Tanis’s thoughts raced. Kitiara will trade her soul for that Crown. And as long as I hold it, she will be wine to command! I can save Laurana... we can escape together! Once we are safely out of here, I can explain things to Laurana, I can explain everything! I’ll draw my sword, but instead of placing it at Lord Ariakas’s feet, I will run it through him! Once the Crown is in my hand, no one will dare touch me!
Tanis found himself shaking with excitement. With an effort, he forced himself to calm down. He could not look at Ariakas, fearing the man might see his desperate plan in his eyes.
He kept his gaze upon the stairs, therefore, and he knew he was near Lord Ariakas only when he saw five steps remained between himself and the top of the platform. Tanis’s hand twitched upon the sword. Feeling himself under control, he raised his gaze to look into the man’s face and, for an instant, was almost unnerved at the evil revealed there. It was a face made passionless by ambition, a face that had seen the deaths of thousands of innocents as the means only to an end.
Ariakas had been watching Tanis with a bored expression, a smile of amused contempt on his face. Then he lost interest in the half-elf completely, having other matters to worry about. Tanis saw the man’s gaze go to Kitiara, pondering. Ariakas had the look of a player leaning across a game board, contemplating his next move, trying to guess what his opponent intends.
Filled with revulsion and hatred, Tanis began to slide the blade of his sword from its scabbard. Even if he failed in his attempt to save Laurana, even if they both died within these walls, at least he would accomplish some good in the world by killing the Commander of the Dragonarmies.
But as he heard Tanis draw his sword, Ariakas’s eyes flashed back to the half-elf once again. Their black stare penetrated Tanis’s soul. He felt the man’s tremendous power overwhelm him, hitting him like a blast of heat from a furnace. And then realization struck Tanis a blow almost physical in its impact, nearly causing him to stagger on the stairs.
That aura of power surrounding him . . . Ariakas was a magic-user!
Blind stupid fool! Tanis cursed himself. For now, as he drew nearer, he saw a shimmering wall surrounding the Lord. Of course, that’s why there were no guards! Among this crowd, Ariakas would trust no one. He would use his own magic to guard himself!
And he was on his guard, now. That much Tanis could read clearly in the cold, passionless eyes.
The half-elf’s shoulders slumped. He was defeated.
And then, “Strike, Tanis! Do not fear his magic! I will aid you!”
The voice was no more than a whisper, yet so clear and so intense, Tanis could practically feel hot breath touch his ear. His hair raised on the back of his neck, a shudder convulsed his body.
Shivering, he glanced hastily around. There was no one near him, no one except Ariakas! He was only three steps away, scowling, obviously anxious for this ceremony to come to an end. Seeing Tanis hesitate, Ariakas made a peremptory motion for the half-elf to lay his sword at his feet.
Who had spoken? Suddenly Tanis’s eyes were caught by the sight of a figure standing near the Queen of Darkness. Robed in black, it had escaped his notice before. Now he stared at it, thinking it seemed familiar. Had the voice come from that figure? If so, the figure made no sign or movement. What should he do? he wondered frantically.
“Strike, Tanis!” whispered once more in his brain. “Swiftly!”
Sweating, his hand shaking, Tanis slowly drew his sword. He was level with Ariakas now. The shimmering wall of the Lord’s magic surrounded him like a rainbow glittering off sparkling water.
I have no choice, Tanis said to himself. If it is a trap, so be it. I choose this way to die.
Feigning to kneel, holding his sword hilt—first to lay it upon the marble platform, Tanis suddenly reversed his stroke. Turning it into a killing blow, he lunged for Ariakas’s heart.
Tanis expected to die. Gritting his teeth as he struck, he braced himself for the magic shield to wither him like a tree struck by lightning.
And lightning did strike, but not him! To his amazement, the rainbow wall exploded, his sword penetrated. He felt it hit solid flesh. A fierce cry of pain and outrage nearly deafened him.
Ariakas staggered backwards as the sword blade slid into his chest. A lesser man would have died from that blow, but Ariakas’s strength and anger held Death at bay. His face twisted in hatred, he struck Tanis across the face, sending him reeling to the floor of the platform.
Pain burst in Tanis’s head. Dimly, he saw his sword fall beside him, red with blood. For a moment, he thought he was going to lose consciousness and that would mean his death, his death and Laurana’s. Groggily he shook his head to clear it. He must hang on! He must gain the Crown! Looking up, he saw Ariakas looming above him, hands lifted, prepared to cast a spell that would end Tanis’s life.
Tanis could do nothing. He had no protection against the magic and somehow he knew that his unseen helper would help no more. It had already achieved what it desired.
But powerful as Ariakas was, there was a greater power he could not conquer. He choked, his mind wavered, the words of magic spell were lost in a terrible pain. Looking down, he saw his own blood stain the purple robes, the stain grew larger and larger with each passing moment as his life poured from his severed heart. Death was coming to claim him. He could stave it off no longer. Desperately Ariakas battled the darkness, crying out at the last to his Dark Queen for help.
But she abandoned weaklings. As she had watched Ariakas strike down his father, so she watched Ariakas himself fall, her name the last sound to pass his lips.
There was uneasy silence in the Hall of Audience as Ariakas’s body tumbled to the floor. The Crown of Power fell from his head with a clatter and lay within a tangle of blood and thick, black hair.
Who would claim it?
There was a piercing scream. Kitiara called out a name, called to someone.
Tanis could not understand. He didn’t care anyway. He stretched out his hand for the Crown.
Suddenly a figure in black armor materialized before him.
Lord Soth!
Fighting down a feeling of sheer panic and terror, Tanis kept his mind focused on one thing. The Crown was only inches beyond his fingers. Desperately he lunged for it. Thankfully he felt the cold metal bite into his flesh just as another hand—a skeletal hand—made a grab for it, too.
It was his! Soth’s burning eyes flared. The skeletal hand reached out to wrest the prize away. Tanis could hear Kitiara’s voice, shrieking incoherent commands.
But as he lifted the blood-stained piece of metal above his head, as his eyes fixed unafraid upon Lord Soth, the hushed silence in the Hall was split by the sound of horns, harsh blaring horns.
Lord Soth’s hand paused in mid-air, Kitiara’s voice fell suddenly silent.
There was a subdued, ominous murmur from the crowd. For an instant, Tanis’s pain-clouded mind thought the horns might be sounding in his honor. But then, turning his head to peer dimly into the Hall, he saw faces glancing around in alarm. Everyone—even Kitiara—looked at the Dark Queen.
Her Dark Majesty’s shadowy eyes had been on Tanis, but now their gaze was abstracted. Her shadow grew and intensified, spreading through the Hall like a dark cloud. Reacting to some unspoken command, draconians wearing her black insignia ran from their posts around the edge of the Hall and disappeared through the doors. The black-robed figure Tanis had seen standing beside the Queen vanished.
And still the horns blared. Holding the Crown in his hand, Tanis stared down at it numbly. Twice before, the harsh blaring of the horns had brought death and destruction. What was the terrible portent of the dread music this time?
10
“Whoever Wears the Crown, Rules.”