“What is it?” the captain snarled impatiently, fixing the guard with a piercing gaze from his one good eye (the other had been lost in a battle with the elves in Silvanesti). “Another fight? Knock ’em both over the head and haul ’em to prison. I’m sick—”
“N-not a fight, sir,” stuttered the guard, a young goblin terrified of his human captain. “The watch at the g-gate sent m-me. T-Two officers with p-prisoners want p-permission to enter.”
The captain swore in frustration. What next? He almost told the goblin to go back and let them enter. The place was crawling with slaves and prisoners already. A few more wouldn’t matter. Highlord Kitiara’s troops were gathering outside, ready to come in. He had to be on hand to extend official greetings.
“What kind of prisoners?” he asked irritably, trying hastily to catch up on reams of paperwork before leaving to attend the ceremony. “Drunken draconians? Just take them...”
“I-I think you should c-come, s-sir.” The goblin was sweating, and sweating goblins are not pleasant to be around, “Th-There’s a couple of h-humans, and a k-kender.”
The captain wrinkled his nose. “I said—” He stopped. “A kender?” he said, looking up with considerable interest. “There wasn’t, by any chance, a dwarf?”
“Not as I know of, sir,” answered the poor goblin. “But I might have missed one in the c-crowd, sir.”
“I’ll come,” the captain said. Hastily strapping on his sword, he followed the goblin down to the front gate.
Here, for the moment, peace reigned. Ariakas’s troops were all within the tent city now. Kitiara’s were jostling and fighting, forming ranks to march inside. It was nearly time for the ceremony to begin. The captain cast a swift glance over the group standing before him, just inside the front gates.
Two dragonarmy officers of high rank stood guard over a group of sullen prisoners. The captain studied the prisoners carefully, remembering orders he had received only two days ago. He was to watch, in particular, for a dwarf traveling with a kender. There might possibly be an elflord with them and an elfwoman with long, silver hair—in reality, a silver dragon. These had been the companions of the elfwoman they were holding prisoner, and the Dark Queen expected any or all of them to attempt to rescue her.
Here was a kender, all right. But the woman had curly red hair, not silver, and if she was a dragon, the captain would eat his platemail. The stooped old man with the long scraggly beard was certainly human, not a dwarf or an elflord. All in all, he couldn’t imagine why two dragonarmy officers had bothered taking the motley group prisoner.
“Just slit their throats and be done with it instead of bothering us,” the captain said sourly. “We’re short of prison space as it is. Take them away.”
“But what a waste!” said one of the officers—a giant of a man with arms like tree-trunks. Grabbing the red-headed girl, he dragged her forward. “I’ve heard they’re paying good money in the slave markets for her kind!”
“You’re right there,” the captain muttered, running his good eye over the girl’s voluptuous body which was enhanced—to his mind—by her chain-mail armor. “But I don’t know what you think you’ll get for this lot!” He poked the kender, who gave an indignant cry, and was instantly shushed by the other dragonarmy guard. “Kill ’em—”
The big dragonarmy officer seemed confounded by this argument, blinking in obvious confusion. Before he could reply, however, the other officer—who had been quiet and hidden in the background—stepped forward.
“The human’s a magic-user,” the officer said. “And we believe the kender is a spy. We caught him near Dargaard Keep.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place,” the captain snapped, “instead of wasting my time. Yeah, go ahead and haul ’em inside,” he spoke hurriedly as horns blared. It was time for the ceremony, the massive iron gates were shivering, beginning to swing open. “I’ll sign your papers. Hand them over.”
“We don’t have—” began the big officer.
“What papers do you mean?” the bearded officer cut in, fumbling in a pouch. “Identification—”
“Naw!” said the captain, fuming in impatience. “Your leave of absence from your commander to bring in prisoners.”
“We weren’t given that, sir,” said the bearded officer coolly. “Is that a new order?”
“No, it isn’t,” said the captain, eyeing them suspiciously. “How’d you get through the lines without it? And how do you expect to get back? Or were you going back? Thinking of taking a little trip with the money you’d make from these, were you?”
“Naw!” The big officer flushed angrily, his eyes flaring. “Our commander just forgot, maybe, that’s all. He’s got a lot on his mind, and there’s not much mind there to handle it, if you take my meaning.” He glared at the captain menacingly.
The gates swung open. Horns blared loudly. The captain sighed in frustration. Right now he was supposed to be standing in the center, prepared to greet the Lord Kitiara. He beckoned to some of the Dark Queen’s guards who were standing nearby.
“Take ’em below,” he said, twitching his uniform into place. “We’ll show them what we do to deserters!”
As he hurried off, he saw with pleasure that the Queen’s guards were carrying out their assignments, quickly and efficiently grabbing the two dragonarmy officers and divesting them of their weapons.
Caramon cast an alarmed glance at Tanis as the draconians grasped him by the arms and unbuckled his sword belt. Tika’s eyes were wide with fear—this certainly wasn’t the way things were supposed to be going. Berem, his face nearly hidden by his false whiskers, looked as if he might cry or run or both. Even Tasslehoff seemed a bit stunned by the sudden change in plans. Tanis could see the kender’s eyes dart around, seeking escape.
Tanis thought frantically. He believed he had considered every possible occurrence when he had formed this plan for entering Neraka, but he’d obviously missed one. Certainly being arrested as a deserter from the dragonarmies had never crossed his mind! If the guards took them into the dungeons, it would be all over. The moment they took off his helmet, they’d recognize him as half-elven. Then they’d examine the others more closely . . . they’d discover Berem. . .
He was the danger. Without him Caramon and the others might still pull it off. Without him . . .
There was a blaring of trumpets and wild cheering from the crowd as a huge blue dragon bearing a Dragon Highlord entered the Temple gates. Seeing the Highlord, Tanis’s heart constricted with pain and, suddenly, a wild elation. The crowd surged forward roaring Kitiara’s name and, for the moment, the guards were distracted as they looked to see if the Highlord might be in danger. Tanis leaned as near Tasslehoff as he could.
“Tas!” he said swiftly, under the cover of the noise, hoping Tas remembered enough elven to understand him. “Tell Caramon to keep up the act. No matter what I do, he must trust me! Everything depends on that. No matter what I do. Understand?”
Tas stared at Tanis in astonishment, then nodded hesitantly. It had been a long time since he’d been forced to translate elven.
Tanis could only hope he understood. Caramon spoke no elven at all, and Tanis didn’t dare risk speaking Common, even if his voice was swallowed by the noise of the crowd. As it was, one of the guards wrenched his arm painfully, ordering him to be silent.
The noise died down, the crowd was bullied and shoved back into place. Seeing things under control, the guards turned to lead their prisoners away.
Suddenly Tanis stumbled and fell, tripping his guard, who sprawled headlong into the dust.
“Get up, slime!” Cursing, the other guard cuffed Tanis with the handle of a whip, striking him across the face. The half-elf lunged for the guard, grabbing the whip handle and the hand that held it. Tanis yanked with all his strength, and his sudden move sent the guard head over heels. For a split second, he was free.