Kitiara was thinking there might be some way around Ariakas’s refusal to attack the High Clerist’s Tower. He would be angry that she had disobeyed him, at first, but his rage would be mitigated by her victory. Better that than endure his fury after a defeat…
“Excellent,” said Ariakas smoothly. “I’m glad you like the plan, Kitiara, because I’ve decided to send you to ensnare Crownguard.”
His words came as a shock to both women. Iolanthe stared at him in amazement nearly as great as Kit’s.
“My lord,” Iolanthe protested, bristling, “you and I agreed that I should be the one—”
“My lord,” Kitiara spoke at the same time, her dark brows coming together in irritation, “I am commander of the Blue Wing. My place is with my troops—”
Ariakas was gratified. These two powerful women had been growing a bit too sure of themselves.
“I have changed my mind,” he said, his sharp tone cutting them both off. “Iolanthe, the Highlord is right. The knights are distrustful of magic and those who wield it—a fact I had not taken into consideration when I agreed you could go. Kitiara is a warrior and far better suited to this task. As for you, Highlord, your forces are dug in for the winter. You can afford to spend some time away from them.”
Kit turned away, determined to hide her disappointment. She walked over to stare out the window at the compound, where a group of prisoners, chained together at the ankle, was being lined up at the foot of a scaffold. Today was the day for hanging traitors. She watched dispassionately as the executioner placed the noose around the neck of a young man, who was groveling on his knees, protesting his innocence, begging for his life. The guards yanked him to his feet, put a bag over his head.
“Leave us, Iolanthe,” said Ariakas, after a pause. “I need to speak to the Highlord.”
Iolanthe cast Kitiara a baleful look, then took her leave, her silken garments flowing around her. She slammed shut the door behind her.
Kitiara had her feelings once more under control. “The lady was not pleased. I fear you will sleep in a cold bed this night, my lord.”
“No woman ever says ‘no’ to me, Kitiara,” Ariakas replied imperturbably. “You know that, and stop fingering that hidden blade of yours. I am convinced you are the one to handle this business with Crownguard. Once you have completed that assignment, which should not take you long, provided you handle it right—”
“I already have some ideas on that score, my lord,” said Kitiara.
“Good. After that, I want you to fly to Haven and report back to me on this chaotic situation in the Red Wing.”
Kitiara was about to argue against this, for she truly had no care about the Red Wing, when a sudden thought flashed through her mind. Haven was near Solace. A trip back to her old stomping grounds might prove most interesting.
“I am yours to command, my lord,” she said.
“After that, you will travel to Icereach. I do not trust this elf wizard. I find the fact that he has suddenly ‘remembered’ he has a dragon orb in his possession disturbing.”
Ariakas walked over to stand beside her. They both watched as the scaffold’s trap door opened and the young man dropped to his death. Unfortunately for him, the fall did not break his neck, and he writhed and twisted at the end of the noose for some time.
“Ah, a kicker,” remarked Ariakas, amused.
Kitiara watched until the body went still and hung twisting in the wind. Ariakas had more to say. She waited for him to say it.
“This is the main reason I am going along with Iolanthe’s plan for this knight to steal the dragon orb. I do not want it in the possession of Feal-Thas.”
“I could take it from him,” said Kitiara.
Ariakas cast her a cool glance. “I don’t want it in your possession either.”
Kitiara half-smiled. She watched in silence as the soldiers cut down the body and prepared the noose for the next man in line.
“That being said, I don’t want Feal-Thas to think I don’t trust him,” Ariakas continued. “He has his uses; I know of no one else I could convince to live in that frozen wasteland. You must be subtle in your dealings with him.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“As for the dragon orb, once I have no further use for this Crownguard, he will be disposed of and I will take the orb for myself. Don’t you see the genius of this plan?”
Kitiara saw the genius of her own plan to attack the High Clerist’s Tower. She sighed inwardly.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied dutifully. Outside in the compound, the guards were dragging the next man up the stairs. She turned away from the window. “Your lordship must give me written orders for Feal-Thas. He won’t believe me.”
“Of course. You will have them by morning. Stop by before you leave.”
“Do you know where I am to find Crownguard, my lord? I seem to recall destroying his castle some time ago…”
“According to my agents, he is on Sancrist Isle, residing at Castle Wistan. He leaves there to go back to Palanthas, however.”
Kitiara stared at Ariakas, incredulous. “That is enemy territory, my lord!”
“A dangerous mission, Kit,” Ariakas said imperturbably. “The reason I chose you.”
Kitiara had the feeling there were other reasons as well. Up until a few moments ago, he had planned on sending Iolanthe to Solamnia. Ariakas was not one to act on impulse. He had a good reason for making the switch. Kitiara wondered uneasily what it was. Had she given herself away? Did he guess she had been planning to disobey him and attack the Tower? She thought back to her words, her actions, and decided she had not. No, he must simply be annoyed at her for pressing him on the issue of the High Clerist’s Tower.
Their business concluded, Kitiara took her leave. The two parted, apparently on the best of terms.
“One thing I like about you, Kitiara,” Ariakas said to her as she was walking to the door. “You take defeat like a man. No sulking or pouting just because you don’t get your way. Keep me apprised of your progress.”
Kitiara was so absorbed in her thoughts when she left that she did not see the door to another room open a crack, nor did she see the bright violet eyes, touched with kohl and shadowed by long dark lashes, watching her.
Kit retrieved her sword and her boot knife from the ogres. Unlike Grag, her hands did not shake as she buckled on her sword belt, but she felt a similar sense of relief. Few left Ariakas’s presence alive without feeling relieved.
“Need the location of the nearest bar?” asked the ogre handing over her sword.
“Thanks, I already know it,” said Kitiara.
3
The Inn of the Broken Shield. Silver magic
Iolanthe waited until she saw Kitiara walking down the street, then returned to Ariakas.
He was seated at his desk, writing the promised dispatch. Iolanthe went over to him, put her hands on his broad shoulders and rubbed his neck.
“I could send for your scribe to do that, my lord—” “The fewer people who know of this, the better,” said Ariakas. He wrote rapidly in large block letters, so that there would be no mistaking his words.
Iolanthe, looking over his shoulder, saw that he was writing about the dragon orb.
“Why the change in plans, my lord?” Iolanthe asked. “Why send the Highlord to Solamnia and not me? We had this all arranged…”
“As I told Kitiara, she is better suited to the mission. She already has a plan in mind.”
“I have a feeling there is another reason, my lord.” Iolanthe slid her arms beneath his leather armor, ran her hands over his bare chest. He continued writing.
“The Highlord was concocting some scheme to countermand my orders and attack the High Clerist’s Tower.”
Iolanthe bent closer, so that her hair fell around him, and he could smell her perfume.
“What else?” she said softly.
“She gave in too quickly, especially when I mentioned sending her to Haven. She is keeping something from me,” said Ariakas. His voice had gone hard and grating.