Call on her name in a cause that pleases her, and the great fury of her vengeance will be revealed in your hand.
"Well, Queen," he muttered. "If ever I've had a dire need, this is it!" He brandished the sword, not sure what to expect. A sneaking Zhakar hacked a deep cut into his thigh, and he shouted in pain. Blood trickled down his leg, and Ariakas wanted to slump back to the wall. Only the knowledge of Ferros Windchisel's inevitable fate kept him on his feet.
Snarling his frustration, Ariakas swung the weapon hard enough to decapitate the Zhakar who had wounded him. "Please, Mistress!" he cried, in real desperation. "In the name of Takhisis, all-powerful Queen of Darkness, please come to my aid!"
The hilt trembled in his hand, groaning with a sound reminiscent of the crushing avalanches he had heard throughout the winter. A deep rumbling shook the very foundations of the inn. Even the Zhakar sensed the dis shy;turbance, ceasing their attacks and falling silent in suspi shy;cion and fear.
Abruptly, a blast of cold air slashed him in the face, and a noise like a howling blizzard shrieked through the Fungus Mug. Wind eddied and swirled, driving stinging needles of ice against Ariakas-but that was nothing compared to the fate of those who stood at the other end of his sword. An explosive cone of murderous frost swept outward, freezing flesh and blood, slaying dozens of shocked, terrified Zhakar in the instant of its assault. Whirlwinds gusted through the room, sweeping over tables and chairs, frosting clothing and skin into brittle sheets of ice. Across the room, shutters erupted outward, and the howling of wind rose.
In panic, the surviving Zhakar ran screaming away from this nightmarish warrior and his deadly weapon. Ariakas looked for Tale Splintersteel in the crush, but he could see no sign of the dwarven merchant-lord. Their business was not concluded yet.
As a wide circle opened around him, Ariakas seized Ferros under one shoulder and roughly lifted the Hylar to his feet. Supporting his injured companion in one hand and brandishing the blade in the other, the man slowly dragged them both from the Fungus Mug. Dur shy;ing his deliberate advance to the door, none of the Zhakar made a move against him, perhaps because fully a quarter of the bar was filled with frozen dwarf statues, mute reminders of the price of resistance. The rest had been frozen by fear.
Finally, the pair tumbled across the threshold and into the alleyway beyond. A crowd had gathered, but these humans and Zhakar quickly parted as Ariakas, growling as he breathed, half carried Ferros away from the Fungus Mug. He stopped for a moment, realizing that he still bore his sword. As he moved to resheath the weapon, Ariakas looked at his sword and nearly dropped the dwarf in his astonishment.
The gleaming blade, once pure white, had changed to an absolutely unblemished sheen of darkest, inky black.
Chapter 13
Ariakas supported Ferros as they stumbled down the alley, but the dwarf quickly slumped, a dead weight. The human lost his balance, and the pair tumbled into the wet gutter, blood from their wounds mingling with the effluence of the street.
"Thanks, warrior," grunted the dwarf, each word pushed forth with audible effort.
"Shut up," Ariakas groaned back. "Save your strength — I'm not gonna have you die after I went to all that trouble on your behalf."
" 'Fraid you're outta luck-that bastard stuck me pretty good." Ferros lifted his hands from his belly. Both palms were smeared with dark, sticky blood.
"Hang on," Ariakas commanded him. Pushing him shy;self upward with his hands he reached his knees, and then laboriously climbed to his feet. His left leg and both arms throbbed from nasty wounds, though the bleeding had subsided somewhat.
Reaching for the dwarf, he hoisted Ferros to a sitting position. "Hold that wound tight," he instructed.
"What d'you think yer doing?" demanded Ferros, with spirit.
"Shut up," Ariakas repeated. Kneeling, he grasped the dwarf and hoisted him over his back. Ferros grunted in irritated surprise, but kept his hands tightly pressed to the hole in his belly.
Stumbling like a drunkard, Ariakas struggled to retain his balance. He knew that if he were to fall he would never get up again-at least, not with Ferros on his back. Slowly at first, then with greater steadiness and delibera shy;tion, the human carried the dwarf to the end of the alley and turned onto Bridge Road. He didn't make for his house, however. Instead, his steps carried him up the long, climbing road to the temple of Luerkhisis.
He had no recollection of how long it took him to make that long hike, which had winded him the previ shy;ous night when he walked it uninjured and unburdened. In the lower, crowded portions of the city, bystanders took one look at the lines of furious determination etched in the warrior's face, and hastened to get out of the way.
He reached the lonely stretch of road and made his way under the early glow of crimson Lunitari, which had just risen over the shoulder of the volcano. Still he plodded forward, his mind blank, a trance of exertion propelling him through the repetitive steps.
Only when he at last reached the vast, dark snout of the temple did his awareness return. He didn't hesitate at all, marching right into one of the veils of blackness. Suppressing a shudder as the magical dark engulfed him, he continued resolutely forward until he emerged into the great, lamplit central hall.
Novices and priestesses hurried toward him from all directions as he gently lowered Ferros Windchisel to the floor. The dwarf's eyes were closed, and his skin-where it showed between beard and scalp hair-had faded to a pasty gray. Still, the warrior felt a trace of a heartbeat, and the Hylar held his hands clenched determinedly over his wound.
"Lord Ariakas! What's the matter?"
Ariakas looked up, grateful to hear his name. He rec shy;ognized one of the mature young priestesses from his tour of the temple-she was a green-collar who had been leading a discussion class.
"We need the high priest! Show me to a private cham shy;ber, and get this dwarf carried there-but go easy on him! It's bad. And send someone for Wryllish Parkane- immediately]"
He felt a jolt of cruel satisfaction at the fear that flick shy;ered across the young woman's face. "Take them to the meditation rooms!" she barked at the novices, then turned and bowed to Ariakas with full composure. "I'll get the high priest myself!" She spun and raced off through the hall.
Six strapping novices gingerly lifted the dwarf and carried him through a door at one end of the great hall. Aria.kas, unaware any longer of his own weariness or pain, followed them into a hallway leading to many smaller rooms. The young priests carried Ferros into one of these, laying him carefully onto a low bed against one wall.
Before the warrior could kneel beside the dwarf, Wryl shy;lish Parkane hurried into the room, still tying the knot on his belt. Gesturing the novices to leave, the high priest turned to Ariakas.
"I came as soon as I could-you brought a dwarf, Derillyth said!"
"He's badly wounded," Ariakas said peremptorily. "Help him!"
The priest approached Ferros Windchisel doubtfully. "He doesn't look like a Zhakar…."
"By the Abyss, man-he's not Zhakar! Who said he was? Just help him, before it's too late!"
"Look here, my good Lord Ariakas," objected Wryllish. "You were to investigate the Zhakar. And when I heard you'd brought a dwarf here, I naturally thought-"
"Damn your thoughts!" snarled the warrior. "I went to those accursed dwarves and this is the result of my attempts! The Zhakar are the nastiest, most murderous bunch of little swamp leeches I've ever seen in my life!"
"You antagonized them?" inquired Wryllish Parkane, disapprovingly. "But we need-"
"Listen to me." Ariakas lowered his voice, but his grim determination carried through the level tones. "If you let this dwarf die, his won't be the only corpse I leave behind when I depart this temple. Now, get busy."