The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 9 Seeds of Atonement

“We found no survivers, lord Khellendros.” The Knight of Takhisis removed his helmet and knelt respectfully before the great Blue Dragon. His four fellows stood at attention behind him, their heads bowed.

Khellendros sat at the cave entrance to his northernmost lair and silently scrutinized his nervous pawns.

“The stronghold was in ruins, the brutes and knights all dead. Some had been trampled by elephants, others slain by weapons or poisoned by scorpions. All of the prisoners were gone.” He looked up at the dragon. “It couldn’t have happened more than a few days ago, judging by the condition of the bodies. We tried to track the ones responsible, but the wind had erased all signs of their footprints.”

“The Sivaks?” Khellendros asked.

The knight shook his head. “Dead, too, my Lord.”

The dragon snarled, the sound causing the desert floor to tremble beneath his massive body. The knight felt the tremors, but showed no fear. There was no point—Khellendros would either slay him and his fellows or not. Being frightened would not change the situation.

“The Sivaks,” the knight added, “they provided the only clue. In their office we found two chained men—identical. They looked like Palin Majere, son of Caramon and—”

“I know who Palin Majere is,” Khellendros said. His growl deepened, and his belly rumbled. Overhead, clouds started to gather, mirroring the dragon’s dark mood. The wind picked up.

“We can assemble a unit and search for him,” the knight continued. “We will contact our brothers and our spies along the coast. He is called the most formidable sorcerer on Krynn, so he is widely recognized. Sooner or later, someone will spot him, and alert us.”

“I shall find Palin Majere, and I shall slay him.” Khellendros raised his head and closed his huge yellow eyes. The clouds grew heavy with rain and lightning flashed. “The son of Caramon and Tika Majere—Kitiara’s enemies—shall be mine alone to deal with. Do you understand?” The wind began to whistle, stirring the sand about the kneeling knight and finding its way into every crevice of his black mail armor.

“I understand, Lord Khellendros.”

“I have a mission for you,” the Storm began. “Take one of your dragon-prowed ships and sail to Southern Ergoth.”

The knight looked quizzically at him. “The White Dragon is there. Southern Ergoth is his territory.”

“And if you wish to live and serve me, you would be wise to avoid him,” Khellendros continued. “There is a place called Foghaven Vale. Somewhere between a ridiculously large carving of a silver dragon and a ruined keep, there sits a simple building made of black glass. You must search for it somewhere amid all of the fog of the valley and all of the snow and ice Gellidus has created. Inside this black box is something I want. You shall retrieve it for me.” The dragon went on to describe the item in great detail.

The knight nodded and rose. Fine sand stuck to the sweat on his face, but he didn’t brush it off. He replaced his helmet and stepped back to form a line with his brethren.

“You shall need to take someone with you,” Khellendros added. “Who you select is unimportant, just so he is moral and upright, of sterling character—a human idealist. What I want you to retrieve might burn your skin, perhaps be impossible for you to touch, but it should pose no threat to a pious man. There shall be other trinkets to gather, but first I must discover where those trinkets lie.”

“We shall begin with this one, Lord Khellendros. We will not fail you,” the knight spokesman stated.

Khellendros was pleased with himself. He was clever, indeed. Now he had both Fissure and the knights searching for the ancient artifacts. “See that you don’t fail. Success shall help your order atone for your brothers’ negligence at the stronghold.”

“I’ve seen enough.” Mirielle Abrena stepped back from a crystal bowl filled with water, on the surface of which were images of the knights and Khellendros. She nodded to the sorcerer who hovered nearby.

“Very good, Governor-General.” He twirled a gnarled finger in the water, chasing away the picture.

Mirielle paced the length of the room, a richly appointed library filled with furniture made of dark wood. Her boot heels clicked harshly against the polished floor. She selected a high-backed chair and sat, steepling her fingers in front of her. “Tell me, Herel, if we were to acquire some of this ancient magic that Khellendros is looking for could you use it? To our benefit?”

The sorcerer pulled back his hood, revealing the craggy visage of a man in his late middle years. A scar, similar to the thorny vine embroidered on the front of his robe, ran down the left side of his face. “My dear Governor-General, I am most accomplished. Yes, I could use them, would thank our departed Takhisis for such an opportunity, and, most certainly, I could use them to advance our aims. But what will Khellendros do if he discovers his knights are trying to gain the items for themselves?”

Mirielle smiled slyly. “He won’t catch on. The knights assigned to the Blue Dragon will do exactly as commanded. If they get to this magic first, so be it. But if my handpicked men discover some other examples of this ancient magic.. ” She let the possibility hang, and her eyes bore into the sorcerer’s. “Khellendros is sending his knights to Huma’s Tomb. We’ll not bother with that quest, for it’s a race we cannot win. You will endeavor to find out where more of this ancient magic lies, and we will direct our efforts there.”

“But Governor-General, some of the old magic has been buried, hidden. Who knows where—”

“Not impossible for one so accomplished,” she returned. “Not for someone who wants to please the governor-general of the Knights of Takhisis, and who will use any means necessary to serve her wishes.”

The sorcerer visibly paled. “I will attend to the matter right away, Governor-General”

“See that you do,” she replied evenly. “I believe time is—” A sharp rap at the door cut off Mirielle’s words. The sorcerer hurried to the door and placed his hand on the dark wood. “Lord Knight Breen awaits beyond, Governor-GeneraL”

“Show him in—and not a word of this to him, to anyone.”

The sorcerer slipped out and hurried away as the big man entered. Gleaming black plate covered his large chest, and a black cloak, the shoulders of which were festooned with medals and bars, hung in thick folds behind him. His steely eyes fixed on Mirielle as he bowed slightly.

“Governor-General, our forces have taken four more ogre villages. We suffered considerable losses during our last advance. The village was large, and they were ready for us. Still, I believe Sanction will be ours before the year is out.”

Mirielle nodded. “Anything else?”

“You asked for a report on our recruits, Governor-General. Youths from cities in Neraka and Teyr are flocking to the Order, and we are recruiting good numbers from Solamnia and Abanasinia. Our measures of persuasion are yielding a good harvest this year. Would that Takhisis were here to note our progress.”

“We are stronger than ever before.” Mirielle rose and glided toward Breen. “Select a dozen of your best men from the city and send them to me. I have an errand of considerable importance.”

Lord Knight Breen cast her a brief, curious look, and opened his mouth to question this mission.

“Dismissed,” Mirielle said.