But most of his attention remained on the walls to the right and left. Countless niches and ravines scarred the rough surface, cloaked with shadows his eyes could not penetrate.

His companions waited behind while Ariakas cau shy;tiously passed through the notch. He saw no sign of any other occupant, and so he reversed his course, this time closely checking the niches to either side of the path. Nothing there-though several of the cracks were too deep for a foolproof check. For a brief instant he consid shy;ered casting the light spell, but quickly discarded the idea. Though it would give him the ability to penetrate some of the shadows, it would dramatically outline him and his companions to watchers anywhere in the sur shy;rounding valley and heights.

"Seems clear," he reported.

All four of them advanced through the notch, Lyrelee and Splintersteel following Ariakas while Ferros cau shy;tiously brought up the rear. Again the passage occurred without incident; for all appearances, the notch had been completed vacated.

"Not bad," Tale Splintersteel murmured, clearly sur shy;prised. He nodded at the blue sword. "Word must have gotten around."

Ariakas smiled grimly, his relief immense. They camped in a little swale that provided some protection from the wind. The night passed without incident, and in the first light of dawn they finally got a look at their destination.

Zhakar Keep stood on a slope above the broad valley. The river that circled the base of Mount Horn continued through that vale, widening into a long, narrow lake for part of its length. High, rugged peaks surrounded the two sides of the valley, and the river's outflow dropped out of sight several miles away, suggesting a channel that might be a canyon or a gorge.

The stone-walled keep dominated the entire central section of the valley. Terraced slopes spread downward from the keep to the river, and behind it towering peaks rose toward the sky. The walls were black, as were the squat towers located at various places along those sheer barriers. The place did not resemble a castle so much as a walled compound, for within the walls the companions could see no buildings. Four long, black columns rose upward from the courtyard, and one of these belched a cloud of black smoke. Tale Splintersteel explained that these were the chimneys of the Zhakaran great forge.

"Where are your countrymen?" Ariakas asked, gestur shy;ing to the well-tended-but apparently abandoned- vista. Though the terraced fields were obviously devoted to carefully nurtured crops, no one labored there. Like the watch post, now behind them, the valley stood silent, by all appearances completely deserted.

"It's strange," Tale Splintersteel observed. "We must be creating quite a stir-look's as though they're expect shy;ing a siege!"

For the better part of the morning they approached the dark fortress. Throughout that time, they saw no sign of the valley's inhabitants, though the keep seemed to grow more ominous and sinister with each step closer. The only sign of life was the black stream of smoke that con shy;tinued to drift from the chimney.

They approached along a graveled road that led be shy;tween the fields of the terrace. Ariakas came first, with the naked blade resting casually on his shoulder, gleaming like some surreal but precious metal-liquid turquoise or azure. He made certain that the weapon remained in clear view at all times.

Reaching the double gates, the four companions stood before a wide portal consisting of two solid iron plates mounted on stone hinges. Ariakas knew that each gate must weigh an unimaginable amount. Inwardly, he raised his estimation of Zhakaran skill as craftsmen and builders. Quietly, calmly, he rehearsed the incantation to the spell Wryllish Parkane had taught him. It had been intended to give them access to the keep, but he had never imagined the full scale of the portal that would stand across the path.

"Go away! Strangers are not allowed in Zhakar! Go away, or you will be killed!" A thin, reedy voice came quaveringly over the wall. They could see no speaker, but the words carried clearly to their ears.

"We come in peace-we are a trade mission seeking audience with King Ironcog!" shouted Tale. "Tell him that Splintersteel of Sanction is here!"

"The king is too busy to see you-go back to Sanc shy;tion!"

"We will see the king!" Ariakas shouted, growing impatient.

"No. Go away! Leave our countryman behind when you depart-he will be punished for bringing you here."

Tale Splintersteel cast wide, fearful eyes at his com shy;panions, but they weren't paying any attention to him.

Instead, they stared upward, trying to see any sign of the speaker.

Ariakas decided to proceed. He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of the great, iron gates. Each of the barriers towered upward at least three times his height and was nearly half that in width-dimensions that made him feel very small, indeed. Nevertheless, he murmured a silent prayer to Takhisis and then raised his voice so that it could be clearly heard within.

"I, Highlord Ariakas, command these gates-in the name of a power greater than you can comprehend-to give way before my knock. In the name of majesty and power, I command!"

His heavy fist banged against the gate, once, twice, and again. Booming reverberations echoed around them from the keep and spilled down into the valley beyond.

With a portentous creak, the gates began to swing out shy;ward. Ariakas stepped quickly back, brandishing his sword at the ready, studying the slowly expanding crack between the twin doors. Part of him wanted to gape in surprise, astounded that the simple spell had proven so successful. The dominant portion of his mind retained control, however, and his cool, almost bored inspection of the opening gates indicated that he had never expected any result other than this.

He heard gasps of surprise, even cries of panic, com shy;ing from the fortress. The gap widened, and he saw a wide, refuse-covered courtyard. Robed Zhakar scattered in all directions from the gates, though several armed with swords, crossbows, and battle-hooks crept hesi shy;tantly forward. The gates opened wider, and he saw several dwarves frantically trying to arrest the winch mechanism-but the chain creaked through the gears with automatic, inevitable progression, completely unre shy;sponsive to their efforts.

"Peace," said Ariakas, striding forward to meet the dwarven warriors blocking the door. His voice, his posture, betrayed no hint of the doubts and apprehen shy;sions he felt. "I offer no harm-and many profits."

Thankfully, the Zhakar backed hastily away from the human warrior, their eyes riveted to the unique weapon in his hands. Lyrelee, Tale Splintersteel, and Ferros Windchisel followed him through the gates, and the four of them confronted the dwarves within as the gates ceased their automatic opening.

"You can close them now," Ariakas announced to the gatesmen, who hastily commenced to crank the portals shut.

Several dozen dark-shawled Zhakar crept toward him, weapons raised, but they didn't look as though they intended to attack. Indeed, Ariakas suspected that a simple flick of his great sword would send them scatter shy;ing in panic. Many milky, baleful eyes observed him through slits in the faces of the cloaks.

Ariakas looked around the courtyard of Zhakar Keep. The place was like no other fortress or castle that he had ever seen. The high walls were pierced only by the single gate through which the companions had entered.

The ground inside the compound was a chaotic menage of shallow ravines and low ridges, except for one huge, blocklike building in the center of the grounds. From the roof of this structure emerged the four chim shy;neys they had seen in the distance. Otherwise, the many piles and ridges of dirt eclipsed any other features the courtyard might have held.