“I slept fine, Your Lordship,” said Toede loudly. No one answered him, and, thinking they could not understand his words, he managed, with the help of two of his guards, to extricate himself from his helm.
“I worship and respect Her Dark Majesty,” Salah Kahn was saying, treading cautiously. “No one more. But it is impossible for me to leave the war in the east to travel to Dargaard Keep. I wish Her Majesty could be made to understand this. If you were to have a word with her, Emperor—”
“What’s this about Dargaard Keep?” Toede asked, mopping his brow.
“She plagues me as she does you, Salah Khan,” Ariakas returned. “She is obsessed with this notion of bringing Soth into the war. She talks of nothing else, except that and finding the Green Gemstone man.”
“Lord Soth?” Toede asked. “Who is Lord Soth?”
“Personally I do not want this death knight anywhere near me. Consider his arrogance. He sets us a test?” Feal-Thas shrugged. “He should be honored to serve any one of us. Almost any one of us,” he amended.
“Oh, that Lord Soth,” said Toede with a knowing wink. “He approached me, offered to work for me. I turned him down, of course. ‘Soth’ I said. I call him ‘Soth’, you see, and he calls me—”
“Where the devil is Kitiara?” Ariakas demanded, slamming his hands on the table. He turned to a servant. “Go fetch her!”
The servant departed, only to come back to say that the Blue Lady was at that moment entering the building.
Ariakas exchanged a few words with the bent-wing bozak. He and several baaz draconians took up positions on either side of the door. Lucien and Salah Kahn glanced at each other, wondering what was up. Though neither knew, they both sensed trouble and kept their hands near their weapons. Toede was having some difficulty seeing over the heads and shoulders of his bodyguards, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that something dire was about to happen, and the only exit was now being blocked by six large bozaks. The hob gave an inward groan.
Feal-Thas, who had written the letter betraying Kitiara, was able to guess what was about to happen. He waited with anticipation. He had never forgiven her for killing his guardian.
Booted footsteps rang in the hallway, then Kitiara’s raised voice, calling jocular greeting to the guards. Ariakas’s dark, baleful gaze was fixed on the entrance. The bozaks flanking the door tensed.
Kitiara strolled inside, her sword clattering at her hip, her blue cape flowing after her. She carried her helm beneath her arm.
“My lord, Ariakas—” she began, about to raise her hand in salute.
The bent-wing bozak seized hold of her, pinning her by the arms. A second bozak grabbed her sword and yanked it from its sheath.
“Kitiara uth Matar,” said Ariakas in sonorous tones, rising ponderously to his feet, “you are under arrest on a charge of high treason. If you are found guilty, the penalty for your crime is death.”
Kitiara stood frozen, staring, open-mouthed and confounded, so astonished she made no attempt to resist. Her first thought was this was some sort of jest; Ariakas was noted for his perverted sense of humor. She saw in his eyes, however, that he was serious—deadly serious.
Kitiara looked swiftly around the room. She saw the other Highlords—three of them as astonished as herself—and she realized they had not been brought here for a meeting. This was a trial. These men were her judges, each one of whom coveted her position as Highlord of the Blue Dragon Army. Even as she realized this, she saw each man’s shock give way to pleasure, saw each cast dark glances at his compatriots, plotting and scheming how best to attain her position. In their minds, she was already dead.
Kitiara’s impulse then was to fight, but that came a little too late. Her sword was gone. She was in the firm and painful grasp of an enormous bozak, who was armed with both a sword and powerful magicks. The thought crossed Kit’s mind that it would be better to fight a hopeless battle to the death now than face whatever torment Ariakas had in mind for her. She restrained herself, however. The Solamnics have “My honor is my life” as their credo. Kit’s was “Never say die.”
She recovered her composure. She had not always obeyed Ariakas’s orders. She had gone off on raiding parties when she should have been laying boring siege to some castle. She had appropriated for the use of her troops certain tax revenues meant to go to the emperor. None of these offences could be termed crimes of high treason, however, though of course the emperor could call stealing a meat pie from his table high treason if he chose. Kit had no idea what all this was about. Then she saw the faint smile upon the lips of Feal-Thas, and Kit immediately recognized her enemy.
She stood tall and straight, fearless and dignified in the grasp of her captors, and faced Ariakas.
“What is the meaning of this, my lord?” Kitiara demanded with an air of injured innocence. “What act of high treason have I committed? I have served you faithfully. Tell me, my lord. I do not understand.”
“You are charged with plotting the murder of Dragon Highlord Verminaard and hiring assassins to carry it out,” said Ariakas.
Kitiara’s jaw dropped. The irony was chilling. She was being charged with the one crime of which she was innocent. She glanced at Feal-Thas, saw the faint smile broaden, and she snapped her jaw shut with a click of her teeth.
Her voice trembling with rage, Kitiara stated, “I utterly refute and deny that charge, my lord!”
“Lord Toede,” said Ariakas, “did Highlord Kitiara ask you in a most suspicious manner for information regarding the felons who assassinated Verminaard?”
Toede managed to worm his way through the forest of his bodyguards and said with a gasp and many moppings of his brow, “She did, my lord.” “I did not!” Kitiara retorted.
“Did she talk to a man called Eben Shatterstone, also seeking information about these people?”
“She did, my lord,” Toede said, proud of being the center of attention. “The wretch told me so himself.”
Kitiara would have liked to choke the hobgoblin until his beady little eyes popped out of his yellow head. But the bent-wing bozak had a grip of steel on her and she could not break free. She contented herself with shooting Toede a look so threatening and malevolent that Toede shriveled up and shrank back, terrified, among his bodyguards.
“She should be in manacles, my lord!” the hob quavered. “Put her in leg irons!”
Kitiara turned to Ariakas. “If you have no other evidence besides the word of this quivering mound of goo—”
“The emperor has my evidence,” said Feal-Thas. Gathering his robes about him, he rose gracefully to his feet, his motion slow and unhurried. “As many of you know,” he said, speaking to the group at large, “I am a winternorn. I will not go into detail explaining this magical skill to the uninitiated. Suffice it to say, a winternorn has the power to delve deep into the heart of another.
“I looked into your heart, Highlord Kitiara, when you were gracious enough to visit me in my icebound solitude, and I saw the truth. You sent these assassins to kill Lord Verminaard, hoping to succeed him as Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy.”
“Lies! Liar!” Kitiara lunged at Feal-Thas in such fury that the bozak holding her was nearly dragged off his clawed feet. “I should have killed you at Icereach!”
Feal-Thas glanced at Ariakas as much as to say, “Do you require any more proof, my lord?” and sat down, undisturbed by Kit’s ravings.
Realizing she had only made matters worse, Kitiara managed to regain some semblance of calm. “Do you believe him, my lord, a shit-eating elf, or will you believe me? I had nothing to do with the death of Verminaard! He died through his own folly!”
Ariakas removed his sword and tossed it on the table.
“Highlords, you have heard the evidence. What is your verdict? Is Kitiara uth Matar guilty of the murder of Highlord Verminaard or do you find her innocent?”
“Guilty,” said Lucien, with an orgish grin.
“Guilty,” said Salah Kahn, his dark eyes glinting.