Emperor of Ansalon (d-3) Read online

  Emperor of Ansalon

  ( Dragonlance:Villains - 3 )

  Douglas Niles

  Douglas Niles

  Emperor of Ansalon

  For Christine, always

  Prologue

  The great bazaar of Khuri-Khan remained as Ariakas had remembered it, a dense throng of humans and kender mingling with more occasional elves and even a rare minotaur or domesticated ogre. A maelstrom of noise surrounded him: persuasive, singsong arguments of merchants, loud cries of outrage from overcharged cus shy;tomers, background cacophonies from minstrels and flutists, even sporadic clangs of daggers against shields or gauntlets. Each sound added to the unique and ener shy;getic character of the grand marketplace.

  The warrior strode among the teeming crowds, and those in his path intuitively stepped aside to give pas shy;sage. Perhaps it was his height that inspired fear-for he stood a handspan taller than most other men-or his bearing, which was erect and apparently imperturbable. Broad shoulders supported his solid neck, and his head rose like a lion's, his dark eyes studying the crowd from beneath a mane of long, windblown hair.

  Ariakas paused a moment at the central fountain, where water arced upward and then spattered across a sun-drenched basin of mosaic. He hadn't visited the shop of Habbar-Akuk for many years, but he was certain he could still find the place.

  There, to the left of the fountain, he recognized the nar shy;row alley. A colorful stall, draped in bright fabrics gath shy;ered from across Ansalon, marked the alley entrance. Countless varieties of incense fogged the air around the canopy, triggering an olfactory memory that could not be mistaken. Beyond the scent-merchant, he saw a corral where short-legged mountain ponies were bought and sold, and he knew for certain he was in the right place.

  He found the unpretentious facade of Habbar-Akuk's shop against the wall at the back of the alley. It was hard to imagine from the weather-beaten planks and the worn string-beads hanging across the entrance that this was the establishment of the wealthiest moneylender in all Khur. Perhaps, Ariakas thought with a tight smile, that's why Habbar has remained in business for so long.

  Parting the colorful beads, Ariakas ducked his head in order to pass through the low doorway. The tall warrior remembered that in the past he'd always felt claustro shy;phobic in these chambers, but perhaps that, too, was part of Habbar-Akuk's success. In any event, he knew that on this visit he wouldn't be staying long.

  "High-Captain Ariakas! This is indeed a pleasure!" Habbar-Akuk himself, bowing deeply, emerged from behind his small desk to take the warrior's hand.

  "Ah, you old crook," Ariakas replied, with affection. "All you see is my money walking through the door!"

  "My lord, you do me injustice!" protested the plump moneychanger, his pointed beard quivering in indigna shy;tion. "I extend to you a welcome, a welcome most warm -and yet you wound me with your tongue!"

  "Not so badly as I wounded the bandits that used to plague your southbound wagons," Ariakas noted, amused at the merchant's protestations.

  "Ah, so you did. Never did I have a guard captain so capable, so diligent in his duties! I should never have let the warlords hire you away."

  "Don't waste your regrets," Ariakas replied. "There was too much money to be made in the ogre campaigns -even if they were doomed from the start."

  "Ah, ogres!" Habbar-Akuk made a great show of spit shy;ting into one corner of his office-a corner that had seen a great deal of expectoration in its time. "Even if Bloten still stands, your men gave the brutes an accounting they won't soon forget!

  "In fact," continued the merchant, his eyes narrowing, "I had heard that the warlords intend to mount another expedition. I should think you'd be their first choice for command." His eyes asked the question for which his words were too discreet.

  "Of course they want me-they're no fools," Ariakas noted without bragging. "I'm the only reason even a few of us returned from the last invasion."

  Habbar-Akuk remained silent, knowing that he would receive further information. His instincts proved correct.

  "I was promised full command of the invasion. They reminded me that it was ogres who killed my father-as if I could forget! But that reason only worked so long as Red Tusk was alive-naturally, that was a score that could not remain unavenged. Now that slate is clean- the killer of my father is dead by my own hand."

  "Well said," murmured the moneychanger. "A man who does not pursue revenge is no man at all."

  "Still, the warlords tried to kindle the old blood-lust, sure that I'd leap at the chance to continue these campaigns. And once, of course, I would have done so.

  "But I tell you, good Habbar," continued the warrior, "I have no stomach to make war for fighting's sake. I've done too much of that, and where has it got me? Lucky to be alive, I'd say. And so I told the warlords as well."

  The moneychanger nodded sagely, his eyes narrow shy;ing.

  "They offered me more money, then," said Ariakas. "Enough to make me rich beyond my dreams. But I asked myself, what good is money to a man who lies in the dust, his skull crushed by an ogre club?"

  "Say not-surely no such fate awaited the great Duul-ket Ariakas!"

  "Such a fate awaits every man who invades Bloten, sooner or later," replied the mercenary captain. "These continuing campaigns are madness! It will take nothing less than a full-scale army to bring the ogre nation to its knees, and the warlords have no wish to spend that kind of money-even if there were such an army to be hired. I decided that I will remove myself from the risk."

  "And I may play a small role to help?" Now Habbar-Akuk allowed his eyes to drift to the obviously heavy saddlebags the warrior carried over his shoulder.

  "I have decided to try my fortunes across the moun shy;tains, in Sanction," Ariakas explained.

  Habbar-Akuk nodded thoughtfully, as though the arduous mountain crossing were a thing attempted every day. "There are perils enough in the Khalkists, wherever you go. The savages of Zhakar block passage to the east, while the fortress of the bandit lord Oberon stands to the north of Bloten. Why to Sanction?"

  "I have heard there are comforts there for a man who has money. That a gold piece from Khur can buy its equal in pure steel from the merchants of Sanction."

  "Of course… and, too, you will be a man with money?" inquired Habbar-Akuk with a guileless look of curiosity.

  Smiling tightly, Ariakas heaved the two satchels onto the heavy counter. Despite its sturdy construction, the platform shuddered under the weight of clinking metal, and Habbar-Akuk's eyes sharpened in avaricious appraisal.

  "It would seem that the warlords have already paid you well for your services," the merchant allowed with a pleased nod.

  "Five years of my life should be worth something," Ariakas snapped. "Now, what I want is this: to convert these coins into valuables I can carry comfortably in my pack, something I can take on a long journey."

  "Naturally," Habbar murmured. He touched the satchels. "Steel pieces, of course."

  "For the most part, though there's gold and platinum too. Tell me, do you have something suitable?"

  "These matters cannot be hurried," explained the moneychanger, opening each of the saddlebags and allowing his pudgy fingers to run through the metal coins. "Still, I think that I shall be able to accommodate you."

  "I suspected as much. A fat diamond, perhaps-or a string of pearls?"

  Habbar-Akuk held up his hands in mock horror. "Please, my lord. Nothing so mundane for one such as yourself! An occasion like this calls for a unique treasure, a thing suitable for yourself alone!"

  "What's the matter with gemstones?" demanded Aria shy;kas. "I don't want you loading me down with some statue, or a supposedly enchanted mirror that'll break the first time I take a ro
ugh fall!"

  "No, no-nothing of the sort," disputed the merchant. "But, it's true, I have just the thing for you."

  The pudgy merchant disappeared into his tiny back room and was gone for several minutes. Ariakas sus shy;pected that Habbar had a secret trapdoor connecting to underground treasuries, but he had never tried to find out. Habbar-Akuk had been a grateful employer to the man who had won safe passage for his merchant wagons all the way to Flotsam. The moneychanger had seen to it that the warrior benefitted from glowing recommenda shy;tions to some of the most influential warlords in Khur. Ariakas, in turn, had converted those recommendations into several successful campaigns, and this small for shy;tune. Thus, the two men had a relationship of mutual, if businesslike, respect.

  At last Habbar-Akuk returned, and he looked at Aria shy;kas appraisingly, as if deciding whether or not the war shy;rior was worthy of the splendid deal he was about to offer.

  "Well, what is it? Do you have something?"

  "I have more than something," retorted the money shy;changer. "I have the perfect thing."

  He extended a small locket toward Ariakas. The tiny box, connected to a platinum chain, was studded with bril shy;liant gemstones-rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. Even a cursory examination suggested to Ariakas that it was worth far more than the money he offered in exchange.

  Turning it over in his hands, Ariakas flicked a switch, and the locket flipped open. The warrior caught his breath as he saw the perfectly etched image of a woman's face and shoulders. Despite the size of the picture, he sensed immediately that she was a person of excep shy;tional-even breathtaking-beauty.

  This locket would buy him a small palace, he knew, or a grand house, or a pastureful of horses … or whatever he wanted. As he held the locket he noticed the gentle curve of its frame, which swept inward at the waist like a woman's voluptuous body. He found the image enticing, and as the seconds passed, a more vivid picture of the lady began to materialize in his mind.

  She would be tall, of course-that much he could tell from the shape. He believed-he knew-that she had flashing black eyes that would hold a man spellbound with their cool appraisal. Her waist was tiny, her body beautiful beyond compare, beyond imagination. His heart tore at his chest when his mind conjured the image of that perfection.

  "Who-who is she?" he finally brought himself to ask.

  Habbar-Akuk shrugged. "A lady of Sanction, as a mat shy;ter of fact. Rich as a queen, I was told. Her beloved had that locket made before he died."

  Oddly, the thought of the pictured woman's lover brought a surge of jealous rage to Ariakas, and it was with some satisfaction that he absorbed the news of the fellow's demise. "Sanction, you say?" The news was far from displeasing to him. "Do you wish to count the money?" He gestured to the saddlebags, holding his breath. Surely Habbar-Akuk would want more for such a rare treasure.

  Surprisingly, the merchant shrugged. "It's right and proper, I know," was all he said.

  Ariakas stared at the picture in the locket. That long neck drew his eyes with hypnotic power, and the clean sweep of her shoulders filled his imagination with allur shy;ing images of the body below.

  "It's right," repeated Habbar-Akuk. He pulled the saddlebags onto the floor of the shop.

  Ariakas nodded distantly, turning toward the door and its bead curtain. He still held the locket and stared at the picture, the jeweled treasure tightly clutched in his hand.

  "Farewell, Lord Ariakas," murmured Habbar-Akuk before adding once more: "It is as it should be."

  Ariakas passed through the door into the sun-dappled marketplace. Somehow, the frantic crowd seemed to have lost much of its intensity. The merchant's words rang in his memory, and he felt beyond a doubt that Habbar-Akuk had been correct.

  It was right that Ariakas hold this locket, and right that he set out with it for Sanction.

  Part One

  Seduction

  Chapter 1

  A Thief in the Khalkists

  Ariakas woke in the night, roused by some unknown disturbance, a subtle shift in the rhythms of the darkness. Dry moun shy;tain crags soared to the sky all around him, outlined only in starlight, and the stillness allowed him to hear the dis shy;tant rumble of surf against the shore. Close beside him, gray ash masked the dying remnant of his fire, a small collection of embers gleaming in crimson contrast to the dark night.

  Sitting up, he shrugged off his bedroll. The certainty crystalized: something or someone had been through his camp. He felt equally certain that the encroacher was gone. The warrior took his own fresh awakening as sign that the intruder had intended him no harm.

  Still, a sense of violation persisted, growing into a cold outrage as he touched the hilt of his sword, reassuring himself of its presence. The weapon was old, but sturdy and sharp-he felt a strong measure of relief feeling the weathered hand guard and grip.

  Silently he rose to a crouch, allowing the fur blanket to tumble to the ground. Chill air tingled across his naked back as he stepped to his pack. A quick check showed that his rations of dried meat and hardtack remained untouched. In a sense the discovery disappointed him, for it meant that the visitor had not been merely a hun shy;gry animal.

  Next he reached through the pack for his flask of lava-rum, finding it immediately. He moved the bottle as he continued his one-handed search, and then he froze. Carefully he raised the flask, hefting it gently to gauge its weight. His lips curled into an involuntary grimace- fully a third of the precious liquor was gone!

  Setting the silver container to the side then, he plunged his hand into the depths of the pack. He felt his long dag shy;ger, secure in its doeskin sheath. Moving the weapon, he reached farther-and a sickening sense of worry rose in him. Frantically clawing around, he felt nothing but the hard ground through the leather bottom. The locket! It was gone-stolen from his pack while he slept!

  His anxiety and rage immediately flamed into power shy;ful determination, like a banked fire welcoming the first breath of the bellows. Yet he forced himself to be calm as he looked at the stars. He had another hour until sunrise. There would be no finding the thief's trail without light, he knew. At the same time, when he began the pursuit, he wanted all of his endurance, all his speed and agility for the chase.

  At issue was far more than the worth of a tiny, how shy;ever precious, object. More important was the fact that this thief had entered camp in the dark of night-had stood over his sleeping form!-and then had proceeded to rob him and disappear. To Ariakas, the insult weighed as heavily on his mind as the loss of treasure. He would regain his locket, and at the same time deal a proper measure of retribution to the thief.

  With this purpose in mind, he pulled his fur across his goose-pimpled flesh, once again resting his head on the cloak-wrapped pillow of his boots. A single star had winked out behind the looming crest of the mountain before he was asleep.

  On one side of the camp, the Khalkist Mountains plunged toward the surging shore of the Newsea. A series of steplike granite ledges climbed away from the angry surf, each mountainous shoulder strewn with a patchwork blanket of wiry grass, chiseled bedrock, and loose, sharp-cornered scree.

  Now, in the pale blue light filtering through the layer of dawn clouds, Ariakas awakened with a sense of pur shy;pose. The pounding of the surf was a lonely accompani shy;ment to his solitude, penetrating coastal mists even though the Newsea itself lay partly concealed behind dissipating fog. Tendrils of that same fog cloaked the rugged heights, shrouding the summits in a gray over shy;cast and slipping through the valleys and gorges like the thief through his camp.

  He let his fire lie, taking a piece of hardtack for his breakfast, distracted into hurrying by a sense of urgency. In fact, his rage had been filtered into nothing more than a dire purpose, and vengeance was a purpose that com shy;pelled immediate and forceful action. As Habbar-Akuk had noted, a man who did not pursue revenge was no man at all.

  When he hoisted his pack to his back, he thought of the locket, the picture of the woman. He was awa
re of an acute sense of loss, astonished to realize that he missed her! In the weeks since leaving Khuri-Khan, he had passed through the most rugged, inhospitable country on Krynn, and always she had been his companion. She helped him overcome his pronounced vertigo as he negotiated cliff-bracketed passes, or steep, treacherous glaciers. She had shared his frigid camp in rocky swales, where the nearest firewood was a thousand feet away- straight down. Always she had helped him ford streams, avoid avalanches.

  Ariakas even wondered to himself if it had been the lady who had warned him about the ogre patrol two days earlier. He had always before taken for granted his innate ability to sense danger. It had been key to success shy;ful campaigns, enabling him and his men to escape deadly ambushes. Yet when he had encountered the ogres, the lady's presence articulated the alarm with peculiar urgency, precision… and care.

  It had been the day before yesterday. Drizzling rain obscured vision, and Ariakas was chilled and uncom shy;fortable as he trudged across lowland terrain. A strong premonition, which seemed to him like the lady's voice, warned him of danger. Taking shelter in a thicket of wil shy;lows beside his trail, he silently watched a half dozen ogres march into view, passing within a few paces. Each of the beasts was a Basher, dressed in the crude loin shy;cloths of sentinels of Bloten. Bashers passionately hated humans, dwarves, and elves. Eight feet in height, with weight nearly double Ariakas's, each of the long-armed monsters wielded an assortment of clubs, axes, and swords. One of them alone was a threat to the most capable warrior-a band such as this, if alerted to his presence, would inevitably track him down and kill him.

  As he watched the monsters disappear, it was hard for Ariakas to suppress his desire to attack. Remembering years of campaigns, of friends slain and villages razed, all his old hatreds threatened to surge into life. Curi shy;ously, then, he found cold solace in the fact that now he had no such obligations, no responsibilities beyond him shy;self. The ogres vanished into the rain, and without fur shy;ther interruption or worry, Ariakas had resumed his trek to Sanction.