Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (38 page)

A
s it turned out, the companions discovered it was going to be easy getting into Neraka.

Deadly easy.

“What in the name of the gods is happening?” Caramon muttered as he and Tanis, still dressed in their stolen dragonarmor, stared down onto the plains from their hidden vantage point in the mountains west of Neraka.

Writhing black lines snaked across the barren plain toward the only building within a hundred miles, the Temple of the Queen of Darkness. It looked as though hundreds of vipers were slithering down from the mountains, but these were not vipers. These were the dragonarmies, thousands strong. The two men watching saw here and there the flash of sun off spear and shield. Flags of black and red and blue fluttered from tall poles that bore the emblems of the Dragon Highlords. Flying
high above them, dragons filled the air with a hideous rainbow of colors—reds, blues, greens, and blacks. Two gigantic flying citadels hovered over the walled Temple compound; the shadows they cast made it perpetual night down below.

“You know,” said Caramon slowly, “it’s a good thing that old man attacked us back there. We would have been massacred if we’d ridden our brass dragons into this mob.”

“Yes,” Tanis agreed absently. He’d been thinking about that “old man,” adding a few things together, remembering what he himself had seen and what Tas had told him. The more he thought about Fizban, the closer he came to realizing the truth. His skin “shivered,” as Flint would have said.

Recalling Flint, a sudden swift aching in his heart made him put thoughts of the dwarf—and the old man—from his mind. He had enough to worry about now, and there would be no old mages to help him out of this one.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Tanis said quietly, “but it’s working for us now, not against us. Remember what Elistan said once? It is written in the Disks of Mishakal that evil turns upon itself. The Dark Queen is gathering her forces, for whatever reason. Probably preparing to deal Krynn a final death blow. But we can slip in easily among the confusion. No one will notice two guards bringing in a group of prisoners.”

“You hope,” Caramon added gloomily.

“I pray,” Tanis said softly.

The captain of the guard at the gates of Neraka was a sorely harrassed man. The Dark Queen had called a Council of War and, for only the second time since the war began, the Dragon Highlords on the continent of Ansalon were gathering together. Four days ago, they began arriving in Neraka and, since then, the captain’s life had been a waking nightmare.

The Highlords were supposed to enter the city by order of rank. Thus Lord Ariakas entered first with his personal retinue, his troops, his bodyguards, his dragons; then Kitiara, the Dark Lady, with her personal retinue, her troops, her bodyguards, her dragons; then Lucien of Takar with his personal retinue, his troops and so forth through all the Highlords down to Dragon Highlord Toede, of the eastern front.

The system was designed to do more than simply honor the higher-ups. It was intended to move large numbers of
troops and dragons, as well as all their supplies, into and out of a complex that had never been intended to hold large concentrations of troops. Nor, as distrustful as the Highlords were of each other, could any Highlord be persuaded to enter with a single draconian less than any other Highlord. It was a good system and it should have worked. Unfortunately, there was trouble from the very outset when Lord Ariakas arrived two days late.

Had he done this purposefully to create the confusion he knew must result? The captain did not know and he dared not ask, but he had his own ideas. This meant, of course, that those Highlords who arrived before Ariakas were forced to camp on the plains outside the Temple compound until the Lord made his entry. This provoked trouble. The draconians, goblins, and human mercenaries wanted the pleasures of the camp city that had been hastily erected in the Temple square. They had marched long distances and were justifiably angry when this was denied them.

Many sneaked over the walls at night, drawn to the taverns as flies to honey. Brawls broke out—each Highlord’s troops being loyal to that particular Highlord and no other. The dungeons below the Temple were filled to overflowing. The captain finally ordered his forces to haul the drunks out of the city in wheelbarrows every morning and dump them on the plains where they were retrieved by their irate commanders.

Quarrels started among the dragons, too, as each lead dragon sought to establish dominance over the others. A big green, Cyan Bloodbane, had actually killed a red in a fight over a deer. Unfortunately for Cyan, the red had been a pet of the Dark Queen’s. The big green was now imprisoned in a cave beneath Neraka, where his howls and violent taillashings caused many up above to think an earthquake had struck.

The captain had not slept well in two nights. When word reached him early in the morning of the third day that Ariakas had arrived, the captain very nearly gave thanks on his knees. Hurriedly marshaling his staff, he gave orders for the grand entrance to begin. Everything proceeded smoothly until several hundred of Toede’s draconians saw Ariakas’s troops entering the Temple square. Drunk and completely out of the control of their ineffectual leaders, they attempted to crowd in
as well. Angry at the disruption, Ariakas’s captains ordered their men to fight back. Chaos erupted.

Furious, the Dark Queen sent out her own troops, armed with whips, steel-link chains, and maces. Black-robed magicusers walked among them, as well as dark clerics. Between the whippings, headbashings, and spellcasting, order was eventually restored. Lord Ariakas and his troops finally entered the Temple compound with dignity—if not grace.

It might have been mid-afternoon—by now the captain had completely lost track of time (those blasted citadels cut off the sunlight)—when one of the guards appeared, requesting his presence at the front gates.

“What is it?” the captain snarled impatiently, fixing the guard with a piercing gaze from his one good eye (the other had been lost in a battle with the elves in Silvanesti). “Another fight? Knock ’em both over the head and haul ’em to prison. I’m sick—”

“N-not a fight, sir,” stuttered the guard, a young goblin terrified of his human captain. “The watch at the g-gate sent m-me. T-Two officers with p-prisoners want p-permission to enter.”

The captain swore in frustration. What next? He almost told the goblin to go back and let them enter. The place was crawling with slaves and prisoners already. A few more wouldn’t matter. Highlord Kitiara’s troops were gathering outside, ready to come in. He had to be on hand to extend official greetings.

“What kind of prisoners?” he asked irritably, trying hastily to catch up on reams of paperwork before leaving to attend the ceremony. “Drunken draconians? Just take them—”

“I—I think you should c-come, s-sir.” The goblin was sweating, and sweating goblins are not pleasant to be around. “Th-There’s a couple of h-humans, and a k-kender.”

The captain wrinkled his nose. “I said,” He stopped. “A kender?” he said, looking up with considerable interest. “There wasn’t, by any chance, a dwarf?”

“Not as I know of, sir,” answered the poor goblin. “But I might have missed one in the c-crowd, sir.”

“I’ll come,” the captain said. Hastily strapping on his sword, he followed the goblin down to the front gate.

Here, for the moment, peace reigned. Ariakas’s troops were all within the tent city now. Kitiara’s were jostling and
fighting, forming ranks to march inside. It was nearly time for the ceremony to begin. The captain cast a swift glance over the group standing before him, just inside the front gates.

Two dragonarmy officers of high rank stood guard over a group of sullen prisoners. The captain studied the prisoners carefully, remembering orders he had received only two days ago. He was to watch, in particular, for a dwarf traveling with a kender. There might possibly be an elflord with them and an elfwoman with long, silver hair—in reality, a silver dragon. These had been the companions of the elfwoman they were holding prisoner, and the Dark Queen expected any or all of them to attempt to rescue her.

Here was a kender, all right. But the woman had curly red hair, not silver, and if she was a dragon, the captain would eat his plate-mail. The stooped old man with the long scraggly beard was certainly human, not a dwarf or an elflord. All in all, he couldn’t imagine why two dragonarmy officers had bothered taking the motley group prisoner.

“Just slit their throats and be done with it instead of bothering us,” the captain said sourly. “We’re short of prison space as it is. Take them away.”

“But what a waste!” said one of the officers—a giant of a man with arms like tree-trunks. Grabbing the red-headed girl, he dragged her forward. “I’ve heard they’re paying good money in the slave markets for her kind!”

“You’re right there,” the captain muttered, running his good eye over the girl’s voluptuous body, which was enhanced, to his mind, by her chain-mail armor. “But I don’t know what you think you’ll get for this lot!” He poked the kender, who gave an indignant cry, and was instantly shushed by the other dragonarmy guard. “Kill ’em—”

The big dragonarmy officer seemed confounded by this argument, blinking in obvious confusion. Before he could reply, however, the other officer—who had been quiet and hidden in the background—stepped forward.

“The human’s a magic-user,” the officer said. “And we believe the kender is a spy. We caught him near Dargaard Keep.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place,” the captain snapped, “instead of wasting my time. Yeah, go ahead and haul ’em inside,” he spoke hurriedly as horns blared. It was time for the ceremony, the massive iron gates were shivering,
beginning to swing open. “I’ll sign your papers. Hand them over.”

“We don’t have—” began the big officer.

“What papers do you mean?” the bearded officer cut in, fumbling in a pouch. “Identification—”

“Naw!” said the captain, fuming in impatience. “Your leave of absence from your commander to bring in prisoners.”

“We weren’t given that, sir,” said the bearded officer coolly. “Is that a new order?”

“No, it isn’t,” said the captain, eyeing them suspiciously. “How’d you get through the lines without it? And how do you expect to get back? Or were you going back? Thinking of taking a little trip with the money you’d make from these, were you?”

“Naw!” The big officer flushed angrily, his eyes flaring. “Our commander just forgot, maybe, that’s all. He’s got a lot on his mind, and there’s not much mind there to handle it, if you take my meaning.” He glared at the captain menacingly.

The gates swung open. Horns blared loudly. The captain sighed in frustration. Right now he was supposed to be standing in the center, prepared to greet the Lord Kitiara. He beckoned to some of the Dark Queen’s guards who were standing nearby.

“Take ’em below,” he said, twitching his uniform into place. “We’ll show them what we do to deserters!”

As he hurried off, he saw with pleasure that the Queen’s guards were carrying out their assignments, quickly and efficiently grabbing the two dragonarmy officers and divesting them of their weapons.

Caramon cast an alarmed glance at Tanis as the draconians grasped him by the arms and unbuckled his sword belt. Tika’s eyes were wide with fear, this certainly wasn’t the way things were supposed to be going. Berem, his face nearly hidden by his false whiskers, looked as if he might cry or run or both. Even Tasslehoff seemed a bit stunned by the sudden change in plans. Tanis could see the kender’s eyes dart around, seeking escape.

Tanis thought frantically. He believed he had considered every possible occurrence when he had formed this plan for entering Neraka, but he’d obviously missed one. Certainly
being arrested as a deserter from the dragonarmies had never crossed his mind!

If the guards took them into the dungeons, it would be all over. The moment they took off his helmet, they’d recognize him as half-elven. Then they’d examine the others more closely … they’d discover Berem.…

He
was the danger. Without him Caramon and the others might still pull it off. Without him …

There was a blaring of trumpets and wild cheering from the crowd as a huge blue dragon bearing a Dragon Highlord entered the Temple gates. Seeing the Highlord, Tanis’s heart constricted with pain and, suddenly, a wild elation. The crowd surged forward roaring Kitiara’s name and, for the moment, the guards were distracted as they looked to see if the Highlord might be in danger. Tanis leaned as near Tasslehoff as he could.

“Tas!” he said swiftly, under the cover of the noise, hoping Tas remembered enough elven to understand him. “Tell Caramon to keep up the act. No matter what I do, he must trust me! Everything depends on that. No matter what I do. Understand?”

Tas stared at Tanis in astonishment, then nodded hesitantly. It had been a long time since he’d been forced to translate elven.

Tanis could only hope he understood. Caramon spoke no elven at all, and Tanis didn’t dare risk speaking Common, even if his voice was swallowed by the noise of the crowd. As it was, one of the guards wrenched his arm painfully, ordering him to be silent.