Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (39 page)

The noise died down, the crowd was bullied and shoved back into place. Seeing things under control, the guards turned to lead their prisoners away.

Suddenly Tanis stumbled and fell, tripping his guard, who sprawled headlong into the dust.

“Get up, slime!” Cursing, the other guard cuffed Tanis with the handle of a whip, striking him across the face. The half-elf lunged for the guard, grabbing the whip handle and the hand that held it. Tanis yanked with all his strength, and his sudden move sent the guard head over heels. For a split second, he was free.

Hurling himself forward, aware of the guards behind him, aware also of Caramon’s astonished face, Tanis threw himself toward the regal figure riding the blue dragon.

“Kitiara!” he yelled, just as the guards caught hold of him. “Kitiara!” he screamed, a hoarse, ragged shout that seemed torn from his chest. Fighting the guards, he managed to free one hand. With it, he gripped his helmet and tore it off his head, hurling it to the ground.

The Highlord in the night-blue, dragon-scale armor turned upon hearing her name. Tanis could see her brown eyes widen in astonishment beneath the hideous dragonmask she wore. He could see the fiery eyes of the male blue dragon turn to gaze at him as well.

“Kitiara!” Tanis shouted. Shaking off his captors with a strength born of desperation, he dove forward again. But draconians in the crowd flung themselves on him, knocking him to the ground, where they held him pinned by his arms. Still Tanis struggled, twisting to look into the eyes of the Highlord.

“Halt, Skie,” Kitiara said, placing a gloved hand commandingly on the dragon’s neck. Skie stopped obediently, his clawed feet slipping slightly on the cobblestones of the street. But the dragon’s eyes, as they glared at Tanis, were filled with jealousy and hatred.

Tanis held his breath. His heart beat painfully. His head ached and blood dribbled into one eye, but he didn’t notice. He waited for the shout that would tell him Tasslehoff hadn’t understood, that his friends had tried to come to his aid. He waited for Kitiara to look behind him and see Caramon—her half-brother—and recognize him. He didn’t dare turn around to see what had happened to his friends. He could only hope Caramon had sense enough—and faith enough in him—to keep out of sight.

And now here came the captain, his cruel one-eyed face distorted in rage. Raising a booted foot, the captain aimed a kick for Tanis’s head, preparing to render this meddlesome troublemaker unconscious.

“Stop,” said a voice.

The captain halted so suddenly that he staggered off-balance.

“Let him go.” The same voice.

Reluctantly, the guards released Tanis and fell back away from him at an imperious gesture from the Dark Lady.

“What is so important, commander, that you disrupt my entrance?” she asked in cool tones, her voice sounding deep and distorted behind the dragonhelm.

Stumbling to his feet, weak with relief, his head swimming from his struggles with the guards, Tanis made his way forward to stand beside her. As he drew nearer, he saw a flicker of amusement in Kitiara’s brown eyes. She was enjoying this; a new game with an old toy. Clearing his throat, Tanis spoke boldly.

“These idiots arrested me for desertion,” he stated, “all because that imbecile Bakaris forgot to give me the proper papers.”

“I’ll see he pays the penalty for having caused you trouble, good Tanthalasa,” replied Kitiara. Tanis could hear the laughter in her voice. “How dare you?” she added, whirling to glower at the captain, who cringed as the helmed visage turned toward him.

“I—I was j-just following or-orders, my lord,” he stuttered, shaking like a goblin.

“Be off with you, or you’ll feed my dragon,” Kitiara commanded peremptorily, waving her hand. Then, in the same graceful gesture, she held out her gloved hand to Tanis. “May I offer you a ride, commander? To make amends, of course.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Tanis said.

Casting a dark glance at the captain, Tanis accepted Kitiara’s hand and swung himself up beside her on the back of the blue dragon. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd as Kitiara ordered Skie forward once more. For a moment, his agonized search could detect nothing, then he sighed in relief as he saw Caramon and the others being led away by the guards. The big man glanced up at him as they passed, a hurt and puzzled expression on his face. But he kept moving. Either Tas had passed along the message or the big man had sense enough to keep up the act. Or perhaps Caramon trusted him anyway. Tanis didn’t know. His friends were safe now—at least safer than they were with him.

This might be the last time I ever see them, he thought suddenly, with pain. Then he shook his head. He could not let himself dwell on that. Turning away, he discovered Kitiara’s brown eyes regarding him with an odd mixture of cunning and undisguised admiration.

Tasslehoff stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what became of Tanis. He heard shouts and yells, then a moment of silence. Then he saw the half-elf climb onto the dragon and sit beside
Kitiara. The procession started up again. The kender thought he saw Tanis look his way, but—if so—it was without recognition. The guards shoved their remaining prisoners through the jostling crowd, and Tas lost sight of his friend.

One of the guards prodded Caramon in his ribs with a short sword.

“So your buddy gets a lift from the Highlord and you rot in prison,” the draconian said, chuckling.

“He won’t forget me,” Caramon muttered.

The draconian grinned and nudged its partner, who was dragging Tasslehoff along, one clawed hand on the kender’s collar. “Sure, he’ll come back for you—if he can manage to find his way out of her bed!”

Caramon flushed, scowling. Tasslehoff shot the big warrior an alarmed glance. The kender hadn’t had a chance to give Caramon Tanis’s last message, and he was terrified the big man would ruin everything, although Tas wasn’t really certain what there was left to ruin. Still …

But Caramon only tossed his head in injured dignity. “I’ll be out before nightfall,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “We’ve been through too much together. He wouldn’t let me down.”

Catching a wistful note in Caramon’s voice, Tas wriggled in anxiety, longing to get close enough to Caramon to explain. But at that moment Tika cried out in anger. Twisting his head, Tas saw the guard rip her blouse; there were already bloody gashes made by its clawing hands on her neck. Caramon shouted, but too late. Tika struck the guard with a backhand on the side of its reptilian face in the best barroom tradition.

Furious, the draconian hurled Tika to the street and raised its whip. Tas heard Caramon suck in his breath and the kender cringed, preparing himself for the end.

“Hey! Don’t damage her!” Caramon roared. “Unless you want to be held accountable. Lord Kitiara told us to get six silver pieces for her, and we won’t do it if she’s marked up!”

The draconian hesitated. Caramon was a prisoner, that was true. But the guards had all seen the welcome reception his friend had received from the Dark Lady. Did they dare take a chance on offending another man who might stand high in her favor? Apparently they decided not. Roughly dragging Tika to her feet, they shoved her forward.

Tasslehoff breathed a sigh of relief, then stole a worried peek back at Berem, thinking that the man had been very quiet. He was right. The Everman might have been in a different world. His eyes, wide open, were fixed in a strange stare. His mouth gaped, he almost appeared half-witted. At least he didn’t look like he was about to cause trouble. It seemed that Caramon was going to continue playing his role and that Tika would be all right. For the time being, no one needed him. Sighing in relief, Tas began to look with interest around the Temple compound, at least as well as he could with the draconian hanging onto his collar.

He was sorry he did. Neraka looked exactly like what it was—a small, ancient impoverished village built to serve those who inhabited the Temple, now overrun by the tent city that had sprouted up around it like fungus.

At the far end of the compound the Temple itself loomed over the city like a carrion bird of prey—its twisted, deformed, obscene structure seeming to dominate even the mountains on the horizon behind. Once anyone set foot in Neraka, his eyes went first to the Temple. After that, no matter where else he looked or what other business occupied him, the Temple was always there, even at night, even in his dreams.

Tas took one look, then hurriedly glanced away, feeling a cold sickness creep over him. But the sights before him were almost worse. The tent city was filled with troops; draconians and human mercenaries, goblins and hobgoblins spilled out of the hastily constructed bars and brothels onto the filthy streets. Slaves of every race had been brought in to serve their captors and provide for their unholy pleasures. Gully dwarves swarmed underfoot like rats, living off the refuse. The stench was overpowering, the sights were like something from the Abyss. Although it was midday, the square was dark and chill as night. Glancing up, Tas saw the huge flying citadels, floating above the Temple in terrible majesty, their dragons circling them in unceasing watchfulness.

When they had first started down the crowded streets, Tas had hoped he might have a chance to break free. He was an expert in melting in with a crowd. He saw Caramon’s eyes flick about, too; the big man was thinking the same thing. But after walking only a few blocks, after seeing the citadels keeping their dreadful watch above, Tas realized it was hopeless.
Apparently Caramon reached the same conclusion, for the kender saw the warrior’s shoulders slump.

Appalled and horrified, Tas suddenly thought of Laurana, being held prisoner here. The kender’s buoyant spirit seemed finally crushed by the weight of the darkness and evil all around him, darkness and evil he had never dreamed existed.

Their guards hurried them along, pushing and shoving their way through the drunken, brawling soldiers, down the clogged and narrow streets. Try as he might, Tas couldn’t figure out any way of relaying Tanis’s message to Caramon. Then they were forced to come to a halt as a contingent of Her Dark Majesty’s troops, lined up shoulder to shoulder, came marching through the streets. Those who did not get out of their way were hurled bodily to the sidewalk by the draconian officers or were simply knocked down and trampled. The companions’ guards hastily shoved them up against a crumbling wall and ordered them to stand still until the soldiers had passed.

Tasslehoff found himself flattened between Caramon on one side and a draconian on the other. The guard had loosened its clawed grip on Tas’s shirt, evidently figuring that not even a kender would be foolish enough to try to escape in this mob. Though Tas could feel the reptile’s black eyes on him, he was able to squirm near enough to Caramon to talk. He hoped he wasn’t overheard, and didn’t expect to be, with all the head-bashing and boot-thumping going on around him.

“Caramon!” Tas whispered. “I’ve got a message. Can you hear me?”

Caramon did not turn, but kept staring straight ahead, his face set rock-hard. But Tas saw one eyelid flutter.

“Tanis said to trust him!” Tas whispered swiftly. “No matter what. And … and to … keep up the act … I think that’s what he said.”

Tas saw Caramon frown.

“He spoke in elven,” Tas added huffily. “And it was hard to hear.”

Caramon’s expression did not change. If anything, it grew darker.

Tas swallowed. Edging closer, he pressed up against the wall right behind the big warrior’s broad back. “That … that Dragon Highlord,” the kender said hesitantly. “That … was Kitiara, wasn’t it?”

Caramon did not answer. But Tas saw the muscles in the man’s jaw tighten, he saw a nerve begin to twitch in Caramon’s neck.

Tas sighed. Forgetting where he was, he raised his voice. “You do trust him, don’t you, Caramon? Because—”

Without warning, Tas’s draconian guard turned and bashed the kender across the mouth, slamming him into the wall. Dazed with pain, Tasslehoff sank down to the ground. A dark shadow bent over him. His vision fuzzy, Tas couldn’t see who it was and he braced himself for another blow. Then he felt strong, gentle hands lift him by his fleecy vest.

“I told you not to damage them,” growled Caramon.

“Bah! A kender!” The draconian spat.

The troops had nearly all passed by now. Caramon set Tas on his feet. The kender tried to stand up, but for some reason the sidewalk kept sliding out from underneath him.

“I—I’m sorry …” he heard himself mumble. “Legs acting funny …” Finally he felt himself hoisted in the air and, with a protesting squeak, was flung over Caramon’s broad shoulder like a meal sack.

“He’s got information,” Caramon said in his deep voice. “I hope you haven’t addled his brain so that he’s lost it. The Dark Lady won’t be pleased.”

“What brain?” snarled the draconian, but Tas, from his upside-down position on Caramon’s back, thought the creature appeared a bit shaken.

They began walking again. Tas’s head hurt horribly, his cheek stung. Putting his hand to it, he felt sticky blood where the draconian’s claws had dug into his skin. There was a sound in his ears like a hundred bees had taken up residence in his brain. The world seemed to be slowly circling around him, making his stomach queasy, and being jounced around on Caramon’s armor-plated back wasn’t helping.

“How much farther is it?” He could feel Caramon’s voice vibrate in the big man’s chest. “The little bastard’s heavy.”

In answer, the draconian pointed a long, bony claw.

With a great effort, trying to take his mind off his pain and dizziness, Tas twisted his head to see. He could manage only a glance, but it was enough. The building had been growing larger and larger as they approached until it filled, not only the vision, but the mind as well.

Tas slumped back. His sight was growing dim and he wondered drowsily why it was getting so foggy. The last thing he remembered was hearing the words, “To the dungeons … beneath the Temple of Her Majesty, Takhisis, Queen of Darkness.”