“Yes,” he repeated in a quiet voice, “send for Sir Markham and for the mage, Dalamar, too.”
This last request seemed to confound even Charles. He considered it a moment, then, a pained expression on his face, he ventured to protest, “I am extremely sorry, my lord, but I have no way to way to send a message to—to the Tower of High Sorcery. No living being can set foot in that accursed grove of trees, not even kender!”
“Damn!” Tanis fumed. “I have to talk to him!” Ideas raced through his mind. “Surely you’ve got goblin prisoners? One of their kind could get through the Grove. Get one of the creatures, promise it freedom, money, half the kingdom, Amothus himself, anything! Just get it inside that blasted Grove—”
“That will be unnecessary, Half-Elven,” said a smooth voice. A black-robed figure materialized within the hallway of the palace, startling Tanis, traumatizing the footmen, and even causing Charles to raise his eyebrows.
“You are powerful,” Tanis remarked, drawing near the dark elf magic-user. Charles was issuing orders to various servants, sending one to awaken Lord Amothus and another to locate Sir Markham. “I need to talk to you privately. Come in here.”
Following Tanis, Dalamar smiled coolly. “I wish I could accept the compliment, Half-Elven, but it was simply through observation that I discerned your arrival, not any magical mind-reading. From the laboratory window, I saw the bronze dragon land in the palace courtyard. I saw you dismount and enter the palace. I have need to talk to you as much as you to me. Therefore, I am here.”
Tanis shut the door. “Quickly, before the others come. You know what is headed this way?”
“I knew last night. I sent word to you, but you had already left,” Dalamar’s smile twisted. “My spies fly on swift wings.”
“If they fly on wings at all,” Tanis muttered. With a sigh, he scratched his beard, then, raising his head, looked at Dalamar intently. The dark elf stood, hands folded in his black robes, calm and collected. The young elf certainly appeared to be someone who could be relied upon to perform with cool courage in a tight spot. Unfortunately, just who he would perform for was open to doubt. Tanis rubbed his forehead. How confusing this was! How much easier it had been back in the old days—he sounded like someone’s grandfather!—when good and evil had been clearly defined and everyone knew which side they were fighting for or against. Now, he was allied with evil fighting against evil. How was that possible? Evil turns in upon itself, so Elistan read from the Disks of Mishakal. Shaking his head angrily, Tanis realized he was wasting time. He had to trust this Dalamar—at least, he had to trust to his ambition.
“Is there any way to stop Lord Soth?”
Dalamar nodded slowly. “You are quick-thinking, Half-Elven. So you believe, too, that the death knight will attack Palanthas?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Tanis snapped. “That has to be Kit’s plan. It’s what equalizes the odds.” The dark elf shrugged. “To answer your question, no, there is nothing that can be done. Not now, at any rate.”
“You? Can you stop him?”
“I dare not leave my post beside the Portal. I came this time because I know Raistlin is still far from it. But every breath we draw brings him nearer. This will be my last chance to leave the Tower. That was why I came to talk to you—to warn you. There is little time.”
“He’s winning!” Tanis stared at Dalamar incredulously.
“You have always underestimated him,” Dalamar said with a sneer. “I told you, he is now strong, powerful, the greatest wizard who has ever lived. Of course, he is winning! But at what cost... at what great cost.”
Tanis frowned. He didn’t like the note of pride he heard in Dalamar’s voice when he talked about Raistlin. That certainly didn’t sound like an apprentice who was prepared to kill his Shalafi if need arose.
“But, to return to Lord Soth,” said Dalamar coldly, seeing more of Tanis’s thoughts on the half-elf’s face than Tanis had intended. “When I first realized that he would undoubtedly use this opportunity to take his own revenge upon a city and a people he has long hated—if one believes the old legends about his downfall—I contacted the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest—”
“Of course!” Tanis gasped in relief. “Par-Salian! The Conclave. They could—”
“There was no answer to my message,” Dalamar continued, ignoring the interruption. “Something strange is transpiring there. I do not know what. My messenger found the way barred and, for one of his—shall we say—light and airy nature, that is not easy.”
“But—”
“Oh”—Dalamar shrugged his black-robed shoulders—“I will continue to try. But we cannot count on them, and they are the only magic-users powerful enough to stop a death knight.”
“The clerics of Paladine—”
“—are new in their faith. In Huma’s day, it was said the truly powerful clerics could call down Paladine’s aid and use certain holy words against death knights, but—if so—there are none now on Krynn who have that power.”
Tanis pondered a moment.
“Kit’s destination will be the Tower of High Sorcery to meet and help her brother, right?”
“And try to stop me,” Dalamar said in a tight voice, his face paling.
“Can Kitiara get through the Shoikan Grove?”
Dalamar shrugged again, but his cool manner was, Tanis noticed, suddenly tense and forced.
“The Grove is under my control. It will keep out all creatures, living and dead.” Dalamar smiled again, but this time, without mirth. “Your goblin, by the way, wouldn’t have lasted five seconds.
However, Kitiara had a charm, given her by Raistlin. If she has it still, and the courage to use it, and if Lord Soth is with her, yes, she might get through. Once inside, however, she must face the Tower’s guardians, no less formidable than those in the Grove. Still, that is my concern—not yours—”
“Too much is your concern!” Tanis snapped. “Give me a charm! Let me inside the Tower! I can deal with her—”
“Oh, yes.” Dalamar returned, amused, “I know how well you dealt with her in the past. Listen, Half-Elven, you will have all you can handle trying to keep control of the city. Besides, you have forgotten one thing—Soth’s true purpose in this. He wants Kitiara dead. He wants her for himself. He told me as much. Of course, he must make it look good. If he can accomplish her death and avenge himself upon Palanthas, he will have succeeded in his objective. He couldn’t care less about Raistlin.”
Feeling suddenly chilled to the very soul, Tanis could not reply. He had, indeed, forgotten Soth’s objective. The half-elf shuddered. Kitiara had done much that was evil. Sturm had died upon the end of her spear, countless had died by her commands, countless more had suffered and still suffered. But did she deserve this? An endless life of cold and dark torment, bound forever in some type of unholy marriage to this creature of the Abyss?
A curtain of darkness shrouded Tanis’s vision. Dizzy, weak, he saw himself teetering on the brink of a yawning chasm and felt himself falling...
There was a dim sensation of being enfolded in soft black cloth, he felt strong hands supporting him, guiding him...
Then nothing.
The cool, smooth rim of a glass touched Tanis’s lips, brandy stung his tongue and warmed his throat. Groggily, he looked up to see Charles hovering over him.
“You have ridden far, without food or drink, so the dark elf tells me.” Behind Charles floated the pale anxious face of Lord Amothus. Wrapped in a white dressing robe, he looked very much like a distraught ghost.
“Yes,” Tanis muttered, pushing the glass away from him and trying to rise. Feeling the room sway beneath his feet, however, he decided he better remain seated. “You are right—I had better have something to eat.” He glanced around for the dark elf. “Where is Dalamar?”