Kit swiftly drew her sword and raised her shield. She had seen many horrible sights in her lifetime. She’d killed her share of both men and monsters and was not one to flinch at the sight of smoking entrails or severed limbs. This was not the worst she had ever seen, but it was certainly the most bizarre—a massacre frozen in ice.
Blood was smeared over the icy walls and made a gruesome carpet on the floor. It had dripped from the ceiling, freezing to form strange pinkish icicles. Globs of frozen flesh with fur attached and hunks of blubber were scattered about in hideous piles throughout the corridor. She found a broken tusk and several cracked bones.
What truly gave her pause and made her draw her sword was the sight of bloody claw marks scratched in the ice. She had found a severed paw on the floor, which she assumed belonged to a thanoi, and she could tell that whatever claw had made these marks were not the short and stubby claws of the thanoi. The bloody tracks were far apart, yet evenly spaced, which meant that the clawed hand or foot that had made them was extremely large.
Glancing around the tunnel, Kit had a pretty good notion of what had happened. The thanoi had entered the tunnel either by accident or design. They’d encountered the guardian, and there had been a desperate battle. The heat of many bodies fighting for their miserable lives had raised the temperature in the corridor, so that the blood and gore had sunk into the melting ice, which had then refrozen after the battle was over. As to what had happened to the rest of the thanoi—the heads were missing—Kit didn’t like to think.
She looked down the length of the tunnel and saw that she had come to the right place. The tunnel opened into a chamber carved out of ice. In the center of the room, beneath the domed ice ceiling was an object, presumably the dragon orb, mounted on a pedestal of ice. The chamber was wide open, no door, no locks to protect the orb. Only the guardian.
Whatever it was. Wherever it was.
From her vantage point in the tunnel, Kit had a view of the entire chamber, and it was empty, save for the dragon orb.
Holding her sword before her, keeping her shield up, Kitiara crept slowly down the corridor. A little fear is good for you, her father always told her. Keeps you alert, on your toes. Just never let fear master you. Kitiara was more determined than fearful. She wanted to see this guardian, this monster. She wanted to slay it and take its dripping head to Feal-Thas and throw it at his delicate feet.
Drawing closer, she noted that the chamber in which the dragon orb stood was unblemished. Not a drop of blood defaced the walls or marred the pristine white of the walls, ceiling, or floor. Either the guardian kept the chamber clean or it took care to do its killing in the tunnel. Mindful of this, Kit put her back to the icy wall and edged along, stepping over bloody remnants of the thanoi, keeping a sharp look out all around her.
She listened as hard as she looked, but she heard nothing and the silence made her nervous. She had never heard such awful quiet. It was as if the world had ended and all life had been swept away except for her. Every tiny sound she made—her foot crunching on the ice, the rattle of her armor, the jingle of her chain mail, her breath whistling inside the helm of the Dragon Highlord—seemed to resound to the heavens. She was continuing to sweat despite the cold, and she wished irritably that the guardian would attack and end the suspense. Kitiara had never been known for her patience.
It suddenly occurred to her that the dragon orb might be its own guardian, and she cast a sharp glance at it. She wished, a little belatedly, that she’d thought to do some research on dragon orbs, for she had no idea what this thing did or didn’t do or even what it looked like. Maybe this wasn’t really a dragon orb at all. Certainly it was an orb. It was made of crystal and appeared very fragile, as if a loud shout could shatter it. Mist swirled inside it, shifting colors—pale reds and blues, greens, blacks, with streaks of white.
She edged nearer. The colors inside the orb were beautiful, shimmering, swirling. She felt a sudden longing to touch the orb. Its crystal looked so smooth. She lowered her sword and her shield and was about to drop them to the floor when a voice startled her.
I am afraid.
Kitiara whipped around, immediately on guard.
The chamber was empty. No one there. She turned irresistibly back to the orb and realized the voice came from the orb. It was the speaker.
I rest on the golden pedestal and people pass by, never noticing me, for I have been in the Tower so long I am nothing now to them but another artifact collecting dust. I am part of the furniture. They stand near me, talking in low and fearful tones, and I listen to them with the minds of dragons, and I hear what they say. What they say frightens me.
They don’t think I can hear them or understand them. So many years have passed since my creation that they have forgotten my powers.
But I do understand. I hear about the rise of a man known as the Kingpriest. I hear he fears all who practice magic, for he cannot control them. He has threatened their annihilation. He has lately sent an army to attack the sister Tower of High Sorcery at Daltigoth. The wizards destroyed that Tower rather than allow it to fall into the hands of those who have no understanding of the awful power of magic. They fear our Tower at Wayreth is next. His army is on the march, and many wizards who make their homes here have already decided to flee.
And I must flee, as well. A dragon orb must never fall into the hands of the Kingpriest. They say he will destroy me or, worse, he might try to gain control of me and use my power to his own ends.
So they have decided to use their magic to carry me into the ethers, to walk the roads of magic that are hidden in time and space, bearing me to a realm far away. The journey will be fraught with peril, for there are rumors that the clerics of the Kingpriest have grown so powerful that they can stalk the paths of magic, waiting to pluck traveling wizards from the ethers and slay them in the name of righteousness.
Feal-Thas the Winternorn has volunteered to transport me to a place of safety, a land cold and barren, the land to which he was exiled when his crime was judged and sentence passed on him by the Silvanesti king, Lorac Caladon.
The wizards believe I will be safe there, for the Kingpriest cares little for this land that has no wealth and few people to worship him.
I will go with Feal-Thas, not because I want to, but because I am afraid of remaining here. For I see dark clouds gathering and a terrible wind rising and the seas boiling and fire raining down from the heavens. I see the wrath of the gods falling like a hammer upon Krynn. I see the people cry to the gods, and I hear no answer.
If I remain here, I am doomed, and though I chafe against my exile, I accept it. I will travel in the safekeeping of this wizard to the land of Icereach, and I will remain hidden in this loathsome wasteland until the time comes when the power of the gods returns to the world.
Then I will find a way to escape.
The mists swirled and the color was beautiful, entrancing. Kit thought she could see hands reaching out to her.
Time was. Time is. The gods have returned. You are god-sent. Come closer. Touch me. Help me escape.
Kit listened enthralled. She edged closer. “Who are you?” she breathed. “What are your powers? If I help you, will you give them to me…”
She felt more than saw something enter the chamber.
12
The Guardian
Kitiara stood perfectly still. Her eyes narrowed. She fell back on the defensive. Only moments before the chamber had been empty, then this man had materialized inside, standing near the dragon orb. The man was human. He was clad in armor that had seen its share of battle, for it was dented and scratched, yet he’d kept it in good repair. Kit recognized the armor. It was the armor of a Solamnic knight.