Hogan Bight, Lord Governor of the port city of Sanction, stalked down the long corridor toward his suite of rooms. He walked the gait of a man pushed beyond endurance, and at every step, he slapped his thigh with his gauntlet in the manner of someone whose mind was on matters both infuriating and far distant. His eyes straight ahead, he paid no attention to the bodyguards who worriedly followed him along the marble-tiled floor.
For a day that had begun in such promise and hope, yesterday had ended in despair. Sanction should have been free by this time. It should have been celebrating. Instead, the inhabitants of the city were burying their dead, treating their wounded, and wondering what had happened. The victory they had planned for so long was snatched out of their hands, and there wasn’t a thing Lord Bight, the Solamnic Knights, or the townspeople had been able to do about it. The plan had failed.
Lord Bight still was not certain how it had failed. The Knights of Neraka had been routed! They fled the battlefield in a state of total panic. But something-or someone-had turned them back, and only by the grace of the moats of lava and the fury of the defenders of Sanction had they been thrown back at the very walls of the city.
Now everything was as it was before. The siege still continued; the enemy still camped at the gates. He still needed the Solamnics to bring men and supplies.
Lord Bight cracked a glove against his thigh again. Gods, how he hated the Knights of Neraka. This was his city. He had rebuilt it almost from the ground up. He had given Sanction his devotion, his wisdom, his time, and his strength. Yet the Knights were determined to get it hack, and they were crumbling it out of his grasp a little hit every day.
Yawning, he reached his apartment and slammed the door in the faces of his guards. Let them stand their posts out there tonight. Just let an intruder or assassin dare enter his room. He would welcome something to vent his rage upon. Striding into the front room, he stopped, his arms akimbo.
“Out!” he bellowed.
His two servants bowed once and cleared the rooms. They knew better than to argue when their lord was in this mood.
Lord Bight found himself alone at last. He stretched to work some of the stiffness out of his aching muscles, then one by one he shed his bloody, smoke-stained garments and kicked them in a pile. He would give anything for a swim in the bay, but it was too late-or too early-for that. It would be dawn soon and he would be needed in the city. He would have to settle for a bath in the garden bath house.
Something banged against one of the leaded windows.
Instantly alert, Lord Bight snatched his long dagger and placed himself out of sight of the window. The noise came again-a muffled thumping followed by an owl’s shrill call of distress.
Lord Bight leaped for the window, a curse on his tongue. The dagger clanged to the floor. He yanked open the leaded frame and threw out his arms to catch the bedraggled bird that flopped through the casement. He recognized the owl immediately, for she had been in this room before.
“Varia!” he said in astonishment. “What are you doing here? Where is Linsha?”
The owl tried to stand upright and failed. Her leg and one wing were bloody and torn; her body was so thin he could feel her bones beneath the feathers. She looked up at him, her dark eyes huge.
“We need Crucible,” she rasped.
The Dragonlord’s Palace
13
The four riders reached the base of the hill, and the three Legionnaires continued to urge their horses along the road toward Mirage and the Legion headquarters. Only Linsha turned her horse to the right on the path she often took to Iyesta’s lair.
Lanther almost missed her departure. He glanced back to be sure everyone had survived unscathed and saw the tail of Linsha’s horse disappearing into the darkness of another path. Reining his mount to a stop, he waved on the other two, wheeled his horse around, and galloped after her.
He rode hard, pushing his mount on the uneven, night-dark trail, and caught up with her near the crumbling foundations where the road crossed the remains of the old city wall.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he yelled over the pounding hooves.
A look of irritation flashed over Linsha’s face. Although she was deeply indebted to Lanther and his men and greatly relieved that she was free, she had hoped to slip away in the darkness for just an hour or two without curious eyes and questions she could not answer.
“I’m going to Iyesta’s lair,” she said tersely.
“She’s not there. She has not been seen since the storm.”
“I know. But I can’t believe she has left. I want to go look around.”
“Now?” he sounded surprised and dubious. “Wouldn’t daylight be better?”
Daylight wouldn’t matter where she wanted to go, but she didn’t want to tell him that. Instead she slowed her horse to a trot and said as patiently as she could, “Sir Remmik will have the circle out in arms looking for me before too long. He won’t let this go.”
“We have a few hiding places you can use.”
“I know. I accept your hospitality. I just have to do this first.”
He heard the urgency in her voice and accepted her decision. “Fair enough. I’ll go with you. The militia is camped all over the grounds, keeping watch on the dragonlord’s lair and treasure until she returns.”
Linsha felt a pang of uneasiness. “Shouldn’t they be out preparing the city’s defenses? I heard there is a strange fleet near the city.”
“We’ve heard that as well, and we have scouts out to watch for its approach. The militia is doing what it can.”
She frowned. He certainly sounded casual about all of this. Everything she had heard in the Citadel had sounded dire. Was it possible Sir Remmik had exaggerated the situation to help grease her conviction through the council? She desperately wanted to believe this gathering disaster was being inflated out of proportion-that Iyesta had left on business of her own and would soon return, that the fleet was not hostile and would pass Mirage by, that Thunder was playing at overlord and would stay on his side of the river, and that the storm damage would be easily repaired and the Missing City would return to normal. But things rarely turned out so neatly. What she really wanted was facts, hard fresh news from a source she could rely on. She wanted Varia. Where was the owl?
She made no more comment hut held her words until they reached the dragon’s lair. She had to admit the militia was vigilant in protecting Iyesta’s lair. Sentries stopped them in three different places before they reached the courtyard in front of the throne room.
A dense darkness filled the old ruins, for no torches or campfires were allowed to burn, and the pale moon had already set an hour before. The crowd of people hoping to see Iyesta had given up and returned to their homes, leaving the dragon’s guards and the militia to keep their fretful vigil.
Linsha halted her horse and glanced around to get her bearings. She could already see the lair was empty; however, there were one or two other places she wanted to check that might not have been carefully examined.
“Stay and do not move,” spoke a voice at Linsha’s right. “There are a dozen weapons aimed at you right now.”
Linsha raised her hands to show they were empty. Lanther did likewise.
“Mariana?” she called softly. “I know your voice.”
“Lady Linsha?” The reply was immediate and filled with surprise. “We thought you-” The words broke off as if the speaker reassessed the possibilities. “Lower your weapons,” she ordered her silent guards. “I will talk to them.”