Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (12 page)

Kit was now actually looking forward to traveling to Icereach. Not only was she growing bored here, but it occurred to her that Highlord Feal-Thas, being an elf, must know Laurana, who was also an elf. Of course, this made about as much sense as saying that because Kitiara was human, she must know the Lord of Palanthas, but Kit wasn’t thinking straight. She kept close watch on the clouds and rejoiced the day she saw the sun sparkle off Skie’s blue scales as he circled overhead.

His report on the red dragons was not good. They were angry and discontented. They heard rumors of the spoils being garnered by dragons in other parts of Ansalon and they wanted the same. If the Red Wing didn’t attack something soon, the reds were going to go out on their own and they didn’t much care who the target was. In their mood, they’d just as soon attack a friend as a foe.

Kitiara duly reported this to Ariakas, adding her opinion that Fewmaster Toede was just what his lordship was seeking in a Dragon Highlord. When she told Toede she had recommended him, his gratitude and his stench were both overwhelming; apparently pleasure caused the hob’s sweat glands to go into a frenzy. When Kitiara finally managed to wipe the hobgoblin slobber off her boots, she went to say farewell to Grag.

She told him she had recommended Toede as Highlord and she told him why she had done it. “You’ll be the one in charge,” Kit said.

Commander Grag grinned; his long tongue flicked from between his teeth. The two shook hand and claw and Kitiara departed on the grumbling Skie, who did not at all relish the thought of traveling to Icereach.

“Don’t worry,” said Kit, as she took her place on the dragon’s back. “You won’t have to stay. I’m sending you back north.”

“To fight?” Skie asked eagerly. Though he had small use for his red cousins, he commiserated with them in their disgust over the current lull in the action.

“No,” said Kitiara. “I want you to bring part of the Blue Wing south—the draconians and dragons.”

Skie twisted his head to stare at her, wondering if she was serious.

“South?” he repeated, astonished and disapproving. “Why south? Our war is in the north.”

“Not at the moment,” Kitiara said. “Just bring the wing with you when you return. You’ll find out the reason soon enough.”

And with that, Skie had to be content, for Kit would not tell him anything else.

9

The Winternorn.

The Ice Palace.

he white wolf padded along the snow-carpeted hallway unheard, practically unseen, his snowy pelt blending with his icy surroundings. The wolf trotted past translucent columns of crystal clear ice that lined the long hall and supported the arched ceiling of ice. The sinking sun, a shimmering red orb visible through the full-length arched windows of crystalline ice, caused the ice columns and the snow-block walls to glow with the fire of the day’s dying.

The walls of ice changed color a hundred times during the day—flame red and orange with the sunrise, sparkling white during the day when the snow fell, eerie blue starlight at night. The ever-shifting beauty of the crystal hall was remarkable, breath-taking, except to the wolf. For him, all was gray. He pattered down the hall looking neither left nor right, intent upon his mission.

The wolf had come from Ice Wall Castle, some few miles distant, its ruins visible through any of the numerous crystal windows. Ice Wall Castle was not truly a castle. Originally constructed as a fortress lighthouse prior to the Cataclysm, it had been located on a now-forgotten island south of the famous port city of Tarsis. Beacon fires atop its towers had once guided ships through fog and darkness to safe harbor or warned the city of the approach of enemy sails.

When the Cataclysm struck, the upheaval of the earth had swallowed the sea and caused it to recede, leaving Tarsis and its white-winged ships stranded in the sand. The lighthouse and the island on which it stood were overtaken by an enormous glacier encroaching from the south. Shoved about and mauled by the grinding ice, the walls of the fortress broke and crumbled. A single tower of stone survived, and it leaned at a perilous angle, propped up by shoals of ice. The original stonework of the rest of the fortress was no longer visible, having been long since buried beneath the layers of ice.

The inhabitants of this part of the world—fishermen who lived in huts made of animal hides—dubbed the fortress Ice Wall Castle and considered it a curiosity, nothing more. Nomads who made a harsh living following the fish in their swift ice-skimming boats, the Ice Folk had no interest in the castle. After exploring it and taking from it anything they could find that might help them in the daily struggle to survive in a cruelly altered landscape, they left it empty.

Other residents of the region—the bestial thanoi, also known as the walrus-people and longtime enemies of the Ice Folk—took over the castle for a year or so, using it as an outpost from which to launch raids on the Ice Folk. After that, the thanoi left it, driven out by a person they fearfully claimed was the embodiment of winter. Feal-Thas had returned.

When the War of the Lance commenced, Ariakas needed a Dragon Highlord in this part of the continent. But he ran into trouble finding anyone to take on this onerous task. The climate was horrible, there was little fighting going on in the south and therefore no opportunity for glory and advancement, and nothing in the way of loot unless one had an interest in smoked fish. Ariakas was thinking he would have to order someone to take over Icereach, and then he’d have to put up with a discontented Highlord, listen to him sulk and whine and complain. Ariakas was fortunate, however. He found Feal-Thas.

An elf, even a dark elf, would not have been the emperor’s first choice, for Ariakas disliked and distrusted all elves. He agreed with his Queen that the only good elf was a dead elf and he was doing his level best to see to it that Her Majesty’s wishes on this score were being carried out. Feal-Thas was the only person who expressed any interest in going to Icereach, however. At that, Ariakas gave Feal-Thas a test of loyalty, ordering him to return to his native Silvanesti to spy out and report on the elven defenses. Feal-Thas provided Ariakas with an accurate account and also gave him valuable information regarding a dark secret held fast in the heart of King Lorac—the secret of the dragon orb that proved to be Lorac’s undoing.

Ariakas still did not trust the elf. Feal-Thas was arrogant and sarcastic, and he did not give the emperor the respect Ariakas felt he deserved. But since he could not find another candidate willing to live in Icereach, Ariakas grudgingly handed over the icebound wasteland to the elf. Takhisis sent her white dragon, Sleet, to Icereach to keep an eye on the Highlord, and then both the Queen and the Emperor promptly forgot about him.

As for Feal-Thas, he was a mystery to all who knew him. Why would an elf, whose race was known to love and revere all green and growing things, choose to live in a region where all plant life had been frozen to death, all memory of its very existence eradicated, buried under snow and ice?

No one could answer this question, for none of the Silvanesti now remembered Feal-Thas except King Lorac, and he had gone mad. Some record of Feal-Thas could be found in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth, where the wizard had once lived and worked, had anyone cared to look. There seemed no reason why anyone should.

The wolf certainly could not answer any question about the Highlord. All the wolf knew was that the Highlord was his master. Reaching the door to the master’s chambers, the wolf shoved it open with his nose and trotted inside.

Feal-Thas, wrapped snugly in a long cloak of white fur, was seated at his desk, which was carved of ice, as were almost all the furnishings of his Ice Palace. When the wolf entered the chamber, the elf was engaged in writing a report to the Emperor. Feal-Thas wrote with a quill pen, dipping it in the ink that would have frozen had he not cast a spell on it. The Highlord’s handwriting was small and cramped and delicate, and it irritated Ariakas whenever he saw it, for it smacked of elf.

Ariakas rarely took the time to try to decipher the elf’s scratchings. He would give the missive to one of his aides to read and condense Feal-Thas’s reports, which were never that interesting anyhow. When the dragonarmies extended their reach into southern Abanasinia and the Plains of Dust, Feal-Thas would be tasked with protecting the supply lines. Until then, he was supposed to stay holed up in his frozen wasteland and keep out of the way of those doing the truly important work of the war.

Feal-Thas was well aware the emperor disliked and distrusted him. Feal-Thas knew this because he knew the secrets of Ariakas’s soul, just as he knew the secrets held locked in the souls of others. Feal-Thas had secrets of his own—dangerous secrets, the most closely guarded of which was that he was a
winternorn
, a rare kind of wizard who possessed, among other powers, the magical ability to “freeze” the River of Time for a brief period (a tenth of a tenth of a second). In that time he could gain a flash of insight into a person’s innermost feelings and thoughts, as though a blast of icy wind flowed between himself and the target, carrying with it all manner of impressions that were seared in burning cold into his brain. He did not gain all this information at once. He had to take time to sort through the rubbish that littered people’s hearts to glean something of true value to him. Once he did, he stored it away for later use.

The winternorn magic gave Feal-Thas power over others, but it also proved to be a curse. As an elf, an outsider, Feal-Thas should have never been taught the secrets of a winternorn.

Feal-Thas had been proclaimed a dark elf—one who is cast out of the light—and banished from his homeland over three hundred years ago for the crime of murdering his young lover. He had been taken in chains by elven warriors to the land in the south known now as Icereach. Though not the frozen wasteland it would become after the Cataclysm, Icereach was a barren and unforgiving land, with short summers and extremely long winters. The elven warriors left Feal-Thas to die and he might have, but he was rescued by the native humans, who took pity on the handsome young elf (he was only eighteen at the time) and saved his life.

Angry and embittered at his exile to this terrible land, he had taken a human lover, who was a winternorn. He persuaded her to take him as her pupil. Though it was forbidden to teach outsiders the magic, she succumbed to his persuasion, to her everlasting regret.

His soul’s own darkness cast a shadow over what he saw in the souls of others. When he looked inside their hearts, he looked to the very darkest corners, and thus he came to believe his fellow men were self-serving, conniving liars. Believing he could trust no one, he had abandoned his lover. And, armed with his power he traveled to the Tower of Wayreth, there to take the dread Test and continue his studies. He had fled the Tower shortly before the Cataclysm, when it seemed likely that the Kingpriest would attack. Returning to Icereach, he had, eventually, made himself useful to Ariakas and had, at the same time, taken his revenge upon the elves by betraying them. Now he lived alone in his Ice Palace, his only trusted companions his white wolves.

Feal-Thas smiled sourly to himself as he wrote a report he knew the emperor would never read. Still, writing these monthly reports was part of his duties as a Highlord, and he would never let it be said that he was remiss in his duty.

The wolf trotted to him and dropped the canvas bundle it carried at his feet. Feal-Thas glanced down at it without interest and went back to his work.

The wolf pawed at the bundle. The wolf made a daily run to Ice Wall Castle, picking up dispatches and messages and relaying orders from Feal-Thas to the commander of the small force of kapak draconians who had taken up unwilling residence.

Feal-Thas smiled at the wolf and rewarded the animal with a ruffling of its fur and a strip of caribou meat. The wolf accepted the treat and swallowed it in a gulp, then sat back on his haunches, waiting to see if the master had further need of him.

Feal-Thas ceased writing. He unwrapped the bundle and removed the message. He glanced through it, frowned, and perused it more closely. His thin lips twisted in anger. He crumpled the message and tossed it across the room.

The wolf, thinking this was a game the two of them often played, went to fetch the “ball,” and, bringing it back to Feal-Thas, dropped it at his feet.

Feal-Thas could not help but smile. “Thank you, friend,” he said to the wolf. “You remind me that I, too, serve at the pleasure of my master. Shall I tell you what my master wants of me? Listen to this.”

He spread the missive out on the desk, smoothed the wrinkles, and began to read aloud. He had fallen into the habit of speaking to his wolves, holding one-sided conversations with them, imparting his thoughts and discussing his plans. Feal-Thas liked to say he found wolves far more intelligent than people, mainly because they never answered him.

“‘The Emperor Ariakas sends his respects to Dragon Highlord Feal-Thas of the White Dragonarmy …’ and so on and so forth.”

The wolf regarded the winternorn with bright eyes and fixed attention.

“‘Dragon Highlord of the Blue Wing, the Blue Lady, will arrive shortly to meet with you to discuss certain plans I deem vital to the war effort. This is to let you know that the Blue Lady has my complete trust and confidence. You will obey her in all things as you would obey me.’ Signed
Ariakas
, Emperor of Ansalon, etc., and so forth.”

The wolf gave a great, gaping yawn, then leaned his head down to lick his private parts.

“My thoughts exactly,” Feal-Thas muttered.

He picked up the second missive, opened it, glanced at the contents. The writing was large and scrawling. The signature was bold and dashing and almost illegible.

I am here. I look forward to our meeting—soon!

Kitiara

The word “soon” was underlined three times.

Feal-Thas rose to his feet and began to pace the snow-covered floor. His long white furs, worn over thick white woolen robes, brushed the snow behind him. Although he was a Black Robe wizard, the winternorn always dressed in white: white robes, white furs, white leather boots. He was tall and slender with delicate features; his skin was pale, almost as translucent as ice. With his white clothing and his white hair and his eyes the gray color of snow-laden clouds—Feal-Thas viewed himself as the living embodiment of winter, at one with the icy realm to which he had been unjustly banished as a youth and which he had unexpectedly and most astonishingly come to love.