Emperor of Ansalon (d-3) Read online

  Ariakas crouched and froze, listening as the brute trundled past. By then he could hear the sounds of other marchers, grunting, groaning, and cursing under some strain. Risking another look, the man saw that the lead ogre had disappeared around the next bend in the trail. Immediately below, a pair of ogres labored under the weight of a heavy log, precariously balanced across their broad shoulders. Others came into view, each hauling a tree trunk destined, Ariakas speculated, for the fireplaces of the lofty keep.

  Finally the band of ogres worked its way around the bend, but still Ariakas held his position, waiting and watching the trail. Minutes passed. The sounds of the grumbling ogres faded up the trail. Still the warrior waited.

  A man came into sight, walking slowly and carefully up the path. Like the ogre who had led the column, he scanned the slopes above the trail with diligence and caution. His hand rested on the hilt of a long sword, and the weapon swung at the strange warrior's side with a grace that spoke of long familiarity.

  More significant was the man's armor. Ariakas allowed his face to twist into a scar-split smile when he saw the metal helm-it included a visor lowered to cover the warrior's face. He was a large fellow, well-muscled and long of leg. Like the fully masked helm, these facts also met with the approval of the figure concealed above the trail.

  Ariakas took a quick glance up the path, checking that the ogres remained out of sight. He then hefted a small stone, nestling the oblong shape in his palm as he watched the lone rear guard pass his place of conceal shy;ment. The blank mask of the helmet faced upward, and Ariakas froze while the gaze swept past his niche. Fortu shy;nately, as he had expected, the narrow vantage point and the surrounding shadows concealed him.

  Then, as the rear guard looked farther up the trail, Ariakas pitched the stone through the air, watching as it fell perfectly-about ten feet on the other side of the war shy;rior, down the slope.

  The fellow would have been inhuman if he had ignored the sudden rattle of sound. The man's sword was in his hand in a flickering instant, instinctively slashing the air behind him. Only then did he hear the sounds above.

  Whirling, the warrior raised his long sword to face Ariakas, who plunged his broadsword downward with both hands. The guard staggered backward, then dropped his blade, and for a sickening instant Ariakas feared that he would plummet over the edge of the steep trail. But the man caught his balance, and his faceless helm dipped downward for a fraction of a second as he looked for his weapon. That splinter of time was enough-Ariakas thrust sharply, aiming for the gap between the man's helm and his breastplate. The sword slipped through the niche, and the guard groaned once, an exhalation of shock and surprise. Then he slumped to the ground, dead.

  Now Ariakas had to work fast. Glancing up at the lofty tower, he saw no movement, no sign of any reaction at all. All he could do was hope that he remained unob shy;served. Swiftly he tore off his own leather armor, replac shy;ing it with the dead man's plate mail and helm. Discarding his knapsack, he took the locket, his dagger, and-after only a moment's hesitation-the flask of lavarum and stuffed them into his small belt pouch.

  Slipping the helmet over his head, he dropped the faceplate to conceal his features. After cleaning and sheathing his own sword, he started up the trail. As he jogged along, he slipped the shoulder plates over his arms and pulled the gauntlets onto his hands.

  With the faceplate down, he knew he presented a rea shy;sonable facsimile of the man he had slain. How long he could maintain the charade he didn't dare to guess.

  Instead, he concentrated on closing the distance that sep shy;arated him from the ogres and their heavy load of fire shy;wood.

  The trail twisted and wound on its way up the narrow crag adjacent to the ogres' tower. Ariakas's lungs struggled for air as he lumbered ahead, dragged down by the unfamiliar weight of metal armor. Finally he came around a bend and caught a glimpse of the steep upward slope before him. The brutes had apparently been wait shy;ing, for some of the ogres lolled on the ground around their great logs while others stamped their feet impa shy;tiently and glared back down the trail.

  As soon as Ariakas came into sight, the sitting ogres lurched to their feet, though with some visible reluctance to resume their labors. One of them gave him a casual wave, which the warrior returned, while the others heaved the logs to their shoulders and started the march.

  Now Ariakas tried to assume the mantle of his new role. He inspected the heights and the back-trail just as he'd seen the dead man do, ensuring that no one fol shy;lowed the party back to its lair. The trail entered a series of steep, narrow switchbacks, and he was acutely con shy;scious of the ogres marching along the face directly over shy;head. He paid them little obvious attention, reasoning that their human rear guard would be more concerned with any unknown threats lurking to the sides of the trail.

  Eventually the path opened onto the narrow summit of the crag, and the party moved onto the crest. Ariakas guessed that they approached the lowered drawbridge, and he hastened up the slope below. His plan depended on him reaching that portal before the crossing was raised again-he didn't want to risk calling out for the guards to lower it. After all, he didn't even know what language they'd speak within the forbidding tower.

  He crested the ridge to see the drawbridge resting across the chasm, the double gates of the tower just swinging outward as he approached. The keep soared to the sky before him, looming upward like an extension of the solid, craggy peak. Several of the outer towers extended toward Ariakas, giving the impression that the entire keep leaned forward, ready to fall upon him. Huge squares of dark granite intermeshed perfectly to form the high, sweeping wall. Except for the six outer towers, no external features interrupted the curved wall. Smooth palisades thrust upward to meet the overhang shy;ing lip of the cone-shaped roof, far overhead.

  The ogres lumbered forward, trudging across the long drawbridge and disappearing through the gates into the tower. Ariakas hastened to follow. Risking an upward glance, he studied the tower as he reached the edge of the bridge. Narrow windows slit the walls in many places, and he imagined numerous eyes upon him. He could see no movement in the darkness within, however, and soon even the ogres before him had vanished into the dark maw of the gates.

  Stepping onto the bridge, Ariakas was struck by an overwhelming realization of the immense drop yawning below him. The gorge lay more than a thousand feet below the bridge, and a sensation of dizziness overtook him. Gritting his teeth, he strode resolutely forward.

  Passing between the open gates, he saw shadowy out shy;lines of the winch and gear mechanisms that operated the doors. Two ogres, grunting impatiently, cranked a capstan and wheeled the huge portals shut with surpris shy;ing speed. At the same time, the rattling of chain over shy;head informed Ariakas that the drawbridge mechanism had also been engaged. The gates slammed shut behind him, and he knew his course was set.

  "Here, Erastmut-saved you a glop!" grunted one of the ogres, holding out a slime-streaked bottle. Ariakas took the flask, at first feeling a measure of relief that the ogre spoke in Common. At the same time, he knew he couldn't afford to raise his visor in the presence of some shy;one who knew Erastmut.

  Silently nodding his thanks, Ariakas took the bottle and reached for his faceplate. An acrid stink, mingling cheap whiskey and ogre drool, nearly sickened him as he lifted the bottle. Then, as if remembering a great secret, he held up his palm and gestured toward his belt pouch. He reached inside and pulled out his prized flask of lavarum. Setting the ogre's bottle down, he passed the flask over to the brute.

  "Good!" grunted the ogre, sniffing at the neck appre shy;ciatively. He raised it and took a long gurgle.

  Ariakas grimaced at the sight of the precious stuff run shy;ning down the monster's chin, but still he dared not speak. By then the other ogre gatekeeper had stepped over to them, and Ariakas gestured for him to take a drink as well. The first one scowled and shook his head. "No-din't get a good taste that time." Again he hoisted the flask and guzzled.

/>   "Hey-save some!" barked the second, reaching out with a massive paw. Predictably, the first ogre pulled the bottle away, sneering at his companion in the sublime superiority of one who holds a winning hand of cards and doesn't care who knows the fact.

  "Gimme!" insisted the second, his temper aroused by his companion's air.

  The drinker cuffed his fellow's grasping fist away, lumbering a few steps to hold the flask out of reach. The thirsty ogre snorted and lunged in pursuit.

  Ariakas took the opportunity to slip down the entry corridor. The high-ceilinged passage was bracketed by stone walls, with a bare floor of crushed rock. Many doors and passages opened to the sides, most of them dark and silent though an occasional glimmer of torch or candlelight showed beneath a portal. He reached a side passage where he had seen some ogres disappear to the left, and here he veered right. The corridor continued a short distance and then branched. The telltale ammonia stench from the left branch told him that it led to a latrine, so he continued right.

  At last he was out of sight and hearing of the door. Though he desperately missed the ability to see and hear freely, he still did not dare to remove the constricting hel shy;met. He had no idea how many humans might be quar shy;tered in this tower. He also realized that the scar on his face made him a rather memorable figure, and he feared that even among the dull-brained ogres his appearance would draw attention.

  The corridor Ariakas followed turned a corner and ter shy;minated at the foot of a wide, straight staircase. His heart flamed into hope-the kender had said the lady was imprisoned at the top of the tower. Abruptly he heard the tromp of bootsteps coming down the passageway. Without hesitation he leapt to the stairs, climbing them four steps in a bound. His heart pounding, he vanished into the upper shadows just before the marching ogres emerged into the corridor below.

  Chapter 4

  The Light at the Top of the Tower

  Concealed from the threat below, Ariakas slowed his pace on the stairway and listened for activity. The bootsteps below faded, though he heard rumbles of laughter and short bursts of squabbling from many places on the ground floor. Above him, all remained silent. Torches flickered from wall sconces at the top of the stairs, which climbed straight up at least forty feet in total. Ariakas cursed the narrow field of vision provided by the slits in his helmet, but he dared not remove his disguise.

  Carefully climbing the remaining steps, he began for the first time to consider the grandeur of this isolated fortress. The stairs were dark hardwood, though the walls within the keep seemed to be the same granite as the outer faces. Many tapestries draped the walls of the stairway, torches flared and sputtered within elaborate wire cages, and smooth, elegantly carved handrails were mounted on the wall to either side.

  Obviously, this place had not been built by brutish humanoids. Ariakas wondered about the mysterious ogre warlord Oberon, questioning for the first time if the fellow were really an ogre. The relatively decent mainte shy;nance here suggested otherwise. After all, he had plun shy;dered enough ogre lairs to well remember the pervasive stench of urine and collected refuse that had character shy;ized them all. Here, however, someone had either cleaned up after them, or compelled them to clean up after them shy;selves. These ogres even used regular latrines, as he had sensed below.

  The second floor encircled a wide hall in the center of the keep. The stairway reached one end of this hall while another series of wide steps led upward from the oppo shy;site side. A dozen torches flared on the walls, showing Ariakas that the room was empty of ogres. Several dark hallways gaped around the room's periphery, and here too the walls were lined with ornate tapestries.

  Without wasting time in further inspection, Ariakas hastened across the room and up the next stairway. The memory of that beacon in the night burned in his mind, drawing him toward the top of this lofty keep.

  The next floor proved to have a much smaller central hallway, with many more corridors branching from it. From some of the side passages muted torchlight spilled outward, while from others emerged the basso rumbling of ogre snores. Here, too, the stairway narrowed to a mere ten feet width; apparently the ceremonial portion of the fortress was below.

  Stealthily, the warrior crossed the short distance to the next flight of stairs, moving upward to another floor sim shy;ilar to the one he had just passed. The fourth floor, how shy;ever, showed evidence of being completely deserted-no torches or snores disturbed the stale, musty air.

  Quickening his pace, Ariakas bounded upward. He soon reached the fifth floor, where the very vastness of the room brought him to a cautious halt. Fading daylight showed through the slit windows on three sides, so he knew the room was as wide as the keep itself. On the fourth side, facing the neighboring mountain, a small room blocked a portion of the outer wall. His upward goal still urged him on, but Ariakas felt suspicion about this level. As silently as possible, he crossed to the flat wall of the small room. A heavy door, banded with iron and equipped with brackets to hold a sturdy bar, stood slightly ajar.

  Cautiously he peered around the door. With a pleased sense of confirmation he recognized the huge capstans and large coils of chain that could only be the draw shy;bridge machinery. From the weight of the chain and the bridge, he assumed that dozens of ogres were required to raise the platform. Lowering it, he thought with a smile that tugged at his split lip, would be another mat shy;ter entirely.

  Hastily he turned back to the stairway. The next floors he reached were all the same-huge, circular halls that filled the entire width of the keep. Concentric rings of stone columns circled a large, central post, which gave these vast chambers the appearance of a dark, petrified forest. The last beams of sunlight, spilling horizontally in the western windows, added to this eerie effect like late afternoon rays intruding onto the shady woodland floor.

  These levels he passed quickly, taking no more than a cursory look for ogres. Finally the stairs embarked on a long ascent, uninterrupted by interceding floors. They angled upward to a horizontal landing, then zig-zagged back to another. Torches were placed at each landing, though much of the expanse between was lost in shadows.

  After four of these landings, Ariakas began to realize that, though surrounded by the walls of the stairway and the bulk of the castle, he was nevertheless very high above the rest of Krynn. His lungs labored for breath in the thin mountain air. The dark metal helmet seemed to close around him, and the scar on his chin and lip burned in the confinement.

  His caution banished all these concerns as-halfway up from the fourth landing-he heard measured, tromp-ing footsteps overhead. Flattening himself against a rail shy;ing, he tried to vanish into the shadows.

  A huge shape hulked into view, marching on the floor above, looming in the torchlight at the top of the stairs and then continuing past, out of sight. Ariakas heard the footsteps cease and then, following a slight shuffle, turn back toward the stairs. Remaining immobile, Ariakas watched the ogre guard again trundle across his line of vision, and then heard him halt and return. The cadence continued, with less than half a minute between each of the ogre's passes.

  Cursing under his breath, Ariakas analyzed the formi shy;dable foe. This was the first diligent ogre he had encoun shy;tered in the castle. Clearly the beast was guarding some shy;thing of great value. Hope flared within Ariakas-hope so strong that it acted as its own confirmation. There, just beyond the ogre guard, he knew he would find the lady!

  Carefully, Ariakas crept up the stairs, one step each time the ogre passed. He was thankful that the shadows remained thick near the railing, and also that the ogre showed no inclination to look down. Instead, the brute kept its eyes to the front as it paced back and forth, its repetitive path forming the crosspiece to the T of the stairway.

  Finally, Ariakas reached the edge of the shadows, about five steps from the top. Once again the ogre passed, marching to the warrior's right, and now Aria shy;kas drew his sword and gathered his feet below him. His mind vividly imagined the charge-a low rush from the darknes
s, his sword darting upward into the flab-rolled neck. A sure strike into the brain would bring instant death … the slicing of the jugular slightly slower, but no less certain.

  Still tense, Ariakas suddenly realized that the ogre should be returning. Instead, he heard the guard's steps clomp some distance away. Abruptly the steps halted, and the warrior heard a telltale gush of water.

  Springing upward, he quickly reached the corridor at the top of the stairs, mentally thanking whoever had compelled these ogres to use latrines. Ariakas first looked for another stairway leading up, but there wasn't one. Since the ogre was off to the right, he darted left. A gleam of torchlight spilled from a side corridor. Instead of sooty smoke, a scent like flowered incense washed outward with the light. The lady.

  His heart thundered from more than lack of air as he turned down the lighted corridor. He burst through a doorway, gasping for breath and blinking in the bright light. At first he thought that the entire room glowed, but then he quickly narrowed his focus to three lanterns sus shy;pended from the ceiling. Fumes of foggy scent billowed around these lights. Beyond the chamber's lone window, black night hung. Ariakas knew that this was the aper shy;ture he had studied from the windswept mountain below-the beacon that had glowed seductively throughout the long night.

  Then all other details fell into insignificance as she stirred. The lady lay upon a huge bed beside one wall, and now she shifted her head to look at him.

  Ariakas's knees turned to jelly, and he staggered from the impact of her beauty. She was the mirrored reflection of the black-haired figure who had haunted his dreams . . . the image etched into the platinum of the precious locket.