No sound except their own breathing and footsteps disturbed the vast cavern. A scattering of loose gravel covered several patches of the bridge. Wary of a trap, Ariakas prodded some of the stones with his boot, and as they swept off the path he heard them splash into water some distance below.
'The lake," Lyrelee said softly. "We're crossing it."
Ariakas nodded, his attention riveted to the bound dwarf in front of him. If Tale decided to try and escape, this bridge would make a good place. Though the human felt he could deflect an attack, he warily won shy;dered if the Zhakar might hurl himself into the darkness.
"Remember the long stairway down to the wharf?" Lyrelee asked. "We're way above that, now-maybe even as high as the main catacombs."
They reached the end of the bridge without mishap- apparently the Zhakar valued his miserable life too much to make a suicidal escape attempt. Once more, stone walls enclosed them, and they picked up the pace of their march.
"It won't be far, now-I know it!" Ariakas replied.
A few more passages brought them into sight of a dis shy;tant, pale source of illumination. Then a figure-a human figure-came into view, hurrying toward them followed by several other men.
"Lord Ariakas! Thank the queen you're alive!" Wryl-lish Parkane swept his arms outward to clap Ariakas on the shoulder, ignoring the woman and the dwarf. The warrior saw that the priest carried a holy symbol, the match of Lyrelee's, in his hand. "When I emerged from High Communion and heard that you'd come down here, I was elated," the patriarch gushed. "Then, of course, when it seemed you were missing, we were terri shy;bly worried! But you felt my summons?"
"If that's what is was, it worked," the warrior agreed, handing the medallion back to Lyrelee.
"And you're safe. Did you encounter difficulties?"
"Your Sanctified Catacombs aren't as sacred as you think," Ariakas replied. "We've got a source of trouble down here, but I'll tell you about that later."
For the first time Ariakas looked at those who accom shy;panied Parkane: Patriarch Fendis, two other blue collars he recognized from the temple, and a lone figure who stood some distance back from the rest. That gaunt, dark-haired man wore a black robe, and had the most piercing blue eyes Ariakas had ever seen.
Noting his attention, the patriarch stepped back to make introductions. "Allow me to present Harrawell Dracart-of the Black Tower," he added unnecessarily. The wizard's robe clearly indicated Dracart's allegiance.
"This way. Let us go to the treasure chamber immedi shy;ately!" proclaimed Wryllish Parkane. He led them a short distance along a wide, straight passage. They saw no sign of the shadowpeople, though Ariakas warned them all to remain vigilant.
Soon they stood outside the door to a small room, one Wryllish explained had been set aside for the test. It con shy;tained a single brass dragon egg, raised upon a stone table.
"The mold dust will live for some minutes, you told me," Ariakas said to Tale Splintersteel. "Now is the time to give it to me-you will remain out here."
The Zhakar's eyes flashed stubbornly from the depths of his hood. "I will be present," he insisted. "Your alter shy;native, I know, is to kill me and make your test. Then, if you want this mold, you'll have no source. Or you can bring me in, and I'll be the key that will unlock the vaults of Zhakar!"
Ariakas had come to despise the wretched creature, and the temptation to kill the Zhakar was great. He had spoken the truth before-twice already Splintersteel had earned his death! Yet pragmatic considerations won out. The dwarf was right-if the mold dust proved valuable, they would need an agent with access to the source. Tale Splintersteel, as odious as the thought was, would be the ideal choice.
All eyes remained on Ariakas as the warrior nodded. "Very well-you'll go in there with us." Wryllish Parkane used the tiny key, and they stepped into the room, forming a circle around the gleaming egg. It lay like a metal-coated boulder on the low platform and reflected the light from its glossy surface.
"Quickly-let's not delay!" For the first time the wiz shy;ard Dracart spoke, licking his lips with a bright red tongue as his eyes gleamed hotly.
"Come, then-scatter the mold onto the egg!" urged Wryllish Parkane.
Ariakas remembered that scarred, tormented skin, and his stomach heaved as Tale Splintersteel stepped up to the egg. The dwarf held out his hands, and as the scabrous flesh emerged from the sleeves of his robe, sev shy;eral of the priests gasped and stepped backward. Ignor shy;ing the reaction, the Zhakar rubbed his palms together above the egg.
A fine dust powdered downward like snow, sprin shy;kling over the surface of the egg. The stuff glistened in the gem light, almost as if each speck were a multi-faceted diamond. Ariakas found it strangely pleasant that out of such astounding corruption could come an impression of such remarkable beauty.
"O Mighty Takhisis-all-powerful Queen of Dark shy;ness!" began Wryllish Parkane, his voice taut with sup shy;pressed anticipation. "Grant us thy will and thy power! Give to us thy tools, and make them from the children of our arrogant, metal-skinned foes!"
Immediately the sphere pulsed, small ripples flowing across its surface. The shining brass shell began to cor shy;rode, decaying to grimy scum in a matter of seconds. The orb shivered in steady contractions, wrinkling and bulging all across its surface.
The high priest raised his voice in a mighty prayer to the Dark Queen. The wizard muttered an incantation of his own, and from Dracart's fingers, pulses of blue magic flickered outward, wrapping the egg in a cocoon of sor shy;cery. Then the surface of the corroded sphere split apart, ripping in several directions like the jagged, expanding tracks of an earthquake. The tearing crackled loudly though the air, and a pervasive, putrefying stench filled the room.
Creatures slithered forth, dripping with ooze-but these were not the blind, malformed creations of the ear shy;lier corruption. At least ten distinct lizard beings were visible, snapping and clawing at each other. Rising upon powerful hind legs, they stood as tall as men. Talon-studded forepaws wiped the mucus from reptilian eyes, and baleful glares fastened upon the humans and dwarf in the room. The scaly humanoids advanced, forked tongues flicking from fang-studded mouths. Leathery wings, still sticky from the egg, stretched awkwardly from the shoulders of each of the monsters.
"These are not dragons!" hissed Tale Splintersteel, in awe and disbelief.
"No-not dragons," replied Ariakas, now seeing the potential of these creatures with astounding clarity. The others stood silent, waiting for him to continue, instinc shy;tively trusting him to lead.
"Not dragons-but the spawn of dragonkind." Aria shy;kas suddenly knew what these things were, what they would be called-and how they would serve him. "They are draconians."
He acted then, snatching the star of Takhisis from the patriarch's hand. Fastening his eyes onto the hideous faces of the monsters, he projected his will, his mastery, toward them. The lizard beasts stopped at the sight of the medallion, hissing and bobbing uncertainly. "Kneel, wretches!" Ariakas commanded. "Kneel before the sym shy;bol of your mistress-your queenl"
And when he raised the symbol overhead, all ten of the draconians collapsed, groveling, onto the floor.
Part Three
Chapter 18
Ariakas stood in a vast, cavelike chamber, surrounded by a horde of scaly draconians. Beyond them ranked legion upon legion of heavy infantry, horsemen, archers, and spear shy;men. All of them stood silently at attention, awaiting his command. But he couldn't make a sound. This mighty host stood on the brink of conquest, and yet he could not send it forth-could not so much as utter a stammering word.