Ferros shrugged. "I suppose I have . . . but there's something more. What made them into such hateful little snipes? Even if they'll never be allies of Thorbardin, I have to know…. I guess that's why I'm here."
"Do you think they can be changed-that you can change them?"
"I know the answer to that," Ferros sighed with a shake of his head. "At least, I think I do-and it's not hopeful."
"Nobody made you come along," Ariakas reminded him.
"True enough." Ferros went back to grousing. "Still, if you two had been left alone with Fungus-Cheeks, who knows what he might have done? And you!" The Hylar's tone grew accusing. "Bringing a woman along on a trip like this? What's the matter, didn't you get enough in the tower?"
Ariakas flushed. "It's different from the tower, damn it!" he snapped. "I thought you understood that!"
Ferros blinked, taken aback. Then he shook his head stubbornly. "You might call it different, but it looks to me like this one's got you hopping through the rings right in order."
"Never mind about her," the warrior replied, rising to his feet. Suddenly he was in a foul humor, anxious to get moving. He saw that the sunrise had already brightened most of the sky.
"Come on," he said peremptorily. "Daylight's wast shy;ing."
While the Hylar, grumbling, rose from his sheltered niche, Ariakas went to wake Lyrelee and Tale Splinter-steel. In neither case was he particularly gentle, and soon all four of them had dressed and hoisted their packs for another day on the trail.
This day, as on all the others, they climbed a steep ridge only to see from its crest the rolling ranks of the Khalkists, stretching before and behind them like break shy;ers on a vast, restless sea. Still, after all this time on the trail their muscles were hardened and their endurance great. The four travelers barely paused to catch their breath at the first summit before Ferros began picking out a route into the narrow valley below.
Tale Splintersteel followed directly on the heels of Fer shy;ros Windchisel. Always robed from head to toe, the Zhakar dwarf nevertheless made good time on his stocky legs. He seemed to have great freedom of movement even within the confines of his garment, leaping nimbly from rock to rock or scampering from ledge to shelf down a steep defile, and he often demonstrated real strength in his arms and shoulders when called upon to perform a belay or to hoist himself up or down a rope.
Lyrelee came next. Though the priestess was garbed in traveling leathers instead of the silken pants and blouse that she normally wore, Ariakas still saw in her the cat shy;like grace of movement that had first attracted him. Now, as he watched her climb, his mind often wandered over the delightful and sensual experiences they had shared in the past weeks.
Their intimacy had begun in Sanction, immediately following the creation of the first draconians. The combi shy;nation of the dangers they had shared and the thrill of opportunity present in the corruption ritual had infused them both with an animal passion that the time since had done very little to diminish.
Only after their first, exhaustive embrace had Ariakas recalled Takhisis's warning regarding women. Since then he had tried to rationalize the state of affairs, almost con shy;vincing himself that the goddess would not claim the life of one such faithful and capable priestess.
At first, when Tale had agreed to take Ariakas to Zhakar, neither the priestess nor the Hylar had struck the warrior as likely traveling companions. Ferros Wind-chisel remained determined to investigate the dwarven kingdom, however, and Ariakas had not tried hard to dissuade him from making the journey. Strangely, now that he knew the true nature of the Zhakar, Ferros had pursued his quest with more conviction than ever. The mountain dwarf's skills proved such an asset that even Tale Splintersteel had been forced to lay aside his preju shy;dices.
Lyrelee had joined them immediately before their departure. Wryllish Parkane had complained that the expedition was not powerful enough to impress the innately hostile Zhakar. Though the high priest had envi shy;sioned a fully armed company of troops as an escort, Ariakas had demurred, insisting that the ability to travel fast and light would more than make up for the lack of numbers. He had also pointed out that his crimson-bladed sword was more powerful than a full comple shy;ment of men-at-arms.
Tale Splintersteel had offered to provide an escort of two dozen Zhakar, but Ariakas had immediately rejected that suggestion. He would not appear to these dwarves as a prisoner, nor as an escorted guest. He intended to dictate terms as strongly as any potential conqueror. As a compromise, and with very little persuasion necessary, the lord had offered to take Lyrelee as an additional fighter.
For a week following the corruption of the eggs, Aria-kas had trained diligently under the high priest himself, learning new spells that might help their mission. He could now cure many types of wounds, as well as dis shy;eases and poisonings-and, too, he could cause the same kinds of injuries to his enemies as he could heal in his friends.
Other spells opened wider paths of communication between him and his goddess. These he often employed in the still of the night, ensuring that the Zhakar did not lead them into treachery or ambush-especially since, after his experience with the Shilo-Thahn, he was a lot less willing to trust his own instincts to protect them against surprise attack.
Ariakas knew that the greed driving Tale Splintersteel was a powerful motive, but he was not entirely certain it would overcome the dwarf's inherent hatred and spite-fulness. Thus far, apparently, avarice had won out. At the same time, Ariakas had not forgotten the measure of revenge due the treacherous Zhakar.
The real keystone of their defense rode on Ariakas's broad back. The two-handed sword that had blown frost and spewed acid remained a perfect red, and the warrior could barely begin to imagine the strength of the firestorm that would swirl forth from it upon his com shy;mand. The breath of the red dragon was, in many ways, the most terrifying of any serpent's attack. When the time was right, he felt certain that the red blade would serve very well to bring the Zhakar to heel.
The trail meandered onto a broad, grassy slope, and for a time they were able to walk abreast, conversing with more ease than was usually possible on the trail. As they often did in such instances, the companions contin shy;ued to question Tale Splintersteel about his homeland.
"You said that you Zhakar are ruled by a king-not a thane?" Ferros asked.
"Aye-the king of Zhakar. A chief as grand as any mountain dwarf king, I assure you."
"Interesting. In Thorbardin, the heads of the various clans are called thanes. The king represents a uniting of the Theiwar, Daewar, Hylar, and all the rest. I would think that in a nation composed of one clan …"
"We are all we are," the Zhakar said stubbornly.
"Who is your king-do you know him?" Ariakas inquired.
"I wish I didn't," said the dwarf sourly. "When I was dispatched to Sanction, I was a trusted cousin of the king. Since then, my cousin was killed. A dwarf named Rackas Ironcog took over the throne. He's treated me as an enemy ever since."
"Could he have you replaced? Is your position in Sanction official?" asked the human.
"It is-and he would, if he could. I've been far enough away to handle my own problems. He's sent a number of agents to try and remove me." Tale's voice broke into a bitter bark of a laugh. "None of them, so far as I know, has survived the rigors of the trip home."