“We've found no trace of Commander Thouriss or the human. The gully dwarves report that the pool is connected with drains and tunnels that lead off to other parts of the city. I have ordered the goblins to search the old cisterns and wells for signs.” Shanz hissed with frustration. “The damned gully dwarves have the whole city riddled with tunnels. It's no wonder we can't keep track of them!”
“Do what you think necessary,” Krago said. “Military matters are your province, Captain.”
Shanz nodded curtly and departed. When he was gone, Catchflea let out an audible sigh of relief.
Krago glanced at the old man. “He would like to see us all dead,” the cleric said matter-of-factly. “Like most of his kind, he has no trust or liking for warm-blooded things.”
“Why does he defer to you, then? He is afraid of something, yes?” Catchflea said.
“Our mutual patron, the black dragon, Khisanth.”
“Is there actually a black dragon?” Catchflea asked.
“Most certainly,” Krago replied. “Make no mistake, it is she who rules Xak Tsaroth.” He looked down at the scroll spread on the table before him. Without looking up, he added, “Have you ever seen a dragon, old man?”
“Never.” Catchflea shook his head.
Krago's fingers traced a line of writing on the scroll. He was silent so long that Catchflea thought their conversation was over. Suddenly, Krago looked up and locked eyes with the old soothsayer. “Khisanth will arrive soon. She will want revenge for the trouble you've caused. Your death arrives with her.”
Krago returned to his study of the scroll, and Catchflea was left staring in shock at his bowed head.
Di An went to a corner of Krago's sleeping area and slipped down between two stacks of books. The pleasure of her newly discovered growth was tempered by the ever-present danger she and Catchflea lived in. Krago had saved them once, but only for his own convenience. When the dragon returned-Di An shivered at the thought-their last appeal would be gone.
Riverwind, she said silently, her lips gently forming the name. Riverwind.
He awoke with a start.
Riverwind was lying on an island of wet stones. It came back to him in a dizzying rush-Xak Tsaroth, Thouriss, the fight, the pool. A wall of exhaustion had fallen on him, and as he lay in the darkness it took some time for him to regain his equilibrium. His eye was swollen shut, and the cut on his arm felt stiff with dried blood. Riverwind stood and felt around the well's wall. He found what he was looking for: steps formed when the masons had set individual bricks deeper in the wall than others. He took several deep breaths and stretched his tired limbs. The brief sleep had helped some. He climbed up to where he remembered seeing daylight. The top of the well was covered with slabs of stone. Cracks between the rocks let in the dim light he recalled. Riverwind peered out. He could see the broken walls of houses around him.
His bent his neck, braced his shoulders against the blocks, and pushed. A cascade of small pebbles rolled down noisily. Undaunted, he shoved again. One slab moved sideways and the weight of the obstruction dramatically decreased. Though his arms and back were sore, he cleared the rocks away and climbed out of the well.
He'd surfaced in the ruins north and east of the great plaza. The East Falls fumed on his left. Riverwind slipped over the rubble to a low wall and saw that the pot and chain lift was resting on the pavement. A lone armed goblin guarded the pot.
The plaza area was ablaze with torches. Riverwind didn't know how long he'd been unconscious in the well, but it was obvious the goblins and draconians were still looking for their lost leader. Massed torches gave the white stones of Xak Tsaroth a bloody glow.
Riverwind. Riverwind.
He heard his name spoken, but there was no one near him. Ducking behind the wall, he wondered if his injuries were making him delirious. Yet it had sounded so real. He thought of Goldmoon. She would call him like that. Perhaps she knew he was in peril and called out to him.
Footsteps crunched through the gravel on the other side of the wall. Riverwind spied goblin feet, one pair. He lay in wait until the goblin walked past, then he sprang over the wall and grabbed the soldier from behind. The goblin was no match for his desperate strength and the large stone he wielded, and he soon had the creature laid out cold at his feet. Riverwind dragged the goblin into the ruins. He stripped off the creature's breastplate, cloak, helmet, and weapons. The apparel smelled foul. All the items were too short, but in poor light he might get by impersonating a goblin. It had worked before.
Riverwind had no idea what had happened to Catchflea or Di An. They might even be dead by now. But he had to find out, and he had one other task to take care of: seeing to the end of Krago and his hideous experiment. No inhabitant of Krynn would be safe as long as Krago could breed his race of evil ophidians.
Rather than skulk in the shadows, he marched boldly along the center of the street toward the palace. He passed several groups of guards, all of whom spoke to him in a harsh goblin dialect. Riverwind grunted and kept going.
He crossed the footbridge at the base of the East Falls and entered the ancient palace by means of the old postern door Di An had been taken to. The smell of the draconian officers' quarters was overwhelming.
“What do you want?” snarled a draconian.
Riverwind hunched his shoulders and let the helmet slide down over his nose. “Master Krago sent for me,” he said gruffly.
“Well, get going,” the draconian said. “Stupid goblin.”
Riverwind moved on, keeping the cloak close around him. To his right were more alcovelike rooms occupied by the draconians. To his left was an empty corridor. He skirted the open door and headed down the passage.
Four goblins stood, two on each side of the door. “Master Krago sent for me,” he said, keeping his face averted.
“G'wan in,” said the nearest guard. Riverwind put out a hand to grasp the bronze door handle. When he did, he exposed his arm.
“Huh? What's this?” said the near goblin. He drew his sword. “You ain't one o' us!”
“Thank the gods for that!” Riverwind exclaimed. He whipped back the cloak and drew his goblin sword.
He took the chief guard's attack and turned it, thrusting his point through the goblin, below his breastplate. The guard fell backward, knocking down his comrade. Behind Riverwind, the second pair of goblins closed in. He felt a sword tip rip through his cloak. He turned sharply and harried the two guards away. The narrow corridor did not allow much room to maneuver, so the goblins' advantage of numbers was largely nullified.
“Yah-ha!” Riverwind shouted, just to rattle his foes. The goblins kept off until he found the door handle behind his back and twisted it. Riverwind slipped inside and threw the door shut.
The room was a frozen tableau. Catchflea, quill in hand, sat by Krago at the table. The young cleric's mouth was open in midword. The room was cluttered with books, papers, jars, and beakers. Riverwind didn't see Di An.
“Riverwind! You're alive!” Catchflea cried, astonished.
“So far!”
The old soothsayer hopped up, spilling the ink pot over the transcript he was making. Krago's surprise at seeing Riverwind changed to dismay at the damage done to the paper. He groaned loudly, trying to stem the flow of ink over the scroll. “Look what you've done!” he cried.
“You keep still,” Riverwind warned.
He thrust his sword through the door handle and latch plate, holding the door closed. The goblins rattled and pounded on the outside. Riverwind and Catchflea pushed a table, a set of creaking shelves, and a heavy oaken chest full of chemicals against the door. As books and bottles fell from the shelves, Krago wailed, “Stop, you idiots! Those are important and valuable books. You're destroying my work!”