Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (21 page)

“Stay on your knees, Kitiara,” he said. Slowly and deliberately he removed his long, shining sword from its scabbard. “Stay on your knees and bow your head, as the condemned do when they come to the block. For I am your executioner, Kitiara. Thus do my commanders pay for their failure!”

Kitiara remained kneeling, but she looked up at him. Seeing the flame of hatred in her brown eyes, Ariakas felt a moment’s thankfulness that he held his sword in his hand. Once more he was compelled to admire her. Even facing imminent death, there was no fear in her eyes. Only defiance.

He raised his blade, but the blow did not fall.

Bone-cold fingers wrapped around the wrist of his swordarm.

“I believe you should hear the Highlord’s explanation,” said a hollow voice.

Lord Ariakas was a strong man. He could hurl a spear with force enough to drive it completely through the body of a horse. He could break a man’s neck with one twist of his hand. Yet he found he could not wrench himself loose from the chill grasp that was slowly crushing his wrist. Finally, in agony, Ariakas dropped the sword. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

Somewhat shaken, Kitiara rose to her feet. Making a gesture, she commanded her minion to release Ariakas. The Lord whirled around, raising a hand to call forth the magic that would reduce this creature to cinders.

Then he stopped. Sucking in his breath, Ariakas stumbled backward, the magic spell he had been prepared to cast slipping from his mind.

Before him stood a figure no taller than himself, clad in armor so old it predated the Cataclysm. The armor was that of a Knight of Solamnia. The symbol of the Order of the Rose was traced upon the front, barely visible and worn with age. The armored figure wore no helm, it carried no weapon. Yet
Ariakas—staring at it—fell back another step. For the figure he stared at was not the figure of a living man.

The being’s face was transparent. Ariakas could see right through it to the wall beyond. A pale light flickered in the cavernous eyes. It stared straight ahead, as if it, too, could see right through Ariakas.

“A death knight!” he whispered in awe.

The Lord rubbed his aching wrist, numb with the cold of those who dwell in realms far removed from the warmth of living flesh. More frightened than he dared admit, Ariakas bent down to retrieve his sword, muttering a charm to ward off the aftereffects of such a deadly touch. Rising, he cast a bitter glance at Kitiara, who was regarding him with a crooked smile.

“This—this creature serves you?” he asked hoarsely.

Kitiara shrugged. “Let us say, we agree to serve each other.”

Ariakas regarded her in grudging admiration. Casting a sidelong glance at the death knight, he sheathed his sword.

“Does he always frequent your bedroom?” he sneered. His wrist ached abominably.

“He comes and goes as he chooses,” Kitiara replied. She gathered the folds of the gown casually around her body, reacting apparently more from the chill in the early spring air than out of a desire for modesty. Shivering, she ran her hand through her curly hair and shrugged. “It’s
his
castle, after all.”

Ariakas paused, a faraway look in his eyes, his mind running back over ancient legends.

“Lord Soth!” he said suddenly, turning to the figure. “Knight of the Black Rose.”

The knight bowed in acknowledgment.

“I had forgotten the ancient story of Dargaard Keep,” Ariakas murmured, regarding Kitiara thoughtfully. “You have more nerve than even
I
gave you credit for, lady, taking up residence in this accursed dwelling! According to legend, Lord Soth commands a troop of skeletal warriors—”

“An effective force in a battle,” Kitiara replied, yawning. Walking over to a small table near a fireplace, she picked up a cut-glass carafe. “Their touch alone”—she regarded Ariakas with smile—“well, you know what their touch is like to those who lack the magic skills to defend against it. Some wine?”

“Very well,” Ariakas replied, his eyes still on the transparent face of Lord Soth. “What about the dark elves, the banshee women who reputedly follow him?”

“They’re here … somewhere.” Kit shivered again, then lifted her wine glass. “You’ll probably hear them before long. Lord Soth doesn’t sleep, of course. The ladies help him pass the long hours in the night.”

For an instant, Kitiara paled, holding the wine glass to her lips. Then she set it down untouched, her hand shaking slightly. “It is not pleasant,” she said briefly. Glancing around, she asked, “What have you done with Garibanus?”

Tossing off the glass of wine, Ariakas gestured negligently. “I left him … at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Dead?” Kitiara questioned, pouring the Highlord another glass.

Ariakas scowled. “Perhaps. He got in my way. Does it matter?”

“I found him … entertaining,” Kitiara said. “He filled Bakaris’s place in more than one respect.”

“Bakaris, yes.” Lord Ariakas drank another glass. “So your commander managed to get himself captured as your armies went down to defeat!”

“He was an imbecile,” Kitiara said coldly. “He tried riding dragonback, even though he is still crippled.”

“I heard. What happened to his arm?”

“The elfwoman shot him with an arrow at the High Clerist’s Tower. It was his own fault, and he now has paid for it. I had removed him from command, making him my bodyguard. But he insisted on trying to redeem himself.”

“You don’t appear to be mourning his loss,” Ariakas said, eyeing Kitiara. The dressing gown, tied together only by two ribbons at the neck, did little to cover her lithe body.

Kit smiled. “No, Garibanus is … quite a good replacement. I hope you haven’t killed him. It will be a bother getting someone else to go to Kalaman tomorrow.”

“What are you doing at Kalaman—preparing to surrender to the elfwoman and the knights?” Lord Ariakas asked bitterly, his anger returning with the wine.

“No,” Kitiara said. Sitting down in a chair opposite Ariakas, she regarded him coolly. “I’m preparing to accept
their
surrender.”

“Ha!” Ariakas snorted. “They’re not insane. They know they’re winning. And they’re right!” His face flushed. Picking up the carafe, he emptied it into his glass.

“You owe your death knight your life, Kitiara. Tonight at least. But he won’t be around you forever.”

“My plans are succeeding much better than I had hoped,” Kitiara replied smoothly, not in the least disconcerted by Ariakas’s flickering eyes. “If I fooled you, my lord, I have no doubt that I have fooled the enemy.”

“And how have you fooled me, Kitiara?” Ariakas asked with lethal calm. “Do you mean to say that you are
not
losing on all fronts? That you are
not
being driven from Solamnia? That the dragonlances and the good dragons have
not
brought about ignominious defeat?” His voice rose with each word.

“They have not!” Kitiara snapped, her brown eyes flashing. Leaning across the table, she caught hold of Ariakas’s hand as he was about to raise the wine glass to his lips. “As for the good dragons, my lord, my spies tell me their return was due to an elflord and a silver dragon breaking into the temple at Sanction where they discovered what was happening to the good dragon eggs. Whose fault was that? Who slipped up there? Guarding that temple was
your
responsibility—”

Furiously, Ariakas wrenched his hand free of Kitiara’s grip. Hurling the wine glass across the room, he stood and faced her.

“By the gods, you go too far!” he shouted, breathing heavily.

“Quit posturing,” Kitiara said. Coolly rising to her feet, she turned and walked across the room. “Follow me to my war room, and I will explain my plans.”

Ariakas stared down at the map of northern Ansalon. “It might work,” he admitted.

“Of course, it will work,” Kit said, yawning and stretching languidly. “My troops have run before them like frightened rabbits. Too bad the knights weren’t astute enough to notice that we always drifted southward, and they never wondered why my forces just seemed to melt away and vanish. Even as we speak, my armies are gathering in a sheltered valley south of these mountains. Within a week, an army several thousand strong will be ready to march on Kalaman. The loss of their ‘Golden General’ will destroy their morale. The city will probably capitulate without a fight. From there, I regain all
the land we appear to have lost. Give me command of that fool Toede’s armies to the south, send the flying citadels I’ve asked for, and Solamnia will think it’s been hit by another Cataclysm!”

“But the elfwoman—”

“Need not concern us,” Kitiara said.

Ariakas shook his head. “This seems the weak link in your plans, Kitiara. What about Half-Elven? Can you be certain he won’t interfere?”

“It doesn’t matter about him.
She
is the one who counts and she is a woman in love.” Kitiara shrugged. “She trusts me, Ariakas. You scoff, but it’s true. She trusts me too much and Tanis Half-Elven too little. But that’s always the way of lovers. The ones we love most are those we trust least. It proved quite fortunate Bakaris fell into their hands.”

Hearing a change in her voice, Ariakas glanced at Kitiara sharply, but she had turned from him, keeping her face averted. Immediately he realized she was not as confident as she seemed, and then he knew she had lied to him. The halfelf! What about him? Where
was
he, for that matter. Ariakas had heard a great deal about him, but had never met him. The Dragon Highlord considered pressing her on this point, then abruptly changed his mind. Much better to have in his possession the knowledge that she had lied. It gave him a power over this dangerous woman. Let her relax in her supposed complacency.

Yawning elaborately, Ariakas feigned indifference. “What will you do with the elfwoman?” he asked as she would expect him to ask. Ariakas’s passion for delicate blonde women was well-known.

Kitiara raised her eyebrows, giving him a playful look. “Too bad, my lord,” she said mockingly, “but Her Dark Highness has asked for the lady. Perhaps you could have her when the Dark Queen is finished.”

Ariakas shivered. “Bah, she’ll be of no use to me then. Give her to your friend, Lord Soth. He liked elfwomen once upon a time, if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” murmured Kitiara. Her eyes narrowed. She held up her hand. “Listen,” she said softly.

Ariakas fell silent. At first he heard nothing, then he gradually became aware of a strange sound—a wailing keen, as if
a hundred women mourned their dead. As he listened, it grew louder and louder, piercing the stillness of the night.

The Dragon Highlord set down his wine glass, startled to see his hand trembling. Looking at Kitiara, he saw her face pale beneath its tan. Her large eyes were wide. Feeling his eyes upon her, Kitiara swallowed and licked her dry lips.

“Awful, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“I faced horrors in the Towers of High Sorcery,” said Ariakas softly, “but that was nothing compared to this. What is it?”

“Come,” Kit said, standing up.

“If you have the nerve, I’ll show you.”

Together, the two left the war room, Kitiara leading Ariakas through the winding corridors of the castle until they came back to Kit’s bedroom above the circular entryway with the vaulted ceiling.

“Stay in the shadows,” Kitiara warned.

An unnecessary warning, Ariakas thought as they crept softly out onto the balcony overlooking the circular room. Looking down over the edge of the balcony, Ariakas was overcome with sheer horror at the sight below him. Sweating, he drew back swiftly in the shadows of Kitiara’s bedroom.

“How can you stand that?” he asked her as she entered and shut the door softly behind her. “Does that go on every night?”

“Yes,” she said, trembling. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Within a moment she was back in control. “Sometimes I think I’m used to it, then I make the mistake of looking down there. The song isn’t so bad.…”

“It’s ghastly!” Ariakas muttered, wiping cold sweat from his face. “So Lord Soth sits down there on his throne every night, surrounded by his skeletal warriors, and the dark hags sing that horrible lullaby!”

“And it is the same song, always,” Kitiara murmured. Shivering, she absently picked up the empty wine carafe, then set it back down on the table. “Though the past tortures him, he cannot escape it. Always he ponders, wondering what he might have done to avoid the fate that dooms him to walk forever upon the land without rest. The dark elven women, who were part of his downfall, are forced to relive his story with him. Nightly they must repeat it. Nightly he must hear it.”

“What are the words?”

“I know them, now, almost as well as he does.” Kitiara laughed, then shuddered. “Call for another carafe of wine and I’ll tell you his tale, if you have the time.”

“I have time,” Ariakas said, settling back in his chair. “Though I must leave in the morning if I am to send the citadels.”

Kitiara smiled at him, the charming, crooked smile that so many had found so captivating.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I will not fail you again.”

“No,” said Ariakas coolly, ringing a small silver bell, “I can promise you that, Kitiara. If you do, you will find
his
fate”—he motioned downstairs where the wailing had reached a shivering pitch—“a pleasant one compared to your own.”

A
s you know,” began Kitiara, “Lord Soth was a true and noble knight of Solamnia. But he was an intensely passionate man, lacking in self-discipline, and this was his downfall.

“Soth fell in love with a beautiful elfmaid, a disciple of the Kingpriest of Istar. He was married at the time, but thoughts of his wife vanished at the sight of the elfmaid’s beauty. Forsaking both his sacred marriage vows and his knightly vows, Soth gave in to his passion. Lying to the girl, he seduced her and brought her to live at Dargaard Keep, promising to marry her. His wife disappeared under sinister circumstances.”

Kitiara shrugged, then continued:

“According to what I’ve heard of the song, the elfmaid remained true to the knight, even after she discovered his terrible misdeeds. She prayed to the Goddess Mishakal that the knight be allowed to redeem himself and, apparently, her prayers were answered. Lord Soth was given the power to prevent the Cataclysm, though it would mean sacrificing his own life.