"What do you think the king'll say, now?" Ferros inquired of Tale Splintersteel.
Splintersteel shrugged. "That's anyone's guess," he whispered to the others. "Rackas is an old enemy of my family. Still, he's a profiteer first and foremost-he's likely to listen to our proposal."
The warrior nodded noncommittally.
Finally the messenger returned. "The king will con shy;sent to an audience," he announced importantly. "The prisoners are to be brought to the Royal Promen-"
"What prisoners?" growled Ariakas menacingly. "If you mean us, let the dwarf who will capture me step for shy;ward-now!"
Predictably, there was no movement among the rank of guards. Two dozen pairs of eyes followed as if hypno shy;tized while the blue blade carved a slow arc through the air.
The messenger stammered and hemmed. "If the, er, emissaries would be so good as to accompany me to the lift station, I will take you to the king."
He led the companions along a winding walkway flanked by mounds of dirt until they reached the wall of the huge stone blockhouse. An iron door opened at their approach, and they entered the structure.
Immediately they were struck by a blast of hot, dry air. Hammers rang against forges, and furnaces roared while bellows pumped fresh air into their fire boxes. The room was shadowy, almost totally dark except for the crimson glow of fires and red-hot metal, which showed hooded forms moving vaguely among hulking forges.
Ariakas murmured a quick magical command, and the gemstone in his helmet immediately flared into brightness. He saw Zhakar cover their eyes and turn hastily away from the illumination, satisfying himself that the light would help him maintain his command in the presence of these miserable creatures. Gradually the sounds of hammering died away, as the strange party was led through a maze of fire pits, anvils, casting pots, winches, and overhead chains.
In the center of the manufactory, they reached a cage consisting of black iron bars surrounding a flat platform. The platform was suspended by a grid of chains, and it swayed slightly as the Zhakar messenger opened the door and stepped onto it.
"How do we know this isn't a trap?" demanded Aria shy;kas, as he and Lyrelee instinctively held back from the strange contraption.
Tale and Ferros, however, passed through the gateway and turned to look at the humans. "It's just a lift," the Hylar said, amused. "We have hundreds like this in Thorbardin. How else would you go up and down- stairways?"
Inwardly, Ariakas groused that a stairway would be just fine with him, but he had already shown too much hesitation on the matter. Gruffly he stepped inside, quickly followed by the priestess.
The Zhakar pulled a lever, and immediately the plat shy;form lurched below their feet, sinking through the floor into a shaft that had been bored into the rock. Trying to suppress his nervousness, Ariakas watched the stone walls appear to rise around them. He listened uneasily to the clanking of chain overhead.
"This lift is counterbalanced with another one, not too far away," Tale Splintersteel explained. "When this one goes down, that one comes up. If the job is to take some shy;thing down to the city, then there's no need for any power-our weight does the job, though the chain rolls through several brakes so it doesn't go too fast."
"How can it lift cargo up to the ground level?" asked Lyrelee.
"For that we have the winchmasters," the Zhakar explained. "It doesn't move so quickly, but they can crank a load from the Promenade up to the Keep in a matter of ten minutes or so."
Personally, Ariakas didn't think their descent was any too speedy. His heart pounding, he could not banish the feeling that they had walked into a perfect trap.
Then the lift clanked to rest on a solid stone floor, caus shy;ing them all to lurch unsteadily. A metal door before them rumbled aside, and they stepped into a vast, dimly lit chamber. A vague, fiery illumination spilled into the place from two yawning cave mouths off to their right. Before them, twin rows of columns towered upward from the floor, vanishing into the darkness overhead.
At the end of the row of pillars, nearly lost in the shad shy;ows, the companions saw a pair of immense statues. Carved into the shape of hideous beasts, these figures stood with their backs to the cavern wall. Between the trunklike legs of the statue on the right, they saw a large, stone throne, then noticed a similar seat beneath the statue on the left.
"The King's Promenade," explained the messenger, indicating the wide roadway between the two rows of columns.
Slowly, deliberately, they started down the walk. Aria shy;kas naturally moved into the fore, his bright gem casting a wash of white on the floor before them. The columns to either side and the roadway to the thrones plainly indi shy;cated their route. In one of the thrones Ariakas saw a shrouded, shadowy figure. The warrior was amused to see the king shrink into his seat as the party moved closer.
Ferros and Lyrelee flanked the human warrior, a step or two behind, while Tale Splintersteel and the Zhakar messenger brought up the rear. Around them Ariakas sensed a huge number of dark, silent figures. Several forms stood just within range of his light, and the war shy;rior concealed his surprise as he saw Zhakar warriors mounted on four-legged lizards. The animals had a dull, unintelligent look, but the sleek sinew in their shoulders and legs suggested both speed and power. They were no bigger than large hounds, though sharp claws on their forefeet indicated that they could be savage foes in a fight. Yet even these bizarre cavalrymen cringed back when Ariakas swiveled his sword, or let his haughty gaze sweep over them.
His nervousness vanished entirely as he approached the Zhakar king. Ariakas carried the blue blade casually, the weapon unsheathed but resting easily on his shoul shy;der. With a flick of his wrist he could bring it down against a target on any side.
"Kneel when you meet the king!" hissed Tale Splinter-steel as they drew closer to the end of the promenade.
Now Ariakas's light fell on the figure seated in one of the huge thrones. The Zhakar was cloaked but unhooded, revealing a face that was scarred by the rav shy;ages of the mold plague. The king's beard was mostly gone, though several tufts of hair still sprouted from the skin over his jawbone. He looked bald, though he wore a heavy golden crown that concealed the top of his head.
"King Rackas Ironcog of Zhakar!" proclaimed a dwarf concealed in the shadows off to the sides. "Kneel before the greatness of his royal presence!"
Ferros Windchisel stepped to the warrior's side, and then knelt humbly-a dwarven warrior showing respect to the monarch of another dwarven state. Ariakas nod shy;ded to Lyrelee on his other side, and she, too, knelt. Meanwhile Tale Splintersteel all but groveled, prostrat shy;ing himself on the floor and crawling to the Hylar's side.
Only Ariakas remained standing. He met the flashing eyes of Rackas Ironcog with his own proud stare and then, with regal dignity, leaned forward in a gracious bow. His knees, however, did not bend.
"Who are you?" demanded the king, nonplussed by the display of confidence.
"I am Lord Duulket Ariakas, emissary of a powerful queen-the mightiest monarch on all Krynn," he pro shy;claimed grandly. "I bring salutations and praise to the esteemed lord of Zhakar!"
Somewhat mollified, Rackas Ironcog huffed in his throne. Apparently he was unused to anything even vaguely resembling diplomacy.
For the first time Ariakas noticed another Zhakar, standing in the shadows beside the throne. This one wore a cloak over even his face, which was unusual in the city so far as the human had seen. Also unique was the extensive golden thread embroidered around the fringes of the cloak. The masked dwarf leaned toward the king, apparently whispering something in his ear.
"Welcome to my realm," Rackas Ironcog said grudg shy;ingly, after a moment's silence. Ignoring any further pleasantries, he spoke bluntly. "This is the sword that killed one hundred of my finest troops?"