Whez Lavastone turned back to Ariakas and Tomb-fyre. 'I realize you seek the mold of the fungus warrens. You shall have as much of it as you desire,' he promised.
'I know,' Ariakas said with a smug nod.
Tale Splintersteel, meanwhile, cocked a cautious eye upward from the floor, though he still trembled in awe of the monstrous serpent.
'Unchain him,' Ariakas commanded, and several attendants crept to obey. The highlord slid down Tomb- fyre's sleek shoulder, striding forward to confront Tale Splintersteel and Whez Lavastone.
'I will take some of the dust to Sanction when I depart,' Ariakas continued. Then he turned to the Zhakar merchant. 'Your treachery has gone unpunished long enough. You sought to betray me in the Fireplaza of Sanction, and there I swore vengeance-now, accept your retribution.'
The green sword flashed, and Tale Splintersteel's head, face locked in an expression of dawning horror, flew from his shoulders and thumped onto the floor.
'This one once served me, but I had no more need of him.' Ariakas turned back to the wary figure of Whez Lavastone. 'You will not outlive your usefulness, either.
'Send a caravan to Sanction in my wake. Oh, and you'll want to appoint a new merchant lord-one who meets my approval. I want a hundred barrels of the mold in the first shipment, and thaf s only the beginning.'
'B-But what are the terms?' stammered Whez.
'You'll hear the terms when the mold is delivered,' snapped the highlord. 'Now-bring me my sample!'
'Quickly, fools!' yelped Whez Lavastone, crying out to the assembled Zhakar who stood well back from the imposing intruder. 'Bring him the dust! Pack saddlebags!'
Dozens of dwarves hurried to obey. Ariakas and Tombfyre remained alert to activity around them, but felt certain that the Zhakar had been thoroughly cowed.
His mind drifted back to Lyrelee and the delights she had given him…. He felt a twinge of regret, but already he saw that there would be other women-as many as he wanted. Perhaps he would choose a young maiden this time, or a wench with a little more flesh on her bones. The problem of their inevitable deaths would only serve to provide variety.
Ariakas's thoughts turned to Ferros Windchisel, and the steadfast friendship that, in the end, had been the Hylar's greatest gift. Together they had shared a road of dangers and delights. Ferros had proven to be a true warrior's companion-a loyal ally willing to live or die as fate decreed. Of the two, he knew that Ferros would be harder to replace.
Ariakas felt a brief sadness for their loss-more so for the dwarf than the woman, he realized. Perhaps Ferros Windchisel had offered him a friendship and loyalty that would be unique in his life.
But then his thoughts turned to the future. As the dwarves carted out great saddlebags of mold dust, he imagined the wealth that treasure would generate in Sanction-for he intended to charge the temple for his services. With that money, and the power that would come to him by virtue of his new companion, the road to that smoldering city was lined with promise.
Beyond Sanction, Ariakas knew, that pathway would lead him to new heights of conquest and mastery. Legions of draconians would march under his banner! There would be a time-soon-when whole nations, when all of Ansalon, would tremble at the mention of his name … when, backed by the might of his Dark Queen, he, Highlord Ariakas, would rule the world!
Epilogue
Tombfyre carried his human warrior to Sanction, soar shy;ing in one day over mountain ridges that had taken Aria-kas and his companions a fortnight to cross. Securely strapped to the dragon's flanks were a pair of saddle shy;bags, stuffed to bulging with the powdered dust of the plague fungus.
Before the pair had departed Zhakar, Ariakas made certain that Whez Lavastone had appointed a new emis shy;sary, and that the caravan was ready to march. That Zhakar merchant lord would bring a large load of mold to Sanction very quickly, Ariakas suspected, for only then would the dwarves receive their first payment.
Also during his high-handed negotiations, Ariakas had demanded that the Zhakar provide him with large companies of foot soldiers and lizard riders. Those would be marching along with the caravan, Whez Lavas-tone had promised, and the highlord had been inclined to believe him. The troops would join the ranks of the mercenaries he would hire, and the draconians that would soon march forth, in great numbers, from the Temple of Luerkhisis.
The highlord relished the sense of grim satisfaction that could only arise from successful vengeance. Tale Splintersteel and Rackas Ironcog had each paid in full measure the cost of treachery. Justice had been served, and Ariakas reflected that revenge was indeed the sweetest taste.
Flight over the Khalkists was exhilarating, and Ariakas — warmly bundled in furs, ensconced in a deep saddle created by Zhakar leatherworkers-enjoyed the long day of barren, rocky vistas. In flight, Ariakas relished a sense of mastery over even the mountains themselves. He and Tombfyre were alone in the heavens, high above even the soaring eagles. Yet when smoky Sanction hove into view, the human felt fully ready to rejoin humankind. Now, at last, he would do so as master and conqueror-a true highlord!
In the teeming streets people pointed and gawked, and when Tombfyre swooped low overhead they trembled in fear. When the red dragon set to ground before the Temple of Luerkhisis, hundreds of priests ran from the twin gates to prostrate themselves before their emperor and his mighty steed. Soon, Ariakas vowed, he would fly his dragon into the Fireplaza, and there he would gather the squabbling mercenaries of the city to his banner. They didn't know it yet, but those warriors would form the key regiments of an army that would threaten all of Ansalon.
But even that host wouldn't be enough. Already the Zhakar had been enlisted to the cause, and Ariakas had
plans to fly to Bloten, threatening the ogres with oblitera shy;tion if they didn't rally to the Dark Queen's banner. There, as in the city, the highlord felt certain of eventual success-not just because of fear, but because ogres and human warriors both would be unable to resist the pic shy;ture of victorious battle and rich plunder that Ariakas would use to lure them.
Wryllish Parkane hurried from the temple gates to kneel reverently before both the dragon and the high-lord. The high priest quickly rose to his feet, his face serious.
'Apprentices-grab those saddlebags!' barked Aria shy;kas, dismounting and striding to Parkane. 'Come on- let's go to the egg rooms.'
'The shadowpeople have invaded the Sanctified Cata shy;combs!' burst the high priest. 'They've seized the egg chambers, and resisted all of our attempts to drive them out. They say if we bring an army down there they will destroy the eggs!'
'They won't hurt them,' Ariakas said with certainty. 'But perhaps I can talk to them.'
'Indeed-the leading warrior, one called Vallens-wade, has asked to speak to you personally.'
'Where are they gathered?' asked the highlord.
'They're holed up in a large cavern, where the tunnels all come together. They have all the entrances blocked, and there's no way we can reach the eggs,' replied the priest.
'I'll… talk to them. Bring the mold along quickly-it won't be long before we can get to work,' Ariakas said, starting into the tunnels of the Catacombs.
On his back gleamed the emerald-green blade of his sword.
