Richard Knaak - The Citadel

“The hall here will be fine.”

Valkyn looked disturbed by such a thought. “I wouldn’t think of it. You are my guest, my ally, General Cadrio!”

“I’d still prefer-”

Suddenly a howl of pure agony filled the empty corridors of Atriun. Cadrio, in the midst of removing his helm, stood still, thinking of banshees and other undead fiends.

Lemual rushed away, heading to an insignificant wooden door far off to the left, a door so unremarkable that the wary officer hadn’t even noticed it before. From the brief glimpse he got before the cleric shut the door behind him, it led to a set of steps descending below ground.

“What by Her Majesty was that? ” the general asked.

Valkyn had been watching Lemual’s retreating form angrily, the first time emotion had slipped onto the mage’s visage. However, as he faced the general again, the smile returned. “Just one of the adjustments I still need to make before the grand spell.…”

“A man screaming?”

Although he still smiled, Valkyn’s expression warned Cadrio not to pursue his questions. The mage put a hand on the commander’s arm and turned him back to the stairways. “Tomorrow, all will become clear, General. Tomorrow I will achieve the culmination of my research, and you … you will have that which will make you the next Emperor of Ansalon! Long may you reign!”

Caught up by the grand statements, Cadrio forgot the scream. He stared at Valkyn, not actually seeing the wizard, but rather his own legions, all marching to victory under his banner.

Emperor of Ansalon. A fitting title, the product of his years of hard service. Cadrio had been dreaming of such a title, especially prior to the debacle at Gwynned, but to hear another person voice his dream made the notion sound so very possible. He had lost the opportunity to become a Dragon Highlord, but what did such a rank mean in comparison? He would rule as no one other than Ariakas had.

As Valkyn led him upstairs, Cadrio, still thinking of his future glory, corrected himself. He would not rule as Ariakas had, for Ariakas hadn’t even lived to see the end of the first year of his reign. Cadrio would rule for years … even if it meant crushing every bit of resistance, including the Blue Lady.

And the wizard Valkyn would give him the means to crush even her.

* * * * *

The flutter of wings sent Tyros staggering against the wall of the nearest building, soaking his pristine robe with the remnants of the evening’s rain.

“A pigeon, boy. Nothing more.”

He glared at Captain Bakal. He had not realized the officer was nearby. “Shadowing me, Captain? Come to see if some monster tries to snatch me up into the sky?”

The scarred veteran gave him a wry smile. “Looks to me like you’re thinking much the same thing, Tyros. Could it happen?”

“Not if I can help it!”

“Easy, boy! I’m not the enemy! I’m your friend, probably the only one who’d use that term with you now that Leot’s gone.”

Tyros would not so easily accept his response. “A friend who skulks around corners, trying not to be heard by me?”

“I didn’t have to save you from that pigeon, did I?”

The frustrated mage felt his face flush. In the days since Bakal had shown him the gargoyle, Tyros had lived and dreamed a constant nightmare, all of them involving collapsing buildings and toothsome monsters trying to drag him from the ruins. He had been unable to do any work, to research any spells. Worse, Leot’s face haunted him whenever the gargoyles did not.

“I understand you spoke with the admiral himself today.”

Tyros grimaced. “I spoke to his doorman.”

“I could’ve told you that you’d get nowhere with him, boy.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Gwynned’s not interested in pursuing the matter of the surviving invaders. They figure what’s done is done. Let someone else pick up the pieces. We won, we survived, and that’s that. The war, after all, is over.”

The chill wind of the sea did nothing to cool Tyros’s temper. “And what do you think, Captain?”

“Me? I always figured that a wounded bear is a dangerous animal. Like you, I think whoever attacked will be back some day.”

“Then you should be willing to help me search for them.”

Bakal gave him a wry smile. “And how would you suggest I do that, mage? Commandeer the fleet and go sailing off after them?”

In truth, Tyros had no suggestion. He only knew that he had to find both Leot and the flying citadel. So far, though, his attempts had met with utter failure. No one in power would aid his efforts. Not even the suggestion that the city risked further attack had garnered Tyros any support.

Although the rescue of his friend remained his primary reason for pursuing the matter, Tyros also felt drawn to the citadel and the secrets it might yet reveal to him. He hoped that since the second one had also been damaged, it now stood more vulnerable to capture. Tyros dearly wanted to understand what the wreckage of past citadels had only hinted at … how to create one of his own.

Defense of the city, the rescue of Leot, and the creation of flying citadels for his own side. Worthy goals, all of them. Any one reason should have been enough for the lords of Gwynned, and yet had not been. Doors had remained shut, missives unanswered. Appointments had been canceled or rejected outright. Some hints had arisen that part of his failure to gain support might be due to his own past arrogance, but Tyros couldn’t believe that. People wouldn’t reject a proper course of action simply because they found some minor offense in its sponsor’s attitude.

“I want to find that last citadel, Captain. Not just for Leot’s sake. Gwynned should realize that it still faces a possible threat. Besides, if we could capture it, think of what it could tell us.” His eyes widened at the possibilities. “We might even be able to raise a citadel ourselves!”

The officer looked him in the eye. “Are you doing this for Leot or for your own reputation?”

“I’m doing this for all of us.”

“If you say so.”

Straightening, the spellcaster turned from his undesired companion. “I should have known not to bother.”

“Here now!” Captain Bakal seized his arm, whirling him around. He ignored the brown-haired mage’s glare, the way Tyros’s hand came up in what might have been the beginnings of a spell. “I do have a thought-maybe one even too radical for the great Tyros!”

“And what is that?”

“Have you asked Sunfire?”

“Sunfire?” He blinked, startled both by the audacity of the notion and the fact that Bakal had thought of it before he had.

Sunfire. The dragon would certainly understand the urgency. He would see that the flying citadel and its masters had to be hunted down. And with Sunfire’s aid, capturing the damaged castle would be considerably easier.

“Sunfire …” Tyros murmured. “Of course!”

“You understand how dangerous it might be to see the dragons, don’t you? They’ve been feisty of late, boy! Never saw them so excited as during that last battle. They wouldn’t brook-”

“Yes, yes, yes! Captain Bakal, do you know how I might reach their caves?”

Black eyes narrowed. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“You made the suggestion, Captain! What was the point of it unless you thought I might actually do it?”

“All right. I’ll talk to someone tomorrow. I know some dragon riders. They’ll tell me if it’s possible to see Sunfire.”

“Excellent!” Tyros felt his spirits rise. The dragons would help him. They wouldn’t let puny human dislikes compromise their common sense. They would surely see things his way.

The rain began coming down again, lightly, but enough to warrant moving on to cover. Feeling much more confident now, Tyros thought the least he could do for Bakal was reward him for his able assistance. “Are you off duty, Captain?”