For the first time in years, perhaps the Kingpriest had chosen wisely. Vaananen could tell by the cut of the man: sturdy and strong, his pale body chiseled, almost translucent, as though an able sculptor had carved him of marble. The black silk tunic he wore was simple and elegant, a striking contrast to the bil shy;lowing, ornate robes of his clerical hosts, and he wore a battered sword at his side-a weapon that had seen years of action, the druid guessed, unlike the ornamental baubles banging around on the belts of the last three generals.
This man was dark-haired, handsome in a femi shy;nine, almost reptilian fashion, and he held the gaze of the Istarian priests impassively, with neither respect nor condescension. He refused the wine offered him by Brother Burgon and remained stand shy;ing when most of the clergy chose to sit, his pale arms crossed over his broad chest.
Beside him, the Kingpriest displayed his gentlest features. He was a lean, balding scholar with bright sky-blue-no, sea-blue-eyes. If the power of Istar had not resided in the little man, he might have been mistaken for the new general's obsessively proper secretary.
The two dignitaries spoke quietly to one another, as the priests and monks leaned into the conversation.
The Kingpriest looked tired, harried; what remained of his auburn hair had thinned even more since Vaananen had seen him last, and for a moment the druid wondered if the monarch was ill.
But when the blue eyes turned toward him, they were bright and hectic.
And afraid.
How odd.
Vaananen edged closer through the crowd, hear shy;ing the stranger's name bandied excitedly by the murmuring clerics.
Tadec? Tanik? The whispering was insistent, dis shy;tracting, the words blending together so that the druid could not make out the name in question. But whoever the man was, Tadec or Tanik, he continued to charm his hosts: a low, melodious comment from the man drew animated laughter and, with an icy smile, he scanned the room, his eyes locking at once with Vaananen's.
The eyes of the new general were amber, depth-less, and slitted. He stared at the druid, and the black core of his gaze opened malignly. Looking into the heart of those eyes, Vaananen saw an image of a dark void, a huge winged shape spiraling in the windless nothingness, its webbed, extended wings flexing and shimmering.
/ know you, a dark voice seemed to say, rising from nowhere but registering inside the shaking druid's head.
Then, as suddenly as it struck, the feeling sub shy;sided. Vaananen blinked, the general turned away, and the image vanished. But in that moment's com shy;munion Vaananen knew both what the man called himself, and who he really was.
"Takhisis," Vaananen whispered to himself, as the clergy around him slipped past on their way to meet
and admire and adore this new, mysterious leader. "Takhisis commands the armies of Istar. Now I know. "And now she knows, too."
The corridors of the tower were drafty and dank as the druid made his way back to his quarters. The hour was still early, his priestly brothers either at prayers or the festival … or adoring the general, breathless and rapt like vermin mesmerized before a sewer snake.
There was still time to warn the rebels, if Fordus returned to the kanaji.
Vaananen knew that the days to come would be dangerous for all of them. Now he would have to lock his doors, board his windows against the sud shy;denly hostile night. The goddess had recognized him-he was almost sure of it. And since that was true, his life was forfeit.
A faint light wavered and approached from a side corridor. Not even an hour, and. it has already begun, Vaananen thought, wrestling down a rising fear. He stepped into a dark threshold, pressed himself against the polished wood of the door. . and watched as a sleepy acolyte passed, bearing a torch to the last prayers of the night.
Vaananen moved out from the darkness, laughed softly and sadly. It would not do. He would not hide and hole away in the temple, waiting for Takhisis to strike. He would not lie trembling in bed, awaiting a footfall outside his locked doors.
And yet, despite his brave thoughts, Vaananen sighed in relief when his own door was behind him, when it was locked and double-locked against the night and his own fearful imaginings. At once the druid moved to the rena garden, to see if the four glyphs he had drawn that morning lay untouched in the shadowy sand.
Yes, they were still there. Fordus had not received them.
Vaananen sat on the black stone. It was time for a fifth symbol. The druids had taught him that a pow shy;erful magic lay in the crafting of this extraordinary glyph-a magic to be used only when circumstances were dire. The message of the fifth symbol was always loud: sometimes a warning of famine or sud shy;den flood, often, during the Age of Dreams, a token that a dragon approached. It was distinct from the other glyphs, for it beckoned with an impulse as strong as hunger or weariness.
Now the message would call out to Fordus from the landscape itself-from the rocks in the foothills to the mud along Lake Istar, wherever his army marched. The fifth rune would summon him back to the desert, to the kanaji.
Carefully, shaking ever so slightly, Vaananen drew the glyph beneath the other four. It was an ancient symbol, used last, the druid believed, in the time of Huma-in the Third Dragon War that had driven the goddess from the face of Krynn.
The markings were twofold, overlapping. The image of a woman upon that of a man.
Beware Takhisis! the glyph read. Beware the dark man!
Tamex greeted the last of the clergy, two balding old men who bowed and scraped before him as though he were the Kingpriest himself. They babbled their amenities, their little phrases of flattery and adoration, never noticing that the new commander's amber eyes had strayed from them.
Quick, ruthless, and efficient, she had come to Istar for business. Crawling through the city as a snake had been a pleasing reconnaissance. No one noticed another serpent in Istar, anyway. And there had been no one to bar entry to the arena, no one to disturb her next transformation.
Out of the sands she had assembled Tamex, and it had been easy for this embodiment, this creature of crystal and lies, to win over the Kingpriest and his company-indeed, to win over all of them.
All of them, that is, except that druid.
Oh, yes. She had seen the druid for the first time in a vision, exultant at Fordus's victory, raising his bared arms. It had to be him. She had seen the red oak leaf tattooed on the inside of his left arm.
That information alone, in the proper hands, would be enough to silence him.
Yet, at times the court of Istar moved with exasper shy;ating slowness. Misdemeanors could take years to try and judge, and a capital crime such as this-high trea shy;son against the empire-could take so long the druid might die of old age before he was sentenced.
No, his silencing would come by older, more tra shy;ditional means.
Tamex moved through the dispersing crowd, tak shy;ing care not to brush against priest or acolyte. The cold, stony feel of the adopted body would surely arouse suspicion. Moving the heavy limbs without overmuch noise or breakage was difficult enough.
Watch your windows, druid, the crystals in Tamex's blood whined and whispered. Watch your doors, and watch your back in the corridors.
And, oh, yes, count the sunrises and the sunsets, and bless each one of them. For you, there are few remaining.
Chapter 17
A third day had passed, and a fourth, while the glyphs lay unchanged in the rena garden. Always before, they had vanished on their own, a sign that their message had been received by the rebels.
But now Fordus was far afield, and Vaananen's concern deepened with the passing hours. Had the fifth sign not called him back? Perhaps the Prophet refused to return to the kanaji, to the intelligence that might save him and his small army.