Only then did the King of Zhakar wrinkle his face into a hideous caricature of a smile, and the glimmer of an idea came to light in his eyes.
"A tour?" he mused, as if discussing a suggestion of profound wisdom. "Very well. You will get a good night's rest, of course-but then, first thing tomorrow, I shall show you the caverns of our fungus warrens."
Chapter 22
Warrens of Plague
Ariakas, sleeping very lightly, heard a noise in the anteroom beyond his chamber. Silently rising, he grasped the reas shy;suring hilt of his sword and stepped through the door into the pitch-dark chamber. His ears strained without success to detect any further sound.
"Oh-hello, warrior." He recognized Ferros Wind-chisel's voice. The Hylar sounded as though he were in a foul mood.
"Couldn't sleep?" asked Ariakas.
"It's this damned itch," groused the dwarf. Ariakas heard sounds of vigorous scratching accompanied by a muffled series of curses. "It seems to be spreading," added Ferros. His voice now had a serious tenor.
"Firebug bites?" Ariakas did his best to keep his voice casual, but he felt an ominous sense of concern. The Hylar snorted and kept scratching.
Ariakas muttered his incantation, and the gemstone in his helmet-still resting on the floor where it could illu shy;minate the room-flared into light. Ferros slouched against the wall, blinking irritably against the illumina shy;tion. The warrior was shocked at the appearance of his friend, though he tried to conceal the feeling with a mask of impassivity.
Both of Ferros Windchisel's arms were red, with cracked skin flaking off around his elbows and spread shy;ing toward his wrists and shoulders. The Hylar scratched them vigorously. Far more distressing to Ariakas, how shy;ever, was the new disfigurement of the dwarf's bearded face. Windchisel's right cheek was puffy and distended, with a rough growth of patchy scabs covering all the skin between his eye and his beard. In fact, some of his facial hair had tufted away, leaving the characteristic red, sore wound that Ariakas had seen on many of the faces around him during the past two days.
The warrior met his friend's frank stare, wondering only for a second if the Hylar understood what was hap shy;pening to him. The bleak despair he saw was tinged with fury, confirming that Ferros Windchisel knew his fate only too well.
"I can't believe I wanted to visit this hell-hole!" snapped the dwarf, awkwardly changing the subject. "It boils my blood just to think that these little degenerates come from the same stock as the clans of Thorbardin! Why, when I see how they treat each other . . . the stupidity and violence…."
The voice trailed off, and Ariakas respected Wind shy;chisel's silence. For some time they sat together, each pri shy;vately recalling the events of their brief but profound friendship. Ariakas wondered about the future-would Ferros try to return to Thorbardin, running the risk of carrying the plague there? He didn't think so. The war shy;rior resolved to himself that, when they returned to Sanction, he would see that the Hylar was given a role in the temple-something suitable to his abilities, that might somehow alleviate the pain of his self-imposed exile.
"It was that damned Fungus Mug!" spat Ferros Wind-chisel explosively. "That first night-it started then!"
"But you never went back there," reminded Ariakas.
"Seems like it doesn't matter," the dwarf replied. "It's plague-once it sets in, I can't fight it. I'm going to end up like these . . ." His voice trailed off into strangled silence, and for long, excruciating minutes, Ariakas felt his friend's silent pain.
"There might be something I can do … a chance, any shy;way," Ariakas began slowly. "A spell against disease could perhaps reverse the infestation."
"D'you think so?" The Hylar's eyes lit with hope, and Ariakas could only shrug.
The warrior knelt beside his companion. Bowing his head, Ariakas reached out and placed his hands over the sores on Ferros Windchisel's arm. Mouthing the ritual of healing, he called upon his Dark Queen, pleading with Takhisis for the power to heal the scabrous wounds. But the flesh remained moist and weeping beneath Ariakas's palms. Gritting his teeth in an animalistic snarl, Ariakas groped for the power, the faith, to heal the dwarf's cruel affliction. His fingers touched the rotting flesh while his words beseeched Takhisis. And still his goddess did not respond.
At last, exhausted by the effort, the warrior collapsed backward in dismay. Ferros Windchisel leaned his head against the wall, his eyes tightly shut as if in pain- though Ariakas knew it was a spiritual and not a physi shy;cal hurt that sapped his friend's vitality.
An unknown time later, Lyrelee and Tale Splintersteel awakened. Both of them saw Ferros and, though the
priestess's eyes widened in dismay, neither said any shy;thing about the Hylar's rapidly advancing affliction. Shortly, a column of Zhakar guards arrived, with the captain informing Ariakas that they would escort the companions to the king. Rackas Ironcog himself would show them the fungus warrens.
"This is one tour I'm not going to take," Tale Splinter-steel noted as the others prepared to leave. "I have some old companions I'd like to see. I'll meet you back here before dinner."
"Very well," Ariakas agreed, not displeased to be rid of the wretched dwarf for a few hours.
The monarch of Zhakar met them as they emerged into the Promenade. The fiery glow emanating from the two large side caverns continued to cast the vast hall in a reddish hue, and Ariakas could not help but be im shy;pressed by the spectacle of the tall columns stretching up into the midnight distance. The beastlike statue framing the king's throne loomed in the darkness like a living creature, protecting-or menacing-the monarch who sat at its feet. Two ranks of the lizard-mounted cavalry flanked the walk. The beasts bowed their scaly heads in tribute as Ariakas walked past.
Rackas Ironcog sat in his great throne at the feet of the massive statue. The king wore a long, fur-covered robe, and when he rose and advanced toward his guests, the garment trailed onto the floor behind him.
"The guards will escort us," Ironcog informed them. "There are things in the warren that are not always friendly." Without elaborating, the king started toward another large cave mouth extending from the vast cav shy;ern. Ariakas noticed that Tik Deepspeaker, too, accompa shy;nied them, though the savant remained well in back of the royal party. Ariakas walked beside the king while Lyrelee and Ferros Windchisel followed along behind.
The warrior gestured to the large, smoldering cave mouth across the promenade. "It would seem that you keep large fires burning in your realm," he observed.
Rackas Ironcog nodded. "The passages beyond that cavern extend to the very bowels of Krynn!" he boasted. "From far below, the flames of the great Lavasea itself rise to warm Zhakar."
"A sea-beneath your city?"
"Indeed. That fiery lake is the source of the fire and lava throughout the Khalkists-and we dwell nearest its heart!"
They passed into the small cavern opposite the great, smoldering cave mouth and followed a chiseled stone corridor.
"We have a long descent-though not nearly so far down as the Lavasea," the king informed them as they reached one of the metal cages signifying a lift station. An advance company of the guards, about ten warriors, descended first, and while the group waited for the cage to return, Rackas Ironcog did some explaining.
"The warrens of Zhakar are an extensive network of caves and caverns, mostly dating back before the Cata shy;clysm. The network is divided into three sections, with the nearest of them the lizard warrens. There we raise the creatures you've seen around here."