lives of all who lived there. Where did the survivors go?”
“I don’t kn-!”
The advancing tip of the sword now pressed against Cornellus’s leather vest, sinking an inch into the soft flesh.
“Wait! Please!”
He held up his two fat hands, pleading. “There might have been a few who lived-gnomes are hardy souls, after all!”
“Where would these few survivors be?”
“I don’t-wait, there is one place perhaps. Yes, it’s the only one that makes sense. Caergoth!”
“Caergoth?” Dram spat contemptuously. “Why would they have gone to Caergoth?”
The human eased back on his sword, squinting at the blubbering bandit lord.
“The ghetto-they call it the ‘Gnome Ghetto.’ It’s a filthy place along the waterfront. No decent person would go there, but the gnomes are living there, teeming like rats! All gnomes are welcome there!”
“What makes you so certain?” the warrior rasped. “You are certain, aren’t you?”
“Because-all right, I admit it, because some of them came through here! I sold them two wagons and four oxen-there were twenty or thirty of the little wretches. All that was left of Dungarden. They needed wagons large and sturdy enough to get to Caergoth.”
“Are you telling us the truth finally?” demanded the dwarf, brandishing the axe and baring his teeth.
“I think he’s lying,” the man said, holding the blade steady.
“No, it’s the truth, I swear!” squawked the lord. “You said that you’d leave here, leave me alive if I told you the truth.”
“I did? No, uh-uh, sorry. I don’t recall saying that.” The warrior swung his sword back, and flames exploded along the whole of the metallic edge. Cornellus cried out and hurled himself backward, tumbling across the floor. The human raised his blazing weapon high, took a swing at the hulking bandit lord-and missed, distracted by his companion’s shout.
“To your right!” cried the dwarf, springing at the first of two or three draconians who crashed through part of the fire-weakened wall behind Cornellus. The winged creatures swarmed at them out of the dark, as the bandit lord shouted orders and curses and scrambled away.
With one axe blow, the dwarf dispatched the first draconian, who petrified instantly. The second one pounced atop the dwarf and bore him to the floor, snapping wildly with his huge jaws. The third kicked and stomped, but the human warrior materialized from behind, swinging his blazing sword, killing first the one atop Dram, then his gaping fellow. He kicked away the bodies as they began to petrify.
“Where’s Cornellus?” asked Dram, springing to his feet, axe still in hand.
The warrior peered ahead, realizing that the draconians had entered through a hidden storeroom. “There’s a door back there-he went out that way.” He started in that direction, his fiery sword raised over his head.
Above, flames roared through the ceiling, consuming the straw thatching overhead, sending cinders and ash spilling down into the warren of rooms. Smoke grew thicker, radiating heat. Burning straw and pieces of the ceiling fell, crackling and blazing, cascading sparks across the floor.
“Damn.” The man frowned then turned and hacked the blazing sword into one wooden support pillar, then another. Fire ran up the dried poles, crackling hungrily, adding to the rapidly growing conflagration.
The dwarf laid a firm hand on his elbow. “Wait!” Dram said urgently
“For what?” demanded the human.
They heard shouts, the stamping of running feet, cries of warning and fury. The man grimaced and shook his head as the dwarf looked into his face and spoke. “Time to get out of here.”
“Damn!” the warrior repeated. Again he chopped that blazing sword into a wooden pillar. More fire crackled up and out.
“To the horses!” Dram bolted out, his human companion sprinting right behind.
They crossed the large, empty chamber and burst into the crowded bar-where, to judge from the music and continued ribaldry, the nearby melee and growing fire had remained largely unnoticed. The dwarf knocked a hobgoblin to the floor, and they both sprang over the furious-but quite drunken-brute. Smoke billowed through the door, a choking cloud rolled into the tavern, and there were shouts of alarm, screams. The two raced straight out the front door.
They leaped down the steps. A quick flip of the warrior’s hand freed the reins from the railing. In another second each had mounted, wheeling their stamping horses. The sheep gate opened with a rattle. The little gully dwarf stared at them, eyes big and mouth wide open, pulling on the rope as the two riders galloped toward him.
A draconian ran out to block their path, wings flapping, waving a spear menacingly. When the two showed no signs of slowing down he wisely darted out of the way.
“My coin! Give coin!” cried the gully dwarf. Instead, the man picked him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him across the pony’s withers.
“First I’ll save your life!” muttered the human warrior, following the dwarf and his steed through the gate. Side by side, they pounded into the night. Moments later, some draconian thought to trigger the two catapults poised on the courtyard. Tons of rock smashed and splintered on the roadway, hitting only the cloud of dust left by their thunderous flight.
CHAPTER FOUR
L ord Regent Bakkard du Chagne, the Ruling Mayor of Palanthas and Vice Chairman of the New Whitestone Council, walked alone through the marbled hall of his palace. It was ever thus; whether here on the mountainside overlooking his splendid city, or within the streets of the city, he was alone. Oh, there were always other people around, crowding and clamoring for his attention, but the crushing weight of his station, the burden that was his solitary load, bore down on him with unmerciful force. Even in the midst of a teeming, adoring crowd, he felt alone.
It had been a long, hard climb into this palace. He had begun to plan his ascent while the Dark Knights still controlled the city, and after their power was broken by the fall of the One God and the disappearance of Mina, he had been ready to step into the vacuum. Facilitating commerce, hiring former knights to deal with brigands, encouraging the restoration of trade throughout all the lands of Solamnia, he had quickly established himself as the only irreplaceable power in the city. Rumors had spread quickly, blaming Mina for abandoning her followers, for turning her back on those who had devoted their lives to her. If some of these rumors had been started by the Lord Regent’s own agents, no one voiced that accusation too loudly.
When the Knights of Solamnia had regained control of the city, they realized that they required a lord to guide them. Bakkard du Chagne-though not a warrior-had been nominated by Lord Tasgall in distant Sanction. In Palanthas that appointment met with nearly unanimous approval. Once again, those few who might have disagreed had possessed the good sense to keep their mouths shut.
Du Chagne climbed higher up the mountain, relishing the cool breeze blowing off the sea. He was high above the city now, and from this pinnacle-this tower called the Golden Spire-he could look across his domain from an almost godlike perspective. Despite the long climb, he experienced no fatigue as he approached the top. Instead, he felt energized.
He stood before a round, glass-walled room at the peak of the highest tower. He took the key-the only one in all Krynn-from his pocket, and opened the door. When he stepped inside, the sight, and even the smell, of his gold enfolded him in a welcoming embrace. The bars of the precious metal were stacked everywhere, in great piles that reached higher than his head. The sunlight streamed in through the many windows, reflecting off the shiny ingots, casting brilliant yellow ripples across the lord regent’s transfixed face.
The room was hot, but it was a comforting heat that warmed du Chagne’s heart. He tried, as he always did, to sense the magic here, the arcane protections the wizard Coryn had placed strategically around his treasure. He
