Shiv growled. "There are Dark Knights there."

"I guess you would know." Again the telling words. "But I need some clothes. These can't stand up to many more washings."

He knew he could find the Dark Knight commander there, or someone else of authority, and that he could collect his fee simply by marching her into the camp.

"I'll lead the way," he said.

It was shortly before sunset, two days later, that the tall buildings in Telvan appeared in the distance and another band of a.s.sa.s.sins struck.

This time Shiv caught their intake of breath from around a sharp bend in the trail in front of him. The a.s.sa.s.sins were using the spires and overhangs for cover. He drew his knives and spun around the bend, jamming the blades deep into the stomach of a man he knew well, one he'd trained himself years ago.

"Risana is my contract," Shiv said, half under his breath.

The man collapsed, his weight taking Shiv down with him. As Shiv struggled in a failed attempt to pull the blades free and to get out from under the corpse, he heard Risana drawing her sword behind him. She stepped around him and his fallen foe, quickly engaging her own target Shiv finally pushed the body off. It rolled down the side of the mountain, with his twin knives protruding from it "Ah, thank the vanished G.o.ds for this!" Shiv retrieved his onetime student's dropped short sword.

A few yards away, Risana was exchanging blows with a pair of Dark Knights.

"Given up on a.s.sa.s.sins, have they?"

Shiv watched her for a moment, noting with admiration that she had some skill with a blade, but her two opponents were gradually wearing her down.

"Time to share, Rish!" Shiv called, as he pressed by her and engaged the shorter but bulkier of the two men. The Knight he fought was strong, his swings forcing Shiv back. Shiv spun to his right, the Dark Knight following him, then he pivoted to the left and entangled the Knight's legs. Pressing the attack, he rained blow after blow on the man, one finally biting into the chainmail gusset of his armor between the shoulder and breastplates. The Knight dropped his sword. Shiv kicked and sent him to his knees, knowing the man was dying.

Shiv whirled to see how Risana was faring. She was parrying her foe's repeated strikes. Her wide charcoal eyes were unblinking. A corner of her mouth turned up as she shifted her weight and became the aggressor, varying her swings and forcing the Dark Knight to back up.

Shiv watched in admiration as she increased the tempo. Unarmored, she was more agile than the Knight, and within the span of several minutes she had her foe gasping for breath. She made quick work of the man now, wresting his blade from him with one fierce swing, then thrusting her sword into a gap between his plates.

She jumped back as he fell, then leaped forward and over the dead knight, charging along the narrow trail straight toward Shiv.

"Shiv!" she cried. "Move!"

Shiv turned as she raced past, following her movements in horror as he saw the Knight he thought he'd killed back up on his feet, his arm drawn back to hurl a dagger.

The metal caught the sun as the dagger flew deep into Risana's abdomen.

"No!" Shiv stared in disbelief as she fell, sword clattering on the path.

The Dark Knight was unsteady, blood flowing down his breastplate. Still, he refused to die, drawing another dagger from a band at his waist, taking aim at Shiv this time. The master a.s.sa.s.sin stood frozen. Then he saw a bloodied dagger fly over the Knight's head. Risana had tugged the weapon free and sent it back.

The bad throw was enough to distract the Knight. Shiv plunged in, ramming his borrowed short sword into the knight's chestplate, cracking the armor and lodging it deep in the man's chest.

"Rish!" Shiv hurried to Risana's side. For an instant he considered doing nothing, waiting for her death to come and hiding her body, collecting his pay. Instead, he found himself groping for her pouch that held herbs and powders. He'd become knowledgeable at using them just by watching her, but he didn't know how to treat such a serious wound. "Tell me what to do. What do I use, Rish? Tell me! What can I do?"

She stared at him a moment, doe eyes meeting his worried and confused ones, lips faintly smiling. He bent close, turned his ear so he could hear her.

"Maybe they'll think I'm dead and stop sending a.s.sa.s.sins," she mused.

It was spring, and the snow had started to melt on the slopes. Shiv was walking behind her, listening to her cloak flutter in the breeze and enjoying the scent of the pale purple flowers that were poking through the snow here and there.

"Maybe," Shiv said after several moments. "Maybe they'll think I'm dead, too." We make quite a pair, he thought, a former Solamnic Knight and an old a.s.sa.s.sin.

"A pair of deserters," Risana said, as if she'd heard what he'd been thinking.

Shiv looked over his shoulder, studying the spires and overhangs, watching for out-of-place shadows and the glint of steel.

They were heading north, to a string of villages that were being visited by a bothersome pox. There would be herbs to gather along the way, their healing pouches to be refilled, roofs to be repaired, fences to be mended . . .

Shiv knew an old man's luck would not last forever. What mattered to him now was how long hers would hold out. He realized now he'd become undone that first night he saw her, when he peered through the crack in the shuttered window and watched the firelight dance across her selfless, determined face. He had a new contract now, one he'd made with himself-he would protect her as long as he could.

"Till my last breath," he said as he walked.

Hunger

RICHARD A. KNAAK.

"Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss! Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss! May I beg of you leave to enter?"

Brudas looked up from his work, barely containing the rage that had swelled up the moment the irritating voice of the Baaz had grated on his sensitive ears. If he could have fulfilled this mission without the aid of the lowest of all draconian kind, he would have done so, but that would have meant muddying his hands himself-something the Bozak would only do for his mistress, the great black dragon Sable. Digging in swampy mud was definitely work for Baaz, and they were welcome to it.

"Enter, you fool!" Brudas snapped, eager to get on with his own responsibilities.

He and a trio of Baaz had come to the half-sunken ruins of the city of Krolus on a quest for their mistress. Sable had come across sc.r.a.ps of information that led her to believe that some powerful relics, including those created by a dark wizard of the Third Age known for his trafficking with the undead, still lay buried somewhere in the heart of the old kingdom. In the past, her minions had comhed the devastated area for such items without success. Brudas, however, hoped to change that. He had uncovered old scrolls that hinted of places missed hy his hapless predecessors and had convinced the black dragon to let him lead this latest hunt for the elusive artifacts.

Success would further the draconian's own ambitions. Of course, at the time he volunteered, he had not considered that there was no more stench-infested, waterlogged region in all the overlord's domain than this one.

Bowing as he entered, the Baaz hurried to the bench and table where his superior sat glaring at him. He quickly fell to one knee. Brudas eyed the newcomer with distaste. Baaz were the least of the draconian races, a far cry below the elegant Auraks Brudas so admired and emulated, and certainly not nearly advanced as the Bozaks, of which he himself was a sterling example. The stinking, mud-encrusted figure before him was typical of his kind.

They were a contrast, these two, whose only connection was the fact that they, like all draconians, had been created full-grown by dark magic from the stolen eggs of metallic dragons, the so-called dragons of light. Baaz sprang from the eggs of the bra.s.s leviathans and their scaled hides showed a tarnished hint of that coloring. Pathetic in so many ways, Baaz had wings that would not even let them fly. They could merely glide. Once they had been the most numerous of the draconians, but as even the Dragon Highlords had seen their uselessness, many had perished fighting in the front lines in the War of the Lance. True, Baaz were more muscular than the taller, slimmer Bozaks, but they lacked the quick wit of the latter. Little wonder, since Bozak sprang from the magnificent bronze dragons and had been granted a great gift-the ability to wield magic in a manner that all the other draconians, (save the imposing Auraks, of course) could only dream about.

The Auraks. As much pride as Brudas felt concerning his own heritage, he dreamed of being as skilled and advanced as the tall, wingless ones. The Auraks were the epitome of draconian superiority, the creations of corrupted golden dragon eggs. They could cast better spells in swifter fashion, were taller, sleeker, and spoke eloquently, boasting intelligence and wisdom.

Brudas tried his best to emulate Auraks, even to the point of dressing in sorcerer's robes and practicing his speech so he didn't sound like one of the lesser draconian races. The Bozak felt, with some justification, that he could now number himself among the most gifted of his kind, yet still he felt inadequate in comparison to the Auraks. To add to his frustration, his sorcery had begun to fail of late, a horrible thing to happen to one born with the gift. He hadn't told anyone, hoping that he might manage to find and ferret out a magical artifact for himself in the ruins of the city of Krolus. The expedition had to succeed. . . .

"Get up, you imbecile!" he snarled at the crouching Baaz. Other races occasionally confused the two draconian types because of the similar coloring of their scales, a fact that always irritated Brudas. Could not the color-blind fools tell the difference between tarnished bronze and knavish bra.s.s?

The Baaz rose. Brudas recognized him as Drek, the lowliest of his lowly kind, perhaps the stupidest of the three draconians who accompanied him on this quest.

Drek had the ambition and intelligence of a rock, perhaps even less. To Drek, the Bozak tended to delegate the most menial and disgusting labor.

"Forgive me, Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss!" Drek hissed. "I did not mean to disssturb you."

The sibilant hiss annoyed Brudas even more than the Baaz's blunt snout. Even though sitting, he managed to stare down his own sleek, narrow snout-more akin to a true dragon's than Drek's swinish nose-and, with perfect enunciation, he retorted, "You disturb me simply by existing, Drek! If you have something to report, report it and get out of my sight! I still hope to find out if one of these artifacts-" he waved a slim, taloned hand at the table, upon which lay nearly a dozen supposedly magical items- "has any latent power, something that will please our mistress!"

At mention of Sable, the Baaz cringed. His kind feared Sable utterly. Brudas feared her, respected her, and hoped to betray her when the opportunity presented itself-which was why he had suggested this odorous and, so far, futile expedition.

Something had happened to the magic of Krynn, to all spellcasters, not simply Brudas. The sorcerers and other mortal spellcasters had noticed it first. Spells began to falter, then fail completely. Attempt after attempt left nothing but the taste of futility in the wield-er's mouth. The sorcerers, of course, blamed it on the overlords.

Soon, though, the overlords too began to complain of the loss of their abilities. Brudas still recalled how Sable had for weeks blamed one rival or another for her faltering spells-until she had learned that her fellow dragons were having troubles, too. With that realization, she had turned to the same desperate remedy sought by the sorcerers-Sable sent her minions out to find whatever magical talismans and artifacts they could so she could drain the relics' power and use their ancient magic for her her own magic.

Only a handful of her most trusted servants knew the complete truth and, of them, only Brudas knew the full extent of his mistress's weakness.

"Many, many apologiesss, Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss," Drek babbled again. "It'sss jussst I think I may have found sssomething!"

"You found something?" Quickly, Brudas's ire faded. He rose from his chair, his nearly seven-foot frame towering over the more compact Baaz. "Where is it? What is it? Bring it in, you dolt!"

"We can't! Not. . . not yet! It's in a chamber. We're still excavating the entrance, but-"

"Lead me to it immediately!"

"Yesss, Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss!" Drek turned and darted out of the tent.

Seizing his staff, Brudas followed after him. The Bozak momentarily decided to forgive the lowly creature for not holding the tent flap open for him. If Drek and the others had found something of value, it would be the first silver lining to this black-cloud of an adventure since their arrival more than two weeks before.

Damp and gloom greeted the draconian as he stepped onto the soft, drenched soil. He had chosen the most stable patch of ground for his tent, but still the moisture tended to seep everywhere. Not for the first time Brudas wondered what fascination a dragon could have with such a muddy, bug-infested quagmire.

With great care, the two wended their way through the hazy marsh into the heart of what had once been a thriving city. Although Sable had transformed much of her domain into swampland, Krolus had been destroyed in the Great Cataclysm centuries before. As happened with so many other cities, the people who lived here had been caught entirely offguard. In the veritable blink of an eye, their proud city had been swallowed up by the cracked earth and shifting wetlands. In the years since, the swamp had only encroached further on the ruins. Sable herself could not have created a more nightmarish place.

The spiraled tip of a watchtower jutted out of the brackish water to their left. A pair of long, emerald serpents crawled over the tiled roof of a stone building- possibly an inn once. Brudas's gaze fell upon a statue of some human warrior, its head gone, with great cracks along its body. An arachnid as large as the Bozak's hand had spun a web between the body and an upraised arm.

Although it was midday, the sulfur-ridden haze made it seem more like twilight. A dim glow up ahead marked one of the oil lamps that Brudas had commanded the Baaz to spread over the vague path leading to their latest digging site. Searching for dry wood in this soggy domain would have been fruitless and so the Bozak had commandeered numerous oil lamps for their journey. However, their supply of oil had already dwindled drastically, and Brudas suspected they had three days' of lamplight left-at best. Not good, considering how little the expedition had to show for its efforts so far. If Drek's latest find did not pan out. . .

Rubble from a ma.s.sive, broken arch forced them to take a more circuitous route to their destination, but Brudas held his impatience in check. Drek would not have disturbed him without a good reason. The Baaz knew the penalty for that.

Brudas's clawed feet sank an inch or two into the ground with every step. Nothing remained dry long here. Those buildings and structures that had not sunk entirely into the swamp were covered with mold and moss. Even though many of the citizenry had failed to escape- as evidenced by die skulls lying amid the gra.s.s-those who had some link to magic evidently had been luckier than most. The treasure trove of relics that the Bozak had hoped to find had so far proved nonexistent.

Sable would not like that. More importantly, Brudas did not like that.

One of the most intact structures was, of all things, a temple of Mishakal, the G.o.ddess of healing. As they approached on what had once been the main thoroughfare of the city, Brudas noted that the temple now listed to one side even more than on the first day he had glimpsed it. Some of the columns had begun to crack. Too soon this monument to a departed G.o.ddess would join so much else under the water and mud of the black dragon's domain.

Who was to say that, long ago, some relic had not made its way into the temple, perhaps brought there by a pious follower who feared the sinister ways of magic and sought to keep at least one artifact out of the ambitious hands of the old wizards? Some of those magical artifacts might still remain within. . . .

Yet, Drek led him past the temple, where the three Baaz were supposed to be digging, heading instead to the far quarter of Krolus that had suffered the worst destruction.

"You were supposed to finish exploring the temple!" Brudas snapped.

Drek looked even more miserable than usual. "Found nothing there, Bruda.s.ss!" he replied, forgetting to call the Bozak by his t.i.tle. "We gave up yesssterday."

Yesterday? And no one had informed him? The slim draconian opened his mouth to berate his underling-only to pause as the pair came to where the palace of the local ruler had once stood.

Once, this had been a fairly elegant abode that had towered over most of Krolus. The Cataclysm, however, seemed to have taken special interest in wreaking havoc on the building, for not only had a good portion of it disappeared beneath the swamp, but over time, rising water and vegetation had conquered the rest of the structure. Fearsome trees with sickly-green vines covered the interior. On all sides, the walls had crumbled or caved in.

Suspicious, Brudas halted. He knew that the Baaz hated their leader nearly as much as they feared him. Had their days in this monstrous ruin caused them to revolt? Did they hope to do away with him?

"Where are we going? Where is this supposed artifact, Drek?"

The lowly Baaz paused, gasping for breath. "You know how we could not find any way into the palace? Any way to reach the lower depthsss? There isss one!"

"Impossible! I led the search myself. Who found it?"

Drek had the audacity to look proud. "I did, Ma.s.sster Bruda.s.ss!"

"Did you now? And how did you manage that?" To think that a Baaz could do what a Bozak could not. . .

Now the other draconian looked rather embarra.s.sed. "I fell into it, mossst high one."

Brudas laughed, despite himself. Yes, trust Drek to fall into a secret entrance. How else could this particularly useless creature succeed where more intelligent life failed? The laughter died as the Bozak considered the potential of what Drek had discovered. Surely the palace, of all places, held something.

"Lead me there-quickly!"

Drek did so, guiding Brudas along a path that circled widely until it brought them around to the back of the ruin, where a mountainous slab of wall rose at a precarious angle just above the water. Its dark but dry interior showed steps leading downward like a shaft. Small wonder that Brudas had not seen it earlier. Mud and swamp gra.s.s surrounded it on all sides.

"Hunnh," the Bozak grunted. "Where are the others?"

"Below. Digging."

"How deep does it descend?" Dare he hope?

Drek shrugged. "Four levelsss, four and a half if you count our digging."

Better and better. "Lead on." After a pause, "Good work, Drek."

The Baaz beamed at this rare compliment. He leaped down the steps of the pa.s.sage, but Brudas followed more carefully. The entrance just barely allowed him to use his staff, and the angle of the pa.s.sage required the Bozak to grip one wall with his free hand.

The stench of rotting vegetation and other dead matter a.s.sailed his senses, but Brudas did not care. As his eyes became accustomed to the near dark, he noted the cracks in the walls, the moisture all around. Not the safest place.

After an eternity of a journey, Drek at last brought him to his prize. The other two Baaz, Molgar and Gruun, stood knee-deep in swampy water, trying their best to dig a stone doorway out from the mud and muck. They stepped aside when they saw their superior. Above them, a single oil lamp made visible not only their efforts, but the curious symbol on the door.

Although the swamp had tried its best, the colors of the three intertwined spheres carved into the door were still evident. White, red, and black-the signs of the old moons, the moons of magic. A nostalgic emotion rippled through the Bozak as he reached to touch the spheres, feeling their solidity. Even the fact that he was ankle deep in mud did nothing to dampen Brudas's excitement. Yes, Drek had found a prize, indeed.

"Don't just stand there, you dolts!" he snapped at the Baaz. "Finish digging the door free!"

Under his baleful gaze they performed the remainder of the task. The moment they finished, Brudas reached for the handle and tugged.

Nothing happened. He inspected the handle, saw that some lock mechanism kept him from whatever was inside. The Bozak, though, would not be defeated. Ordering the others back, the draconian raised his staff.

Not much magical power remained in the staff, but Brudas could not see why he shouldn't expend some of its last precious energy on this doorway, clearly a sanctum of sorts for some great spellcaster, likely the court wizard.