Not all of his studies consisted of these lessons in his shy;tory, magic, destiny, and power. The temple encouraged well-rounded training, and Ariakas joined a class taught by the priestess Lyrelee in bare-handed combat. When he first observed her, he was fascinated by her skill in the unique hand-fighting technique, and greatly attracted by her feline power and beauty. He welcomed the opportu shy;nity to join her class. In his initial lesson he watched her throw several young and obviously inexperienced novices onto the floor, deflecting their attacks with clever feints and crisp, well-practiced maneuvers.

When he stood up for his turn, he all but swaggered over to her, determined to show the youngsters what a real warrior could do when faced with such fancy foot shy;work-and incidentally ensuring that he earned this woman's respect. Several seconds later, from his position flat on the floor, he reflected that perhaps the lightning-quick woman could teach him a thing or two.

Wryllish Parkane himself instructed Ariakas on the techniques of meditation, which the high priest assured him would greatly facilitate the communication between man and goddess. Wryllish sat for hours, motionless, and-though at first the monotony threatened to drive Ariakas mad-the warrior swiftly developed the patience to match his teacher. He found that these ses shy;sions really did liberate his mind, allowing his imagina shy;tion to drift into places usually reserved for his dreams.

This is not to say that Ariakas became a monk. In fact, though he visited the temple for at least a short time every day, he returned to his house on most nights. Fer-ros Windchisel had wasted no time in making himself at home there, and when Ariakas remained in the temple for several days at a time the warrior was glad to know that someone was keeping watch over his property.

When Ariakas did come home, the dwarf and the human often made a long evening of it, exploring the inns and taverns of Sanction. Often they got roaring drunk, occasionally they found-and won-a fight, and always Ariakas felt in the dwarf a kindred spirit. He reflected that a true warrior is a warrior foremost, be he dwarf or human.

The Hylar spent his days seeking information on the Zhakar, a task that had become exceedingly difficult in the weeks following their confrontation at the Fungus Mug. The mysterious dwarves might have all gone underground, for as much information as Ferros could garner.

Growing increasingly irritable as time passed without success, Ferros Windchisel began to complain about life in Sanction. His favorite gripe was a claim that the place was infested by tiny, biting firebugs. Showing Ariakas raw, itching wounds on his arms, the dwarf insisted that vile insects took nocturnal snippets from his skin. Aria shy;kas suffered no bites himself, but he could not dispute the reality of the dwarf's suffering.

The best that Ferros could do about his quest to find Zhakar was to get a secondhand description of a convo shy;luted trail from an old ship's captain. The man claimed he'd once hired a Zhakar mate who had divulged a few details about his homeland. These the captain related to Ferros-in exchange for the two barrels of beer con shy;sumed during the discussion.

Of all Ariakas's activities, inside the temple and out, he found that the combat lessons with Lyrelee were the most appealing and invigorating. The woman knew a tremendous amount, and was eager to share her knowl shy;edge. Ariakas, in turn, began to instruct Lyrelee and some novices in the use of the sword, dagger and bow- the three weapons with which he was most comfortable.

He continued to find the priestess to be an alluring female, and for the first time since his stay in the tower he began to consider the delightful prospect of intimate physical joy. He had routinely hired harlots since his arrival in the city, but regarded time spent with them as little more than fleeting and impersonal entertainment.

Ariakas spent time talking to Lyrelee after the other students had departed the class, and the warrior sensed that she, too, felt a kindling of desire. He remembered the warning of Takhisis regarding his women, but some shy;times he tried to convince himself that it couldn't truly apply to the lithe priestess. Certainly a woman who labored so diligently in the Dark Queen's service could not be made a scapegoat for her punishment!

These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he made his way home, long after dark, one late-summer night. He had just crossed the Grand Bridge, which was still crowded even at this late hour, and had begun to meander up the hill toward his palatial house.

A scurrying form moved through the shadows of an alley, and Ariakas spun, reaching for his black-bladed sword-though he didn't draw the weapon.

Cloaked in dark robes, a short figure shuffled toward him, stopping ten feet away. He could make out no details beneath the deep cowl.

'Tale Splintersteel wants to see you," hissed the figure. "He will meet you tomorrow night, alone. Be in the cen shy;ter of the Fireplaza at midnight."

Before Ariakas could respond, the hunched figure darted into the shadows and disappeared.

Chapter 14

Plaza of Fire

"I'm going with you!" Ferros insisted after Ariakas told him about the mysterious summons. The two sat in the estate's great room, with glowing embers in the fireplace and tumblers of lavarum near to hand. The house was silent around them, though Ariakas knew that mute Kandart watched and waited in the shadows, ready for the moment when the glasses were empty.

"I don't think that's a good idea," the warrior dis shy;agreed. "I was told to come alone-and besides, you know what your presence did to him last time."

"By Reorx, man-I didn't mean I'd walk right out there and shake his hand! But when you go to see that treacherous little weasel, I intend to be hiding in the background, someplace where I can get a good view."

The dwarf patted the heavy crossbow he had recently acquired, and Ariakas reflected that Ferros could pro shy;vide him with a measure of security. After all, the war shy;rior wasn't certain what the Zhakar wanted, but he'd learned enough from their first meeting to go into the rendezvous with full preparation and alertness.

"I don't think he'll try anything," Ariakas noted. "After all, he had a good taste of my sword last time. Still, it would be good to have you there to keep an eye on things."

"Yeah-I smell a trap," groused Ferros. The dwarf stood, furiously scratching at the rash along his arms, chest, and belly. "Damned firebugs!" he snarled. "Worse than ever last night!"

Ariakas chuckled sympathetically. "I still haven't had any in my bed-maybe they like your smell!"

"Humpf! So, you going to be ready for this?"

"I will be by midnight," Ariakas replied, grimly confi shy;dent.

The warrior had decided not to tell anyone at the temple about the upcoming meeting. If it turned out well, Ariakas could bring Tale Splintersteel to Wryllish Parkane and show the high priest that his efforts had in fact met with success. If nothing-or, even worse, some shy;thing disastrous-came of the meeting, there would be no need for his temple-mates to learn of the failure.

Ferros spent several hours honing to razor-sharpness the heads of his bolts. He had a full quiver of the steel-shafted missiles, and proudly informed Ariakas that the arrows could punch through plate mail at a hundred paces.

The human warrior, meanwhile, went to his dry gar shy;den and sat on a stone bench in the brittle bower.

Before him spread the valley. Today, with its eternal shroud of haze hanging unusually low, Sanction had a tight, enclosed feeling. Ariakas felt power tingling in the air, believed with certainty that things of great portent were in the works. He took his sword and laid the naked blade across his lap. The perfect blackness of the steel mirrored his own spirit to an infinite depth.