“Do you understand what you’re supposed to do?” Kitiara asked, exasperated.
“I’m to guard the dragon orb,” Sleet muttered.
“Guard it from Feal-Thas,” said Kit.
“I hate Feal-Thas.” The dragon’s lip curled back over her teeth.
“When the Solamnic knight comes, you—”
“I hate Solamnic knights,” the dragon added, and rolling over on her back, she fell asleep with her legs in the air and her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
Kit gave up and walked out. She hoped they all killed each other.
Kit was ready to leave Icereach. She had decided against seeking revenge on Feal-Thas. Ariakas more than half-suspected her of being complicit in the death of Lord Verminaard. She didn’t want the emperor to think she was going about Ansalon on a quest to murder his Highlords. She would have her revenge on the elf, but in a time and place of her choosing, not his.
She sent a message to Feal-Thas in his Ice Palace, saying she was leaving. His message back to her read, I didn’t know you were still here.
“The emperor was a fool to put a dark elf in charge of anything,” Skie remarked when Kitiara told him her tale. “Good elves are bad, but bad elves are worse.”
The two stood on a wind-swept ice field outside the castle walls. Kitiara was bundled in furs and held her hand over her eyes to protect against the blinding glare of the sun off the ice. She wondered irritably how a sun this bright could shed such little heat.
“You should go inside,” Skie added. “Your teeth are chattering.”
“So are yours,” said Kit, fondly stroking the neck of the blue dragon. Icicles hung off Skie’s chin, making it look as if he had grown a hoary beard.
“I’m cold inside and out,” said the dragon glumly. “When do we leave this horrible place?”
“I have to read those dispatches Ariakas sent first, see if he has any orders for me.”
She left the dragon stomping about the glacier, flapping his wings, trying to keep warm.
The first dispatch she read was from Emperor Ariakas, informing her of victories in the eastern part of Krynn. The Highlord Lucien of Takar now had half the continent under his control, or so Ariakas claimed. Kitiara ground her teeth as she read this. Solamnia would be under her control now if Ariakas had permitted it. As for Lucien, what had he conquered? Kender, elves, and goat herders. Bah!
Ariakas said he hoped her meeting with Highlord Feal-Thas was going well. Kitiara growled deep in her throat at this. He expected her to send him a full report.
Kitiara sat for a long while, pondering the message. Something was wrong. Ariakas had never before written her anything as formal and stiff as this. The letter was not even in his handwriting. He had dictated it. Always before he had written to her personally.
There were many reasons why Ariakas might have dictated this message—he was fighting a war, trying to govern a large region, searching for the Green Gemstone man, dealing with an impatient goddess. Small wonder if he did not have time to write her a personal note.
Still, Kit was bothered by this and by other small details. She had expected him to ask for her report in person and he had instead told her to write it. He had said nothing about future orders. He had said nothing about Solamnia. Kitiara decided she would leave the blue wing to search for Tanis around Thorbardin. She would travel immediately to Neraka to find out what was going on.
She rolled up the missive in a tight twist and held it to the flame floating atop the seal oil. She watched the fire consume it, dropping it only when the flame was about to burn her fingers.
The next thirty or so dispatches were all from Fewmaster Toede. Kit glanced over them, grinning. They were copies of dispatches sent to commanders of the forces of the Red Dragonarmy containing orders that contradicted his former orders that countermanded his previous orders. Kitiara figured the commanders simply tossed these away, which is what she was prepared to do when she noticed that one was addressed to her.
Kitiara settled down and prepared to enjoy it, figuring the inanities of the hobgoblin would at least give her a good laugh.
The opening salutation did just that. Written in a hand certainly not belonging to the hobgoblin, it took up half a page and began by addressing Kitiara as: “Most Exalted, Revered and Esteemed Highlord, Honored Among Men and Gods and Nations,” and it went on from there. She skipped over most of it to reach the main body of the missive, which began by describing the pleasure the Fewmaster had received from meeting her and expressing his ardent desire that he be permitted to polish her boots again the next time they met, which he hoped and prayed to Her Dark Majesty would be soon.
Then Kitiara’s chuckles ceased. She sat bolt upright and reread the paragraph.
My spies in Thorbardin report that those persons in whom you most graciously expressed an interest, these being those assassins who murdered our much beloved and deeply lamented Lord Verminaard (may Chemosh embrace him) have left the mountain fastness of the dwarves and are reportedly en route to Tarsis, trying to flee the justice they so richly deserve.
“Tarsis…” murmured Kitiara, interested. She read on.
Immediately upon receiving this news, I put out a bounty on these criminals and I fully expect they will be captured soon. Knowing that your most gracious lordship was interested in seeing these miscreants brought to account and for your lordship’s further edification, I have included here within a copy of the bounty notice I drew up, complete with the names and descriptions of these assassins. I have sent these notices to the commanders of our illustrious forces in the region. I confidently expect to have these criminals under lock and key at any moment.
Kitiara doubted if any of the commanders had even bothered to look at it.
Of course, “these criminals” might not be Tanis and his friends. There were, by report, eight hundred human refugees holed up in Thorbardin. She fished out the notice that had been rolled up in the center of the Highlord’s letter and, her heart beating fast, scanned over the names.
Her past seemed to leap out at her, as it had done in the chamber with the guardian. Faces rose from the mists of time.
Tanis Half-elven. Bearded half-elf. Thought to be the leader. Of course, Kit thought to herself. As always.
Sturm Brightblade. Human. Solamnic Knight. Her tryst with Sturm had certainly not gone as planned.
Flint Fireforge. Dwarf. Grumpy old Flint. He’d never liked her much.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot. Kender. Hard to believe that little nuisance was still alive.
Raistlin and Caramon Majere. Human. Wizard, warrior. Her little brothers. Half-brothers, really. They had her to thank for their success.
Tika Waylan. Human. The name sounded familiar, but Kit couldn’t place her.
Elistan. Human. Cleric of Paladine. Dangerous rabble-rouser. How dangerous could the cleric of a weak god like Paladine be?
Gilthanas, elf; Goldmoon, cleric of Mishakal… yes, yes… Kit scanned past them impatiently. Where was the name she sought…
Laurana. Elf princess. Capture alive! The elf female is the property of Fewmaster Toede and is not to be harmed, but should be sent back immediately under heavy guard to the Fewmaster. Reward offered.
“So here you are,” Kit said, displeased. “Still with him.”
She stared hard at the name as though she could conjure up a picture of her: blonde, slender, beautiful.
Friends, family. Lover. Rival. Heading for Tarsis. So, presumably, was Derek Crownguard! Her spies had told her he was going to Tarsis in search of some library. What if they met? Sturm and Derek were fellow knights. They undoubtedly knew each other. Perhaps they were friends. What would be the consequences if they encountered one another in Tarsis? Would Derek mention her name?