some kind, design schematics and sheaves of notes. From where he stood, Dalamar could not see what shape those plans took. He gained only the swift impression of a fortress or castle of some kind.
Dalamar took his glance from the plans. 'Tramd o' the Dark,' he said. 'Yes, and I remember you.'
Tramd moved out of the sunlight, away from the window. 'I imagine you would.' His eyes narrowed. 'I had forgotten you, until lately.'
The dwarf gestured to Regene as one who wishes to show a guest some interesting object. Dalamar turned, and he saw that the scoring in the stone wall had changed, grown deeper, as though it did, indeed, mark a passage of some kind-one that was being opened from the inside, beyond the stone. Regene stood very still, facing the door and barely breathing.
'It's a pretty wall, don't you think? Look how the colors shine all over her.'
Spilling down her robe, running on her flesh, it was as though the light were water running.
'It has some interesting properties, that light.' Tramd stepped closer to the shimmering wall. Regene saw him and glared at him, lifting a hand. 'Oh, no,' he said, his voice filled with false concern. 'No, girl, don't think to charm your way out of there or to send any magic through. What you do will turn on you, each force you extend will rebound back. I'd stand still and keep my hands to myself, were I you.'
Unsure, but unwillingly to test it, Regene stood still.
'There are,' said Tramd, turning from her to Dalamar, 'some interesting creatures living beneath the mountains of Karthay. Some say there is a lost race of dwarves.' He shrugged. 'But that is outlander foolishness. Hill dwarves, mountain dwarves, gully dwarves-we know all about each other, and if we chose not to congregate, well, that does not mean we are lost.'
The stone door moved, scraping on the floor. Regene gasped a swift prayer as she backed away, hasty steps that took her right to the wall of light. She touched that light with the hem of her sleeve and staggered back. Shaking, the woman took no more steps, watching the door open a small push at a time.
Tramd smiled again, expansively. 'As I say, some interesting creatures live beneath the mountains here. What stands beyond that door is no kin of mine. Shall we see what is there?'
Dalamar looked at the dwarf through narrowed eyes. 'What is it you want that you think you will gain by threatening the White Robe?'
The door moved again, ever inward. Regene shifted from one foot to another, trapped. She looked over her shoulder at Dalamar, her sapphire eyes filling with fear. Her lips moved in prayer. Solinari shield me…
The god hadn't shielded her well when the dragon snatched her. It didn't look like he would now. The wall of light shivered and shifted, colors blending and changing. Sunlight moved on the floor, touching the far edge of the light wall. Rainbows splashed around the chamber, painting the walls and even the oaken desk.
'Ah,' said Tramd, crossing to the desk. He ruffled a few of the pages there, turning one so Dalamar could see it. 'Look you, mageling. Isn't this interesting?'
Dalamar stood where he was, narrow-eyed, wary.
'Oh, come closer. I'm not going to hurt you, elf. Look, for it's something worth seeing.'
Curious, Dalamar did go closer, and Tramd spread out his design on the table. The page he saw bore a scribe's notation indicating this was not an original but a working copy. The drawing showed a fortress, many- towered, filled with all the corridors and chambers, armories and meeting halls one would expect to find in a place of defense. Oddly drawn, though, Dalamar thought, turning one page and then another. Most renderings of new structures are shown in some kind of context, the fortress in a natural setting- upon a cliff-top, in a forest, guarding a mountain pass. That way the size of it is shown to best effect. This rendering, however, simply showed the fortress sitting in empty space, a dark drawing on the creamy white page.
And that was interesting, but not so fascinating as the writing, the thick lines of columns running down the right-hand side of the page. They were runes, Dalamar knew that much, and very old. Eyes narrowed, he went closer. Dwarven runes, and not the kind one usually sees on the work of dwarf craftsmen.
'A magical script,' Tramd said. He flipped a page, and then another. 'I have heard you have some skill with runes. What do these tell you?'
Rainbow light ran and shivered. Stone scraped on stone.
'They tell me,' Dalamar said, 'that you know a rune script I do not.'
Tramd laughed, a dry, hard sound like coughing. 'They tell more than that. They are runes that will one day enspell a fortress of this design-more than one. And those fortresses,' he said, tracing the outline of the structure, 'they will be flying citadels. From one of these an army does not defend. From here an army attacks, and attacks wherever it wants to.'
Fear ran cold in Dalamar's belly. Ladonna had been right to say that the Blue Lady would win the next war. And when she won, all the nations who had forged the Whitestone Treaty and compelled the dragonarmies to sign would be hers to rule. There would be no light. No god but Takhisis would receive worship. She, the Dark Queen, the Mother of Dragons, would at last achieve what she had attempted in the War of the Lance. She would be the Dark Queen in the hearts of all who lived, and their souls would be hers to devour, to torment, to hoard as a miser hoards his treasure.
'You see,' said the dwarf with the rainbow light shining on him. 'You see what can be. What will be.' He laughed. 'It is inevitable.'
He looked up from his pages, right into Dalamar's eyes. So clear those eyes, so bright with cunning, that Dalamar had to remind himself he was not, after all, looking into the eyes of the dwarf Tramd. The real eyes of the dwarf were other, elsewhere, as was his body, the decaying hulk he had come to kill.
'Listen,' said the dwarf, the avatar smiling. 'You can be part of this, mageling. You can throw in your lot with the Dark Queen. Step to the side of power now, while you will be welcomed.'
Step into the dark, away from the light. He had been doing that all his life. He had walked out from Silvanesti into the darkness of the world without and wandered in lightless ruins. He had sat upon the hills around Neraka and considered this very choice.
No, he had said then. No. And yet, if what must come must come, would he be a fool to turn aside from the darkness he had already embraced?
Dalamar glanced away from the dwarf and the drawings. In her prison of light, Regene stood watching him. He did not weigh her in any choice or say to himself, No, I must choose and try to save her life in the bargain. He had already told himself he would abandon her at need. It was not Regene he weighed or considered. He did, however, consider his mission.
Do you know, Ladonna had asked, what life would be like without balance?
He knew, he who had lived under the strictures of a culture that allowed only one kind of worship, one kind of magic. He knew, as only a dark elf can know, what it is like to need what no one will allow him to have. And yet, if the triumph of Her Dark Majesty were, indeed, inevitable, wouldn't he be a fool to turn from the winning side and embrace the side of those who would become her slaves?
'Listen well, dark elf,' said Tramd, the voice of the avatar softening into the tones used between reasonable men in sensible discussion. 'Join me and I will commend you to the Blue Lady herself. I will say to her, 'Here is a new Highlord for you,' and you will rule over whatever kingdom it pleases you to have.'
Cold into his heart came the sudden memory of an image he'd seen in the platinum mirrors in the Chamber of Darkness. People bowed to him, and they named him Lord Dalamar. He was feared, and he was respected, even honored. For this? For what Tramd now offered? Would he walk in a world that trembled to see him and receive the salutations of lesser men as though he were, indeed, the lord his own people would never have allowed him to be? He would, so said the prophecy of the mirrors, and in that moment his heart yearned toward it, rising to the idea of lordship, of temporal power to match his magical power. The title 'Lord Dalamar' rang in his most secret soul.
Tramd sighed, a small sound of satisfaction. 'So, you see what I see for you, what Takhisis herself sees. You will be a man of great effect, a man whose smallest whim will change the fates of nations. Paladine and all his puny kin will go down before Her Dark Majesty. Nothing will stand before her, and we who are hers will rule as no lord or king has ruled in all the history of Krynn.
'All this is yours, dark elf, if you only tell me this one thing: Who is your master? Who sent you to kill me?'
Only turn from the mission, turn from his word, his honor. Only turn from the magic, the High Sorcery that would die when the balance between light and dark, good and evil, Paladine and Takhisis, is fallen in ruin.
'Dwarf,' Dalamar said, 'go lick the boots of your mistress in Sanction.'
