It seemed like hours later when he collapsed, falling against the cave wall and slumping to the ground, Ferros tumbling free beside him. The dwarf gasped, too-but not from exhaustion. The pale sheen of sweat across the dwarf's brow and the pallid cast of his skin told Ariakas that his companion was in profound pain. The Hylar scraped listlessly at his skin, which came off in great, flaking clumps.
"What about the sword-can you fry these swamp-muckers with it?" Ferros hissed through teeth clenched with agony.
"No-I can't use the blue blade!" Ariakas retorted, shaking his head in frustration.
The Hylar didn't reply, turning instead to look down the corridor they had used in their flight. Bulky forms moved in the shadows, and he didn't have to see more to know that the pursuers advanced with relentless deter shy;mination.
"Go on-without me!" gasped the Hylar. "It's the only way you'll get away!"
Ariakas remained silent, watching the nearest of the hulking monsters shamble into the fringe of light from his spell. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ferros Windchisel-perhaps because he knew the dwarf was right.
"Look, warrior-I came in search of a dwarven king shy;dom in the Khalkists," the Hylar said, his tone growing firm as he banished the pain to some distant part of his awareness. "I wanted to find this place-and now it claims me."
"Their treachery will be avenged," Ariakas promised, surprised at how dull his own voice sounded.
"That's not what I'm talking about!" snapped Ferros, before squeezing his eyes shut as a spasm of pain racked his battered body. "It's this: if you meet a Thorbardin dwarf sometime, get them this word-there are no dwarves in the Khalkists! None worthy of the name, at least-none who could ever serve as allies of Thorbar shy;din."
Again Ferros ceased talking, his breath coming in short, rapid pants. Ariakas looked at the grotesque forms of the monsters. The first had halted temporarily, allow shy;ing its companions to join it. Then, in a bunched and menacing group, they clumped steadily closer.
The Hylar opened his eyes, and stared fixedly at Aria-kas when the human met his gaze. "When Thorbardin meets Zhakar," he growled, his voice taut with fury, "it will be not as allies, but as enemies. And that's a thing I'd just as soon not live to see!"
"Come on," Ariakas said gruffly. His muscles shrieked in protest at the thought, but he rose stiffly to his feet and reached for Ferros.
"No-get going!" shouted the dwarf, holding his axe in his good hand. His smashed leg jutted awkwardly to the side, and a growing pool of blood marked the floor around him. Seated with his back against an outcrop of the cavern wall, Ferros turned to face the advancing monsters-barely a few steps away now.
"Move!" cried Ferros Windchisel, his voice shrill with agony and rage. "Don't make my death a waste, too!"
With those words ringing in his ears, Ariakas turned and sprinted away. From somewhere his heart and lungs found the energy to fuel his flight. His boots pounded the floor, not loud enough to overwhelm the recrimina shy;tion ringing in his mind.
He turned down a passageway, blindly lunging in the direction that he thought might take him back to the water warrens. Where had the Zhakar turned from here? Ariakas couldn't remember, so he guessed, still sprinting along the dank, stone-walled passages of the deep war shy;rens.
Another turn, another winding cavern. This one didn't seem familiar-Ariakas sensed that he ran down a grad shy;ually descending passage, and he didn't remember doing any climbing on the way in. Still, he couldn't arrest his flight, didn't even want to take the time to see if the monsters still pursued.
Finally he paused, leaning against the stone wall and gasping for air until his breathing rasped into mere pant shy;ing. By the time he could hear anything aside from him shy;self, the telltale noise of the fungus creatures' advance reached him down the corridor, urging him once more into flight.
Gradually, as he ran, fatigue settled into the back shy;ground. He pounded along without noticing the tearing pain in his lungs, the dry hacking of his throat. Instead, his mind focused directly, to the point of obsession, on one thing:
The Zhakar would pay. He would start with the pathetic excuse for a monarch, Rackas Ironcog, but his vengeance would continue long after that lone villain was dead. The savant, Tik Deepspeaker, deserved to die in agony. The entire people, the entire nation, he vowed, would suffer for the treachery with which they had greeted the emissaries of the Dark Queen.
When first he had arrived in the dwarven kingdom, Ariakas had intended to forge a treaty with the Zhakar, to work out an arrangement of trade that would be prof shy;itable to both sides. No more. Now he would bargain as master, as conqueror. He would dictate the terms of the agreement, and personally-and gleefully-kill any plague-pocked dwarf who objected to the oppressive conditions!
How he would gain this mastery was a detail that, for the moment, he did not address. It was salve to his spirit merely to make the determination that he would have vengeance! Whether it was the weapon in his hand that would smite them, or the force of an army arrayed beneath Ariakas's command, or some other agent of power and destruction, the dwarves of Zhakar would learn the folly of their betrayal.
The grim determination sustained his endurance well beyond the point of exhaustion, and when he at last slowed the frantic pace of his flight, he felt not only physically fresh, but spiritually renewed. He sensed the will of the Dark Queen in the resurgence of his strength, and took the time to pause for a moment.
His fury at Lyrelee's death had already faded; like the lady in the tower, half a lifetime ago, she had now become merely a pleasant memory from his past. At first, the rapid waning of his grief seemed cold and bru shy;tal, but soon Ariakas saw with clarity that Takhisis pro shy;tected, watched over him! Any others were extraneous, tools intended to help him work the Dark Queen's will.
Even Ferros Windchisel? Was he extraneous? The question insinuated itself into his mind. He twisted the notion this way and that for mere seconds before he knew the answer.
Yes. Even Ferros.
"My Queen, I remain your servant," Ariakas whis shy;pered, the words coming from the depths of his soul. "Your tool, your slave-but please, I beg you! Grant me the power to smite these miserable worms!"
With that prayer ringing in his mind, Ariakas became aware that the caverns of Zhakar were absolutely still and silent around him. He had long ago left the realms of the fungus warrens, and though the stone walls near him dripped with moisture, he saw no sign of mushroom or mold. He was thoroughly lost.
Now that he began to piece together the fragmented memories of his long run, Ariakas had a vague sense that he had descended far, far below the original level of the warrens. Perhaps he had chosen the speed of downhill flight, or perhaps he had instinctively fled away from the population of hideous dwarves dwelling in the subter shy;ranean city above him.
Whatever the reason, Ariakas knew that he was deeper in the bedrock of Krynn than he had ever been before. He felt a momentary surge of panic when he real shy;ized that his light spell had been burning for many hours-but then, like a soothing presence, he felt the aura of his goddess, and the knowledge that she would not let him languish in darkness. At least, not now. not when he was so close….
The knowledge struck him like a hammer blow. It was a thing that he sensed in the very air around him, sensed with a certainty that made him angry for not realizing it sooner.
In the heart of the world….
Somewhere nearby, somewhere down in these sunless depths, there was a thing Takhisis wanted him to find-a thing that would … set fire to the sky! It was she who had brought him here, not the mindless urgings of his own panic.