“What does he intend to do? There’s just you and your fellow sivaks, Captain Aggurat, and whatever staff he held onto for the kitchens. Blast him. Where is Cazuvel at present?”
The sivak led the highmaster down a narrow flight of stairs, along two hallways, across an outside balcony that overlooked the jungle, then back inside to a sitting room. On the other side of a door was the grand hall. “He’s through there,” the sivak said and stood aside.
Rivven Cairn pushed through the door and watched Cazuvel pacing back and forth alongside a large cage containing some kind of scaly, winged tiger. When he saw her, the albino pulled himself up to his full height and walked briskly over. “Your Excellency.”
Another human, missing an arm, stood off to one end of the room. Rivven recognized the man as somebody Aggurat had killed several days before, although that man had possessed two arms. Rivven knew how sivaks worked, and she knew Aggurat. If the reports were correct, the missing arm was Vanderjack’s doing; she’d heard that Aggurat had lost his arm to Vanderjack’s blade.
“One of Aggurat’s draconians just told me that the prisoners have escaped, Cazuvel!” Rivven said. “I don’t believe that was on my list of instructions.”
“Ah, no, it was not, Your Excellency,” Cazuvel said, bowing his head. “Forgive me-I fear the sivaks are given to panic. But there is no real reason to be concerned at this point.”
“So you know where they are, then.”
“Quite so, Your Excellency. Might I offer you a drink?”
Rivven just stared at him, trying to figure out what he was up to. Cazuvel seemed to take that with grace and indicated the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. “Perhaps a seat?”
The highmaster sat down and propped up her chin on one balled fist, waving at the mage with the other hand. “Carry on. I’m sure we have scant moments before we hear the front gates close behind the escapees.”
“Ah, but therein lies the underlying cause of my calm demeanor,” the mage said, showing perfect white teeth. “The sellsword will not leave the castle, for there are three compelling reasons for him to remain.”
“You have appropriated his magic sword?” Rivven said, perking up.
“Indeed. I feared that the weapon might be lost once the sivaks captured the three of them. But the kapak scouts retrieved it in the jungle. I have it safely stowed away.”
“Good. I’ll be taking that with me,” said Rivven, feeling heartened. “All right, what are the other two compelling reasons?”
“The second is that,” said Cazuvel, pointing at the slumbering dragonne in the cage.
“Yes, I see that. What is it exactly? Some kind of magical abomination you’ve created?”
“No, Your Excellency. That is a creature from the Dragon Isles, one of the dragonnes blessed by the gods to protect and ward those loyal to them.”
Rivven’s eyes narrowed.
“They were riding it when the Red Watch intercepted them.”
Rivven felt her heart racing. She hadn’t considered any divine interference in any of her plans, not because she wasn’t herself religious, but because the sellsword was by all accounts ruled by only greed and self-interest. Rivven did not think the gods who honored those traits would have stepped in the way of her plans. Was it the gnome? Or the girl? The gnome was just another mercenary, surely no different from Vanderjack, and the girl … Rivven already knew about the girl.
“The third reason?”
Cazuvel pointed above his head. “The painting in the gallery,” he said. “Vanderjack may be a mercenary, but he lives by his contract. My magical wards tell me that they’ve just located Baron Glayward’s ‘beautiful daughter.’ Your arrival could not have been more perfectly timed.”
Aggurat hadn’t said a word since Rivven had arrived. In fact, he had not budged in the slightest. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, indicating the disguised draconian.
“The commander regrettably triggered one of my magical defenses,” said Cazuvel. “The effect will wear off in about an hour. I could have dispelled it myself, but I felt that perhaps a lesson was in order.”
Rivven frowned. “These draconians of the Red Watch,” she said, “they’ve had more experience and training in working around magic than probably any other draconians on Krynn, other than the auraks working directly for the Dark Queen. How could he have stumbled into a dangerous ward?”
Cazuvel started to put together an explanation, but Rivven shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter. We need to deal with the sellsword and his friends. With any luck, the Ergothian will be in a position to listen to my attractive offer. Then you can do whatever you want to the gnome.”
“And the girl?” asked the mage, rubbing his hands together.
“Let her go, I think. She’s still under the protection of the arrangement I made with the baron. She’s done her job, and if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll go back home and remind the baron-again-of the deal we made.”
Rivven observed Cazuvel’s disappointment with that. “Don’t look so glum, wizard,” she said. “You can keep the exotic beast. I’m sure there are all kinds of unusual magical experiments you can conduct on it, to your edification. Now let’s go pay our guests a visit.”
The highmaster placed her dragon helm upon her head, swept aside her flowing cape, and headed for the doors to the entrance hall. It was about time she finally met the Ergothian.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vanderjack stared at the Baron’s beautiful daughter.
“You knew the whole time, didn’t you,” he said accusingly.
Gredchen was leaning up against one wall of the gallery, running a hand through her hair. “Yes, of course I did. But I couldn’t tell you everything. Lord Gilbert’s orders.”
“To the Abyss with the baron,” he swore. “I had a signed contract and everything. Did Theo know?”
Theodenes was still lying on the floor, staring blankly up at the painting, his limbs occasionally twitching as the ghoul’s paralysis worked its way out of his system.
“No, he didn’t.”
“So that’s two of us you’ve been lying to. I thought this was going to be an actual rescue mission. I kind of looked forward to it-a romantic notion, I suppose. Instead it’s an art recovery job. Who in the blazes pays somebody to come all the way into occupied territory for a bloody painting?”
Gredchen coughed. “Well, it’s not just-”
“Lord Gilbert Glayward, expatriate Solamnic and gloomy art collector, that’s who. Ackal’s Teeth!”
Vanderjack paced back and forth, tugging at the collar of his arming doublet. It was chafing at his neck. His head pounded from the lump on the back of his skull, and his stomach was lurching again. He had lost his sword, he was miles behind enemy lines, and his contract was effectively a sham.
“Look,” said Gredchen, a little of the steel returning to her voice. “Let’s just take the painting, get out of here, and-”
“Listen, lady.” Vanderjack spun about, raising his voice. “I’m not leaving the castle until I get my sword back. I am fond of that sword. It’s how I pay the bills and keep myself in drink, something I am going to need a great quantity of if we ever manage to get out of this mess.”
“I am sure the baron will completely cover any and all expenses, including buying any new sword you desire. This painting means more to him than you can possibly know.”
A surge of anger replaced the wave of weakness and nausea that had come over Vanderjack. “No!” he yelled and slammed his fist against the wall only inches from the painting’s frame. Wooden panels split, the painting rattled in its place, and Gredchen let out a shocked shriek.
“Be careful!” she said, rushing forward to steady the painting.
“That sword is irreplaceable! It was my mother’s sword, and I didn’t even swindle her out of it.
“Separation anxiety?” said a woman’s voice from the direction of the stairs.
