"I don't think that's a good idea," the warrior dis shy;agreed. "I was told to come alone-and besides, you know what your presence did to him last time."
"By Reorx, man-I didn't mean I'd walk right out there and shake his hand! But when you go to see that treacherous little weasel, I intend to be hiding in the background, someplace where I can get a good view."
The dwarf patted the heavy crossbow he had recently acquired, and Ariakas reflected that Ferros could pro shy;vide him with a measure of security. After all, the war shy;rior wasn't certain what the Zhakar wanted, but he'd learned enough from their first meeting to go into the rendezvous with full preparation and alertness.
"I don't think he'll try anything," Ariakas noted. "After all, he had a good taste of my sword last time. Still, it would be good to have you there to keep an eye on things."
"Yeah-I smell a trap," groused Ferros. The dwarf stood, furiously scratching at the rash along his arms, chest, and belly. "Damned firebugs!" he snarled. "Worse than ever last night!"
Ariakas chuckled sympathetically. "I still haven't had any in my bed-maybe they like your smell!"
"Humpf! So, you going to be ready for this?"
"I will be by midnight," Ariakas replied, grimly confi shy;dent.
The warrior had decided not to tell anyone at the temple about the upcoming meeting. If it turned out well, Ariakas could bring Tale Splintersteel to Wryllish Parkane and show the high priest that his efforts had in fact met with success. If nothing-or, even worse, some shy;thing disastrous-came of the meeting, there would be no need for his temple-mates to learn of the failure.
Ferros spent several hours honing to razor-sharpness the heads of his bolts. He had a full quiver of the steel-shafted missiles, and proudly informed Ariakas that the arrows could punch through plate mail at a hundred paces.
The human warrior, meanwhile, went to his dry gar shy;den and sat on a stone bench in the brittle bower.
Before him spread the valley. Today, with its eternal shroud of haze hanging unusually low, Sanction had a tight, enclosed feeling. Ariakas felt power tingling in the air, believed with certainty that things of great portent were in the works. He took his sword and laid the naked blade across his lap. The perfect blackness of the steel mirrored his own spirit to an infinite depth.
Gradually his mind filled with a sensation of falling- but very gently, as if wings had sprouted from his shoul shy;ders and now carried him easily toward Krynn from a great height. For nearly two hours he sat on the bench, his heart and lungs slowing their pace as his mind drifted on the currents of the Dark Queen. It was after sunset when he emerged from the trance, and he felt his body tingling with power and energy. He crossed through the courtyard into the main room of his house, and there he found Ferros Windchisel.
"I'm going to head down there early-get a look around," announced the Hylar. "It'll give me time to lie low before you show up."
"How will you contact me if there's trouble?" asked Ariakas.
"I'll figure something out-just stay alert," assured the dwarf. Ferros slung his crossbow over his right shoulder, where he could raise it and shoot in an instant. He wore a colorful plaid cape that served to conceal the short sword at his waist.
The dwarf made his way into the dusk, and Ariakas settled his nerves with a meal. His current chef was a domineering old matron who had held the job for two months, much longer than either of her two predeces shy;sors. Now she presented him with a light, delicious sup shy;per-as always, she performed splendidly. Finally, an hour before midnight, he left.
Ariakas wore his huge sword on his back. He had pur shy;chased a new scabbard of unadorned but sleek doeskin that completely hid the long blade. He could draw the sword with either hand, and if he gripped it with both he could bring it forward in a powerful, skull-crushing blow. Despite his fast progress in Lyrelee's unarmed fighting classes, he was grateful for the security offered by the weapon.
Approaching the Fireplaza obliquely, Ariakas crossed down to the Lavaflow River and started toward the cen shy;ter of the city. The right side of his body warmed to the radiance of the deep, crimson stream beside him. In the distance, he saw the Grand Bridge, the gray stone arcing upward through the darkness. The underside of the bridge glowed with its own light, heated, ovenlike, by the volcanic fury of the river.
The Fireplaza sprawled along a great section of this river, with the huge bridge connecting to the far end. Tall, stone-walled buildings surrounded the expanse. Several wide fissures gaped across the plaza's stone sur shy;face, and many of these belched forth clouds of steam, gas, or flame. At the opposite end stood Sanction's only public decoration-the War Monument.
This unique memorial consisted of the raised replicas of three sailing ships, supported by three clumps of stone columns. The three ships were clustered in close forma shy;tion, and from across the plaza, they looked as though they sailed through the air. The monument was dedicated to the fallen who perished during a brief fracas several decades earlier-one column had been raised for each of the one hundred and two men who had lost their lives.
During his months in the city, Ariakas had gleaned the tale of the structure, whose appearance had so puzzled him at first. The war had been a campaign against nearby Saltcove, reputedly a den of pirates and freebooters. The battle was Sanction's only claim to military glory, and the veterans of the conflict-all of whom had been well-paid by the city's merchants-had been able to extort the memorial's costs from their former employers.
From a reputable bartender Ariakas had learned the true story of the commemorated hostilities, which were grandiloquently entitled the 'Saltcove War.' The cam shy;paign was in actuality a single battle and had involved a boisterous, liquor-sodden expedition against the nearby fishing village, where several small-scale pirate captains had in fact maintained their strongholds. The town fell in the first rush, with several of the pirates fleeing to the hills with their henchmen. A few resisted, and four of Sanction's men perished in actual combat. The other ninety-eight fatalities had occurred when two of the overloaded invasion ships, both piloted by drunken cap shy;tains, collided at the entrance to Saltcove's harbor. The warriors aboard, armed and girded for battle, went down like stones as the ships broke apart around them.
It often surprised Ariakas that a city with such a sur shy;plus of warlike men could not boast of a more glorious military history. Still, a story of hearty, courageous men cursed with bad leadership was not unique in the history of Krynn. He speculated on what the armies of Sanction could accomplish if they were only leashed to a single goal. These men might even subdue Bloten, he believed -remembering all of the undersized expeditions he'd been forced to lead from Khur and Flotsam.
Ariakas passed between the monument and the Lava-flow River, picking his way between two of the long fis shy;sures. The gaps were only ten or twelve feet wide, but zigged and zagged for several hundred feet across the plaza. In a few places they were crossed by bridges, but the width of the chasms constantly shifted, so these crossings were short lived at best.
Several folk were about, including a few vendors of fruit, trinkets, cheese, and bread-all of whom had blan shy;kets spread on the ground, or small two-wheeled carts to display their wares. Somewhere a minstrel strolled, singing a bawdy song to laughter and jeers.
Ariakas veered to avoid the hustling approach of an old beggar woman, but the hag fairly leapt toward him, tugging at his sleeve and glaring up at him with one pen shy;etrating eye. The lid of the other was sewn shut, the seam vanishing in a maze other wrinkles lining her bony, angular face.