“You never liked me,” said Raistlin. “You never trusted me. Yet you were good to me, Flint. I cannot save your life. But I can ease the pain of dying, give you time to say good-bye.”
Raistlin reached into his pouch and drew out a small vial containing juice distilled from poppy seeds. He poured a few drops into the dwarf’s mouth. The lines of pain eased. Flint’s eyes opened.
As his friends gathered around Flint to say good-bye, Raistlin was there with them, though none of them ever knew it. He told himself more than once that he should leave, that he had work to do, that his ambitious plans for his future hung in the balance. But he remained with his friends and his brother.
Raistlin stayed until Flint sighed and closed his eyes and the last breath left the dwarf’s body. Raistlin chanted the magic beneath his breath. The corridor opened before him.
He walked into it and did not look back.
12
Kitiara’s Knife. Par-Salian’s Sword.
Kitiara reached Neraka early on the morning of the twenty-fifth, fearing she was late for the council meeting, only to find that Ariakas himself had not yet arrived. The plans for the meeting were thrown into confusion, for none of the other Highlords or their armies could enter the city ahead of the Emperor. Ariakas did not trust his fellow Highlords. If they were allowed inside Neraka, they might shut its gates and fill its walls with warriors and try to keep him out.
Kitiara had been expecting to move into her luxurious quarters in the temple. Instead, she was forced to camp outside the city walls, living in a tent that was so small and cramped, she could not pace about, as she was wont to do when she needed to think.
Kitiara was in a foul mood. She was still suffering a headache from where she’d hit her head on the stone floor of the vault. She was glad for the excuse to leave Dargaard Keep. Though she felt like crap, she had summoned Skie and flown to join her army. The thought of challenging Ariakas for the Crown of Power had eased the pain in her head. But she had arrived here only to discover that no one knew where Ariakas was or when he would deign to grace them with his presence. And that left Kitiara nothing to do except fume and complain to her aide-de-camp, a bozak draconian named Gakhan.
“Ariakas is doing this deliberately to unsettle the rest of us,” Kitiara muttered. She was sitting hunched over a small table, her head in her hands, massaging her throbbing temples. “He’s trying to intimidate us, Gakhan, and I won’t stand for it.”
Gakhan made a noise, a kind of snort and sneer. The bozak grinned, his tongue flicked out of his mouth.
Kitiara raised her head and looked at him sharply. “You’ve heard something. What’s going on?”
Gakhan had been with Kitiara since before the beginning of the war. Though officially known as her aide-de-camp, his unofficial title was Kitiara’s Knife. Gakhan was loyal to Kitiara and to his Queen, in that order. Some said he was in love with the Blue Lady, though they were always careful to say that behind his back, never to his face. The bozak was smart, secretive, resourceful, and extremely dangerous. He had earned his nickname.
Gakhan glanced out the tent flap, then drew it shut and tied it securely. He leaned over Kitiara and spoke softly, “My lord Ariakas is late because he was wounded. He very nearly died.”
Kitiara stared at the bozak. “What? How?”
“Keep your voice down, my lord,” the draconian said solemnly. “News like this, should it leak out, might embolden the Emperor’s enemies.”
“Yes, of course, you are right,” said Kit with equal solemnity. “Do you trust your source for this … um … disturbing information?” “Completely,” said Gakhan.
Kitiara smiled. “I need details. Ariakas has not been in battle lately, so I assume someone tried to assassinate him.” “And very nearly succeeded.”
“Who was it?”
Gakhan paused to build the suspense, then said with a grin, “His witch!”
“Iolanthe?” Kitiara said loudly, forgetting in her astonishment that she was supposed to be circumspect.
Gakhan cast her a warning glance, and Kit lowered her voice. “When did this happen?”
“The Night of the Eye, my lord.”
“But that’s not possible. Iolanthe died that night.” Kitiara gestured to some dispatches. “I have the reports—”
“Fabricated, my lord. It seems that Talent Orren—”
Kitiara glared at him. “Orren? What does he have to do with this? I want to know about Iolanthe.”
Gakhan bowed. “If you will be patient, my lord. It seems that Orren found out about the plot to kill him and his fellow members of Hidden Light. He sent word around among the troops that the Church was going to try to ‘clean up’ the city of Neraka. Orders had been given to burn the Broken Shield and the Hairy Troll. Naturally, the soldiers were not pleased. When the death squads arrived to carry out their orders, they found armed soldiers guarding the taverns. Orren and his friends escaped.”
“What has this to do with Iolanthe?” Kit demanded impatiently.
“She is a member of Hidden Light.”
Kitiara stared. “That’s impossible. She saved my life!”
“I believe she had some thought of serving you at the time, my lord. She grew disenchanted with you, however, after you wanted to take away the magic. She had been doing odd jobs for Orren. The two became lovers, and she threw in her lot with him.”
“So how does Ariakas fit into this?” Kit asked, confused.
“The Emperor wanted the dragon orb your brother has in his possession. Ariakas saved Iolanthe from the death squads, though not from love. He told her that if she valued her own life, she would have to kill Raistlin. Ariakas went with her to make certain she did as she was told and to obtain the dragon orb.”
“But Iolanthe, instead of attacking Raistlin, turned on Ariakas,” said Kitiara.
“I am told that if it were not for the intervention of the Nightlord, at the behest of Her Dark Majesty, the Emperor would have died of frostbite.”
Kitiara threw back her head and laughed.
Gakhan permitted himself a smile and a flick of his tail, but that was all.
“Has Ariakas thawed out?” asked Kitiara, still chuckling.
“The Emperor has been restored to health, my lord. He will arrive in Neraka tomorrow.”
“What happened to Iolanthe?”
“She fled, my lord. She left Neraka with Orren and the rest of Hidden Light.”
“It’s a shame I underestimated her.” Kitiara shook her head. “I could have used her. What about Raistlin?”
“He has vanished, my lord. It is assumed he also left Neraka, though no one knows where he went. Not that it matters,” said Gakhan with a shrug. “He is a marked man. The Emperor wants him dead. Queen Takhisis wants him dead. The Nightlord wants him dead. If Raistlin Majere is still in Neraka, he is a monumental fool.”
“And whatever my brother is, he was never that. Thank you for the information, Gakhan. I must think about all of this,” said Kitiara.
The bozak bowed and departed. One of the aides came in to light a lantern, for night had fallen, and ask her if she wanted supper. Kit ordered him to leave.
“Post a guard outside. No one is to disturb me this night.”
Kitiara sat staring at the flickering flame of the candle, seeing Ariakas’s brutish face. He believed she was conspiring against him.
Well, she was.
And he had no one to blame but himself. He had always encouraged rivalry among his Highlords. The knowledge that each Highlord was in danger of being replaced by a rival kept them all on their toes. The flaw in that was that some Highlord might decide to slit another Highlord’s throat and that throat could be Ariakas’s.
Ariakas distrusted all his Highlords, but he distrusted her the most. Kitiara was popular among her forces, far more popular with her troops than Ariakas was with his. She saw to it that her soldiers were paid. Most important, Kitiara was looked upon with favor by the Dark Queen, who was not viewing Ariakas fondly those days. He had made too many mistakes.