Khisanth was only further confused after she returned to the lair late in the night from her flight to Delphon. She'd seen few signs of life in the ruins of the fortress there. In fact, there had been so little to see that she'd spent more time devising ways to dodge Maldeev's ultimatum than actually spying. The dragon intended to report her lack of findings directly to Khoal, but he didn't appear to have returned from his own recon flight to the north. Dnestr and Neetra's lairs were similarly dark. A negative report could certainly wait until the morning. With a shrug of her shoulders, the black dragon retired early for the night.
A river? The young, freckle-faced sentry peered closely at the dark ribbon snaking toward him from the north. Unlike a river, this thing had two distinct ends and was a bit spotty in the middle. It was no river of cold mountain water. This was a stream of humanity. An army on the march. The flashes of silver he'd thought were moonlight on rushing water came from polished weapons of steel.
The sentry's pulse quickened. Perhaps it was a newly raised company of mercenaries coming to join the Black Wing. But that made little sense-why would they march at night? Could they be the draconians everyone knew the
highlord was expecting? They would be coming on foot from Neraka to the north. So why hadn't he been told to look for them? The boy scowled. With no instructions, Sergeant Bild had thrown him up into the north guard tower tonight for the first time. How could he be expected to do his job if no one told him anything?
The young sentry glanced over his shoulder at the alarm bell suspended from a wooden tower in the courtyard. That bell was to alert the garrison in the event of an emergency. Was this an emergency? How could he be sure? The sentry looked back out onto the plain. That black, snaky shape sure looked like an army.
The whole garrison was asleep. Waking everyone now, if his sergeant had simply forgotten to tell him to expect an army, could be the worst mistake of the young soldier's life. It could be the last one, too, he realized. It would be his word against Bild's. Fat chance of anyone believing him. The boy rubbed his face. Sounding the alarm seemed more and more like a very bad idea.
What if it was an attacking army? The Black Wing wasn't at war yet. No one had told him to expect an attack. He could ask the soldier in the south guard tower to take a look, but they would both have left their posts; there was a stiff penalty for that. After a moment's reflection, the soldier decided to alert his sergeant and let the more experienced man have a look. Then the mistake, whosesoever it was, would be kept between them. Yes, thaf s it, he thought as he scrambled down the lashed ladder from the guard tower, clutching his spear.
It was a short jog to Bild's quarters. Facing the heavy wooden door, the sentry paused to decide just what he would say. In the silence, he heard sounds from inside.
Having heard nothing for hours but the quiet of the night, the soldier was surprised that someone else in the fortress was awake. There was no mistaking Bild's gravelly laughter. The young sentry was even more surprised to hear it echoed by a woman's high-pitched titter. He close his eyes and rubbed his freckled face again.
Waking the sergeant would be bad enough, but interrupting him while he___No, that was definitely a bad idea.
The soldier turned away from the door and stood forlornly in the open-roofed yard, wondering what to do next. There were other sergeants, though he didn't know their names. He'd just have to find one, and fast.
Dashing past the row of doors under the colonnade, trying to decide which one to knock on, the soldier was surprised again to see light filtering out through a shuttered window. What luck! He would be saved the awkwardness of having to wake someone.
The sentry scurried down the steps cut into the ground that led to the basement of the tower. He stepped up to the door and rapped tentatively. Immediately he heard move shy;ment inside. Footsteps approached the door. "Who's there?" "My name is Caithford. I'm on sentry duty." "No, you aren't," the voice responded. "You're knocking on my door when you should be on the ramparts. What do you want?"
Rattled, the soldier stammered back, "Uh, I've seen some shy;thing. Down on the plain to the north. It looks like it might
be, um, an army."
Feet scuffed on the floor inside the room. A heavy bolt clanked and the door swung inward, revealing one of Mal-deev's dark clerics. This one was the dark-skinned elf, Andor. Behind him, the walls of the candlelit chamber were lined with stoppered bottles containing powders, tiny crea shy;tures suspended in oil, and other things so gruesome and odd he couldn't assign them names.
"Yes? Well?" The cleric shifted to obscure the human's view.
The shocked sentry jolted upright to attention, slapping his spear against his shoulder. The mysterious, hooded cler shy;ics were feared by the soldiers, but young Caithford did his best to hide his apprehension. "I apologize, your reverence, I saw the light and thought one of the sergeants had these quarters."
"Never mind," Andor muttered. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his dark head to cover his ears and slipped the deep cowl up around his neck. "If you think it's an army, why didn't you ring the alarm bell?"
The boy's face reddened. "It's pretty dark, and I couldn't see much more than a black trail. Maybe it's nothing, maybe
draconians___"
The young soldier's inexperience was clear to see. "Hurry now," the renegade dark-elf mage said, pushing the boy up the steps. "Take me to your post and show me this legion of soldiers."
Minutes later, both men stood atop the guard tower star shy;ing down toward the plain below the stronghold.
The elf's heightened sense of sight confirmed the sentry's fear. "That does indeed look like an army." Andor glanced toward the horizon, still dark, though lightening. "We have some time yet before dawn. Wait for me here-don't sound the alarm until I return."
Glad to have the weight of responsibility lifted, the sentry stepped aside, making room for the cleric to approach the ladder. But instead of leaving the tower, the dark elf reached below his cloak into a pouch at his belt. He removed a vial and held it up with the crescent moon behind it. The crystal shone faintly in the eery light, refracting bars of light onto the cleric's face and robes.
Wide-eyed, the sentry watched the cleric unstop the vial while muttering prayers and incantations beneath his breath. In one swift motion he tossed the contents of the cruet down his throat, then swiftly replaced the stopper and vial in his pouch.
Nothing seemed to happen for several moments. But then the dark blue cloak sagged and collapsed to the floor. A shadow flowed out of the pile of clothing and slipped over the brink of the guard tower. The sentry peered over the edge and saw the inky black cloud racing across the rocks toward the plain. The human moved in a wide path around the robes on the floor to stand as far from them as possible.
Andor sped across the broken ground. He was in a four-way race, pitting his cunning against the coming dawn, which would reveal him clearly; the advancing army, which would shortly reach the Black Wing's citadel; and the limited duration of his potion. But this was an opportunity for advancement Andor was not going to waste.
It was possible, he thought, that the youth was right; per shy;haps this was the troop of draconian reinforcements Maldeev expected. That possibility faded completely when Andor saw the banners waving atop the army's sharp-tipped pikes, when he saw the well-groomed, skirted, and barded horses. Atop the mounts were grim-faced humans in luminously polished plate mail.
These were Knights of Solamnia.
The human at the front of the parade of knights was obvi shy;ously their general. His plate mail armor was polished to rival a looking glass; pressed into the metal on his left breast was an oval the size of a human hand, inside which was an elaborately detailed crown.