"Dragons of the Highlord Skies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

7

The Fewmaster sweats. Iolanthe entertains the emperor. o the knight took the bait,” said Skie the next morning. He and Kitiara were preparing to leave the dragon’s hiding place, a heavily forested area far from the walls of Palanthas.

“It is a good thing he did not ask for a sample of my handwriting,” said Kit, grinning. “He not only took the forged letter, he paid me one hundred steel for it. It is not every man willing to pay so handsomely for his own destruction.”

“If the orb does destroy him,” muttered Skie. “It could just as likely destroy us. I mistrust wizards. If this knight is a threat, why didn’t you just stick a knife in him?”

“Because Ariakas wants to please his new mistress,” said Kit dryly. “What do you know of these ‘dragon orbs’?”

“Very little,” Skie grunted. “That’s what worries me, and it should worry you. Why did you tell him your real name? What if he finds out that Kitiara uth Matar is not a thief, she’s a Dragon Highlord?”

“He would not have come to the meeting without hearing the name. These knights are snobs,” Kitiara said scornfully. “The fact that my father was a knight, even though he was a disgraced knight, helped convince Sir Nincompoop that I really did have the good of Solamnia at heart. I even told him my dear father died fighting for Solamnia.” Kit laughed. “The truth is, my father probably died at the end of some outraged husband’s sword!”

She shrugged. “As for Sir Derek finding out I am a Highlord, that is unlikely. My own troops do not know my true name. Kitiara uth Matar means nothing to them. To my soldiers and to the rest of the world, I am the ‘Blue Lady’, the Blue Lady who will one day rule over them.”

“One day,” the dragon grumbled. “Not now.”

Kitiara reached down to pat Skie on the neck. “I understand how you feel, but for the time being, we must obey orders.”

“Where do we go, Blue Lady,” the dragon asked bitterly, “since we’re not allowed to fight?”

“We fly to Haven, where the Red Dragonarmy has made their headquarters. We are going to try to find a suitable candidate for Dragon Highlord.”

“Another waste of time and effort,” said Skie, crashing through the brush and trampling scrub trees underfoot in search of a cleared space in which to spread his wings.

“Perhaps,” said Kitiara, and a smile played on her lips unseen beneath the helm, “but then again, perhaps not.”

The dragonarmy camp near Haven was really nothing more than a small outpost. Most of the Red Dragonarmy troops were scattered across Abanasinia, maintaining their grip on conquests they had already taken. Prior to her arrival, Kitiara had met with her spies inside the dragonarmy. They reported that the army, spread out over a wide area, from Thorbardin to the Plains of Dust, was in disarray; the officers quarreling among themselves, the troops grumbling and discontented, and the dragons furious.

Several officers were vying to become Highlord. Kitiara had a list of likely candidates, with detailed information on each.

“I will be here for several days,” Kitiara told Skie. The dragon had landed her in an area some distance from the camp. “I need you to speak to the reds.”

“Brainless behemoths,” Skie snarled. “Muscle-bound ninnies. Talking with them is a waste of time. They barely know words of more than one syllable.”

“I understand, but I need to know what they think-”

“They don’t,” Skie retorted. “That’s the problem. I can sum up their thought processes in three words: burn, eat, loot, and they’re so stupid that most of the time they do it in that order.”

Kitiara laughed. “I realize I’m asking a great deal, my friend, but if the reds are truly unhappy and threatening to depart, as I have heard, Ariakas needs to take action. I want you to find out if they are belly-aching or if they are serious.”

“Odds are they don’t know themselves.” Skie shook his mane in irritation. “We should be back in the north fighting battles.”

“I know,” said Kit quietly. “I know.”

Still grumbling, Skie flew off. Kitiara watched the dragon climb among the clouds. His neck craned downward. He was searching for food. He must have spotted something, for he made a sudden diving descent, clawed feet outstretched to snag his prey. Kitiara watched until she lost sight of the dragon among the trees. Then she took a look at her surroundings, got her bearings, and set off walking through the brush, heading in the direction of the camp, which she had seen from the air. She could not see the camp itself, but could tell its location by the haze of smoke rising from cook fires and the blacksmith’s forge.

Kitiara walked at her leisure, taking time to look over some dispatches she had received before she’d left. She read again the one from Ariakas stating the red dragons were complaining to their Queen that they were bored. They had entered this war to loot and burn, and if they didn’t get orders to do either, they were going to do it anyway on their own. The Queen reminded Ariakas that she had far more important matters to deal with than this and if he couldn’t handle this situation, she would find someone who could. Ariakas handled it by dumping it in Kit’s lap.

“I’ll do what I can, but I wasn’t the one responsible for this mess, my lord,” Kitiara muttered. “That was your boy, Verminaard. Maybe you’ll think twice next time about putting a cleric in charge of fighting a war!”

She opened the next dispatch, a missive she’d received just as she was leaving. This letter came from a spy in Solamnia, one of Lord Gunthar’s squires who was in her pay. The letter was long, and Kit paused beneath a tree to give it her full attention.

Derek Crownguard and two other knights set sail this date from Sancrist, heading for the city of Tarsis.

“Tarsis,” Kitiara repeated to herself. “Why do they waste time going to Tarsis? I told the fools the dragon orb was in Icereach.”

Reading farther, she found the explanation.

They were told they can find out more information in Tarsis about the dragon orb. Since that city lies not far from Icereach, they decided to stop there. Crownguard is considered a hero for having learned about this artifact. There is general consensus that if he returns with the orb and it allows them to control the dragons, as the knights believe, then Derek will be made Grand Master.

Lord Gunthar argued that they knew nothing about these orbs and so should leave them alone. He did not want Derek to undertake this quest, but he was powerless to stop him. Derek was very clever. He spoke of his discovery of the whereabouts of the dragon orb in open session. All the knights who heard about it were fired with enthusiasm. If Gunthar had tried to prevent Derek from going, there would have been rebellion. These fools are desperate, my lady. They hope for some sort of miracle to save them and they think this is it.

“Your witch’s plan appears to be working, my lord,” said Kitiara grudgingly. She went back to reading.

Gunthar did venture to suggest that he should consult Par-Salian of the White Robes, master of the Tower of Wayreth, and ask about this orb, so that they would have an expert’s opinion of its powers. Derek argued against this, stating that if the wizards learned of the whereabouts of this artifact, they would go after it themselves. Lord Gunthar could not help but admit this argument was valid. All the knights were subsequently sworn to secrecy about the nature of this quest, and Derek and his two companions were sent on their way with loud cheers.

Lord Gunthar did manage to send one of his own men on this quest along with Derek-Sir Aran Tallbow. Sir Aran is an old friend of Derek’s and knows him well. Lord Gunthar hopes Aran will act as a moderating influence on Derek. Aran could be a danger to your plans, my lady. The other knight who accompanies Derek is also one of his longtime friends. His name is Brian Donner, and so far as I can judge, he is of no consequence.

Derek and his friends set sail on a fast ship and as the weather is generally good this time of year, it is predicted he will have a swift voyage and a safe one.

Kitiara finished the letter and then thrust it in the pouch with the other dispatches. She would forward the letter on to Ariakas, who would be extremely pleased to hear that all was going even better than expected.

She kicked a rock in the road, sending it flying. The knights were “divided, desperate, searching for a miracle.” Now was the perfect time to attack them! And here she was, far from Solamnia, trying to find someone to replace a man whose arrogant folly had brought about his own downfall.

Ariakas had recommended she interview a Fewmaster known as Toede for the position of Dragon Highlord. The Fewmaster, a hobgoblin, had been sending in a flood of reports on the war in the west. These reports were deemed by Ariakas to be works of military genius.

“First he wants a draco as Highlord, now a hob,” Kitiara muttered. She kicked at another rock and missed. Halting, she kicked angrily at the rock again and this time connected. “I guess that makes sense. Now that the war is close to being won, Ariakas is beginning to see his human commanders as a threat. He fears that once we have no enemy to fight, we will turn on him.”

Kitiara smiled grimly. “In this, he might well be right.”

Kitiara carefully avoided entering the city of Haven. Abanasinia was her homeland. She had been born and raised in the tree-top town of Solace located nearby. There might be people in Haven who would recognize her, perhaps even remember that she’d visited the city several times before in company with Tanis and her twin brothers, all of whom were also known there.

Tanis Half-elven. Kitiara found herself thinking of him a lot these days, ever since she’d heard Grag tell Ariakas that a half-elf from Solace had been involved in the slaying of Verminaard. Half-elves were not that common in Ansalon, and Kit knew of only one who came from Solace. She had no idea how Tanis could have managed to get himself tangled up with slaves and Highlords, but if there was any man who could have bested Verminaard, it would be Tanis. Kit’s thoughts went back to him, recalling days filled with laughter and adventure, nights spent in his arms.

She became so lost in her memories that, not watching where she was going, she stumbled into a pothole and nearly broke her neck. Picking herself up, she scolded herself.

“What are you doing, wasting time thinking about him? That’s over and done with. In the past. You have more important matters to consider.”

Kitiara booted Tanis from her mind. It wouldn’t do for her to be connected with the local “heroes” who had, according to rumor, dispatched Verminaard. Ariakas was suspicious of her already.

Too bad, Kit sighed. She would have been very comfortable in one of Haven’s fine inns. As it was, she resigned herself to staying in the dragonarmy’s camp, where she would at least have the satisfaction of demanding that she be given the finest accommodations available.

Kit’s unexpected arrival in the headquarters of the Red Dragonarmy threw everyone into a panic. Soldiers rushed about in confusion, falling over themselves and each other in an effort to please her. Some chaos was only to be expected, however, since she’d come on them unannounced. For the most part, Kit found the camp well-run and well-organized. Draconian sentries were at their posts and doing their jobs. She was challenged no fewer than six times before she reached the camp.

Kitiara began to think she had underestimated the hobgoblin. Perhaps Toede was a military genius.

Kitiara looked forward to meeting the Fewmaster, but the pleasure was delayed. No one, it seemed, knew where he was. A draconian dispatched a messenger to fetch the Fewmaster, telling Kitiara the Fewmaster was either perfecting his skills with the bow on the firing range, or drilling soldiers in the parade yard. The draconian said all this in the mixture of Common and military argot typically used by soldiers of mixed races. The draco added a comment in his own language to another draco, apparently under the assumption she would not understand, because both grinned widely.

As it happened, Kitiara’s own personal bodyguard was made up of sivak draconians. She considered it would never do to have subordinates-especially those on whom her life depended-talking in an unknown tongue behind her back, so she had learned their draconic language.

Kitiara heard, therefore, that the draconians had not sent a messenger to either the parade ground or the archery range. The draconians had sent the messenger to the Red Slipper, one of Haven’s most notorious bawdy houses.

Kitiara was escorted to the Fewmaster’s headquarters. Inside, she found half the tent jammed with pieces of furniture, rugs, and knick-knacks that had probably been stolen. The other side of the tent was neat and orderly. Weapons of various types were stacked along one side. A large map, spread out on the dirt floor, showed the positions of the different armies. Kitiara was standing over the map, studying it, when a draconian lifted the tent flap and entered. She recognized the draconian officer she had met in Ariakas’s office.

“Commander Grag,” she said.

“I am sorry I wasn’t on hand to welcome you properly, Highlord,” the bozak said, standing rigidly at attention, eyes forward. “We were not informed you were coming.”

“I did that deliberately, Commander,” she said. “I wanted to see the army when it wasn’t dressed up for show. Warts and all, so to speak, which terms seems appropriate when speaking of your Fewmaster.”

The commander’s eyes flickered, but he did not shift his gaze. “We have sent for the Fewmaster, Highlord. He is out in the field-”

“-practicing his thrusts and parries,” suggested Kitiara slyly.

Commander Grag finally relaxed. “You could say that, Highlord.” He paused, regarded her intently. “You speak draconic, don’t you?”

“Enough to get by. Please, sit down.”

Grag cast the fragile chairs of elf make a disparaging glance. “Thank you, Highlord, but I prefer to stand.”

“It’s probably safer,” Kitiara agreed wryly. “You know why I’m here, Commander.”

“I have a good idea, yes, my lord.”

“I’m to recommend someone to become the new Highlord. You impressed the emperor, Grag.”

The draconian bowed.

“Would you like the job?” Kitiara asked.

Grag did not hesitate. “No, Highlord, but thank you for considering me.”

“Why not?” Kitiara asked with genuine curiosity.

Grag hesitated.

“You may speak freely,” she assured him.

“I am a fighter, Highlord, not a politician,” Grag answered. “I want to lead men in battle, not spend my time groveling to those in power. No offense intended, Highlord.”

“I understand,” said Kitiara, and she sighed. “Believe me, I do understand. So you do the soldiering and this Fewmaster Toede does the groveling.”

“The Fewmaster is quite good at his job, Highlord,” said Grag with a straight face.

At this moment, the Fewmaster came blundering through the tent opening. Catching sight of Kitiara, Toede rushed up to her. The first words out of his yellow mouth proved the truth of Grag’s assessment.

“Highlord, forgive me for not being here to welcome you,” the hobgoblin gasped. “These dolts”-he cast a furious glance at the commander-“did not inform me you were coming!”

Kit had encountered hobgoblins before. She’d even fought a few before the war began. She had no use for goblins, who could be counted on to turn tail and run the minute the fighting got tough, but she’d come to respect hobgoblins, who were bigger, uglier, and smarter than their cousins.

The bigger and uglier part applied to Toede, who was short and lumpish with a flabby belly; grayish, yellowish, greenish skin; red, piggy eyes; and a thick-lipped, cadaverous mouth that tended to collect pockets of drool at the corners. It was the smarter part that appeared to open to question. Toede’s wildly grandiose, self-styled uniform bore no resemblance to any uniform Kitiara had ever seen. His clothes had evidently been thrown on in haste, for the buttons of the coat were in the wrong buttonholes and he had neglected to lace up his pants, leaving a huge gap between pants and shirt-a gap filled by his warty, yellow belly. He had run most of the way, apparently, for he was covered in dust and sweating profusely.

Kitiara had a strong stomach. She’d walked countless battlefields, stinking with the stench of rotting corpses, and been able to eat a hearty meal afterward. The reek of the perspiring Toede in the closed-in tent was too much for her to take. She moved closer to the entrance for a breath of fresh air.

Toede crowded beside her, practically tripping on her heels with his flapping feet. “I was out on a particularly dangerous scouting mission, Highlord, so dangerous I could not ask any of my men to undertake it.”

“Did you grapple with the enemy, Fewmaster?” Kitiara asked, glancing sidelong at Grag.

“I did,” said Toede with magnificent aplomb. “The battle was ferocious.”

“No doubt, since I suppose the ‘enemy’ would not take your assault ‘lying down’,” said Kitiara.

Grag made a gurgling sound in his throat and covered it with a cough.

Toede appeared slightly confused. “No, no, the enemy was not lying down, Highlord.”

“You had them up against the wall?” Kitiara asked.

At this, Commander Grag was forced to excuse himself. “I have my duties, Highlord,” he said and made good his escape.

Toede, meanwhile, was starting to grow suspicious. His pink eyes narrowed as he glared at the departing draconian. “I don’t know what that slimy lizard has been telling you, Highlord, but it is not true. While I might have been at the Red Slipper, it was in the line of duty. I was-”

“-under cover,” suggested Kitiara.

“Exactly,” said Toede. He heaved a relieved sigh and mopped his yellow face with his sleeve.

Having by now come up with a pretty good idea of the wit and wisdom of the Fewmaster, Kitiara thought he would make a perfect Highlord-one who would certainly never become a dangerous rival. While Toede continued his “battles” at the Red Slipper, the real work of running the war would be done by the capable Commander Grag. Besides, promoting this fool would serve Ariakas right.

Kitiara did not intend to apprise Toede of her decision yet. “I must say I admire you for your courage in taking on such a perilous assignment. I have been sent by Lord Ariakas to advise in the selection of a new Highlord, one to take the place of Lord Verminaard-”

She got no farther. The Fewmaster had seized hold of her hand. “I hesitate to put myself forward, Highlord, but I would be highly honored to be considered for the highly coveted high post of Highlord-”

Kitiara wrenched her hand free and wiped it on her cloak. She glanced down. “My boots need polishing,” she said.

“They are somewhat muddy, Highlord,” said Toede. “Allow me.”

He dropped down on his knees and began to scrub assiduously at her boots with the sleeve of his coat.

“That will do, Fewmaster,” said Kit when she could see her reflection in the leather. “You may get up now.”

Toede rose, grunting. “Thank you, Highlord. Could I offer you some refreshment?” He turned around and bellowed. “Cold ale for the Highlord!”

“I do have to ask you some questions, Fewmaster,” said Kitiara. Finding a camp stool, she seated herself.

Toede stood hovering over her, wringing his hands.

“I will be glad to assist you with anything, Highlord.”

“Tell me about these assassins of Lord Verminaard. I understand they have thus far escaped you.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” said Toede promptly. “Grag and the aurak bungled the job. I know where the felons are. I just… er… can’t seem to find them. They’re in the dwarven kingdom, you see. I will tell you-”

“Not interested,” said Kitiara, holding up her hand to halt the flow. “Neither is the emperor.”

“Of course not,” said Toede. “Why would he be?”

“Back to the assassins. Do you know their names? Something about them? Where they came from-”

“Oh, yes,” said Toede happily. “I had them in custody!”

“You did?” Kitiara stared at him.

“What I mean to say,” Toede gabbled, “is that I didn’t actually have them in custody. I had them locked up in cages.”

“But not in custody,” said Kit, her lips twitching.

Toede gulped. “I thought they were like all the rest of the slaves we were rounding up at the time. I didn’t know they were assassins. How could I, Highlord?” Toede spread his hands pathetically. “After all, when I apprehended them, they hadn’t assassinated anyone yet.”

Kitiara struggled to contain her mirth. She waved her hand.

Toede again mopped his brow. “I was taking the slaves to Pax Tharkas to work in the iron mines when the caravan was attacked by an army of five thousand elves.”

“Five thousand elves!” Kitiara marveled.

“Due to my brilliant leadership, Highlord, my small force-there were only six of us-held out against the elves for several days,” said Toede in modest tones. “Despite the fact that I was wounded in fourteen places, I was prepared to fight to the death. But sadly, I lost consciousness and my second-in-command-the cowardly bastard-gave the order to retreat. My men carried me from the field. I was near death, but Queen Takhisis herself healed me.”

“How fortunate for our cause that Her Majesty loves you so much,” said Kitiara dryly. “Now, in regard to the assassins-”

“Yes, let me see if I can recall them.” Toede squinched up his face. Presumably this hideous grimace denoted some sort of thought process. “I first encountered these miscreants in Solace when his lordship sent me there in search of a blue crystal staff. If you could just excuse me one moment-”

Toede dashed off. Kitiara saw him running hither and thither around the camp, accosting the troops, asking questions. Apparently, he got his answers, for Toede came dashing back, his big belly flopping, his jowls jiggling.

“I have remembered, my lord. They were impossible to forget. There was a mongrel half-elf by the name of Tanis, a sickly wizard known as Raistlin Majere and his brother, Caramon. There was a knight. Something Brightblade. And a dwarf known as Flint and a foul little beast of a kender going under the name of Hotfoot-”

Kit muttered something.

Toede interrupted himself to ask, “Do you know these felons, Highlord?”

“Of course not,” said Kitiara sharply. “Why should I?”

“No reason, Highlord,” Toede said, blanching. “None at all. It’s just I thought I heard you say something-”

“I coughed, that was all,” she said, adding irritably, “The smell in this place is foul.”

“It’s the draconians,” said Toede. “Stinking reptiles. I’d get rid of them, but they have their uses. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the assassins were traveling in company with some barbarians…”

Kitiara was only half-listening. When she had first begun to question Toede, it had all been a game. She had wanted to find out for certain if the assassins had been Tanis, her brothers, her old friends. She hadn’t thought hearing their names, discovering the truth, would affect her so profoundly. The feelings she experienced were mixed. She took a perverse pride in her friends for having slain the powerful Highlord and she was dismayed and uneasy because she might well be connected to them. Above all, she had a sudden strong desire to see them all again-particularly Tanis.

“-the half-breed and his friends arrived in Pax Tharkas,” Toede was saying when she began to listen to him again, “where I was myself at the time, acting as advisor to Lord Verminaard. The felons were traveling in company with a couple of elves, brother and sister. His name was Gilthanas and her name was, let me see”-Toede’s face wrinkled deeply-“Falanalooptyansa or something like that.”

“Lauralanthalasa,” Kitiara said.

“That’s it!” Toede slapped his hand on his thigh, then he regarded her in amazement. “How did you know, Highlord?”

Kitiara realized she had almost given herself away.

“Everyone with a brain knows,” she retorted caustically. “The woman you had in your grubby hands is an elf princess, daughter of the Speaker of the Suns.”

Toede gasped. “Truly?” he quavered.

Kitiara fixed Toede with a stern glare. “You had the daughter of the king of the elves in your grasp and you did nothing!”

“Not me, Highlord!” Toede squeaked, his voice rising in panic. “It was Lord Verminaard. I just remembered. I wasn’t anywhere near Pax Tharkas at the time! I’m sure if I had been in Pax Tharkas I would have recognized the princess at once because, as you say, everyone knows this Lauralapsaloosa… this, this… princess, and I would have advised Lord Verminaard to… uh… uh…” Toede hesitated.

“You would have advised him to hold her hostage. Use her to demand the elves surrender or you would kill her. You would collect a fortune in ransom for her.”

“Yes!” Toede cried. “That’s exactly what I was going to advise his lordship to do. Verminaard often begged me for counsel, you know. They tell me his dying words were: ‘If I had only listened to Toede’… Where are you going, Highlord? Is everything all right?”

Kitiara had risen abruptly to her feet.

“I grow weary of this discussion. Where is my tent?”

Toede leapt up. “I will escort you there myself, Highlord-”

Kitiara rounded on the hobgoblin. “I don’t need a bloody escort! Just tell me where the damn tent is!”

Toede quailed. “Yes, Highlord. You can see it from here.” He pointed meekly to one of the larger tents in the camp. “Over there-”

Kitiara stormed off. She kicked aside a keg and knocked down a draconian who was slow to move out of her way. Ducking thankfully into the cool darkness of the tent, she sat down on the crude bed. She almost immediately got back to her feet again and began to pace.

Lauralanthalasa, known affectionately as Laurana; elf princess, daughter of the Speaker of the Suns-and the betrothed of Tanis Half-Elven.

Tanis had told Kitiara all about that old childhood romance. He had also told her it was forgotten. He loved only one woman in the world, and that was Kitiara.

When she had asked him to travel north with her five years ago, he’d refused. He had made some lame excuse about inner turmoil, the need to think some things over, to come to know himself, try to find some inner peace between the warring halves of his being. He’d heard some rumors of the return of the true gods. He was going to go investigate…

“Investigate gods, my ass!” Kitiara fumed. “He went off to investigate his old girlfriend-the lying bastard!”

Never mind that in the intervening years, Kitiara had herself known a score of lovers, including Tanis’s close friend, Sturm Brightblade, who had journeyed north with her. That liaison had lasted one night only. She’d seduced the young man mainly because she was angry at Tanis. After Sturm there was Ariakas, and now her handsome second-in-command, Bakaris. She didn’t love any of them. She was not sure she loved Tanis, but she was damn sure he should be in love with her-not some spindly-limbed, slant-eyed, pointy-eared elf bitch.

Kitiara no longer cared why or how her friends had come to assassinate Lord Verminaard. All she could think about was Tanis and the elf girl. Was she still with him? What had happened when they were in Pax Tharkas together? Kitiara needed more information, and she regretted having walked away from Toede before he had finished his story. But then, he hadn’t been in Pax Tharkas. He’d said so himself. She needed to find someone who had.

She would ask Commander Grag. But she had to find an excuse for asking him about her friends. He must not suspect. No one must suspect. Ariakas was already suspicious, and if he ever found out that Tanis had been Kit’s lover…

Kitiara collapsed on the bed. She gazed, frowning, up at the canvas ceiling and berated herself.

“What am I doing? Why do I care? Tanis is a man just like every other man I’ve ever known. Except he isn’t,” Kitiara added softly, grudgingly.

All those men in her life since she’d been with Tanis. Kitiara realized now that she’d taken these men into her arms and into her bed in hopes that each new lover would make her forget the old one. The only lover who had spurned her, rejected her, turned his back on her and walked out of her life.

As Kitiara drifted off to sleep she saw Tanis’s face-just as she saw his face every time some other man made love to her.

Far away in Neraka, the fire in the brazier blazed brightly. The flames were reflected in Ariakas’s eyes, but he wasn’t seeing the flames. He was seeing the images within the magical firelight. He was watching and listening with frowning displeasure.

At length, the magical fire consumed the few strands of black curly hair Iolanthe had placed carefully into the brazier. The images of the hobgoblin, Toede, and Kitiara disappeared just as Kitiara stormed off to her tent.

This was the third time Iolanthe and Ariakas had used her scrying spell to spy on Kitiara and the first time they’d ever discovered something interesting. Prior to that, she and Ariakas had observed Kitiara speaking with Derek Crownguard, and the other time she’d been riding Skie. Ariakas had been pleased to discover that Kit was loyal to him, perhaps the only one of his Highlords he could truly trust. He was now being forced to face the truth.

Iolanthe said quietly, “You note, my lord, how she brought the conversation around to those people from Solace. Among those named were her half-brothers, were they not, my lord? Raistlin and Caramon Majere?”

“They were,” said Ariakas grimly. He shifted his baleful gaze from the brazier, from which curls of smoke were rising, to Iolanthe. “Kitiara told me about them. I think she once hoped they would join her, but if so, nothing ever came of it. If she did hire these men, why would she ask questions about them? It seems to me she would avoid mentioning them at all, so as not to draw suspicion to herself.”

“Unless she fears she might be implicated, my lord. She could be trying to find out if they said or did anything that would point the finger back at her.”

Ariakas grunted and shoved back his chair. He rose to his feet and with a flip of his cape, stalked off without a word. He was angry with her for having revealed to him what he didn’t want to know. Iolanthe should have tried to appease him, but she was too drained by the spellcasting to go after him. The scrying spell was a powerful one, requiring immense focus and concentration. She was feeling dizzy and nauseous and the stench of burnt hair wasn’t helping.

Ariakas halted when he reached the door to her chambers.

“I am not convinced,” he told her. “We will do this again.”

“I am yours to command, my lord,” Iolanthe said wearily, and she managed to find the strength to rise to her feet and bow.

When he was gone, she sank back into the chair and stared at the smoking brazier. She pondered what she was doing. In betraying Kitiara to Ariakas, she was undoubtedly winning Ariakas’s favor, but what would happen if Kit found out? Having watched Kitiara, Iolanthe was impressed with her. She was strong, resolute, intelligent. True, she was playing a dangerous game-though just what that game was, Iolanthe could not tell.

The people of Khur love horses. They breed the best in the world, and in order to prove which tribe breeds the finest, tribes race the horses, one against the other, with wagers placed on the outcome.

Iolanthe was starting to wonder if she’d bet her money on the wrong horse.

Iolanthe had noticed something Ariakas had not, something only a woman would see. Kitiara had been in an excellent humor, toying with the imbecile hobgoblin, even as she extracted the information she desired. She had taken pleasure in what Toede had been saying until he had mentioned the name of the elf princess. In an instant, Kitiara’s mood had altered. She had been snickering at Toede one moment, flying into a raging fury the next. The moment she’d felt the piercing bite of jealousy’s sharp tooth. Kitiara was jealous of the elf woman. This meant that one of those assassins was not only in Kitiara’s pay. He was also in her bed.

Iolanthe could have mentioned this to Ariakas. She had no proof, but she did have a quantity of black curls. She decided she would let the horses race on, see how they handled themselves over the distance before she put her money down on one or the other.