A group of five human soldiers wearing the insignia of the Red Army had eyed her as she walked past the alley in which they were sharing a jug of dwarven spirits. They had called to her to come join them. When she had haughtily ignored them, two of the soldiers were inclined to take their chances and accost her. One, less drunk than the others, had recognized her as Ariakas’s Witch, and after some heated discussion, they had let her alone.
The very fact that they had insulted Ariakas’s mistress boded ill. In the early, glory days of the war, those soldiers would have never dared speak of Ariakas by name, much less make crude remarks about his prowess or offer to show her “what a real man” was like in bed. Iolanthe had not been in any danger from them. The soldiers would have been five greasy piles of ash in the street if they had attacked her. But she found it instructive to note the volatile mood of the troops. Dragon Highlord Kitiara would be interested to hear what she had to report. Iolanthe wondered if Kit had returned yet from Flotsam.
As Iolanthe and her draconian escort proceeded to enter the temple, Iolanthe told Commander Slith she had no idea where the Nightlord was to be found. The sivak said he would ask. Iolanthe liked the sivak. Oddly enough, she liked the draconian soldiers, whom most humans reviled as “lizardmen,” due to the fact that they had been created from the eggs of the good dragons. The draconians were far more disciplined than their human counterparts. They were far more intelligent than goblins and ogres and hobgoblins. They were excellent fighters. Some of them were skilled magic-users and would have made good commanders, but most humans looked down on them and refused to serve under them.
Slith was a sivak draconian. Born from the murdered young of a silver dragon, Slith had scales that were shining silver with black tips. He had silver-gray wings, which would carry him short distances, and he was a talented magic-user. He offered to remove the magical traps that Iolanthe herself had laid upon the hall; traps that emulated the various breath weapons of each of the five dragons to which each gate was dedicated. The trap she had placed on the Red Gate filled the hall with blazing fire that would immediately incinerate any being caught trespassing.
Iolanthe accepted. She could have removed the magic herself, but dispersing the spell required effort, and she wanted to reserve her strength to deal with whatever lay behind the mysterious summons.
Accompanied by the draconian, Iolanthe swept through the halls of the Dark Queen’s temple, her black cloak trimmed with black bear fur sweeping majestically behind her. She was wearing sumptuous, black velvet robes—a gift for passing her Test in the Tower from her mentor and teacher, Ladonna. The robes looked plain, but if one looked closely in certain lights (and knew what to look for), one could see runes traced in the fabric’s nap. The runes overlapped like chain mail with much the same effect; they would protect her from harm, either spell-based or an assassin’s dagger. The clerics of Takhisis were forbidden to use bladed weapons, but they were not forbidden from hiring those who could.
A dark pilgrim told the sivak that the Nightlord was in the Court of the Inquisitor, located in the dungeon level of the temple. Iolanthe had been in the dungeons, and they were not high on her list of places in Krynn to visit. The temple itself was horrid enough.
Built partially on the physical plane and partly within the Dark Queen’s realm of the Abyss, the temple was here and not there, there but not here. Unreality was real. Existence was nonexistent. One hesitated to sit in a chair for fear it wasn’t a chair or that it would move to the other side of the room or simply vanish. Halls that appeared to be short went on forever. Long corridors ended way too soon. Rooms seemed to move so nothing was where it had been previously.
Ariakas maintained chambers there, as did all the Dragon Highlords. None of them liked residing in the temple and rarely set foot in their apartments. Ariakas had once said he always heard Takhisis’s voice, hissing in his ear, Don’t grow too comfortable. You may be powerful, but don’t ever forget that I am your Queen.
It was no surprise that the Highlords preferred to sleep in the crude tents of their military camps or in a small room in the city’s inns, rather than the luxurious bedrooms in the Dark Queen’s temple. Ariakas had actually acquired his own mansion, the Red Mansion, in order to avoid having to entertain high-ranking guests in the temple.
Iolanthe wondered, not for the first time, how the clerics of Takhisis who resided there did not succumb to madness. Perhaps it was because they were all lunatics to begin with.
She was glad she had brought Commander Slith along, for she soon became hopelessly lost. The temple was busy at night. Iolanthe tried to shut her ears to the horrible sounds. The commander, being new to the temple himself, had to ask a dark pilgrim to escort them to the dungeon level. The pilgrim inclined her head. She did not speak and was silent and sepulchral as a wraith.
“I have been summoned by the Nightlord,” Iolanthe explained.
The dark pilgrim looked Iolanthe up and down. The pilgrim pursed her lips in disapproval but at last decided to deign to escort her.
“I heard there was trouble,” the woman said grimly.
She was tall and gaunt. All the dark pilgrims seemed to be either tall and gaunt or short and gaunt. Perhaps serving in the temple took away one’s appetite. Iolanthe knew it certainly did hers.
“What kind of trouble?” Iolanthe asked, startled. If there was trouble in the temple, why should the Nightlord summon her? Judging from the agonized screams of the tortured, he was quite capable of dealing with trouble on his own. “Why should it involve me?”
The pilgrim appeared to feel that she had said too much already. She clamped her lips shut.
“Creepy bastards, these pilgrims. Make my scales crawl,” said Slith.
“You should keep your voice down, Commander,” Iolanthe said quietly. “The walls have ears.”
“The walls have feet too. Have you noticed the spooky way they jump around?” said Slith. “I’ll be glad to get out of this place.”
Iolanthe heartily agreed.
The pilgrim led them to the Court of the Inquisitor. The pilgrim would not permit Slith to enter. He offered to wait outside for Iolanthe, but the pilgrim shook her head at even that, and he was forced to depart.
Iolanthe hated this place. She hated the dreadful sounds and awful sights and noxious smells that always filled her with a nameless terror. The dark pilgrim eyed her with a smug expression, hoping and expecting to see her give way to her fear. Iolanthe gathered up the skirt of her robes and swept past the woman and entered the Court of the Inquisitor.
The room was large and dark save for a shaft of harsh light that beamed down from some unknown source, forming a pool of light in the center. At the far end, the Nightlord sat on a raised, judicial-looking bench. The executioner, known as the Adjudicator, stood off to one side. Responsible for inflicting torture and performing executions, the Adjudicator was short and stocky and powerfully built. He had no neck to speak of and bulging arm muscles, which he was enormously proud of and liked to show off. Though he wore long, black robes, the same as the other clerics, he had removed the sleeves, the better to exhibit his biceps. Dark pilgrims, acting as guards, ranged around the room, keeping in the shadows.
Iolanthe entered cautiously, unable to see her way clearly, for the bright pool of light made the surrounding darkness that much darker.
The Nightlord could have prayed to his Queen and been given the power to fill the room with unholy light if he had chosen. He preferred to hold his court in the shadows. By placing the victim in the harsh light and leaving the rest of the room in darkness, he made his victim feel isolated, alone, exposed.