Emperor of Ansalon

Chapter 11

The Sanctified Catacombs twisted, mazelike, through the past darkness below the temple of Luerkhisis. Several times the passage branched into smaller routes, and Wryllish unhesitatingly made his choice, leading Ariakas what seemed like miles under the ground. For a while after their discussion of dragons, the priest remained silent, and the warrior walked beside him, intrigued.

"Are all these tunnels the province of the temple?" Ariakas asked abruptly.

"Yes-each temple, actually. It is rumored that these passages run underneath Sanction and connect all the temples secretly."

"All three temples are dedicated to Takhisis?"

"Now, finally, they are. Her presence has ruled in Luerkhisis for many decades, but the Temples of Duer-ghast and Huerzyd across the valley had been dedicated to false gods of the post-Cataclysm."

"The tunnels are reached only through the temples?"

"As far as we know," the priest admitted. "Though there are passages that have never been explored. It's true there are rumors. tales of some mysterious tunnel-dwellers, the 'shadowpeople/ and so forth…." Wryllish's tone made it clear he put no stock in such stories.

"Where are we going?" inquired Ariakas after several minutes of silent, fast-paced walking.

"I will show you the thing that most proves the glory of our mistress.. our queen. When you behold it, you will know the absolute truth of our destiny!"

The priest paused before a heavy wooden door set into a stone frame in the cavern wall. With a flourish, he produced a small key and slipped it into the lock. "This is a secret chamber," he whispered. "Only the elders- and you-know of its existence. But when the time is right …I"

His speculation trailed into silence as the latch clicked, and the door swung slowly, silently open. Quickly Wryl-lish darted inside, gesturing for Ariakas to follow. The warrior complied, ducking from the light of the priest's glowing scepter. When he looked around the room, he could not suppress a gasp of astonishment.

At first he thought they had entered a chamber of huge, perfect nuggets of pure gold and silver. Each was a sphere too large for him to wrap his arms around, gleam shy;ing metallic in hue. They were piled against the walls of the large room in stacks that reached twice as high as the warrior's head. Each massive nugget shone like freshly burnished metal of the highest quality. The wealth repre shy;sented by the hoard astounded him. It was hard to believe that this much gold and silver existed on all of

Krynn! He looked closely at the nearest of the gilded spheres, impressed by the shiny regularity of its outer surface, as if a pure film of liquid gold had been poured over a smooth, rounded surface.

"Impressive, is it not?" asked the priest, quietly.

"Very. Where did all this gold come from? Are they solid, or is it a coating?"

Here Wryllish smiled in a condescending way that irri shy;tated Ariakas. "You could say that it's a coating.. but I still don't think you fully understand."

"Understand what? Explain."

"These are part of the proof," replied the high priest. "Here, touch the surface."

Gently, hesitantly, Ariakas ran his hand over the smooth surface of the nearest sphere. Though not so hot as his flesh, it was surprisingly warm-far warmer than the surrounding air of the underground chamber. Too, the material did not feel like metal. There was a very slight sense of give to it, as if the metallic surface were only a sheen over a tough, leathery hide.

The truth came to him in a flash, and he stepped back shy;ward instinctively before he spoke. He looked with awe at the mountain of spheres, and then allowed his gaze to drift back to Wryllish. Ariakas narrowed his eyes, and the priest nodded, as if pleased with his pupil's perspi shy;cacity.

"They're … eggs, aren't they? Dragon eggs?"

The high priest smiled, the expression growing to spread across his face. "Very astute, my lord."

"But-where did they come from?"

"A place very far away, where some of the dragons have dwelled in exile since the Third Dragon War-the war of Huma and the lance, of which you spoke earlier."

"Then-then dragons are real?" the warrior mur shy;mured, beginning to consider the prospects for good or ill.

"Oh, yes, very real. Some of them will serve our mistress, presumably with the same devotion shown by you or me. Others are her mortal enemies, sworn to drive her from the world and to hold her at bay through shy;out the centuries."

"And they wage war, now-unsuspected by men?"

"No-there is no war at the present. But they will come again. Dragons of red and blue, of black, green, and white. All the children of Takhisis will once more take to the skies in her name!"

"And these dragons of metal will be their enemies?"

"Yes!" Wryllish exclaimed. "The dragons who, with the same arrogance that brought the Cataclysm, call themselves the 'good' dragons." The high priest's voice was heavy with scorn. "In their righteous blindness they invite the same kind of disaster on themselves. And to think, they would call us 'evil'."

"How do you-do we-come to have these eggs here?" asked the warrior.

The priest was positively beaming. "The Queen's agents have brought them here, into this temple. Come, allow me…."

Wryllish led Ariakas from the chamber, still holding his glowing scepter high. They came to another door and the priest unlocked it. The warrior stepped inside to see another mountain of metallic eggs, these a shining cop shy;per color that was only slightly less brilliant than the gold.

"Eggs from all the clans of dragons who stood against our queen are now held in her temple!" crowed the high priest. "We have the ultimate weapon against our ene shy;mies-for we hold the fate of their children in our hands."

"It is indeed a commanding leverage," Ariakas allowed. He shook his head and turned to the priest. "Given the evidence of the eggs, you force me to admit the existence of dragons. Still, what assurance do we have that they will fight as our allies?"

"It is by her command." Wryllish talked as he led Ari-akas onward, showing him a room full of eggs in a deep, bronze hue, and finally to a chamber that contained more eggs than any of the others he had seen. "The brass dragons-most common of all the enemy wyrms, and thus they have given us the greatest number of eggs."

"But the dragons of color, those called 'evil'-they, too, exist still?"

"More than exist!" Wryllish replied. "They are present on Krynn, only awaiting the commands of our mistress. And when they surge forth, all the world will tremble in fear."

The priest nodded meaningfully at Ariakas's huge sword, which jutted upward over his shoulder. A small swatch of the white blade showed above the scabbard. "I see," Wryllish Parkane said, significantly, "that you have already been blessed by a gift from our lady."

Ariakas was jolted by the word. "Our 'queen', you called her. I don't think of her as my lady!"

The cleric seemed surprised by his vehemence, shrug shy;ging the distinction away as if it were a little thing. "You will," was all he said.

"What did you mean about my sword?" Ariakas pressed, returning to the priest's observation. "As a gift from… the queen?"

"It has been blessed, very powerfully," Wryllish ex shy;plained. "Soon, I'm sure, the fact will be clear to your eyes as well. If you should call on her name in a cause that pleases her, the great fury of her vengeance will be revealed in your hand."

Ariakas vividly recalled the transformation of the huge sword, the weapon he had sharpened and honed over the long winter. With each blow against his lady, it had changed color-color to match the blood flowing from the wound. It had become this pristine white, and he had assumed that the blade was permanently marked. It hadn't in any sense lost its sharpness or strength, but

neither had it gained any obvious property or power. Yet now this priest repeated the words of Takhisis herself. What shape would the blessing of the Dark Queen take? He was not entirely sure that he wanted to find out.

"But all these rooms are just introductory," said Par-kane, "to the place I truly wanted you to see."

"Lead on," said Ariakas.

Wryllish Parkane turned down a narrow corridor, a natural stone passage that had been hewn into more or less rectangular proportions. Still, the passageway snaked this way and that, so that the cleric's light was often reflected from walls twisting before and behind them. Ariakas sensed a slight descent in the floor beneath his feet, though the sharp turns of the hall made it hard to see any distance to the front or rear.

They reached another door, similar to the portals to the various egg rooms, but smaller, and remote from those chambers. Wryllish removed his key ring, but then paused before inserting a key into the lock.

"This was merely a small overflow chamber," the priest explained, taking a deep breath. "There were too many brass eggs to fit in the storage room, so some of them were brought down here."

Still the priest hesitated. He turned to Ariakas and looked the warrior directly in the eye. "What I am about to show you is known to only two other persons. myself and a wizard of the black robes named Dracart, whom we consulted for advice. The very knowledge of this room's existence would be enough to cost a novice his life."

"Open the door!" Ariakas snapped, growing tired of the priest's hesitation. He was gratified to see that Wryl shy;lish hastened to obey, inserting the tiny key into a metal keyhole and twisting. The latch clicked, and the door swung inward a crack.

Ariakas reached out, ready to push the portal all the way, when the stench emerging from the room struck him like a physical blow. A sickening odor flooded the air, swarming almost visibly around him, suggesting corpses long dead or food that had been given over to mold. He gagged and stepped backward, turning to spit the pungent film from his tongue.

"What in the name of the Abyss is in there?" he de shy;manded, throwing his hand over his nose and mouth in an inadequate attempt to filter the air.

"You'll have to see for yourself," replied the cleric.

"Tell me, damn it!"

"The truth is, Lord Ariakas, that I can't tell you, because I don't know. You'll really have to see for your shy;self." Raising the light over his head, the priest overcame his hesitation, pushed the door open, and stepped boldly into the room beyond.

Ariakas followed, pausing at the door to draw a deep breath. What he saw within the room sickened him almost as much as the scent of its air. The floor seethed with small, lizardlike creatures, squirming and wrig shy;gling pathetically over each other. The longest were nearly three feet from nose to tail, and many of them dis shy;played razor-sharp teeth along ridged and bony jaws. As he watched, one of the lizards chomped down on another, crushing its body. While the killer began to chew on its cannibalistic prey, an even larger lizard bit the predator on the head and then tried to swallow both of the. corpses.

In other places the tiny serpents butted against the wall, or tried to claw their way through each other. The presence of Wryllish's light didn't seem to affect them in any way, though the priest kicked several of the crea shy;tures away from his feet. Only then did Ariakas realize that the miserable serpents were blind. He noted, too, that several were missing their rear legs, and others bore webbed, batlike stubs of flesh that might have been wings if they had been allowed to develop fully.

In a far corner of the room, more of the slithering creatures caught his attention. A bundle of them-per shy;haps a dozen or more-all squirmed outward from one leathery egg. The shell was slit and withered along sev shy;eral openings, and the little reptiles, their bodies coated with a thick, oily film, twisted and clawed their way free of the ragged sphere. All around the room were the frag shy;ments of these great eggs, though the metallic sheen had corroded so much that Ariakas never would have been able to discern the original color.

"Are these… dragons?" inquired Ariakas. He couldn't believe that something he'd always pictured as power and nobility personified could begin life in this pathetic state.

"Most assuredly not!" Wryllish Parkane confirmed. "They are corruptions of dragons, which so far have occurred only in this room."

"Brass dragon eggs, these were?" Ariakas wondered. After a few moments in the room, the stench had less shy;ened to an unpleasant, if pervasive, aura.

"Yes. But their origin, we think, has little to do with this grotesque mutation."

"Has something happened to these eggs-something unique?" asked the warrior.

In answer, Wryllish Parkane nodded and smiled. "Per shy;haps it would be more… comfortable, were we to speak outside?" he suggested, raising his eyebrows in ques shy;tion.

Ariakas readily agreed, and they stepped back through the doorway into the deep cavern passage. Even with the door shut the warrior imagined that potent stench cling shy;ing to his clothes, hair, skin.

"Have you ever heard of the Zhakar?" inquired the cleric, surprising Ariakas with the apparently irrelevant question.

'The name means little to me," the warrior admitted. "In Khuri-Khan it was rumored to be a kingdom in the Khalkists-mountain savages who ruthlessly kill any intruders. No one knows where it is, though speculation puts it on the border of Bloten." Ariakas shrugged, remembering another fact. "I traveled well to the north of its supposed locations when I came to Sanction. There are enough tales of folk who've disappeared there to give the legends some credence."

"You were wise," remarked the priest. "Zhakar is a real place, and deadly to those who intrude. Only in one detail do your eastern legends miss the truth."

Ariakas remained silent, waiting for the explanation.

"Zhakar, you see, is a nation of dwarves," Wryllish Par-kane explained. "They are the only remnant of the mighty kingdom of Thoradin, which was destroyed by the Cataclysm."

"Okay, so it's a bunch of savage dwarves," Ariakas retorted. "What does it have to do with these eggs?"

"Oh, there is more you need to know," cautioned the priest. "After the Cataclysm, Zhakar was afflicted by a horrible plague, borne by the mold that grew in the vast food warrens underneath the city. Many of the dwarves died; those who lived became terribly afflicted with dis shy;figuring disease. Their skin rots away, their hair turns to mold and crumbles…. It's not a pretty thing to see."

"I imagine not," Ariakas murmured.

"In any event, some of these dwarves have come to Sanction to live and to trade. They offer high-quality steel and gems in exchange for all kinds of things. They also practice thievery, with varying degrees of skill, and are generally an unpleasant lot to be around. They go about robed to conceal their repugnant appearance."

"I remember them-fully cloaked, shorter than a mountain or hill dwarf, but still stocky. They looked very sturdy."

"Those are the Zhakar," agreed Wryllish Parkane. "Now, some months ago, a Zhakar thief was caught in our temple. Guards pursued him into the catacombs, and found him hiding in this very room. At that time, the room contained nothing more than a hundred of so brass dragon eggs. He was caught, and we interrogated him. Unfortunately, we were able to learn little more than the name of his lord. Finally, justice was done to him. Barely a week afterward, however, two apprentices discovered that one of the eggs in there had begun to … well, do what they're all doing, now."

"Two apprentices? I thought you said only one other person besides us knows about this."

"Yes." The priest looked a little distressed. "The secret was judged too important… the apprentices have gone to an early meeting with the Dark Queen."

"I see." Ariakas was impressed to learn that this priest was capable of ruthless action when necessary. "Now, tell me why you've shown all this to me."

"Well, it's because of the Zhakar, you see," Wryllish explained. "We believe that some aspect of the mold plague has caused the corruption of these eggs. We scrubbed them clean, but apparently it was too late to remove the corruption. Naturally, we want to learn more about it. Who knows? It might even prove to be a useful discovery."

Privately, Ariakas didn't know what good a bunch of blind, cannibalistic lizards were going to be to anybody, but he didn't interrupt the priest's explanation.

"It's possible-quite conceivable, actually-that the Zhakar would be willing to trade some of the fungus if it proves to be useful. But as it stands right now, we know little about them. They have resisted all attempts of our clerical agents to meet with them."

"You want me to affect a meeting," guessed Ariakas.

"You seem like a very logical choice," the cleric hur shy;riedly encouraged. "You're so much more, well, worldly than those of us who spend our time in the temple. If you could meet with Tale Splintersteel and make the arrangements, you would do the mistress a great service — a very great service!"

"Who is Tale Splintersteel?"

"He's the richest Zhakar in Sanction. He seems to be an unofficial chieftain for them, and he arranges all the large commercial deals. He's a prosperous merchant lord in his own right, one of the wealthiest people in Sanc shy;tion. He's also the lord of the Zhakar thief we caught- the one who reputedly sent the cutpurse on his mission."

"Do you know where this Zhakar, Splintersteel, is?" Ariakas inquired.

"He lives in the slum, somewhere-no one knows exactly where. However, he frequents a tavern owned by another Zhakar, near the West Bridge. The place is called the Fungus Mug, and chances are good that you will be able to find him there."

"Very well," said Ariakas. "I'll seek him there tomor shy;row."

Without further exchange, they departed the Sancti shy;fied Catacombs, Ariakas walking in silent reflection. He bade farewell to the high priest and emerged from the darkened cavern of the temple to stroll reflectively down the mountainside, under the glowing crimson clouds of Sanction at night.

He reached his house very close to dawn, and when he slept his dreams were filled with squirming lizard crea shy;tures, spawn of the metal dragon eggs. Yet the images of the grotesque creatures, he was surprised to find, gave him not horror, but hope.