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.
A sharp cry of pain ripped through the darkness, very near. He rushed over to the chasm and there he saw the huddled figure of the Zhakar. Splintersteel had climbed down the steep side, intent on concealing himself within the gorge, when something had arrested his flight. Aria shy;kas saw the steel bolt that had punched through the Zhakar's forearm, driven deep into the rock wall of the chasm. Tale Splintersteel screamed in agony, twisting and dangling from the missile that pinned him to the wall.
Ferros Windchisel swaggered to the lip of the precipice. He held the reloaded crossbow ready in his hands. Despite his confident gait, the Hylar's eyes flicked across the wide plaza, looking for danger in every direction.
"Help me!" shrieked the Zhakar.
"I'm in no hurry to do that," Ariakas remarked casu shy;ally. He strolled to the top of the chasm and looked down. Tale Splintersteel was pinned to the wall perhaps ten feet down. The Zhakar clawed at the steel bolt with his good hand, but couldn't break it free from the porous bedrock. Far below, the shadows of the bottom ebbed and swirled with faint tufts of steam.
"Tell me-what was it that the Zhakar took into the temple?" demanded the warrior.
"I don't know-I lied!"
"I think you're lying now," Ariakas retorted, keeping his voice level and calm. "Nice shot," he added with a grin directed at Ferros.
"I figured this little worm was up to something. Never woulda thought he'd try to make a getaway down to the lava pits, though." The Hylar smiled wickedly, enjoying the plight of the Zhakar.
"Help!" pleaded Tale Splintersteel again.
"You were just about to tell me something," Ariakas said. "What was it? Oh, yes-the stuff that the Zhakar carried into the temple! Come on, now-I think you know what it was."
"Mold," gasped the Zhakar, his voice contorted with audible pain. "It was the dust of the plague mold … not carried … it's with him, on him-on all of us!"
"Now we're getting somewhere," Ariakas declared. "Where can we get some of that mold?"
"Get me up-I'll tell you!" groaned Splintersteel, his tone thinned by pain. "Just, please, help me!"
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you," the warrior gently chided. "Do better than promise."
"What do you want me to do? By the gods, man-I'm bleeding to death here!"
Indeed, a dark, slick streak ran down the chasm wall below the struggling Zhakar. His protestations had grown weaker until his voice faded to a rasping croak. Splintersteel slumped, as if resigned to fate.
Ferros Windchisel came around the crevasse to clap Ariakas on the arm. "I thought of looking in there for him because I'd been using one of these cracks as a hid shy;ing place for the whole night. It worked swell, too- except for a few funny looks from folks who strolled past the edge."
"Good service, my friend," Ariakas acknowledged with a nod at the trapped Zhakar.
The Hylar removed a long, supple rope from a coil around his waist. He fastened an iron clip around his belt and ran the loop through. He extended the other end of the rope toward Ariakas. "Here-take hold of this and lower me down. I'll bring him up here to talk, if you promise not to make him too comfortable."
"Don't worry. He's a stubborn bastard-I think we'll have to do a lot of persuading to get what we want out of him." The human wrapped the rope around his waist and set his feet. Paying out line, he watched Ferros descend over the brink of the crevasse.