“Leave it!” Caramon ordered, and Tas stood up.
Guttural voices could be heard above them, feet scraping and clawing down the stairs. The hobgoblin had reached the stairs and was waving his hands frantically and pointing back at them. His own shouts rose above the noise of the descending troops.
Caramon, sword in hand, glanced uncertainly at the stairs, then down the northern corridor after Berem.
“That’s right! Follow Berem, Caramon,” Tika said urgently. “Go with him! Don’t you see? ‘She’s calling me,’ he said. It’s his sister’s voice! He can hear her calling to him. That’s why he went crazy.”
“Yes ...” Caramon said in a daze, staring down the corridor. He could hear the draconians plunging down the winding stairs, armor rattling, swords scraping against the stone walls. They had only seconds. “Come on—”
Tika grasped Caramon by the arm. Digging her nails into his flesh, she forced him to look at her, her red curls a mass of flaming color in the flickering torchlight.
“No!” she said firmly. “They’ll catch him for certain and then it will be the end! I’ve got a plan. We must split up. Tas and I will draw them off. We’ll give you time. It’ll be all right, Caramon,” she persisted, seeing him shake his head. “There’s another corridor that leads east. I saw it as we came in. They’ll chase us down that way. Now, hurry, before they see you!”
Caramon hesitated, his face twisted in agony.
“This is the end, Caramon!” Tika said. “For good or for evil. You must go with him! You must help him reach her! Hurry, Caramon! You’re the only one strong enough to protect him. He needs you!”
Tika actually shoved the big man. Caramon took a step, then looked back at her.
“Tika . . .” he began, trying to think of some argument against this wild scheme. But before he could finish, Tika kissed him swiftly and—grabbing a sword from a dead draconian—ran from the jail cell.
“I’ll take care of her, Caramon!” Tas promised, dashing after Tika, his pouches bouncing wildly all around him.
Caramon stared after them a moment. The hobgoblin jailor shrieked in terror as Tika ran straight for the creature, brandishing her sword. The jailor made a wild grab for her, but Tika hacked at him so ferociously that the hobgoblin fell dead with a gurgling scream, his throat cut.
Ignoring the body that slumped to the floor, Tika hurried down the corridor, heading east.
Tasslehoff, right behind her, took a moment to stop at the bottom of the stair. The draconians were visible now, and Caramon could hear the kender’s shrill voice shouting taunts at the guards.
“Dog-eaters! Slime-blooded goblin-lovers!”
Then Tas was off, dashing after Tika who had vanished from Caramon’s sight. The enraged draconians—driven wild by the kender’s taunts and the sight of their prisoners escaping—did not take time to look around. They charged after the fleet-footed kender, their curved swords gleaming, their long tongues flicking in anticipation of the kill.
Within moments, Caramon found himself alone. He hesitated another precious minute, staring into the thick darkness of the gloomy cells. He could see nothing. The only thing he could hear was Tas’s voice yelling ‘dog-eaters.’ Then there was silence.
“I’m alone...” thought Caramon bleakly. “I’ve lost them ... lost them all. I must go after them.” He started toward the stairs, then stopped. “No, there’s Berem. He’s alone, too. Tika’s right. He needs me now. He needs me.”
His mind clear at last, Caramon turned and ran clumsily down the northern corridor after the Everman.
8
Queen of Darkness.
“Dragon Highlord Toede.” Lord Ariakas listened with lazy contempt to the calling of the role. Not that he was bored with the proceedings. Quite the contrary. Assembling the Grand Council had not been his idea. He had, in fact, opposed it. But he had been careful not to oppose it too vehemently. That might have made him appear weak; and Her Dark Majesty did not allow weaklings to live. No, this Grand Council would be anything but boring...
At the thought of his Dark Queen, he half-turned and glanced swiftly up into the alcove above him. The largest and most magnificent in the Hall, its great throne remained empty still, the gate that led into it lost in the living, breathing darkness. No stairs ran up to that throne. The gate itself provided the only entrance and exit. And as to where the gate led—well, it was best not to think of such things. Needless to say, no mortal had passed beyond its iron grillwork.
The Queen had not yet arrived. He was not surprised. These opening proceedings were beneath her. Ariakas hunched back in his throne. His gaze went—appropriately enough, he thought bitterly—from the throne of the Dark Queen to the throne of the Dark Lady. Kitiara was here, of course. This was her moment of triumph—so she thought. Ariakas breathed a curse upon her.
“Let her do her worst,” he murmured, only half-listening as the sergeant repeated the name of Lord Toede once more. “I am prepared.”
Ariakas suddenly realized something was amiss. What? What was happening? Lost in his thoughts, he had paid no attention to the proceedings. What was wrong? Silence ... a dreadful silence that followed . . . what? He cast about in his mind, trying to recall what had just been said. Then he remembered and came back from his dark thoughts to stare grimly at the second throne to his left. The troops in the hall, mostly draconian, heaved and swayed like a sea of death below him as all eyes shifted to the same throne.
Though the draconian troops belonging to Lord Toede were present, their banners mingling with the banners of the other draconians standing at attention in the center of the Hall of Audience, the throne itself was empty.
Tanis, from where he stood upon the steps of Kitiara’s platform, followed Ariakas’s gaze, stern and cold beneath the crown. The half-elf’s ears had pricked at the sound of Toede’s name. An image of the hobgoblin came swiftly to his mind as he had seen him standing in the dust of the road to Solace. The vision brought back thoughts of that warm autumn day that had seen the beginning of this long, dark journey. It brought back memories of Flint and Sturm...—Tanis gritted his teeth and forced himself to concentrate on what was happening. The past was over, finished, and—he hoped fervently—soon forgotten.
“Lord Toede?” Ariakas repeated in anger. The troops in the Hall muttered among themselves. Never before had a Highlord disobeyed a command to attend the Grand Council.
A human dragonarmy officer climbed the stairs leading to the empty platform. Standing on the top step (protocol forbade him proceeding higher), he stammered a moment in terror, facing those black eyes and—worse—the shadowy alcove above Ariakas’s throne. Then, taking a breath, he began his report.
“I-I regret to inform His Lordship and Her D-Dark Majesty"—a nervous glance at the shadowy alcove that was, apparently, still vacant—"that Dragon Highlord To—uh, Toede has met an unfortunate and untimely demise.”
Standing on the top step of the platform where Kitiara sat enthroned, Tanis heard a snort of derision from behind Kit’s dragonhelm. An amused titter ran through the crowd below him while dragonarmy officers exchanged knowing glances.
Lord Ariakas was not amused, however. “Who dared slay a Dragon Highlord?” he demanded furiously, and at the sound of his voice—and the portent of his words—the crowd fell silent.
“It was in K-Kenderhome, lord,” the officer replied, his voice echoing in the vast marble chamber. The officer paused. Even from this distance, Tanis could see the man’s fist clenching and unclenching nervously. He obviously had further bad news to impart and was reluctant to continue.
Ariakas glowered at the officer. Clearing his throat, the man lifted his voice again.
“I regret to report, lord, that Kenderhome has been—” For a moment the man’s voice gave out completely. Only by a valiant effort did he manage to continue. "—lost.”