With each strike of its burning hooves, Lord Soth’s monstrous steed left flaming tracks on the arrow-straight streets of Palanthas’s New City. The creature was a nightmare, a denizen of Hades that evil beings such as the undead knight could summon for use in battle. One look at its coat of most profound black, eyes of sulphurous red, and nostrils brimming with orange flame revealed the steed’s unearthly origin.
Lord Soth was unconcerned with his mount’s reputation for treachery. His mind was wrapped around thoughts of his own traitorous plans.
The death knight served as vanguard for the armies of the dragon highlord, Kitiara Uth Matar, who coveted the city of Palanthas for a single magical building sheltered within its walls. In the Tower of High Sorcery, near the city’s heart, lay a portal to the Abyss, and through this portal Kitiara’s power-mad half-brother Raistlin had ventured to confront the evil goddess Takhisis. The dragon highlord planned to raze Palanthas to reach the tower. From it she would present the defeated city to whomever emerged victorious from the portal; Soth cared for none of this. He wanted Kitiara, preferably dead.
Though he now led the armies of Highlord Kitiara, the death knight had warned Palanthas of her coming. Soth knew the Palanthians were not powerful enough to stop the evil troops, but the guardian of the tower had magic enough to bring Kitiara low. After retrieving her corpse and trapping her soul, Soth planned to abandon the fight and return to Dargaard Keep. In the shelter of that hellish place, he could perform a rite that would make the highlord his unliving companion for all eternity.
Soth banished these thoughts as he drew near the twin minarets that framed the main gate. The death knight could see scores of men, some armored, others clad only in cloth, lining the ancient wall. Their gazes were locked on the flying citadel that had just dropped from the clouds and now moved steadily over New City. As Soth stopped before the gate, many turned in horror toward the undead herald come to deliver the attacking dragon highlord’s demands.
“Lord of Palanthas,” he called, his hollow voice echoing from the walls. When the noble Lord Amothus moved to the fore on the battlements, the death knight continued. “Surrender your city to Lord Kitiara. Give up to her the keys to the Tower of High Sorcery, name her ruler of Palanthas, and she will allow you to continue to live in peace. Your city will be spared destruction.”
A pause followed in which the soldiers around Lord Amothus evidenced panic. Though frightened himself, Amothus ran a hand through his thinning hair and glanced with forced casualness at the death knight, then at the flying citadel approaching in the sky.
Lord Soth sat astride the nightmare, clad in ancient armor. The fire that had taken his life had also blasted the mail and obscured its intricate carvings of kingfishers and roses. The lone image still visible-a rose on the breastplate, charred black-had become the dead man’s symbol.
A flowing cape of royal purple waved in the breeze behind Soth like a ghostly banner of challenge. From his helmet, his eyes glowed with an orange fire of their own. He sat stiffly in the saddle, one mailed fist gripping the reins. His other hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a blade dark with the blood of hundreds of men. As the citadel passed overhead, a shadow covered the death knight and he faded from view slightly, as if the darkness welcomed and engulfed him as part of itself.
The flying citadel was a masterpiece of evil sorcery. A dark-stoned castle rested on a mammoth rock, which was itself surrounded by boiling, magical clouds. The shock of being wrenched from the earth had toppled a few of the keep’s walls, but the citadel remained intact enough to house an army of foul creatures. And as the citadel came close to the walls protecting Palanthas’s Old City, evil dragons dropped from the clouds. They flew in looping, chaotic patterns around the fortress as they awaited the order to attack. Even now evil creatures lined the edge of the rock, waiting to drop into battle. Formations of good bronze dragons sped into the air and clashed in defense of Palanthas with the blue and black swarm. The great dragons dove through the sky at terrible speeds, their screeches resounding through the almost-silent streets.
“Take this message to your dragon highlord,” Amothus said at last, forcing steel into his voice. “Palanthas has lived in peace and beauty for many centuries, but we will buy neither peace nor beauty at the price of our freedom.”
The citadel was even then gliding over the wall surrounding Old City as Lord Soth shouted his reply. “Then buy them at the price of your lives!”
Softly the fallen knight uttered a magical command. From the darkness around him there appeared thirteen skeletal warriors, all mounted, like their lord, astride nightmares. Behind them banshees from Dargaard Keep rode low over the ground in chariots wrought of human bone. Wyverns pulled the ghastly chariots, but it was not those broad-winged, lesser dragon-kin that thrust fear into the Palanthians’ hearts. The banshees were wailing and swinging swords of ice as they circled before the gate. It was the sound of their shrill cries that froze the souls of men on the battlements.
Again Soth spoke a word of magic, pointing a gauntleted hand at the massive gate before him. A gorgeous pattern of frost spread like lace across the iron bands that held the gate together. The frost rapidly grew thicker and thicker until it covered the entire gate. At another command from Soth, the frozen gate shattered.
Faintly the death knight heard the frantic cries of the city’s defenders as he rushed forward, his skeletal warriors and banshees trailing in his wake.
“The gods of Good save us!” one man shouted.
Another soldier fired an arrow at the undead warriors. “Stop them! By the Oath and the Measure, we can’t let the monsters inside!”
This last exclamation-uttered by a Knight of Solamnia-caught Soth’s attention, but only momentarily. The knight’s words and the various other cries were drowned out by horrified gasps as the army began to plummet from the floating citadel onto the walls and into the city. Their leathery wings spread out to slow their fall, draconians leaped by the hundreds from the fortress. The creatures looked in many ways like men, but their flesh was reptilian and their hands and feet savagely clawed. As they lowered, the draconians shouted out their battle cries. Inhuman, lisping voices swore allegiance to Highlord Kitiara and Takhisis, the dark goddess she served. Other draconians called out for human blood and licked their lips with long, snaking tongues.
One such creature landed next to Soth as he entered Palanthas’s Old City for the first time in three and a half centuries. The draconian hit the ground next to the death knight’s horrible steed and cringed in fear at the demonic horse and its inhuman rider. Even the lizardlike soldier, with its tough, scaly skin, felt the cold radiating from Soth. Like the human defenders of the proud city, the draconian fled before the fallen knight.
“Kitiara is planning to race to the Tower of High Sorcery on her dragon once the battle begins. Kill everyone standing between us and the tower,” the death knight said. Magic carried his words to the skeletal warriors and banshees, even over the din of battle.
The undead minions began their slaughter, but Soth’s attention was drawn to the defensive line forming far down the street. In the middle of the broad, stone-paved way was a group of mounted Solamnic Knights, waiting for Lord Soth and his undead warriors. The assembled Knights of the Rose interested the death knight only marginally, however. His attention was drawn to their leader.
Tanis Half-Elven.
Lord Soth headed straight for Tanis. The death knight had faced the heroic half-elf before, and Tanis had survived the conflict through luck-or so Soth believed. Then the half-elf had killed the dragon highlord Ariakas and taken the mighty Crown of Power from the body, stealing the artifact out of Soth’s very grasp. But that defeat had little to do with the overwhelming hatred the death knight felt for the young hero. Tanis had been one of Kitiara’s many lovers, and the half-elf held a powerful influence over the ruthless general.
Now, by the armor Tanis wore, it seemed the Knights of Solamnia had granted him some honorary rank for his help in defending Palanthas. Soth scoffed at the sight of the half-breed wearing the armor of a knight; in his day, the Order would not have allowed such a travesty. Tanis had surely never faced the necessary tests for advancement. He had proved neither himself nor his family worthy of such ranking. Smiling foully, Soth told himself that he would prove the half-elf unworthy in battle before the day was through.
The death knight’s eyes blazed as he watched a small figure leap at Tanis. A kender, one of the much- maligned, mischievous race of beings known for their penchant for “borrowing” things not their own, clung to the half-elf like a sorrowful wife at her husband’s departing. After a brief struggle, Tanis caught the kender around the waist and dumped him unceremoniously out of harm’s way. As the child-sized kender landed, Soth recognized him as Tasslehoff Burrfoot, one of the half-elf’s longtime companions.
“Tanis!” the kender wailed from the mouth of a nearby alley, “you can’t go out there! You’re going to die. I
