"Why Ferros Windchisel, then?" demanded Ariakas. "You called him an 'affront' to you! He was ready to greet you with friendship, and you ordered us killed!"
"That is a matter between dwarves," Splintersteel said. "I offer my apologies that you were involved."
"Your apology is accepted," Ariakas added. "With the notation that I won't hesitate to use my sword if you try anything treacherous."
"Ah, that sword," mused the Zhakar. Ariakas thought the eyes flashed heatedly in the depths of that robe. "I have spent my life around weapons-making them, sell shy;ing them. Even, upon occasion, using them. Yet never have I seen a blade as potent as that."
"It serves me well," Ariakas allowed, suspiciously. He cast a quick glance behind and saw that nothing moved among the shadows below the War Monument. "I hope you didn't ask for this meeting to talk about my sword," he added.
"Only in part. As I told you, I'm an admirer of splen shy;did weapons-and yours is the most magnificent I have ever seen. It is natural to desire another look at it. How shy;ever, as you suggest," the Zhakar merchant continued, "that is only secondary to the true purpose for this meet shy;ing. What is the nature of the business transaction you wished to discuss?"
"It concerns a … henchman of yours. He was caught as a thief within the temple of Luerkhisis. It seems that he had something with him-something the priests could not recover, like a dust or powder of some sort. Do you know what it was that he carried?"
"Perhaps. Why? Has this 'dust' some sort of value?"
"I am asking as an agent for the temple-the priests are interested," Ariakas replied vaguely. He didn't want to reveal important negotiating information any more than did Tale Splintersteel. "But before we can discuss this I need to have some assurance that you know what we're talking about."
"Indeed, I do," replied the robed dwarf. Something in his posture appeared to slump, as if the knowledge set a heavy load upon the Zhakar's shoulders. "Why don't you ask this 'henchman' for an explanation?"
"He proved very close-mouthed," Ariakas said wryly. "Even though the priests can be quite … inventive with persuasion. The only thing they could get out of him was that he'd gone on your behalf."
Tale Splintersteel shrugged. As with the henchmen in the bar, if the fate of his agent troubled him in any way, he concealed the fact from Ariakas.
"What did he carry?" asked the human bluntly.
"Now that I am not prepared to tell you, unless you tell me why if s of interest to you."
"Suffice to say that the priesthood might create a mar shy;ket for you-a very lucrative one."
"Then why does the priest not come and talk to me himself?" demanded the Zhakar.
"Your reputation does not encourage friendly over shy;tures," Ariakas replied pointedly. "I came because I can take care of myself-or you, if necessary." Ariakas nod shy;ded slightly toward the sword to emphasize his point. Once more he cast a quick glance to the rear, ensuring that the monument was quiet.
He turned back, startled to see that Tale Splintersteel had raised his right hand. Reacting to the threat of attack, Ariakas started to reach for his sword, but real shy;ized that the Zhakar's hand was empty.
"What are you doing?" the warrior asked suspiciously.
The sound of Tale Splintersteel's voice-distant and removed, but full of subdued power-suddenly told him. The wretched dwarf had cast a spell.
Ariakas lunged toward the Zhakar, when abruptly the entire plaza vanished around him, swallowed by com shy;plete blackness. Dizzy, he whirled away from an imag shy;ined attack, realizing that he'd been rendered completely blind. He heard Tale Splintersteel's voice some distance away, and sprinted toward the sound-when, with equal suddenness, that clue ceased. Every noise in that bustling city halted abruptly, and he was left in a world of utter blackness and silence.
The warrior reeled, completely deaf, totally blind. Turning his face, he could feel the river by the heat radi shy;ating onto his skin, but he could see no sign of the brightly glowing lava. His feet scraping across the flag shy;stones made no sound-and, most sinister of all, neither did the treacherous Zhakar.
Ariakas remembered the chasm he had carefully placed to his back-now it yawned as a deadly threat an unknown distance away. Instinctively he reached for his sword-he could draw the weapon and flail blindly, at the very least! His hands closed around the hilt and in that instant his vision and hearing returned, bombarding his senses with light and noise. The pommel of the weapon tingled in his hand, and he felt there the power that had broken the Zhakar's spells.
He saw Tale Splintersteel creep toward him, no more than a dozen paces away. The Zhakar carried a hooklike sword that could be used to stab, slash, or grasp an opponent. As Ariakas's huge sword came free from its scabbard the dwarf's eyes stared madly through the nar shy;row slit in his robe.
Pretending that his senses were still obscured, Ariakas staggered through a circle, waving the weapon as if he had no idea where his enemy stood. His heartbeat quick shy;ened as his gaze swept past the War Monument-scores of dark shapes now scurried forward. Obviously they had lurked among the shadowy columns until Splinter-steel had given them some kind of signal.
Ariakas finished his circle, pausing in a fighting crouch but holding his blade at an awkward angle, as if expecting the Zhakar to be some distance away. Out of the corner of his eye, Ariakas saw the dwarf resume his advance. Those glittering eyes held steady on the mas shy;sive sword in the warrior's hands.
Although Ariakas could have leapt toward the dwarf and slain him with a quick, sudden blow, he judged that this was not fitting retribution. The man wanted Tale Splintersteel alive-the Zhakar would learn the folly of betraying the queen's champion!
Wheeling through a circle again, Ariakas raised the black blade toward the figures scuttling toward him across the broad Fireplaza. Tale Splintersteel froze, watching carefully-and ready at an instant's notice to dive away from that death-dealing sword.
Ariakas called upon the power of Takhisis. The plea was easier this time, a natural surrender to power much greater than his own. Energy thrummed through the sword blade, and the warrior pointed it toward the approaching dwarves. A gout of black liquid hissed out shy;ward, flying in a long stream across the plaza. Ariakas directed the stream against a clump of charging Zhakar. Searing, caustic acid showered across them, bubbling through their garments and quickly dissolving skin and flesh. When the liquid struck, the dwarves screamed and tumbled to the ground, writhing for several seconds before they grew still.
Ariakas shifted his aim, splashing the corrosive stuff across another group, and these uttered screams of terror and pain as the acid sizzled through their bodies. With a quick glance, Ariakas saw Tale Splintersteel darting away, but then another group attacked, coming around the end of the chasm he had used to guard his back. Again Ariakas shifted his aim, and the black acid arced through a showering trajectory, bringing the final Zhakar charge to a horrific halt. Slowly, the warrior lowered his sword, but he froze when a flash of color caught his eye. He gaped with astonishment, seeing that the steely blade had turned bright, crimson red! As with the white and black, the red color was pure and unblemished, a perfect hue that extended from the tip to the base of the metal surface.
Wonderingly, Ariakas turned through a circle. The dwarves who had been missed or mildly injured by the spray scrambled or limped back toward the War Monu shy;ment. The warrior let them go and turned back to find their master.
But Tale Splintersteel had disappeared. Whirling this way and that, squinting through the darkness, the war shy;rior tried to discover where the devious merchant had gone. He saw a flash of movement in one direction, then spat an oath-just a thieving urchin fleeing from a fruit vendor.