The king of Lunitari shrank from the question. "I've never seen it," he said evasively, "though I once heard it speak."
Sturm saw Kitiara ball a fist in frustration. Rapaldo's quirky behavior was getting on her nerves. She relaxed her hand slowly and said as evenly as her temper would allow,
"Who is their mastermind, Your Majesty?"
"The Voice in the Obelisk. Some ten miles from my palace sits a great stone obelisk five hundred feet or more high. It's hollow, and a demon dwells within. It speaks in a sweet voice to the Micones, who live in a burrow under the base.
The demon never comes out of its tower, and I've never gone in to see it."
"And these Micones have taken our ship?" asked Sturm.
"Did I not say it?" Rapaldo answered sulkily. "Two nights ago, a host of crystal ants marched past in the dark. They tore down one of our walls to clear a path. Evil, I tell you – they could've walked around. It must have been your craft that they were carrying."
"Why didn't your warriors oppose them?"
"Because they are trees, after all! When the sun sets, they root themselves where they stand and feed all night long.
Only with the coming of day can they shake off the dirt and walk about." Rapaldo popped up again. He directed a glare at Sturm. "Your manners are impertinent! I won't answer any more questions." The shrillness left his voice and he added, "We are tired. You may leave us now. If you follow the corridor to the right, you will find rooms you can sleep in."
Kitiara and Sturm bowed, the gnomes waved, and the group filed out of the audience hall. A tree-man led the way.
"What did you think of that!" Kitiara said in a loud whis per.
"Later," Sturm replied softly. The roofless walls were no guarantee of privacy.
Along the corridor that Rapaldo had mentioned, they found a series of niches. Some were filled with more wreck age of the lost Tarvolina, others were empty. The tree-man indicated that the empty niches were their "rooms," then departed.
The gnomes shrugged off their packs and set to work making as much noise and confusion as seven gnomes could make. Sturm pulled Kitiara aside.
"I fear that His Majesty is a bit out of the weather," Sturm whispered.
"He's as crazy as a bug chaser."
"That's another way to say it, yes. But Kit, we need him to take us to this obelisk, if that's where the giant ants have taken the Cloudmaster. So we'll have to humor his royal pose to keep his good will, at least till we leave."
"I'd like to give him a good shaking," she said. "That's what he needs."
"Use your head, Kit. There are probably hundreds of tree-men around, all loyal to King Rapaldo. How do we kill a tree'? Even with your increased strength, all you did was cut a chunk out of one of them."
"You're right," she said. Her expression darkened. "I'll tell you something else: He's wearing mail under those rags. I heard it clink when he sat down. There are two reasons for people to wear mail – when they know they're going to be attacked, or when they think they're going to be attacked.
Mad he may be, but old Rapaldo is afraid of something."
She tapped a finger on Sturm's chest. "I say it's us."
"Why us?"
"'Cause we're human, and we've got metal of our own, which probably confuses the Lunitarians to death. Most of all, we're younger, bigger, and stronger than His Majesty."
"Oh, let him be king of the tree-men, if he wants. If
Rapaldo's afraid of anything, it's this mysterious demon of the obelisk. Have any ideas about it?"
"On this crazy moon, it could be anything, but if the demon's got Stutts and the others with the flying ship, he'd better be prepared to give them over, or face a fight!"
Fitter appeared with two steaming bowls. "Dinner," said the gnome. "Pink spears and mushroom gills seasoned with puffball dust." Fitter handed over the bowls and returned to his colleagues.
They ate their food in silence for a while. Sturm said at last, "I've been thinking about when we get back to Krynn."
"Optimist," she said. "What were you thinking?"
"If my visions so far have been true, then the first thing I should do is go to my ancestral home. It may be that my father secreted his sword there somewhere. He may also have left me a clue as to where he was going."
Kitiara idly stirred her pink soup. "And what if you can't find it, or him? What then?"
"I shall keep searching," he said.
She set the bowl down on the ground between her feet.
"How long, Sturm? Forever? Haven't you thought of any life beyond your family? I never faulted you for wanting to find your father – it seemed a worthy cause and a great adventure – but I see now that there's more to it than that.
You're not out to restore just the Brightblade name and for tune; you want to restore the entire knightly order." Her tone was derisive.
Sturm's hands grew cold. "Is that such a terrible goal? The world could use a force for good again."
"These are modern times, Sturm! The knights are gone.
The people cast them off because they couldn't change to meet the changing times. There's a new code among war riors: Power is the only truth."
He stared at her. "Am I to give up my quest, then?"
"Look beyond, will you? You're a good fighter and you're smart. Think of what we could do together, you and I. If we joined the right mercenary band, in a year's time we'd be the captains. Then the glory and power would be ours."
Sturm stood up and slung his sword belt over one shoul der. "I could never live like that, Kit."
"Hey!" she called to his retreating back. Sturm continued down the corridor. The heat of fury filled Kitiara's heart. It surged through her, and she felt an overwhelming need to smash something. How dare he be so righteous! What did he know of the world, the real world? Sentimental, boring, knightly rubbish -
"Ma'am?" Fitter stood before her, the stew pot in his hand. "Are you all right?"
The quickening heat in her limbs subsided rapidly. She blinked at the gnome and finally said, "Yes, what do you want?"
"You were pounding on the wall," said the gnome.
"Sprockets! You've cracked it!"
Kitiara saw a spider's web of cracks radiating from a shal low hole in the soft sandy mortar. There was white dust on her knuckles. She didn't remember hitting the wall at all.
Rapaldo the First watched as his Royal Guard members slowed to rooted immobility and froze where they were.
Their eyes and mouths closed, leaving not a trace in the ridged bark. Seeing them this way, no one would ever imag ine that they could walk and talk.
Rapaldo walked over and kicked the nearest Lunitarian.
It hurt his toe, and he hopped backward on one foot, curs ing the entire pantheon of Enstar.
"Soon I'll be gone, and you'll have a new king," he said to the unheeding tree-man. "Flown away, that's what, in a fly ing ship built by gnomes! There's a neat trick! I had an accursed whirlwind lift me to this rotten moon, and they go and make wings and fly here on purpose! Ta-ra-ra! They can stay here, too. They'll stay behind, and I'll fly home."
He slipped an arm conspiratorially around the tree-man and whispered to him, "I could take the woman with me, yes? She is very beautiful, though a bit too tall. If the king commands it, she will go with me, yes? Yes, yes – how could she resist? I'll give the big fellow with the mustache to you.
He can be the new king, Brightblade the First. I appoint him heir apparent, remember that. For all I care, you can make him a god. I shall fly, fly, fly away home."
The lengthening shadows crept across the royal audience hall. Rapaldo stared into the darkest corner and shivered.
He grasped his axe and stalked to the middle of the room.
"I see you there, Darnino! Yes, it's you! You always come back to visit, don't you? Dead men should stay dead,
Darnino! Especially when I kill them with my royal axe!" He charged into the shadows, throwing the axe from side to side. The heavy blade clinked off the rock walls, striking sparks. Rapaldo flailed away at the ghost in his mind for some time. Fatigue chased Darnino away more surely than any of the king's axe cuts.
"There's a lesson for you," he said, panting. "Trifle with
Rapaldo the First, will you?"
He dragged his feet across the hall. By the throne, he stopped, ear cocked to the open sky. "Laughing? Who said you could laugh?" he said. The Lunitarians were still. "No one laughs at the king!" Rapaldo cried. He hurled himself at the nearest Lunitarian, chopping fiercely with his ship wright's axe. Chips of gray flew off the tree-man, who could not resist the unwarranted attack. Rapaldo yelled and cursed and chopped until the guard was a stump surrounded by scraps of broken wood-flesh.