Two enormous, armor-clad ogres, the largest ogres Raistlin had ever seen, stood guard at the door to Ariakas’s office. Raistlin was not one to be impressed, but the thought came to him that their armor alone probably weighed twice as much as he did. The ogres knew and obviously admired Iolanthe, for their hairy faces split into smiles when they saw her. They were still professional in their treatment of her, asking her to remove any pouches she was wearing.
Iolanthe stated that she wasn’t wearing any pouches, as they well knew. She then raised her arms, inviting them to search her body for weapons.
“Which of you won the coin toss today?” she asked teasingly.
One of the ogres grinned, then ran his hands over her. The ogre was obviously enjoying his task, but Raistlin noted that the ogre was nevertheless professional and thorough. The bodyguard was well aware of the terrible fate that would befall him if someone pulled a knife on his commander.
The ogre cleared Iolanthe and turned to Raistlin. Iolanthe had warned him in advance that no wizard was allowed to bring any sort of spell component or magical staff into the room, and he had left his pouches and staff back in the Tower. The pouch containing the marbles and the dragon orb had long before been safely secreted in a bag of weevil-infested flour.
The ogres searched him and, finding nothing, told him he could enter.
Iolanthe ushered him through the door, but she did not go in herself. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll be in the next room, eavesdropping.” He had the feeling she wasn’t kidding.
Raistlin entered a small, sparsely furnished room. Maps adorned the wall. A window looked out onto a courtyard, where draconian troops were practicing maneuvers.
Ariakas was much less formally dressed than when Raistlin had encountered him in the palace. The day was warm with a hint of spring in the air that made it almost breathable. Ariakas had taken off his cape and tossed it on a chair. He wore a leather vest of fine quality. He smelled of leather and sweat, and Raistlin was again reminded unpleasantly of Caramon.
The Emperor was engaged in reading dispatches, and he gave no sign that he was even aware Raistlin was in the room. He did not offer him a chair. Raistlin stood, waiting, his hands folded in the sleeves of his robes, until the great man should deign to notice him.
At last, Ariakas put down the dispatch. “Sit.” He indicated a chair near his desk.
Raistlin obeyed. He said nothing, but waited in silence to hear why he had been summoned. He was certain it would be for some insignificant, boring assignment, and he was already preparing to turn it down.
Ariakas stared at him rudely a moment then said, “Damn, but you’re ugly Iolanthe tells me your skin disease is the result of your Test.”
Raistlin stiffened in anger. He made no response beyond a cold nod, or so he thought. Apparently he’d been wrong, for Ariakas grinned.
“Ah, now I see your sister in you. That glint in your eyes. I’ve seen it in hers, and I know what it means: you’d just as soon stick a knife in my gut as not. Or in your case, you’d roast me with a fireball.”
Raistlin kept silent.
“Speaking of your sister and knives,” Ariakas said amiably, continuing his thought. “I want you to do a job for me. Kitiara is up to something, along with that death knight of hers, and I want to know what.”
Raistlin was startled. Talent Orren had used almost those very same words in regard to Kit. He had not put much stock in Orren’s claim that Kit was working on some secret assignment. After Ariakas mentioned it, he began to think that perhaps there was something to it and wondered what his sister was plotting.
Raistlin did not like the way Ariakas was staring at him. It might be what it appeared to be on the face of it—a request to spy on his sister. Or it might be an attempt to find out if Raistlin was involved. He was in dangerous waters, and he had to tread carefully.
“As I told Your Imperial Majesty,” Raistlin said, “I have not seen my half sister, Kitiara, in some time, nor have I had any contact with her—”
“Tell it to someone who gives a rat’s ass,” said Ariakas, cutting him off impatiently. “You are going to contact her. You are going to go pay her a brotherly visit. You’re going to find out what she and the accursed death knight are doing, and you’re going to report back to me. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Raistlin evenly.
“That’s all,” said Ariakas, gesturing in dismissal. “Iolanthe will take you to Dargaard Keep. She has some sort of magical spell that she uses to transport herself. She will assist you.”
Raistlin felt demeaned. “I do not require her assistance, lord. I am quite capable of traveling using my own magic.”
Ariakas picked up a dispatch and affected to be reading it. “You wouldn’t happen to be using a dragon orb to do that, would you?” he asked offhandedly.
He had set the trap so neatly, asked the question so smoothly, that Raistlin very nearly fell into it. He caught himself at the last moment and managed to speak calmly and, he trusted, with conviction.
“I am sorry, lord, but I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Ariakas raised his eyes and gave him a piercing look; then he glanced back at the dispatch and summoned his guards.
The ogres opened the door and waited for Raistlin. He was sweating, shaking from the encounter. Yet he’d be damned if he was going to be dismissed like just one more sycophant.
“I beg your pardon, your lordship,” said Raistlin, his heart beating fast, the blood rushing in his ears. “But we have yet to discuss what I am to be paid for my services.”
“How about I don’t slit your damn impertinent throat,” said Ariakas.
Raistlin smiled faintly. “The job is dangerous, lord. We both know Kitiara. We both know what she would do to me if she found out I was sent there to spy on her. My pay should be commensurate with the risk I am running.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ariakas glowered at Raistlin. “I give you the chance to serve your Queen, and you haggle with me like some damn fishwife. I should strike you dead where you stand!”
Raistlin realized he’d gone too far, and he cursed himself for being a bloody fool. He had no spell components, but one of his commanders, back when he’d been a mercenary, had taught him to cast spells without the use of components. A wizard had to be desperate to try it. Raistlin considered that desperate was the word for what he was feeling. He brought a spell to mind—
“One hundred steel,” said Ariakas.
Raistlin blinked and opened his mouth.
“If you dare demand more,” Ariakas added, his dark eyes glinting, “I will melt that golden skin of yours into coins and pay you with that. Now get out!”
Raistlin left with alacrity. He glanced around for Iolanthe and, not seeing her, did not think it would be wise to wait around for the wizardess. He was halfway down the street when she caught up with him, and he nearly jumped out of his robes when he felt her touch.
“You must have a death wish!” Iolanthe again clasped his arm, much to his annoyance. “What were you thinking? You nearly got us both killed. He is furious at me now, blames me for your ‘damned cheek.’ He could have killed you. He’s killed men for less. I hope that was worth one hundred steel.”
“I didn’t do it for the steel,” Raistlin said. “Ariakas can throw his steel in the Blood Sea for all I care.”
“Then why risk it?”
Why, indeed? Raistlin pondered the question.
“I’ll tell you why,” Iolanthe answered for him. “You’re always having to prove yourself. No one can be taller than you. If they are, you cut them off at the knees. Someday someone’s going to cut you off.”
Iolanthe shook her head. “People tend to think that because Ariakas is strong he is slow-witted. When they find out they’re wrong, it’s too late.”