Hurling himself forward, aware of the guards behind him, aware also of Caramon’s astonished face, Tanis threw himself toward the regal figure riding the blue dragon.
“Kitiara!” he yelled, just as the guards caught hold of him. “Kitiara!” he screamed, a hoarse, ragged shout that seemed torn from his chest. Fighting the guards, he managed to free one hand. With it, he gripped his helmet and tore it off his head, hurling it to the ground.
The Highlord in the night-blue, dragonscale armor turned upon hearing her name. Tanis could see her brown eyes widen in astonishment beneath the hideous dragonmask she wore. He could see the fiery eyes of the male blue dragon turn to gaze at him as well.
“Kitiara!” Tanis shouted. Shaking off his captors with a strength born of desperation, he dove forward again. But draconians in the crowd flung themselves on him, knocking him to the ground, where they held him pinned by his arms. Still Tanis struggled, twisting to look into the eyes of the Highlord.
“Halt, Skie,” Kitiara said, placing a gloved hand commandingly on the dragon’s neck. Skie stopped obediently, his clawed feet slipping slightly on the cobblestones of the street. But the dragon’s eyes, as they glared at Tanis, were filled with jealousy and hatred.
Tanis held his breath. His heart beat painfully. His head ached and blood dribbled into one eye, but he didn’t notice. He waited for the shout that would tell him Tasslehoff hadn’t understood, that his friends had tried to come to his aid. He waited for Kitiara to look behind him and see Caramon—her half-brother—and recognize him. He didn’t dare turn around to see what had happened to his friends. He could only hope Caramon had sense enough—and faith enough in him—to keep out of sight.
And now here came the captain, his cruel one-eyed face distorted in rage. Raising a booted foot, the captain aimed a kick for Tanis’s head, preparing to render this meddlesome troublemaker unconscious.
“Stop,” said a voice.
The captain halted so suddenly that he staggered off-balance.
“Let him go.” The same voice.
Reluctantly, the guards released Tanis and fell back away from him at an imperious gesture from the Dark Lady.
“What is so important, commander, that you disrupt my entrance?” she asked in cool tones, her voice sounding deep and distorted behind the dragonhelm.
Stumbling to his feet, weak with relief, his head swimming from his struggles with the guards, Tanis made his way forward to stand beside her. As he drew nearer, he saw a flicker of amusement in Kitiara’s brown eyes. She was enjoying this; a new game with an old toy. Clearing his throat, Tanis spoke boldly.
“These idiots arrested me for desertion,” he stated, “all because that imbecile Bakaris forgot to give me the proper papers.”
“I’ll see he pays the penalty for having caused you trouble, good Tanthalas,” replied Kitiara. Tanis could hear the laughter in her voice. “How dare you?” she added, whirling to glower at the captain, who cringed as the helmed visage turned toward him.
“I-I was j-just following or-orders, my lord,” he stuttered, shaking like a goblin.
“Be off with you, or you’ll feed my dragon,” Kitiara commanded peremptorily, waving her hand. Then, in the same graceful gesture, she held out her gloved hand to Tanis. “May I offer you a ride, commander? To make amends, of course.”
“Thank you, lord,” Tanis said.
Casting a dark glance at the captain, Tanis accepted Kitiara’s hand and swung himself up beside her on the back of the blue dragon. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd as Kitiara ordered Skie forward once more. For a moment, his agonized search could detect nothing, then he sighed in relief as he saw Caramon and the others being led away by the guards. The big man glanced up at him as they passed, a hurt and puzzled expression on his face. But he kept moving. Either Tas had passed along the message or the big man had sense enough to keep up the act. Or perhaps Caramon trusted him anyway. Tanis didn’t know. His friends were safe now—at least safer than they were with him.
This might be the last time I ever see them, he thought suddenly, with pain. Then he shook his head. He could not let himself dwell on that. Turning away, he discovered Kitiara’s brown eyes regarding him with an odd mixture of cunning and undisguised admiration.
Tasslehoff stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what became of Tanis. He heard shouts and yells, then a moment of silence. Then he saw the half-elf climb onto the dragon and sit beside Kitiara. The procession started up again. The kender thought he saw Tanis look his way, but—if so—it was without recognition. The guards shoved their remaining prisoners through the jostling crowd, and Tas lost sight of his friend.
One of the guards prodded Caramon in his ribs with a short sword.
“So your buddy gets a lift from the Highlord and you rot in prison,” the draconian said, chuckling.
“He won’t forget me,” Caramon muttered.
The draconian grinned and nudged its partner, who was dragging Tasslehoff along, one clawed hand on the kender’s collar. “Sure, he’ll come back for you—if he can manage to find his way out of her bed!”
Caramon flushed, scowling. Tasslehoff shot the big warrior an alarmed glance. The kender hadn’t had a chance to give Caramon Tanis’s last message, and he was terrified the big man would ruin everything, although Tas wasn’t really certain what there was left to ruin. Still. . .
But Caramon only tossed his head in injured dignity. “I’ll be out before nightfall,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “We’ve been through too much together. He wouldn’t let me down.”
Catching a wistful note in Caramon’s voice, Tas wriggled in anxiety, longing to get close enough to Caramon to explain. But at that moment Tika cried out in anger. Twisting his head, Tas saw the guard rip her blouse; there were already bloody gashes made by its clawing hands on her neck. Caramon shouted, but too late. Tika struck the guard with a backhand on the side of its reptilian face in the best barroom tradition.
Furious, the draconian hurled Tika to the street and raised its whip. Tas heard Caramon suck in his breath and the kender cringed, preparing himself for the end.
“Hey! Don’t damage her!” Caramon roared. “Unless you want to be held accountable. Lord Kitiara told us to get six silver pieces for her, and we won’t do it if she’s marked up!”
The draconian hesitated. Caramon was a prisoner, that was true. But the guards had all seen the welcome reception his friend had received from the Dark Lady. Did they dare take a chance on offending another man who might stand high in her favor? Apparently they decided not. Roughly dragging Tika to her feet, they shoved her forward.
Tasslehoff breathed a sigh of relief, then stole a worried peek back at Berem, thinking that the man had been very quiet. He was right. The Everman might have been in a different world. His eyes, wide open, were fixed in a strange stare. His mouth gaped, he almost appeared half-witted. At least he didn’t look like he was about to cause trouble. It seemed that Caramon was going to continue playing his role and that Tika would be all right. For the time being, no one needed him. Sighing in relief, Tas began to look with interest around the Temple compound, at least as well as he could with the draconian hanging onto his collar.
He was sorry he did. Neraka looked exactly like what it was—a small, ancient impoverished village built to serve those who inhabited the Temple, now overrun by the tent city that had sprouted up around it like fungus.
At the far end of the compound the Temple itself loomed over the city like a carrion bird of prey—its twisted, deformed, obscene structure seeming to dominate even the mountains on the horizon behind. Once anyone set foot in Neraka, his eyes went first to the Temple. After that, no matter where else he looked or what other business occupied him, the Temple was always there, even at night, even in his dreams.