Dandd dragonlance vi.., p.27
D&D - Dragonlance - Villains 03,
p.27
It seemed to Ariakas that the searing heat should kill him, but though he looked all around, at air shimmering with the scalding effects of fire, those effects did not touch his skin. He rode through the blazes of the inferno as though a bubble of cool, moist air surrounded him.
Great islands of dark stone rose into craggy peaks from the flaming surface, while stalactites funneled downward like inverted mountains from a cavern ceiling that in many places arced a full mile above the violent sea. Bub shy;bling veins of white-hot, molten rock crisscrossed back and forth among the cooler red of the lava, and many of these hot spots spewed geysers of liquid fire.
“Look-there! Smoke’s escaping!” Ariakas indicated a vast crack in the cavern’s ceiling. They could see shafts of smoke, sometimes accompanied by whirling blasts of flame, surging upward to disappear into the dark hole. “There has to be a vent to the surface!”
Immediately the dragon drove his wings downward, breaking from his glide and striving to gain altitude. The billowing updrafts helped carry them aloft into the crack. Soon stone walls surrounded them, leaving barely room for Tombfyre to wheel through tight circles. Fortu shy;nately the rising air gave them just enough lift to main shy;tain the climb.
With a flash of fierce, savage triumph, Ariakas caught a glimpse of the sky overhead-a pale swatch of blue that might have been sunset or dawn. Curiously, the man realized, he had no idea what the time might be on the outside world.
They reached a side cavern in the great shaft, and as the red dragon continued to labor upward Ariakas caught a strong stench of the Zhakar odor-the com shy;bination of mold and mushroom tea that had been so pervasive around the runty dwarves. With a flash of inspiration he remembered the tunnels leading into the city from the flaming, volcanic reaches below.
“There-go therel” he hissed. “Our vengeance will begin immediately!”
Without hesitating, Tombfyre ducked toward the pas shy;sage, gaining momentum in the level flight. Cave walls sped past them with dizzying speed, and the smell grew stronger.
In another moment they burst into a large cavern, and immediately Ariakas saw the twin rows of pillars mark shy;ing the King’s Promenade of Zhakar. He heard scream shy;ing, observed with cruel glee hundreds of panicked dwarves frantically fleeing from their path. As Tombfyre flew over a group of them, the Zhakar collapsed to the ground, groveling in abject fear.
The serpent dipped a wing and curved with regal majesty, flying directly between the columns, diving straight for the twin thrones and the bestial statues at the far end of the promenade. Below, a full rank of Zhakar lizard riders struggled to control their mounts, but the scaly steeds bucked and pitched frantically, terrified by the soaring wyrm. Their powerful hind legs enabled the creatures to jump very high-perhaps twenty feet straight up-and one by one the riders were thrown roughly to the floor.
The populace scattered amid shrieks and wails of hys shy;terical fear. The bigger dwarves trampled their smaller neighbors in haste to reach the shelter of the huge cav shy;ern’s corners and niches. As the crowd spread, Ariakas realized that some kind of gathering had been taking place before the great throne of Rackas Ironcog.
Tombfyre dived, skimming the floor in a last rush toward the throne and the cavern wall beyond. Now some Zhakar gaped in frozen horror, abject fear distort shy;ing their disfigured faces in clownish exaggeration.
Amid the terror-struck onlookers, Ariakas saw that Tale Splintersteel knelt before the throne of Rackas Ironcog. The Zhakar merchant was in chains, and a hulk shy;ing dwarf armed with a broad headsman’s axe stood beside Splintersteel, awaiting his monarch’s command. The executioner gaped upward, motionless, while Splintersteel threw himself, groveling, onto the floor.
Another prisoner stood a short distance away, and Ariakas recognized the shocked visage of Whez Lavastone. Rackas had apparently wasted no time in rounding up his enemies: guards flanked Lavastone, apparently in the process of clapping chains on his wrists and ankles when the approaching dragon brought activity to an abrupt halt.
Abruptly, Whez Lavastone seemed to shake off the effects of the dragonawe-at least to the point where he twisted free of the two guards holding his arms. Dis shy;abling one with a sharp kick, the sturdy Zhakar plucked a dagger from the belt of the second man-at-arms and disemboweled him in the next stroke.
“Stop them! Kill them!” cried Rackas Ironcog, king of Zhakar. The monarch jabbered and gesticulated as the horrifying form swooped straight toward him. In response to his command the royal guards threw down their weapons and fled as fast as their stubby legs could carry them-those, at least, who didn’t collapse, para shy;lyzed by terror, to the floor.
Ariakas thought of the green blade on his back, of the hissing cloud of poisonous gas he could send wafting through these chambers. He quickly discarded the thought as an unnecessary extravagance.
Tombfyre spread his broad wings and came to light just before the monarch’s great, stone seat. It seemed that a sneer of amusement curled the serpentine lip as the mighty creature looked around at the scene of confusion and fear.
Ariakas saw something move in the shadows behind the second of the great thrones. Several guards crouched there, paralyzed by fear, but one cloaked figure scurried
away. The warrior caught a glimpse of the gold fringe on the dark robe, and recognized Tik Deepspeaker.
“Kill him!” Ariakas snarled to his mount, pointing after the fleeing savant.
Tombfyre turned his broad head. Tooth-studded jaws gaped, and a puff of preliminary smoke emerged from the dragon’s black nostrils. Then a belch of hellish, oily fire erupted from that horrific maw, spurting outward to hiss and crackle around the second throne, incinerating the guards who had taken shelter there. The greedy fire billowed farther, and in another instant swept around the gold-robed figure.
Even considering the incredible, killing heat of the fiery breath, Tik Deepspeaker managed to scream for a long time. When finally the inferno faded, all that remained was a black chip of charcoal, much smaller than a Zhakar’s body.
Rackas Ironcog leapt from his throne and tried to scramble into the narrow niche behind it-a niche that was only wide enough to accommodate his head and shoulders. His terror was both pathetic and gratifying, and he seemed a figure hardly worth Ariakas’s or Tombfyre’s attention.
Nor was that attention necessary. Whez Lavastone, after killing the second guard, raced toward the king, ignoring the leering dragonhead looming over him. The Zhakar reached his monarch’s cowering form, and Lavastone drove his bloody dagger into Rackas Ironcog’s back. Withdrawing the weapon with a hysterical cry of triumph, he plunged it downward again, stabbing the dying king through the neck.
“Rackas Ironcog is dead!” cried Lavastone, holding the gory weapon aloft.
Abruptly, Whez Lavastone’s eyes met those of Aria shy;kas. The Zhakar’s gaze wavered, and the warrior could see the growing fear there-but still, the dwarf did not cower before the awe-inspiring interlopers.
“Swear to me your allegiance, and you and your people will be allowed to live,” declared Ariakas. “Falter, and you will join your king in death!”
“I swear!” cried Whez Lavastone, prostrating himself before the dragon and the human. The dwarf quickly rose to his feet and addressed his countrymen.
“I claim the crown of Zhakar!” he shouted. “Is there any here who would face my challenge in the arena?”
For long moments the great hall was silent. The Zhakar continued to slowly creep back toward the soot-blackened thrones, cautiously observing developments.
“Hail King Lavastone!” cried a voice-perhaps that of Tale Splintersteel.
Immediately the call was taken up, and if it wasn’t a resounding thunder neither did it possess any note of dissent.
Whez Lavastone turned back to Ariakas and Tombfyre. “I realize you seek the mold of the fungus warrens. You shall have as much of it as you desire,” he promised.
“I know,” Ariakas said with a smug nod.
Tale Splintersteel, meanwhile, cocked a cautious eye upward from the floor, though he still trembled in awe of the monstrous serpent.
“Unchain him,” Ariakas commanded, and several attendants crept to obey. The highlord slid down Tombfyre’s sleek shoulder, striding forward to confront Tale Splintersteel and Whez Lavastone.
“I will take some of the dust to Sanction when I depart,” Ariakas continued. Then he turned to the Zhakar merchant. “Your treachery has gone unpunished long enough. You sought to betray me in the Fireplaza of Sanction, and there I swore vengeance-now, accept your retribution.”
The green sword flashed, and Tale Splintersteel’s head, face locked in an expression of dawning horror, flew from his shoulders and thumped onto the floor.
“This one once served me, but I had no more need of him.” Ariakas turned back to the wary figure of Whez Lavastone. “You will not outlive your usefulness, either.
“Send a caravan to Sanction in my wake. Oh, and you’ll want to appoint a new merchant lord-one who meets my approval. I want a hundred barrels of the mold in the first shipment, and thaf s only the beginning.”
“B-But what are the terms?” stammered Whez.
“You’ll hear the terms when the mold is delivered,” snapped the highlord. “Now-bring me my sample!”
“Quickly, fools!” yelped Whez Lavastone, crying out to the assembled Zhakar who stood well back from the imposing intruder. “Bring him the dust! Pack saddlebags-gq!”
Dozens of dwarves hurried to obey. Ariakas and Tombfyre remained alert to activity around them, but felt certain that the Zhakar had been thoroughly cowed.
His mind drifted back to Lyrelee and the delights she had given him…. He felt a twinge of regret, but already he saw that there would be other women-as many as he wanted. Perhaps he would choose a young maiden this time, or a wench with a little more flesh on her bones. The problem of their inevitable deaths would only serve to provide variety.
Ariakas’s thoughts turned to Ferros Windchisel, and the steadfast friendship that, in the end, had been the Hylar’s greatest gift. Together they had shared a road of dangers and delights. Ferros had proven to be a true warrior’s companion-a loyal ally willing to live or die as fate decreed. Of the two, he knew that Ferros would be harder to replace.
Ariakas felt a brief sadness for their loss-more so for the dwarf than the woman, he realized. Perhaps Ferros Windchisel had offered him a friendship and loyalty that would be unique in his life.
But then his thoughts turned to the future. As the dwarves carted out great saddlebags of mold dust, he imagined the wealth that treasure would generate in Sanction-for he intended to charge the temple for his services. With that money, and the power that would come to him by virtue of his new companion, the road to that smoldering city was lined with promise.
Beyond Sanction, Ariakas knew, that pathway would lead him to new heights of conquest and mastery. Legions of draconians would march under his banner! There would be a time-soon-when whole nations, when all of Ansalon, would tremble at the mention of his name … when, backed by the might of his Dark Queen, he, Highlord Ariakas, would rule the world!
Epilogue
Tombfyre carried his human warrior to Sanction, soar shy;ing in one day over mountain ridges that had taken Ariakas and his companions a fortnight to cross. Securely strapped to the dragon’s flanks were a pair of saddle shy;bags, stuffed to bulging with the powdered dust of the plague fungus.
Before the pair had departed Zhakar, Ariakas made certain that Whez Lavastone had appointed a new emis shy;sary, and that the caravan was ready to march. That Zhakar merchant lord would bring a large load of mold to Sanction very quickly, Ariakas suspected, for only then would the dwarves receive their first payment.
Also during his high-handed negotiations, Ariakas had demanded that the Zhakar provide him with large companies of foot soldiers and lizard riders. Those would be marching along with the caravan, Whez Lavastone had promised, and the highlord had been inclined to believe him. The troops would join the ranks of the mercenaries he would hire, and the draconians that would soon march forth, in great numbers, from the Temple of Luerkhisis.
The highlord relished the sense of grim satisfaction that could only arise from successful vengeance. Tale Splintersteel and Rackas Ironcog had each paid in full measure the cost of treachery. Justice had been served, and Ariakas reflected that revenge was indeed the sweetest taste.
Flight over the Khalkists was exhilarating, and Ariakas -warmly bundled in furs, ensconced in a deep saddle created by Zhakar leatherworkers-enjoyed the long day of barren, rocky vistas. In flight, Ariakas relished a sense of mastery over even the mountains themselves. He and Tombfyre were alone in the heavens, high above even the soaring eagles. Yet when smoky Sanction hove into view, the human felt fully ready to rejoin humankind. Now, at last, he would do so as master and conqueror-a true highlord!
In the teeming streets people pointed and gawked, and when Tombfyre swooped low overhead they trembled in fear. When the red dragon set to ground before the Temple of Luerkhisis, hundreds of priests ran from the twin gates to prostrate themselves before their emperor and his mighty steed. Soon, Ariakas vowed, he would fly his dragon into the Fireplaza, and there he would gather the squabbling mercenaries of the city to his banner. They didn’t know it yet, but those warriors would form the key regiments of an army that would threaten all of Ansalon.
But even that host wouldn’t be enough. Already the Zhakar had been enlisted to the cause, and Ariakas had
plans to fly to Bloten, threatening the ogres with oblitera shy;tion if they didn’t rally to the Dark Queen’s banner. There, as in the city, the highlord felt certain of eventual success-not just because of fear, but because ogres and human warriors both would be unable to resist the pic shy;ture of victorious battle and rich plunder that Ariakas would use to lure them.
Wryllish Parkane hurried from the temple gates to kneel reverently before both the dragon and the highlord. The high priest quickly rose to his feet, his face serious.
“Apprentices-grab those saddlebags!” barked Aria shy;kas, dismounting and striding to Parkane. “Come on-let’s go to the egg rooms.”
“The shadowpeople have invaded the Sanctified Cata shy;combs!” burst the high priest. “They’ve seized the egg chambers, and resisted all of our attempts to drive them out. They say if we bring an army down there they will destroy the eggs!”
“They won’t hurt them,” Ariakas said with certainty. “But perhaps I can talk to them.”
“Indeed-the leading warrior, one called Vallens-wade, has asked to speak to you personally.”
“Where are they gathered?” asked the highlord.
“They’re holed up in a large cavern, where the tunnels all come together. They have all the entrances blocked, and there’s no way we can reach the eggs,” replied the priest.
“I’ll… talk to them. Bring the mold along quickly-it won’t be long before we can get to work,” Ariakas said, starting into the tunnels of the Catacombs.
On his back gleamed the emerald-green blade of his sword.
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Emperor of Ansalon (d-3)
Emperor of Ansalon # Douglas Niles, D&D - Dragonlance - Villains 03
