Cael looked at the old dwarf with a puzzled expression.
“Magic,” the dwarf spat. “Not to be trusted, I always said, and now I’m proved right. There’s a rumor that magic is failing, that magicians’ spells and incantations are losing their power. And it not thirty years since the new magic was discovered after the old spells ceased to work, after Chaos stole the moons of magic. Good riddance, I say. They’d do better to use real gnomish fireworks, dangerous as they may be.” He snorted, waving his hand at the failed fireball’s pitiful smear of oily smoke now shredding in the breeze.
They inched their way toward the gate, passing finally beneath its massive arch into a ‘short roofed passage between the walls. It was pleasantly cool and dark after the warm spring sun and the close air of New City’s streets and alleys. However, the drums of a fife corps thundered within it, while the dancers jumped up and down like pistons in a gnomish engine. People grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders and dragged him into their dance, and in the crush Cael lost sight of his companion, though he was able to track the dwarf’s progress by the occasional bellowing curse heard above the pounding of the drums. However, it was not long before he was himself caught up by the dancers and dragged into the fray. He was jostled, pummeled, pinched, pressed, elbowed, poked, and finally spun like a chip on the flood out the other end of the tunnel into the open air of the Old City. Somehow, he’d managed to keep hold of his staff. The old dwarf was nowhere to be seen.
“You there! Hey you!” a voice shouted. Looking around, Cael spotted a contingent of Knights of Takhisis standing in the shadow of the gate’s southern tower. One Knight motioned for the elf to approach. Cael slowly hobbled through the streams of people. As he neared, the Knight who had hailed him winked. “Come over here,” he said.
“May I be of service, Sir Garrud?” Cael asked of the winking Knight.
“I thought that was you, Cael,” the Knight said. “Going to the party?”
“Eventually,” the elf answered as he watched for his companion.
“Here, try a little of this, “ the Knight said. He proffered a small brown bottle behind his shield. Grinning, Cael stooped, took the bottle and tilted it to his lips. Immediately, a fine silver mist erupted from his lips, filled the air with a potent odor of pure alcohol.
“Dwarf spirits,” the Knight laughed. “The best.”
“Indeed,” Cael gasped.
“What’s all this then?” shouted a voice behind them. The old dwarf appeared from the crowd. “Cael! So here you are. Confounded idiots! I thought they’d be the death of me.” He stopped beside his friend and, planting his heavy dwarf boots wide apart, glared up at the Knight.
“You, what are you up to?” the dwarf demanded of Sir Garrud. “Why pick Cael out of the crowd? It’s because he is an elf, isn’t it? I suppose you’ll be wanting to see my papers next. Do you know who I am?” he said, wagging his finger at the Knight’s nose.
“We have orders to arrest someone fitting Cael’s description, Master Hammerfell,” the Knight said sternly. “Fortunately, his documents are in order. I’m glad of it. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest an old friend. Cael and I are old friends, aren’t we Cael?
“Friends we are,” the elf smiled tolerantly.
“Yes, yes. That’s all good and well,” the dwarf growled. “If you are finished with him I’d like to go. We have a place on stage for the joust and the unveiling.”
“You’re already late. The joust has begun,” Sir Garrud said as he clapped Cael on the back, sending the chuckling elf and the old dwarf, sputtering with curses, on their way.
Chapter Six
In the center of the Great Plaza, a white knight lay on his back, wearily waving his hand in supplication, as a triumphant green-clad knight bowed to the raucous crowd. The Spring Dawning joust was symbolic. The white knight represented winter, while the green knight was the coming spring. Their mock battle celebrated the defeat of winter and the annual renewal of spring. Of course, the green knight always won, but the people enjoyed the event, and cheered wildly when the green knight at last overcame his white-clad adversary.
Master Hammerfell was angry at having missed the show. He and Cael made their way hastily onto the stage built upon the steps of the Lord’s Palace, overlooking the Plaza. An attendant showed them where to stand, as the crowds continued to cheer. Nobody noticed their late entrance, for Master Hammerfell’s place was far from the dignitaries and nobles surrounding the Lord of Palanthas, the Lord Knight of the Knights of Takhisis, and the city’s senators. Among these latter personages sat Bertrem, head of the order of Aesthetics of the Great Library of Palanthas, as well as, numerous wealthy merchants, courtiers and courtesans, nobles, and prosperous captains of the city’s merchant fleet Near them, a powerful contingent of grim-faced guards huddled around a small, weasel-faced man dressed in robes of gray. He glared at anyone who approached too closely.
“Look who is here,” Cael said, pointing him out.
“Arach Jannon,” the dwarf snorted in “They say he knows everything that passes within Palanthas, that he sits in his chamber beneath the Lord’s Palace like a great spider, controlling the web of informants and spies that he has spun across this city. No deed goes unmarked, no cargo landed, no missive dispatched by secret courier, no seditious word whispered, but that he knows about it. He is the Judge of Law of the city, a man to be feared. His is also the special duty of protecting the Founderstone and investigating its power.”
“A Gray Robe, eh?” Cael noted. “Is his magic powerful?”
The dwarf shot him a suspicious glance. “I suppose. Despite his looks, he is not a man to be trifled with, I hear. He is clever and ruthless. They say it was he who brought the old Thieves’ Guild low. Those warriors you see around him are his handpicked guard. The Nine Axes they are called, very dangerous men, the best in all Solamnia. They are not Knights of Takhisis, so they are not above a knife in the back. They guard the Founderstone day and night, and are but one strand in a larger net of traps and foils. Look!”
At the center of the stage stood a man imploring the crowd to silence. He was a small, elderly fellow with a balding head and a groomed goatee protruding from his weak chin. With each pleading gesture for silence, the crowd grew less respectful, beginning to jeer.
“The Lord Mayor of Palanthas,” the dwarf shouted. “Xavier uth Nostran. What a fool.” Turning round, he found his elf companion gently loosening the pursestrings of their nearest neighbor-a wine importer by the name of Jevor Kannigan. Kharzog elbowed the elfin the ribs and trod on his foot with one heavy dwarven boot. Cael reluctantly left the merchant’s fat purse where it hung and returned his attention to the festivities.
People were shouting good-natured obscenities at Lord Xavier, suggesting that he assume all sorts of impossible body positions. Some of the nobles and senators on the stage chuckled in embarrassment. Finally, a tall, powerfully built man wearing the black armor of the Knights of Takhisis rose pointedly to his feet. The crowd quieted somewhat, though they felt safe enough in their numbers to hurl a few curses even at the Lord Knight of the City, Sir Kinsaid. He stared ominously out at them as though memorizing their faces for fixture reference, and soon the jeering abated.
“People of Palanthas,” the lord mayor said in a high, reedy voice. “Before the ceremonies continue, our great champion, the Lord Knight of the City of Palanthas, Sir Elstone Kinsaid, has an important announcement to make, which I am sure shall greatly benefit us all.” His voice scraped an octave higher on the words “important announcement,” causing many in the crowd to wince at his words. Few important announcements made by Sir Kinsaid had ever benefited anyone but the Knights of Takhisis. Lord Xavier cringingly resumed his seat.