skie.

She was so glad to see the dragon, she felt strongly inclined to fling her arms around his neck and hug him, but she knew Skie would be deeply offended and likely never forgive her. She began by apologizing to the dragon, admitting that Skie had been right, her foolish search for the half-elf had landed her in trouble, nearly gotten her killed. Skie did not say “I told you so,” but instead he magnanimously apologized in turn, saying he was wrong to have deserted her.

After that, he informed her that she was back in Ariakas’s good graces. Ariakas had asked Skie—almost begged him—to go searching for her. This bit of news caused Kit to smile wryly, particularly when she learned that Feal-Thas was dead and the Solamnic knights were stirring up trouble.

Ariakas had an important assignment for Kitiara in Flotsam. The emperor also wanted her to begin planning for an attack on the High Clerist’s Tower.

“Now he decides that!” Kit fumed. “Now, after the knights are talking of sending troops to reinforce the tower. And if Solamnia is suddenly so important, why does he talk of sending me to Flotsam, to the other side of the continent on some secret mission? Bah! The man is losing his grip!”

Skie flicked his tail in agreement and dropped down on his belly so that Kitiara could climb up on his back. Skie had brought with him the blue armor and helm of a Dragon Highlord, given to him by Ariakas on the off-chance that Skie should find her. Kitiara put on her armor with relish. She felt herself vindicated. She placed the helm on her head and vowed that Ariakas would one day come to regret his treatment of her. She was not yet strong enough to challenge him. That day would come, however, maybe sooner than later if she succeeded at Dargaard Keep. Clad once more in her armor, Kitiara felt strong enough for anything, even a death knight.

His Blue Lady restored to him, the dragon was also in excellent humor. His blue scales rippled and he dug his claws into the ground, ready to take off.

“Where do we go?” he asked. “Solamnia or Flotsam?”

Kitiara sucked in a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.

“Her Majesty didn’t tell you?” she hedged.

“Who? Tell me what?” Skie swiveled his head around, suddenly suspicious.

“We fly north,” Kit said. “To Dargaard Keep.”

Skie stared at her, then said flatly, “You’re joking.”

“No,” said Kitiara calmly. “I’m not.”

“Then you’re crazy!” the dragon snarled. “If you think I’m going to fly you to your death—”

“I promised Queen Takhisis I would undertake this,” Kitiara said. “What did you think I was doing here in Nightlund anyway?”

“Traipsing after the half-elf maybe. How in the Abyss should I know?” Skie flared.

“Trust me, I have forgotten all about Tanis Half-elven,” Kitiara assured the dragon. “I’ve had more important things on my mind, such as trying to figure out some way to live through this encounter.”

She explained the vow she had made to Queen Takhisis.

“You know our Queen,” Kit added. “I can’t back out now. It would be as much as my life was worth.”

Skie did know Takhisis, and he had to admit facing Takhisis in her wrath was something the mightiest dragon would go out of his way to avoid. Still he didn’t like Kit’s plan and he let her know it.

“I cannot believe you were going to go without me!” Skie boomed. “As it is, with me along, you have at least a chance of surviving. I will blast the keep into rubble, bring it down on top of him. The death knight can’t be killed, but I can at least weaken him, give him something to think about, like crawling out from several tons of rock.”

Kitiara wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck, gripped him tightly, and ordered him to take off.

His idea was good. She didn’t want to tell him it wasn’t going to work.

2

A Night at Dargaard Keep.

kie flew over the forests and swamps, rivers and hills, ruined dwellings, broken roads, predators and outlaws of Nightlund, accomplishing safely in hours what would have cost Kitiara days of hard work and danger. They came within sight of Dargaard Keep late on the afternoon of the second day.

The keep was built high upon a cliff, most of it carved from the cliff’s peak. The only way to reach the keep was by climbing up a road that wound around and around the cliff face. Kit might have considered this path, but one look at the road made her thankful she had Skie. The road was split and cracked and in some places huge chunks had fallen off, gone sliding down the mountainside. What remained was strewn with rock and boulders and rubble from the ruined keep.

The beauty of Dargaard Keep itself had once been legendary. It had been built to resemble a rose half-open, blooming, full of promise. Now the rose was shattered, the petals blackened and ugly. The gardens, once green and flourishing, were home to malignant weeds. The only rose growing inside the crumbling garden walls bore a flower of hideous black hue, its thorns deadly to the touch.

Skie slowed his flight. The dragon feared little on Ansalon, yet he did not like the look or the feel of this place. “Should I go on?”

“Yes,” said Kitiara, and she had to repeat herself, for, the first time, the word stuck in her throat.

No sun shone on Dargaard Keep, which languished always in the shadow of the gods’ anger. The moment Kit and Skie flew above the outer wall, the sunlight vanished. The sun still shone, but it was a fiery orb burning in a black sky, and it shed no light on Dargaard Keep. The undead standing on the walls would see, far off in the distance, the sunlit world, a green and growing world, a world of life and warmth, a world lost forever to those trapped within the curse of Dargaard Keep.

The sudden, terrible thought occurred to Kit that she might herself become one of those lost souls. Her undead spirit might be forced to join those warriors held in thrall to Lord Soth. Kitiara shuddered and shoved that thought hurriedly out of her mind.

She looked down over the dragon’s wings. Below, the keep was dark and deserted. No light shone from the broken windows, yet Kitiara had a sudden vision of flames blazing, bursting through the roof, ascending heavenward in a spiraling whirlwind of ash and cinders. She smelled smoke and the stench of burning flesh, and she heard a baby screaming in agony on a single, high-pitched note, screaming on and on until the scream died, horribly, away. Kitiara’s throat tightened, her stomach clenched, a muscle in her thigh spasmed. She felt a tremor shake the dragon’s body.

“An accursed house,” said Skie, his voice harsh and strained. “The living have no place here.”

Kitiara agreed whole-heartedly. She had never known fear like this; she was literally sick with terror and she had yet to put her foot inside the gate! Her stomach roiled. A horrid taste, like blood, caused her to gag. She could not take enough air into her lungs. She clung to Skie and was ready to order him to turn back, fly away as fast as he could. Facing the Dark Queen’s fury would be better than this horror. The command rattled in Kit’s throat, coming out in a croak tinged with hot and bitter bile.

“What did you say?” Skie shouted. “Should we leave?”

Kitiara drew in a shivering breath.

“Land,” she ordered, the word squeezed out of her.

Skie shook his head and spiraled down, searching for a place to settle. The only area large enough was the courtyard located directly in front of the keep’s main gates. He had to make tight turns in a steeply banking descent. He was forced to pull in his wings at the last moment, so as not to strike them on a tower; he came down hard, skidding on the cobblestones and nearly smashing into a wall.

Kit sat motionless for long moments after the bone-jarring landing. She felt as though she were being smothered, and she took off her helm. Her dark eyes narrowed. Her jaw set. She licked her lips and tried to speak, but no words would come out. Skie understood her.

“A good idea. You dismount, my lord, and find cover. I will do the world a favor and destroy this vile place!” Skie hissed his words, lightning crackling between his teeth.

Kit slid down off the dragon’s back. She did not leave, but kept her hand on his neck, loathe to let him go.

“Be careful,” she said at last, and stood back to give him room.

Skie gave a convulsive leap off his hind legs, pushing himself upward. He had to gain altitude enough with his jump to be able to spread his wings and not clip any of the stonework around him.

He cleared the keep. Spreading his wings, he prepared to circle around and blast the towers and battlements with his lightning breath. But a blast of wind, hot and seething, came roaring down from the sky and struck the dragon in the chest. He fought against it, wings flapping wildly, feet scrabbling at the air. The wind blew hard and he could make no headway against it. Then the wind picked up the dragon and began to tumble him about, pushing him away from the courtyard, carrying him away from the keep, away from the cliff, back into the sunlit world. There the wind suddenly died, dumping the disoriented dragon in a field.

Furious, Skie raised his head, his wings flapping defiantly. He knew quite well who had sent that wind, but he wasn’t going to give up. Kitiara needed him. Seeing him start to take off again, the wind came roaring out of the sky and slammed into him. The dragon groaned and dropped to the ground, stunned, insensible.

Kit watched in calm despair. She’d known Takhisis would not allow the dragon to interfere. Kit was on her own.

Flinging down her helm, Kit stood, shivering in the deserted courtyard, and looked around. She could see no one here, but eyes watched her. The keep was silent, and voices screamed, shrieked and moaned. No fire burned, and she could feel the heat of the flames.

All around her, the threat, the menace of the tormented dead throbbed and pulsed with horrid life. They wanted her, wanted to make her one of them. They meant to keep her here for all eternity. Corpses of the brave and the foolish who had come before her lay strewn about the courtyard. All had died of sheer terror, judging by the contortions of the limbs, the mouths gaping wide in screaming panic. None had made it as far as the front gate.

The fear grew inside her, relentless, grinding, wringing her and twisting her. Her legs wobbled and trembled. Her heart thudded painfully, erratically. She couldn’t catch her breath. Chill sweat trickled down her breast.

Fear … terror … A voice saying something … Iolanthe’s voice …

It will save you from dying from sheer terror.…
The magical bracelet. Kit had tried to put it on before she entered the courtyard, but the bracelet would not fit over her riding gloves. She had taken it off and thrust it beneath her breastplate, intending to put it on when she arrived at the keep. She had been so unnerved, however, that all thought of the bracelet had fled her mind. Now Kit fumbled for the bracelet with shaking hands, found it, seized hold of it, and clutched it tightly.

Warmth potent as dwarf spirits surged through her, easing her fears. Her racing heart slowed, her stomach stopped twisting, her bowels quit cramping. She could breathe again. She started to clamp the marvelous bracelet over her wrist.

A woman’s song sounded from within the keep. The woman sang a single note, beautiful and awful, piercing, wailing, keening. The note struck Kitiara like a steel bolt. She gasped and flinched. Her hand jerked. She dropped the bracelet and it fell, clattering, to the cobblestones.

The fear surged back, crashing over her, crushing her. Panic-stricken and desperate, she dropped to her hands and knees. She couldn’t find the bracelet in the darkness, and that was maddening because she could see clearly because of the roaring fire. She groped about for it with her bare hands. The cobblestones were covered with black, greasy soot and ash. Water ran in rivulets among the cracks and crevices. Kit drew back her wet hand and saw in horror that it wasn’t water. Her palm was smeared with blood.

The light of the fire grew brighter, and she saw her bracelet lying just out of reach. Kitiara made a frantic lunge for it. She was just about to grab the bracelet when two polished black boots stepped over it, standing on either side of it. A long, ragged-edged cape fell around the boots. A gloved hand reached down and picked up the bracelet.

Kit raised terror-stricken eyes.

A knight stood over her. Eyes of fire glowed behind the eyeslits of a bucket helm. The blaze of the burning keep reflected off steel armor. A rose emblazoned on the breastplate was cracked, charred black, and smeared with blood.

Lord Soth held the bracelet in his gloved hand. The fire in the eyeslits seemed to flicker in amusement. He lifted the bracelet up for her to see, then, as she watched, he slowly closed his hand over it. There was a snapping sound, rending metal. Soth opened his fist. Silver and onyx dust trickled from between his fingers, sparkled briefly in the firelight, and dissolved into mud on the blood-wet cobblestones.

“That’s cheating,” said Lord Soth.

He turned on his booted heel. His cape flowed around him like a ripple in the fabric of darkness. He flung wide his hands.

“You are my guest this night,” Soth added. The gates to Dargaard Keep opened.