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 wineglass. “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 wineglass 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 elf woman 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 elf woman 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 wineglass 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 wineglass 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 half-elf! 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.