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
Triumph And Treachery
Chapter 18
Zhakar Road
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.
At his back was his great sword, and he instinctively drew the weapon, raising the gleaming steel into the air. The army shouted, its collective voice a growing roar, swelling until the noise pounded him from all sides. Yet now the sword was frozen, even as was his voice. As if some powerful, invisible fist had seized the blade, gripping it with immortal strength, the silvery steel weapon hung in the air before his face. Heaving mightily, Ariakas could not lower it, could not even wiggle it from side to side.
He snarled, frustration growing within him, and the silvery blade turned white. Snow and ice swirled around him then, masking the troops and the draconians, send shy;ing shivers of inhuman cold piercing through his body.
Abruptly the sword became black. Still Ariakas could not twist it free from the invisible grip of the air, and as he struggled, a rich, full darkness surrounded him, cloaking vision in every direction-though the cheering of the troops continued to bombard him.
The darkness fell away, and the blade of his sword glowed blood red. The metal bore a shining gleam on its surface that actually looked wet, as if the weapon had just been immersed to the hilt in some fresh, gory wound. Yet still he could not move the sword, though he tugged and pulled and wrenched at its long grip. Fire rose around him, a great circle of crackling, hissing flame, surging upward higher than his head. He cried out, not from pain so much as outrage, and immediately the flames died away.
Ariakas sensed great creatures around him, then, lurk shy;ing in the depths of the vast chamber, beyond the reach of his vision. Towering in height, serpentine in shape, they skulked unseen in the shadows, their presence tin shy;gling with portent and power.
Suddenly he was surrounded by a cool, blue light, and Ariakas could see that the illumination emanated from his blade. Slowly, reverently, he took the hilt and pulled, gently drawing the sword to him. The force that had imprisoned the weapon gave way easily.