Margaret Weis - Dragons of the Highlord Skies

“Assassination would make Derek Crownguard a hero,” said Iolanthe. “The knights need a hero right now and only a fool would provide them with one.”

“Just tell her the plan, Iolanthe,” said Ariakas, who was growing impatient, “or rather I will do it myself. You have heard of dragon orbs?” he asked Kitiara.

“The magical artifact that holds the elf king Lorac in thrall?”

“Another orb like it has been discovered in Icereach. The Dragon Highlord of the White Wing, Feal-Thas, apparently just came across it while cleaning out his closet,” Ariakas said dryly.

“You want me to go take it from him,” said Kit.

Ariakas tapped his fingertips together. “No. Derek Crownguard should be the one to recover this orb.”

Kitiara raised her eyebrows. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. “Why is that, my lord?”

“Because the orb will seize Crownguard, as it has seized the elf king, and bring him under our control. He will go back to Solamnia—the poison in the Solamnic well. Under our direction, he will lead the knights straight to ruin. This plan has the additional advantage of removing Derek from Solamnia during a critical time. You are familiar with Solamnics. What do you think?”

What Kitiara thought was that a bold attack now on the High Clerist’s Tower could win the war, but Ariakas didn’t want to hear that, and Kitiara suddenly understood why. He hated his foes, the Solamnic knights, but as much as he hated them, so too did he believe in them. He believed their mythology. He believed the legend of the knight Huma and how he had driven the Dark Queen and her dragons back into the Abyss. He believed in the myth of the knights’ prowess and strength and he believed in their former glory. He had concocted this elaborate plan because, deep inside, he believed he could not defeat them militarily.

Kitiara was under no such illusions. She was not a believer. She’d seen the knights in the person of her profligate father and she knew their shining silver armor was rusty and dented and that it creaked when they walked.

This was all so clear to her, yet there was nothing she could do. What was equally clear was that if this scheme of Ariakas’s failed, if the dragonarmies lost the battle for Solamnia, she—as commander of the Blue Wing—would be blamed. Never mind that she had given Ariakas the winning strategy and he had turned it down. He would conveniently forget that when the time came.

He and his witch were both waiting for her to tell them how brilliant they were.

She would do her duty. She was a soldier, after all, and he was her commander.

“It’s an interesting notion,” Kitiara said. “All Solamnics are deeply suspicious and distrustful of anything magic, but”—she smiled at Iolanthe—“I have no doubt some lovely woman could help Sir Derek overcome his misgivings. Now, if that will be all, my lord, I should be returning to my command.”

Kitiara was thinking there might be some way around Ariakas’s refusal to attack the High Clerist’s Tower. He would be angry that she had disobeyed him, at first, but his rage would be mitigated by her victory. Better that than endure his fury after a defeat…

“Excellent,” said Ariakas smoothly. “I’m glad you like the plan, Kitiara, because I’ve decided to send you to ensnare Crownguard.”

His words came as a shock to both women. Iolanthe stared at him in amazement nearly as great as Kit’s.

“My lord,” Iolanthe protested, bristling, “you and I agreed that I should be the one—”

“My lord,” Kitiara spoke at the same time, her dark brows coming together in irritation, “I am commander of the Blue Wing. My place is with my troops—”

Ariakas was gratified. These two powerful women had been growing a bit too sure of themselves.

“I have changed my mind,” he said, his sharp tone cutting them both off. “Iolanthe, the Highlord is right. The knights are distrustful of magic and those who wield it—a fact I had not taken into consideration when I agreed you could go. Kitiara is a warrior and far better suited to this task. As for you, Highlord, your forces are dug in for the winter. You can afford to spend some time away from them.”

Kit turned away, determined to hide her disappointment. She walked over to stare out the window at the compound, where a group of prisoners, chained together at the ankle, was being lined up at the foot of a scaffold. Today was the day for hanging traitors. She watched dispassionately as the executioner placed the noose around the neck of a young man, who was groveling on his knees, protesting his innocence, begging for his life. The guards yanked him to his feet, put a bag over his head.

“Leave us, Iolanthe,” said Ariakas, after a pause. “I need to speak to the Highlord.”

Iolanthe cast Kitiara a baleful look, then took her leave, her silken garments flowing around her. She slammed shut the door behind her.

Kitiara had her feelings once more under control. “The lady was not pleased. I fear you will sleep in a cold bed this night, my lord.”

“No woman ever says ‘no’ to me, Kitiara,” Ariakas replied imperturbably. “You know that, and stop fingering that hidden blade of yours. I am convinced you are the one to handle this business with Crownguard. Once you have completed that assignment, which should not take you long, provided you handle it right—”

“I already have some ideas on that score, my lord,” said Kitiara.

“Good. After that, I want you to fly to Haven and report back to me on this chaotic situation in the Red Wing.”

Kitiara was about to argue against this, for she truly had no care about the Red Wing, when a sudden thought flashed through her mind. Haven was near Solace. A trip back to her old stomping grounds might prove most interesting.

“I am yours to command, my lord,” she said.

“After that, you will travel to Icereach. I do not trust this elf wizard. I find the fact that he has suddenly ‘remembered’ he has a dragon orb in his possession disturbing.”

Ariakas walked over to stand beside her. They both watched as the scaffold’s trap door opened and the young man dropped to his death. Unfortunately for him, the fall did not break his neck, and he writhed and twisted at the end of the noose for some time.

“Ah, a kicker,” remarked Ariakas, amused.

Kitiara watched until the body went still and hung twisting in the wind. Ariakas had more to say. She waited for him to say it.

“This is the main reason I am going along with Iolanthe’s plan for this knight to steal the dragon orb. I do not want it in the possession of Feal-Thas.”

“I could take it from him,” said Kitiara.

Ariakas cast her a cool glance. “I don’t want it in your possession either.”

Kitiara half-smiled. She watched in silence as the soldiers cut down the body and prepared the noose for the next man in line.

“That being said, I don’t want Feal-Thas to think I don’t trust him,” Ariakas continued. “He has his uses; I know of no one else I could convince to live in that frozen wasteland. You must be subtle in your dealings with him.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“As for the dragon orb, once I have no further use for this Crownguard, he will be disposed of and I will take the orb for myself. Don’t you see the genius of this plan?”

Kitiara saw the genius of her own plan to attack the High Clerist’s Tower. She sighed inwardly.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied dutifully. Outside in the compound, the guards were dragging the next man up the stairs. She turned away from the window. “Your lordship must give me written orders for Feal-Thas. He won’t believe me.”

“Of course. You will have them by morning. Stop by before you leave.”