Rolling to the side, the human rose into a crouch. His shoulders heaved with the effort of each breath, and the tip of his sword rested on the ground-as if he no longer had the strength to lift the heavy blade. Ankhar saw his chance and lurched forward, his movements awkward because of his own weariness. But the spear tip drove directly at the human’s pounding heart.
Except Jaymes was no longer there. From some unsuspected reserve, he found the strength to dodge nimbly out of the way, and the emerald head of Ankhar’s weapon sliced only the air next to his arm. Overbalanced, the half-giant fell sprawling.
Jaymes stood over him, sword upraised, keen blade aimed downward. Ankhar looked up and saw his own death writ in blue fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sir Blayne felt better than he had since the day, two months earlier, when he had destroyed two-thirds of the emperor’s artillery by surprise attack. That elation had been short lived, of course; he expected a greater triumph the next time around, one that would last a long time.
He and Sir Ballard approached the palace of Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne. Both men wore knightly regalia, emblazoned with the Crown in Blayne’s case, the Rose for Ballard. Their boots and helmets were shined, their swords sharpened but sheathed. If all went well, their mission would not entail drawing those weapons. The two men drew up before the closed gates, where a pair of men-at-arms had been watching their approach curiously.
“I am Sir Ballard of the Legion of Steel, and this is Sir Blayne of Vingaard. We seek an audience with the lord mayor,” Ballard declared, standing rigidly at attention. Like Blayne, he held his helmet under his left arm; neither knight saluted the common guards.
Blayne was amazed at how martial Ballard had made himself look. After the scruffy clothes and irregular appearance of him and his men in their headquarters, the noble had half wondered if they would be scaling the palace walls by rope or sneaking in through the kitchen door after dark. Instead, they marched straight to the front door and presented themselves formally with a request for an audience. The audacity of it nearly took the young lord’s breath away.
The two guards hastily conferred, one quickly slipping through the door. “Make yourselves comfortable, sir knights,” said the other, gesturing to a nearby bench, which the stalwart knights disdained.
In a few moments, the first guard came back, and he held open the door. “It so happens the regent has a few moments; he will see you now.”
Without further word, Ballard and Blayne marched into the palace, their feet moving in perfect cadence as they followed the guard through a high-ceilinged, marble-floored hall. He led them into a small reception room, where, despite the warm summer weather, the windows were shut and a fire burned on a large hearth.
The lord regent was a small, squat man who reminded Blayne surprisingly of a frog. He appeared to be bald, though a close inspection revealed a few thin strands of white hair. He was beardless, with a receding chin, and his eyes were watery and seemed oddly out of focus. There was nothing physically appealing or powerful about him. Kerrigan suppressed a sense of disappointment, reminding himself of the emperor’s many crimes. Surely any man would make a better ruler than Jaymes Markham!
“My Lord Regent!” said Ballard, saluting with a clap of his hand to his chest. Blayne did the same as his companion introduced them.
“What did you men wish to see me about?” wondered du Chagne, who was obviously not one for small talk.
They had already agreed that Ballard, the older and more experienced fellow, would do the talking. Blayne stood at attention.
“My lord,” Ballard began. “The state of affairs in the city and the nation have become intolerable. The knights of my legion, and many other orders, have determined the emperor is in violation of many laws, as well as traditions, customs, and in fact, the Oath and the Measure itself. He will be removed from command of Solamnia, and we most respectfully ask if you will return, in the interim, to the authority and role you adopted when the Dark Knights were driven out.”
“You mean… you want me to assume the mantle of ruler of this city?” Du Chagne blinked his rheumy eyes, seeming surprised-but only mildly so-by the suggestion.
“That is exactly so, my lord. Rebels have already taken control of the High Clerist’s Tower. They will prevent the emperor from returning to the city until the new order has been established. We have representatives in the temples of Shinare and Kiri-Jolith who are also prepared to accept a change in ruler. But we need a leader, someone the people can rally around. You, Excellency, are the only person in Palanthas who could fill that role.”
“And you, young… Blayne Kerrigan, is it not? What is your place in all this?”
“Perhaps my lord has heard that the emperor murdered my father-under a flag of truce. It was that incident that propelled me onto this course. I vowed that Lord Kerrigan’s death would be avenged, and this is a way to do it righteously.”
“But two of you only? Surely there is a greater power at work here?”
“Indeed, my lord. The Legion of Steel has posted cadres to the two temples I have mentioned, as well as to the city garrison headquarters and to the gates. They will call upon the historic respect for the knighthood as a force for justice.”
Du Chagne rose from his desk and came around to pat each of the men on the shoulder. “Thank you for this meeting. I applaud your courage, both of you. And what you are doing is only right and proper. I accept your commission.”
“Very good, my lord,” Ballard replied. “We have prepared an announcement. With your approval, we will have it read by the city heralds immediately.”
“Ah, yes, good thinking,” said the lord regent, who had seemed to grow a few inches during the course of the meeting. “Perhaps you could let me see it, for approval. Then we will waste no time in spreading the word through the city.”
Hoarst completed his meditations in the laboratory of the gray castle in the gray mountains of Dargaard. His women fearfully avoided him-his coldness and aloof manner did little to entice them-and he, in turn, ignored them utterly. For this task, he would work alone.
Blowing the dust off of an ancient tome, he opened the spellbook on his table and spent more than twenty-four straight hours studying the complicated workings of a dangerous and powerful incantation. He didn’t sleep and only took small sips of water for sustenance. His entire intellect was devoted to the effort of absorbing the arcane symbols, mystical gestures, and almost unpronounceable sounds. Finally, certain that he could cast the spell flawlessly, he closed the book and made ready to leave.
Looking around at the huge castle, he shrugged off the feeling that the place was even darker and grayer than it had been since he had lost Sirene. His kind did not permit regrets, certainly not when he had such important work to do.
Still, he reflected, perhaps later, when the matter was resolved, he would undertake a search, questing across Ansalon, across all of Krynn, for another white-skinned beauty…
It was time to go. His plan required several stages of precise magical accomplishment. To begin with, he had to locate Ankhar. He could cast a spell that would lead him to a specific object. The more unique and powerful the object, the easier it would be to find. The Nightmaster had given him the perfect suggestion: a potent artifact of the Prince of Lies, the emerald spearhead that tipped the mighty weapon carried by Ankhar the Truth.
When Hoarst cast the spell, it gave him a clear indication of where the artifact could be found. The Thorn Knight determined immediately that his target was in a valley of the Garnet Range. Next was teleportation. He would not be coming back to his keep, perhaps for a very long time, so he made his final preparations for travel carefully. He would carry his sharp dagger, a few spellbooks, a wide array of components, and small bottles of potion.