Flight of the Fallen l-2 Page 10

“You have already wiped out the militia. Just like the mercenaries. What difference does it make where a few pitiful stragglers go?” She hoped to steer him away from the subject of escape and keep him talking about something else. If he was distracted by discussing his plans and ambitions, perhaps he would not touch her or use his magic. It hadn’t worked the last time she’d tried it, but at least she had gained some very useful information. Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling of the tent, but the Abyssal Lance was not there. Had the Tarmaks been the ones who retrieved it from the cavern?

  “There are a few survivors we missed.” The Akkad-Ur crossed his arms over his muscular chest, and his piercing eyes glared out the eyeholes of the mask. “I dislike leaving loose ends. I had planned to wipe out the militia earlier, to use the eggs to lure them out and slaughter them on the field. But we changed our plans when you took the Abyssal Lance and organized such a neat plan to rid us of Thunder. If it soothes your mind to know, your militia has proven more tenacious and useful than we expected. We have been impressed with your resistance.”

  Linsha edged a little farther away and skimmed her mind for something else to say, anything to keep him talking. “Why did you massacre your mercenaries?”

  “They were like Thunder. Useful for time before they grew too lazy and greedy. They would not be of help on our next campaign, and we could not afford to leave them behind. Their slaughter also served as an excellent lesson to the inhabitants of the city and as a distraction for your troop. Their deaths allowed us to, as you say, kill two birds with one stone.”

  Linsha kept her face impassive, but her heart began a heavy pound. Several thoughts impressed her mind at the same time: the Tarmaks knew where the militia was hiding, and the army planned to march soon. By all that was sacred, she had to get out of this place and warn the survivors. Sinking Wells was not a fortress. It was simply an old sinkhole, a place of well-worn campgrounds, scattered trees, and old dunes. Anyone who made it safely there could not mount a successful defense against the likes of the Tarmak. They would have to flee, perhaps north to the King’s Road or northwest to Duntollik. They had to be warned.

  Linsha’s eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at the Akkad-Ur with a suspicious new thought. The last time he brought her into his tent and turned chatty, he’d manipulated her into stealing the Lance. What was he trying to accomplish now?

  “Speaking of eggs, where are they?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She turned slowly to keep him in view while he walked over to his work table.

  “They are safe. The ones that are left. We find them very useful.” He picked up something from the table, then turned and approached her.

  Linsha almost ran. Only the thought of the guards just outside the tent and the strength of her own pride kept her standing in place. What would be the point of trying to run and making a fool of herself? Her eyes remained fixed on his golden mask, and her hands clenched into fists.

  “Then what are you doing to Iyesta’s lair?” she asked, hoping to gain a little more time.

  “Tearing it down so it will not be a temptation to other dragons or treasure-seekers. The tunnel entrance will be buried, the throne room destroyed.”

  He stopped only a few inches away from her and looked down at her through the holes of the mask. “Your courage is almost equal to ours. It is a pity you are not a Tarmak.”

  His hand lifted to her head, but he did not touch her body or lay his fingers on her face. Something gold slid over her head and slipped by her eyes. A thin, strong chain with two dragon scales fell neatly across her neck and into their familiar place on her chest.

  She glanced down in surprise. “Why-”

  The Akkad-Ur cut her off with a sharp command. Two guards entered the tent and took her by the arms. Before she could receive a reply, they hurried her out and returned her to the prison.

  She stood bemused in the darkness of the old storehouse while the guards closed and barred the door behind her. Her hand went to the scales on the chain and touched them carefully. They felt the same with their familiar bumps and lines and smooth places, but who knew what the Tarmak might have done to them? When daylight came, she would try to examine them more carefully.

  After a few minutes she became aware that the men in the prison were staring at her. The light from the torch just outside the door fell across her, setting her in a glow that made her very visible to men already accustomed to the dark. She glanced down at her clean clothes, and her heart sank. It didn’t take a wise man to know what they were thinking. She silently cursed the general into several generations.

  Sir Remmik was the first to move. He walked over to her and studied her different clothes, the cleanliness of her skin, the glint of gold light on the dragon scales. His thin lips curled in a sneer.

  “You have obviously been cooperative,” he remarked acidly. “That is another transgression to add to your record.” He picked up the dragon scales and turned them over in his fingers. “Were you trying to preserve your safety by trading favors with the Tarmak?”

  For the first time in her life, Linsha struck a superior officer. The humiliation and apprehension she had felt in the Akkad-Ur’s tent, the frustration and misery she had endured in the cage, and the hatred she had felt for Sir Remmik since her arrival in the Missing City erupted like one of Sanction’s volcanoes. At the spurious insult to her honor, she pulled back a fist and punched him in the face.

  The blow was so unexpected that the Knight Commander stumbled backward and fell to the ground, stunned. Linsha stepped over him. She leveled a glare at the rest of the Knights and the Legionnaires.

  “Does anyone else have anything to say?” she snarled.

  They eyed her warily like cattle eye an approaching lioness. No one said a word.

  Only Lanther laughed. He climbed to his feet, stiff and dusty, and limped to greet her.

  “Is this a new form of torture?” he called out. “Baths and clean clothes? Bring it here! Torture me!”

  Her frown lightened. “You could even suffer the exquisite agony of Callista performing your torture.”

  His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. He took her elbow and led her aside. “Did she really?”

  The others chuckled halfheartedly and let the matter slide for now. They were really too tired to deal with a furious woman. Lanther would get to the truth of the matter.

  Linsha looked at his hollow eyes and thin face, at the livid scar on his cheek, and at the indomitable spirit she saw in his blue eyes, and she forced her cracked lips into a grin of sorts. She had forgotten Lanther had been one of Callista’s admirers.

  “Yes,” she replied wearily. “It’s an old form of humiliation and division. I didn’t tell him anything, Lanther. He already knew the answers he wanted. And no-” she added quickly when his eyebrows drew together in a silent question-“I did not give him anything else.”

  She went to an empty place by the wall and sagged down into a sitting position, her legs stretched out.

  He fetched water for her and a few crumbs of bread he had saved from their meager dinner, and they talked softly for several hours, comparing information and questions and conjectures about the Tarmaks. They tried to decide who the spy in their midst could be, but they came no closer to identifying a suspect.

  “I would like to think it is Sir Remmik,” Linsha said with a grimace. Her hand still hurt from the punch she had given the Knight Commander, and her pride still hurt from his insult. “He would do almost anything to preserve his reputation and the Circle.”

  “Including betray the militia?” Lanther asked with interest. He didn’t like the Knight anymore than Linsha did. “He was questioned rather extensively today.”

  She sighed. “I know he doesn’t truly care about the militia. But he lives for the letter of the law. His entire set of beliefs rest solely in the Oath and the Measure. And the Oath and the Measure do not allow for betraying one’s allies. Besides,” she said with a tired chuckle, “if he had been feeding the Tarmaks in
formation from the beginning, he would have worked a deal to save his beloved citadel.”

  Lanther grunted. “I suppose you’re right. Being a traitor does seem beneath his dignity. Perhaps it is someone outside the militia, one of the townspeople who came to the Wadi? Perhaps this person is already dead.”

  Linsha slipped down until she was lying on her back. “Perhaps. Whoever it is knows a great deal about me and Varia and Crucible. I think the Tarmaks are hoping Crucible comes back.”

  The Legionnaire looked at her, interested by her statement. “Why do you say that?”

  “The general thinks Varia went to get him.”

  “Did she?”

  “I don’t know. But I think they still have the Abyssal Lance somewhere, and Crucible is the only dragon likely to give them trouble right now. All the others seem to be busy with their own problems or are missing… or dead. Now that the mercenaries, the militia, Thunder, Iyesta, and her companions are gone, there is no one left but Crucible who can stop them from spreading across the Plains.”

  “What if Crucible stays in Sanction?”

  Memories of a tall, blond lord governor teased Linsha’s mind. “I hope he does,” she replied. “Lord Bight needs him more.”

  She closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to dwell in Sanction for a time. She had faced many difficulties and disasters in Sanction, but there had been a few joys as well. Her unexpected friendship with Lord Bight had been one of those. He was not an easy man to know, prone to arrogance and temper and hidden secrets. Nevertheless, she respected him and liked him in spite of his erratic moods, and she liked to think he cared for her too.

  After a while, when she said nothing more, Lanther leaned over her and realized she had fallen asleep. He studied her face for a short time, noticing the new lines and shadows on her lovely features. Hesitantly he reached out and traced a finger along her cheekbone and jaw. He did not think he would ever forget the memory of her standing over the prone Knight with her fist clenched and her green eyes alight with fury. She was a woman worthy of much more than a prison cell and slavery. With a slight grin on his face, he lay down beside her and joined her in sleep.

  11

  Crucible’s Decision

  It took Varia six days to fly from Missing City to Sanction. During that time she passed over the noxious swamp of the black dragon, Sable, and was chased by a foul winged creature with no feathers, leathery wings, and the head of a lizard. She found herself over Blцde the fourth day and was shot at by ogres. On the fifth and sixth days she flew through the passes and valleys of the southern Khalkist Mountains until at last she saw the smoking peaks of the Lords of Doom. Weary and wingsore she flew past Mount Ashkir and circled warily over the city of Sanction. She was relieved to see little had changed since her brief visit three months ago. Many of the ships in the harbor still flew the Solamnic flag. The city walls were still standing; the moat of lava still flowed like a fiery necklace around the city, and the Knights of Neraka still camped outside the city walls in the mouths of the two passes to the east and the north. There were no signs of heavy damage to the city buildings and no apparent indication of imminent disaster. The population moved freely about the city streets and harbor, making the best of another day in a long, bitter siege.

  Varia cooed a sound of relief. The sight of the city reassured her that things had changed little since her last visit here. She was about to fly to the Governor’s Palace to find Lord Bight when her sharp eyes caught the glint of something metallic where the light of the setting sun gleamed on the steep side of Mount Thunderhorn. Tipping a wing, she flew toward it.

  The dragon sat on a broad ledge that cut across the flank of the peak. Behind him a large crevice opened into a cave that had once been the lair of a red dragon. Now it served the bronze as a shelter when he needed it and gave him a vantage point that looked out over the entire city. Above him, the massive crown of the volcano spewed lava into the air and sent smoke boiling into the sky.

  Varia glanced nervously up at the peak before she came to a landing on the dragon’s long wing. He didn’t seem to notice she was there, so she hopped across to his crossed front legs and rested on his forearm. Still he said nothing while he gazed silently across the panorama of the city below him. His long face looked pensive, and his golden eyes seemed lost in some ancient memory. She turned her head to look down at Sanction. Shadows of evening slowly filled the streets, and twinkling lights were starting to appear like fireflies along the buildings and the harbor. The golden rivers of lava glowed a deep yellow-orange in the gathering dusk. In the east pass near the base of Mount Thunderhorn, she could see the watchfires of the Dark Knights burning.

  “I am losing the city,” Crucible said, his deep voice resonant with sadness.

  Varia swiveled her head up to look at him then looked at the city again. It appeared no different to her. There were no Dark Knights in the streets. No fires burned out of control. No warriors swept up to the walls to kill the city.

  “I can hear her voice,” he said so softly that the owl had to concentrate to hear him. “She is out there, calling. The chromatic dragons are answering her call. The dead listen and obey her. I can feel her will bending toward Sanction, and I can do nothing about it. She will take it from me.”

  The owl stared up at the big dragon in amazement. Who was he talking about? Linsha? She flipped her wings and hooted a question.

  The dragon’s big head tilted down toward her. “I thought she was gone, but now I know she has been here all along. I heard her voice in the great storm, and now I hear it again. She is coming.”

  “Who?” The owl screeched.

  “Takhisis.”

  Varia nearly slipped off his scaly leg in surprise. What was he talking about?

  “The dark goddess left with the others after the Chaos War.”

  Crucible tilted his head as if he was still listening to a faraway voice. “I don’t think so. I think she is still on Krynn, in hiding maybe. She wants Sanction back.”

  Varia’s eyes grew to round globes. She did not doubt the validity of the dragon’s belief. She, too, remembered that horrible storm and the terrifying voices in its winds. Although she had no feeling yet of the goddess’s presence in the world, if Crucible insisted it was true, she would not argue with his feelings. “What will you do?” she asked.

  He glanced up the fiery display of the volcano above them. “I thought of loosening my control of the Lords of Doom and letting the mountains take back what I fought to save. There would be little left of the city to leave for the Dark Queen.”

  Varia hooted softly. “You cannot. You are not like her.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I cannot.” A silence settled over him, and he stared again down at the city he worked so hard to build.

  He said nothing for a long while, and Varia let him he, knowing he would speak in his own good time. Beneath him, the ground trembled from the violent energies of the volcano and the roar of its voice filled the evening with a steady rumble of distant thunder.

  “Since you are here, I must assume things are not going well in Missing City,” he said at last.

  Varia agreed that no, things were not, and she told him of the massacre and Linsha’s capture by the Tarmaks. “She told me not to come. She worried for you. But they are torturing her. I fear if they do not kill her, they will enslave her-or worse, ship her away.”

  Crucible’s large eyes blinked slowly as he pondered what the owl had said. “Stupid to fall for a trap like that. She cares so much for those eggs.” He fell silent again then went on. “So I must choose between a city and a woman.”

  “A city you said was already doomed,” Varia pointed out.

  She knew how much the dragon cared for both and how the loss of either would wound him deeply, but she also knew Sanction had a larger voice, a longer history, a deeper hold on the dragon’s soul. This was his home, his lair, his territory. No dragon would give up a lair without a fight for anything less than a very powerfu
l reason. Linsha, on the other side, had only one small owl to speak for her, and Varia was not going to leave without her best effort of persuasion.

  “If what you fear is true,” she forced herself to go on, “if the Dark Queen is back in our world, then nothing you can do will save Sanction. Her temple was here years ago, and to this place she is naturally drawn. She will come here, her Knights will take the city, and they will kill you.”

  He snorted a jet of agitated steam. “I will not abandon my city just to save my life. I do not know with a certainty that Takhisis will come here.”

  “I don’t suppose you have heard the voices of any of the other gods?” Varia asked hopefully.

  “No. She is alone… gathering her armies.”

  Varia clacked her beak in anger. She despised the dark goddess Takhisis with all her being. She hoped that the dragon was wrong, that he was just suffering from a difficult day or depression or loneliness. On top of everything else this long-suffering world dealt with, the goddess was the last thing they needed. She tried one more time.

  “Linsha needs you, Crucible. You don’t have to stay. On your wings you can fly to Iyesta’s lair, free Linsha, and be back in Sanction before the Dark Knights miss you. Give your life to that evil bitch if you must, but help your friend first.”

  He climbed to his feet, causing the owl to flutter off his leg. “I will think about it. There is much to decide. Go to the palace and wait there.”

  Varia knew better than to argue. She flew off the ledge and angled down the mountain. She glanced back once in time to see the bronze’s tail disappear into the darkness of his cave.

  The palace was in an uproar. Doors slammed and booted feet ran up and down the halls. Men shouted orders, and servants scurried everywhere. Outside, the governor’s guards locked and sealed the doors and gates and positioned themselves along the walls and the roof.

  In an embrasure of a window in Lord Bight’s room Varia sat and listened to the noises. Something was obviously happening. The governor’s palace was not usually so chaotic. She stared out the leaded glass window to the courts below and watched the guards in their red tunics. They were all fully armed, and those who were not manning the walls seemed to be searching the grounds for something. What was going on?