“If you have any thought of freedom, of obtaining your soul’s wish to leave this world, you will answer me.”
When he did not, she clasped her hand around the medallion she wore at her throat.
“Just tell her!” Dalamar hissed at him. “What does it matter? A simple search of the kender will reveal that they don’t have the device. Save your defiance for something truly important.” Palin’s corpse shook its head.
Mina released her hold on the medallion. The kender, most of them protesting that they were too The Tasslehoff Burrfoot, were marched away.
Watching them go, Palin wondered how Tasslehoff—the real one—had managed to evade capture for so long. Mina and her God were both growing increasingly frustrated.
Tasslehoff and his device were the bedbugs keeping the Queen from having a really good night’s sleep. The knowledge of her vulnerability must nip at her constantly, for no matter how powerful she grew, the kender was out there when and where he should not be.
If anything happened to him—and what kender ever lived to a ripe old age?—Her Dark Majesty’s grand schemes and plans would come to naught. That might be a comforting thought, but for the fact that Krynn and its people would come to naught, as well.
“All the more reason to remain alive,” Dalamar stated with vehemence, speaking to Palin’s thoughts. “Once you join that river of death, you will drown and be forever at the mercy of the tide, as are those poor souls who are out there now. We still have a modicum of free will, as you just discovered. That is the flaw in the experiment, the flaw that Takhisis has yet to correct. She has never liked the concept of freedom, you know. Our ability to think and act for ourselves has always been her greatest enemy. Unless she somehow finds a way to deprive us of that, we must cling to our one strength, keep fast hold of it. Our chance will come, and we must be ready to seize it.”
Our chance or yours? Palin wondered. He was half-amused by Dalamar, half-angry at him, and on reflection, wholly ashamed of himself.
As usual, he thought, I’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for myself while my self-serving, ambitious colleague has been out and doing. No more. I will be just as selfish, just as ambitious as any two Dalamars. I may be lost in a foreign country, hobbled hand and foot, where no one speaks my language and they are all deaf, dumb, and blind to boot. Yet, some way, some how, I will find someone who sees me, who hears me, who understands me.
Your experiment will fail, Takhisis, Palin vowed. The experiment itself will see to that.
12
In the Presence of the God
The day Gerard spent in the cell was the worst day of his life. He hoped he would grow used to the smell, but that proved impossible, and he caught himself seriously wondering if breathing was actually worth it. The guards tossed food inside and brought buckets of water for drinking, but the water tasted like the smell, and he gagged as he swallowed. He was gloomily pleased to note that the day gaoler, who appeared none too intelligent, was, if possible, more harassed and confused than the night man.
Late in the afternoon, Gerard began to think that he’d miscalculated, that his plan wasn’t as good as he’d thought and that there was every possibility he would spend the rest of his life in this cell. He’d been caught by surprise when Mina had entered the cells, accompanying the kender. She was the last person he wanted to see. He kept his face hidden, remained crouched on the floor until she had gone.
After a few more hours, when it appeared that no one else was likely to come, Gerard was beginning to have second thoughts about this mission. Suppose no one came? He was reflecting that he wasn’t nearly as smart as he’d thought he was, when he heard a sound that improved his spirits immensely—the rattle of steel, the clank of a sword.
Prison guards carried clubs, not swords. Gerard leaped to his feet. Two members of the Dark Knights of Neraka entered the prison cells. They wore their helmets with the visors lowered (probably to keep out the smell), cuirasses over woolen shirts, leather breeches, and boots. They kept their swords sheathed but their hands on the hilts.
Immediately the prisoners set up a clamor, some demanding to be freed, others pleading to be able to talk to someone about the terrible mistake that had been made. The Dark Knights ignored them. They headed for the cell where the two mages sat staring at the walls, oblivious to the uproar.
Lunging forward, Gerard managed to thrust his arm between the bars and seize hold of the sleeve of one of the Dark Knights. The man whipped around. His companion drew his sword, and Gerard might have lost his hand had he not snatched it away.
“Captain Samuval!” Gerard shouted. “I must see Captain Samuval.” The Knight’s eyes were glints of light in the shadow of his helm. He lifted his visor to get a better view of Gerard.
“How do you know Captain Samuval?” he demanded.
“I’m one of you!” Gerard said desperately. “The Solamnics captured me and locked me up in here. I’ve been trying to convince the great oaf who runs this place to set me free, but he won’t listen. Just bring Captain Samuval here, will you? He’ll recognize me.” The Knight stared at Gerard a moment longer, then snapped his visor shut and walked over to the cell that held the mages. Gerard could do nothing more but hope that the man would tell someone, would not leave him here to die of the stink.
The Dark Knights escorted Palin and his fellow mage out of the cellblock. The prisoners fell back as the mages shuffled past, not wanting anything to do with them. The mages were gone for more than an hour. Gerard spent the time wondering if the Knight would tell someone. Hopefully, the name of Captain Samuval would spur the Knight to action.
The clanking of swords announced the Knights’ return. They deposited their catatonic charges back on their cots. Gerard hastened forward to try to talk to the Dark Knight again. The prisoners were banging on the cell bars and shrieking for the guards when the commotion suddenly ceased, some swallowing their cries so fast that they choked.
A minotaur entered the cells. The beast-man, who had the face of a bull made even more ferocious by the intelligent eyes that looked out of the mass of shaggy brown fur, was so tall that he was forced to walk with his head bowed to avoid raking his sharp horns against the low ceiling. He wore a leather harness that left bare his muscular torso. He was armed with numerous weapons, among them a heavy sword that Gerard doubted if he could have lifted with two hands. Gerard guessed rightly that the minotaur was coming to see him, and he didn’t know whether to be worried or thankful.
As the minotaur approached his cell, the other prisoners scrambled to see who could reach the back fastest. Gerard had the front of the cell all to himself. He tried desperately to remember the minotaur’s name, but it eluded him.
“Thank goodness, sir,” he said, making do. “I was beginning to think I’d rot in here. Where’s Captain Samuval?”
“He is where he is,” the minotaur rumbled. His small, bovine eyes fixed on Gerard. “What do you want with him?”
“I want him to vouch for me,” said Gerard. “He’ll remember me, I’m sure. You might remember me, too, sir. I was in your camp just prior to the attack on Solanthus. I had a prisoner—a female Solamnic Knight.”
“I remember,” said the minotaur. The eyes narrowed. “The Solamnic escaped. She had help. Yours.”
“No, sir, no!” Gerard protested indignantly. “You’ve got it all wrong! Whoever helped her, it wasn’t me. When I found out she was gone, I chased after her. I caught her, too, but we were close to the Solamnic lines. She shouted, and before I could shut her up”—he drew his hand across his throat—“the Solamnics came to her rescue. They took me prisoner, and I’ve been locked here ever since.”