smol dered, oozing rockfire and slowly wracking the city below.
The Newsea beckoned placidly, a route that one day the general's armies would follow on their path to conquering the west. Clasping his heavy gauntlets to his hips, the gen eral peered through the narrow eyeholes in his mask, pleased by the destruction below.
The general wore ceremonial armor of black, etched in red. Tall boots of polished leather protected his feet and muscular legs. A breastplate of deepest blue-black reflected darkly across his torso, while several large rubies winked crimson around the edges of the plate.
His face lay entirely concealed behind the grotesque dark helm. A scarlet plume, rising from the crest of the helmet and then trailing below and behind him, enhanced his height even more than his already impressive natural size.
Heavy, curved plates of the same black steel as his breast plate covered his shoulders and accentuated his imposing physique.
Now he paced alone, atop a blocky, black-walled tower just south of the city — one of two such prominences on the black fortress known as the Temple of Duerghast. This huge, walled structure squatted low on the slopes of the smallest of the Lords of Doom, Duerghast Mountain. The towers of the temple provided a splendid view of Sanction, and the mountains and sea beyond.
The Temple of Duerghast was, in fact, more of a fortress than a place of worship. The high black wall surrounded the entire structure. It provided space for barracks, troop train ing, and even an arena for gladiatorial combat.
The temple and the entire city, now as always, lay under a leaden, overcast sky. The gray blanket was caused by the smoke and ash that spewed from its surrounding summits, and because the valley of Sanction was a windtrap, termi nus of the Newsea.
A river of steaming lava, glowing cherry red in the eter nally twilit valley, cut through the center of Sanction. An other finger of flaming rock trickled toward it by a different path. Soon the two boiling streams would meet, forming a lava moat around the other temple.
The general's gaze lingered on that great construction — now a pile of rock, slowly being given form by the lava and ash. The Temple of Luerkhisis, that one was called, after the second of the Lords of Doom. The temple held the keys to so much of the future, for in its bowels were kept the precious eggs of the good dragons. Those gold, silver, brass, and bronze orbs would — when the time was right — force the neutrality of good dragonkind, allowing the empire of dark ness to be born.
But there was much to be done before that could happen.
An army had yet to be raised, equipped, and trained. Plans would be drawn, powers marshaled. All of this would take time. But he knew how to put that time to good use.
The general had begun to organize his forces. Already, thousands of mercenaries had gathered in the scarred city below him, replacing the huge numbers of refugees who had fled to safer lands when the volcanoes first rumbled to life.
The general had agents crossing the wildest lands of Ansa lon, gathering tribes of hobgoblins and ogres, bribing them with promises of plunder and war. And across the valley, in the temple taking shape over the hiding places of the good dragons' eggs, the spearhead of his army was even now be ing created. Draconians.
It was the equipping of his massive army that brought the general to this meeting today.
A great, crackling rumble suddenly reverberated through the valley, like an impossibly loud peal of thunder. The peak of Duerghast, south of the general's temple, pitched mon strous boulders from its cauldera. Idly, the masked figure watched the house-sized pieces of rock crash to earth, tum bling down the mountainsides and adding to the destruction as they fell. The helmet blocked the general's peripheral vi sion, but all of a sudden he detected a presence off to his left.
He whirled around and saw the new arrival unconsciously finger the steel ring that had allowed him to be teleported here.
'You are late,' said the general, his voice a deep, rasping complaint.
The newcomer, a dwarf, ignored the rebuke and shuffled toward the figure towering before him. The general's height accented the small stature of this one. When the dwarf threw back his hood, his grotesque face suddenly came into view, a fitting image to counter the general's mask, though the dwarf's features were his own.
Milky, pale skin covered the dwarf's body, with a bluish cast vaguely reminiscent of a corpse. His eyes were pale, and very, very wide. Now, even under the deep overcast, he squinted against the daylight. A shock of yellow hair on the dwarf's head shot in all directions, bristly and uncontrolled.
His mouth was concealed by a tangled beard that, despite its length, grew only in sparse, ugly patches from his cheeks, chin, and neck.
The dwarf was a derro, a race of less pure stock than the hill dwarf or Hylar mountain dwarves, since it reputedly re sulted from an ancient intermixture of human and dwarven blood. Still a mountain dwarf, he was a member of the Theiwar clan.
He came directly from Thorbardin, the great underground realm of the mountain dwarves, where he served as the ad viser to Thane Realgar, ruler of the Theiwar. The Theiwar was the only clan of derro, and they competed jealously with their rivals of the Hylar, Daergar, and other clans.
In addition to his derro race, this dwarf differed from the typical mountain dwarf in another important way: he was a magic-using savant. Though all dwarves were resistant to magic, few were able actually to cast spells. Among these, the savants of the derro were most potent; and of these sa vants, Pitrick, adviser to the thane, was the most feared.
Pitrick moved awkwardly, partially dragging his right foot. He leaned forward in an unnatural stance, his body distorted by the large hump of flesh that deformed his back and right shoulder.
'You summoned me, and I came,' said the dwarf. 'Is that not the important thing?' Craning his neck, he looked up at the general. The masked human turned away silently. His expression pensive, the dwarf studied the general's straight, well-armored back.
'I see you wear my present,' the general said, though he looked out over the smoldering city of Sanction. He had given the little derro the amulet, iron forged into the like nesses of five writhing dragon heads, as a token for closing the weapons shipment arrangements. The general himself had received it from his Dark Queen, and he half hoped that
Her presence in it would further influence the weaselly ad viser to his cause.
'It has proved quite useful already,' Pitrick said offhand edly, yet he offered no thanks. 'But to business. My journey, though fast, is not without risk,' observed the dwarf, ignor ing the general's shrug. 'Should the other clans of Thor bardin gain wind of our transaction, I need not tell you that your source of arms would vanish.'
The general said nothing. The vast horde of men gather ing in the valley below would be nothing more than an an gry mob until outfitted with weapons. Excellent, razor-sharp steel blades — the kind made by the Theiwar mountain dwarves of Thorbardin.
'That is why we meet today,' said the human. 'To discuss the shipments.'
'I trust that you have not been dissatisfied with our craftsmanship,' remarked the dwarf, his tone smugly confi dent.
The general ignored the question. They both knew no an swer was required, for dwarven weaponsmiths were the most talented crafters of steel on all of Krynn. Nowhere else could a soldier gain arms of such strength and quality.
'I shall require an increase in the amount of all types of weapons.' The general's voice was a harsh rasp through the mask. 'A doubling, to be precise.'
The hunchbacked dwarf turned away, placing a hand to his chin as if deep in thought. The hand concealed a thin smile of pleasure as the dwarf's mind immediately began counting the additional coinage that would flow quickly into his, and his clan's, coffers. That meant more power for the Theiwar, more power to the thane's adviser.
'Of course, if you should need to speak to your thane about this matter…' The general's tone made it clear that such a delay would be regarded as a major nuisance.
'Certainly not!' huffed the dwarf. 'I am fully empowered to make such a decision. And make it I shall, though of course there are some problems to be worked out.'
